Smutfest 3.0

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Tags: *Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, *Tara Chambler, *Rosita Espinosa, *Michonne, *Glenn Rhee, *Maggie Greene, *Rick Grimes, *Nine Lives Challenge, *Smutfest 3.0, *Season 5B, *Angst, *Humor, *Smut

Summary: "A real man don't need toys t' satisfy his woman." –Daryl Dixon

"Yeah? Show me." –Carol Peletier

A/n: I tried to find a good spot in the timeline for this, but it was all pretty hopeless (maybe 5Bish), so I'm asking y'all to bend canon with me here into the very slightly AU realm. Really hope y'all enjoy.

Warning: Sexual situations, Dixon mouth, and all-around smuttiness. So, if that's not your thing, you really shouldn't read.

Veni Vidi Amavi

(We Came. We Saw. We Loved.)

By:

CharlotteAshmore

Part I : Tempers and Tantrums

Daryl Dixon drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel of the van, impatient for the gates to the community to open and let them through. He was tired and irritable and more than a little angry Rick had volunteered them for this run to prove to Deanna they were the type of hardworking people she wanted to help Alexandria thrive. He was well past the point in his life where he felt he needed to prove anything to anyone. Much less these snobs who'd probably never worked a day in their lives and would perish if they were forced to step outside the fortified walls.

He hated it here. Strangers at every turn, everyone nagging him to try to fit in, and most of all … damn, if he didn't miss his bike. It chafed he'd had to leave it behind. There was the potential to build another right there in Aaron's garage, but he still wondered if he should accept such a gift. There would surely be a price attached to such a project, and it left him pondering whether it would be too steep to pay. His pride refused to accept owing someone. He wasn't Merle … he always paid his debts.

The gate finally opened, ushering the van – as well as two other pickup trucks – through before slamming shut behind them. Daryl drove past the two houses their group had been allotted, heading slowly towards Olivia's where the pantry and armory were kept.

"Daryl –"

"Not now, Rick," the archer growled his displeasure. Had it been anyone aside from a member of his family, they wouldn't have picked up on the unrest humming beneath his skin, the need to escape and lose himself in the woods so prevalent in his mind.

Rick continued to study his brother, knowing he shouldn't have agreed to bring Deanna's sons – nor their dear friend Nicholas – on the run. "I know today wasn't easy on you –"

Daryl turned in his seat to cast the full-impact of his fulminating glare on their leader. "S'that right?" he asked, channeling his inner Merle who wanted to punch Rick square in the face. "What clued y' in?"

Rick opened his mouth, but Daryl cut him off before he could even begin.

"That strip mall shoulda been easy work, an hour tops. But no … y' had t' bring th' moron triplets along," he hissed, turning to look over his shoulder at said idiots where they sat in the back, ruddy with intense mortification and listening to every word. He made it worse by pointing a long grubby finger in their direction. "So, tell me … what clued y' in, huh? Was it when Mr I-know-everything-about-runs pushed that walker onto Glenn t' save his own ass, or when his buddy here ran off towards th' woods, screamin' like a bitch an' drawin' more walkers right t' us? Because o' them, we coulda all been killed. This ain't happenin' again. There ain't no way our people are goin' out there with 'em on another run."

Rick turned to look at the three seated behind him as Daryl threw himself out of the van. "You three … report to Deanna, NOW!"

Aiden smirked triumphantly, while Spencer looked worried. "What are you going to tell her happened out there?" he asked Rick, ignoring the others.

Nicholas shrugged. "We got the job done," he said, nodding over back to the beds of the trucks full of supplies.

"I'm going to tell her the truth, and if she's as smart as I think she is, she won't be sending the three of you on anymore runs until you've been properly trained."

Daryl snorted as he passed Rick, his arms laden with two flats of canned goods, making his ways into the pantry. Let his brother deal with those assholes. All he could think of was how much he wanted to get home to Carol, which truly surprised him with the way she'd been acting since they'd arrived. Weird was the first word which came to mind.

