"Whiskey? Really?"

You picked up the unfamiliar bottle on the dining table, exclaiming in surprise.

"Yeah, why?" Daryl sat in the chair, a cigar dangling from his lips, a lighter clicking in his hand. The pristine white filter caught fire, turning into red ash. It seemed like he had found quite a few spoils on his last run. "I found it on the previous run at a pharmacy. Happy coincidence, no?"

You looked at the man in front of you, eyes flickering with suspicion. However, Daryl didn't seem to care much. He slowly took a deep drag from the cigar, letting the rich, earthy scent of decay seep into his lungs. Only then did he exhale, releasing a thin smoke that curled lazily into the air.

"You hid it and didn't give it to Olivia, did you?"

Daryl shrugged, and you raised an eyebrow in disapproval. Turning your back, you began to walk away, planning to go to the inventory to return the bottle to where it belonged.

"Hey, hey! Where are you going?"

He called out, his voice higher than usual. He quickly stood up, placed the half-finished cigar in the ashtray and ran after you to the door.

"Glenn and a few others just found a truck full of supplies. The inventory's already so full it can barely fit anything else. One bottle of whiskey is nothing compared to all that."

You glared at Daryl after hearing his excuse. True, a bottle of whiskey wasn't worth arguing over, but you had an idea. And you knew that under normal circumstances, he would never agree to it. You had to take advantage of this moment.

"Alright, it's all yours. On one condition."

"What?"

"Do you know the game Flip, Sip, or Strip?"

•••

Although Daryl never mentioned it, you had already guessed that he had never played a drinking game before, except for that one time he played "I Never" with Beth after the prison was destroyed.

And now, he was sitting across from you, lips pressed tightly together. The whiskey bottle on the table was already a third empty. You sat upright, smiling with delight, completely sober and fully clothed. Meanwhile, Daryl's face was already slightly flushed. His shoes, knife sheath, and belt lay quietly on the floor.

"You're definitely cheating, aren't you?"

He shot you a suspicious look, seemingly unable to believe what was happening. It was understandable, considering you had just won four rounds in a row. Honestly, even you were surprised by your luck. Maybe the goddess of fortune had finally heard your prayers.

You sneaked a glance at the man before you. It was winter, so he wasn't wearing his usual sleeveless shirts as often, and only God knows how much you missed the sight of them. But now, if you won just one more round, you would finally get to admire those muscular arms of his without guilt. Of course, you'd never admit it, but you were absolutely obsessed with his biceps. Every time you saw them, you imagined how it would feel to have those strong arms wrap around your waist, imprisoning you in his embrace. Just the thought of it turned you on so damn much.

"Come on. Don't be such a sore loser, Daryl Dixon." You giggled, picking up the coin on the table. "It's your turn."

Daryl didn't reply but simply nodded. His eyes were glued to your hand, intensely focused. It wasn't often you saw him so serious about something as childish as a drinking game. It seemed like you had accidentally awakened his competitive side. Good. Even more fun.

"Watch carefully."

You whispered before flipping the coin. It soared into the air, spinning a few times before landing neatly on the back of your hand. Your other hand covered the coin, and you tilted your head, waiting for his response.

Daryl bit his lip.

"Tails."

You tried to stifle a laugh, removed your hand, and revealed the coin.

It was heads.

"Damn it! Are you serious?" Daryl stomped his foot in frustration, cursing. And you burst out laughing.

"Come on, you chose to drink last turn. Now take off a piece of clothing."

Daryl clicked his tongue, obviously pissed at his horrible luck, but he had no choice but to follow the rules. He reluctantly removed his outer jacket, leaving only a black sleeveless shirt and faded jeans. His rough, muscular arms were now exposed, and you could only pray that he didn't notice how your eyes glued to every inch of his bare arms, technically burning into his skin with unspoken desire.

"I swear to God, if I lose one more time, I'll never touch any of these stupid drinking games again."

You laughed again. "Alright, it's my turn."

Daryl took the coin you handed him. Without wasting a moment, he flipped it.

"Hmm, heads," you guessed confidently.

He removed his hand. Tails.

You grimaced. Well, winning and losing are a part of the game. After all, this was only your second loss. Nothing to get disheartened about. You bent down to remove one shoe, tossing it onto the floor.

But it seemed that your luck for the night had already ended.

Or maybe, it just began.

•••

"...Tails."

The person in front of you smirked, revealing the heads side of the coin.

After that second loss, the tide turned against you. Yes, you kept losing. Continuously. Non-stop. For five rounds straight. It was as if you and Daryl had switched places. Now, all you had left on were your pants, a light jacket, and a T-shirt underneath. Luckily, you wore many layers today since it's cold. Otherwise you'd probably only have your undergarments on right now after that many losses.

