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Beth has never been so terrified of and wildly attracted to one person in her whole life.

Daryl Dixon has dangerous stamped all over him. Wild, blue eyes that have seen things no one else wants to imagine, raw depths in there that make Beth’s blood sing with the mysteries. His biceps bulge like he could crush her with one giant breath, neck thick and red in the Georgia sun, mouth set in a scowl. There’s something about danger that’s so attractive to the human species. Something positively stupid but still just as real. The need to ask who’s there when you clearly heard a noise, the urge to check out the dark windows for a face looming against the glass. Humans are thrill seekers by default.

They prove it time and again with their horror films and amusement parks, scary pranks and jack in the boxes. It’s an animalistic need, buried under civilisation and the indoctrination to be humane. Well, the world’s gone to shit now. Strangers are in her dead brother’s bed and the dead are walking. There is no time to be humane anymore although in her clearer moments she thinks this is the most crucial time to be humane, to remember how to be human. The world is full of animals again. Savages. Brutes. They fuck and hunt and kill and survive. Daryl Dixon’s scowl when he catches her looking tells her all she needs to know.

He’s dangerous.

So is she.

The thing began to grow when she lost her Mama. The fever took her and when she rose from her death bed Beth had an experience unlike any other. An out of body spiritual awakening or something akin to it, something crazy because why not? The dead walk now. They get sick and they die but then they come back to life and they walk. Seeing her Mama rise off that bed, blood stains still on her nightgown, something in Beth disconnected. Something curled away in horror and locked itself up tight. When it happened to Shawn she didn’t have that same experience. Didn’t have that same need inside her to curl up and shy away because her eyes were already blind to the horror.

On the precipice of a swirling tornado, she slipped right into it without trying to catch herself on the rocks. The haze was welcome, the bliss needed. This was her survival. She is surviving. Her Mama and Shawn… she knows they’re gone. Beth knows, inside. The haze of numbness she’s walking around in lets her pretend though, let’s her believe. Believe that her Daddy and Maggie are right. Believe that her Mama and Shawn are lost inside their bodies, as are everyone else in that barn. Believe that they’ll get better one day. There’s questions Beth didn’t ask her Daddy when he explained this. Like: how do the dead come back? Really come back?

Yes, they may cure the thing that’s overridden death but her Mama? Shawn? Didn’t their souls leave? Didn’t God embrace them in their agony? Or has he really deserted them? Is it a perverse punishment? Humans slowly killed the Earth and now she must watch as they finish the job with an accelerated timeline. She must watch the end of the world. The thing started with her Mama but she’s swallowed whole in it now and that is dangerous because it makes her bold. It makes her reckless. It makes her crave stupid things just for a stab of humanity, a stab of life. Razor blades have called to her for several days but she’s turned away from them, not that far gone, not yet that fucked.

No, she’s seeking something else and the dark brooding energy rolling off of Daryl’s skin is it. She feels it like a magnet, looping between her thighs and dragging her along. She seeks him out in the darkness, something in the back of her mind saying stupid but she’s excited despite the fact. She has to push through low hanging branches and thick bushes because he’s buried himself so deep in the gardens. The others have orbited towards the house, all seeking out the boy and hoping to comfort Rick. They won’t have much luck since she just passed Rick pacing around the side of the porch, restless as his son dies. Beth thinks morbidly that that’ll be another bed in her house tainted by death and she feels a surprising stab of resentment for Rick and Lori and all their people. Daryl included. She wants to take that resentment, that frustration out on him and she’s unnecessarily loud as she encroaches closer to his camp.

There’s a crackling fire and Daryl’s sat with his bike, his eyes trained on her as she breaks through the tree line. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Her mouth thins. “Ain’t no way to talk to your hosts, now is it?”

Daryl’s eyes narrow. “You expectin’ some big show of thanks or summat, girl?”


There’s something about that she likes, something about it she revels in for the moment. It makes her feel small, younger than she is which is already fairly young, especially compared to him.

“No,” she answers sharply.

“Then what’d you want?” He asks as he wipes up his hands, red rag falling to the floor when he’s done.

Beth watches the fabric flutter through the air and feels akin to that of a bull from the mere way her blood spikes for the crimson flash. “Wanted to see you.”

“Me?” He grunts in surprise, pushing up from his seated position to lean against the bike. “Why?”

She glances down at the fire, taking in the oranges and reds before she looks back at him. “I think you can give me somethin’ I’m lookin’ for.”

