Eris.Hugh.Whetting

Logan wasn’t a risky person. He was actually the boy next door, never did anything wrong, always super sweet and never stepped out of his comfort zone.

He struggled in Williams, they didn’t have the best car and mixed with communication issues between himself and the team 2024 didn’t start of great. That was also because James Vowles was a knob who decided to convince Carlos Sainz to join Williams starting all the way back in 2023.

But now Logan was out of a seat and with the dwindling number of seats in F1 he surely wouldn’t get a seat back there anytime soon. So he started looking at other racing series, he even started looking into NASCAR but he was also at the point where he was now mentally checked out from racing.

Not completely but he did need a massive break from all the pressure on his head.

So of course being the loving doting and awesome girlfriend you are, you travelled with him. You guys went to Disney, travelled to watch the race in Baku, went to Japan and said fuck Williams in Singapore and then you ended up back in America before the Austin GP.

You went out clubbing with all of his friends from school, and some people who didn’t make it out of the feeder series like he did. You guys were enjoying your night. But the more one of you would drink, the more the other one would.

You were going back and forth from the bar taking it in turns while other people were also chipping in and buying you drinks. So by 2am, you were both outrageously drunk singing (actually screaming) along to Vigilante and Ready for it, as Logan of course is in his Reputation Era.

“Baby you look so fucking hot tonight I could fuck you right here” he groans as you take seat in his lap in a booth of the area of the club you guys are in.

“Omg fucking do it” you say leaning into him.

“Yeah, you want me to touch you in front of all these people?” He says kissing up your collarbone, across your neck, up your jaw and just before your ear.

“You wanna show all these people how pretty you are when I’m inside you. Argh that face you make?” He slurs and you nod turning round to lean into him more and sloppily kissing every inch of his face.

“Baby please I need you!” You moan into him, his hands grip your hips spinning you round so your facing him and straddling over his thigh.

“Im gonna make you cum so hard pretty girl” he moans kissing you lightly before slipping his tongue all the way in. His hand travels down in between the two of you, going up the little sparkly mini skirt you had on and straight into your underwear.

“Ah Logan” you moan leaning closer into him as his thumb makes circle motions on your clit. To anyone who looked you guys just looked like a horny couple having a steamy make out in the corner of the club, and there were many people who did look, and further took pics and you were probably in the back of others videos.

But that didn’t cross neither yours or Logan’s mind.

His fingers went deeper and his was thrusting his hand rapidly in and out. He made sure to keep his lips on yours to try drown out your drunken moans, even though the music was doing that anyway.

“Your so gorgeous like this, how’d I get so lucky. My god, beautiful girl” he moans and before you know it your arms are hugging round him pulling him close as you shake and clench around his fingers buried deep in you and still moving to ride out your high.

You sat there, trying to calm down just as a few of Logan’s friends joined you in the booth. Logan quickly pulled his fingers out, licking your juices off them before pulling your hair back and moving you to sit next to him, saying pulling your underwear back over to cover you up from the leather of the club booth.

You both seemed to slowly forget what you’d just done in the club, it was pretty scandalous for Logan so it made sense you both sort of had drunk a lot more since doing it.

Eventually you guys needed to leave, you ended up behind the back of the club in a quiet but not vacant alleyway that backed into some houses.

Logan immediately pushed you against the wall hitching your leg up and pushing himself into you making you gasp.

“You’ve been so persistent all night baby, you frustrated from earlier?” You ask knowing he hadn’t let go any of his pent up tension it was all still brewing.

“Mmmmm I want to be inside of you right now against this wall” he moans as he starts to hump into you at a feverish pace, whining and moaning as he does.

“Baby come on let’s wait till we get home huh?” You say with a small moan as his jeans brushed against your clothed clit. It felt good, so good but you could feel the exhaustion slowly take over.

“I can’t wait baby, you got your fun in there let me have mine out here” he complains and before you know it he’s unzipping his jeans and pulling himself out of them.

“Fine but make it quick” you gruff out noticing he’s already pulling your panties to the side and lifting you up to hold you against the wall as your legs naturally wrap round his waist.

He slips in so easily and a sigh of relief comes from him. He holds you up using the wall to help him keep you in place as he’s not at him most stable right now.

“Oh my god Logan” you moan, a hand coming up to cover your mouth not wanting anyone to hear from the rooms above.

“Ah baby, so good. Fuck you’re so tight” he says pumping in and out of you. Your back is arched against the wall and your hair is getting caught in all the brick work that’s started to wear away.

“So so close baby, keep squeezing me” he groans as your walls clamp around him even tighter than earlier.

“I love you so much Logan, fuck keep going” you moans loudly your head leaning back against the wall. This is the first time you decided to look round a little and you notice there are some people walking past the end of the alley way.

“Im gonna cum baby” he moans into you forcing himself further against you leaning your fully back against the wall and you feel him paint your walls. You’re immediately releasing that coil in your own stomach, letting all of your body weight relax into Logan.

“L-let’s get home” he sighs pulling out of you and tucking himself back into his shorts.

“You’ve never done anything like that Sargeant, what’s gotten into you” you laugh pulling your skirt back down.

“The drinks for sure, we’ll wake up tomorrow with questions, maybe even some scandalous articles” he jokes and he takes your hand to start to walk you guys home.

Taglist:

There’s not much up in the enclosed loft. Some old boxes of long rusted tools, farming equipment, and antique furniture. Bits of hay are strewn in front of the open hay door, the actual doors long since broken off. There’s a small pile of bricks next to the door opening, likely used to prop the door open when it was functional. A disintegrating lay-z-boy type chair, a coffee table with an ashtray on it, a cracked oil lamp on the floor next to a dresser with broken drawers make it seem as if the farmer who lived on this farm before used this loft as their hideaway.

He stands, arms crossed, leaning his shoulder against the same wall you’re up against. The man certainly has a knack for creeping in the shadows. You didn’t even hear him climb up the ladder to the loft you were now hiding in. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face. The orange glow from the lighter disappears, hiding your guilty face and casting you back into shadow. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You bring it back to your lips and take a deep pull, not intending to let your audience impede your rare me-time. The smoke floats out the open hay door, dancing in the breeze before disappearing. 

He pushes off the wall and starts to walk towards you. You breathe out and look up at him as he stops right next to you. He suddenly bends down and snatches the bag from in front of you.

“Hey!” you make a sad attempt to reach for it, him already straightened to his full height. He holds it up, trying to use the light from the nearly-full moon to make out its contents. A grinder. Rolling papers. A second lighter. And loose flower. All items you had snuck from a nightstand in one of the houses you both had looted on a run. He turns to look down at you. You stare right back at him and take a very dramatic and over-exaggerated inhale. 

“Jesus woman,” he tosses the bag back to you. You look up at him and unceremoniously blow towards him. 

He reaches for you. You raise your hand up to bat him away but he smacks your hand down, still reaching towards you. For a second, you think he’s going to smack it right out of your mouth. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing. Instead, he takes it right from your lips and brings it to his own. 

You ignore the little flutter in your chest from his finger against your lip. 

Dirt. Cigarettes. Metal.

It was inconvenient. You couldn’t believe you gave it more than one thought. There was no time for crushes, not in this world. Not when death waited around every corner. Not when all hope for the future had been decimated in a day.

Not when every good thing you seemed to find ends up being ripped away from you.

But you can’t stop yourself from looking at the man next to you as he sits down against the same wall by the open hay door of the barn. The way his lips wrap around the end of the joint. The way his chest rises under his shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone. His head tilting back as he blows the smoke up into the air, his hair falling away from his face. The faint moonlight illuminates his silhouette. The way any sleeved shirt he seems to wear looks like it’s threatening to split open when his muscles flex. The dirt on his arms that only seems to accentuate the veins that travel down to his rough hangs, hands that now gently hold-

“You’re starin’.”

You snap out of your stupid daydream and internally curse yourself, giving yourself a shake as if it would brush off the high slowly washing over you. He doesn’t acknowledge it, his hand falling towards you. You don’t look at him as you take the joint back from him. 

Silence.

“What’re you doin up here?” he asks tentatively, as if he has no business asking you anything at all. Not that you mind. You wish someone would ask you questions instead of looking at you like you’re a grenade with the pin half pulled out. 

Daryl doesn’t look at you like that though. 

You exhale. 

“Thinking.” Is all you offer. You glance over at him without turning your head. He’s looking at you, but you can’t read his expression. 

He doesn’t say anything else. 

Not much else needed to be said. 

You hold your hand out to him, purposefully ignoring the brush of your fingers as he takes it back from you. 

He had been the one to find you while he was out on a hunt. He had been trailing a deer through the woods when he found an abandoned cabin. There weren’t any signs of recent disturbance and no walkers, so he barged right in and started searching the house for anything to take back. It was already rather empty, some of the cabinets in the kitchen wide open, missing what had likely been stored in there previously. The living room was barely disturbed, a random pile of magazines on the coffee table and some ugly throw pillows on the couch. The bathroom had a layer of dust on every flat surface. It didn’t seem like anyone had been there since the end of the world.

