#kinkmas

The dress you were wearing was one that Wanda and Natasha had picked out for you. Now the hem of it was laying softly at the bottom of your thighs. Not too short, not too long, material that wasn’t scratchy. Despite this knowledge, you had been a little nervous about it when they showed you the dress—it was red and sequined all over, but underneath was more of a cotton-silk-like material. The two of them always knew what you could and couldn’t manage, usually before even you did. They both knew how you always ended up in meltdowns when you tried to push yourself through, and they would do everything they could to stop you from getting to that point—you truly did put all your faith in them.

That was partly why they enforced so many rules; you needed it. You wanted it.

When you entered into the 24/7 dynamic with them, it hadn’t even been their idea; it had been yours. You needed it more than what you were getting from your weekly scenes. You needed so much more. You weren’t really sure of what, but you just knew you needed something more. It had terrified you, the not knowing part of it—but once you all figured out what that 'more' was, they gave it to you, without question.

You wanted more structure.

More presence.

More care.

They gave it to you, in every sense of the word.

It took time to get into a steady rhythm with the new way in which you all did things, the new rules, especially with how strict they were—more Nat than Wanda, but they were still both firm—but you liked that. You needed that. It made you feel safe and comforted and protected in a way you hadn’t felt before.

It had been months now since the changes to your dynamic was implemented, and you knew the rules like the back of hand.

Tonight though, this was the first outing with these rules in place. They were going to be testing you for every single second, and you knew it.

The air in the car felt thick with anticipation of what was to come and what was expected from you.

Your eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, almost looking directly at Wanda and Nat, but very quickly darting away again. They were watching you with an intensity you often saw, but tonight, the stakes were higher. Everyone was going to be there, Steve, Tony, Kate, Yelena, Maria, Peppa, Thor, gods, everyone was going to be there and you were already feeling overwhelmed.

Nat saw it.

So did Wanda.

“Yellow.” You whispered aloud for both of them to hear your soft voice.

Natasha’s fingers immediately slipped under your chin, moving your head slowly towards her, eyes now wide open and watching Nat’s face. “Good girl.” She murmured with a proud smile on her lips, “Remember, as long as you follow the rules, you’re safe. As long as you listen to me and Mommy, you will be okay, I promise. Nothing bad will happen.”

You weren't sure if you fully believed her right now, but then you felt Wanda's fingers replace Natasha's under your chin, and she softly guided you to meet her eyes “stay close to us. And if it gets too much, we will leave.”

Natasha's hand pulled your dress down just a little more. “Rules, sweetheart?”

The lump in your throat stuck to you in a way you hadn’t expected—your heart suddenly in every place but where it should be. You knew you were required to go over the rules before you even left the car, but how much detail they wanted was unclear. You took a breath, nodding, Wanda’s fingers leaving your chin as you found yourself looking out the front window of the car. You saw Kate and Yelena holding hands, giggling and skipping into the lit-up event.

“Okay, rules. Umm, eyes up when addressed,” you finally say.

“That's right. You look at whoever is speaking unless the command is otherwise.” Nat twisted her own ring around her finger, a nervous habit, despite her cool, calm exterior.

You went onto the next rules quickly, going through each one with your own precision. “Answer immediately when given a direct order or question. No hiding my face when I get flustered; hands stay where you can see them, even if I’m across the room.” And although you didn’t know it now, the last one would be the most important later on.

“Good girl. We love it when you blush, but that doesn’t mean you get to hide it.” Wanda leaned in giving your cheek a kiss and instantly making you red; it had the desired effect.

The rules weren’t just important to them but to you as well. You needed them. You had asked for them. And they were there to keep you safe.

The next rule was, you do not apologise unnecessarily. Stay in the middle of them at all times. No more than two alcoholic drinks; if Natasha takes your drink away, you do not pout; if Wanda gives you a sip of her wine, you take it. No wandering off without telling them; they like to see you, and if they can’t, that will set off all the alarm bells.

It wasn’t about restrictions.

It was reassurance.

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you—it was others they didn’t trust, and when it came to you, they were protective, very protective. They needed to know you were safe. You were someone who trusted too easily, and they knew that, and it was something that had often gotten you into trouble all your life.

One of the biggest rules they had for you was no flirting with anyone else, because you smile so sweetly, and when overwhelmed, you laugh a little too loud, which has sometimes been misconstrued as flirting.

“Also I obey your silent commands,” you whisper with a grin on your face—maybe you enjoyed this, maybe this was something you had wanted for longer than even you knew.

“Good girl.” Wanda tucked your hair behind your ear, a loose strand that had fallen from your bun that Wanda herself had put up for you. “Tell us what the silent commands are. Mama's first.” Wanda pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, almost making you melt into a puddle between them.

You could hear the click of Jennifer's fingers on her phone; she was the driver, sitting waiting patiently for you all to be ready. She knew your dynamic, and you were sure it went right over her head most of the time.

“Umm, okay,” you began. “If Mama taps my hip twice, I move closer; if she presses two fingers on my lower back, I stand still.” You swallowed hard, fingers gently skating over the sequins of your dress. “If she tilts my chin even slightly, I look at her immediately.” You carried on, going over the last three, which were the following…when Nat's fingers slide onto your wrist, you stop talking without question, tap on the side of your shoulder, and put your hands behind your back, and lastly, one hand gripping you around your waist means that you follow her immediately.

“That’s right, no questions, okay?” Nat sighed, fingers gripping your knee as you nodded. “You can ask us when we’re home but not before.”

You bit your lower lip ever so slightly, waiting for the next head nod, arm grip or sound for you to go onto the rules for Wanda. You felt her nuzzle in on your cheek. “Okay, baby, what are mine?”

“If,” you began shyly, eyes focused on Wanda’s wedding band, then on Nats, then on your own ring they gave you last month, a reminder that they loved you as their girlfriend and sub as much as they loved each other. You couldn’t help the slow curve of your lips before you spoke. “You sweep down my arm, and I lower my eyes. If your thumb presses on my lower spine, it's a reminder for me to breathe, and you won’t take your hand away until you hear and feel my breath. I…oh, if you tug at my sleeve, or any part of my dress, I have to come to your side immediately.”

“That’s it.” Wanda smiled, “Just a few extras to remember, please.” Your eyes went wide at more rules, but then you soon realised they were already rules in place, just ones that they hadn’t gone over as much as the others. “Keep answers short when Tony inevitably interrogates you.” You simply nodded in response as the two of them went over the last of the rules, every detail important, every reminder that if you didn’t follow them you would be punished, and they had no qualms about doing it in a side room at the event…your ass still stung from three days ago. “One last thing,” Nat said as she opened the door, and the cool air brushed against your skin. “In there, in front of everyone, you call us Wands and Nat, but quietly, you call us Mama and Mommy. No exceptions.”

You knew this rule was of the upmost importance; Nat mentioning it at the last minute told you everything. If you broke this one, well, you didn’t really want to see what happened if you did.

Your face was flushed pink as you stood between Wanda and Nat inside the party. The doors had closed behind you with a loud creak, and you felt yourself jump, you hadn’t meant to, but both Wanda and Nat felt your body change. Wanda quickly—subtly pressed her thumb to the small of your back, and you took a very long and deep breath. “good girl.” she whispered, watching as your body finally relaxed, shoulders lowering, and the tension leaving your muscles.

The room was huge.

You felt like you had walked back in time to a royal palace built by King Henry VII. It really was on a magnitude you could not explain or have ever imagined. Christmas lights hung across every wall, baubles hooked across the ceiling—must of taken hours, if not days to do. Then there was the Christmas tree in the corner. To you it seemed to be one hundred and fifty feet tall, but that was probably due to size and height of the room. beautiful historical decor, original wooden beams, and that tree in the corner. Blue and white christmas lights wrapped neatly around it to the top, with a star sitting right on top like a crown.

“Hey, you okay?” Natasha brushed her knuckle softly over your cheek, your eyes still glued to the lit up Christmas tree in the corner, your body not quite tense, but not quite relaxed anymore. Your heart hammering hard inside your chest.

You swallowed hard, nodding a little in responce “Yeah, I just—I haven’t ever seen anything so—”

But before you could even finish your sentence, Yelena came running over, two drinks in hand, clumsily spilling them and you were completley unsure if any liquid would remain inside either glass by the time she got to you. She was wearing a black pant suit, but instead of a usual white blouse she was wearing a sparkly black top. She looked nice, she looked like her. It was nice to see Yelena wearing what she wanted, not being shuffed into a dress by Kate or Nat. It was about her comfortability, and you don’t think you had ever seen her so realxed before—not until right now.

“Bug! BUG! BUG!” Yelenas voiced echoed like a fog horn alarming everyone of her pressence, footsteps echoing and then, tripping as she arrived in front of your, glasses slipping from her hands, but Natasha was always quick—her hand snapped out in front of you grabbing the glasses at such an angle that the liquid that was hovering above, landed safetly back inside them and not a single drop spilled—other than the drops along the way to you.

“Yelena.” Nats jaw tightened, gripping the glasses and pushing them back into her hand “that’s vodka.”

“Yeah, one for me one for Bug! duh!” Yelena rolled her eyes at Natasha, and you just thought about if you ever tried that, you’d be pulled a side and over her knee in a heartbeat, coming out with a red ass—you’d never get away with rolling your eyes at Natasha or Wanda.

“Don’t you role your eyes at me.” Nat warned, her own eyes dialing in on Yelena’s warm, cheeky face “take them back now. Drink yours by all means, but you are not getting Bug drunk.”

“You’re no fun. Party pooper, besides Bug can decide for herself, doesn’t need you making decisions for her—”

“She’s not.” You whisper meekly, “Yelena give the drink to Kate, I don’t like or want vodka. Thanks though, the offer is appreciated.” You smiled warmly, but then, the relisation hit you. You had interupted their conversation. SHIT. Maybe you’d of gotten away with it or maybe they would make note of how many times you messed up—either way, you had to remember not to do that again.

“Alright,” Yelena rolled her eyes again, loking back at Nat “this is your fault.” and she turned away in a huff.

You could feel your heart in your throat, Wanda’s fingers moving to the back of your neck, gripping your skin, leaning in so her lips where against your ear “Bet you thought that was cute, we appreciate you standing up for us sweet girl, but don’t ever interupt a conversation again—you know what happens if you do.” Wanda’s voice was sweet like honey despite the warning in her words. “say it.”

You looked around to check if anyone was close enough to hear your words, but they weren’t. Everyone was at the bar or sat at the tables that were planted around the room, or gathered togther, chatting, drinks in hand. “I understand.” you gulped “I’m sorry Mommy, I’m sorry Mama.” you whispered low, just incase you voice travelled.

Natasha’s hand slowly wraped around your wrist, not hard, not to leave a mark, just a reminder of who you belonged to. You felt every inch of your belonging and worth. “Good girl, just breathe, and think before you speak next time.” Natasha mumered, her Russian accent slipping thorugh the cracks as it usually did when she called you good girl, or when her domminance came out—not that it ever really went away. “Right, why don’t you go get us all drinks, you can have a alcholic drink, and I’ll have a raspberry gin, and Wands will have a glass of Zinfandel Rosé. Make it a large for her. go on Solnyshko, and stay where we can see you. please.”

The noise of the chatter pressed into your very bones, but you stepped forward walking towards the bar—towards Kate, Yelena, Tony, Peppa and Steve. You felt the eyes of Wanda and Natasha on you, even without turning back you knew they were watching you carefully, making sure you didn’t overstep, making sure no one else pushed you past the point of comfortability. You let the air inside your mouth blow into your cheeks for a second, forcing your face to blow up like a puffafish—then you found Kate, your hand slid onto her elbow for only a second “Kate, hey…”

“Bug! OH MY GOD! Hi!” Kate squealed, turning from Yelena to you and wrapping her self around you for a moment longer than Wanda and Natasha would have liked—but you knew if there was an issue they wouldn’t be long before being at your side. Kate peeled herself from your body “you okay?”

You sighed slowly “I just don’t—”

“She’s fine Kate! leave her be, besides she got her body guards looking out for her.” Yelena jibed.

“Would you stop it.” you snapped, pushing back the water in your eyes, hating how such a small thing could make you cry and you didn’t want Wanda or Nat to see. So you quickly began to move away from Yelena, turning you body in and out and between the many bodies at the bar—hearing Kate telling Yelena off for being so snarky, speaking without thinking…kind of how you used to be before you met your girlfriends. It did make you smile, knowing Yelena was getting in trouble with her own girlfriend for the way she’d been speaking to you.

You made it to the bar, folding your arms and leaning over on your tiptoes, barely able to hear yourself think.

“What can I get ya love?” the barman spoke with an eastend London accent, teatowel draped over his shoulder, and scruffy brown hair, and amber eyes.

“Oh hi, umm, half an apple cider please, a large gin, raspberry and a large glass of Zinfandel Rosé.” You shouted across with a loud voice.

“Right away.” the barman nodded getting to work.

You felt your whole body breathe out again as you leaned against the edge of the bar, your head turning towards Wanda and Natasha—both of them looking picture perfect as always. Natasha stood in her little black dress that came down to her knees, one that you helped her pick out. The red necklace resting close to her throat, glimmering under the lights, her hand clasped in her wifes.

Then there was Wanda, she stood, posied and elegent, eyes sharp, her forest green dress dress, with thin straps over her shoulder, sitting on her like it was made to be there—also coming down to her knees. It made you chuckle a little, you were sure they had ensured you wore the shorter dress for easier access if they wanted it—but you couldn’t prove that. Wanda wore her copper hair in a bun with loose curls delicately positioned over her coller bones. She wore small diamond studs in the lobe of her ears to finish the outfit, the gift you had bought her for her recent birthday.

They made your knees week, yet all they were doing was standing there, warm and in conversation with one another as well as Peppa and Maria.

Wanda spotted you watching them, her own lips pressing away a smile, green eyes sparkling as you watched each other across the room of the Christmas party, your thoughts going fussy—submissive, and then—

“Madame?”

You almost fell back from the fright, you head spinning round like it was on the fastest carousel to ever exist. “Yes—oh right—drinks, thanks.” your days of having been a waitress from the age of fifteen, meant it was quite easy for you to pick up the three glasses at once—thumbs around the cider glass and one small finger underneath, and your pinkies wrapped around the wine and gin glass, with two fingers underneath to keep the balance.

That was the easy part, making your way back to them was the harder bit.

You began the walk, moving between each person, breathless as you kept your eyes locked on Wanda and Nat, drinks in your hand, dress riding up. You were beginning to feel overwhelmed—finally you made it through the crowd of people, focussing on your girlfriends.

Once back with them, you actually found yourself beginning to enjoy the evening more than you had expected. You stood firmly between Wanda and Nat sipping slowly at your own drink, tapping wanda’s wrist when you wanted to talk—but still talking freely with Yelena and Kate, Yelena being her ridiculous self telling you about her week. The whole time you felt Wanda’s soft touch on your back, Nats firm touch on the back of your neck—all the while whispering filthy things in your ear. You weren’t entirely sure if she wanted you to succeed or fail.

About two hours later you were two drinks down, so now you were just on the water, Natasha had made sure of it. you were settled at the bar waiting for a third glass of ice cold water, when a woman stepped up beside you, fingers twirling with your hair—you didn't know the woman and she was clearly drunk. “Well aren't you a cutie.”

“And your name is?” You asked nicely, trying to navigate the situation as best you could, remembering the rules, no blushing, no flirting back accidentally.

“That’s not important—but you sweetness are just to die for, aren’t you?” Her voice was soft and slightly pushy, despite the slurring of her speech.

