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jerichodixon · 19 days ago

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Man On a Mission | Daryl Dixon x Reader

synopsis: You took Daryl’s virginity thinking it would be sweet, slow, and maybe a little awkward. What you didn’t expect was to awaken the most dangerous creature alive: a touch-starved man with stamina, a mouth, and zero shame when it comes to getting you alone. Anywhere. Anytime.

w/c: 5.5k

warnings: horny daryl, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, semi-public sex, semi-exhibitionism, oral!f&m receiving, fingering

a/n: any requests for daryl dixon are open :)))

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Your back hurts.

As well as your thighs, arms, shoulders—hell, every single part of your body aches like you’ve just gone a few rounds with a pack of walkers. You groan softly, shifting on the mattress with all the grace of a creaky door hinge. The moment you roll over, the sunlight slices through the thin curtains and straight into your squinting eyes like some divine punishment.

“Mmm… five more minutes…” your boyfriend mumbles behind you, voice gravelly and thick with sleep. His chest rumbles as he speaks, the vibration pressing warm and low into your spine. Without even lifting his head, he tightens his arms around you, dragging you flush against his body. His heat bleeds into you, wrapping around you like a second blanket.

You frown, glancing down at your bare body and the constellation of bruises blooming across your inner thighs. Deep red turning into a light purple. There’s more, too—faint, raw marks on your chest and shoulders, no doubt mirrored on your neck and probably in a few other places you can’t even check without a mirror. You blink slowly, your body catching up to the memory your brain is only now processing.

“Baby—” you start, voice low and suspicious as you slowly lift yourself up, trying to peel yourself out of his hold. “What the hell did you do to me last night?”

Daryl groans into your back, refusing to move. His lips brush your skin as he speaks, voice muffled and lazy.

“Ya really wanna ask me that?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his words. “Maybe you oughta be askin’ what you’re doin’ to me.”

Before you can respond, he rolls his hips against your ass, grinding his very much awake erection into your cheeks. You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as your body heats all over again.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” you tease, amusement lacing your voice.

Before he can answer, there’s a sharp bang on the bedroom door that startles you both. Rick’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“C’mon, lovebirds! We got a whole day’s work waitin’. Let’s go!”

You sigh, already reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Daryl’s shirt, of course—and tug it over your head, not bothering with your bottoms. You give his shoulder a pat, like waking a stubborn dog.

“C’mon,” you say, finally slipping out of his grasp. He groans again, louder this time, dramatically flopping onto his back like you just took a piece of his soul with you.

You make it to your feet, stretching with a hiss, and start toward the door. But before you can open it, you glance back. Daryl’s lying there under the thin sheet, staring up at the ceiling like it personally insulted him.

“Problem?” you ask, hand on the doorknob.

He looks at you like you’re the idiot—like there’s something blindingly obvious and you’re just not getting it. He doesn’t say a word. Just holds your gaze for a beat… then drops his eyes meaningfully to the tented sheet barely covering him.

You raise an eyebrow, slowly. The silent question hangs between you: What the hell do you expect me to do about it?

He lets out a low chuckle and smirks like the devil himself. “C’mon, babydoll… don’t leave me hangin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “No, you come on,” you snap back. “Help me with breakfast.”

And with that, you stomp off toward the kitchen, the hardwood floor cold against your bare legs. You start brewing coffee on autopilot, reaching into the fridge for prepped ingredients. There may be undead clawing at the gates of Alexandria, but you will have your avocado toast. You will sprinkle your chia bowl with banana slices and a drizzle of honey. The world might’ve ended, but your standards haven’t.

Daryl, of course, gets bacon-wrapped hotdogs. Because he’s a gremlin.

As the bacon starts to sizzle in the pan and the scent of roasted coffee fills the space, you let out a soft sigh. Mornings like this are rare—quiet, domestic, a little absurd.

Then you feel him.

Strong arms snake around your waist, slow and heavy, pulling you back into his chest. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, then another along your neck, up behind your ear, each one slower than the last.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and husky.

“Good morning, baby,” you reply, feeling him twitch slightly at the petname. He hates them—claims it ain’t his style—but as long as you don’t use them around other people, he lets it slide.

For now.

“You want hotdogs?” you ask, turning slightly toward him. “Not that it matters. They’re already in the pan. And if you start actin’ like a spoiled brat again, I swear to God I’ll hang you by your nuts.”

You feel his grin against your neck more than you see it. He doesn’t even bother looking at the food. Instead, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deep.