He was only alerted to another presence when the muzzle of your handgun was pressed against the back of his skull as he had crouched down to rifle through a cabinet. He didn’t have any time to be impressed by your silence.

“Get up. Slowly.” you barked at him. You looked down at the man in front of you, crossbow slung over his back, hoping that your gall alone was enough for this. You could see his large hunting knife at his hip. Both weapons inconveniently out of reach for him, given his predicament. He put both of his hands up and slowly rose to his full height, before turning around to face you. You stood there with your gun in his face, but he wasn’t even looking at it. He was looking at your face, your fear and rage-filled eyes locked on his. He glanced down to your jaw, where a nasty bruise mottled your skin in purple and yellow, down to your bloody hand pressed on your side. Blood soaked a good portion of your shirt, some having dripped onto your pants. Sweat adorned your forehead and your neck, leaving the collar of your ragged t-shirt damp. Your clothes were dirty and torn in several places, as if you had lost a fight with a particularly vicious cat. He looked back up at you. 

“You bit?” He huffed. You didn’t blink.

You took him in. His long hair partially covering his face. The button-up shirt with the sleeves ripped off under the leather vest with the wings on the back. His large frame and muscular arms. His raised hands that looked like they could kill you with a flick of his wrist. You didn’t stand a chance. 

“Shot.” The hand holding the gun in his face shook the slightest bit with your reply.

He moved before you could even react, grabbing the gun from your hand and turning it on you. You stagger backwards and practically fall into the wall, grimacing and grabbing tighter at your side. This wasn’t a fight you were going to win. He lowers the gun, seeing that you’re obviously not a threat. Neither of you speak for a moment.

“You got a group?” he grunted.

Only yesterday had you been with other people, working together to survive this world. They were the closest thing you had to a family, but you had stumbled onto a group of raiders that took you for all your worth and left you the sole survivor. You only lived because you had pretended to be dead.

You look away from him for the first time. “Not anymore.”

He nods, not needing you to elaborate. 

“Can you walk?” you nod as your reply, not yet sure if you were lying or not. He looks you up and down before nodding again.

“I’ve got people, people that can look at ya.” 

You stare at him. 

You had your gun against his head not even 5 minutes ago. Why was he offering to help you? You searched his gaze for some hidden intention, but you found nothing. Whether that was because he was a good actor, or if he was being honest, was still unclear to you. 

“I’ll be fine.”

There’s a strange tension in the air as you both look at each other, both of you knowing that you were lying but neither of you addressing it. He takes a step towards you and you bristle, unsure of his intentions. He holds your gun out to you. You stare for a second, stunned, before snatching it back from him. He stands in front of you, not having moved. His hand shoots out and grabs at the one pressed to your side, pulling it away. You shout in pain and try to pull your wrist from his grip, but to no avail. Fresh blood is still seeping out of you and coats your fingers, running down your hand and onto his from where his grip is locked on to your wrist. 

Your vision swims, and the room starts to sway.

“You’re coming with me.” He grunts, letting your hand go to instead grab you by your bicep and pull you out the door. You stumble behind him, trying to keep up as white hot pain radiates through your entire body.

“Wait” you cry, before collapsing to the ground.

You had woken up a while later in a house with a strange man tending to your wound.

The rest was history. Fleeing the farm, the prison, all that bullshit with the Governor and Woodbury, and now you were camped in the woods again with nowhere to call home. Daryl had told your story to the rest of the group while you were getting your shit back together, and whatever he said made the rest of them keep their guard up and hold you at arms length. You didn’t mind. You were civil enough to have a transactional relationship. You’d hunt and bring back food, and they’d share supplies. Few words were spoken. Glenn at least initiated short conversations with you, seeming to be the more optimistic one. Carol was nice, but she seemed to live in her head. In fact, the only person who said more than pleasantries to you was Daryl. 

There was something about him that puzzled you. You don’t know if it was some weird trauma-bonding or if he felt that since he saved you he needed to at least acknowledge you, but he was your ghost. He’d go on runs with you. Go hunt. And he actually spoke to you. Even Carol had commented on it, poking fun at you for breaking his tough-guy act.

“You have him wrapped around your little finger and neither of you even realize it.” She had whispered to you after he had wordlessly dropped a new jacket at your feet, having grabbed it from a store after yours had ripped on your last run. You gave her a polite smile, not knowing what else to say. It was scary. Because anyone you had cared about had been so violently ripped away from you, you didn’t know if you had it in you to hold space for someone like that again. Your childhood friends, your family, the group you had before Daryl found you. All of them were people you loved, and they all were gone.

Were you even capable of loving again?

But you began to notice.

You noticed his lingering looks. The way his eyes would stay on yours for a moment too long in the context of the moment. The way he noticed little things and would do something about it without needing to be asked. He didn't treat you like some damaged girl, he'd argue with you until the sun set if he needed to. The man was usually stoic, but when you had both got into it about some trivial crap one day, you could swear he was enjoying it. You once caught him smiling after you had taken down 3 walkers in quick succession without missing a beat. 

Sometimes you’d notice his eyes raking your figure, and his normally dark stare would be shadowed by something else. His eyes would linger too long on your chest, or when you’d turn and walk away you would feel them on your ass. His hands would guide you through a building by putting his hand just slightly too low on your back. Or he’d put a hand on your waist to pull you back against a wall, a hand coming to your lips to shut you up mid sentence. Little things that added up to something you didn’t have the confidence to acknowledge. 

“Hey.”

You snap your head towards him. Wow, again?. “What?”

“Am I really that boring?” He smirks.

You blink. Your head feels fuzzy. There’s a strange warmth in your stomach. 

“No, was just thinking about when you found me.” You lie through your teeth.

He laughs. “Shoulda left your stubborn ass there. Had’ta carry you all the back back t’ the farm. Like a sack of potatoes.” You smack him in the arm, making him cough on the drag he was in the middle of taking. You grab the joint back from him, ignoring the look he gave you. 

You breathe in. You were way gone, that fluffy feeling washing over your entire body and your head finally starting to quiet. You look over at Daryl again. 

For as much bickering as the two of you did, you couldn’t deny the thrill that rose in your chest whenever he’d get in your face after pushing his buttons too hard. His face would turn red and sometimes he’d shove you around if you were being a particular problem. You didn’t think you had that fight in you right now, but it wasn’t going to stop you from nagging on him. 

“Your shirts are too small.” You fire back. He looks at you, mouth open.

“No they ain’t.”

“Yes, Daryl, they are”

“They ain’t.”

“You look like you’re about to burst out of them half the time. One swing at a walker and those seams are busting wide open.”

“If ya want to look at my muscles you can jus’ say that.”

You go silent. Tension suddenly fills the air between the two of you. He reaches to you and takes the joint back, bringing it to his mouth, his head tilted back against the wall. You watch a little too intently.

“That’s not what I was saying.” You mutter, feeling like the blood in your veins had suddenly turned to fire. You didn’t dare look at him. You instead choose to fiddle with your shoelaces, twisting them around and giving yourself any distraction possible. Your head feels like it’s stuck in a cloud.

No one says anything. 

Daryl stares out at the treeline, a hint of a smirk on his lips. 

He enjoys nothing more than nagging at you. Not that he’d ever tell you that. He found it easier to just treat you like he treated everyone else. Pushing people’s buttons in a heated moment was a strong talent of his, and never missed an opportunity to fire a remark at someone for whatever god damn reason he felt like doing it. You, however, fired right back at him.

He often had to adjust himself to hide his raging boner after you would yell at him, much to the amusement of Carol and Glenn. 

The problem with his ingenious approach is that it failed miserably, and it was obvious to everyone except him. While you two engaged in your fair share of fights, he didn’t watch out for anyone else the way he did for you. His gaze didn’t linger on anyone the way it did on you when you walked away. He would volunteer to go with you when you decided to go on a run, citing some excuse about needing supplies for a made up project he came up with on the fly. If you happened to slip away from him during said run, he’d mutter curses and clear the building in seconds to find where you had gone. He’d curse at you for being stupid and you’d yell back that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself, and he’d want nothing more than to grab your face and find a way to shut you up. 

He suddenly shifts against the wall, causing you to jump. He rolls his shoulders and sits up a little, the wood plank floor you’re both on not offering a terribly comfortable seat.

“Why are you up here?” you ask, to which he offers no reply, staring out at the trees. You continue. 

“I’m sure Glenn has some ridiculous tale he’s sharing with everyone right now. You should go enjoy it.”

“You should too.”

“I’m out here for a reason.”

“Which is?”

“To relax, unwind, find some inner peace, reach enlightenment, I had big plans before you decided to plop your old ass down next to me.”

He rolls his eyes, your jokes about his age a recurring annoyance. They’re not even funny. You laugh, though. 

“Y’know I can’t stand Glenn’s stories.”

“Could have shown Carl how to skin that deer you got earlier.”

“S’done a while ago while he was off with Rick.”

“Your bike need fixing?”

“Tuned it yest’rday.”

“Crossbow need adjusting?”

“Did it earlier.”

“Ah, so you just wanted to be alone with me.” You snark, picking up a piece of broken brick and throwing it out of the window. 