“Mm, you might be the one dying.” You muttered, but the woman was too focussed on you to even hear what you said. Her fingers still twirling your hair round her finger as if she owned you—making you want to run back to Wanda and Nat like a child.

“Ma’am, please stop.” You gripped her wrist, pulling her fingers away from your face “I am telling you now, carry on at your own risk—demise.” You smiled, not a happy smile, but more of a smug smile, knowing exactly what she had coming if she carried on.

You knew that if the woman kept going with this, then Wanda—hopefully Wanda rather than Nat would be at your side. More for her sake than yours. The Barman slid you the glass of water you had asked for, you took it without hesitation walking back out onto the floor, but being followed by the woman.

You looked around to find Wanda or Nat, you needed them—you were starting to feel like you wanted to remove your skin. Not because you weren’t enjoying yourself—you were, but this woman, following you around was making you want to crawl into yourself—you were never one for parties, and you were almost at the most amount of time you felt comfortable staying at an event like this, despite how lovely it was, you would want to leave very soon.

You scanned the room like a trained spy—a detail learned from Nat. They were still in conversation, with Peppa and Maria, now Yelena and Kate too. Fuck. They never take their eyes off you, even before the rules were in place.

The woman who suddenly had an even keener interest in you when you began to ignore her—fingers still in your hair, on your skin—on your face—

“I’m warning you!” Your voice loud and echoey even in a room full of loud chatter. You pushed her fingers away, you knew she was drunk and you knew if she’d been sober she wouldn’t be doing any of this—but that wouldn't matter to your dommes. And it mattered to you.

The woman laughed, lifting her drink slowly to her lips and taking a large swig of what smelt like vodka and something else—weren’t sure what. “Feisty I like that.” She mumbled into the liquid.

“Listen i’m sure you’re very nice, and I myself am trying to be nice before the tornado of two women come over here. Please leave me alone and go find someone else to bother.” You were trying so hard, and you knew that you wouldn’t be punished for this, no, in fact, you’d be praised and hopefully treated for how well you handled the situation—you hoped at least.

“Oh yes, you are being very nice aren’t you? Look at these red cheeks!” She squeaked, pressing her index finger into one of your dimples on your face, “is that a blush I see? All because of me? Wow—”

“No it’s not! I've had 2 glasses of cider and this is how my body reacts. This is why I can only have 2. If I have anymore, my whole body over heats…well that’s what it feels like.” You took a sip of your water, hoping it would cool you down down and maybe make the woman leave you alone, realising you weren't going to bite.

You go to turn but the woman grabbed your wrist, stopping you from leaving. Nat and Wanda would kill here if they saw the situation right now. “hey where you going? Aren’t we having fun?” She asked, a little wobbly on her feet.

Sure maybe she was having fun, but right now, you certainly weren't. You turned your head back to Wanda and Nat, who thank god had finally seen what was happening, and even over all the chatter you could hear their voices.

“If you’ll excuse us for just a moment, need to fix a situation.” Natasha smiled, her hand on Wanda’s back, both walking towards you—but then the girl touched your face again. What was it with her and touch your damn face? Only Wanda and Nat get to do that.

“You really are adorable.” She murmured, “I should love to take you home with me.”

“Listen, I have asked you nicely, now I am warning you that you’ve dug your own hole with what’s about to happen.” You breathed, relieved knowing that Wanda and Nat were on the way. “Let me just say, only two people get to take me home.”

You swallowed hard, because you felt their presence before you saw them—Natasha’s hand was suddenly on her wrist, Wanda tugged at your dress subtly, you moved closer to her side instantly and her arm wrapped around your waist holding you tight.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her. Again. This is you one and only warning.” Natasha's voice may have been calm, but it was laced with a threat you had heard more times than you’d like to count. “If you do, you’ll be loosing that hand without a warning.”

“Told you you’d not get away with it.” You almost sang, the smugness radiating from your body.

Wanda leaned in again, lips against your ear “smugness is not a good look on you my darling. Stop. Now. Before I take you into the side room, and redden your ass.”

Your heart lurched forward, but your body instinctively moved closer into Wanda’s hold, even with her warning still singing in your brain.

“Oh? What if I want to touch her pretty little face tho?” The woman slurred, but before she could carry on, or Nat could say something or do something more—Tony Stark was at her side.

“See you’ve all met my niece. This is Rose Stark.” A knowing smirk, proud on his lips.

“Might of known she was related to you. Get her out of here. Now. She’s drunk.” Nat growled, her form coming back you your side, fingers on your opposite hip, holding you close between herself and Wanda.

Wanda and Nat turned, pulling you with them. They had no more room for this conversation with Tony stark. “Good girl.” Wanda whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and Nat giving you one on your other cheek—how were you supposed to not blush when they kissed you like that.

“Looks like you do know how to follow the rules.” Nats voice was low, ensuring no one else would be able to hear her.

You fiddled with one of the sequins on your dress, nodding before asking your own question. “Can we go home now…please?” You ask, slightly weary, not of them but just from the evening, you were ready to leave now. “…also does this mean I get a reward?”

“Of course.” Nat smiled, proud of you for knowing when you needed to leave—proud of you for following the rules. This was the first time out in public with the rules in place. Even with Rose Stark, you were obedient to the letter.

That wasn’t something that would go unnoticed by either of them. They would make note of how well you did,

Wanda’s fingers traced down the side of your neck, sending a small shiver down your spine “You’ve done so so well sweetheart…what reward would you like Solnyshko? Your choice.”

“Nothing I can repeat here.” You smirked, tongue swiping slowly along your lips. You felt safe, not controlled, willingly obedient to them. Submissive. Because they were yours and you were theirs, you knew that they would always keep you safe and protected. No matter what. And loved.

“Daryl, it's getting dark,” you stated the obvious. It was mid-December and already past six in the afternoon, so of course it was getting dark. You expected him to roll his eyes at such an obvious observation, but he didn't even turn his head to look at you. He just muttered something under his breath, but you couldn't make out a word.

At first, you thought going with him would be a good idea. A little adventure with someone experienced, so practically risk-free and an escape from the daily routine. Great stuff. Something different. Maybe even exciting. To everyone's surprise, he agreed to take you with him, but of course under a few conditions, such as Don't get in my way and When I tell ya to run, ya run, to which you nodded enthusiastically. If only you knew that this little adventure would quickly turn into a fight for survival. And not because of walkers3 or even people. No. On that day, your biggest enemy turned out to be the weather.

“Daryl,” you tried again to get his attention. “Where are we going...?”

“Straight ahead,” he replied gruffly. “Don't fall behind.”

You sighed. The temperature had dropped dramatically, your whole body was shivering, and you could barely feel your legs. Your shoes weren't suited for such conditions, nor were the rest of your clothes. You didn't expect it to start snowing. If you had known...

Well, if he had known, he would never have agreed to let you come with him. He couldn't even look you in the eye, so afraid of what he might see there. You sounded exhausted and scared, and he could hear the tremor in your voice. He had to find shelter as soon as possible, so he didn't give up, no matter what. If he was cold, you must have been freezing.

“There,” he said after a moment, and the sight before him almost made him lose his balance with the relief that washed over his body. A small cabin on the edge of the forest, completely covered in snow. “C’mon.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as you looked over his shoulder in the direction he was pointing. It was indeed a small cabin, so well hidden behind the bare trees that if it weren't for the snow brightening the landscape, you probably wouldn't have noticed it. Or if it weren't for Daryl's skilled hunter's eye.

You walked on, following in his footsteps to avoid wading through the snow as much as possible. His tracks were the perfect trail for you to follow. It seemed as if he knew this was helping you, because he seemed to be taking much smaller steps than usual. Perfect for you to follow him.

“I don't see any walkers,” you whispered, your voice carried away by a strong gust of wind. Goosebumps ran down your body.

"Wait ‘ere.”

His outstretched hand stopped you in your tracks as you both approached the cabin.

“Knife ready, quiet,” he said, finally turning his head to give you a quick, intense look. “Listen.”

You nodded. That subtle note of command in his voice triggered dangerous reactions in your body, such as warming it up. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him walk toward the shelter, slowly but surely. It was one thing to know he was good but seeing him in action was something else entirely. But you couldn't focus on that, could you? He was counting on you to keep watch outside, and that's what you intended to do. You remained silent, as he had instructed, listening for any sound that wasn't the wind or the trees, but you heard no footsteps or growls. There was no crunch of snow underfoot. No branches breaking. If it weren't for the snowstorm sweeping through the forest, it would have been perfectly silent. Almost normal.

“Clear.”

You jumped, almost dropping your knife. Daryl stood a few steps behind you, his hands in his pockets, his face impassive, but his blue eyes showed amusement.

“Don't say a word,” you muttered. Damn, you were so focused that you didn't even hear him approaching.

“Ain’t gonna,” he replied with a shrug, but as you passed him, he couldn't help a smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth. He followed you inside without a word, although he had something on the tip of his tongue that came dangerously close to slipping out. However, there were more important matters at hand, such as barricading the door.

“Just in case,” he muttered, seeing your questioning look, and turned away, heading deeper into the cabin. You followed him like a lost puppy, not knowing what to do with yourself. It wasn't your first run, but you didn't participate in them very often. Especially those where Daryl was the guide.

The thing was, you wanted to go with him, thinking it would be a great opportunity to spend some more time with him, but you didn't expect to be stuck in a small cabin where his strong presence was a little overwhelming. It was no secret that you had feelings for him. It seemed like everyone around you knew it. Everyone except him. And in a way, you wanted it to stay that way, knowing that he would never be interested in you. You usually considered yourself pretty good at hiding your obsessions. However, you had a feeling that in these circumstances it would be much harder to keep your heart from racing whenever he looked at you, being so absurdly close.

The cabin wasn't small. It was tiny. There was no kitchen, just one room with a table and two chairs, a bed, and what was supposed to be a toilet, separated by a thin wall. It was dark inside. You had to turn on all your flashlights to see anything.

“We're going to freeze,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your jacket wasn't the thinnest, but it wasn't thick enough to keep you warm in this weather.

“Take it.”

You looked at Daryl as he took off his jacket and quickly protested, already feeling the warmth spreading across your body at his gesture.

“No, no, don't do that. I'm fine. I was joking.”

He raised one eyebrow and handed you the jacket. Well, he practically shoved it into your hands.

“Yer clenching yer teeth from the cold. Put it on, girl.”

“But you're...”

“’M fine.”

You swallowed, squeezing the fabric with your nearly frozen fingers. It was warm beneath your touch. As soon as you brought it close to your face, you smelled that intoxicating scent. Forest, leather, cigarettes, musk. Daryl.

You put it on, letting the warmth envelop you. It was definitely too big, but comfortable. A bit like a security blanket. You wrapped it around your body, trying not to look too excited, but if he had looked at you, he might have seen the most beautiful shade of red spreading across your cheeks. But he didn't look. He crouched on the floor, trying to fix the old, dusty fireplace. It was his goal to get it working. He hid his face so you wouldn't see how much he liked that you were wearing his jacket. How much he liked that you looked so small, so vulnerable in it.

“Thank you.”

His heart began to beat strangely. Why did you suddenly sound so sweet? So... innocent?

Damn it, taking you with him was the stupidest thing he could have done. He cursed himself for it. How could he hide that he couldn't stop thinking about you? How could he hide that all he wanted was to grab you and hide you from the world in his arms?

Two idiots in love, both so terribly unaware of their feelings.

You sat on the bed, wrapped tightly in his huge, warm jacket, while he tried to light the old pieces of wood he had found. You watched him work; his arms and hands tensed, his broad back towering over the fireplace like a shield.

“Fuck,” he growled after about twenty minutes of futile effort.

“Maybe we could use the chairs,” you suggested quietly, shining your flashlight over the table. “They're dry enough.”

Daryl looked over, wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself, and nodded.

“Yea, seems like a good idea.”

You smiled shyly as you got up and crossed the room, but he shook his head as soon as he realized what you were doing.

“No, stay there.”

“I want to help.”

He looked at you, his eyes dark in the dim light, his face stern and threatening. You would have been afraid if you hadn't known that this man had a heart of gold.

“Yer gonna hurt yerself. Just hold the flashlight, I'll do it.”

You sighed but picked up another flashlight. At least he didn't make you sit back down. At least now you could watch him up close.

With one fluid kick, he broke the chair. His heavy boot smashed the wood to pieces. He worked in silence, only muttering quietly from time to time, but he didn't say a word to you. Not that it bothered you. You were too absorbed in your own thoughts, watching his muscles tense under the fabric of his sweater, to care about the silence. It was only when he finished that you realized you had been staring too intently. So intently that he noticed when he broke the last piece with his bare hands.

Were you drooling?

Trying to stay calm, feeling a wave of embarrassment, you put down the flashlights and reached out to help him carry the wood to the fireplace. He didn't even have time to protest. When your hand touched the edge and your fingers grabbed it to lift it, you hissed and dropped it.

“Damn,” you muttered, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“Was going to warn ya,” he sighed, reaching for one of the flashlights. “Show me.”

“No, it's fine,” you muttered, knowing full well that a splinter was stuck in your skin. But you didn't want to look like a wimp, so you tried to downplay it.

He rolled his eyes and reached out his hand.

“Show me,” he repeated, more firmly this time. You had to look away to keep from giving in. You focused on the wood beneath your feet and crouched down to shine the light on it.

“I told you it's fine. It's just a scratch.”

He didn't even let you touch the wood. He grabbed your arm and lifted you up, gently but firmly. You looked up, surprised by the sudden touch.

“Show me,” he repeated, this time in a softer tone, more pleading than commanding.

Something flashed across his face, an expression you didn't recognize, but it disappeared before you could focus on it. However, it made you put your hand in his. His hand was huge and warm compared to yours. Calloused and rough, but at the same time, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

He shone the light on your skin and brought his face closer to see better.

“’S a splinter,” he muttered.

“I know,” you sighed. You tried not to focus on the fact that he was so close. Now his scent overwhelmed you, because it emanated not only from his jacket, but also from him.

He looked at your face, now at eye level, and a playful smile appeared on his lips.

“’S just a scratch, huh?” he teased, and you shrugged as if it didn't bother you, but you were slowly starting to get annoyed.

“It's just a scratch. I can handle it myself.”

He ran his finger over the sore spot and you hissed.

“’S pretty deep. Hold the flashlight.”

With your heart beating too fast, you did as he asked. You held the light while he tried to remove the splinter from your hand, but his nails were too short, his fingers too thick, and he didn't want to hurt you.

“I told you I could do it myself,” you said as he grumbled in irritation when the tip of the splinter slipped out again. “My nails are longer.”

To be honest, they weren't, and you both knew it. He just raised his eyebrows and sighed.

“’Right,” he muttered, looking into your eyes. “We gotta do this differently.”

Before you could blink, his chapped lips were on your skin. He squeezed the wound, pulling out the splinter, and tried to catch it with his teeth.

Your heart skipped a beat and your body heated up so much that you felt the need to take off your jacket, otherwise you would have burst into flames. Then his tongue brushed your skin and you held your breath. What the hell was he doing? Did he even know how that simple, practical thing worked on you?

“Got it,” he muttered, straightening up, his teeth clenched and a small, single piece of very thin wood sticking out between them. He watched your expression as he reached to take it out of his mouth and throw it on the floor.

Your face was all red and hot, and when he realized it, his face quickly became the same.

“’M sorry,” he said, and at the same time you whispered:

“Thank you.”

For a split second, something hung in the air, as if a single spark had crossed the invisible line between your gazes. But Daryl quickly turned away. Almost too quickly.

“Sit down. I'll do it myself.”

