a/n: Okay, so I originally wrote this for smut week, but got cold feet about posting it. Mainly because oh god, it's a prequel, how is it going to stack up to the original, oh god, panic panic panic. Anyway, the panic has passed. I'm feeling calm, composed, and okay about the outcome. So here it is. The "Prequel". Enjoy.
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It was supposed to be an easy job.
Judith Grimes is the sweetest, cutest, happiest toddler she's ever babysat for. Carl's a cool kid, and the Grimes' are a genuinely nice family.
It was supposed to be an easy job.
And then she met Daryl Dixon.
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Daryl Dixon is the kind of man they write romance novels about. Trashy, bodice rippers, the kind you hide under your mattress and read beneath the covers by torchlight. He is mysterious and dangerous and looks at her like he knows her deepest, darkest desires.
Like he knows exactly how to make her body come alive.
She's the babysitter. Just the babysitter. The only time they interact is in passing; murmured hellos and brief goodbyes and Rick, always Rick, quick to interject with a hey, Daryl, you remember Beth?
She's positive he doesn't. Why would he?
She's just the babysitter.
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Maggie is a wealth of knowledge. Not much of it useful, but Beth appreciates it all the same.
"Cute, cute, too young, too slutty, cute, too casual, too…perfect."
Maggie tosses a hanger in Beth's direction, smiling proudly.
"This is the outfit that will seduce your outlaw."
"He's not an outlaw, Maggie," Beth rolls her eyes, "he's a mechanic."
"Just spicing it up a bit," Maggie retorts, digging through the closet for some shoes, "anyway, remember who's helping you here. You want to look fuckable at this barbeque?"
"I want Daryl to notice me," Beth sighs, "I'm still there to work. I can't be wearing, like, stilettos and hotpants."
"Which you own neither of, by the way," Maggie shakes her head, "I don't know where I went wrong – aha! These are perfect! Quick, try them on. And wear that bra I got you for your birthday!"
Scurrying to the bathroom, she quickly shucks her shirt and shorts, throwing the dress over her head.
"I don't know why I'm bothering," Beth laments, "he's so out of my league-"
"I don't want to hear that kind of negative attitude," Maggie scolds, "you are a Greene girl and Greene girls get what they want. You want that Sons of Anarchy extra? You're damn well getting that Sons of Anarchy extra!"
"Again, Maggie, he's just a mechanic," Beth sighs, exiting the bathroom. She props her hands on her hips, "verdict?"
Maggie does a slow circle, inspecting the younger woman carefully.
"You look…"
Beth takes a deep breath.
"…hot."
She glances in the mirror. And she doesn't quite recognise herself. Her hair is falling in loose waves, the red lipstick emphasising the red cherries on the dress. She bites her lip nervously - there's no way she can wear this to a barbeque. No way she can wear this in public.
"You know what, sans bra works better," Maggie grins, "easier access."
"Maggie!" Beth admonishes.
"Like that's not your end game," she smirks, "especially in that dress."
"You chose that dress!"
Maggie shrugs, not apologetic in the slightest.
"Men associate cherries with virginity. And men love virgins."
Beth opens her mouth to protest, but Maggie quickly interrupts.
"Hey, not my fault!" she argues, "Blame the patriarchy."
Beth sighs, scrutinising herself in the mirror. The outfit itself is not particularly revealing, but she looks older, looks mature.
Looks less like a girl and more like the twenty-year-old woman that she is.
And maybe Daryl might see that as well.
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So she feels a bit like an idiot.
It's an hour in and Daryl's not even there.
She tries not to look disappointed. Tries to act like everything is fine, that she's fine, and tries to prove it to herself by reapplying her lipstick before waking Judith from her nap.
"Aren't you a sweet girl," she coos, balancing the toddler on her hip, while the little girl yawns and rubs her eyes, "and a sleepy girl!"
She makes her way to the kitchen to fetch her a snack, singing softly.
And bumps right into Daryl.
"Careful, girl," he mutters and she blushes fire engine red.
"I'm sorry!" she blurts out, so embarrassed, "I should have been watching where I was going."
"Ain't no trouble," he shrugs. Judith squirms in her arms, reaching out towards Daryl. Carefully, he plucks the baby from her arms, balancing her on one arm. "Hey lil' asskicker, how you doin' today?"
"Uncle Daryl!"
The toddler chatters happily and Beth feels her pulse quicken at the sight.
"Have you been here long?" Beth asks, nonchalant, pretending like she hasn't been watching the door for his impending arrival.
"Just got here," he replies, distracted by Judith. Beth sighs inwardly, turning to the fridge, grabbing Judith's dinner and placing it in the microwave. She tries not to stare at him, in his ripped shirt and leather vest, so attentive to the child in his arms. Instead she leans back against the fridge, watching the microwave countdown.
"You look nice."
Her head shoots up in surprise.
"Huh?" she questions, feeling like an idiot.
"You," his eyes wonder over her body, "look nice."
Shyly, she lowers her eyes. Juts out her hip. Pushes forward her chest.
"Thanks," she glances up at him with a smile, biting her lip.
He watches her, eyes freely trailing down her legs and back up, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
The microwave timer sounds.