It skitters somewhere in the gravel below. 

A beat. 

“Maybe.”

The air shifts. You look up at him to find him already looking at you. He takes another pull and you watch shamelessly this time. His lips closing around the joint, his chest rising, and his eyes on yours. He exhales, hard. 

He takes the joint out of his mouth. 

He reaches over to you, bringing his hand up and sliding it in between your lips. 

His fingers linger just a little too long against you, before retracting his hand, his eyes never leaving you. 

Fuck.

You take one last deep drag before you rise onto your knees, turning towards Daryl and climbing into his lap. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, clearly in the same state you were. Your knees come down on either side of his thighs, face to face with him. You reach forward and grab his face with both of your hands, bringing him closer to you. Your thumb pressing lightly on his chin pushes his mouth open. You barely close the distance, ghosting your lips against his, exhaling into his mouth. He takes a deep breath, and his hands shoot up to the back of your head to pull you into a heated kiss. The spent joint is tossed over to the side. You shift forward, unintentionally grinding right down onto his hard length threatening the fly of his pants. His hips buck up into yours at the feeling, and he lets out a quiet grunt into your mouth. You nip at his skin, relishing in the sounds it draws out of the man under you. You trail your hands down the front of his shirt and start undoing the buttons, your mouth leaving his to trail down his jaw and onto his neck. You don’t get to finish before his hands come down to your hips, pressing you down onto him and sliding you back and forth. You whine at a rather pointed roll of his hips against yours. One of his hands runs up your spine to pull your chest into his, every touch of his fingers leaving trails of fire.

He leans back from you to look to the other side of the room, making sure no one is coming up the ladder to surprise you.

Daryl’s hands are on your face, pulling you into another kiss. Your hands go up to his hair as his travel down your front, pulling up at the bottom of your shirt. You pull away long enough to let him pull your t-shirt up over your head, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room. The cold air in the open room sends goosebumps across your body. Your lack of a bra seems to pleasantly surprise him. His eyes rake down your chest, and you suddenly feel shy. Your hands come up to your chest to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrists and pulls them away. 

If you weren’t floating up in the clouds already, you certainly were now.

He leans forward and trails hot, open mouthed kisses from your mouth, down your neck, and to tops of your breasts. One of his large hands comes up to grab at the one his mouth isn’t attached to. The roll of his fingers causes you to jolt. You give a little whine and pull at his shirt. He wordlessly pulls away and tugs it up over his head, entirely forgoing the rest of the buttons. You trail your hands down his chest, hips still rolling together. He’s hot to the touch, a pleasant warmth compared to the cold of the night. You look up at him as your hand lands on his belt. He stares back at you, his equally transcended state apparent in his face. 

A hand comes up to your back, the other to your hip, as he lowers you down onto your back. He brings his weight forward, bracing himself up on his forearms on either side of your head. He crashes his lips back down onto yours, settling his weight between your legs and grinding right down onto you. The sensation makes you let out a little squeak. 

Daryl lets out a soft grunt, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. While he’s there he licks hot stripes across your skin, nipping and sucking little marks onto you. 

There’s a soft clink as you pull at his belt, before his own hand leaves you to do it himself. In one movement, he pushes down both his jeans and his boxers. 

Wow.

The sight of him kickstarts you into motion as you reach for your own jeans and start undoing the button. Your actions are cut short by Daryl’s hands grabbing yours and putting them up by your head.

“What’re you-” you’re cut off by shock when Daryl starts sliding down your body, pressing his mouth to your skin as he trails down, coming to a stop at the top of your jeans. He presses soft kisses to your belly as his fingers work at the button, and pulls them down. You lift up your hips so he can slide them off of you, before he returns to deal with your underwear. His fingers hook around the top of them and start to pull them down, but he stops before too much of you is revealed. He looks up at you as he presses a kiss to your pubic bone, leaving a slightly damp spot on your underwear from his mouth.

You’d be lying if you said that the image in front of you wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever seen. But you’re getting impatient with need.

“Jesus Dixon, rip them off with your teeth for all I care just get a move on.” You try to make that sound snarky, but it just comes out desperate.

The last thing you expected him to do was listen to you.

He smirks and lowers his head back down. With one last kiss pressed below your belly button, he grabs the top of your underwear between his teeth and drags them down your legs. 

You nearly cum just from watching him do that. 

“S’that better?” he smirks, bringing himself back to your face to connect his lips with yours. You can only whine back at him, bucking your hips up to meet his. He lowers his hips down and slides himself against you, rubbing his length along your folds. His tip rubs deliciously against your clit, and you wriggle your hips in a silent plea. 

He lines himself up with you and slowly pushes in, letting out a strangled groan. You wince at the slight burn, which almost immediately fades into mind numbing pleasure.

Is his dick that big, or is it just that you’re high as a fucking kite?

Daryl pulls back a little and slowly sinks back in, testing,

Oh.

It’s that big,

The feeling of him fully seating himself inside you causes you to let out an obscene whine, making Daryl promptly clap his hand over your mouth. 

“I know, I know, but ya need to be quiet. This ain’t exactly soundproof.”

Once he realizes your face is no longer scrunched in a wince, he starts with a slow pace. Each drag of him against your walls sends tendrils of pleasure through your entire body. The feeling of him pressing so deep into you has you fading out of your body. 

It’s too slow.

You bring your eyes to his face and momentarily forget how words work.

His eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging slightly open, with his head hanging down. 

The sight makes you clench around him. His eyes fly open to look at you as he groans. It’s then that you notice his arms are shaking. He’s not one to quickly tire, how could he be spent from holding himself up already?

It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s not tiredness. It’s something else.

Restraint. 

Daryl’s slow thrusts into you are tense and calculated, certainly not those of a man free to experience pleasure for the first time in who knows how long. 

He’s holding back.

You certainly can’t have that.

“Daryl,” you mewl, your hands coming up to push on his chest. “More. Please.”

He gives you a small smile and reaches down to grab your knees, pulling your legs up to fall open more as he brings himself down onto his forearms, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. 

“As you wish, darlin’.” 

Oh god.

He sets a punishing pace. 

With every thrust, he’s battering that spot you can never quite reach with your own fingers. His hands are roaming your body, pulling at your hips, playing with your tits, tracing the lines of your body as if he’s trying to memorize every part of you. The roughness of his hands leaves a trail of goosebumps as he touches every part of you. It’s remarkably gentle, coming from such a man. His thrusts are punctuated with his own little groans. It only adds fuel to your fire. 

You start to squirm, that coil in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter and threatening to snap. The wood floor is not very forgiving, and is digging uncomfortably into your back. The distraction is welcome, though, giving you something to ground you as your mind threatens to melt away completely. 

His hand cups the side of your face, brushing your hair back. 

“Look at me.”

His eyes are staring intently into yours, softer than you’ve ever seen him. The moonlight casts a soft light onto his face. The shadows from his hair dance across his forehead. His lips glisten with the evidence of your kissing. Your hands grab at his biceps caged around your head. His pace is starting to falter, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. One of his hands slithers down your body to rub at your clit. He looks at you for a moment before pressing a deep, gentle, and softly desperate kiss to your lips. 

There it is.

Your orgasm hits you harder than any one you’ve brought out of yourself. It spreads like a hungry flame licking across your fuel-covered body. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mind goes static. Your muscles contract and your back arches up and presses your chest into his. 

Your head tips back as your body writhes beneath him. He presses his mouth harder to yours, swallowing your moans. His hips become less rhythmic, stuttering to a halt as he buries himself inside of you and comes undone. You momentarily lose yourself in the cloud of pleasure, only to be guided back to earth by Daryl pressing soft kisses to your collarbones. You look up at him, dazed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his face, the hair at his neck slightly damp. There are faint marks on his neck, and red scratches on his arms and chest from where you had grabbed him. 

You grimace as he slowly pulls out of you, still slightly overstimulated. A sudden breeze blows through the hay door, and you turn your face towards it, the cool night air a wonderful sensation against your heated skin. 

“We should do that more often,” you blurt out, immediately horrified. You whip your head back to look at him, and he’s frozen in the middle of putting himself back into his pants. He looks at you for a moment before clearing his throat and smiling.

“That was kinda the plan.”

You blink.

“What?”

Daryl blushes and looks away. 

Daryl Dixon. Blushes.

He shakes his head. “Nothin” he grunts out.

You sit yourself up on your elbows and look at him. 

“Daryl Dixon, are you blushing?” you smile at him. 

His ears turn red.

“What, did ya think I just did all that stuff for no reason?” he mutters.

Your heart swells. 

“Been starin’ at ya for weeks. Though Carol was gonna rat me out at some point.” He pulls his shirt back over his head. 

You slide your pants back up over your hips.

“She kinda did,” you laugh. He turns to look at you, him now the one who looks horrified.

“And ya didn’t say nothin?” he laughs, handing you your shirt. 

“I didn’t know if I could,” you pause to pull your shirt over your head. “Thought you were just being nice and didn’t want to make things weird.”

You rub your arm sheepishly, avoiding looking at him as you stand up. 

He walks over to stand in front of you, and brings a hand up to your face to make you look at him.