This time you listened and sat back down on the bed, pulling your knees up to your chin and watching him work. Once the wood was in the fireplace, he quickly lit it. The warm orange light of the fire lit up the room, chasing away all the scary shadows. Even the blizzard raging outside didn't seem so scary anymore.

You sighed, resting your head on your knees and closing your eyes.

“We'll have to stay the night, won't we?” you asked quietly, without even looking at him.

Daryl was still standing by the fireplace, and hearing the quiet tone of your voice, he turned toward you. His face was still burning from their earlier interaction, and he hesitated to make further contact with you, so he almost sighed with relief when he saw you turn your head away.

You looked so vulnerable, so delicate, huddled in his huge jacket, your arms wrapped around your legs and your head resting on your knees. Your hair fell in a shiny cascade over your delicate frame.

“Yea,” he replied quietly and gently, as if any louder sound might disturb the peace of the moment.

You murmured in response. Your body moved, your head shifted. You looked at him with eyes so bright that he almost felt his knees buckle beneath him.

So beautiful...

He was so absurdly in love with you that it was pathetic, because at that moment all he could think about was how your skin felt on his lips, and he wondered if your lips would be even better.

They would be, he thought, and almost took a step forward. He wanted to find out so badly that it scared him.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, swallowing hard.

“What about you?”

His stomach tightened and his heart leapt in his chest.

“I'll keep watch.”

“No walkers are coming here, Daryl. Not with this wind,” you said and straightened up. “But if you insist...”

You stood up and moved closer, making him clench his jaw.

“What do ya think yer doin’?”

“Warming myself by the fire,” you replied, and without further explanation, you sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace. The warmth spread pleasantly across your face.

You heard him sigh, but after a second's hesitation, he sat down next to you. Far enough away that your bodies didn't touch, but close enough to have you within reach.

“Yer stubborn.”

You let out a quiet laugh and stretched your arms toward the fire.

“And you’re the one to talk.”

He said it with contempt, but a hint of a smile appeared on his face. Perhaps he was foolish to imagine what it would be like to just sit there with you casually, with no threats lurking around the corner, perhaps to put his arm around you and feel your body next to his, but it wasn't that his thoughts were indecent. No, he just... He simply longed for your closeness. He longed for intimacy. His heart desperately craved a gentle touch, a tender kiss. Something he didn't even know, but he felt it was all he needed.

He took a deep breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. His mind wandered to places he never expected. The truth was, he had been trying to pull himself together and confess his love to you for a long time, but something always stopped him. Either you talking to someone else, or he was going away, or you made him feel inadequate by being simply perfect.

His insecurity surfaced every time he tried to say those words. You were too good for him. Too delicate and sweet, too smart, too gentle. He didn't think he would ever be worthy of you. But he looked for every opportunity to be somewhere close to you. That's mainly why he agreed to take you with him on this trip. It was supposed to be easy, a few places to check, not too dangerous, but the weather surprised him. If he had known, he would never have let you go. Not when you were in danger of frostbite.

He closed his eyes for a second, letting the warm light of the flames dance beneath his eyelids. He imagined your face, your beautiful smile. He almost reached out to touch you, but his limbs went limp. His own mind put him to sleep before he knew it. His head fell forward, slowly resting on his arms resting on his spread knees.

“Daryl,” your whispers echoed in his head. “Daryl, hey.”

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Daryl, you need to lie down.”

He growled. Your voice wasn't part of his dream. It was too real, too mundane. It pulled him out of the brief state of unconsciousness he had fallen into. Your fingers caressing his shoulder only confirmed it.

He sat up, blinking.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and you chuckled.

“For what? For falling asleep when you're tired?

”I ain’t...“

”Come on, Daryl,“ you said, still keeping your hand on him. ”You're not made of steel. You're tired, you should sleep. Maybe I'll keep watch, huh?"

He might have been tired, but that didn't seem like a good idea. He raised his eyebrows, looking at you, but your eyes told him you weren't joking.

“I'll wake you if anything happens, I promise.”

“Ya didn't even hear me comin’.”

You rolled your eyes and took your hand off his shoulder.

“That's only because I knew you weren't a threat. Besides... I'm telling you, the only danger here is freezing to death, and since the fire is burning, I don't think that's possible.”

He thought for a moment and finally nodded. He got up, but before he lay down on the bed, he reached out to you.

“You're tired too. Come on, there's enough room.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the small bed. Was there enough room for both of you? Maybe if you both lay on your sides. But that wasn't what you were particularly afraid of. It was how your heart leapt into your throat when you realized what he expected of you. But this was Daryl. Daryl, whom you had had a crush on for so long that you couldn't even remember when it started. Daryl, whom you trusted. Daryl, whom you wanted to be as close to and as often as possible.

You put your hand in his and let him help you up.

“I'll take the edge,” he muttered. Why did he do it? He didn't know. But did he regret it? No, not at all. He wanted to feel like a normal man for at least one night. A man who could sleep next to a woman and imagine that the world hadn't gone to hell. He wasn't planning anything. He just wanted to lie down and listen to your peaceful breathing next to him, feel the warmth radiating from your body.

If you were his, he would pull you close, let you lie on his chest. He would stroke your back under the fabric of your jacket, maybe play with your hair a little. He would kiss you on the top of your head. And maybe on the tip of your nose. He didn't know how to be intimate with someone, but he imagined that this was what couples did. They showed their affection with small gestures like these. At least that's what he had heard.

He laid down, trying to keep his body as close to the edge as possible to give you some space, but the bed only seemed big enough for two when you were sitting on it alone. His much larger, broader body made it seem smaller. Much smaller. He felt you move next to him, your elbow nudging his shoulder blade, and you muttered a quiet apology. He clenched his jaw, trying not to move too much, and closed his eyes.

The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner this will be over, he thought, but if only it were as easy as it seemed.

About an hour passed, and he still couldn't sleep. He was irritated. His body was stiff and sore from lying on his side, and his right arm was numb.

He groaned softly and, as gently as he could, rolled onto his back. He knew you weren't asleep either, he could hear it in your breathing, but your whisper still surprised him.

“Can't sleep either?”

He looked to his left, where in the warm light of the flames that obscured his body, he could barely see the outline of your face. You were looking at him, your eyes wide open and both hands hidden under your face.

“Nah,” he muttered and turned to you.

“I keep sliding to the middle,” you blurted out in embarrassment. “This bed is a nightmare.”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling fire and the wind raging outside. His eyes were fixed on yours, and you just looked at each other as if there was a conversation going on between you, one that required only glances, without the use of words. Your breath mingled in the dusty air. Your knees touched.

“Are ya cold?” he asked after a moment, when a wave of shivers made your body tremble.

“No, I'm fine,” you replied, grateful for the almost complete darkness in the room, because it meant he couldn't see the blush appearing on your cheeks. You weren't cold. It was the small distance between your bodies that made you react in such a silly way.

“Are ya sure? I could...” He paused, biting his tongue. Hot, hot, hot, it was terribly hot.

You swallowed, but you had to ask:

“You could what?”

He sighed.

“I could hug ya... or sum. Dunno, ain’t wanna let ya freeze ‘ere.”

His voice was low, rough, even defensive, but something in the way he paused in the middle of this sentence made your heart skip a beat.

“Do ya wanna?”

That question changed something in you. It wasn't a question from the Daryl you knew. No. This man was uncertain, even shy. It was endearing. It was charming. It was going to be your undoing.

You didn't answer, at least not with words. Holding your breath, trying to calm your stupid heart, you moved to the other side and shifted so that your back pressed against his chest. Gently. Timidly. Innocently. His warmth enveloped you, as did his arms, as soon as you snuggled up to him. He didn't hesitate as he pulled you even closer, almost crushing you against his body. His hand now rested flat on your stomach, his fingers spread as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. He never imagined he would find himself in such a situation, with you so close to his body that there wasn't enough space between you to squeeze a piece of paper. Your much smaller figure fit perfectly against his curves, as if you were two lost pieces of a puzzle meant to be together.

The only problem was that this closeness made his body react in a way it shouldn't have. Especially since you felt it so damn well. He tried to move, to create some space at the bottom, but it came out awkward and even clumsy. As a result, he only pushed himself harder into you. Your body stiffened against his. He took a deep breath.

Fuck.

He expected you to run away, to tell him he was a freak and you wanted nothing to do with him. He expected you to jump out of bed, to start screaming. But you didn't. No, what you did was even worse because it was unexpected. It scared him. It made him freeze in fear.

You pressed your buttocks harder against his crotch, causing his semi-erect dick to press against them through all the layers of fabric separating your bodies. He wanted to curse. He knew he should leave, but it was nice to lay there with you. Holding you in such an intimate embrace was almost absurd to him. His hand pressed flat against your stomach moved slightly downward, almost subconsciously. His fingers explored your body slowly, almost shyly. They didn't move beyond the hem of your jacket; they didn't slip under it. They didn't completely violate your privacy; they just crossed the line a little. As if he were just a little curious, but not greedy. A weirdo with respect.

Weirdo.

Weirdo.

Weirdo.

His thoughts poisoned him. He almost withdrew his hand, feeling shame burning inside him, but you stopped him by placing your much smaller hand on his before he could pull away.

“Don't do that,” you whispered in a hoarse, strange voice, full of something he couldn't quite grasp. He swallowed, feeling the coolness radiating from your skin. Your hand was cold. It grounded him.

He closed his eyes, counting to ten in his head before pressing down on your stomach again. This time, your fingers guided him. You knew he wanted to but didn't have the courage. Perhaps he didn't want to cross that line. Perhaps he was afraid of your reaction. You had to show him that everything was okay.

You intertwined your fingers with his and moved both hands down your body, under his jacket, to where the hem of your sweater met your pants. A thin line of bare skin was revealed, and you deliberately ran his thumb over it. You both shuddered. Were you being too bold? Perhaps. But did it bother you? Not at all.

“I always do this one thing when I can't sleep,” you murmured, a blush appearing on your cheeks and warming you up. That one thing you were thinking about could be either the end or the beginning of something. At that moment, it was up to him to decide which path he wanted to take.

His breath brushed your neck, making you shiver.

“Show me,” he whispered in your ear. He knew. Of course, he knew what you meant, and he couldn't help feeling that it was all just a dream, that he would wake up in a moment and you would be gone. So why not seize the opportunity while he could?

He let you pull his hand to the zipper of your pants and helped you unzip them. He held his breath, as if waiting for you to laugh at him and say you were joking. But again, you didn't meet his expectations. Instead, you slipped your intertwined fingers into your pants, shifting to spread your legs a little and make more room. He couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't comprehend that you were leading him to help you masturbate.

His thick, calloused fingers followed you as you approached the fabric of your panties, not even bothering with foreplay. No, you were tired, you were cold, and you were turned on by the feeling of his cock pressing against your ass. You wanted his hands on you and inside you. You guided him between your slippery folds, both of you gasping as his hand grabbed your pussy.

You traced a small circle around your clit, and he followed you, adding incredible pressure that made you arch your back. That was it. That was what you needed. You continued to pleasure yourself, and he mimicked everything you did. You slid your fingers inside, and so did he, pushing two in at once, stretching you so well that you had to muffle the sounds coming out of your mouth with your other hand. You focused on your clit, and so did he. His fingers worked like a machine, satisfying you, massaging you, stretching you, and driving you crazy. At one point, you didn't even know if it was you moving or just him moving in relation to you. You were breathing heavily, feeling immense pleasure building up in your lower abdomen.

Daryl didn't even have to undress you. All he had to do was slip his hands into your panties, and you were all hot and hungry, moaning into his hand and writhing against him.

“Lemme hear ya,” he whispered in your ear. “Please.”

That last word worked like magic on you. You let the orgasm push you over the edge and you fell, arching your back and tensing your muscles. His fingers mercilessly circled your swollen clitoris, bringing you to climax. He breathed into your ear, his lips brushing your skin, pushing you to the brink of madness.

“Fuck, Daryl,” you moaned without shame.

“’S it,” he murmured, guiding you step by step through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

His praise made you moan again before the excessive stimulation became too intense, and he gently removed his fingers from your pants. They were wet, slippery with arousal, and he propped himself up on his elbow so you could see him bring them to his mouth and lick them, letting out a satisfied purr. You always had the feeling that there was something more to this man. Something filthy, dirty, deeply hidden inside him, just waiting for someone to unleash it. And you were right. What's more, you wanted to be that person.

“Daryl?” you whispered, reaching down with your fingers to cup his growing erection, and he moaned with pleasure. “Fuck me.”

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“It's c-c-cold,” you mumbled, leaning against his chest in a desperate attempt to feel at least a little of his warmth. This man was built like a damn radiator; his body was so rarely cold that you couldn't comprehend how it was even possible.

“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, pulling you even closer. It hurt him to see you like this, and if he could do anything about it, he would. It there only was another way to warm you up... without taking your clothes off first, of course. Because there was one way to bring warmth into the room, but you didn't seem particularly interested in that, considering your teeth were chattering and your whole body was shaking.

He hugged you tightly, trying his best to be your personal heater, but even he had to admit that the weather was cruel. The tip of his nose was getting cold too.

“One y-year,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder, “I w-went to a w-winter spa with m-m-my friends.”

He didn't look at you so as not to change position, but he listened to every word.

“T-that was before t-t-the world went t-to h,” you laughed. “They h-had a hot tub outside t-the spa. It w-was about minus t-ten degrees, but the b-b-bubbles really kept us warm.”

The bubbles really kept us warm.

Something clicked in his brain, as if a missing piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place, completing the whole picture.

“I have an idea,” he said, finally feeling useful again, and freed himself from your embrace.

“W-What?” you stammered, looking at him with disapproval, because he had just taken away your only source of warmth—his body.

“Wait ‘ere, sweetheart. I promise ya'll like it.”

And just like that, he was gone. He ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time, straight to the bathroom. Your bathtub wasn't the biggest, it wasn't a hot tub, but it still had warm water in it. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that before? It was such an obvious idea.

He turned on the water, setting it to the highest possible temperature, and put the plug in. What next? All the bath products you had collected. Cherry-scented shower gel, bath salts you found God knows where, a colourful ball you called a bath bomb. He threw everything into the tub, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. In reality, he had no idea, but if you wanted hot water and bubbles, he was going to give it to you.

The bathroom quickly filled with steam, the mirrors were completely fogged up, and the mixture of scents tingled his nose. Now it was time for the guest of honour...

“Sweetheart?” he called, coming downstairs, ready to take you to the bathroom, and found you huddled in the same place where he had left you.

“I'm f-f-freezing here,” you cried, looking at him with wide eyes. Your lips were trembling so much that his heart broke.

“Yer not freezin’,” he said, coming closer and crouching in front of the couch so that his perfect blue eyes were level with yours. “Ain’t letting ya.”

“D-Daryl, even your n-nose is turning red.”

He laughed but didn't deny it. It was true. He could feel the cold slowly creeping its way inside his body too.

“Gotta surprise fer ya. C’mon.”

He stood up, reached out his hand, gesturing for you to take it, and helped you up. Your two blankets fell to the floor, and you groaned.

“Leave ‘em, ya ain’t gonna need ‘em anymore.”

You frowned, not entirely sure about that, considering the low temperature that was slowly killing you, but he had never given you a reason not to trust him before, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Lead t-t-the way,” you muttered, but he shook his head in response.

“Yer legs are shaking, ya'll fall.”

“D-Daryl, I'm not g-going to...”