“Mmm…” he drawls lowly. “Do you want hotdogs?”

And just like that, he presses his hips forward again—grinding his now fully clothed erection into the curve of your ass. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the counter just to stay upright.

“Daryl,” you warn.

He doesn’t answer. Just chuckles, warm and low, before muttering against your skin:

"One last time?"

You feel like an idiot believing his pretty little lies. He had pushed the edge of his shirt up, exposing your bare ass before lightly slapping it once—twice, three times.

"Fuck, can't believe this' all mine..." He sucked in a breath before squeezing your hips, simply admiring your ass. Before you could complain, he had pushed two fingers inside you. A soft whimper slips past your lips at the feeling of his fingers immediately being coated in slick.

"Ya really kept me inside you? Didn't even wash up?" He whispers, pumping his fingers softly as his cum from last night lubricates his digits. "Mmmm, that's so fuckin' hot."

You arch your back at him, throwing your head back onto his shoulder as your breathing turns labored, eyes tightly shut and hands squeezing the cold counter.

"Turn off the stove." He commands, you immediately follow his order before he's pulling you to the side, harshly pushing your torso down on the counter.

"Fuckin' love it when my bitch is obedient." A deaperate moan slips past your lips, feeling his fingers pumping faster and harsher inside you.

Early in the morning, before the clock even struck eight, you're already nearing a soul-shattering orgasm. What the hell is up with your boyfriend and why is he getting so insatiable?

Before you could jump over the edge, he pulls his fingers back, earning a needy whimper from you. You're met with a chuckle as your leg is being lifted up, knee resting on the counter.

You're left with no time to think about what comes next when Daryl pushes himself inside you, moans slipping past both your lips. Well—slipping from yours. Daryl grows like he's angry he even pulled out.

Hips squeezed and cunt fill of him, the both of you take a moment to just feel each other. Him with your warm, slick walls and you with his hard, thick, pulsing member. And then he moves, still tightly squeezing your hips. And then he moves again. And again. And again, and again—

Skin slapping fills the room as he grabs onto your shoulder, driving deeply inside and out of you. Daryl's grunts join the noise, until the both of you are moaning the walls down, desperately trying to claw at your orgasms.

"C'mon, baby. Fuck—c'mon," He breathes out, thrusts becoming more desperate, more erratic as he chases his own high. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you push yourself up, leaning against his chest as he bites and nips on your neck, for sure leaving marks.

"Oh yes, fuck yes!" His moans come from his chest, deep and rumbling. His hips shake as he bottoms out inside you, digging his nails onto your hips, finish his load. The simple act of him giving you a creampie has you reaching your own high, walls clamping down on his throbbing member.

"Fuck, yer' squeezin' me too well babydoll..." He pants, thrusting inside you laborously one last time before pulling out, letting his load drip down your thighs.

"Fuck yeah." He slaps yout ass before kneeling down to press a kiss on it. "Come on, let's get you fed."

You glare at him, buy his stupid flushed face makes you break character, a smile slowly stretching across your face.

By 10 a.m., you’re in the storage room, crouched beside the weapons locker with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear—just like Michonne asked. You’re doing inventory: logging the number of guns, the different models, their calibers, matching them with the right ammo, and counting every last knife, machete, and crossbow bolt in the room.

It’s your favorite task.

Mostly because it’s quiet. No chatter, no drama, no one breathing down your neck. Just you, the scent of gun oil, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You take your time with it, relishing the rare peace Alexandria offers these days.

Which is exactly why, when the door creaks open behind you, your shoulders stiffen in annoyance.

“Who is it and what do you want?” you call out sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation.

“’S me.”

That voice. Your lips curve into a smile before you even see him.

Daryl steps around the corner, eyes already on you, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s about to do. “And I want you.”

“Babe,” you giggle, not even trying to sound scolding, “I’m busy.”

That doesn’t stop him. He takes three long strides across the room and wraps himself around you from behind, pressing hot kisses along the side of your neck. His hands settle low on your waist, pulling your back tight against him, his breath warm at your ear.

“I oughta hit ya in the head for leavin’ all them marks on me,” he mutters, nuzzling into your skin. “Carol saw ’em.”

You tilt your head to the side anyway, offering more of your neck to his mouth because you’re hopeless. His lips graze your pulse, followed by a bite that makes your knees weaken just a little.

“One more,” he breathes, already palming you through your pants, fingers moving with intent. Desperation radiates off him, thick and unmistakable. You know it’s stupid—dangerous even. This room has one door. No lock. Anyone could walk in.