“S’a good thing we got past that, ain’t it?”

You smile. 

He looks at you for a moment longer, and turns to walk back to the ladder. 

“Don’t let Rick see the weed.” He tosses over his shoulder. 

“He’ll probably smell it.”

He smirks.

As you continued applying your mascara, you remembered the way your tears had left black streaks on his sheets and had to pause. Shane had been living rent-free in your brain for the past week. He’d been permeating your thoughts before then, but this was different. In the past, it had just been fantasies; now it was memories.

Adding to your torture, Shane had entered the house, and you could hear him laughing with your father downstairs. Part of you felt guilty about what the two of you had done. How would Rick feel if he knew what kind of man his best friend was? What kind of girl his daughter was? You pushed the thoughts from your head and refocused your attention on getting ready. That was something that you could control.

You took a deep breath and started fixing your hair. Parting it down the middle, you tied off the two sections into even pigtails. It was the Fourth of July, so you wrapped two white ribbons around the hair ties to make little bows. Your hair and makeup were finished, which meant that it was time to get dressed. You walked over to your closet and browsed your options. The second your eyes landed on your miniskirt, you froze. The image of Shane hiking it up as he fucked you on his bed flashed in your mind.

The sound of him animatedly telling a story downstairs interrupted your thoughts, and you groaned. You had to drown him out somehow. Maybe music would help? You grabbed your phone and connected it to the speaker on your desk. Bruce Springsteen started blaring, and it was at the perfect volume.

Satisfied with your choice of music, you turned back to your closet and started rifling through your options again. You couldn’t help but think about what outfit your father would loathe the most. Lori was here, so she’d stop him from getting too upset. You intended on using this to your advantage.

After what felt like ages, you finally settled on a red babydoll dress that would be paired with your cowboy boots. Underneath the dress, you’d be wearing a lacy white bra with a matching thong. Your mind drifted to picturing Shane’s reaction to the outfit, but you quickly got back on track. You were in the midst of dressing yourself when “Glory Days” started blasting. Little did you know that this would attract your dad’s best friend.

Shane had been using the upstairs bathroom when he had heard the song start. The man loved Bruce Springsteen, so naturally, he went looking for where the music was coming from. As he wandered the hallway, he realized that it was coming from your bedroom. Instead of doing the respectful thing and knocking, he waltzed right in.

As soon as the door swung open, you looked up and made a shocked sound when you saw Shane. You were about to tell him off when he closed the door behind himself and shushed you. The man had a lot of nerve, and he smirked as he spoke.

“Easy, bunny. It’s just me.”

“You need to knock.”

Despite glaring at him, you didn’t tell him to leave, and you finished pulling your dress up. He’d conveniently barged in while you were dressing. Shane’s eyes roamed your body and a cocky grin spread across his face when he saw that you were blushing. He was already being an ass today, so he had to tease you.

“You look real nice, sweetheart. Those new panties?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your words were biting in a way that he hadn’t expected. Shit, you must still be upset about how he handled the drunken hookup. Shane would never admit it, but he hated the thought of you being angry with him. He turned up the charm and gave an earnest apology.

“Hey, I get it if you’re still mad at me. I shouldn’t have handled things like that. You deserve better than that.”

In all the years he’d been a part of your family’s life, you could count on one hand the number of apologies that you’d heard from Shane. You took a second before deciding to believe him. It might come to bite you in the ass later, but it was worth it for now. You sighed and nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you? That’s all I get?”

Of course, he’d gone right back to teasing you. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He was really testing your patience. After a moment of staring at him and waiting for him to elaborate, you groaned.

“What were you expecting? Us to kiss and make up?”

“I mean, would you say no?”

Now, that was a good question. You exhaled heavily and looked him over. Shane managed to make a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans look enticing. Naturally, your attention boosted his ego, and he teased you again.

“Yeah. That’s my answer.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, Shane crossed the room and pulled you in by the waist. He kissed you with such force that it made your head spin. Your lips met his with equal hunger, and you leaned into him. His hands explored your body before settling on your thighs, and one started to slip up past your panties. You let him feel you for a moment before trying to reason with him.

“Shane, my family’s downstairs. Right beneath us.”

Shane took this as his opportunity to kiss your neck, and he attempted to leave a mark. You were quick to interrupt that. Rick was already going to be pissed about your outfit; you didn’t need to deal with an unexplainable hickey. Your voice was firm when you spoke again.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Oh, c’mon, bunny. It’s not a big deal.”

In disbelief, you stared at Shane and rested a hand on your hip. He was the one who’d been evasive out of the fear of being caught. He’s the one who had been guilty and was taking it out on you. Now, he wanted to mark you up? No fucking way. You groaned and shook your head.

“Stop it. We can kiss, fuck, or whatever, but you don’t get to mark me like I belong to you. I don’t.”

This stubborn, almost bratty side of you wasn’t something that Shane was familiar with. To his surprise, your obstinance made his cock strain against the denim of his jeans. He really had **to fuck you now. His tone was oozing with arousal and possessiveness when he spoke again.

“Yeah? I’ll show you who you fuckin’ belong to. C’mon.”

You should’ve known that your opposition was bound to make Shane snap, but it had happened sooner than expected. To be fair, you’d been dreaming of having him inside of you again. You were about to get what you wanted. Opening the bedroom door, he checked that the hallway was empty and pulled you into the nearby bathroom. In his mind, this was a little less obvious, and you weren’t going to object.

He’d barely locked the door before spinning you around and pressing you against the countertop. Shane’s movements were hurried, and it was clear that he was simply getting this out of his system. You’d examine how being used like this made you feel later. You were too wound up to care now. He took a moment to admire the way he’d bent you over and ran his finger along your spine. His voice was more reverent when he spoke again.

“Fuck, bunny. Look at you. Such a pretty girl.”

“You like the dress?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Fits you well.”

Eager to feel your skin on his, he repositioned you and quickly pulled the dress over your head. Shane haphazardly tossed it to the side and groaned at the sight of you in that matching set. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put it on. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Jesus. You wear that for me?”

“Yes.”

You answered a little too quickly, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink. Seeing you blush was the final straw for Shane. He spun you back around and stripped you of your underwear. His lips returned to your neck, but he was being gentler this time. Maybe he’d listen to your warning about the hickeys. He wasted no time in undoing his belt and tugging his jeans down along with his boxers. He gave you a quick warning as he aligned himself with your cunt.

“You can take me, baby. You did so good last time.”

With that, he snapped his hips forward and thrusted his cock deep inside of you. His large palm was clasped over your mouth, and he drove into you from behind. He set a frantic pace and reprimanded you when you tried to cry out.

“Shhh. We have to be quiet, bunny. Ain’t want your daddy to hear you, do we?”

Hearing Shane refer to your actual father as your ‘daddy’ and not himself, you felt a twinge of disappointment. It was quickly overcome by the pleasure rolling through you. You took a ragged breath and answered him; your voice was muffled.

“N-no, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Keep those pretty lips sealed.”

He didn’t want you to speak, so you simply hummed in agreement. Shane’s free hand was holding you in place, while he continued to thrust his thick cock in and out of your cunt. He was trying to keep it down, but low grunts kept escaping from his throat. Finding his release, he didn’t wait for you to reach yours before roughly pulling out. You cried out in frustration, but a sharp tug to your hair made you stop. His voice was firm when he spoke again.

“Hush, bunny.”

You’d been expecting Shane to make you orgasm with his cunt, but he had other plans. He didn’t give you time to start whining before he roughly shoved two fingers into your cunt with his free hand. The other remained clamped over your mouth, and it muffled your cries. You leaned into his touch and started grinding against his hand. He mocked you as he worked.

“Look at how you’re ridin’ my hand. You’re so needy that it’s fuckin’ pathetic, y’know that?”

His words stung and tears pricked at your eyes. Against your will, they began to run down your cheeks, and they were tinged dark grey with your mascara. You were pleasantly surprised when Shane tipped your head back towards him and kissed away your tears. He was still being patronizing, but his tone had softened.

“You’re a needy little rabbit, ain’t you? My bunny. Say it back to me.”

Continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, he moved his other hand away from your mouth and stared at you expectantly. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you were quick to answer.

“All yours.”

“Need more than that. Repeat what I said.”

He was being impossible, and you whined softly, which earned another quick yank to your hair. You whimpered and wiped at your face. It took a moment before you were coherent enough to respond.

“I-I’m a needy little rabbit. I’m your bunny.”

“Yeah, you are. Good girl.”

Satisfied with your obedience, he gave extra attention to your clit and didn’t let up until you finally reached your peak. Your whole body shook as you came apart, and he steadied you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He held you until you caught your breath.

Shane waited until he was confident that you could stay upright before letting go and grabbing a nearby towel off of the rack. He wiped himself down first before attending to you. When he was cleaning your skin, his movements were uncharacteristically tender. You reveled in it before he pulled back and redressed his lower half.

You copied his actions and put your own clothes back on. Shane watched you and felt the familiar guilt blooming in his chest. You deserved so much more than a quick fuck in the bathroom, but he wasn’t sure that he could give it to you. The fact that he was best friends with your father and he was significantly older than you further complicated the matter.

