As soon as Abraham appeared in The Walking Dead, I imagined all the problems that could arise between him and Daryl. My mind got carried away and this is the result. For those of you who haven't read the comics, Rosita is the soft spoken, caring girlfriend of Abraham. There's not much else to say beside what follows is EXPLICIT smut of the angry, angsty Daryl variety.
Daryl stomped off in the direction of the woods. He needed to clear his head. Ever since he found his way back to the Atlanta group, he couldn't avoid the sneaking feeling that he no longer belonged. He wasn't welcome anymore. He had failed to keep these people alive, failed to keep them together. When he thought of all the people they had lost from the prison, people who depended on him… He felt the anger bubbling up inside of him again. Somehow, he didn't blame them if they didn't trust him anymore. But he could not tolerate who they had chosen as his replacement.
Abraham. The name itself left a sour taste in his mouth reminiscent of the persimmons he used to eat as a boy when he was out roaming the woods. The arrogant bastard was too hard headed, too strong willed to have any good judgment. Abraham's plan was going to lead the group to their deaths and Daryl wasn't worthy enough to stop it.
He walked through the greening kudzu, through the tall oaks until he found the wood shed he usually went to when things at the compound got too intense. It was a good place to clear his head. Any other day, that is, than today. His sharp hunter ears picked on the high pitched whining of a woman's voice in tears. Rosita. She was stooped over beside the decrepit wooden building, sitting on top of the blue Igloo cooler some hunter or fisherman had left behind. All the times he had come out here, he had neglected to open it for fear of the awful stench he might release. God knows what was left behind, how long it had been left to rot in the unforgiving Georgia sun.
Daryl looked in either direction, looking for a way out. He couldn't deal with crying women. He could offer her no solace, no comfort. He turned to leave, misjudging his surroundings. The tip of his crossbow knocked into the tree beside him with a loud clack. His whole body went rigid as he listened, praying she didn't notice.
"Dixon?" The quiet, distinctly feminine voice cut through the air, through the deafening silence.
"Was just leavin'." He replied, stepping off.
"No, wait." She whimpered. She sounded so pitiful, he couldn't help himself. He shifted the strap on his crossbow, giving himself enough room to turn back around.
"He do somethin' to you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No!" She gasped. "Nothing like that." She sniffled, wiping her cheek. "It's just... I wanna apologize for him. For what he said to you. You know no one really thinks that about you, right?"
"Why? It wasn't you that said it." He muttered, ignoring her admiration.
"I know. I just feel responsible for his actions. It's hard to control him sometimes."
Daryl hated emotional women. He also hated self-deprecation. "Look, ain't your fault." He assured, stepping closer towards her. "He's a hard headed one. Things just ain't on you. We still gotta vote about it."
"Yeah, but Rick seems to favor his side. Your people respect him a lot."
Daryl let out an audible growl. She had just reminded him of the main reason he hated Abraham.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, startled by Daryl's sudden ferocity. "I didn't mean to strike a nerve."
He ran a hand through his greasy mop of hair, watching her body recede on itself as if he were a threat. Her face twisted from fear, honest to god terror, and then let out a visible sigh of relief. He noted a bead of sweat trail down her hairline, follow the path of her jaw, then make its own path between her pert, tanned breasts. The small woman cleared her throat, catching the hunter's attention. She smirked at him as he turned his head to blush. It was his turn to apologize. "Sorry." He shrugged, still looking at his feet.
Rosita took a deep breath, pulling herself to her feet. She took the few graceful steps needed to be toe to toe with the tall, lanky red neck. "Nothing to apologize for." Her tiny fingers reached out, grazing his knuckles before she pulled back, sensing his discomfort.
He could smell her. She was soaked in sweat. So was he. She had a distinctly feminine smell, one long forgotten. It had been so long since he had had a woman. It had been almost as long since he found a private moment to relieve his own pressure, so to speak. He felt the urge growing inside him, the beast longing to be released.
They shared a look of longing, her almond shaped, chocolate brown eyes against his cobalt blue ones. She looked so innocent and sweet. Filthy wetback, Merle's voice spat in his ear. He shook the voice away. He wasn't his brother, not anymore. Rosita was far from filthy. In fact, he couldn't think of a derogatory adjective to describe her. His first impression of her was quiet. Soft spoken. Demure. Beautiful. The way she looked at him when he found his way, on his own, to the terminal... he allowed himself to believe for a moment that she felt sympathy for him. He couldn't believe it when he realized she was with someone like Abe. Then Abraham opened his mouth and made a fool of himself. She was quick to reprimand the bulky red-head, shrinking him down a size. She was a fire cracker, there was no doubt about that.