She smoothly takes Judith from his arms and flashes him a coy smile.
"See ya round, Mister Dixon."
And with all the confidence, all the smoothness she can muster, she calmly walks away.
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"Beth?"
Her head shoots up. Lori looks slightly frazzled, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. She feels a bit guilty; here she is, sitting in a deck chair, on her phone, rather than seeing if the older woman needs help.
"Judith?"
"She's fine," Lori smiles, "Carl has her. Was hoping you could pop down to the basement and grab some more ice?"
"Sure," Beth rises from the chair, "not a problem."
She makes her way into the house, opening the door to the small staircase, turning on the light before she descends. Judging by the amount of ice in the chest freezer, they must have bought out the entire store.
The door swings shut, and she jumps in surprise.
At the stop of the staircase, is Daryl.
"Mister Dixon," she breathes, "you startled me."
Wordlessly, he walks down the stairs, boots heavy on the wood.
"Lori said you might need a hand."
"Yeah," Beth nods, "that would be great."
He crosses the room quickly, taking from her arms a couple of bags. Her hands are numb from the cold, but when they brush his, they feel like they are on fire.
"Oh," she breathes and he looks at her through his too long hair.
(Hair she's dreamed about gripping as he fucks her with his tongue.)
He places the ice on the ground, dropping it with a solid thud. Takes a step forward, while she takes a step back. Boxes her in against the freezer, and her eyes widen with shock.
"Rick wants to know why I don't come to the house any more," he murmurs, almost casually, the heat radiating off his body.
"Yeah?" she stutters.
"Yeah," he replies, reaching out, fingers brushing the hem of her dress, "not sure how he'd take it if he knew the reason was because I wanted to fuck his babysitter."
Thank god he has her pinned to the freezer, because that's the only thing keeping her upright
"Tried to resist, girl," he drags the hem slowly up her thighs, fingers trailing lightly against her skin, "tried to pretend I didn't see the way you would look at me, or the way you'd call me 'Mister Dixon', like some schoolgirl wantin' to be punished. Tried to pretend that every time I saw you I didn't immediately picture you down on your knees."
It's happening. It's happening and she's about 85% sure that this is real and not some kind of fever dream.
She's so nervous; sure, she wished for this, but she never expected it in a million years. She has no idea where to go from here, but she thinks she can at least make his fantasy a reality.
Slowly, carefully, she lowers herself to her knees.
Only to have Daryl haul her back upright.
"I said I wanted to fuck you," he growls, "and I didn't mean your mouth."
She whimpers, shaking in his arms in anticipation, panties practically soaked. He shoves her back against the freezer, kissing her with a frantic urgency. Licking into her mouth, hungry and heated, his hand gripping her thigh and inching upward. Leaving her exhausted and panting for breath that he barely lets her catch before kissing her once more, the passion only intensifying to a level she never dreamed possible.
"This dress has got to go," he whispers, one hand gripping her hip, the other resting against her panty-covered mound, bucking wildly into the heel of his palm.
Daryl could rip the dress for all she cared.
She just wants it off.
His hands shifts from her leg to the zipper at her back, lowering it slowly so the dress slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet. Kicking it to the side, she lets out a squeal as he grips her ass, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around him, her centre coming into direct contact with the bulge in his jeans.
Lips trailing down her jaw, to her neck, to her chest, she moans when his hot tongue encircles her tight nipples, exciting them to the point where they're painfully hard. He slips one of his hands between their bodies, rubbing her through her panties, fingers pressing on her clit, causing little shivers to course through her body.
"Daryl…" she cries out, pressing her face against his neck, "…please."
With a rip the panties are gone, his rough, calloused fingers dipping beneath her folds, rubbing and probing and making her come alive.
"You like that, girl?" he groans, "Just wait, you'll like my cock even more."
Propelling herself forward, she presses her lips to his. The kiss is hot and wet and messy and as she slides her tongue against his, she pushes herself further down on his fingers. They slide over her clit easily, so wet, so ready for him, and she clamps her legs around him tighter, gasping for breath against his neck.
She feels the cold lid of the freezer against her ass, and although in a lustful haze, she registers the sound of his belt unbuckling, the ripping of foil. His hands grasp her hips as he lifts her once more, her hot heat coming in contact with this thick, hard cock.
Gasping, she sees stars when he penetrates her. This is better than any daydream, any late night fantasy. His lips, sucking at the juncture of her neck and jaw. Hands, gripping her almost painfully. Slow, deep thrusts, building to a frenzied, rough pace that she relishes, that she yearns for. That has her crying out in ecstasy as he hits that spot deep within that makes her see stars. That makes her shout herself hoarse. That has her coming apart in his arms, limbs boneless, drowning in her release.
"Oh my god," she pants, gripping his shoulder tight, him being the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor, "I wish you'd done that sooner."
"Wish I had too," he replies, resting her on the washing machine, as he retrieves their clothes. She slips her dress back on, just as he's buckling back up his belt. Her destroyed panties, he slips into his pocket with a smirk.
"Next time, don't bother with panties," he tells her, grabbing the ice, making his way back up the stairs.
Next time.
She can't wait.