For a second, one foolish second, he allowed himself to picture a future with you. What would it be like to come to you in his bed after a rough call? For once, that thought was less about a sexual encounter and more about the intimacy of you seeing him on a bad day. He quickly shook the thought from his head and cleared his throat. You startled slightly when he spoke suddenly.

“Clean up your makeup and come out back with everyone.”

He didn’t give you time to respond before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. What the fuck? You still weren’t used to the way he’d emotionally shut down after sex. This time, you didn’t cry and instead did what he asked.

By the time you’d gone back to your room, Shane had already made it down the stairs and out to the backyard. Your father, your stepmother, and half-brother were outside waiting for him. Rick was too focused on grilling a rack of ribs to question where his best friend and daughter had been for the past several minutes. To his knowledge, you’d been getting ready in your room while Shane hung out in the living room. That wouldn’t be entirely out of the norm.

Lori, on the other hand, was suspicious. Her concern grew when you strolled out to join everyone and she saw the outfit you were wearing. The dress was far shorter than what Rick would’ve accepted, and it was more wrinkled than she remembered. She didn’t want to rock the boat, so she stored this information away for later.

When Rick saw what you were wearing, he cursed beneath his breath and shook his head. He wanted to give you a proper lecture on how you presented yourself to guests, but more people were starting to trickle in. He had to make a comment, though. Thankfully, he waited until you were closer and he could be sure that only you would hear him.

“Y’know how I feel about that dress.”

“Ain’t a child, Rick. I can wear a fuckin’ dress.”

Your attitude was infuriating, but Rick wasn’t in the mood to argue. He huffed and chewed at his lower lip. Tensions between the two of you had been high since he married Lori, and he hadn’t had the time to try and repair things. Besides, you were an adult now. At least, that was his excuse for not making an effort.

It was a bit juvenile, but you had to admit that you were amused by your father’s reaction. Shane was nursing a beer, sprawled out on a lawn chair, and listening to Carl ramble about his most recent little league game. You were going to have to find someone else to talk to. Looking around, you saw Beth standing beside Maggie, and you walked over to talk to her.

The Greenes had been friends of your family for years now, and Beth was closest to your age. You still had a few years on her, but the two of you got along well. As soon as she saw you walking over, her face lit up and she called out your name. You grinned and responded.

“Beth, how have you been? I haven’t seen you since I went off to school.”

“I’ve been super busy. I got a job at the local market, and Daddy’s started lettin’ me help with the animals at his clinic.”

“Really? How much are you makin’?”

The two of you went on to catch up until the food was ready. The rest of the evening was filled with conversation, good food, and an abundance of company. You and Shane kept meeting each other’s eyes, but the two of you stayed a safe distance apart. Neither of you was eager to invite any speculation.

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The wood panels at your back groan again as Daryl drives into you, the tempo of his thrusts like sweet euphoria, each one sending little shocks of pleasure rippling through your spine.

“Fuck—” he grunts into the side of your neck, “If your—” he slams up again, his hands firm under your ass, holding you off the ground with your legs tight around his waist, “If your dad catches us—”

“He won’t,” you breathe, whimpering as his grip tightens. “Just… please, Daryl. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Been waitin’ for this,” he mutters, kissing down your throat, lips dragging over flushed skin. “For so long.”

“I know, baby,” you moan, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the short strands at his nape. “You feel so good. So, so good—”

He groans as he sinks into you, your walls fluttering around him, stretched wide by his cock. He's so thick, so deep, and hitting places you didn’t know could ache like this. Your whole body clenches around him when he hikes one leg higher, angling deeper, and the moan that leaves your mouth is ragged, sharp, completely involuntary.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You both freeze.

Rick Grimes. Your dad, your ever present, over-bearing father. His voice is unmistakable drifting from the front of the house.

Your breath catches, eyes going wide. Daryl’s head jerks up like a deer caught in headlights. His body stills inside you, every muscle tense and almost trembling.

The voice sounds far enough away—he’s gotta be in the house, maybe the porch. He hasn’t come around back yet. You’re hidden, mostly. Behind the trees, behind the house. You doubt he'd even see you, hidden behind Daryl's body. At least at first glance. Hopefully.

Daryl starts to pull out, but you catch his face, hands sliding from his sweaty neck to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Your lips press into his, warm and open and desperate. He exhales into your mouth, trying to stay quiet as he kisses you back, swallowing the sound of both your sighs.

You pull away just enough to murmur, “Please. Keep—”

“Y/N?” Rick calls again, closer this time.

“Shh,” you whisper, darting a quick glance over Daryl’s shoulder toward the oak trees. “Sh sh sh—just listen—”

Daryl’s jaw clenches, his brow furrowed. “We should stop. Now.”

“Please, Dare,” you whimper, hips rocking gently against him. Your voice is quiet, pleading. “He’s far away. Please, please just fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

His eyes find yours, and suddenly, his mouth crashes into yours again, tongue sweeping in as he starts to move. Slow and shallow at first, he's trying to stay quiet even though every part of him is shaking. The quiet thump of his hips against yours, the creak of the siding, the faint wet sound of him sliding in and out—it’s all too loud in the open Georgia afternoon.

“Christ,” he breathes against your mouth, “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

He groans, forehead pressed to yours as he fucks you deeper now, picking up speed. Every thrust drives a breath from your lungs, your legs tightening around his hips. You’re so close—so fucking close—and the fact that your dad is somewhere nearby, calling your name, just makes it worse. Better. Hotter.

“Dare, I-I'm so close—” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Please, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah,” he pants, breath warm against your cheek, “Yeah, I got you, sweet girl. Come on my cock. Feels so good, don't it? Fillin' you up? Splittin' you open, huh?”

He shifts, angling just right as his filthy words tumble into your ear, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. Your head slams lightly against the siding, eyes rolling back as heat coils low and tight in your belly. Your thighs tremble around his waist.

Daryl groans low in his throat, the sound strained and messy. “So fuckin’ tight, girl, holy shit—don’t stop squeezin’ me like that—”

You bring your head up to bite his shoulder just to keep from crying out, your orgasm hitting hard and fast, your body pulsing around him as you fall apart in his arms. He holds you tighter, fucking you through it, chasing his own end now, his rhythm going sloppy.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his head falling against your chest, “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You clutch at him, nails scraping down his back, pulling him as deep as he’ll go. “Do it,” you whisper, still breathless, still pulsing around him. “Come inside me, Daryl, come on—”

He groans into your neck, loud and broken, and you feel the twitch and heat of him spilling inside you as his hips stutter, buried deep. He holds you there, both of you trembling, breathless and flushed and wrecked in the golden light.

Your limbs go loose around him, boneless with satisfaction, and you laugh softly into his shoulder.

Daryl’s still holding you up, still inside you, his face buried against your collarbone. When he lifts his head, there’s a dazed kind of awe in his eyes. He smiles—soft and real, like he can’t believe he actually got to have you.

You giggle, light and breathy. “Told you he wouldn’t—”

The words die in your throat.

The sound of boots crunching in dry grass cuts through the quiet. You hear the swish of tall grass, the steady tread of someone rounding the side of the house.

Both of you freeze—tangled, sweaty, completely exposed.

And then Rick Grimes steps into the sunlight.

You, pinned against the back of the farmhouse, skirt bunched around your hips, legs locked around Daryl’s waist. Daryl’s pants are half-down, his hand still gripping your ass, his cock still buried inside you. Sweat clings to both of you, and your mouth is open, chest rising and falling.

Daryl doesn’t breathe.

Rick doesn’t blink.

“Oh, God,” you whisper.

Your dad's voice is low, furious, deadly:

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

You had felt his eyes on you the moment you walked inside the huge living room - freshly showered and clothed. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Perhaps your still slightly wet hair. Or maybe because you looked like an entirely new person now that you were able to properly wash off the dirt, sweat and... guts from the past weeks - or already months? Or it was your choice of clothing. A rather too tight t-shirt and comfortable pyjama shorts, which highlighted your curves perhaps a little too well. In your defence, it was the only clothes left you found fitting for sleep. Now that you had an actual roof above your head, you didn't want to sleep in jeans, shirt and shoes. Streetwear.

Anyway, you felt heavenly after the shower and definitely agreed with Michonne... Alexandria was something good. You had a very good feeling about this place as well - unlike others who were still a bit... uncertain and maybe even sceptical. Which was more than understandable after all the shit you been through. Daryl was one of them. You could tell. But right now, the archer was distracted by something entirely else; still too busy ogling you - what only made you smirk.

Things between you and Daryl hadn't always been that... 'harmonic' and good like they were now. It had only changed about two weeks ago after a little... 'collision' in the woods. Now everything seemed to be rather intimate. Sexual tension had always been existent between the both of you. Just like a lot of pent up frustration. And you helped him find some relief. Not much more, really. And now...

You didn't know how to label what you both were, though. It was rather difficult. Best friends? Nope. Was it sexual? Absolutely. Romantic? No clue. Something between fuck buddies and dating. Perhaps.

