#wooden storage chest

[magicalshopping]

♡ Krusty Krab Wooden Chest by Celeste Custom Art ♡

[charile0]

Choosing the Perfect Chest of Drawers for Your Bedroom: From Bespoke to Modular

When it comes to bedroom furniture, a chest of drawers is both practical and stylish. Whether you’re considering a huge chest of drawers or a more compact option, these pieces provide ample storage while enhancing the room's aesthetic. Opt for a handmade chest of drawers for a unique, artisanal touch, or explore the flexibility of a modular chest of drawers, which can be customized to fit your space. If you love natural wood, a painted pine chest of drawers offers a rustic yet elegant look, while a solid pine chest of drawers brings durability and charm. For a more classic, timeless feel, a solid oak chest of drawers or oak chest of drawers could be the perfect choice. For a personalized fit, a bespoke chest of drawers or made-to-measure chest of drawers ensures that your storage solution is tailored to your exact needs. Explore the wide variety of styles and finishes to find the perfect piece for your bedroom

[americanchestcompany]

American-Made Humidor: Premium Storage for Your Cigars

Preserve your cigars with precision and style using an American-made humidor. Crafted from high-quality materials, these humidors offer reliable humidity control to keep your cigars fresh and flavorful. Built to last, each humidor reflects superior craftsmanship and attention to detail. Proudly made in the USA, it’s the perfect addition to any cigar enthusiast’s collection. Invest in an American-made humidor today for lasting quality and performance.

Call: (401) 500-3879

Email: Sales@AmericanChest.com

[indiatrendzs]

Industrial Farmhouse Furniture Cabinets and Chests

The industrial interior design style combines the raw appeal of concrete floors, brick walls, exposed wood ceiling beams, and pipes with rustic wood armoire and earthy finishes. When softened with farmhouse-style furniture and polished urban surfaces, it results in the trendier upstate look—a blend of industrial elements tempered by smoother finishes. Think gray sanded armoires, hand carved…

[casagear-home]

The Perfect Storage Solution: Stylish New Cabinets with Drawers

Organization is key to keeping your home tidy and functional. And when it comes to storage, nothing is as classy and simple as convenient cabinets with built-in drawers. Not only do they provide ample space, but they also offer easy accessibility and a clutter-free, out-of-sight appearance. Let’s take a look at how the right storage piece can transform any space for the best. Endless Storage…

[papiliotao]

INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader

content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences

summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.

a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.

ACT I.

As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.

So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.

It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.

Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.

With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.

The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.

It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.

You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.

With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.

Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.

But not lightly enough.

It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.

The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.

A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.

A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.

“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.

As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.

He’s still scared.

“It might sting a little.”

Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.

“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”

The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on. 

He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.

Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.

“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.

The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.

Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.

And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”

Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.

“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”

The boy shakes his head frantically.

“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.

“Just stay for a few more minutes?”

Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.

“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”

It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.

“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.

No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?

His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.

“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”

“I guess you could say so…”

For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.

“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.

“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”

“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.

Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”

ACT II.

Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.

This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.

Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.

It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.

But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.

It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.

He asks if there has been any news of his mother.

At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.

So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.

Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.

And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.

As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.

Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.

There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.

Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.

So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.

The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.

ACT III.

Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.

Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.

Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.

It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.

As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.

Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.

He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.

The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.

Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.

Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?

As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.

When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.

“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.

Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.

“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.

“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.

It’s… new. Everything is new with you.

“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.

Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.

“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”

Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.

“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.

You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.

Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.

He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.

To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.

“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.

He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.

Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart. 

But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.

“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”

Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.

But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.

“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”

ACT IV.

Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.

Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.

There is, however, one exception.

You.

Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.

You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.

In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.

But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.

You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.

Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.

As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.

You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.

Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.

He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.

Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.

“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”

With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.

Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.

However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.

So much for hunting.

Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.

“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.

His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”

Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.

He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.

Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.

ACT V.

The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.

It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.

The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.

However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.

“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.

“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”

Kinich shakes his head.

“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”

Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.

“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.

Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.

“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.

Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.

When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”

Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.

The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.

“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.

