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you know better, daddy

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It starts in mid-June, when Beth shows up at his door, all hot and bothered by the summer swelter and her own temper, and demands to know whether or not he’s ever gonna ask her for a date.

The question surprises Daryl, and frankly it pisses him off some, too, ‘cause he doesn’t like to be caught unawares like that. How the hell was he supposed to know she wanted a date? What makes her think he wants to ask her for one? He does, obviously, fuckin’ duh, but she’s not supposed to know that.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. No, what he says is that he’ll ask her when he’s damn good an’ ready to ask her, and if she’s gonna be a jumped-up little brat about it, she can come back once she’s got the stick outta her ass.

Her cheeks bloom all pink — one part sunburn, about a dozen parts annoyance, specifically annoyance with him, and somehow that makes something stir in Daryl’s gut — and she tells him she’s gonna put her boot up his ass if he’s gonna talk to her like that. He tells her to watch her goddamn fuckin’ mouth, and she goes on an’ says Why don’t you make me?, and, well…

To absolutely no one’s surprise, it ends with Daryl eating her out on top of his kitchen table. Sorta furiously, too, but that’s less about their argument and more about his own henceforth tampered-down eagerness to get his head buried between Beth’s thighs.

It’s only something like two months later that Beth tells him she loves him, and then she rolls her eyes when he seems more taken aback by that than he was when she’d shown up at his door in the first place. He says it back — Jesus, of course he does, he’s not near stupid enough to fuck this up — it just… takes him a minute, and then a few more since Beth starts kissing him, presumably to shake him outta the shock of what she said.

It’s another month after that when she rolls her eyes at him again — for the umpteenth damn time, girl’s always rolling her eyes at him, but this time… This time, she does it ‘cause he’s grumbling at her to get an oil change on her car, and to let him replace the rusted lock on her bedroom window, and to tell her dumb fuck of a landlord to fix her leaky sink before Daryl rips out the faucet and shoves it up the guy’s ass, and a whole mess’a shit like that, and Beth’s making faces at him the whole time before he’s done, and then she rolls her eyes and drawls, all sickly sweet and southern, “Yes, Daddy,” and then —

Well, then Daryl’s brain short-circuits. Before Beth can say what, he’s hauled her up onto her kitchen table, torn her panties clear down the seams, and he’s knuckle-deep in her pussy when he tells her, all rough and wrecked, to be a good girl and fuckin’ come for him.

She does, and then they talk about it after — what she said, what he said, what it did to them both — all panting and spent and sprawled on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, and they wanna do it some more.

That’s one’a the things Daryl likes best about Beth, about bein’ with her. She’s honest, straightforward; she tells him what she wants, and turns out what she wants is him. She calls him on his shit, too, and that… turns him on. Nothing’s ever done that for him, not before her. So if she wants to tease him, if she wants him to tell her off while he’s getting her off, then fuck it, ‘course he’s gonna goddamn do it.

It’s October and they’ve kept it up — October, and they’ve kept it a secret this long, too. Not for any real reason, ‘cept Daryl doesn’t like people in his business and Beth doesn’t figure it’s anyone else’s beeswax, either. They’ll all sort it out for themselves eventually.

Maggie might shoot him, but there’d be no stopping that regardless of when she found out, so Daryl’s not gonna worry about that ‘til he’s lookin’ down the double barrel of her shotgun. Hershel’ll probably sit the pair of ‘em down, Daryl and Beth both, and lecture them on the importance of honesty, some shit like that, which might be worse than Maggie’s gun, and Daryl really shouldn’t be putting it off like he’s been, but he’s damn well gonna ‘til whenever Beth decides it’s time for them to come clean.

Until then…

Daryl finishes off his beer, eyes scanning the den at the Grimes’, dimly lit and noisy with music and people, packed with people he usually makes it a point to avoid. Makes it a point to avoid people in general, actually, ‘cause fuck ‘em. But Rick had told him to quit being such a sorry son of a bitch and come out to their Halloween party, so Daryl’d told him to piss off but here he is, anyway. Not for Rick, but because Beth was gonna be here, and he’d go just about anywhere she asked him to.

(Or absolutely anywhere, but he’s enough of a sap over the girl as it is, so maybe he should reel it in a little damn bit.)

He knows she’s around here somewhere, saw her when he came in — not in costume, by the way, hell no. Not even Beth could talk him into cat ears or plastic fangs, and she hadn’t tried, either, which means Daryl’s gonna have to go down on her for at least an hour when they get outta here later.