But Daryl smells like sun, and leather, and sweat, and something feral. His breath is ragged, and his hips are already grinding against your ass like he doesn’t have it in him to wait another minute.

“You said that exact same thing less than three hours ago,” you moan, smirking as you glance over your shoulder. “You lyin’ to me, Dixon?”

He looks you dead in the eye, voice low and rough. “Ain’t that I like doin’ it, sweetheart. But it sure as hell ain’t simple keepin’ my hands off ya.”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a grin. You fully turn to face him, crossing your arms—but it doesn’t help. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever craved.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago,” you remind him, “you told me you were a virgin. And now you’re actin’ like you’re in heat.”

Daryl chuckles, low and throaty. “Pardon my language, sweetie, but any man in his right goddamn mind would have a real hard time keepin’ his hands off ya once he’s had a taste of this,” he mutters, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “And this.”

His hand cups you between the legs again, firmer this time. You suck in a breath, hands already finding their way to his neck, tangling into his messy hair at the nape.

“I have a busy day today,” you whisper, even as your fingers fumble to undo your belt. “So let’s make this fast.”

Both sets of hands are shaking and impatient as the both of you help strip each other, the redneck clearing the table of the knives as he sets you on top of the cold aluminum.

"You're picking them all up." You pant before pulling him into a deep kiss, letting his tongue guide yours in a dance of dominance and passion. He sucks harshly on your lips as he pulls your shirt off of you, fumbling multiple times with your bra before he's pulling it off of you too.

Once the cups touch the ground, his lips travel downwards, taking his time with each areola as his hands busy themselves with pulling your pants off. Once naked, you're undoing his belt and jeans, slipping your hand inside his pants, giving him teasing pumps.

"Yer touch's too perfect, doll." He breathes out, pushing his pants down, petting them pool at his ankles.

"If Rick finds out about this—"

"He'll gimme a high five at most." He looks dead into your eyes as he strokes himself slowly, "Rick shouldn't give a fuck how I get my dick wet. Why're you so concerned with him anyways? Got a thing for him? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes at his words, pulling him closer as you lay on the cold table. "You gonna keep being a jealous dick or are you gonna ruin me for the next man?"

You see how his feature steel at your joke, his eyes hardening, jaw clenching, and corners of his mouth pulled slightly downwards in disapproval. His fingers find their way on your neck, squeezing lightly.

"'M gonna make ya regret that, little girl." Was all he said before he pushes himself inside you, the table scraping on the floors as you arch your back towards him.

Daryl's arm snakes around your waist, pilling you closer as his hips snap with unrelenting force. His thrusts are deep and punishing, your cunt squeezing him greedily as he uses you for his own pleasure.

Your moans bounce of the walls as your boyfriend's grunts fill your head, keeping it high and light as you focus on your nearing orgasm. Daryl's drive to pleasure you before himself is the biggest turn on ever. Last night, he refused to give you a break.

He ate you out until your legs shook, fucked you until you left scratches red and bleeding across his back, and fingered you until you had ti push him away, eyes teary and heartbeat in your head.

Even then, he gave you a maximum of thirty seconds before he begged to fuck you again. And you let him. Cause he looked so good when he begged. Too good.

Daryl's hands move from your hips, down to your thighs, pulling them apart to give himself more room in between them.

"Yer little cunt's heaven, sweetheart." He moans, craning his head back.

You love seeing him like this—using you for his own personal pleasure, greedily taking from you. And you can't help but give anything and everything to him. Can't help but let him take from you.

His teeth on your nipple pushes you out of your own world, the pain electrifying. Pleasure zips up your spine and you can't help but push your breasts into his face, rocking your hips, grinding onto him.

"Fuck 'm close." He hisses, one hand grabbing onto the table. Grabbing at it—why? You have no idea, but looking down at his hand, you're thankful he's squeezing the table instead of you. His veins are prominent, obvious he's holding himself back.

"Come in me." Your little whisper is all it takes for him to blow his load inside you. He doubles over on you, gasping pathetically in your ear, fingers flicking at the sensitive nub of nerves in between your legs.

It doesn't take long before you're pushing him off of you, thighs squeezing together as your cunt grips and throbs around him, forcing another orgasm out of him.

"Fuck!" He groans, filling you up a second time, his thrusts slowing down as he comes down from his high. Daryl rests his forehead on your collarbone, breathing heavy and nape starting to sweat before he slowly gets off of you.