You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.

“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”

Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.

“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.

Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.

“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.

Kinich feels his heart flutter.

You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.

This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.

“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.

“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.

“You said it was cold though.”

Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”

Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.

“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.

Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.

So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.

You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.

When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.

He’s in love.

ACT VI.

It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.

“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”

“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”

The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.

Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.

As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.

“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.

“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.

“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”

Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?

“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”

“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”

A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?

Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”

You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.

You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.

“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?

“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”

Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.

“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.

A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.

“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”

You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.

“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.

You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.

“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.

“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.

You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.

“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.

You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.

On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.

They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”

ACT VII.

No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.

Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.

Relenting would mean never seeing you again.

(And that’s the last thing he wants.)

Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.

Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.

He never got to tell you that he loved you.

Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more. 

Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.

His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.

Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.

So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.

Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.

As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.

A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.

He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.

He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.

And he thinks of you. His everything.

The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.

Kinich can’t let you down now.

A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.

This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.

Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.

ACT VIII.

When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.

To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.

“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.

“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”

The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.

“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”

“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”

Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.

You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.

“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.

Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.

“Fine.”

Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.

“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”

“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.

Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.

ACT IX.

Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.

You could be in danger.

If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.

Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.

That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.

And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.

No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.

When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.

He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.

Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.

“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”

Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.

“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”

Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”

“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.

Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.

You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.

Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.

Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.

As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.

However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.

“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.

The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.

Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.

As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.

Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.

“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”

Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.

“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”

The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.

Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.

“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.

You nod vigorously.

“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”

ACT X.

The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.

“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.

“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.

Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.

“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”

Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.

Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.

“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.

A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.

“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”

You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.

This is your flawless elysium.

“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.

Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.

Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.

As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.

“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”

You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?

“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.

Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.

“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”

FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3

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[winged-void]

You walk past a large wooden storage box in the dungeon and hear it begin to sob.

"CHEESSSTTT," it cries, through its large and numerous teeth.

You turn back to look at it.

"I'M A CHEESSSTTT. CHEESSSTTT. PLEASEEEE"

You stare at the piteous little mimic.

"PLEASEEEEE PUT YOUR WHOLE ARM IN ME I'M A CHEST"

You sigh. It really is pathetic. Maybe just this once.

You stick your arm in, and it bites down, and begins to chew on you whilst giggling.

"YOU STUPID DUMMY IDIOT. I GOT YOU YOU THOUGHT I WAS A CHEST."

You spend your final moments in perplexed agony.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 07

Kinktober Masterlist ad captandum vulgus - "to captivate the masses" TF141 x f!reader Kinks > glory hole, anal virginity, gangbang Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Your four boyfriends are overrun by stress. Hunting terrorists is a full-time job, so you take matters into your own hands to help them blow off some steam.

Sorry I'm late! Working on catching up right now. Y’all ever watched those Czech Fantasy glory hole videos? Anyway, can't get enough of those, so here's this.

The soft, silicone cock in your mouth was muffling the cries coming from deep in your chest as you felt two thick fingers pry their way into your cunt. You were laying on your back inside the dark, empty void of one of the weapons crates in the warehouse on base, the top half of your body concealed inside of the wooden box, and your lower half sticking out of a hole in the side, naked and exposed to the chilly air. Your legs were tied up, ankles hooked up to the metal storage shelf racks, thighs spread open, forcing your pussy lips to splay wide and wet and ready for someone’s mouth and fingers and prick. 

The voices outside of the crate were muffled, but you could just barely make out their words. 

“Pretty cunt on offer, huh? Free for any bastard to come and take,” you heard your lieutenant’s dark chuckle as he pushed his fingers even further inside of you, curling them to shove and prod against the pliant spot that made you scream. 

“Wha’s all this, then?” Kyle’s voice came through from the side of your box as he made his way over to where Simon was hard at work, making your hips writhe and hump his hand. 

“Our perfect little slut…” You heard him cruelly spit onto your clit, and you felt it, warm and slick, slip across your skin, “Got all set up for us. Wanted to welcome us home from our mission.”