You were just helping Rosita to get some more blankets and pillows to make sure everyone had at least something like a bed on the floor, when you saw Daryl turning his back and leaving the newfound home. Rick had decided that you'd spend the first night in Alexandria all together in one house and rather not split up. Playing it safe.

You frowned slightly at his sudden departure; wondering what was going on. For a second, you caught yourself worrying about the tough archer - and decided to follow him. Subtly, of course. Your eyes scanned the room and made sure everyone was somewhat occupied, before you snuck out the main door as well.

You found Daryl sitting on the railing of the porch; staring aimlessly but attentively at the community. As if he was taking watch - or trying to distract himself. Well, whatever this was, you were going to find out.

"Daryl," you spoke his name to get his attention - successfully. His head shortly snapped to face you, but he quickly averted his eyes again. "You okay?" He just grumbled and huffed. Your frown deepened. "Daryl?" Another huff left his lips. "Nah, 'm not," he snapped; voice filled with annoyance and something you couldn't pinpoint.

You took a step closer. "Why? What's wrong? Can I help you?" "Help me?" He scoffed. "'S yer damn fault." Now you were entirely confused - until Daryl rearranged his sitting position on the wooden railing; now facing you. "Look wha' ya do 't me, woman. You 'n yer damn looks. Ya chose 't wear this on purpose, didn't ya? Tryna get me all riled up, huh?" Your eyes followed the gesture of his hand and landed on the quite obvious bulge at the front of his rather shabby and ragged jeans. Sudden realization dawned on you. It fell like scales from your eyes. "Oh...," you stated; mouth forming into a perfect 'o'. "Yeah... Yer givin' me constant hard-on's since tha' handjob in the woods. Ain't the first time."

You listened to his words - to the sheer annoyance and yet absolute neediness in his voice. You bit your lip; trying to hide a smirk. But your body decided to compensate that with a giggle. "Tha' ain't funny." Daryl wasn't very amused - obviously. "Sorry," you apologized instantly; finding it beyond cute how one single intimate encounter lead to such an 'addiction'. He seemed to be starved - and you were more than happy to help out.

What you didn't like, though, was the rather angry scowl he casted your way. That had to change. You looked around and quickly scanned your surroundings; checking if anyone was around. Since that wasn't the case, you crossed the remaining distance between you and the archer with three strides. Before Daryl was even able to realize what was going on, were your hands already on him. Caressing the insides of his clothed thighs, to be precisely - and it didn't fail to make his breath catch in his throat.

You smiled; satisfied with the instant reaction. You loved how sensitive he was for you. One touch at the right spot was all it took to really get him going. "Y/N..." Daryl breathed; wide blue eyes locked on your hands. Watching them how they got closer and closer to where he needed your touch most. You shook your head. "Behave. Don't scowl at me. Be a good boy and I give you what you need." His gaze flickered shortly up to meet yours. He nodded eagerly. "'M good. I promise. Jus' please..."

You smiled once again and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek. "That's what I wanted to hear," you praised him and finally touched him where he needed you; rubbing him over his jeans. Daryl whimpered and squirmed; visibly trying to get more. He was apparently already a mess. "Look at you, sweet boy... That desperate and needy, huh? You need me that bad?" Once again he nodded. "P-Please..." "Mhm," you hummed, "And what do you want?" and gave him a teasing squeeze. The archer growled lowly; head thrown into his neck. So sensitive. "Words, sweet boy." "A-Anything," he stammered and swallowed hard. You could see how his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "W-Wha'ever yer willin' t-to give me." You smiled again - almost proudly, "There you go." and instantly worked on getting the belt and button of his jeans undone before you were able to slip your hand inside.

Incoherent curse words tumbled past Daryl's lips as your hand finally made contact with the hot, pulsating flesh of his hardness. "Shh," you instantly 'scolded' him. "You have to keep quiet, baby. We don't want the others to hear us, right?" He nodded and bit his lip; trying his best to keep quiet. The problem was that your touch just felt so fucking heavenly. You had showed him paradise and now he didn't ever want to leave again. Daryl was an addict - and you were his drug.

Your hand worked him slowly and steadily - as best as you could inside the confines of his boxers and jeans. Nevertheless, the archer seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. His eyes were closed shut; mouth hanging open. You smiled.

"Good, baby?" All that Daryl was able to answer with was a low grunt. It was confirmation enough for you. So, you kept going; pumping him slow and steady and - hopefully, getting him closer and closer to his high.

After barely a few minutes, Daryl started to squirm again. "'M close, fuck, 'm so close," he almost whimpered and tried to rut up into your hand. "N-Need more, please, Y/N, n-need more," he begged; lower lip quivering and sweat rolling down his temple. He was so worked up and desperate - a state you didn't see him in often. Yet.

You nodded. "I know, sweet boy, I know. I want to give you more - I'd love to give you more, but I'm afraid I can't. Not here. It's too public. Too risky. Anyone could see us." Even though it sounded kinda thrilling - doing something 'risky' and knowing the possibility of getting caught any second existed, but you didn't want that for Daryl. You knew he'd probably never get over it if somebody would walk in on the both of you; of getting seen in such a vulnerable, intimate state. The archer, though, was way too far gone to care - that's why you had to do it for him.

Daryl shook his head. "Dun care, please..." Gosh, he was adorable. You wanted to give in. Really. You'd have gotten on your damn knees right in front of the man to put your mouth on him to give him more - but as a sudden voice cut through the air, you were very glad you didn't.

"Daryl, Y/N." The voice wasn't entirely familiar yet but nevertheless distinct. Deanna... You instantly stopped in your movements as you saw past Daryl's sweaty biceps how the elder woman approached the porch with a smile. "Good evening," Deanna continued and started to climb the few steps. You turned; shielding Daryl's... 'misfortunate' state from her eyes. It was a little awkward for your arm - given the fact that your hand was still shoved in his pants, but well... Anything to look 'decent'.

"Enjoying this summer evening?" The woman asked as she came to stand in front of you and Daryl. You nodded and gave her a smile; hoping the scenery didn't look too strange... Daryl, sitting on the railing with you standing between his legs - close to leaning against his body. Could be easily wrong interpreted, you caught yourself thinking. Deanna might think now we're romantically involved... But then again... Better that than her, catching me sucking him off...

"We are, yes. It's nice out here. Still very warm, though."

While you acted blazingly fast and saved the situation with casual small-talk, the archer was like frozen behind you. The sudden interruption caused at least his brain to fall from cloud nine and rather harshly come back down to earth. His cheeks were flushed. Deep red in embarrassment and arousal. The sweat was still rolling down his temples and pectorals; heart hammering in his chest. He tried so hard to act 'normal' and not let Deanna notice what was really going on here. That your hand was currently firmly wrapped around his rock hard dick and that you'd been jerking him off only a few seconds ago. And yet he was also utterly annoyed and frustrated since he was so close to reach his peak.

He didn't even register half of the conversation you had with Deanna; too lost in his own head trying to keep it together. Until he heard a door close shut and felt how your hand vanished around his throbbing erection. He whimpered. He didn't intend to, but it just happened. His eyes instantly flicked up to meet yours. You held a compassionate look. "I know, sweet boy, I'm sorry... But Deanna just almost caught us. We don't want that to happen again, do we?" Daryl swallowed and shook his head. "Nah," he whispered; voice cracking. "See?" You said and buttoned his straining jeans; not forgetting to buckle his belt as well. Daryl watched your fingers work and swallowed again. "S-So yer jus' gonna leave me like tha'? 'M still-" "Painfully hard, I know," you finished his sentence and gave his thick thigh a pat. "I won't," you shook your head, "Go inside and take a shower upstairs. I'm gonna come and visit you," and offered him with a smile and a wink.

The archer grumbled under his breath but knew he didn't have a choice and that it was better that way - even though he wanted you to finish what you started right here and now. "Fine." You smiled, "Good boy." and reached for the left side pocket of his vest in which he kept his cigarettes. You took one out, alongside the lighter and put it between your lips to light it. Then you jutted your head at the door, "Go, Daryl. I'll finish the smoke and join you." and took a drag of the cigarette; blowing the smoke right into his face. Something that managed to turn on the already riled up man even more - only God knew why. Daryl clenched his jaw to stop another needy whimper from slipping past his lips. Without another word, he adjusted his jeans and stepped back inside the house. You smiled; eyes ogling his backside.

Like promised, you finished your smoke - taking your time, and more or less snuck inside and upstairs to join Daryl in the bathroom. Scanning the hallway a last time to make sure nobody was around, you slipped inside the room, closed the door and locked it.

"Wha' the fuck took ya tha' long? Had another smoke or wha'?" Daryl snapped; standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and visibly frustrated. It looked like he had already showered, since he wore a fresh shirt with the sleeves torn off. His wild, growing curls were wet. His lower half was bare, except a very low hanging and tenting boxer shorts.

You casually shrugged your shoulders, "Had to make sure enough time passed. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, right?" and started to get rid of your pyjama shorts and panties without missing a beat. When Daryl just stared at you almost speechless and didn't move a muscle, you raised an eyebrow. "What is it, handsome? We're doing this now, or not? Thought you wanted more? I'm giving you more." You gestured down yourself, then reached inside a drawer of the bathroom cabinet and threw a condom his way which Daryl caught just barely. Yeah, you came prepared. "You gonna get going now, or need an extra invitation?"