That’s as much for him as it is for Beth, sure, but. The point still stands.

Thinkin’ about her like he is — like he is most times, if he’s honest — must work as some kinda magnet, because suddenly he’s not all by his lonesome anymore. Nah, Beth’s sidled up next to him in this crowded room, and her breath fans across his throat, sweet like the candy she’s suckin’ on, and her eyes spark dark blue when she looks at him and the light catches ‘em.

“Howdy, Mr. Dixon,” she says, that church choir voice just audible over the goddamn stupid “Monster Mash” Rick’s got playin’ on the speakers. “You havin’ fun?”

Well, he might be now, that’s for sure.

He braces his shoulder against the wall, turns to look at her — get a real good look, too — and he about swallows his damn tongue.

She didn’t dress up, either. Least not in cat ears or plastic fangs or nothin’ like that, but her little black dress’s got a full skirt that kisses her knees like Daryl wants to do, bound by a leather belt around her waist where he wants to put his hands, the dim light in the room catching on the glitter splashed across her top and he wants her to get on top of him.

She pops that blood-red heart-shaped sucker from out between her lips, twitchin’ up into that grin that pisses him off and drives him damn crazy for her at the same time. “What, you ain’t gonna talk to me now?”

“Depends.” Talkin’ ain’t exactly what’s on his mind. He lets his gaze dart over her — all over her, determined enough so maybe she’ll feel it — and he asks her, “You wear that for me?”

Beth toys with the hem of her skirt, sucks on that lollipop another time, all wet and dirty. “Maybe.”

His eyes flick down her body again, so quick it’s like he didn’t do it at all, if it weren’t for the way his gaze snagged a second too long on her slicked-red mouth. “Maybe, huh?”

“Well, it’d be awful naughty of me to wear somethin’ just for you,” she explains.

God damn, this generic bubblegum Halloween music isn’t much of a soundtrack to what he wants to do to her, but… Well, the music just switched over to “Purple People Eater,” and Daryl’s just gonna have to deal with it.

Anyway, Beth’s still talking, and that’s all the music he cares about, anyhow.

“Y’know, in front’a all these people who ain’t supposed to know,” she’s saying, whispering like she’s sharing a secret. “Think they might start wonderin’, if I walked in here with something like ‘property of Daryl Dixon’ stamped across my ass, huh?”

She ends that little speech with another slurp on that sucker, another innocent bat of her eyelashes. Fuck, her breath tastes like a straight shot’a sugar where it breaks against his suddenly bone-dry mouth.

He does his best to twist it into a scowl. “You wanna be a good girl, best watch the way you fuckin’ talk to me.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Dixon, I’m just teasin’.”

Yeah, that’s the problem, she’s teasin’. She knows what that shit does to him.

Daryl hazards a look around, but no one’s paying them any mind. Too drunk on beer or that spiced rum cider Lori made, the sorta drink Daryl’s only interested in if it’s coating Beth’s tongue, and she’s had a cup or two so he’s starting to figure the stuff’s worth a try.

Not right here, not right now — maybe no one’s paying attention to them, but Daryl’s got a sneaking suspicion that they’ll notice if he hikes Beth up against the wall and shoves his hand up her skirt, and he really, really wants to get her up against a wall right about now.

Good thing there’s no shortage of ‘em, what with this bein’ a house and all.

Yeah, no shit. Daryl almost rolls his eyes at his own damn self now. You’re a regular goddamn Sherlock, ain’t you? Asshole.

He curls his fingers around Beth’s wrist, tugs it away from her mouth so the sticky candy she’s holding bumps his knuckles, smears a spot of artificial red across his calloused skin. “C’mon.”

The light catches on her teeth when she grins. “Where we goin’?”

“Don’t goddamn worry ‘bout it.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is this a trick?”

Okay, so he now he does roll his, ‘cause he ain’t got time for this. He only came here at all because he wanted to see her, and he wants her now

So he tells her, “Goin’ someplace I can fuck you. That alrigh’ with you?”

Beth’s grin widens, like she thinks she’s funny. “So just treats, then.”

Christ. “Real fuckin’ festive,” Daryl mutters, and pulls on her hand to get her walkin’ with him. “Smartass.”

He hears her giggle, and it’s only his sharp senses that catch the crunch of candy between her teeth over the Sha Na Na comin’ outta the speakers, as he leads her out of the room, down the hall, and through the back door to the blissfully quiet yard.