But Daryl being Daryl, and once he had made up his mind, he didn't even try to listen to your arguments. No, he just picked you up before you could even utter a quiet protest. You hugged his chest like a little child, finally feeling his warmth on your skin again. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. This man held you as if you weighed nothing. He was all muscle and strength and devilish stubbornness. You didn't even try to tell him you were too heavy because it was pointless. He would only have scoffed at you in response. So, you let him carry you upstairs and, to your surprise, not into the bedroom but the bathroom. The bathroom now filled with steam, so wonderfully warm and misty that your body relaxed the moment your boyfriend stepped inside. You gasped as you felt the temperature rise, the warmth quickly enveloping you.

“Oh my, D-Daryl...”

He smiled shyly at you before setting you down on the floor.

“Told ya ya wouldn't need a blanket anymore.”

You smiled, raising your arms to wrap them around his neck, and stood on your toes to kiss him gently on the lips. They were hot compared to your cold ones. You should have kissed him sooner, it would have helped a lot.

“Thought ya might like this.”

You nodded. It wasn't that you suddenly warmed up and your body was no longer cold, but the excitement of the moment made you forget your circumstances. Daryl had prepared a bubble bath for you. Damn, who would have thought this day would come.

“I love it,” you said with a smile.

“Good. Now let’s get ya in.”

“My hands are frozen,” you muttered, and evil idea popping into your head once the steam brushed some of the cold away. “Will you help me undress?”

He blushed at your question, his gaze uncontrollably resting on your body, still hidden under layers of clothing. You had been together for over a year, but sometimes he still acted as if he had never seen you naked. Not going to lie, you liked having that power over him. It was endearing how he blushed over such mundane things.

“Do ya wanna me to?” he asked in a hoarse voice, looking up at your face and swallowing.

“Please,” you whispered, and that one word turned him on too easily.

The thing was, Daryl loved the sound of those six letters coming out of your mouth. The way they rolled off your tongue like a dirty prayer wrapped in a little politeness made him want to not just undress you but rip your clothes off.

But he was too much of a gentleman to do it the way his mind desperately wanted to. No, he reached for the blanket slowly, uncertainly, sliding it off your shoulders as if afraid to cross some line. He threw it on the washing machine and gulped. Next was your sweater. He pulled it up, tugging at the hem, and took it off... and only then did he realize you were wearing nothing underneath. No top, no bra. Your breasts were bare, exposed to him, and a shiver ran through your body as the air brushed against your skin. It still wasn't warm enough. Your nipples were hard and perky, and the sight of them made Daryl's mouth water. For a moment, he forgot what he was doing, just standing there and staring.

Under his gaze, your skin burned. There was something shy but very real in his eyes that made your stomach tighten. Warmth spread through your chest. It was a strange feeling—your body was still shivering slightly from the cold, but your insides were burning.

Daryl cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to kneel down and take off your pants. And then, when they were on the floor, only your panties remained on your naked body. The white cotton fabric was already soaked, because the way he brushed your skin with his knuckles while undressing you was too arousing for you not to feel it deep in your core.

“Yer already warm, aren't ya?” he murmured, and his fingers dared to move along the wet spot between your legs, teasing and testing, and you sighed.

“Ya ain’t need a bath anymore?”

“Oh no, no,” you protested quickly. “I need this bath.”

He chuckled, his cheeks and neck red despite the playful tone of his voice, but he managed to slowly pull down your panties, exposing your body to him.

So mesmerizingly beautiful, he thought, standing up and looking up your body.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pointing to the bathtub filled to the brim with water and bubbles. You had to bend over to turn off the water and prevent it from overflowing. In doing so, you also gave him a pretty good view of your bare ass. He almost succumbed to the temptation to spank you. He could practically hear the sound of his hand resting on your curves when you let out a deep sigh, interrupting his fantasies. Only then did he realize that you had already stepped into the water.

“It's so hot,” you gasped, but instead of backing out, you stepped in with your other leg. “Fuck,” you hissed.

“Should I add some cold water?” he asked, but you quickly shook your head, not even wanting to hear the word cold, let alone experience it. You'd rather boil in this tub than freeze to death. You were tired of shivering and chattering your teeth.

Daryl watched you, keeping one hand under your shoulder to support you in case you slipped, and doing his best not to look at your breasts. Damn it, he was your boyfriend, he'd seen your tits many times before—he'd had them in his mouth more than once—but somehow staring at you like some fucking pervert at a time like this seemed inappropriate to him. For you, however, the awareness of how hard he was trying to look away was a real pleasure. Having such power over him was something you would never admit to, but it made your knees weak and your inner thighs wet. This huge, broad, strong man sometimes behaved like a teenager. Not in a bad way, of course. He was charming and lovable in that quirky behaviour of his.

“Join me,” you said as you finally sat down in the tub, dazed by the heat. Your whole body began to relax, your muscles no longer tense.

“Nah,” he muttered. He took a step back, looking at the floor tiles, his cheeks flushed with both heat and excitement. Excitement that was already growing in his pants, but luckily for him, you couldn't see it yet. The sight of you, all wet and covered in bubbles, had made an impression on him.

“Come on, Dixon, you need to warm up too,” you insisted, looking at him from under your long, dark lashes and giving him those angelic looks he could never resist.

“’S all fer ya, sweetheart.”

The depth of his voice made you bite your lower lip. You knew that tone, you knew that hoarse hint in his voice all too well. He was just as aroused as you were. Your naked body always had that effect on him.

“Daryl,” you moved, resting your forearms on the edge of the tub and smiling so sweetly that once he looked, he couldn't take his eyes off you. “Join me, please. There's enough room for two, besides...” You laid back down, your nipples poking out of the bubbles. “I know you want to.”

He did. He wanted it badly, but he knew that as soon as he got in the water and sat behind you, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. You were too perfect to resist.

“Ain't ya want to relax?”

It was clear that he had already given in. You smiled, looked at him, and nodded.

“Yes, I do. And I'm sure you'll help me relax better than if I were here alone.”

And just like that, his strong will flew out the window and straight into the trash, because when he heard those words, spoken by you in that sweet, innocent way, he was done for. He undressed quickly, faster than ever before, and you giggled at his eagerness.

Oh, he was eager to please you at any moment, regardless of the circumstances.

You made enough room for him to get into the tub, and when he sat down, some of the water spilled over the edge and splashed onto the floor. You would deal with the mess later, because right now all that mattered was his warm, strong body right behind you, his chest pressed against your back and his arms immediately wrapped around your waist.

“Ain’t wanna invade yer privacy,” he murmured in your ear as you leaned against him, closing your eyes with a blissful sigh. Now everything was even more perfect.

“Baby, you need to get it into that pretty little head of yours that you are part of my privacy.”

He chuckled at your choice of words, but he didn't argue anymore. If you say so...

“Thank you for that,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to gently kiss his jaw. “You're amazing.”

He looked at you with eyes so full of love that it overflowed like water in a bathtub.

“Yer the one who's amazing, darlin’.”

He kissed your forehead. His hand pressed flat against your stomach. His fingers brushed your delicate skin. Intimacy turned the air into a thick fog.

“Daryl,” you whispered, seeing the strings of desire slowly intertwine with the warm feelings swirling in his blue irises, “touch me.”

You didn't have to repeat it, because he willingly obeyed, almost sighing with relief when the words left your mouth. His personal sinful prayer. Such an innocent request wrapped in impure intentions, accompanied by his heavy breathing.

His calloused, greedy fingers moved up your ribs and brushed the underline of your breasts, giving you a sweet taste of what was to come. You closed your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued his journey upward, approaching your nipples but not yet touching them. His fingers circled around, and you arched your back slightly, exposing your chest from the water. The bathroom was still filled with steam, but it was much cooler than the temperature of the water. Your nipples hardened even more, exposed to the air.

“How come you were so shy earlier,” you muttered, trying not to sound too shaky and impatient, “and now you're a fucking tease, huh?”

“Sometimes I forget that yer all mine,” he confessed quietly, his breath brushing your ear, and finally allowing his hands to taste the sweetness he was trying so hard not to think about perhaps having in his mouth. The sigh that escaped your lips as he rubbed your nipples with his thumbs was the most beautiful melody to him.

“I'm yours.”

Sometimes he still thought it was all just a dream from which he would soon wake up, feeling empty and heartbroken. Sometimes he didn't want to allow himself to believe that he could be so happy; that he could have the woman of his dreams right next to him, because very often the feeling of happiness and relaxation was a signal for the universe to screw something up. And he desperately didn't want anything to screw up what you had.

He caressed you slowly, patiently, as if he were really trying not to irritate anyone up there; as if he were whispering: See, everything is fine. Please, let me keep it. He knew that if someone took it away from him—took you away—he wouldn't be able to survive it. Not after he had tasted true happiness.

“I love ya,” he dared to whisper, and he did it so quietly that if his lips hadn't been so close to your ear, you would have thought it was just your imagination. Confessing his feelings to you was not something ordinary for him. He preferred to show you his love with gestures and actions rather than words, which he was never particularly good at. That's why when he allowed himself to do so from time to time, you cherished the moment as something sacred.

You pressed yourself closer to him, feeling his growing erection against your lower back, and moaned when he rubbed your nipple harder between his thumb and forefinger.

“I love you too, Daryl,” she whispered in response, her voice breaking as he did the same to her other nipple. “I love you so much.”

He knew. He knew it but hearing it always made him feel weak and vulnerable, as if something deep in his head was still trying to convince him that it was all a big joke. But it wasn't. It could have been, but not when you trusted him so much that you exposed yourself to him to the point where you were lying naked in the bathtub, completely at his mercy; to the point where you trusted him in whatever the hell he was about to do.

And he just wanted to please you. To hear you moan his name. To make you writhe against him from the excessive stimulation he intended to give you.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered, and with one hand he had already slid down, finding that sweet spot between your thighs, slick with arousal despite the water. You were so wet for him, so ready to take it all and be grateful for it.

He slid one finger between the folds, testing the surface, and you were already moaning with pleasure, even though he hadn't done anything good yet. He was just circling your swollen clit with his fingertip, spreading the excitement and mixing it with the water. The pressure was just right, and the friction—perfect and addictive. He didn't even have to put his fingers inside for you to see stars. He had other plans for your G-spot, but those would have to wait for later.

The feeling of his wonderfully rough hands on your body was something you could never get enough of. He knew exactly what he was doing; he knew perfectly well how to work with your body to bring you to the brink of pleasure and keep you there, balancing on the line between sanity and madness. He made you reach for your other nipple, squeezing it between your fingers so you had something to do with your hands.

“Greedy girl,” he whispered in your ear, playing with your clit like a fucking toy. The water washing away your arousal made it more raw, more deliciously painful as his fingers circled that sensitive bud of nerves between your legs.

“Please.”

That one word again. The one he loved to hear almost as much as his name from your lips.

“Tell me what ya want,” he whispered hoarsely, so aroused he could barely keep his cool as your moving hips gently rubbed against his erect dick.

“Let me come, Daryl.” There was no reason to be ashamed of those words. “Let me c...”

He did. He pushed harder, moved faster, squeezed as if it were his only job in this godforsaken world. You fell apart in his hands, making the sweetest sounds he knew, showing him how much you loved what he was doing. How much your body needed him and his touch.

Water splashed, the air became even thicker, mixing with the scent of cherry shower gel and sex. It went to his head, intoxicated him, made him breathe heavily, as if he were the one reaching orgasm. Which was almost the case, to be honest.

“Daryl,” you moaned, throwing one leg over the edge of the tub to give him more access to the spot where you needed him most.

Your pussy throbbed, your clit ached, and he began to overstimulate you, but you didn't tell him to stop. No, you wanted to take it all in and wrap yourself around it with your whole body. You wanted to feel weak and used, pleased to the point of breaking. You wanted your sanity to vanish.

You tugged on your lower lip with your teeth, tasting the blood on it, trying to stop yourself from squirming away. All these movements made his muscles tense, clenching with need.

“Fuck,” he swore, his fingers almost numb from rubbing, but he didn't stop. The faster he stimulated you, the harder your butt rubbed against his erected cock. And you knew. You knew, damn it, because when he let out an animalistic sound from deep within his chest, you smiled with your eyes closed, almost absent-mindedly, and reached out your hand. One touch. One touch of your hand was enough for him to come with a literal growl on his lips. At the same time, a second orgasm unexpectedly hit you, mixing your moans with his sounds in the thick air.

“Fuck...”

“Yea...”

You both sighed heavily, letting your bodies rest as the delirium of the moment slowly began to drift away.

“Don't fall asleep,” he whispered, brushing your cheek with the same fingers that had been buried deeply between your legs just a moment ago. “We gotta clean this up.”

You groaned, not even wanting to think about the mess you'd made. But at least you weren't cold anymore, right? It was all worth it.

Taglist:

@theskinniestjackson-denny @stephtuckerwriting @bl4ckt00thgr1n @olive-gardens @gothicxbarbie @slutforgrey @chansmai @bat-revival @oh-to-be-a-girl @marylimlp @sunshine-girl013 @gwenlinthegremlin @electroniczombieprince @cinefilaleitora @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @flirtysnakes @martuxduckling @emmanem1331 @peachycheekz @aliceliddell13 @satata @annylaugh @anaaam @thatonewriterchick @dixons-wifey @belovedmoony @idkmaybeitskhloe @baileyelizabethbarlow @vampsan @lilratbb @final-sights @shattersoftly @imadisneyprincessiswear @cryptidsrcool @jicama420 @securityinarkham @joelmillerisbabygirl @beacon-cause-pigs-suck @visiblycrypticecho

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3

Well, there was one person you had known since the beginning of the outbreak, but it was impossible to feel comfortable around them. Every time they appeared somewhere in your presence, you tensed up, unable to utter a word. Your face became hot and red, your hands trembled, and your heart pounded in your chest.

Developing a crush while being so shy and insecure was a living hell. Luckily for you, the person you had a crush on didn't seem to notice anything. He wasn't very sociable either, always keeping to himself and not opening up to anyone. While you had a heart attack every time he approached, he stayed completely oblivious to the storm of emotions raging in you. Sometimes it hurt because deep down you wanted him to notice you, but most of the time it made everything easier. You didn't know how to talk to him, you didn't know how to get him interested.

But that night, something changed. Watching all these people made you angry with yourself. You couldn't even hold a simple conversation, let alone anything more, and it was slowly starting to bother you.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, looking at you with surprise.

“What are you sick of?” she asked, sipping her champagne.

“I'm sick of being so awkward,” you confessed. Maggie was one of the few people you felt comfortable enough with to get everything off your chest. You had been through hell together and formed a bond; you were like sisters, so why shouldn't you talk to her about your worries?

She frowned, turning slightly to look at you while you continued to stare stubbornly at the crowd. Why couldn't you be like them? Why couldn't you just talk, smile, and laugh, make new friends? Why couldn't you feel more comfortable around others?

“You're not awkward...”

“I love you, Maggie, but I don't like it when you try to cheer me up,” you said, chuckling, but there wasn't a hint of humour in it. “We all know I am.”

Well, it was true. How could anyone not notice that after spending so much time with you? You were never the life of the party, were you? You always stood close by, but never in the centre, always hovering on the edge, as if something was holding you back. As if something was trying to strangle you as soon as you took a step too far.

“I'll make a list,” you said, suddenly realizing something and turning your head toward her. After all, it was New Year's, right? The perfect opportunity to make a to-do list. The perfect opportunity to make a New Year’s resolutions list. Something beyond survival and learning how to shoot a gun.

Maggie smiled, but she didn't seem entirely convinced.

“New Year's resolutions?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, but you nodded enthusiastically.

“Why not?” you shrugged. “I'm tired of being who I am. Maybe this will help me change something, don't you think?”

“I don't think you need to change anything,” she said, shaking her head. “Why do you want to do this so badly?”