She hadn't been the same since she'd saved them from Terminus, something eating away at her, but she refused to talk about it. He didn't want to pry, afraid if he did, it would just push her further away. It bothered him she wouldn't open up to him. Since they'd arrived in Alexandria, she'd taken on this new persona … one which, if he were honest, scared the hell out of him. The smiles she wore were so fake she could do the ad campaign for every toothpaste brand which had been on the market before the fall of civilization. He couldn't imagine why she wanted to keep these people in the dark as to who she really was, but he didn't like it one bit.

The worst of it was … the more she lost herself in her happy homemaker routine, the more he felt he was losing her.

Daryl set the last stack of boxes down in the middle of the garage and stretched his back, eyeing Olivia and Jessie as they each held a notebook and pen, ready to begin cataloguing the supplies his team had brought in. He could read the signs of abuse on the strawberry blonde, and he really couldn't blame her for wanting a few hours away from home. Rick made his way over to him, and Daryl stifled a groan.

"Aaron and Eric are going to bring the vehicles back around to the parking area, so you can head home if you want," he offered solicitously, hoping to make up for some of the tension which now existed between himself and his brother. "I'm sure Carol's probably done with casserole duty for the day."

The hunter's eyes narrowed, too tired to try to figure out what Rick was getting at. "Fine. Y' goin' t' Deanna's t' tell her what useless assholes she raised?"

Rick ducked his head to hide his grin before giving Daryl a side-eyed glance. "Yeah, something like that. Get some rest, brother."

Daryl set off up the sidewalk, ignoring Tara and Rosita as they giggled several feet ahead of him. His thoughts drifted back to Carol, where they inevitably strayed whenever he had time to let his mind wander.

He'd thought it would be good for her to come here … safe. He'd do anything to protect her, including giving up his sense of freedom so she could have walls to shield her.

They'd been in Alexandria for a week and he was beginning to see he might've been wrong. He'd nearly fallen off the porch railing that first day when she'd come out of the house dressed in slacks and a cardigan. She'd been no less beautiful in her new clothes, but … they weren't his Carol. She was still in there, buried beneath her act, yet it pained him to see her trying so hard to fit in. If the townsfolk knew half of which she was capable, they'd turn and run in the opposite direction.

Though she wouldn't talk to him about the things bothering her, she'd spent that first night wedged between himself and the wall as he'd kept watch at the window, her cheek smooshed against his shoulder where she'd felt safest. The following day, she'd picked out her room upstairs – commandeering the master with the ensuite and smiling sweetly at Rick as she'd done it - deciding it would be best to remain with Rick, Michonne and the children. It was the same room where she'd stored his pack. He'd taken it as a sign she wanted him with her.

But why did she want him there? He'd asked himself that question a million times, a question which remained unanswered. She was his best friend, just as he was hers. She trusted him to keep her safe – though she was capable of taking care of herself – and relied on him to keep the nightmares at bay. But was that all there was to it? Daryl had hoped things would change after he'd gotten her back in the aftermath of Terminus, but then Grady had happened, and the entire group had been broken. He'd hoped again when they'd been offered a place within the community, he and Carol could have another chance. He just needed to find a way in. Something easier said than done, he thought as he stalked up the front steps of the house and knocked the dirt off his boots before going inside.

Daryl closed the door behind him, wincing as the sound of excited feminine squealing met his ears. He wondered if he was hungry enough to brave the kitchen where the women were gathered. His stomach growled, prompting him to take a chance, and he only paused briefly in the archway – deeming it safe enough – before heading to the stove. The delectable smell of mac and cheese accompanied with seared rabbit was too much to resist.

Carol raised on her toes to see over her circle of friends, casting a warm smile his way when she saw him wolfing down his food. He gave her a nod of thanks before she turned to Tara, laughing at something she'd said. It was good to see her smiling affectionately at the girl, more herself than he'd seen her act in quite a while.

He fetched himself a glass of water, downing the cool beverage and setting his dishes in the sink. It was only then his curiosity got the better of him and sent him closer to the table to see what was making the warrior women of his family so giggly.

Michonne held up a bright purple teddy and pressed it over her clothes, turning this way and that for maximum effect. "I think I like this one," she murmured thoughtfully, glancing up at the others for their opinions.