Rosita blinked, her full black lashes fluttering. Her teeth dug into her lower lip and he watched her chest heave as she took a deep breath of humid, thick air. He just couldn't help himself.
His mouth sought hers with an urgency neither could control. To his surprise, she pushed back with her own lips with equal fervor. She wanted him too. With a groan, he wrapped his hand in her long ponytail, holding her in place. Her hand found the small of his back, pinning their hips together. He knew she could feel him, his hardening length separating them by a few inches at least. The pressure against his thick cock was enough to cause a growl. He rocked his hips against her greedily. "Dixon." She whispered against his lips.
"Shit, Rosie." He muttered, pulling back to look at her, obviously embarrassed.
She reached up, clutching the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him back down to her level. "Don't stop." She pleaded. "I want this."
"Fuck it." His hands grabbed her thighs, his fingers grazing the hem of her tiny khaki shorts, wrapping those long, lean legs around his hips. She squealed with excitement, allowing his mouth to swallow her cries as he walked them back to the building, pinning Rosita's back to the vine covered wooden wall of the shack.
The cold chill of the foliage brushing her scorching flesh caused Rosita to keen towards the testosterone driven force holding her still. She arched herself, her groin painfully nudging against his rigid stomach. She fought back a moan as she found some of the pressure a relief to her quivering cunt.
He could feel her wet heat radiating through the thin, worn material of his sleeveless button down. If this was going to happen, he needed it to happen soon before his lost his nerve or, even worse, blew his load in his dirty, torn jeans. His hands roamed her body, touching any bare flesh he could find, seeking the comfort of the soft heat she provided him.
As if reading his mind, Rosita used what little force she had to push him backward, thrusting her hips until he lost his footing and stumbled backwards a few steps. Without the support of the building behind her, Daryl struggled to catch her in time. Rosita fell flat on her ass into the centipede grass. She released a soft groan, looking up at him using her arms for support, legs spread expectantly.
He growled, low in his throat, a predatory noise, as he dropped the strap of his crossbow in a more gentle manner. Their eyes met again, only with more ferocity. She wasn't holding him in contempt, but pleading for him to follow her lead.
His crossbow in arms length, he dropped to his knees, falling between her spread knees. Her scent was stronger, intoxicating. He fell into her, catching himself on the palms of his hands, playfully nipping her chin. She let him lead her down, falling into the cool, soft grass below. Using his knees, he nudged her legs open more, finding the rounds of her hips with his strong, calloused hands, pressing intently, waiting for her to beg him to stop.
The pleas never came. Instead, she became pliable, wanton. She jutted her hips forward, seeking his touch. She gave him permission. His deft fingers found the buttons to the thin, tiny shorts and made quick work of the material. He was so close, he could practically feel her dripping in front of him. His hand slipped into the tight material with some difficulty. He nudged open her wet folds to uncover her soft heat. She was positively soaked.
"Fuck." He groaned, pushing a thick digit inside of her to the knuckle. She gasped as he invaded her pushing intently at her shorts and modest panties until they were out of the way, half way down her thighs. He smirked at her insistence, curving his finger and rubbing against her tight inner walls to find the patch of rigid tissue inside her. She squealed when he struck gold, pressing against it with the pad of his index finger, rubbing with fervor. Rosita pushed herself up, grabbing at Daryl's belt and jeans, ripping them open, step by step until his turgid length smacked the apex of her thighs.
As soon as the moist air hit his throbbing cock, Daryl felt the urge to plunge into her wet heat grow to an insatiable level. He removed his finger with a wet pop, swirling teasingly around her swollen clit until she mewled. He abruptly removed his finger, bringing it to her mouth. She opened her lush pink lips, welcoming his hand. Instead of entering her oral cavern, he smeared the wet juice on his finger around her lips until they gleamed. He grabbed her hips roughly, bringing them up to meet his and smashed his lips to hers, licking the moisture from them, tasting her female essence. Fuck, she was sweet and spicy and delicious. With one quick thrust he plunged into her to the hilt, feeling her open and expand to accommodate his wide girth. The tip of his dick tapped her cervix, filling her completely.