“Because I hate always being the one standing on the sidelines while everyone else is having fun,” you admitted and drank the rest of your champagne in one gulp. The bubbles tingled in your stomach, and the alcohol flowing through your veins warmed you up. At that moment, someone's heavy presence made you feel even hotter, even more flushed.

Daryl entered the room quietly, with an expression on his face that betrayed how much he wanted to leave. He wasn't the life of the party either, which was something you always had in common, but neither of you had the courage to take advantage of it. You noticed him immediately and your heart started beating faster. Damn, the way he moved stirred something in you. He was so confident, but never cocky, moving nonchalantly and effortlessly, as if he didn't care about anything, but his gaze was attentive. He was always watching, and nothing escaped his attention. It was as if he was always ready to react, to fight, and to protect those around him.

You swallowed hard as you followed his movements with your eyes, looking up and down his strong, stable frame. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and heavy boots. He hadn't bothered to shave, but his hair glistened in the warm light of the Christmas lights. He looked clean but still rugged, just the way you liked him. He made you hold your breath.

And then his gaze fell on you, your eyes met across the room, and you felt a spark jump between you.

New year, new me, or whatever it was, right? you thought, trying to stay calm. Everything in you screamed to look away, to look the other way. To stop staring at him like a horny teenager. A blush covered your cheeks. The temperature in the room seemed to rise. He raised his eyebrow in a questioning, slightly challenging way, as if he were curious about what you were going to do next. What seemed like an eternity lasted two, maybe three seconds before you looked down at your hands, staring at the empty champagne glass held in your fingers.

“Are you okay?” asked Maggie, who obviously hadn't missed the quiet moment you spent with the object of all your desires. She knew you liked Daryl, but you made her swear she wouldn't tell anyone.

“I think I'll have another one,” you muttered, getting up and leaving her with a worried look on her face. You had to get at least a little drunk because the weight of your own thoughts was becoming too much. You felt the pressure resting on your shoulders.

You walked over to the table, reaching for another glass of champagne, praying that no one would notice you, and cursing yourself for doing it. You wanted to change, but stepping out of your comfort zone scared you too much.

“New year, new me my ass,” you whispered to yourself as you sipped your champagne. The bubbles tingled your lips and sent a pleasant sensation straight to your head.

“Ya talkin’ to yerself?”

You jumped, not expecting to hear that low, hoarse voice so close to your ear. Alcohol spilled from the glass and down your hand, falling to the floor.

“Damn,” you muttered, turning around and coming face to face with the man you dreamed about every night. You didn't know if you wanted to run away or kiss him. Maybe neither, maybe both.

Daryl suppressed a slight smile appearing at the corner of his mouth and reached for the napkins, handing them to you with a nod.

“Thanks.”

He was standing too close. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the smell of cigarettes and musk overwhelming your senses. You took a step back, trying to create some space between your bodies.

He growled as if to say You're welcome, but he didn't use any words. In fact, it was very unusual for him to start a conversation at all, so you wondered why he had approached you in the first place. Maybe he had some New Year's resolutions he wanted to fulfil. Just like you.

You really should start working on your list. There were so many things you wanted to try next year, and you had to write them all down. Even the most embarrassing ones. The ones you didn't want to admit even to yourself. Like this man standing next to you. You had missed him for so long that every glance at him hurt. You wanted him. You wanted everything about him—his golden heart, the secure embrace of his arms, the feel of his sweaty skin under your fingers, and his huge, calloused hands on your body. You were shy, yes, but you were still a woman, and of course you weren't a virgin. You had needs that needed to be satisfied, and watching Daryl for so long had made you greedy and desperate. You just didn't have the courage to make the first move. You didn't know how to show him that you wanted him. Besides, you didn't even know if he wanted you. He didn't seem like the type of guy who slept around, nor was he the type to fall in love. In fact, since you'd known him, you hadn't seen him with any other women. You hadn't seen him look at any other women.

You swallowed hard, and your own thoughts made you feel uncomfortable. You tried to focus on drying your hands, then crouched down to clean up the mess you'd made on the floor. All so you wouldn't have to look at him and his attentive gaze. You wanted to say something, but you didn't know what. Everything that came to mind sounded stupid. You searched your brain further, but to no avail. You couldn't think of a topic interesting enough for the hunter.

You expected him to leave when you were silent for a while, but he was still standing there, holding a small glass of champagne, already half empty. His gaze was fixed on the crowd, just like yours had been a while ago.

After a few minutes of mutual silence, he finally broke it:

“Ya ain’t seem to be havin’ much fun.”

You blinked, surprised by his voice, but this time you weren't scared. You dared to turn your face toward him and realized that he was already looking at you.

A blush reappeared on your cheeks.

“Not really,” you said, shrugging your shoulders and trying to look nonchalant, but he noticed how uncomfortable you felt under his gaze. He saw you look away every time he looked in your direction.

But the way you tried to hold his gaze just now... made him feel something deep in his chest. He became dangerously curious. He became dangerously excited.

He was staring at you for too long, but he didn't want to admit it. It was wrong to feel something so strong for you. He tried to deny it, to kill it deep inside himself, but the more time passed, the stronger his need to get to know you better became. He had no experience with women, but in a strange, peculiar way, he felt what he should do. He knew what would work. He wanted to try so many things.

He drank his glass and reached for another. No, it wasn't good to think about it when you were so close and looked so beautiful and rosy. Rosy because of him, he liked to think.

“New year, new you?” he asked before he could bite his tongue, and your head turned toward him. Oh, what a beautiful shade of red appeared on your cheeks.

“What?”

His crooked smile took your breath away.

“Ya said that ‘fore to yerself.”

He overheard you muttering earlier, damn it.

“It's nothing,” you said, looking at him, then at some undefined place behind him. It was very difficult for you to maintain eye contact. “New Year's resolutions bullshit.”

“What's on the list?”

You swallowed. How inappropriate it would be to blurt out that it was him. How inappropriate it would be to say that you wanted to kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

“Nothing important,” you said, raising and lowering your shoulders twice.

Or maybe... Maybe it was important? Maybe the universe was giving you a chance to finally get your act together? To step out of your comfort zone, which had kept you trapped in your mind for so long? Maybe throwing yourself off a cliff was the perfect first step on that journey?

You took the last sip of champagne, took another glass, drank it, and turned to him, feeling the alcohol rush to your head. You weren't drunk, no, just tipsy enough to gain a little confidence. Your mind was still clear, at least ninety percent of it.

“I don't want to hold back all the time,” you blurted out. “I'm tired of being an outsider. I'm tired of wanting to do something but being afraid to do it. I'm tired of being too shy to act...” You paused to catch your breath. “...in certain matters.”

He set his empty glass on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps tensed under the fabric of his shirt, and you couldn't help but notice. You couldn't resist the urge to reach out and run your fingers over the contours of his muscles.

And he couldn't help but notice how your gaze rested on his body. How hungry you looked as you traced the surface of his shoulders with your eyes. Fuck, you looked like you wanted him, and that turned him on.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what's first on that list?”

Something changed in your eyes, he saw the moment when something switched in you. As if you had already made your decision but didn't know how to express it. A storm raged in your head, unable to escape.

He made a decision too. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your eyes, which sparkled so beautifully in the warm light, or maybe it was because he had missed you for a long time too. He quickly looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, then leaned in, bringing his lips within an inch of your ear.

“Am I on yer list?”

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together. This was it. This was your moment. Finally, you could make the move, take the step.

Daryl was so close that his scent intoxicated you. It was almost as if... he wanted you too. Why would he come closer to you if he didn't?

“You are,” you whispered. Those words fell on his shoulders, sank into his body, reached his heart. A heart that had stopped beating. A heart that almost jumped out of his chest as a result of that small, timid confession you made.

“Whadaya gonna do ‘bout it?”

He moved back slightly so he could look you in the eyes, and you could sense that he was waiting for your answer. The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable, but the alcohol flowing through your veins made it a little easier. You became more curious, more confident.

“Let's get out of here, and I'll show you.”

You didn't know where you found the strength to say those words, but when you did, he almost pulled you out of the room. You wanted to take his hand and run out, not caring about people's curiosity, but... But he wasn't very confident either. And he didn't want people gossiping about you.

He touched your hand with his calloused finger and nodded toward the exit.

“I'll wait outside.”

And he left. As if nothing had happened. As if you had just had a normal conversation that ended without any strange, inappropriate situations. As if it hadn't left you burning and thirsty.

“New year, new me,” you whispered as soon as you stepped outside and the cold December air hit your face. You tightened your scarf around your neck and kept walking.

You didn't know where he was, but knowing him and his hunting skills, he would find you first. Unless it was all just a cruel joke he played on you. He could, right? He wasn't the type of man to play with girls' feelings. Or maybe...

Your insecurities began to play a major role in your head again. What if you weren't good enough for him? What if he just wanted to take advantage of the situation? What if you made a complete fool of yourself?

You froze in place, and the shame was already building up inside you, burning your insides. Damn it, you were an idiot. Why the hell did you do that? Why...

“There you are.”

You turned around. His voice sent a shiver down your spine. You heard him, but you didn't see him. Not at first. Only when he lit a cigarette and its burning end lit up the darkness. He was standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, far enough away from the house that no one could hear you, but close enough that you could go back if you wanted to. He wasn't sure if you'd changed your mind.

You swallowed hard and turned back, heading towards him. Your heart was pounding like crazy, your body was hot and sweaty. But you took one step after another, forcing your trembling legs to move.

Daryl leaned against a tree, watching you close the distance, like a predator watching its prey. Oh, how he wanted you. He only realized it at that moment, when he finally allowed himself to feel that desire. When he knew that you wanted him too.

As soon as you were within reach, he threw his cigarette on the ground, stamped on it, and reached for your hand, pulling you so close to his body that you collided with his chest. Before you could say a word, your lips were crushed with such force that if he hadn't been holding you so tightly, you would have fallen over.

He wasn't gentle or tender. He kissed you as if he needed to breathe you in. It was urgent, it was brutal. His chapped lips moved clumsily on yours, but you didn't care. You moaned into his mouth, feeling overwhelmed by his presence, but at the same time not wanting it to ever end. You had wanted this for so long that when it finally happened, you couldn't believe your eyes. Your own lips. Your own senses.

“Damn,” he muttered, turning you both around and pressing you against the tree. His lips moved down your jaw. His hands grabbed your waist through your coat.

You raised your arms and crossed them behind his neck, tilting your head to give him more access. Your shyness was gone. Your insecurities were gone.

Your greed took over.

“Daryl,” you moaned, tugging at his hair, not caring how desperate you sounded.

He growled against your skin, biting your neck. He tightened his grip.

“Daryl, touch me,” you begged quietly. You needed it. You needed him. You were tired of clenching your thighs and thinking about him. You were tired of slipping your own hand between your legs in the middle of the night.

You needed his touch.

And he was more than willing to give it to you. He unbuttoned your coat, covering you with his body to keep you warm, and covering your neck with mouth-opened kisses, he moved his hand down, playing with the hem of your dress. It was a pretty dress. He liked how you looked in it that evening, but he couldn't help thinking you would look much better if it was lying on the floor.

“Tell me again,” he commanded, his voice now even lower, quieter. He brushed your thigh, making you shiver.

“Touch me,” you said, and a wave of heat washed over your body.

He smacked his lips, pinching your skin with his fingers, and you squealed.

“Again,” he whispered, running his tongue along the side of your neck. “Tell me how.”

Shame flushed your cheeks in an intense blush, but it was too late to back out. The words were on the tip of your tongue, all you had to do was say them.

“Finger me.”

He smirked, pulling back just enough to see your flushed face, his hand moving up your thigh. He watched your reaction, the way you parted your lips and closed your eyes. He paused.

“Keep ‘em open, sweetheart,” he said, brushing your cheek with his other hand. “Open yer eyes.”

You did, even though you felt you couldn’t see clearly. Your vision was blurry, hazy. Your head was spinning, and not because of the champagne you had drunk. It was the effect of this man and his body so close to yours. Damn, his body on yours.

“Good girl,” he praised you, and it did something to you. You didn't know that words like that could have such an effect. You sighed, pulling him closer and kissing him with raw lust.

His fingers landed on your pussy, feeling the wetness that had already spilled onto your panties, and he cursed into your mouth.

“So wet,” he murmured softly, pressing his hand flat against you, grabbing you possessively. “’S that fer me?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, rubbing against his hand.

“So needy.”

He toyed with you, making you more and more frustrated with every passing second. You wanted to feel him.

“Daryl,” you moaned, “please.”

That drove him crazy. That one word, spoken in that sweet voice, that pretty, moaning tone. He didn't just push your panties aside. He practically ripped them off, pressing his middle finger into your entrance without warning, without hesitation. You were so wet that he didn't need to spit on his fingers.

Your body took him in so easily, as if it had been made just for him. He pushed his fingers inside, feeling your walls stretch around them. Hearing your sweet moans, he saw spots before his eyes. Fuck, it was so exciting. Your sounds made him hard. His cock hardened in his pants.

“So tight,” he praised, slowly moving his fingers inside you while pressing his thumb against your clit.

You screamed his name, grabbing his shoulders to keep your balance as you slowly began to lose it . Your legs were giving way.

He pressed you harder against the tree, supporting your weight as he lifted one of your legs and made you wrap it around his waist. He gave himself better access. Easier access. He slid another finger in, drawing small circles around your throbbing clit, spreading your arousal along your pussy.

“Ya wanna come, huh?”

Yes. You desperately wanted to come, and as soon as possible, or you would explode. Your body needed that relief.

“Please,” you begged again.

“Only if ya promise,” he slid in a third finger, and you threw your head back, scratching it against the tree, “’s just a warm-up.”

You blinked.

“Do you want me?”

“I need ya.”

He knelt in front of you, placing your foot on his shoulders and looking at you with lustful eyes, before he dove under your skirt.

The touch of his tongue pressed flat against your clit made you feel like you were in seventh heaven. You covered your mouth with one hand to stifle your moans and tangled the other in his hair.

“Fuck, I...”

He uttered a murmur that sent vibrations through your entire body. He licked you as if he had been starving his whole life, kneeling on the cold ground, sucking and licking, slurping your wet pussy.

The countdown started in the house. You could hear people shouting. Ten, nine, eight...

Daryl's tongue swirled around your clit, making you moan loudly into your hand.

Seven, six, five...

He put his fingers back inside, three at a time, stretching you so well that you felt no one would ever be able to match him.

Four, three, two...

He bent his fingers and his tongue became restless against your sensitive clit. The feeling burned inside you, pulsing, growing. You were approaching the edge.

One...

As people shouted Happy New Year, you screamed his name into the void, your walls tightening around his fingers. You reached your orgasm and closed your eyes as white spots appeared before your eyelids.

Daryl licked you clean, swallowing every drop of your arousal before getting back to his feet. And that was just the beginning.

Finally, a new year, a new you.

Taglist:

@theskinniestjackson-denny @stephtuckerwriting @bl4ckt00thgr1n @olive-gardens @gothicxbarbie @slutforgrey @chansmai @bat-revival @oh-to-be-a-girl @marylimlp @sunshine-girl013 @gwenlinthegremlin @electroniczombieprince @cinefilaleitora @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @flirtysnakes @martuxduckling @emmanem1331 @peachycheekz @aliceliddell13 @satata @annylaugh @anaaam @thatonewriterchick @dixons-wifey @belovedmoony @idkmaybeitskhloe @baileyelizabethbarlow @vampsan @lilratbb @final-sights @shattersoftly @imadisneyprincessiswear @cryptidsrcool @jicama420 @securityinarkham @joelmillerisbabygirl @beacon-cause-pigs-suck @visiblycrypticecho

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3

Sighing, you rolled onto your back and blinked a few times to get the last traces of sleep from your eyes. The duvet was so comfortable and warm that you could just as well have fallen asleep again, but if he was already up, then you had to get up too. Just two more minutes to stretch. Just two more minutes to prepare yourself for the cool air of a December morning. Just two more minutes...