“Needy slag, innit she?” John purred, and you felt his hand join Simon’s, pulling at your plump ass cheek to make your holes stretch and gape. 

“Lemme go first, LT. I cannae wait any longer,” Johnny begged. 

“Alrigh’, Johnny,” Simon pulled away from you, “But, don’t be too rough with her. We all want a turn, mate.”

You immediately felt a familiar mouth seal itself across your clit, sucking up Simon’s hot spit and your sticky precome all in one savage gulp. You’d know that tongue anywhere. Johnny ate you in the most blindingly erotic way. You felt like he was consuming you, inside and out. You didn’t know what was lip or tongue or finger, but he used them in symphonic unison to drag you, writhing and screaming, into an orgasm. But, your Scot was as cruel as his masked friend, and he didn’t care if you were in the throes of a hard come; he would double down, shoving his tongue down your hole and slurping your gifts into his throat. 

Then, he pulled away, leaving you with nothing, curling your hips to reach for him, until –

“Oh, shite. Tha’s it, right there. Unghh…” Johnny groaned. 

He was shoving his fat, curved cock into you, slow and steady, scraping his head on those same sensitive spots Simon had been torturing with his fingertips. Johnny still played with your clit as he rammed himself into you, stretching you, pulling you apart at the seams, making you feel like you were being stuffed beyond your limit. 

You wanted to cry out, to tell him to slow down, but you couldn’t. The gag would only let you scream against it and swallow your hot, thick drool as your mind began to burn away to a blank nothingness. 

He fucked you so hard that the box creaked, over and over, the wood crying out the same as you, whining from being overused. 

Then, you felt him dig deeper inside of you, dropping load after load of his come into your hole, deep enough that you could feel it sliding around in your soft channel, foaming and hot like milk in coffee, creamy and smooth. Two loving slaps against your ass as he slid out of you were the only thanks you got before you felt the next man at your hole. 

You couldn’t tell, at first, which one of your boyfriends was having his way with you this time, until you realized how long it was taking him to slide his entire length into you. Kyle’s prick always preferred a long drive in and a long retreat back out. He loved it when you stroked his entire length with your hands clasped together around him, soaked in lube and slowly massaging him from tip to root, and he used your pussy in much the same way. It was hypnotic, and when he did finally squeeze himself all the way to his base, it made it hard for you to take a breath. 

Usually, he was Mr. Foreplay. He’d spend twenty minutes on your tits alone, much less fondling your wet little hole. He loved getting you screaming for him before he even had himself out of his pants, but today, something was different. It was as if the box allowed him to be selfish. He didn’t care about your pleasure this time. He just wanted to take and take and take. 

So, he did. He stroked himself with your quim like you were his toy. You were just a warm, wet fleshlight, there to be used and nothing more. You were made to take his load, nothing more. The feeling of him being so unabashedly greedy was electrifying. His cock was so mean to you, ignoring your pulsing, writhing signals and blowing past your clenching quivers. In and in and in… out and out and out… that was all you knew. He had wiped your mind clean. 

Then, the final time he shoved himself in, he stayed there, grinding into you, humping and thrusting at a punishing pace, milking himself with your gooey textures and grunting like an animal as his hands clutched the corners of the box, blocking out the light from where his palms dug into the pine. 

You were so close to coming, but right when you began to tense up, he felt you, and he came to a sudden halt. He was teasing you. You tried to fuck him back, pushing your hips in every direction, working to fit his thick base back inside you, but he stopped you, gripping your body in his huge hands and holding you still.

Once you stopped fighting him, frustrated by the futility of it all, he watched your muscles melt back into submission, and he rewarded you with slippery, firm strokes along the hardened body of your clit, rubbing it affectionately like a well-heeled pet. It was not enough to bring your orgasm back to the surface, but instead, it caused your pleasure to roil and turn inside of your core like an unfed beast, pouting for its dinner. 

“Too greedy, babes,” he laughed at you with a tinge of ridicule, knowing the others were watching, “You only come when I want you to come.”