Daryl’s head tilts to the side in a slide so smooth it looks oiled. Her heart speeds and she steps forward, stumbles really over her own feet. She’s not looking to beat around the bush or be beguiling. She’s looking for something. Something alive and throbbing, something stable in a world gone mad.

She drops to her knees.

Air rattles through his clenched teeth, eyes wide with surprise but flaring with lust, she sees it, she knows she does. He fights it though, squatting to grip her arm, to try and drag her up. “The fuck are you doin’? You tryin’a get me shot?”

Beth pulls back from his grip but it’s so tight it just squeezes her flesh in his hand, bruising her tender skin with a pang she feels between her legs. This is what she’s looking for. Something terrifying. Something exciting. Dangerous. She yanks her arm free and looks up at him with pieces of hair tangled in her lashes.

“Please. You want it too. I saw you. I saw you lookin’ at me,” she persists, chest rising and falling; heart racing.

Daryl swallows, licks his lips and lets go of her arm. His eyes dart around, his chest rising as fast as hers as her knees begin to dampen in the soil. It’s still wet from rain three days old and she knows her bare skin will be muddy, will be like a proclamation of her whorish ways. The pulse in her throat flutters as she lifts her hands to his belt.

“I don’t even know you,” he croaks weakly. “God, you look ‘bout fifteen.”

“Sixteen,” Beth corrects as she flips his belt through the buckle.

“Jesus,” Daryl curses. “Jesus, sixteen?

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” She remarks as his jeans come loose, pooling around his waist.

He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, his arms spread back to grip the bike, biceps bulging in his sleeveless tank and sweat dripping down his chest. With her hand she pulls free his cock, surprised only faintly by the width of him. Strictly speaking she’s never done this before. She’s watched porn, imagined it, fantasied for hours but she’s never actually done it. Maybe because as the girl she was it wouldn’t have happened like this. Maybe she had to be broken in a little bit to know what she really wanted. How depraved she wanted to be. Maybe feeling hollow is just an excuse to be a slut.

Maybe she’ll never know.

Daryl mutters under his breath when her breath blows over his swollen flesh, his eyes disbelieving even as the head of his cock strains for her mouth. Her own eyes feel lidded, half open; lust drunk. Fisting him at the base, she spits on him, rubbing in all her saliva and slicking him good. He grunts, fucking into her fist with a whine that makes her feel something, makes sparks burn in the pit of her stomach. She continues to use her hand on him, fisting him tight and pulling on his foreskin as gentle as she can manage in her rapid need to keep holding him. Something about seeing, touching and smelling his forbidden, swollen flesh is intoxicating.

Something about it makes her heart race. She breathes deep and leans forward, parts her lips so she can slide them over the swollen mushroom head. Daryl curses, leans a little too heavy into the bike until it squeals with alarm and he lifts back off it, forcing his dick deeper into her mouth, further down her throat. The stretch of his thickness in the slim space of her throat makes her clit pang and her eyes fly up to his, his cock stretching her cheeks until she’s panting through her nostrils. Something dark has overcome Daryl. The same something she knew was inside when she first saw him, the same something she wanted, that she came here looking for.

Her hand falls slack on his cock and she goes pliant too, her mouth relaxed and her eyes feeling dopey, all her muscle weight giving out as she becomes what she wanted to be: a doll. A whore mouth, a hole to be fucked and used and violated. Daryl grows desperate by whatever expression overcomes her face. His thick fingers wind in her hair, leaving dirt and engine oil, building up grease but she doesn’t care. God, she doesn’t because every tug on her scalp is a lightning bolt of hot fire through her skull, slipping through her body like liquid chocolate. His dick pulses on her tongue, pre-cum leaking bitter into the back of her throat as it relaxes for him.

Breathing deep, teeth gritted, he pushes deeper and her face is smothered in his jeans; the cold metal of his belt imprinting on her cheek. She’s taken nearly all of him now, just the root to go but she doesn’t know if she can manage it. Her eyes are already crossing in her head, her lips burning with the stretch of his hot dick. Her teeth have the urge to bite down and stop his descent as he fucks into her mouth but she doesn’t and he hits her gag reflex sharply. The gag starts in her belly and winds up her throat, fluctuating around the head of him so that the last few inches are buried in her mouth, all her air trapped and stampeding out of her nostrils.