“Jesus,” he mutters some more, holding Beth still with one hand while he tugs the sliding glass door closed with the other. “Can’t believe you talked me into this shit.”

“Think I can talk you into just about anything,” she points out, sounding awfully pleased with herself. ‘Course she is, because she’s right, but still.

“Thought I was s’posed to be the one in charge, huh?”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“What’d I tell you ‘bout watchin’ that fuckin’ attitude, girl?” Daryl wants to know. He chucks her underneath the chin, swipes a thumb over her lipsticked mouth. “Gonna get y’rself in trouble.”

Her tongue flicks out to tease him, just like her fingers do when they crawl up the buttons on his shirt. “Guess you’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that, ain’t you, Daddy?”

Guess he is. Usually does, matter of fact, but that’s sorta the point of all her teasing in the first place, so who the hell’s he to complain?

No use starting now, especially when they’re working on borrowed time here. Ain’t gonna be long before Beth’s folks notice her missing, and less time still before Rick notices he’s gone, too. Daryl’s not counting on Hershel puttin’ two-and-two together, but Rick will and then Daryl’s not gonna hear the end of it. Guy catches on too damn easy; frankly Daryl’s surprised he hasn’t started giving him shit already, ‘cause that means Rick hasn’t figured him and Beth out yet and he’s usually the first to figure out most anything.

Well. Whatever. Daryl’s not gonna worry about it ‘til he’s gotta worry about it. In the meantime —

He tucks his fingers into the belt around Beth’s waist and tugs, hard, ‘til he’s got her dragged around the corner of the house where the porch light don’t reach, pushes her up against the brick. She’ll tell him if it’s too rough on her, and if she winds up with any scrapes he’ll take care of them later, same as always.

Fuckin’ hates patching her up, makes him feel like he was careless with her, but she tells him it’s okay ‘til she’s blue in the face and he’s gonna have to get used to that. But she lets him fix her up, lets him fuss and kiss her soft like he shoulda thought to do so he didn’t leave so many marks behind, but she says she likes it, says he’s gotta trust her like she trusts him. So he’ll keep going ‘til she says otherwise. 

“So,” Beth says, all conversational-like, like he hasn’t got her pinned outside a crowded house where anybody could come and catch them at it, “what’re you gonna do?”

“Toldja,” he grunts, as he kicks her feet apart to spread her legs wider for him. “Gonna fuck you, right here. Better hope nobody comes by, sees me gettin’ you off, or’m gonna get my ass kicked and then who’s gonna make you come, huh?”

“Nobody.” She scratches her nails, red to match her lips, lightly through the scruff on his cheek. “Don’t want anybody else to try.”

“Good girl.”

God damn, but he still feels stupid saying that. He’s into it, yeah, but he’s into whatever Beth is, anyhow. The more he says, the harder, deeper, sloppier she kisses him, all needy and shit, and that’s more’n enough reason to go along with whatever she wants. He doesn’t need any more reason than the fact that she wants it, but the kissing — fuck, he’s gotta admit that might be his favorite part.

He kisses her now, takes her mouth because she said just what he wanted to hear, and anyway he wasn’t gonna last much longer not kissing her. She’s sticky with lip gloss and candy and he wants to lick it all outta her — that sugar, that thick lipstick taste, he wants it off her lips and smeared over his beard instead.

He wants to be covered in her.

Fuck, but kissin’ this girl is… somethin’ else. From the start he never could say what, just that it’s somethin’. Thinks he could do just this forever, it always tastes like sweet relief when he can get his mouth on hers; she makes him melt like chocolate stashed in the glovebox and it feels good.

Never thought it’d feel good, to go weak in the knees like this, ‘til Beth came along and he could hardly stand straight anymore.

“This’s mine, ain’t it?” he murmurs, one hand coming up to hold her jaw, to thumb her lips apart wider. He licks into her mouth once, twice when she moans and he wants to swallow the sound. “That’s my mouth, ain’t it, girl? You let anybody else suck on that pretty tongue a’yours?”

“Nuh-uh.” Her words are muffled, she’s too busy suckin’ on him now, drawing his thumb into her mouth and licking the contours of it. Her eyes spark in the dark, deep pools of shimmering indigo. “Jus’ you.”

“Damn right, jus’ me,” he growls, and his other hand drops to her thigh, shoves up under her skirt to find bare skin, no matter how high he goes, there ain’t no panty line stopping him. Fuck. “Didn’t wear nothin’ under this, didja? That for me, too?”

This time, she nods, and her teeth scrape at the pad of his thumb. “Uh-huh.”