Kyle returned to his long, aching strokes, working his cock like the piston of a machine, unwavering in its rhythmic pattern or its ferocious power. Then, just as his pacing increased, he pinched your clithead between his knuckles, bringing tears to your eyes. In the middle of the most intense pleasure you’d ever been given, he had made you deal with this sharp agony, and your mind could not handle both at once. So, you lost your orgasm, but he enjoyed his. 

You sobbed as you felt his prick jerking inside of you, spitting fiery hot ropes of his come all over your walls and womb, filling you deeply just like Johnny. 

You expected him to pull out, and you were already grumbling about it in your head, silently bratty and plotting your revenge. But, he didn’t. He’d come in you and yet he was still seated inside, sealed like a sword in its sheath. The same fingers that had been so malicious were now back to their delicate, coaxing affection. He was pressing soft circles around your clit, picking up speed when he felt you pulse around the softening body of his dick. 

You were going to come, and you knew you were going to come hard. 

“Tha’s it. Good girls get rewards, innit that right, Cap?” 

John hummed, obviously watching your body sing for its conductor. 

The pressure within you built and built, and you were having trouble breathing. You wanted to cry out, but the gag was in your way, and you had to keep swallowing around it, stuck in a loop of feeling full in both ends of your body. 

Just as you were about to crash into bliss, Kyle ripped himself from you, and at the same time, your pussy beared down, thinking it had something hard to press against. But, you were empty, and so all of that force sent the come that you had been keeping warm in your belly squirting out of your hole and onto the floor. Sliding out of your cunt, it dripped down your ass cheek and pooled on the ground, making you look every bit the freeuse slut that you knew you were. 

“My, my…” Price’s dark growl commented, “Filled her to the brim, didn’t you, Sergeant? Good lad.”

You could feel John playing with the stream of milky come that was oozing out of your hole, spreading it around. He scooped it onto his fingers and began to shove it back into your pussy, fucking you with his middle and ring fingers gently at first, and then not at all. He was fucking you on his hand hard enough to shake the box, and you knew he could make you squirt. He loved it. He didn’t care how overstimulated you were; he would keep pushing your buttons over and over, watching you spray your liquid joy all over him and you and whatever else was in the way. 

You twisted, trying to escape him, but he was too strong. 

“C’mon, love. Come for me. I wanna see it.”

You’d just come from Kyle’s big dick, but Price didn’t give a damn. He yanked another one from you, making you feel as if you were wetting yourself, pressing deep enough and firm enough to force your pussy to squirt all over his palm. Your whole body seized, unable to control the movements he was putting you through. You felt like his helpless puppet, stuck on his hand and thanking him for it. 

Price left you there, your ankles hanging limply in their ties where you’d stuck your feet in them, your legs trembling like a fawn, shaking and shining from your come, your body begging for more and your mind too fuck-drunk to protest. 

Then, he was back. You knew it was him because you always struggled to take his girthy cock. The head was immense and hard like a fist. It bullied its way into your cunt, using your other boyfriends’ come as lube. Even so, he had to retreat over and over, whetting himself repeatedly, just so that he could make progress. He stretched you so far that it ached like a bruise, and your pussy, already primed to come for him, started up again, making you tense and squeeze and roll and spread yourself for him, opening wide like a whore, like he paid you for it. 

“Fuck, I willnae ever get tired of watchin’ how he makes her do that. Struggle on that cock, bonnie. Your man loves it when you fight, don’t he?”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” Price agreed, the tips of his fingers held tight together and slapping sharply on your clit and mons, stinging your flesh as he fucked you deeper and deeper. 

Someone else’s fingers started to grope your thighs and ass, gripping you hard and trailing wet kisses across your skin. You felt your body melting into his touch, such a stark contrast from John’s lustful torment. When his mouth dragged its way up your thigh, his nose bumped your calf, and you knew it was Simon, your Ghost. He was still in his mask, and you could feel the folds of it against the bridge of his nose, scrunched up to let him use his mouth on you. 