You could only sigh in frustration, pouting as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured yourself another glass. You tilted your head back, downing the bitter, warm liquid in one gulp. The room-temperature whiskey blazed a trail of heat down your throat that settled deep in your chest. You weren't used to this sensation as you always preferred your whiskey with ice. You couldn't quite discern it, but it set your body alight with a fiery warmth.

Daryl, on the other hand, loved his whiskey neat.

Daryl looked at you with interest, clearly enjoying himself now that the tables had turned.

"Let's keep going; you've got one more round," he said.

You shot him a glare. By now, you were starting to feel tipsy, the whiskey proving to be quite strong. Your eyes were glassy, and you were struggling to stay focused. Daryl seemed a bit drunk too, his voice louder than usual. His words slurred slightly at the edges but were still coherent.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

He nodded and flipped the coin once more.

"Tails," you guessed before the coin even landed on the back of his hand, just wanting to end this quickly.

Of course, it was heads.

"I'm starting to regret playing this game with you."

"Well, you've only got yourself to blame."

You rubbed your forehead with your hand, hesitating before removing your jacket. If you lost two more rounds, you'd have to take off your T-shirt, and that was something you really didn't want to happen. Well, it wasn't too concerning since the man who'd see you shirtless would be Daryl, but still. You didn't want to lose at a game you suggested.

After tossing the jacket to the ground, you suddenly realized something.

Daryl's eyes were locked onto you. It felt as though his stare carried a physical weight, pressing and tracing every inch of your exposed skin. There was something in that gaze, a silent hunger that you didn't dare to name, left you feeling vulnerable and electrified. He was undressing you with his eyes, peeling away not only the layers but also your very defenses. The intensity in those blue orbs made you unable to breathe.

He fell silent for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth.

"No bra?"

Your cheeks were burning red.

"Is it really necessary to point that out? I'm at home!" You almost screamed in embarrassment. You didn't even notice that you weren't wearing one. It was winter, after all–who would bother with such a thing in this weather anyway?

"But you were the one who forced me to play this game, no?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with something darker, something playful. "You should've known better, or, this is probably not an accident?"

You immediately raised your head. Did he just imply you did that for him?

"... What do you mean?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropped to a murmur. "You know what I mean, darlin'."

There was a gravity in his tone that made the air between you grow thicker. This didn't feel like a game anymore. You both were standing on the edge of something much deeper, something that had been simmering on the surface for far too long.

He was right. Maybe it wasn't an accident at all.

"... Let's continue."

You played dumb, cowardly avoiding the battle you knew you had no chance of winning. You picked up the coin on the table and flipped it. But the alcohol had taken its toll on you, and the weight of his stare was starting to get a little too much to bear. You unintentionally missed the coin, letting it fall onto the table. You quickly covered it with your hand, but you were sure that someone as sharp as him had already seen whether it was heads or tails.

Daryl chuckled at your clumsy action.

"Heads."

You looked at Daryl in disbelief; it was tails. You could have sworn he had seen the face of the coin when you missed it. Did he guess it wrong on purpose?

Before you could find an answer, he had already grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands. With a swift motion, the last layer on his upper body was on the floor. The muscles of his torso came into view, taut and defined. You could see the etched scars on his broad chest, the curves of his shoulders, and the powerful lines of his arms. You inhaled sharply, your breath caught in your throat.

"You could've just drank, you still had one turn left—"

"It's hot."

Yes, you are. The words burned on your lips, but you bit them back. You had dreamed about this moment every single night while touching yourself to the thought of him. And now when it finally happened, you were out of words. You shamelessly traced the lines of his chest with your eyes. Your whole body felt like it was on fire; you didn't know if it was because of the whiskey or just... Daryl.

His gaze remained fixed on you. This didn't feel like a drinking game anymore, it had transformed into a contest of patience. And you could tell that his was wearing thin.

"O-okay, my turn then."

You stuttered, handed him the coin. He lazily tossed it.

"Heads."

It was tails.

He looked at you, waiting. You glanced at the whiskey bottle on the table, biting your lip. You could still drink for this turn, but should you really do that? You sneaked another glance at the man in front of you, swallowing hard.

Screw this game. Screw him too.

You reached for the waistband of your pants, unfastened the button and slid down the zipper with deliberate slowness. The low coffee table wasn't enough to shield the lower half of your body. You could feel his surprised gaze on you, followed your every movement, roamed over the curve of your waist and the softness of your thighs. You didn't even dare to look into his piercing eyes, scared of what they would do to your body. With a deep breath, you began to slide down the pants over your hips, deliberately raising your legs just high enough for him to catch a glimpse of the soaked fabric clinging to your core. The pants pooled at your feet.

"Like you said, it's hot."

Your voice was shaky. You pressed your lips tightly in anticipation. Tension crackled in the air, the kind of tension that only needed the smallest spark to ignite into something unstoppable. And you found yourself waiting.