Rosita nodded, fighting with the packaging on the adult toy she wanted to inspect more closely. "I like it … compliments your skin tone."

A mischievous smirk curled the corner of Tara's lips as she stopped digging through the pile spread out on the table. "Hmm … I wonder what our fearless leader would think to see you wielding your katana wearing nothing but that … and maybe some fuzzy heels to match."

Carol's hands fluttered over the less garish scraps of underthings, her lips pressing into a thin line as she fought to hide a laugh.

Daryl's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he glanced down at the mess - an array of dildos, vibrators, anal plugs and beads, cuffs, collars, bottles of lube, massage oil, nipple clamps and more than a few things he had never seen before - his face blushing a brilliant shade of scarlet. Embarrassment flew out the window as he met Tara's gaze head-on. "This is what y' got outta that shop?!" he fairly roared, startling them all. "Y' was s'posed t' be looking for underwear for –"

"We did," Rosita protested, shaking a lurid purple dildo in his direction. She then pointed to the piles of bras and lacy knickers, teddies and camisoles, and some things which left little to the imagination. "It was a good haul, but the store offered other things, too."

Tara shook her head. "C'mon, dude, you men aren't the only ones who have needs."

By this point, Daryl's face was mottled with rage. He leaned over the table until he was right in the girl's face, furious blues flashing. "Glenn almost died t'day. Y' really think Maggie woulda been worried about toys if he hadn't come back? Get your fuckin' priorities straight!"

"Daryl," Michonne murmured quietly, "she didn't mean anything by it."

Tears welled in Tara's eyes, her mouth gaping open and closed, but she couldn't find the words to defend her actions. She'd thought it would be fun to have some stress relief for those who liked to play outside the box. Why not take a few things when they'd hung so conveniently on a back wall of the shop? "I … I'm sorry …"

Daryl snorted and pushed himself away, ignoring Carol's disapproving stare. Without a word, he stalked from the kitchen and stormed up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with her, the door rattling in its frame as it slammed behind him.

*.*.*

Carol paused with her hand on the door knob and sighed heavily. She'd had to comfort Tara, promising she'd talk to Daryl. He owed her an apology for yelling if nothing else. The table had been cleared, Michonne coming up with the brilliant idea to have a community-wide FUN party later in the week, inviting all the ladies – and a few men – to come over, play games, and divvy up the risqué items Tara and Rosita had brought back from the supply run. She'd tried not to blush too badly when Tara had explained a FUN party was a bit like Avon … only they would sell adult toys instead of makeup. Gawd! She'd have to remember to volunteer for an extra shift on watch when all that went down. Though, when Daryl found out what was going on in their home, he'd most likely try to burn the house down.

She took a deep steadying breath and pushed the door open, gathering what patience she possessed to fortify her. It was never easy dealing with her dearest friend – even on a good day – much less on a bad one. It had been clear how badly the scene downstairs had embarrassed him, but she didn't think that was the heart of the matter. Something much more serious was goading his anger.

The sound of the shower met her ears, a spark of relief at the brief reprieve more than welcome. She moved to her side of the bed and removed the thin belt which held her knuckle-buster knife, hidden by her cardigan. Despite her need to play a part to the citizens of the safe zone, there was no way she'd dare think to leave the house without some form of weapon. Removing the knife, she set it within reach on her nightstand before pulling her night clothes – a tank and a pair of thin cotton shorts – from a drawer on the dresser.

She tensed slightly as she heard the water cut off and the muffled banging of drawers and cabinets which ensued. Apparently, the hot water had done little to improve his mood. She'd just settled cross-legged atop the duvet with what was left of her body lotion when Daryl poked his still dripping head out the bathroom door, hand moving furiously back and forth as he brushed his teeth.

Carol met his gaze, unable to miss the virulent embers smoldering behind his eyes. Anyone who didn't know him as she did would have missed the pain and left the cry for understanding unheeded. She quickly rubbed the last of the lotion onto her hands and rose from the bed to follow him into the bathroom. There was little left of boundaries due to them sharing the room … and so much before with their constant wandering on the road.