He pulls out, thumb parting your lips and seeing his load slowly drip out of you before he pulls your underwear back up.

"Daryl—" You start, watching him pick up your fallen clothes and slowly put them back on you. First your underwear, then your pants, then your shirt. "Daryl I gotta clean up—"

He ignores you, buttoning-up your pants before he starts with your belt. You place a hand on his, stopping him. "Daryl." He finally looks up at you. "I have too much to do today."

He holds your gaze, tilting his head to the side as he tightens your belt. "Then get back to work." He mutters before pulling you off the table and on your feet, pressing a deep kiss on your lips before he pulls away. Without another word, he bends over to pick up his shirt before walking out the storage room, as if he hadnmt just rocked my shit in under ten minutes.

By lunch time, you and Daryl are in the confines of your own home, and he's eating his favorite thing your mother made.

You.

Back arching, fingers digging into your living room coffee table, and noises you're sure are prominent outside. He's lapping up at you like a man starved, unable to quit you.

"Fuck, fuck!" You whine, hands flying onto his full head of hair. You tug and squeeze and pull at him, wanting him closer but needing him to stop.

Your legs are shaking, your back incredibly wet and your cunt sensitive from the overstimulation. Tears wet your face as nonsense and babbling leave your lips.

"No, no, no more!" You beg, pushing him off of upu but the second he stops licking to start sucking, you're pulling him closer to chase after your own pleasure. "God, yes! Yes!" You scream, grinding your cunt all over his face.

He sticks his tongue out, flat, as he moves his head from side to side before he resumes making out with your sensitive cunt. The second he begins to suck once more, your orgasm rolls over you, like a tidal wave taking over your body.

You open your mouth to moan but no sound comes out as the orgasm washes over your body again and again, leaving you euphoric and light-headed.

The second the feeling subsides, Daryl leaves wet kisses on your inner thighs before he stands up, helping you put on your clothes.

"Dare—" You gasp, "You know I'm not an actual meal, right?" You're lightheaded and probably don't understand half the things that left your mouth.

"Yeah, you ain't makin' sense right now." He wraps his arms around you, picking you up.

He brings you up to your bed room, laying you gently before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Get some rest, doll." Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes over you.

You’re jolted awake by sharp, insistent pounding on your front door.

It’s not the kind of knock you can ignore—the kind that demands your attention, frantic and full of panic. Your heart immediately kicks into overdrive. You sit up, blinking sleep out of your eyes, instincts taking over before your brain can catch up.

You glance out your bedroom window. The streets of Alexandria are quiet. Too quiet. No walkers. No screaming. No fires. No reason, at least on the surface, for someone to be knocking like the world’s ending—again.

Still, your gut twists.

You grab the pistol from your dresser drawer, clicking the safety off with muscle memory. Barefoot and tense, you creep toward the front door, your heart hammering in your chest as you lift the gun and take a steadying breath.

Then—one swift move—you swing the door open, weapon raised and ready to shoot.

“Hey—oh shit!”

Glenn stumbles back, hands shooting up instinctively. You drop your aim with a shaky exhale, jaw clenching as the adrenaline crashes into your bloodstream.

“Jesus, Glenn,” you snap, lowering the gun to your side. “You tryin’ to get yourself shot? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide, breath shallow. “But you need to come with me. Now.”

You stare at him for a beat. “What time even is it?”

“Two a.m. But listen—” he swallows hard— “I think it’s about Daryl.”

Your stomach drops like a stone. Your mouth suddenly feels dry.

“What happened to him?” you demand, voice sharper than the edge of your blade.

Glenn raises his hands again, trying to keep you grounded. “He’s fine. Carol’s with him, she’s patching him up but—”

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You slam your gun against Glenn’s chest, gripping his shirt with your free hand, rage and fear boiling up all at once.

“Where is he?”

Glenn doesn’t argue. He just nods toward the clinic and turns on his heel.

You follow him like a storm, armed and ready to burn down the whole damn town if it means finding Daryl. When you reach the clinic, you’re barely restrained—you shove past staff, weapon drawn, demanding answers from every nurse and doctor who crosses your path.

They take one look at your face and get out of your way.

You reach a door near the end of the hall and push it open hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.

Rick and Carol are inside, both standing beside the bed like sentinels. And on that bed—

Your heart cracks.