He pushed aside the glasses and whiskey bottle, his movements swift and decisive. He reached across the table, impatiently grabbed and pulled you toward him with force. You let out a startled cry at his sudden action, and in the blink of an eye, you were seated on his lap. The sudden shift of proximity was almost overwhelming, exhilarating. The warmth of his body radiating through you, sent shivers down your spine.

Daryl's blue eyes were heavy with desire, intense and unwavering, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. There was something almost hypnotic in the way those blue eyes locked onto you–like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, making you feel both powerful and delicate all at once.

His hands roamed possessively over your thighs, the roughness of his skin made you forget how to breathe.

"Enough of this damn game darlin'. Give me what I want."

He whispered in your ear, his breath scorching as it caressed your skin, crawling up your face. It's too hot. You. Him. This room. An unbearable heat. And no one could cool this burning desire except him. You leaned in close and placed a kiss on his lips. His searing lips made you shiver. Your tongue brushed against his, timid and hesitant, as if waiting for permission. But his patience had long run out. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you tightly into his embrace. He responded to your kiss with a fervor, his tongue boldly parting your lips and diving into your mouth. Your lips collided, entwining with each other. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath. You kept the close distance between you two, resting your forehead against his.

You whispered against his lips, "I'm yours."

Daryl groaned, and before you knew it, your body was pressed into the sofa. He crashed his lips onto yours again, this time with a raw and primal intensity, swallowing your moans whole. He didn't bother to remove your shirt, instead, his hands slipped under it, roaming from your waist to your back, squeezing your breasts with unrestrained hunger. You gasped at his boldness, your mind numb, your skin ablaze wherever he touched. His strong body pressed you down into the cushions, pinning you beneath him. He reluctantly pulled away from your swollen lips, trailing kisses down your ear and neck. He bit down on the tender spot between your neck and shoulder, making you nearly scream, but his tongue immediately followed, soothing the fresh mark with a silent apology.

You tangled your fingers in Daryl's messy brown hair, burying your face in the crook of his neck, greedily inhaling the scent that was uniquely his. Your other hand clung to his muscular back, carefully tracing the scars scattered on his skin. He was still busy kissing your body, leaving several marks across your neck and chest. His lips moved lower, capturing one of your rosy nipples in his mouth. You cried out in pleasure, the core between your legs tightening, aching with a painful emptiness. The alcohol coursing through your body made you even more sensitive. His tongue flicked over your nipple, his hand caressed your other breast, making your body jolt in pleasure. His deep blue eyes looked up, meeting your tear-filled gaze. There was something in those oceanic depths, something brimming with lust and longing–took your breath away.

Suddenly, his other hand moved down to your lower body. You let out a sharp cry as his fingers brushed against your soaked panties.

"You're so wet."

Your face flushed with embarrassment. Daryl hastily removed your last line of defense, using his hands to part your legs, which you were trying to keep closed. His large hand touched your most sensitive spot, caressing it as if exploring. You squeezed your eyes shut, your cheeks burning. He chuckled at your reaction and, without warning, pushed a finger inside. You gasped, trying to hold back a moan but failing miserably. He whispered, "don't, let me hear your voice." He gave you no time to adjust, immediately adding a second finger. His long, rough fingers stretched you out so well, moving with increasing speed, each thrust deep and intense.

The lewd, wet sounds echoed through the room. You heard him curse under his breath. The sticky liquid quickly coated his fingers, dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa. With each thrust, the climax drew nearer. You arched your back, your breathing growing heavier by the second. He leaned in closer, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You eagerly responded, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His fingers curled, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you. And you shattered.

Your head fell back, vision turning white as the intense orgasm swept over you. Your body went numb, chest heaving as if you had just run a marathon.

"Stay with me, I'm not done with you yet."

Something burning hot brushed against your thigh, jolting you out of your daze. You glanced down, where his rigid length pulsing with need, throbbed and strained against his pants. A knot tightened in your stomach as you swallowed hard.

Your hand inched forward to touch it. He shuddered at the contact, a deep, almost primal growl rumbling through his chest. Your gaze met his. Your eyes darkened with a sultry intent as you continued to stroke the heated length through the fabric, feeling the intensity of his arousal in every movement.

But before you could do anything further, his hand shot out, gripping yours with a firmness that made your heart skip a beat.

His voice was like a command, "Not today, doll. I need to be inside you, now."

You pouted, but obediently complied. You withdrew your hand, already missing the contact. He unzipped his pants in urgency, removing the last of his clothes in one swift motion, tossing them onto the pile of discarded clothing on the floor. You watched him in silent awe, nearly overwhelmed by the beauty of the man standing before you.