Christ, this girl’s gonna kill him, and he ain’t even gonna be sorry to go. Not if it’s ‘cause of her.

His breathing’s coming harsh and fast, goddamn panting already and he hasn’t even got his fingers in her pussy. Beth leans in, as much as she can when he’s got her pinned to the wall like he does, but it’s enough to get her lips latched onto his neck and sucking there now, like she’s tryna get him off, like she’s tryna pull the pulse right outta him, so she can swallow up that frantic thump-thump-thump that means he wants her now, so she can take it with her even when he’s not on top of her showin’ her what he’s after. Be hard for her not to know, what with him grinding his hard-on up against her cunt like he is.

She knows, sure enough. She yanks a little at the ends of his hair, turns his ear towards her mouth so she can whisper into it, “Feels good. Want you inside’a me, Daddy, please.”

“Sure you’re ready for it?” He inches one finger inside of her to check for himself, feels her sharp intake of breath, slips another one in to gather up her wetness. He didn’t think she would be already, but — “Jesus, girl.”

“That’s all for you, too.” She arches up towards him, rolls her hips in time with the crook of his fingers. “God, Daryl, been thinkin’ about you all night.”

“Fuckin’ say somethin’ next time,” he tells her, all gruff with arousal, as he removes his fingers and plucks the resultant whine from her mouth in another kiss, “lemme take care’a you.”

He fumbles in his back pocket while Beth fumbles with his belt. Nearly drops the damn condom when she palms him, almost loses it in the dark, and if he did then he’d go and do somethin’ stupid like fuck her bare — probably’d knock her up, and then he’d sure as hell deserve a bullet right between the eyes.

He doesn’t say any of that to Beth, though, not now, or else she’d stop this whole thing to give him a stern talkin’-to about the way he thinks about himself. Ain’t even kiddin’, ‘cause she’s done that before. Truth is, he usually doesn’t mind it, but he’s got about five minutes to get her off up against the side of the house before they gotta head back inside, and that takes goddamn precedence, alright?

“C’mon.” He knocks her hand outta the way, so he can roll the condom on and, y’know, not come before she does. “Knock that shit off.”

“Don’t want me to touch you?”

She knows that ain’t it. Fuckin’ teasing him again, the brat.

That’s all he says to her — grumbles at her, calls her a goddamn brat — before he wraps his arms around her waist and hauls her up against the brick. She hums, giggles deep in her throat as she wraps her own arms and then her legs around him, pulling him closer, so that his covered dick nestles up by her cunt, her skirt bunched up between them and he can feel her heart skipping.

And then it slams against her chest, against his, throbbing all the more rapidly when he pushes inside of her.

Jesus Christ, he ain’t ever gonna get used to this.

He goes hard and fast from the start, it’s all they’ve got time for, and he’s too wound-up to take it slow, besides. Girl’s got a way of gettin’ in his head, got a way of makin’ him lose it, so there’s usually no other way to take her but rough and all-in from the get-go.

She’s so damn tight, sweet voice whimpering in his ear, candy-coated tongue suckin’ on the lobe like it’s another lollipop. Fuck, but everything she does always feels so damn good, it’s a wonder he don’t shoot off as soon as he gets inside of her every time. 

“Best start touchin’ yourself,” Daryl pants into the side of her neck, breath hot, clogging up his nose with the stain of beer and Beth’s perfume. “Wanna feel you come ‘fore I do, else this’s a goddamn waste’a time.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy.” He can feel the flex of Beth’s toes as they curl in her little heels, pressed hard to his hip as he ruts into her, feels her hand snake between them to play with her clit. He’d do it himself, fuck yeah, if he weren’t too busy holding her upright.

“Tha’s good,” he slurs into her jaw, planting sloppy kisses there every time her questing fingers bump his thrusting cock. “Doin’ so good, keep goin’ for me, girl.”

Her breath hitches and she goes faster, always does when he encourages her like this, fingering herself in tight, rapid circles that match the rhythm he’s set inside her — fast, gotta be fast, and just on the other side of ruthless.

He keeps murmuring into her hair, grip biting at her waist, nothing else on his mind but the single-minded goal to feel her clench and quiver around him, feel the hot pulse of her body that accompanies her release, hear her say his name that way she does — like he’s given her all the good shit in the world, like he’s relieved her of anything but, like she could die happy just ‘cause he’s with her.

And he gets that, he does, ‘cause he feels just like that about her.