When her legs wouldn't budge open any wider, Daryl became frustrated, cursing and maneuvering himself until the bits of khaki and cotton wrapped around her ankles and she could kick the fabric off, followed by her combat boots, allowing her to wrap her legs around his taut ass and thigh muscles. This bit of encouragement was enough to have him pumping into her with the force and stamina of a wild animal.
He looked between them, watching her tight cunt swallow him whole, in and out, over and over. It was fascinating. His eyes wandered her lean body, the curves of her hips, the dip of her navel, all of the smooth tan skin at his disposal - he wanted more. He pushed her army green tank top up, his fingers wandering over her tantalizing, over-sensitized flesh as he roamed up, uncovering the plain white bra that sheathed her pert little breasts. He pushed further, working the bra up enough to unveil her pebbly brown nipples. They seized at the sudden air, though it was warm and murky. Mesmerized by their hardness, he pushed her shirt up until it bunched at her chin and took the right one into his mouth, suckling hard, nipping with his teeth.
Her body reacted quickly, rolling her hips into him as her back arched and she cried out, taking the shirt in her mouth as a make-shift gag, muffling her moans of pleasure as he tugged at her breasts with his teeth, rolling his hips into her at a hasty pace.
Using her hands, she pushed her breasts forward, into his mouth. He switched, favoring now her left breast over her right, giving it the same treatment. The noises they were making akin to howling were being drowned out by the tasks at hand.
Daryl pressed one hand insistently over her groin, pinning her in place, adding pressure to her insides as he forced himself inside of her. His other hand worked open her folds, deftly maneuvering her clit until she was panting into her top. "Come on, Rosie." He grunted, his mouth finally leaving her breasts, his eyes burning into hers. "Show me what y'got, girl." He leaned into her ear, deepening the angle of penetration and nipping the soft lobe of her ear between ragged breaths.
With those words, he pulled his cock from her tight cunt, working furiously with his fingers, circling hard at her clit with one hand as the other encircled his cock, pumping hard from base to tip, flicking his thumbs over the beads weeping from the tip. "Fuckin' come." He rasped.
Rosita rolled her nipples between forefinger and thumb, thrusting her hips, fucking herself shamelessly on his fingers for a few more glorious moments. She felt the heat in her stomach flutter outwards, extending down her legs until her toes curled and her back arched, aching to find its explosive release at the capable hands of Daryl Dixon. She cried out, her hot, wet cunt pulsating and throbbing with every wave of pleasure.
Daryl worked his fingers around her swollen nub, making sure to exhaust every nerve ending. He imagined his hand was her tight warm cavern, choking his cock, milking him dry. He grunted his finality, spurting shots of white hot come over her stomach, stray strands making it as far as her breasts, hitting her hands. A few beads ran over her fingers, ending finally on her nipples. Exhausted and spent, Daryl fell backwards onto his ankles, panting to catch his breath. He glanced over, making sure his crossbow was still close by. With all the noise they had made, it was a wonder no walkers had stumbled over.
Rosita, equally exhausted, pushed herself up on her forearms, spitting her shirt out of her mouth. She made sure Daryl's eyes were on hers, watching her every move. Rosita took her come soaked fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean. She then used them to smear the stray bits across her chest, taking the excess on her fingers back up to her full, pouty mouth with a smirk. He scoffed, grunting something similar to a laugh before grabbing up her shorts, tossing them to her. "Best get dressed."
"Once I can feel my legs." She purred, watching him stand up, smiling as he tucked his receding erection back into his pants, fastening them again.
He straightened his clothes, running a hand through his messy wisps of greasy hair again to get it from his sweaty forehead. "Should be headin' back soon, 'fore the sun sets."
The young woman merely nodded, opening her panties to slip her feet in. She pulled herself up, tugging the cotton briefs up her tanned legs, white fabric, a direct contrast, only emphasized her darkened skin, glistening with sweat. She ran her hands over her back and thighs, feeling the indentations from the centipede grass pressed into her flesh. From the upright position, gravity took the initiative to send her tank top down over her flat stomach. She maneuvered her bra down to cover her breasts again as though nothing had happened. She bent over again, finding her shorts crumpled by her feet and snatched them up.
Her back stiffened when she heard the cocking of a rifle. She looked up, her eyes finding Dixon's trained cobalt gaze looking just over her head, past her towards the woods. His crossbow was over his shoulder but his hand was no where near the trigger.
Rosita turned slowly, following his line of sight until she locked eyes with a certain Sergeant, one with pale skin that was pinkened with rage. It almost matched his red hair. "Son of a bitch." Daryl swore.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Dixon."