Daryl met her eyes in the mirror, but he averted them quickly, the strokes of the brush becoming nearly violent as a touch of shame colored his cheeks.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the counter. "You had a bad run," she said matter-of-factly, watching the muscles in his back and arms tense. "That was no reason to take out your anger on poor Tara."

His voice was a low growl as he reached for a t-shirt from the cabinet under the sink, pairing it with the tartan boxers he wore. "Everyone was s'posed t' get in an' get out, Carol. Me, Glenn, Rick, an' th' three idiots had th' little grocery store, Abraham an' Sasha had th' baby store, an' Tara an' Rosita had the lingerie store. Thirty minutes tops t' loot an' move on t' th' next three. The fuckin' strip mall wasn't that big. Only, when we came out t' switch, there was walkers." He ran a hand through his messy hair and shuddered. "Everyone fought, nothing we couldn't handle … 'cept th' girls weren't there. Deanna's sons, their friend … they fuckin' panicked an' Glenn almost got bit."

"But he's not," she insisted. "I saw him when the team returned. A little banged up, but, Daryl … he's ok."

He shot her a look of disgust and brushed past her into their bedroom. A hand rose to his mouth, his sharp teeth mutilating the cuticle around his thumb as he began to pace.

Carol followed him. "Daryl –"

"That ain't th' point!" he hissed, turning with panther-like grace to face her. "Those boys shouldn't've been there. Rosita and Tara shoulda been payin' more attention. My friend coulda died while they were playin' with that trash."

She reached out to him, her small hands covering his biceps, the muscles flexing with unbridled tension as she caressed him, trying to soothe him. "If they had known, the girls would have come to your aid. You know that. It's unfair to blame them."

"We couldn't call out … woulda brought more, no doubt." He clenched his teeth, refusing to let go of his ire. "It was bad enough with Deanna's youngest boy screamin' like a little bitch. Knew it was gonna be FUBAR fucked from th' get-go."

Carol smiled. "I'm rather surprised you brought Aiden back in one piece, to be honest."

Daryl sighed and closed his eyes, giving himself over to her warm caress. He was such a softie where she was concerned. Carol had a way of cutting through the bullshit to put him at ease. "Still think it was stupid … bringin' back all that shit. Reminds me of Merle."

"Yeah?"

He nodded, looking away. "He was jus' as addicted t' porn as he was t' drugs an' drinkin'. Liked th' weird shit too." Her grin captivated him, and he had to fight to keep the serious expression on his face. "Never understood what he saw in all that. A real man don't need toys t' satisfy his woman." He could feel the tips of his ears burn when he realized what he'd said.

Carol breathed in sharply at his bold statement, heat coursing through her like a brushfire. She'd wanted him for so long, loved him for far longer than she could remember. He'd quickly gone from the man who provided for them, to someone who had risked his own life to save her daughter, to her dearest friend, to someone with whom she wanted to share her life and all which came in between. She'd kill for this man, die for him. He was the reason she'd been unable to leave the group behind and find some solitary place where she wouldn't have to watch her loved ones die, or have to kill to protect them. He had always been her reason to survive, to live.

She took a chance, trailing her hands up along his arms, her eyes becoming heavy and sloe-lidded as they came to rest against the side of his neck where his pulse beat rapidly. "Yeah? Show me," she challenged boldly, her own heart thundering with fear against her ribs, just waiting for him to reject her.

"Pfft," he scoffed, taking a step back just as she had known he would. It surprised her when he didn't break contact with her altogether, clasping her hands in his as they slid down his arms. "Stahp … I can't handle your games tonight, Carol."

Carol averted her gaze, her lower lip trembling. She was so tired of their misunderstandings, knowing she couldn't allow them to continue, but it was so hard to take that next step … the one which might push him away for good. "I've never played games with you, Daryl," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

A/n: And once again, I failed to write a o/s. *sigh* Oh, well, I hope you all enjoyed this first part. Part two will be coming at you tomorrow. Thanks so much for reading! Also, I'd like to give a shoutout to my darling ponies CLADD and Geektaire for reading through and making sure I didn't totally lose my mind. And to my darling BettyBubble for cracking the whip and keeping me focused. My editor, my partner in crime, my BFF … she does it all. Love you, my darling!