Simon played with you while Price stuffed you full of cock, his captain set on pounding your pussy until it was hot from his work. You felt Simon’s fingertip dip into the tight hole of your ass, testing your leniency. He’d been begging you for weeks to let him try anal, but you had told him that he was too big. Now, he saw his chance. His finger sank deeper, down to the first knuckle, and he made firm circles around the rim, massaging you open, getting you ready for him. 

Price held you around the waist, both of his thumbs pressing down into your womb, taking away any remaining space inside of your stuffed cunt, making you feel every single ridge and vein on his prick. It made you want to come, and he knew you were about to explode. 

“I know what you want, love. Take it. C’mon, make me come. Make this fuckin’ pussy grab my cock,” Price talked you through each suffocating wave of your orgasm, barking orders like you were one of his men, knowing you could follow them like he’d trained you to. 

You wanted him to come with you, to fill you up with his soft seed, but he didn’t. He pulled out and then stuck just the tip of his dick inside of your asshole, letting his spend shoot through your forbidden hole, lubing you up for his lieutenant. 

“There you go, Riley. Should do the job, aye?”

“Yes, sir. Cheers, mate.”

No sooner was Price gone from you than Simon had taken his place, settling his dick on top of your pussy and dragging it through your slick skin, letting your lips lick him wet. He teased you with his hard length, using his dick like a toy, jerking his shaft so that his head would vibrate against your clit, making you squirm beneath his touch. 

“Deep breath, princess,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, taking two fingers of your pussy’s sticky fluids and smearing them across your asshole. 

His pet name for you sent butterflies through your stomach. He only used it on special occasions, and for him to use it now, when you were hidden away and splayed open, vulnerable as you’d ever been, made your head swim. He was really going to take your asshole right here in the warehouse, shamelessly taking your untouched hole in front of your other lovers, claiming it for himself. 

The press of his head was enough to make your blood rush through your body and head for your core. You felt dizzy. He pushed forward gently, going so slowly that it didn’t seem as if he was even moving in you, using his head to kiss your tight muscles until your body relented, allowing him through. Then, you felt him spread your walls apart, making contact with Price’s come and using it to ease his path. 

It made you feel full in a new way. You were familiar with fingers and tongues invading your space, but having Simon’s heavy cock there gave you a whole different kind of experience. You were so sensitive, and what you thought would be painful or upsetting was actually warping itself into a wild, unbridled kind of pleasure. It was like a scalding hot bath that, once you got used to the heat, made you dissolve into the delicate warmth of it like fine sugar. 

“Mnghff-fuck,” Simon groaned roughly, “Tha’s it, baby. Relax for me just like that.”

Another pair of hands began to play with your pussy, two fingers at your clit, two inside your cunt, and Simon rutting himself steadily into your asshole. 

“Takin’ you so well, LT. Didnae think it’d fit.”

“She’s perfect, Johnny. Just wait until you try her arse. Fuckin’ heaven.”

You felt Johnny’s mouth on your clit as another man finger-fucked your pussy, and he sucked greedily on your overstimulated clit, swollen and sore from all the attention. But, he didn’t hear your protests, and he simply suckled away, licking you and using his jaw to spread your folds so he could use his tongue to reach for more of your taste. 

Simon had reached his root, shoving his damp curls against your core, and now he began to slowly and shallowly fuck you, worried that more would be too much for you to handle. You wanted to tell him you needed more, wanted to scream for him to bury himself in you, to fuck your asshole like he would your pussy. But, he didn’t. He was careful, deliberate, and you could feel the shudder of his body from just how hard he was holding himself back. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Kyle’s deep voice came through a smile. You could tell he was pleased by something, “You should feel her cunt, mate. She’s lovin’ this.”

He was the one fucking you on his hand, and all of your excitement was obvious from your pulsing need. 

“I can feel her,” Simon grunted, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you were indeed enjoying your ass being invaded by his throbbing rod.

His trembling was getting progressively worse, and you felt it in his hands as he grasped your thighs. He kept readjusting his grip, but you knew that his hands were shaking, the tremors of his restraint exacerbating his ability to hold his own pleasure at bay. He hissed as you started to come from Johnny’s mouth,

“So fuckin’ tight, princess. Fuck!”