Daryl’s lying there, bloodied and pale, eyes half-lidded, chest rising in slow, heavy breaths. His shirt is gone, his torso wrapped in thick bandages. There’s dried blood on his skin and fresh gauze on his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” you demand, voice shaking as your eyes snap to Rick.

He runs a hand over his beard and sighs like it’s nothing. Like Daryl being shot is just another Tuesday. “He went out with a crew. Emergency at the south wall. Some teenagers—new ones—thought he was a walker. Took the shot before anyone could stop ’em.”

Your fingers curl into fists, white-hot rage pouring into your bloodstream. You start looking around the room, eyes wild, looking for someone to blame. Someone to bleed. You don’t know who these “kids” are, but if you find them—

“Who—”

“Sweetheart…”

His voice stops you cold.

You turn toward him. His voice is weak and low, rougher than usual, but it’s him. Still him. Still breathing. Still yours.

You rush to his side, dropping your gun on the floor without a second thought. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as your eyes search every inch of him. He looks rough—too pale, too still—but he’s alive.

Your voice cracks. “Jesus, baby…”

He just grunts, smirking the tiniest bit. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, darlin’…”

You look down at his shoulder, eyes drawn to the blood seeping through the gauze. Carol’s voice cuts through the haze beside you.

“It was a shallow hit,” she explains, voice calm. “Bullet went clean through, but he lost more blood than we liked. They took too long getting back.”

You hear her—but you don’t really listen. Not anymore.

You press a soft kiss to Daryl’s forehead, breathing him in. He’s clammy and warm and smells like antiseptic and blood and sweat, but he’s here.

“I’m fine,” he mutters again, eyes slipping shut for a moment.

You don’t move. You don’t look away. Your fingers gently run through his messy hair, brushing it away from his face.

Then you speak, soft but firm: “Everyone out.”

No yelling. No snapping. Just enough command in your tone to let them know you’re not asking.

Carol gives Rick a look, and the two of them quietly exit without another word. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone with him.

You keep stroking his hair, heart slowly beginning to calm now that the adrenaline is fading.

“I hate seein’ you like this,” you whisper. “Hate it.”

He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that sleepy, stubborn gaze. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

“You didn’t scare me,” you lie, smiling faintly through your tears. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Daryl chuckles weakly, one corner of his mouth curling. “Guess I owe ya flowers or somethin’, huh?”

You lean down, kiss his cheek. “Flowers and breakfast. And you’re not going on another run without me, I swear to God.”

“Deal,” he mutters.

He shifts slightly, groaning at the pain, but his hand finds yours under the blanket—big, warm, calloused fingers squeezing yours like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s the one needing reassurance now.

You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you whisper again.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I’m right here, baby.”

You rest your head gently on his chest, mindful of every breath he takes. The steady rise and fall under your cheek is reassuring, but you’re still afraid of hurting him. Your fingers trace slow, featherlight circles along his uninjured arm, your touch soft and careful.

“How can I help?” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smirks the second your eyes meet his.

“Well, uhh…” he drawls, the sound lazy and familiar. His hand drifts from your shoulder, down the length of your arm, until his fingers wrap loosely around your wrist. Slowly, deliberately, he guides your hand from his chest, down his torso—his eyes sparkling with mischief the whole way.

You shoot him a look as he settles your hand over the very obvious hardness beneath his pants. “Seriously? Daryl, you’re injured.”

He shrugs with his good shoulder, completely unbothered. “Ain’t like I gotta move much.”

You hold his gaze, deadpan. He just grins at you, that smug, teasing glint never leaving his eyes. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he always does.

You glance back at the bandages on his shoulder, sighing in disbelief.

“What is going on with you?” you mutter, more to yourself than him. “Ever since the other night, it’s like you forgot how to not touch me.”

He hums, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Have you seen yourself, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “Prettiest damn girl in the world.”

And just like that—he’s in your head again.

Daryl Dixon, with a bloody bullet wound and a busted shoulder, somehow still manages to make your knees weak without even standing. He looks at you with that quiet hunger, that low-burning intensity like you’re the only thing worth worshipping in this godforsaken world.

You look into his eyes, and there’s so much want in them—so much raw, aching need—you can feel your resolve cracking by the second.

God help you.

He knows how to get into your head.

He also knows exactly how to get into your pants.

You sigh, dramatic and defeated, but your fingers are already moving. Already working on the buckle of his belt. Already sliding down the zipper.

How bad would it really be to fuck a patient, anyway?

Because with the way Daryl’s watching you right now, like you hung the moon and lit it on fire—you’re already pulling his pants down.