Daryl’s fingers claw into her scalp and it hurts, it does but it’s a good hurt, it’s a beautiful hurt. She feels it deep in her cunt and throughout the network of her blood vessels. After taking in every inch of him and choking for it, Daryl yanks out with a hungry grunt, leaving her coughing and a thick connection of spit on her bottom lip to the head of his cock. Beth swirls it with her tongue, spitting it back onto his straining dick and heading back in to suck him again when he catches her face. His fingers squeeze into her cheeks, something mean in his smile and the light of his eyes, the fire reflected there like the pits of hell promising pain that distorts into pleasure.

The feeling in Beth’s stomach intensifies and it’s amazing to be lit up like this again, everything hot and sparkling. She waits with breathless anticipation as her teeth cut into the soft skin of her cheeks, copper flooding onto her tongue before Daryl shoves his cock back into her mouth with a vicious slide. She chokes and coughs around him, trying to breathe but not really having a chance as he plunges into her mouth like it’s his saving grace, his stomach flexing where his tank has ridden and his hips snapping her hard in the face, breathing ragged in the otherwise silent night air and his musky scent heavy in her nose.

He uses her exactly like she wanted him to, giving her everything she needed without her having to tell him. Lost in a haze of mindless lust and gratified heat, Beth relaxes her throat and lets the head of him slip down deeper, rubbing past her reflex. Tears stream down her eyes as she fights it, lashes wet and stuck together. When he pulls out she gasps raggedly, her heart stuttering to a complete stop when he grips her hair and his slick, wet cock, slapping her around the face with it. His eyes are devilishly excited when she swings hers up to look at him and she pants like a dog, sticking her tongue out for him to repeatedly smack the head of his cock against the tip.

His groans are getting higher and needier the longer he does it, pre-cum spurting across her lip and cheekbone. When he’s tilting on the edge he goes back in with another hard thrust, his hand on the back of her head pushing her down to meet him. She gives him everything she’s got, fucking with her mouth like she would her cunt. Not two moments later and he’s panting so loud her arms are pebbled with goose bumps, grunts and groans mixing between his teeth.

With one hand wrapped around his cock and the other in her hair, he yanks her head back with a twisted grin. “Where’d you want it?”

“My mouth, Daddy,” she whispers.

Daryl stills but she doesn’t look away. She’s not ashamed of what she wants. Not anymore.

“Say it again,” he rumbles, his voice so deadly quiet her stomach clamps.

“Daddy,” she repeats softly. “Come in my mouth, Daddy.”

His eyes flutter shut and his head falls back, his hand now fully controlling her head as he fucks into her mouth, thrusting against the back of her throat repeatedly. Spit and tears mix in a mess down her chest, staining her t-shirt and dribbling into her bra but she doesn’t care because that gratitude, that feeling of completeness is looming closer. When her eyes flicker open it’s because Daryl’s yanked her off his cock again, pounding at it with his meaty fist. His hand turns her head so her right cheek is offered to him, her mouth open so he can spray against her face and tongue.

With her face turned towards the fire, the heat burns her skin even this far back but it’s not the fire that makes it happen. All the pulsing, all the fireworks, the tension erupts in her belly and between her legs; melts with something that could be an orgasm if she knew how to orgasm without fucking herself. Eyes are in the bushes. Watching them. Watching as Daryl howls something broken and thick ropes of white, sticky cum make her flinch as it tangles in her lashes. The rest drips down her cheek, spurts in her mouth and on her tongue, slides down her brow. She’s panting, completely lost in the eyes in the bush, wondering who they belong to. There’s very few it could be but Beth finds she doesn’t care. Knowing someone watched her be degraded like that, used like that… She whimpers and turns back to Daryl’s limp cock, swallowing it down as he hisses about being sensitive, knowing that the eyes are still watching.

He pulls her off gently a moment later, his hands shaking as he helps her stand and then reaches down for the button of his jeans. “Hey, y’alright?”

She nods quietly, standing still in surprise when he takes his rag and wipes up her skin, tenderly cupping her jaw. Beth contemplates telling him but then doesn’t. She lets him clean her up instead, her eyes turning back to the ones she saw in the bushes. Disappointment, raw disappointment pangs in her gut when she finds that they’re gone. The things that could have been done to her with two instead of one… she wonders briefly if she imagined it all but when Daryl murmurs softly to her, something she doesn’t register at all, her eyes find the figure moving away, back towards the house.

The stride looks a lot like Rick’s.