The tip of his manhood flushed a deep red, sprang free from the confines of his pants, twitching against his stomach. Beads of moisture trailed down the veined shaft, tracing a path that seemed to accentuate every curve. You swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and intense excitement flooding through you as you imagined the sheer size of it filling you to the brim.

Daryl exhaled a sigh of relief. His hand moved with sudden intent, fingers wrapping around your chin and tilting your face upwards, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

"My eyes are up here."

You replied shamelessly, "But I want to see down there."

A smug smile tugged at his lips. His hand returned to your waist while the other wrapped around his own length, guiding it between your thighs. He teased you, the thick head of his arousal brushing against your entrance, sending waves of heated anticipation coursing through your body. The friction was deliciously torturous, made your eyes roll back, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"You want me to fuck you?" His words brushed against your ear, his whiskey-laden breath scorching your skin. "Pin you down and fill you up like a whore?"

His obscene words struck you like a jolt of electricity, leaving you breathless. You never imagined Daryl Dixon, of all people, would be into dirty talk. The alcohol had clearly loosened his tongue, making him more vocal and daring.

"I bet you'd like that, huh? Even before all this, you kept undressing me with those pretty eyes of yours. You think I never noticed?"

His words hung in the air, thick with tension. Your body was aching for him, your heart pounding in your chest as you silently begged for him to make good on his promise, "Daryl, please..."

"Shhh."

He hushed you before greedily capturing your lips once more. His thrusts were forceful, drawing a cry of pleasure from you. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as the pain mixed with intense ecstasy, your body reacting to the overwhelming sensation of him buried so deep inside you that it felt as if the very tip of his cock was kissing your womb. You were completely filled, stretched beyond what your body was accustomed to. Even though you knew your body hadn't yet adjusted to his size, you silently begged him not to show you any mercy. You needed to feel him—needed to feel his cock driving into you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over again.

Perhaps Daryl heard your unspoken plea because he did exactly that. His thrusts were deep and savage with punishing speed. His cock was buried between your thighs, making your entire body feel like it was on fire. His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you knew without a doubt that bruises would be left behind once everything was over. He bit down harshly on your lip, swallowing the moans that escaped your lips. He was losing control, and so were you.

"Slap me if you can't take it."

His words were a warning, but lost in the haze of pleasure, you barely registered what he was implying. Then suddenly, one of his hands moved to your neck, his fingers closing around your throat with a brutal firmness that made you jolt and meet his gaze. His ocean-deep blue eyes stared back at you, heavy with lust. His grip tightened, though not too much, allowing you to slowly acclimate to this new form of stimulation. You gasped, your breath caught in your throat, the new sensation sending waves of intense arousal through you. Daryl growled as your walls clenched around him, responding to the pleasure that surged through your body.

His grip tightened slightly more, and your breath quickened. Your vision began to blur, narrowing as all your focus zeroed in on him. Yet, despite the lack of air, there was no fear—only a heightened sense of arousal that grew with every passing second as you knew he would never hurt you. His thumb slid over your throat, slow and purposeful, sending a fresh jolt of excitement through you as he toyed with your sensitive skin. The pressure was perfect, a delicate balance between control and trust.

"You're enjoying this." He loosened his grip for a few seconds, just enough for you to gulp down a breath before his hand clamped around your throat again. "What a dirty little slut."

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the filthy words and the feel of his hand on your neck grounding you even as they pushed you deeper into a heady mix of arousal and submission. He watched you with a predatory gaze, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your body trembled under his touch. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back slightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding and possessive as it claimed your mouth. You moaned into the kiss, surrendering to him completely.

His hips moved rhythmically, filling you with every thrust. You could feel yourself unraveling each time he drove in and out, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin adding a raw edge to the scene. You gazed up at him, barely able to focus. His long hair was a damp, tangled mess, sticking to his forehead. His strong, muscular body glistened with sweat, every muscle and vein standing out on his arms, making you lick your lips in wanton desire. You trailed your fingers along those veins, earning a particularly hard thrust as punishment for your boldness. Your eyes rolled back, the familiar heat building low in your belly, nearing its peak.

"I'm close," you gasped out. He leaned down, licking a bead of sweat that trailed down your neck. His hand gripped your breast.

"Good girl," Daryl murmured. "Come for me."

And you melt beneath him. Your release crashed through you, your body convulsing, releasing a torrent of pleasure that flooded around his length. He cursed, biting into your shoulder as his hips quickened their pace, chasing his own release. After a few more thrusts, he froze, spilling into you. His hot, thick cum filled you, and you screamed at the sensation.

His body collapsed beside you on the sofa, both of you panting, drenched in sweat. He reached out to pull you into his arms, and placed a sweet, tender kiss on your lips. The taste of whiskey still lingered on his lips as you kissed him back.

Maybe, whiskey will be your favourite from now on.