You didn't realize when you closed your eyes, but when you opened them again, the room was already filled with bright sunlight streaming through the open curtains. You squinted, trying to protect your pupils from the sunrays, and groaned, covering your face with a pillow. You should have gotten up a long time ago, probably a few hours, but you had always been a sleepyhead and never an early bird. So, the conclusion was obvious. You fell asleep before your consciousness told you to move.

“G’morning, sweetheart.”

You peeked out from under the pillow in the direction of your boyfriend's voice and smiled. He was standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Strong, tall, and all yours. Warmth spread all over your body at the sight of this man.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice still slightly hoarse from sleep, and tossed the pillow aside. “I was going to join you a long time ago,” you admitted. He chuckled at your words, and a sheepish smile appeared on your lips. Oh, he knew you too well to believe that you would drag your cute little ass out of bed before 9:00 a.m. In fact, he was glad you weren't an early bird, because it gave him some time to gather himself and find the courage to do what he had been planning for some time.

Looking at you lying in your shared bed, so comfortable under the covers, he couldn't help but feel that fluttering feeling of butterflies flying around warming his heart. Your beautiful, sparkling eyes were still full of sleep, there was a delicate pillow mark on your cheek, and your hair... You always braided your hair before going to sleep, and now it was so mesmerizingly tousled that he was overcome with the thought that this was what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life.

The small package tucked deep in his jeans pocket began to weigh on him. Stress overwhelmed him in the form of a lump stuck in his throat that he couldn't swallow.

“’S good ya didn't do that,” he muttered, looking away from your silhouette. How the hell was he supposed to do this? He wasn't good at it. Hell, he wasn't good at anything involving intimacy and relationships before you, but here he was, in the house he shared with the love of his life, watching you sleep peacefully for the last ten minutes, wondering how he could ever live without you. His whole life had been about survival, just getting by from day to day, a mere existence, but with you... With you, it was so much more. With you, his life was finally complete.

Well, almost complete. There was one more thing he never thought he would even consider doing, yet for a while now he desperately wanted to. Because even though you were already his, he felt it wasn't enough. At least not for that primal, possessive part of him that was raging deep in his heart.

You frowned, leaning on your elbows and looking at him with concern. There was something strange about him that morning, something unusual, and you only noticed it now that the remnants of sleep had finally disappeared. Your mind began to work at full speed, analysing the scene before you.

Daryl shifted his weight from one leg to the other, still standing in the doorway as if glued to it. His hands were in his pockets, and his gaze wandered around the room as if he had never seen it before.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked, a slight smile appearing on your lips. He was nervous. Why was he nervous on Christmas morning? Or maybe... he had something for you? He always acted like this when he did something for you that he wasn't sure you would appreciate. Perhaps normally he was less skittish, but you still saw the resemblance.

“Huh?”

You laughed softly, sitting down and patting the empty space on the bed next to you.

“Something's bothering you, baby,” you said, and he finally dared to look at you. Of course, he didn't admit it out loud, but from the way his eyes lit up, you could tell that was the case. He was nervous, even worried, and you had to find out why.

“’S just...” he mumbled, clenching his jaw and trying to swallow, taking a small step toward you. He had to do it. He knew he had to, only... He had never been very confident around women. In his eyes, he was a defective product that, for some reason, had caught your attention, and he honestly didn't know how the hell you could have fallen in love with him. But you had, and it took him a while to believe it, even though his intrusive thoughts still sometimes got the better of him.

What if she laughs?

What if she says no?

What if she breaks up with you?

Fighting a whole horde of walkers with his bare hands would be a much easier task than what he was about to do. He would rather go into the woods alone at night, without a crossbow, than say the words he had been practicing in front of the mirror for the past two weeks.

“Daryl, what's wrong?” you asked, now seriously concerned. It was no surprise that he was a little shy and nervous around you, but this was something else. You could feel it, but you couldn't quite understand why.

“Nothin’,” he replied, swallowing hard, his voice lower than usual, hoarser. He needed water and, preferably, an escape route in case things went wrong. It wasn't that he doubted your feelings or devotion, he was just too insecure to believe he deserved more than what you had already given him.

You watched him slowly approach the bed and didn't say a word, patiently waiting for him to get out what was bothering him so much. You knew you had to give him time, not only to collect his thoughts, but also to regain his confidence. Something was wrong, but you had time. You had all the time in the world, honestly. You weren’t going anywhere.

He took a deep breath, finally reached the bed, and sat down, trying his best to look you in the eyes. Your beautiful eyes, full of the deepest love he could imagine. And that love was directed solely at him. Oh, he had to do it.

“I...” he began, taking a deep breath, but suddenly all the scenarios he had come up with evaporated from his mind. He could already feel a wave of panic washing over his entire body. The little box in his pocket was burning him alive.

“I ain’t...” he stammered. Damn it, he was going to screw it up so badly that he wasn't sure it was even worth starting. He should have already run out of the room to preserve at least a shred of dignity he had left.

You couldn’t stand seeing him like that and not knowing what was behind it. Your hand automatically reached out to him, and your fingers rested on his hand.

“Baby, what’s going on?” you asked quietly, trying to get him to look you in the eye, but he looked away again. Fear began to swirl in your stomach, making you feel nauseous. The icy blue hue of his irises mingled with such great anxiety that your heart tightened in your chest.

“Whatever it is,” you raised your other hand and cupped his scruffy cheek, “remember that I love you. So much that I can't even begin to explain it to you.”

Those words... Your words, spoken in that honeyed, angelic voice, and the sincerity shining in your eyes made him lean in and close the distance between your bodies with a shy kiss. His chapped lips trembled as they gently brushed yours.

You didn't even notice when he reached into his pocket with one hand because you were too absorbed in his hot breath mingling with yours. The fingers of his other hand intertwined with yours, and the roughness of his fingertips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Marry me,” he whispered into your mouth… and the world suddenly froze; stopped spinning around. The time stuck in place. Your heart skipped and your stomach tightened. A wave of heat flushed over you. Did you really hear those words? Did he really say them? Was it just your imagination?

You moved back a few inches, breathing heavily. Your eyes were wide open, taking in the blush appearing on his cheeks.

“What did you...”

“Marry me,” he repeated, more firmly, despite the tremor in his voice and the fact that his words broke at the end. He looked at you with a mixture of uncertainty, anxiety, and so much love that it practically poured out of him. And then... a movement somewhere below his face caught your attention. You looked down and gasped. He was holding something in his hand, something small and red. No, wait, it was a red ribbon. A red ribbon wrapped around something that fit perfectly in his hand.

“’S not much,” he muttered, opening his hand, and there it was. You watched, almost mesmerized, as he placed it on the mattress between your bodies and slowly pushed it toward you.

A very small jewellery box, the kind that could only hold one specific thing. You could tell it had seen better days—the black velvet was a little worn around the edges, but the red ribbon wrapped around it hid that almost perfectly.

You held your breath as you looked at him.

“Dar...”

“’S not perfect,” he whispered, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice. “Open it, please.”

You did. With trembling hands that were almost unable to move your fingers due to your emotions, you managed to pull the ends of the ribbons and untie them, revealing the box in all its glory. And then...

“Oh my God, Daryl,” you exclaimed as you opened it. Inside, on a white plush pillow, laid something that could only be described as absolutely extraordinary. You gently brushed it with your fingers, examining the metal surface—three thin metal wires braided and shaped into a circle the size of your ring finger. It was handmade. It was unique. It was mesmerizing.

An engagement ring. No, more like a wedding ring.

Your eyes filled with tears you couldn't hold back. You never even imagined he would take this step. You never even talked about it.

“Did you make this yourself?” you whispered, sniffing before you could reach for a tissue, and looked up again. His eyes, equally watery, took your breath away.

He nodded slowly, his face turning even redder as he mumbled:

“’S not a diamond or anythin’, but...”

“It's perfect,” you stopped him, pressing your lips to his. Your tears flowed, mixing with his. The salty taste of emotion made you cry even more. The kiss was chaotic and wet. Your hands wandered toward his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging at it. He let out a soft moan that made you smile against his lips.

“So...” he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours. “Whaddaya say?”

You bit your lower lip, looking deep into his eyes, in which you could drown.

“Yes,” you whispered. “A thousand times yes, Daryl.”

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his body, allowing him to breathe again. His muscles relaxed, his jaw loosened. He sighed with relief.

“I love ya so much,” he mumbled, brushing your cheek with his thumb, wiping away your tears. “Ya are everything to me.”

You knew that. You felt it every day in everything he did—in every look he gave you, in every little gesture, in every gentle touch of his fingers. In every messy kiss, every shared breath, every intimate moment. Daryl didn't have much, but he gave you everything he could to make you believe that he saw no world beyond you. He saw no world without you. Because you were his whole world.

His hands trembled as he reached for the box and took out the ring. He slipped it slowly and gently onto your finger, watching his own movements without blinking. It was as if he still couldn't believe it was happening.

You said “yes.” You agreed to marry him, and even though there was no government, no institution that could officially make you his wife, in his heart you already were.

“It fits perfectly,” you said, watching him put the ring on your finger with the same awareness as him. Your heart was full of love; it beat strongly in your chest. The man of your dreams had just proposed to you, and you couldn't imagine him doing it any other way than this endearing, slightly clumsy, and trembling way. It was so typical of Daryl that you couldn't stop smiling.

His blue eyes met yours again.

“Merry Christmas... Mrs. Dixon.”

Oh, damn, it was one thing to think it and another to hear it, especially in his low, deep, husky voice.

“Merry Christmas, my husband,” you replied, your voice breaking, as another wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. Husband. Husband and wife.

He cupped your face in his hands and brushed your lips with another kiss, this time more passionate, more determined. More forceful. Something vibrated in his chest, making a sound more animalistic than you had ever heard before. His body leaned into yours, causing you to fall back onto the mattress, and he pinned you down with his weight. Your head fell back onto the pillows. Your small, delicate body was trapped beneath him, and his hand wandered down to your waist and slipped under your T-shirt. Well, his T-shirt, which you were sleeping in. The warmth of his skin was delightful. It wandered up your ribs to the underline of your breast and stopped there, teasing you.

You sighed, tilting your head back. His lips moved down to your neck, leaving wet, mouth-opened kisses down the column of your throat. You already felt intoxicated by him, and he had done practically nothing yet.

“Mrs. Dixon,” he whispered against your skin, as if testing the taste of the words on the tip of his tongue, and you smiled.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dixon,” you corrected him, and it was like a spark that ignited a fire in him. He groaned, moving his hand up and brushing your already hard nipple with his thumb.

The moan that slipped past your lips got him going. He sucked on the delicate skin between your collarbones, leaving you hot and hungry, while his thick fingers stimulated your breasts.

“Say it again,” he begged, his teeth grazing your neckline, and you had no choice but to obey, uttering the words in a trembling, heavy breath:

“Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.”

“Damn you, woman,” he growled and pulled away. You would have protested if it hadn't lasted only a second, just long enough for him to take off his shirt and throw it on the floor. His mouth was on you again, this time lower. Your stomach was exposed as he pulled up your T-shirt. His tongue left a wet trail on your navel, and his hands played with the elastic of your black cotton panties. You arched under his touch, wanting and desperately waiting for him to touch you where you needed it most. Your hot flesh between your legs was already slick with arousal, soaked through your underwear. He could smell it, and it intoxicated him.

“Dar...” you moaned as his nose brushed against your clit through the fabric. You were like his sweetest, wettest dream, and if praising you the way he wanted to would earn him a place in hell, he would gladly let the earth swallow him whole.

“Lemme take care of ya,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the elastic and painfully slowly pulling your underwear off your legs, exposing your slippery folds as he spread your thighs. You didn't even have time to look down before his tongue dug into you, sending you into a drunken trance.

“Fuck,” you cursed, closing your eyes and parting your lips. You were the first woman he had ever gone down on, but over time he had become so good at it that you could have died of pleasure with his head between your legs. His tongue swirled around your clit, adding just the right amount of pleasure that made you grip the sheets so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your back arched, and he purred, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

He knew what he was doing. He knew how to move if he wanted you to come quickly and intensely, and that's what he intended to do right now. He wanted you to climax with his name on your lips. He wanted you to forget everything else. Because it was just you and him, the comfortable bed, the warmth of your intertwined bodies, and that little shiny ring on your finger. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed.

“Come fer me, Mrs. Dixon.”

He nudged your clit with the tip of his tongue, and you let out a desperate moan. He was leaving kitten licks on your pussy, your arousal on his lips like the sweetest candy, until you began to squirm beneath him, pressing your cunt against his face for more friction, which your body so desperately needed.

“Let me,” you moaned, reaching to pull his hair, and he groaned in approval.

“Yer wish is my command... wife.”

One strong stroke of his tongue made you see stars combusting right before your eyelids. You were thrown off a cliff and began to fall, accompanied by your own moans burning your throat. Your muscles tensed, your walls tightened around nothing, and he held you, not letting you slip away from him. The way you whispered his name when it all became too intense was like a dirty prayer created especially for him.

He licked you clean, overstimulating you lightly before he lifted himself and brought his mouth to yours. You could taste your own arousal on him. His stubble glistened with it, creating an obscene sight.

“I love you, husband,” you whispered, licking his lower lip and reaching down to unbutton his pants. His growing erection was already pushing through the fabric in his crotch.

“I love ya, wife,” he whispered back, letting you undress him. His cock slammed against his stomach, all hard and throbbing, when it was freed, and the sight made your mouth water. All yours. Daryl Dixon was all yours. Forever.

His loving eyes met yours as you took him in your hand and moved your fingers up and down. It was undoubtedly the best day of both your lives.

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You smiled as you watched from across the room as he sat down in a chair and took Judith on his lap, doing his best to be the best Santa Claus they could imagine. He even had a bag of small gifts. You had never seen Daryl behave this way before—carefree, happy. It was a nice sight. The smile on his face, though hidden under strands of white fake hair, was wide and sincere. And all because he was making others happy. It was both his weakest and strongest point.

You pressed your lips together, trying to keep your mind in check, but there was something special about the way his body looked in that costume. Something indecent and sinful crept into your mind when you saw him in that outfit and festive mood. Something awakened in the darkest corners of your mind, and you couldn't let it fall asleep again.

Daryl had been your partner for a couple of months; he was no stranger to any of your kinks—at least the ones you had chosen to show him—but there were things you kept secret for his own good. And yours. Things you were ashamed to admit you liked, even to yourself. And fucking Santa Claus was one of them.

You tried to hide your smile behind your wine glass, but Dixon wasn't the best at hunting for no reason. No, he was observant, cautious, noticing things others overlooked. And while no one paid attention because they were all focused on the show he was putting on, he was focused on you and how your body betrayed what was going on in your head.

He had almost no experience with women before you, but he quickly grew to enjoy learning everything you liked. He loved exploring your body, finding new ways to please you. He admired the way you always tried to hide your kinky side but adored even more when he did something very similar to what you wanted, you went wild. So far, he had revealed a lot of weird things that turned you on. And it looked like he was about to add another one to that collection. Santa Claus clearly worked on you. Well, he—dressed in a Santa Claus costume—was working on you. He could clearly see you clenching your thighs as you sat down. You crossed your legs, trying to remain serious, and perhaps to everyone around you, it looked as if you were simply enjoying the show as much as they were, but Daryl knew your naughty side, hidden behind closed doors to which no one else had the key. And he couldn't help but feel a little excited.