“C’mon,” he says again, voice gone all wrecked like it always does whenever he’s alone with her. “C’mon, know you’re almost there, can feel it —”

Her free hand clenches in his hair, so she can drag his face up to catch his mouth, so she can kiss him deep and god damn, she still tastes like lipstick and candy and he wants to lap up every last bit of it, ‘til her mouth’s naked and her breath tastes like his.

He’s all wrapped up in her and he wants to be all over her, too.

When she pulls on his hair again, when he feels her fingers go rigid between her legs and her thighs tighten up and she bites down on his bottom lip, he groans her name so it rolls off his tongue onto hers. Takes him a couple more thrusts to meet her, and she’s moaning now, too, gasping his name the way that gets him coming harder, her body rolling with aftershocks, fingernails nipping into his scalp, toes curling up tighter against his hips, Christ, he fuckin’ loves this girl… Can barely stand straight, forget about thinkin’, his mind’s a damn goner and so is he.

He keeps her pinned to the wall as they come down, panting, hands flexing all over each other. Beth’s lips are sticky with whatever’s left of her gloss, and it catches in his beard while he sucks a lazy mark behind her ear. Probably shouldn’t, but if she fixes her hair just right then no one’ll notice it.

“Too fast,” he says hoarsely as he eases her down, careful so she doesn’t trip on those kitten heels’a hers. He tucks his hand underneath her chin to draw her lips back to his. “Wanna take y’ home, spend some real time on you.”

Another hum dances up Beth’s throat; he can feel it reverberate where his thumb’s pressed to her pulse point. “What, that wasn’t good enough for ya?”

Yeah, right. He snorts. “Shut the hell up.”

She giggles, pecks him on the cheek as he disposes of the condom and she straightens her skirt. She runs her hands through her hair next, asks him if it looks okay and he snorts again, tells her it looks like she just got good an’ fucked. She swats at him, asks him who’s fault that is, and Daryl’s more than happy — more than happy, imagine that shit — to take responsibility for it.

They don’t got time for it, but she’s wrinkled her nose, all annoyed at him — or trying to be, but she’s biting back that smile, too — so he’s gotta cup her face and bring her in for another kiss. Just one more. Can’t hurt, right?

“Love you,” he mumbles into her mouth, hardly decipherable at all, but he knows she hears him when her lips shape into a smile beneath the press of his.

Much louder, though, ‘cause it’s not mumbled at all, not in the least, no, it cuts clear through the crisp autumn air like a knife, nicks and bursts their warm little bubble —

“Oh, Jesus goddamn Christ.”

Daryl and Beth jerk apart, though not far enough that she can’t slip her hands into his to hold him still, hold him steady. Thank fuck for that, ‘cause it may not be a real gun pointed at his face just yet, but even that plastic thing that came with her Annie Oakley costume looks lethal when Maggie Greene’s the one wielding it, and Daryl’s really considering makin’ a run for it.

He wouldn’t actually, but… Well, the compulsion’s still there.

“Uh —” Beth’s fingers squeeze his, and a nervous smile flickers across her face. A weak defense against her sister’s scowl, but Daryl figures she’s doin’ her best. “Um. Surprise?”

Maggie’s jaw twitches. She aims her toy gun a little more meaningfully at Daryl, and he doesn’t think he’s supposed to take that seriously ‘cause how the hell could she expect him, too, but — “Explain your goddamn self, Daryl Dixon.”

Well, he sure as hell ain’t about to explain everything — the way Beth calls him ‘Daddy’ comes immediately to mind, fuck — even if that was her real shotgun. He chances a glance at Beth, who, despite her best efforts, still looks like she just got thoroughly fucked up against a wall.


Looks like he’s about to get thoroughly fucked again, too, only not in the good way this time around.

“Well?” Maggie prompts, and jerks her gun for good measure. “Go on, then.”

Ah, fuck. She might not be able to shoot him, but that thing looks sturdy enough to give him a fair enough black eye, so —

“Well, uh.” Daryl swallows.

He can still taste Beth on his tongue, which maybe should make his hackles raise a little more, get him a little more shook up about the unexpected come-to-Jesus talk he’s about to have with her big sister, but nah.

Nah, instead, it warms him up on the inside like he’s just taken a shot of good whiskey, ‘cause remembering what it feels like to kiss her just reminds him that this is all worth it.

He grabs onto that feeling and holds it as tight as he’s doin’ Beth’s hands, and —

“So it, uh — damn it, quit pointin’ that gun at me, Jesus — it started up back in June…”