Daryl's cock is already standing in attention by the time his jeans are pooling at his knees. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight of his curved member, tip oozing with precum.

You begin with a soft kiss on the tip, tasting his salty drippings. Then your tongue darts out, lapping at his member, tracing his veins, pushing at his tip. Your lips suck on his sides, bobbing your head up and down before settling on his balls, taking one in your mouth, sucking before taking the other one on your tongue. Upu suck softly, batting your lashes up at him as he groans, breathing labored.

"Fuck—just fuckin' fuck me, woman!" Daryl groans out, head falling back onto the pillow. You quickly get on your knees, crawling up at him before undoing your jeans and pulling them off. You stop right where his cock meets your clothed folds.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Don't tease me like this..." He breathes, his good hand squeezing your thigh. You pull your panties to the side, exposing your soaked cunt. "Lemme feel that sweet cunt, c'mon... 'Ve had the worst night, help me turn my mood around, yeah?"

His desperately pathetic smile has your hips moving on their own, lowering until his member is pushing inside you, filling you up. You throw your head back, closing your eyes as you completely bottom out, taking all eight inches of him.

Daryl whimpers and curses under his breath, smiling at my expression. You raise yourself before quickly lowering yourself back down, drawing out a pained expression from him.

"Yeah? You like that?" You pant, riding him while you take your shirt off. Your fingers make quick work of undoing your bra, throwing it on the floor.

"God, I love watchin' yer tits bounce." He grits in between his teeth, taking a handful, squeezing it. Moans slip past the back of your throat, your thighs and hips moving faster and faster. The hospital bed creaks under the pressure of two people, scraping against the tiled floor.

"Fuck yeah, ride that cock sweetheart." Daryl's breathing is laborous as he nears his peak, gaze stuck on your breasts as you bounce on him.

You change your angle, leaning forward as you wrap a hand around his neck. Your hips snap back and forth quickly, heavy breathing filling the air as you chase after your orgasm.

"Oh God, oh God!" You chant, right at the edge. And by the way Daryl is gripping you, you can tell he's right there with you as well. But something's missing. Something to make your orgasms...better.

"Dare, the doc said to- what the fuck." Rick drops the many pills he was holding, eyes on the both of you.

Everything happens in slow motion for you. The moment Rick's eyes fall on both you and Daryl, the way Daryl turned to him—his eyes widening, and the way your orgasm just explodes. Your cunt greedily clamps down on Daryl and the man, God bless him, looks at you with curiosity for a moment before joing your orgasm. He spills his seed empty inside you as you slowly rock your hips back and forth, riding out your high.

"I–I'll just..." Rick starts, backing up. He doesn't even bother picking up the fallen medicine. He doesn't say anything else and instead exits the room, leaving you with Daryl panting heavily underneath you.

You turn to your boyfriend who already has his eyes on you. Your eyes widen, basically seeing the wheels turn in his head.

Daryl narrows his eyes at you, thumb moving back and forth on your hip. "Wanna talk about what the hell that was?"

You part your lips, ready to say something—anything, but you're left with silence. You have no idea what to say to him, you have no idea how to say it. Daryl comes to uour rescue, sitting up and pulling you close by your nape. He presses your lips together, kiss filled with such warmth and love.

He pulls away, looking into your eyes, down to your lips, before looking back up into your orbs. "Let's talk to him first, hm? See what he thinks about it."

Your cheeks and ears burn, but you don't try denying it. You simply nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, trailing kisses up and down his neck.

"You know, I've been thinking..." You start, "I feel like I've ruined you."

Daryl gives you a side eye, raising a questioning brow at you.

"Well, I just—I just thought that...you were never this..." You swallow thickly, unsure if you have to watch your mouth with him. "...horny." You force out, "Before we had sex. Did—did taking your virginity...change anything?"

Daryl stares at you for a moment before chuckling, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Let me tell you this, instead..." He starts, your shoulders tensing with anticipation. "Ever since we saved your ass in that highway, my hand's been working overtime."

Your eyes widen at his confession, heat pooling once again in your lower belly. "Really?" You ask, curiousity piqued.

Daryl smiles, nodding his head passively.

"Can I..." You start, licking on your lips, "Can I watch?"

Daryl's smile is wiped from his face, lips parted and features cool. He looks down at your hips slowly rocking, your cunt grinding on his thigh. He looks up at you, smug, before his hand wraps around his hardening cock.

"Of course, princess."

#daryl dixon #twd #nsfw

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