Of course, he wasn't too excited, he still had things to do, but he decided that after this ridiculous show was over, he would take care of a few things. After the kids went to bed and all your friends were in their own houses, the two of you would be able to return to your little house together, where no one could see or hear you. You had awakened a monster in him, and girl, if you wanted perversion, he would give it to you.

You, on the other hand, had no idea that he had noticed you looking at him. You felt a little embarrassed thinking about your man in a Santa Claus costume, but you just couldn't help yourself. In your defence, your father never dressed up as Santa Claus for Christmas. Neither did any of your uncles. None of your family members, to be exact. As a child, you never even went to shopping malls to sit on Santa's lap. It was the way Daryl confidently entered the room that suddenly made it look sexy, which was slowly driving you crazy. You could already see yourself sitting on him, completely naked, straddling his crotch. His hands on your waist, guiding you. His ice-blue eyes looking at you with desire.

Oh, damn it, you're going to hell for such obscene thoughts. He was dressed as Santa Claus, for crying out loud, and he was only doing it for the kids. You were sick in the head. You were crazy. You were so turned on that when it was all over, your panties were soaked. You experienced that unpleasant feeling of wet fabric pressing against the hottest part of your body, and you desperately needed to go home and change your underwear. And you changed your mind about revealing the dirty thoughts that were running through your head to him. Maybe it was a little too much for him. Maybe it was too weird. Maybe he liked other things, but would he judge you for this one? Maybe he would want to run away from you.

After the children's party was over, you went home alone. Daryl stayed a little longer because Judith didn't want to let him go, and you really needed to change your clothes. You made up some lame excuse about a headache, kissed him briefly on the cheek, and left. If only you knew how perfectly it all fit into the little plan that had formed in his head. He wanted to show you that he had always paid attention to you and everything about you. He wanted to show you that there was nothing he would back down from when it came to you. And if that meant going home in that stupid outfit, even though someone might see him, so be it. He already had an explanation ready in case anyone asked what the hell he was doing, but luckily for him, no one cared. No one saw him. He slipped unnoticed through the streets, and when he reached the front door, he took a deep breath.

Here we go, Dixon.

He opened the door, listening for any sounds that would tell him where you were and what you were doing. First, silence. Then the sound of water. The quiet hum of your sweet, angelic voice. The rustle of clothes. He stepped deeper into the house, trying not to make any noise with his heavy boots. He should have taken them off, but tonight they were part of his outfit.

He swallowed all his insecurities and moved on. You had assured him many times that he was the only man you wanted and that he was perfect for you. It was time for him to finally believe it. To finally take advantage of it and become the man you wanted him to be. Because beneath that dominance you always exuded, deep down you wanted to be submissive, at least from time to time. He saw that sparkle in your eyes whenever he squeezed you tighter or pressed you harder against the mattress. He has never done that purposely before, but for you... Oh, how he wanted to try.

When he entered the living room, he heard you moving in the bedroom just on the other side of the wall and took a deep breath. It was time to play.

“Daryl, is that you?” you asked, hearing his boots stomping on the wooden floor, but before you could even stick your head out of the room, he walked in. You closed your mouth, the long-forgotten words stuck deep in your throat. He hadn't changed. He was still wearing that damn Santa suit that had turned you on so much.

“What are you...”

“Have ya been a good girl?” he asked in a low, deep, husky voice that sent a shiver down your spine. Although he felt ridiculous, the sparkle in your eyes confirmed that it was worth enduring the embarrassment. Your body reacted before your brain could comprehend what was happening. A blush appeared on your cheeks, giving them the most beautiful shade of pink he had ever seen. Your stomach contracted uncontrollably. Damn it, you just took a shower and changed your underwear.

“Daryl, what...”

“Ain’t know any Daryl,” he muttered, approaching you with a sheepish smile visible under his fake beard. Oh, it was really endearing how hard he was trying to stay calm and not bolt out of the room. You clenched your teeth to keep from smiling. This huge, always grumpy and serious man dressed up as Santa Claus not only for the children, but also for his perverted girlfriend. He knew. Somehow, he always knew what you wanted, and even without experience, he was able to fulfil all your desires. He tried to learn, and damn it, he was fucking good at it.

“Did you bring me any presents, Santa?” you asked quietly, innocently, biting your lower lip in a teasing gesture that almost made him stumble over his own feet. How was he supposed to dominate you when the sight of you made his knees go weak?

“Maybe.”

He moved closer, keeping a certain distance between your bodies—close enough not to touch you yet, but close enough to reach for you with one quick movement of his arm.

His eyes moved over your body, taking in every detail. You were wearing one of his shirts—black, button-down, old, slightly ragged and worn. The top three buttons were undone, revealing your cleavage. Small drops of water still trickled down your sternum, disappearing between your breasts under the fabric. He wanted to lean down and lick them off you; run his hot tongue over your body, make you shiver. But he had things to do. Indecent things, and your scent reminded him of that. You smelled like cherry-scented shower gel, the sweetest sin he could taste. He wanted to sink into you and forget about the whole damn world. He wanted to delve deep into you and never come out.

As his gaze wandered lower, the sight of your bare legs made him twitch in his pants. He couldn't see your panties under your shirt, which was so long it looked like a mini dress on your body, but he was sure you weren't wearing any shorts. Only underwear. Hopefully completely soaked by now.

His hand reached your cheek, his fingers cupped it, and his thumb brushed your lip, freeing it from the grip of your teeth.

“But first,” his other hand grabbed your wrist, “tell Santa what ya wish for”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling you with him. You wanted to straddle him, but he had other plans. He made you sit on one of his thighs, both legs on either side, your knee pressing against his crotch. He almost moaned with pleasure, but he held back, not letting the sound escape his lips. His eyes darkened, his heart beating faster.

You put your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance and leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear.

“What if I was a naughty girl, Santa?” you whispered, sliding your hips forward and rubbing your barely covered pussy against his thigh. Fuck, that was about it for the clean underwear. The way you felt so small compared to his broad, powerful body affected you; it unleashed that dark part of you that always tried to come out in intimate moments.

His huge hands wrapped around your waist, and his knee buckle up a few inches, making you jump. He never wanted to, but he could dominate you very easily. One look into his eyes, the sight of his dilated pupils, made you feel weak. He wanted you. He needed you. He had to have you. That was enough to make you melt completely.

“Naughty girls ain’t deserve presents,” he whispered, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to look at him. Oh, that darkness that was slowly emerging was beginning to show. His expression changed. It became darker. More primal. Something animalistic intertwined with the blue of his irises like a possessed shadow.

You swallowed, feeling a growing excitement in your stomach. You wanted to move your hips—no, you had to move your hips—but he held you tight with his other hand, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Ya told Santa ya were a naughty girl, huh?”

Your breaths were shaky, but you nodded anyway. You nodded so eagerly that it amused him. You wanted to be his naughty girl so badly that it awakened his primal instincts, making him excited and sweaty at the thought of everything he wanted to do to you. He shed all the shackles that held him back, all the remnants of reason that restrained his needs and kept them captive.

The sound vibrated in his chest, low and raw.

“Naughty girls must be punished,” he whispered, as if it were both a promise and a threat.

His knee buckled up again, harder, his thigh pressing forcefully against your pussy, and you yelped, surprised by the sudden movement. Your hands grabbed the fluffy white fabric on his collar. Your pussy throbbed, so abused, desperately wanting more. Your hips moved forward. He let you get that friction before holding you in place again, denying you anything more.

Your arousal seeped through your panties, soaking his pants. You could feel it, but even more exciting, he could feel it too.

“Naughty girl,” he growled, placing both hands on your hips. “Yer already so wet fer Santa.”

Your breathing became more rapid as he guided you up and down his thigh. You couldn't even try to stop him, not that you wanted to. He was too strong. Too demanding. He made you sit on him like a puppet on strings—strings that were his strong, unyielding arms.

“What would yer boyfriend think ‘bout this?”

You grinned, resting your forehead on his shoulder. Your swollen, throbbing clit was so sensitive that each stroke made you moan. He made you rub against him, sit astride him with your underwear being the only shield, and you were so close to orgasm that you almost felt ashamed.

“Let's ask him,” you gasped, reaching for his face and pulling off his fake beard, revealing his face. You dared to look him in the eyes. His beautiful eyes, so full of greed at that moment. His scruffy face was still there, after many hours spent in disguise. The face you loved to wake up to every morning. The face you loved to see last before falling asleep. The face that had learned to satisfy you between your legs at any moment.

“He ain’t mind,” he murmured, digging his fingers deeper into your flesh, sure to leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

“Good.”

That was all you could manage to say before he leaned down, and his mouth attacked your neck. Your head fell back, your back arched. He ran his tongue down your neck.

“Move.”

The vibrations of his growl sent a shiver through your entire body. He gave you the green light. Oh fuck, that was all you needed. Your hips moved frantically, straddling his leg, as if nothing else mattered. Quiet moans escaped your lips.

“Faster,” he commanded.

“Fuck,” you cursed, trying to obey, but even though you were moving as fast as you could, the orgasm was coming too quickly for your legs to hold you up. Your muscles tensed and your fingers clenched his jacket so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You closed your eyes as he sucked on the delicate skin just below your ear. You moved on top of him, your clit overly sensitive. But you wanted more. You wanted everything. You wanted...

“Stop.”

A loud moan escaped your lips. You were so close. So damn close. You could already feel the orgasm coming, almost touching it, but Daryl's strong arms held you in place, lifting you an inch so you could touch him with your crotch.

“What the hell,” you hissed, your eyes wide. He pulled away from your skin, smirking like the devil.

“Naughty girls ain’t get presents, remember?” he muttered, looking at your disappointed gaze with devilish satisfaction. You were so beautiful, with blush on your cheeks, sparkling, wide eyes, and a hint of frustration in the corners of your mouth. He thought that if only he had a camera, he would take a picture and carry it with him always. Damn, what a sight. His penis was already rock hard, pressing against the inside of his pants. The fabric on his thigh was completely soaked with your arousal. He wanted to throw you on the bed, take off your clothes, and fuck you until his name was all you knew. But he wasn't the one you wanted, was he? No, you wanted Santa Claus. And you got Santa Claus.

“Convince me that yer ain’t as bad as I think ya are,” he whispered, brushing your hot, flushed cheek with his thumb. “Show me ya can be a good girl.”

Such dirty words would have sounded different, would have been embarrassing coming from his mouth just a few months ago, but when you came into his life, you shattered his comfort zone. You broke down his barriers with your bare hands and a single smile. And he couldn't do anything else.

Before you, he was afraid that he would be too brutal, too harsh, if he ever met a girl he liked. He had never experienced tenderness or softness; no one had ever been gentle with him. The only few times he had sex, it was always quick, messy, and brutal. There was never any love. There were no feelings other than the need to satisfy his desire. No wonder when you first tried to get close to him, he got scared. He didn't want to hurt you. He didn't want to do anything wrong. He didn't want you to be scared.

Oh, how wrong he was. You were a gift from God; a naughty angel sent down from above especially for him. The only good thing in his cursed life. Because you weren't afraid. You weren't shy. You didn't want him to hold back. When he first showed you how much he wanted you, you took every brutal thrust and came with his name on your lips. It made him believe that you were meant for each other, because the way your voice intertwined with the sound of his name, the way it rolled off your tongue like the sweetest prayer, a cry for more, drove him crazy.

And now, looking at you, all messy and ruined, staining his pants, he couldn't help himself before he ordered you off him, your knees hitting the wooden floor right in front of him. His strong body towered over you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Be a good girl,” he murmured, cupping your cheeks with his hands, “an’ I'll reconsider yer gift.”

You swallowed. Only from this perspective could you see how aroused he was. His erection was visible through the fabric of his pants, and your eyes were right at the level of his crotch.

Still feeling slightly disappointed, but also feeling a growing need to obey, you reached for his bulge. He wanted you to be a good girl? You showed him how good you could be. You, your hands...

Your mouth.

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He shifts in his seat, cock straining against the seam of his trousers, a palpable tent he resists touching, the slight friction of fabric to cockhead more than enough to keep him focused and enticed. Your fingers continue that tentative dance, readying your asshole with circles and rubs, ever so carefully dipping your fingertips past the taught rim before you gasp and pull away - As if Mr. Qi hadn’t already watched you fuck yourself silly on something bigger..

Yes, it's true, this was not the first time Mr. Qi had dabbled in a little voyeurism.

He had nothing better to do with his time; he had people to do his bidding at any beck and call, why not spend his days and nights observing his new.. Interest…

Sure, he was curious. The new face in town, there was no harm in finding out a little bit more about you, what with some careful watching. But the curiosity quickly burned into something brighter.

He has eyes everywhere, y’know? And with your libido? It wasn't his fault that he stumbled upon the usually so proper and respectable farmer indulging in a little debauchery.

The first time, he’d spotted you having a quick moment to yourself in the spa house. Doors purposely locked up tight, trapping you in and keeping the potential of others out. But that didn’t particularly stop Mr. Qi. The sauna-hot steam glistened against the muscle that had worked its way into your body thanks to all the heavy lifting that came with running and maintaining your land. The view was a little obscured, the warmth and steam creating a soft humid fog that hid you behind a thin screen, enticing Mr. Qi, letting his imagination run wild; The full details of your ministrations obscured, arm jerking up and down and bent at the elbow, fingers surely wrapped nice and tight around your length with each pump, maybe even a squeeze right at the tip-

Safe to say, Mr. Qi found himself wanting to see a little more.

He watched the way your back flexed as you hauled a hay bale into a stack, your shirt unbuttoned and sweat-soaked, another minute before you ripped it off to show off your skin to the sun – And the hidden camera – jeans hanging low, hands dirty and covered in mystery grime.

He saw droplets of shower water patterning down your body, the top-down view from your shower head giving him an excellent view. You washed your hair, head tilted back and rinsing the soapy products out, your adams apple bobbing, eyes squinted shut, brows creased, unintentionally lewd. Would you make the same face if he raked his own fingers through your hair? Giving a taught squeeze at the root?

Things tumbled further one late afternoon as Mr. Qi stalked his surveillance down each level of the caves you descended into, shifting in his seat when you found a safe little nook in the mines. You were battered and bruised from the merciless monsters that lurked in the dark, minor cuts dripping with richly fresh red blood and surely stinging from the sweat, dirt and dust. You pant, heavy breaths laced with the stuffy and humid cave air, a soft whimper rippling from your throat. Did the strong and robust hands of a shadowbrute have your cock twitching? Monstrously murderous in its attempt to squeeze the life out of you, beastly claws imprinting into the flesh of your neck? You got yourself off after you’d slayed the beast. Quickly and desperately. Fisting at your cock, pants shimmied down just enough to free your hard on, relishing in the sticky, stinging pain of your wounds, favouring to cream a load all over your knuckles over making haste to the town’s doctor for proper medical care. 

You were something of a freak, obviously. Mr. Qi was intrigued.

He watched on edge as you wedged yourself between a fallen fence, an attempt to grab something or.. To be honest, he doesn’t remember. Too fixated with the way your writhes to free yourself bleed into desperate little shifts and squirms, lips bitten between your teeth, a blush on your cheeks and droplets of sweat trickling down your temple. It nearly had Mr. Qi jumping out of his chair and taking the next bus into town! Eventually, though, the mayor stumbled upon you, let you free and scolded you to be more careful in the future. That little situation you had yourself in there only floods Qi’s mind rampant with ideas..