Your boldness caught the bowman a little off-guard, but it also sent a delicious spark of desire down his core. He nodded and rather awkwardly tugged at his boxers to shove them past his hips and down his legs. "Yeah, 'm- 'course..." "Good," you said with a smirk and turned to steady yourself against the lavatory; pushing your hips back. "'Cause I don't think we have much time before anyone notices that we're both gone and not on the porch either." Daryl swallowed hard; eyes stuck on the prize. The vision of you half naked in front of him was straight up overwhelming. Sure, he had a few girls in his life before. But not many. And certainly not like that. This was different. You were different.

"C'mon, handsome. Don't be shy. Take what you need. I gotcha," you almost cooed; trying to reassure the man standing like rooted to the floor behind you. He nodded - more to himself than to you. No matter how nervous Daryl was, he couldn't deny how much his body demanded this. After ripping the small quadratic wrapper open with his teeth, he took out the safety measure with slightly shaking hands. Rolling the condom over his sensitive, kinda already edged length made him suppress a moan. Instead he gritted his teeth; hoping that he was able to last at least a few minutes and give you some pleasure as well. Then he stepped closer; shy and clammy hands reaching for your hips and grabbing them gently.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted himself and was about to connect your bodies, when he suddenly stopped with hesitation. You frowned; had been already waiting for the incoming stretch and pleasure. "What's wrong, Dar?" Daryl swallowed again. As much as he wanted to have sex with you, the least thing he wanted was to hurt you. He accidentally did that way too often when he was younger and Merle made him 'screw sum' hot bitches he knew'.

"A-Are ya, uh...? C-Can I...? D-Dun wanna hurt ya," he whispered - feeling like a young, inexperienced man who had his first time. You gazed over your shoulder to look at the archer. Face flushed, a few damp strands of hair in his face. He looked so cute being all shy and embarrassed. You gave him a nod. "Yes, sweet boy. I'm ready. Was since I started to jerk you off. Get going."

"'Kay," he mumbled almost inaudible and finally slipped inside; slow and gentle. "Oh my gosh, yesss," you giggled - already enjoying yourself very much, while Daryl tensed. He had such a hard time keeping it together and not blow his load already. It took him all his willpower to not start rutting into you like a wild animal. It had been so long and he was so damn sensitive.

"You can move, Daryl." You told him; having adjusted to his size. To hear you say that was utterly reliving. Now that you officially gave him the go, there was no holding back. Daryl was so desperate for you. He needed this. Otherwise he might as well drown and die in his own unanswered pleasure.

The archer started to move. It wasn't perfect. Rather clumsy and... wild. So, you pushed your hips back; trying to guide him a little. With success. He was a quick learner and fell into rhythm fast.

"T-Tha' okay?" Daryl asked in between thrusts; wanting to do it right. "Mhm," you hummed. "Making me feel very good, sweet boy. Don't stop." The man behind you whimpered at your praise; hips stuttering a little. "D-Dun wanna stop, b-but 'm so close. D-Dunno how long I can hold-" You unintentionally clenched around him. "O-Oh fuck," Daryl whined, and you instantly felt his rhythm falter before he entirely came to an halt. Panting hard and with satisfying pleasure running through his veins, he almost collapsed on you; forehead pressed against your back. Daryl's palms were still holding on tightly to your hips; grounding him.

You looked once more over your shoulder; watching the spent archer. Another smile darted across your face. Yes, he didn't last long and came prematurely. Yes, you didn't get to reach your peak. But right now in this moment, you couldn't care less. This had been about him. Not you. He was going to get better at this - with time and patience.

Daryl had barely caught his breath when you started to move 'beneath' him to slip away. You could've sworn he winced a little at the sudden loss of body contact. Almost dazed, the archer watched you getting dressed again - rooted once more to the ground and his lower half still entirely exposed.

When you came up to him and pressed a kiss against his cheek, he instantly blushed - as if flipping a switch. "See you, handsome." You walked to the bathroom door - which seemed to 'wake' him finally up from his trance like state. "Y-Yer goin'?" The man whispered; looking at you like a puppy in the rain. Cute.

You nodded. "Have to. Don't want our cover blown." Daryl chewed on the inside of his lower lip and nodded as well; another few wild chestnut bangs falling into his face. You gave him another smile as you unlocked the door. "Great sex, sweet boy," you added with a wink and left the still utterly dazed archer behind.

Daryl spent almost the whole night on the porch to keep watch. It felt safer that way. He and Rick still didn't trust this place entirely. Being on his own for several hours gave the archer a lot of time to think. Too much. No matter what he tried to think of, his thoughts always ended back on you and especially all the things you were able to make him feel. Your hands all over him. Your lips. Your mouth. How heavenly you felt wrapped around him - as if you were made for each other. He swallowed hard and cursed under his breath as he noticed how much he had been drifting off again. Daryl felt like a horny teenager. "Damnit," he whispered; noticing the tightness of his pants again. What was wrong with him? What had you done?

The archer desperately tried to redirect his dirty mind and think of anything - just not you. But without much success. The seed had been planted and now the plant grew.

Since it was in the middle of the night and therefore quiet and especially dark, he grabbed his junk with one big palm; trying to give himself some relief and get his 'little friend' to calm down again. The problem? His hand just wasn't yours. It was not enough - and he soon learned that he needed more. He needed you.

So, with a rather frustrated, needy growl, he made his way to you; tiptoeing around all his sleeping family members. The only good thing was that you were sleeping at the far end of the room but at the edge - so if anyone would wake up, he could easily just roll away from what he had planned to do. Hopefully.

The archer carefully laid down behind you - not to startle you awake and pressed his pelvis against your behind; hand on your hip. "Y/N," he whispered gruffly. "Y/N, c'mon." His hand squeezed your hip as he tried hard to not grind against you. He certainly wouldn't do anything before you didn't give him his go. "Wake up," he whispered a notch louder. "Please..."

That seemed to do the trick. You stirred and shifted. "Daryl?" You mumbled; voice thick with sleep as you lifted your hands to your face in order to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "What's wrong? You okay?"

He straight up whimpered at your kind and caring words; shaking his head - something you weren't able to see. "N-Need you," he whispered in a hoarse voice; "Please..." proving his point by grinding his hips against your ass and making you feel him. You gasped; certainly not having expected this. "Oh, Daryl... Got yourself worked up all over again?" He just whined - and it was all the confirmation you needed. "Okay, okay, I gotcha. What do you need, handsome?" You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him. "My hand? Mouth? Sex?" He shook his head - at all the three options you gave him. "What then, huh?" The bowman swallowed hard; Adam's apple bobbing. "W-Wanna play," he rasped out. "Lemme play. With ya." You raised your eyebrows - a little surprised. "You want to...?" He nodded. "Please. I-I know I didn't make ya come when we... I know I blew 'm load too early 'n... I wanna make it up 't ya. Please. Let me try."

His words and almost sheer desperation sent a delicious tingle straight to your core. Who were you to deny him? Especially when he asked so sweetly. "Okay, sweet boy - but as always... We have to keep quiet, yeah?" He nodded quickly against your shoulder. "'Kay," you whispered. "Give me your hand. I'll show you how you can make me feel good." Another soft whimper left the archer's lips and within seconds slid his palm from your hip into your hand. You lifted the blanket to tuck it over his arm and then guided his hand southward until his big palm was cupping your crotch. "Rub me like you'd rub yourself over your pants. Go ahead. I know you can do it. You know how that works, handsome."

You felt him nod again before he cautiously started to do as you asked. It felt... different. Jerking himself off was one thing, but jerking you - a woman off was something entirely different. It wasn't his body and so, of course, he didn't know exactly the... mechanics. He never did it before. This was a first for Daryl. That's why he asked you to teach him. He was familiar with your anatomy - but not with the buttons he had to press.

"T-Tha' good?" He asked after a few moments; keeping his voice down. "Mhm," you hummed and started to slowly grind against his hand. "Keep going." Daryl kept going - until you tapped your fingertips against the back of his hand. "Need more, handsome. You ready to learn more?" "Please," he pleaded; voice strained and husky. "So eager..." There was an audible smile in your voice as you rearranged his hand again; slipping it inside your shorts and panties this time. The moment Daryl's fingers connected with your heat, a low moan escaped both your lips. You shifted your leg a little for better access and guided his hand; letting his fingers glide through your folds.

"F-Fuck, sunshine... Y-Ya always tha' ready?" You had to suppress a giggle. "Only for you, sweet boy." He whined; hips rutting involuntarily against you. You smiled and bit your lip; his desperation turning you on even more. "Concentration, baby, c'mon. Keep your hand were I want it. You said this is about me - not you." "S-Sorry," he whispered hoarsely and kept going; rubbing you. It was delicious - especially once Daryl got the nick of it, with the calloused, rough pads of his fingers caressing your most sensitive part as well.