Uniquely cryptic letters with convoluted instructions itched their way into your letter box, sending you off on a makeshift scavenger hunt – Of course, Mr. Qi watched along the way – getting a kick out of the way you so obediently did as he asked.

He challenged you. And? You followed, climbing down into the hungry snake pit waiting below in the depths of the desert skull cavern.

Mr. Qi watches as you descend the ladder into his makeshift room. You were rightfully out of breath, left with a graze here and there, sand and dirt pebbling off of your clothes, boots scuffing into the sandstone of the floor as you turned to him. 

“Well, well, well… You made it.” Mr. Qi gives a light chuckle, tipping his hat in greeting, injecting a small pin of praise into his words. He looks you up and down, eyes hidden behind the tint of his glasses, taking in your tired form. 

“Come closer now… Don’t be shy.” He watches the cogs turn in your head, obeying him once again, your fatigue surely assisting in your willingness to step towards him. He beckons further with his fingers, gesturing you to park yourself at his feet. You’re eager to rest, to sit on the rough stone floor and finally take a breather without the risk of a serpent taking you by surprise from behind. He has to keep his composure, seeing you sit all nice for him, looking up through your tired lashes expectantly. Mr. Qi makes a show of looking you over, his hand rubbing against his chin, lips pursing before they tut an affectionate sound.

“Impressive.. Very Impressive.” He’s cryptic with you, having you hang on to every word he says. “Making it all the way down here is quite a feat!” He praises, a little more outwardly this time, his hand coming to ruffle your hair. 

“That sort of dedication is praiseworthy...” He lets his words linger, fingers carding down your temple, his palm cupping against your cheek, “You’re a rare one, kid…” Mr. Qi can see the subtle glint behind your pupils, the shine in your eye at his attention, the anticipation of his odd presence before you.

“I..” You’re lost for words, it seems, brain still catching up with the rough trek down to the way Mr. Qi strokes his thumb against your cheek, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “T-Thank you..?” You croak, the dust of the chasm roughing up your voice, allowing Qi to outwardly grin, flashing just the slightest glint of an extra sharp canine tooth.

“Now… Drink some of this special milk I’ve prepared for you.” Mr. Qi’s confidence often paid off; the ease to direct that came from his tone, often edging those into doing exactly what he wanted. Call it a gift, or a talent, or just sheer luck of the valley, perhaps the spirits were often pleased with him. Just like that, Qi had you lapping up the thick lavender froth of iridium snake milk, eyes watching intently, watching you gulp down the thick liquid after he’d promised it’d enhance you, make things a little easier. 

Sure, it's true to an extent, your baseline will raise just that little bit more.. But the side effects? Well-

You gag below him, coughing thick against the last sip of milk, eyes going glossy, looking up at Mr. Qi like a pup searching for approval. His thumb wipes against your bottom lip, starkly blueish compared to the soft, glossy pink that peeks through when he drags his finger down, letting your lip drag down and pop softly back into place.

“Go on home now.” He gently orders, turning to take his leave, “Good luck out there, kid.”

Qi watches your journey back to the farm – Of course – Seeing the way you blink a little sleepily on the bus ride home, fatigue settled into your bones, the sunset shine soft on your skin, looking picture perfect, Qi can’t help but hit the well-loved button to capture the on-screen moment.

He watches you stumble into the bathroom, peeling off your clothes, another gracious view of your bare body in the shower, washing off all the grime, unknowingly preparing your body for what was soon to come..

Mr. Qi had to tear his eyes away, from your form splayed comfily in your bed, your hand practically glued to your cock once again – But this time, things were different.. Your skin sheened with more than just the residue of the shower, pores clammy and sticky with sweat. You had nothing playing to watch, simply indulging in yourself, surely feeling the tingling burn of arousal, hot and steady, settling into your bloodstream as the milk slowly absorbed into your body.

It made you leak. That glossy dribble of precum lubing up your cock, making the glide of your hand effortless. Your fingers found your desperate little hole, poking and prodding, a choked whine ripping from your throat. You curl into yourself, surely the dizzying feverish flush settling in now.

It was time for Mr. Qi to make a journey.

By the time he arrived, the special milk had done its job, rendering you, the strong and independent farmer, into a state of hot, arousal-stricken paralysis.

The snake milk made you stronger, sure, enhanced you enough for you to reap the benefits. But Mr. Qi knew exactly the cost – The fever, the numbing of your limbs, staying stuck in a state of half-lucid neediness. Practically an aphrodisiac, rendering you into a pliable thing, a toy for your admirer. 

He smiles when you spot him, approaching like a phantom, flashing a grin, those sharp canines giving a glint. 

You blearily watch him from your bed, eyes glossy, skin flushed and tacky with sweat, breaths quick with staccatos, all choppy, laced with some hot form of anxiety. Sure, it made sense – Being stuck inside of your body while your nerves tremble in your limbs, pores sweating, and cock aching with a nervous twitchy flex. Mr. Qi approaches you, his shades hiding the way his eyes soften just that little bit, his azure skin stark against your own when his fingers trace down your temple, coming down to cup at your cheek.

“Well, well.. Look at you…“ Mr. Qi starts, he tilts his head, magenta eyes laced with desire peeking from behind his shades, “Lovely like this..” He praises you, watching you keen into his palm, finding a sickly sweet solace in his touch, body reacting to the milk, bubbling your brain into a sweet blend.

“S..Sir.. p-please…” You manage a slur, eyes looking up at him, all desperate, half rolling and lazy, so much focus into looking up at him, heart-shaped eyes giving him a bedroom stare. Mr. Qi stirs, his hand tracing down your neck, feeling the quickened beat of your pulse against his fingertips. They twitch, his thumb pressing into the pulse point, forefingers wrapping around the juncture of your throat, adding a soft pressure that had you groaning out a weak sound, the noise vibrating against his palm before he cuts it off with a tighter squeeze.

He watches your cock jump, twitching with life, your cheeks turning flushed and desperate for a little air. He tilts his head, brows raising, taking in your face as he finally lets go, feeling his own shiver at the look of relief that rushes over you, the way your eyes cross as you try to come to. Yoba, you were something.

“M..ore…” You softly beg, lip wobbling and parting, spitty tongue on display.

In a blink, Mr. Qi finds his azure digits slipped into your suckling mouth, tongue swirling over his fingers, all pink and pretty, taking them down to the back of your throat with ease. Your eyes flutter shut, allowing the man to curl and beckon into your mouth, obediently slobbering all the way down to his digits, lubing his fingers for something more. 

He pulls them out, and you gasp in return, panting once again, lips smacking wetly, looking at him eagerly, tracking him as he slinks down the length of your body.

He lifts one of your dead-limp legs, bending at the knee and spreading you lewdly, showing off the supple wink of your hole. Qi breathes, making eye contact with you, watching your reaction as two of his thick, spit-slicked, blue fingers breach past the supple tautness of your asshole, delving into your sticky-soft insides. Your throat gives him a soft moan, the barest indication of protest before it melts into something breathless, something nearly sweet. Mr. Qi curls his deft digits, nice and slippery from the lovely way you drooled all over his knuckles, twisting, prodding, working you open with little hesitation.

The man was eager, barely easing you into the squelchy fucking, stuffing his fingers all the way down to the knuckle, all wet and sloppy already, opening up for him on a whim, taking a third finger into the mix to stretch you further. You twitch on him, plushy insides of your boycunt kissing squeezes against his digits, reacting with the way he mashes them into that special little pudgy spot inside of you.

Mr. Qi was sure that if you weren't paralysed from the neck down, your back would fully arch right into the press, you’d fuck yourself silly on his hand, chase down the pleasure. Your lungs force you to gasp, a stuttery and hiccuped sound, lips parting, eyes unfocusing into a dumb expression. You like this, he knows you do – Why else would your cock stand tall despite the effects of the potion he gave you? Full of hot blood, pulsing by its own rhythm, weeping and crying, literally, dribbling precum down your balls, the translucent mixture adding lube to Qi’s fingers, frothing all sticky around your puffy hole.

“You’re a messy one..” Qi notes out loud, his free hand giving a firm stroke to your dead inner thigh. It was a sweet relief, he was sure, from the searing hot scald of arousal that would be coursing through your bloodstream. You nod at him, all dumb and sweet, cock leaking, chest heaving, throat in a constant hiccup of groans and soft moans, giving him all the feedback he needed. 

He drives his fingers a little faster, a little harder, lips pursing into a cat-like grin when you moan a little louder. Your boycunt cries with each pump of his fingers, messy shluck, shluck, shlucks all so filthy for him. If you could, you’d writhe under him, maybe even try to crawl away, ohh, but you were totally and completely his for the evening.

Sure, he gives you a little mercy, changing his space every minute or so, torturing you through the buzz of searing arousal that wrecks you.

He wanted more, becoming greedier with the premise of having your body like this, meanly pulling his spit and slick-soaked fingers from your hole, giving a few gracious rubs to the abused and puffy lil’ thing. Mr. Qi allows his pants to unzip, the zipper softly buzzing down, down, down.

He frees his cock, letting the half-hard chub flop out of his pants and into the palm of his hand, the length steadily swelling with blood-laced arousal. His hips give a grind, the purplish blush of his tip pressing a kiss against your own, feeling the warmth of your heat-struck cock dripping with sticky blots of pre. You whimper at the barest press of friction, eyes glossy and locked on to his length, stomach contracting with a clench when he frots his cock against your own.

The stark difference between you has his lip tugging into a half smirk; The azure tone of his cock, blending into a pinky-purple at the very top, lined with thick veins feeding blood to his tip- His tip, it pebbles its own pearl of precum, hot and thick with arousal, leaking from his slit and dribbling down his length, squeezed out with a careful pump of his fist.

“Sir..” You slur, giving him a doll-eyed look.

The man only hums, taking his time, working up his cock against your own, feeding it with his own arousal, all nice and chubby to stuff you soon enough.

He squeezes, feeling the velvety flesh of your two cocks squeeze together. He pumps, frotting against you, sensitive glands kissing sweet rubs, tip-to-tip all dribbly and slick, veins running up each underside of your cocks throbbing hot with arousal. He tugs at you both, jerking you off between you, edging you further and further, closer, even, watching the way your chests stutters, your core does that lovely squeeze again- You’d desperately fuck into his hand, wouldn’t you? Fuck against his cock with eager cranes of your hips, all slick and lubey from your arousal, maybe you’d join in? Wrap your own hand into the mix to give a squeeze?

Your chin tilts, teeth gritting together, that telltale groan Mr. Qi had heard over and over. You choked on your voice, barely managing to even articulate that you were about to make a mess of yourself before you were-!

“Cuh-! Hahh~” Your voice strangles, cock flexing in Mr. Qi’s palm, blowing spurts of creamy cum all over your cocks, painting Qi’s flushed, purplish head nice and white, all slick and lubey, perfect for his next plan.

He tugs a little more, milking out all you had for him, grinning fully when you weakly plead at him, soft “mores” and “pleases” chirping up. He’s jerking off your overstimulated cock until you're whimpering, the deep timbre of your voice cracking with each sobby sound.

“That's it.. So vocal, aren’t you?” The man lets his voice linger, impressed with just how true to yourself you were with him right here, right now. Mr. Qi methodically works you into exactly how he wants you, dead legs slung over his hips, nice and spread to show off your puffy asshole, all prepped and twitchy with anticipation. 

He wastes absolutely no time, taking his spit and cum-slicked cock, pressing the blunt tip right against your hole, feeling the way it flutters and suckles against him, practically begging for his pudgy length. He sinks in without remorse, hips craning forward to plug you up nice and quick, his heavy sack resting against your ass, azure-blue cock wrapped around the soft and flushed peachy pink of your rim. Ohh, you flex against him, your inner walls all gummy and snug, gripping on to him in all the right ways, giving way for him to retract, right up to the very tip, watching the ombre of his cock drag from your boycunt before he’s slugging his heavy hips against you in an easy push.

That's how he fucks you. Hot and heavy. Abusing the limpness of your body, holding on to your thighs for leverage, pulling you back onto his lap to fuck down into you.

“Ah..hah.. M-Mister..” You speak with each thrust, punctuating his hips.

“Qi..” He corrects you, his shades sliding down his nose as sweat seeps from his pores, revealing the hot flash of his eyes. Your lips wobble, spitty and slurring, creaking into a dopey smile.

“S’good..” You praise him, earning a few quick fucks all plappy against your drooly hole. Mr. Qi Growls, foregoing holding on to your legs, now wrapping a heavy palm around your throat, giving a soft squeeze on those supple pressure points once again. His other? Right back to the cock that stood tall between you, weeping with the remnants of cum and new pearls of pre. He squeezes both, chokes the base of your cock and threatens to strangle the consciousness out of your clouded head.

You struggle against him – Well, the best you can anyway, being paralysed from the neck down – Throat bobbing, cock throbbing, going dizzier and dizzier, those heart eyes rolling back before he lets you go, allows you to gasp for air, patting your face with a few rough smacks before he’s right back on your throat where he started.

You were such a freak. And Mr. Qi admired that about you.

He stroked you off, your poor overstimulated cock twitching in defiance, all flushed and surely achy, plump and swollen with abuse, looking rather lovely against Mr. Qi’s blue palm.

You were a sight, so much nicer in real life than through the grainy, crooked lens of a camera. He could see you, all the little details of you, all up close and personal.

He lets your throat go again, feeling his cock throb and balls go taught with the way you gasp for air, how you come to, all dopey and dizzy, your crosseyed gaze landing on his face. You hiccup, eyes all glossy, tears rolling down your cheeks, mouth forming into nonsensical sentences, pleading begs.

“Gon.. t’much… s’much..” You slur out, giving him a long and whiney cry when Mr. Qi pushes down against your tummy, feeling the barest outline of his cock pummeling into your guts. The man grunts, leveraging himself against your stomach, his other hand feverishly jerking off your cock as his hips snap and fuck against you.

Wasn’t Mr. Qi so kind? Or perhaps it was obsession. Making sure his new toy was thoroughly looked after, pleasured, giving rather than just taking what he wanted.

Or maybe it was a guise, to see you lose yourself, make you into a cock-drunk fool, fuck you so stupid you won't remember a thing in the morning-

Ohh, his cock aches, a squeezy pulse thrumming up his length, a warning-! “Can’t- can’t! C-cuhmmin- can’t h-hold!” You babble, forcing the man to push into your sensitive stomach harder, pump his fist faster, fuck you into completion-!

The cry you make would wake the neighbours if you had any. Your body finds it in yourself to writhe, head flinging back into your pillows, back managing to arch just that little bit, toes curling as you practically squirt yourself in Mr. Qi’s hand. Spurt, spurt, spurt of more of that richly thick cum of yours, so milky, pulsing out in ribbons all over yourself, messy, filthy-

Yoba- There’s more. Perhaps it was the paralysis, the overstimulation? The way Mr. Qi presses meanly into your stomach for leverage to fuck you, pushing against your sensitive bladder… 

You have Mr. Qi shuddering as he unloads his cum into your guts, watching you pathetically piss yourself, spraying in pulses as if you were cumming, squirting like a good boy all over yourself, all on his fist, all wet and messy with each jerk of his wrist. He buries deep inside of you, feeling each and every flex of his cock spurt loving ropes, emptying his balls into your supple hole.

Mr. Qi breathes with a growl, face in a tired grimace – Nonetheless content, mind you – groaning as he pulls out of your poor abused hole, tucking himself into his pants as if nothing had even happened. He watches him cum leak out of you, satisfied at the mess he’d left behind.

You breathe softly, left in a heap right where he left you, lulled yourself to sleep, drooling a mess on your pillow. He’ll be there when you wake up.

Just not.. There, you know?