"You're doing so good, sweet boy. Just keep it up a little." At your praise, the archer had to suppress a moan and did his utmost best to keep doing it right. But with Daryl helping you climb the ladder higher and higher, the need for more got more urgent as well. So, you grabbed his wrist again to slow his movements down and to reposition yourself once again a little. "A-Ain't good anymore?" The man behind you mumbled; slight worry swinging in his voice. "No, baby. It is good - just not enough. Need your fingers inside. Now."

Daryl swallowed hard at your words; feeling himself blush but also twitch in his way too tight boxers. "I-I ain't ever..." He started; too shy to spell it out entirely. "That's what I thought, Dar. Don't worry, you got this. I promised I'd teach you." The man nodded and let you reposition his hand again; sliding two of his thick fingers inside - which caused you to audibly gasp. "Fuck, sweet boy, that's it," you breathed and started to guide his hand; teaching him the right movements. "Just like that. Just like that." Daryl was a fast learner. And oh, boy was he good with his fingers. To he honest, you assumed nothing less - since he just was good with his hands in general, but that... You thought you unlocked a new skill of his.

"U-Use your thumb, too, handsome." You didn't need to explicitly tell him what to do with the digit. He connected the dots and added pressure to the bundle of nerves; rubbing in tight circles. You had to slam a hand over your mouth to not moan out loud.

From time to time you had to redirect his thumb a little, since he was going a little too hard, but beside that... He treated you so good and gave you so much pleasure - especially for a man who had never done this before. So, it was no wonder that you reached your peak quite fast.

"I-I'm so close," you whimpered. "J-Just a little more, handsome ." Daryl groaned lowly into your neck and pumped his fingers a little faster; hitting that one delicious spot repeatedly. The wet, obscene sounds this intimate encounter resolved in, got luckily mostly muffled by the blanket around you. But nevertheless, you tried to keep an eye on your surroundings in case anyone of your found family woke up.

"S-Shit," you cursed; feeling yourself tipping over the edge. "G-Gonna-" Your word morphed into a breathless moan. You squirmed against Daryl as you got swallowed by pleasure; hands gripping his wrist and forearm - probably leaving marks.

To feel and watch you fall apart didn't leave the archer unbothered. His hips rutted against you, before they came to an halt - just like the hand which was pleasuring you, with an incoherent curse that tumbled from his lips.

"O-Oh my..." You breathed in the dark room; recovering from your high and feeling Daryl's hand retreating from your heat. "W-Was it... 'kay?" You turned in his 'embrace' to face him. "Okay? Dar... I think that was one of the best orgasms I ever had." You could barely see the blush creeping up on the archer's face, since the huge room was only a little illuminated by the moonlight shining through the windows. "R-Really?" "Really. You did so good, sweet boy," you praised him and brought his hand up to your lips; licking and sucking his fingers clean and tasting yourself on his roughened skin. Daryl had to suppress a load moan as he felt your hot tongue against his fingers.

You giggled quietly and were more than ready to give him some relief you know he needed as well - but when your hand slid inside his jeans, you could feel a warm, sticky wet patch at the front of his boxers. "Daryl, did you...?" He nodded - ashamed. "C-Creamed 'm pants, yeah." You shook your head and retrieved your hand to cup his stubbly cheeks again. "Don't. Don't be embarrassed or ashamed. It's okay, handsome," you whispered with a small smile. "And actually beautiful. Because you felt so much pleasure by giving it to someone else that you were able to immerse yourself in it, too. It's so selfless and actually quite sexy." Daryl blinked and chewed on the inside of his bottom lip; mulling over your words. "Yeah?" You smiled at his absolute cuteness and nodded. "Yes." To proof your point, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. His cheeks became redder - and before things could get more intimate between you two, he carefully shifted and slowly got up. You let him, of course; didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or something. "I-I, uh, should get into a fresh pair 'a boxers..." Daryl mumbled; rubbing his neck. "Sure thing, handsome. And thank you for this." He shook his head, "Gotta thank ya." and turned to tiptoe upstairs. "Daryl?" You whisper-shouted after him. "Yah?" "We're doing this again, right?" "Please."

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Because Spencer had mistaken your politeness for encouragement.

Daryl had been away on a run with Rick and Aaron for nearly two weeks, and though he had left with his usual grumble and a promise to be back before you had the chance to miss him too much, you knew better. You missed him the moment he walked through the gates.

Besides, there were some things easier dealt with when your boyfriend happened to be terrifyingly competent with a crossbow and a permanent scowl.

You hadn't told him. Partly because you didn't want to worry him, and partly because you knew exactly how he'd react.

The mere thought of Daryl discovering another man had been making you uncomfortable was enough to picture the storm cloud that would settle over his face, so you tried to handle it yourself before he arrived.

"Spencer, seriously, quit it. I'm not interested."

"Not interested right now?" he'd asked hopefully.

"No. Not interested. Period."

And he smiled. Actually smiled.

As if his persistence would somehow change your mind.

"I get it, you're difficult."

"No, Spencer, you're being difficult. I don't want you." you pause between every word like you're speaking to a toddler.

His expression changed to something like disappointment for only a second before that easy smile returned, making your skin crawl for reasons you couldn't explain.

"Guess I'll keep trying then."

You'd stopped even replying to his greetings after that, not wanting to give the man any reasons to think he had a shot with you.

When Daryl arrived, you took a mental note to explain him everything. How annoying Spencer had been these last couple of weeks, how scary it was starting to look for you. But you waited the first day to pass, enjoying a peaceful time with him before throwing the bomb when things were calmer.

The next day, you woke up earlier than him, it had rained the night before, leaving the air cool and smelling faintly of wet earth. You had changed into one of Daryl's old shirts, the oversized sleeves hanging past your wrists, curled them up to make him breakfast, while your head wondered how you'd approach the subject without him storming out of your house immediately and stamping his fists directly onto Spencer's nose.

A knock woke you from your thoughts. You sighed deeply.

"Come on, I know you're home." the known voice said from the other side of the wall.

You closed your eyes.

Of course ignoring him had apparently encouraged him. Wonderful.

"Can we just talk?" his voice called through the door. "You've been avoiding me.". No shit.

You remained frozen on your spot. Then came another knock. Louder this time.

"Seriously?"

You were just beginning to gather your voice to yell at him to leave when footsteps sounded behind you and strong arms slid around your waist.

You nearly jumped out of your skin before a familiar warmth pressed against your back.

"Who the hell's bangin' on your door?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead." you dodged the question, turned to face him and press your lips to his. "Missed you so much these days."

"I missed ya too."

He wore only a pair of overused sweatpants, his exposed chest was marked with scars colored differently, some old and some new ones, his hair was a mess, falling over eyes still heavy and swollen with sleep, and there were faint marks from the pillow pressed against one side of his face. Confusion had settled into a frown as he glanced toward the front door and then back at you.

The knock came again. Daryl frowned.

"Seriously, hun, who's that?"

You stiffened, and immediately, he noticed.

"Who is it?"

"Promise you won't get into a fight for this."

That answer earned you a look.

"The hell's going on?"

"Spencer's been bugging me like an asshole but's gotten worse now. He's been knockin trying to get me to talk to him."

"He's-" Daryl looked between you and the door. "He's been coming to your place?" you nodded.

"I told him with all the letters I wouldn't want him painted gold but he won't listen."

Daryl's eyes darkened.

"That little prick–"

"Y/n?" Spencer called from outside.

Silence. You felt Daryl go completely still.

"Daryl?"

His head turned very slowly toward the front door.

"Daryl–" you repeated weakly.

"Sweetheart."

Another knock interrupted you.

"I know you're in there!"

Daryl released you with alarming slowness, you had witnessed walker hordes that looked less threatening. He wasn't angry at you, not even close.

But there was a very particular expression on his face that usually preceded somebody making poor life choices.

"Daryl."

"Mhm."

"Behave."

"Mhm."

"That wasn't convincing."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead so absentmindedly it nearly distracted you from the fact that he was marching toward the front door with absolutely no shirt on. He opened the door.

Spencer's confident smile vanished so quickly you wished you had recorded to replay it later.

Because as the door opened and he expected you, finally deciding to give him a chance or invite him in, stood instead Daryl Dixon, looking thoroughly unimpressed with existence itself, broad-shouldered and shirtless, like he owned the place.

And behind him, visible over his shoulder, stood you. Wearing one of Daryl's shirts.

Spencer blinked.

Daryl blinked back. Then, with all the warmth of a man discussing the weather, he asked.

"Can I help ya?"

The poor fool actually opened his mouth.

"I uh... I was looking for–"

"For my girl?"

Daryl's eyebrow lifted, he sounded calm — which made things worse.

"She's busy, pal."

Spencer's eyes widened.

My girl. The words settled warmly in your chest despite the embarrassment threatening to kill you.

"Didn't know y'all were together."

Daryl's expression got heavier.

"Well, now ya do." The message was, thankfully, finally received.

Spencer muttered something that sounded like an apology before retreating down the street with remarkable speed.

Daryl watched him until he was far enough, then closed the door, turned around and looked at you smiling like a child who just got cotton candy.