You wanted to bring him with you into the swirling mesmerism of bliss, so you stayed tight, using your weak muscles to squeeze him as much as you could, imagining your holes like soft, wet fists, grasping at his tool and trying to use him to work yourself into a high, vicious fever. 

You could feel the fabric of his mask as Simon leaned his forehead against your leg, the heat from his panting breaths, his exhaustion breaking your heart. You promised yourself in your heart that, as soon as you were out of this box and fully recovered, you’d show him how well you could take him. He didn’t need to temper his passion. 

The only time you got a glimpse at his true hunger was right as he started to come. His hips jerked forward, as if he was shoved, and he thrust his cock far into your asshole, spreading his slick cream as deep as he could reach. Johnny had stepped back, and Kyle pulled his fingers from you, moving out of their lieutenant’s way as he completed his ritual, marking your insides, making you his. 

You felt the sweetest kiss against your ankle just before he slid himself from you, trying to go easy on your used hole. But, you couldn’t feel any pain. Not anymore. Your body was racked with pleasure. If someone had even brushed their finger over your pussy, you thought you might come. 

Simon’s hands fumbled with one of the ropes around your foot, and someone else took care of the other. Then, bright light filled your eyes as John pried open the crate. Then, all four men peered inside, starting down at you with wide smiles and satisfied grins plastered across their faces. 

“Hey, love. Let’s get you out, yeah?” Price purred, removing your gag and wiping your mouth with his thumb. With ease, he pulled you from the crate and cradled you in his arms, helping Johnny wrap his jacket around you. Johnny leaned forward to kiss your forehead, and Simon lifted your fingers to his lips before he replaced his mask. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, babes,” Kyle spoke to you in a low tone, petting his thumb across your cheek. 

“Took such good care of us, lass. It’s our turn, now.”

You let them take you back to their shared room, holding onto them and letting them bathe you and set everything right, tucking you into bed and sitting with you as you dozed. They had all sprawled across the mattress, laying on you and each other, not truly caring whose limbs were whose. 

As usual, Simon was the last to doze off, and you whispered to each other in quiet voices.

“You alright, missus?” He asked, his voice attempting to hide his troubled concern.

“Mmm,” you nodded, “More than alright.”

There was a bit of a lull; he was considering something, and then he asked,

“Did you like it? Was I too –”

“No,” you stopped him in the middle of his worry, “You were perfect. Maybe next time we could –”

“Next time?” His surprise warmed your heart, and you smiled up at him, lifting his mask up to kiss his mouth.

“Yeah, next time.”

[amourquinn]

( drabble ) evening glow

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 900+

genre : fluff no warnings!

summary : you and quinn want to spend some quality time on the boat ( jack and luke are mentioned )

「 author’s note 」 yes i know.. a summer fic in the middle of winter 🙇🏻‍♀️ sue me

the early evening sun bathed the lake house in a soft orange glow, the kind of light that made everything look golden and magical. you stretched your legs out on the porch, letting the gentle breeze from the lake tousle your hair. it was the perfect weekend getaway—quinn had invited you to spend time at his lake house with his brothers, jack and luke.

you had spent the day kayaking, swimming, and laughing at jack’s bad jokes. the hughes brothers were a lively bunch, their energy contagious, but as the sun dipped lower, you were ready for a quieter moment. it seemed quinn felt the same.

“hey,” he said softly, leaning against the porch railing beside you. his hazel eyes, always so calm and steady, held a hint of something playful. “wanna go for a boat ride? just the two of us?”

you glanced over your shoulder at the commotion inside—luke and jack were arguing over the best way to grill burgers, their voices carrying through the open windows. a boat ride sounded like the perfect escape.

“i’d love to,” you said, standing up and brushing off your shorts.

quinn led the way down to the dock. the motorboat bobbed gently against the wooden planks, the water shimmering like liquid glass. he helped you into the boat before untying it and hopping in himself.

the hum of the engine broke the peaceful silence as quinn guided the boat out onto the open water. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and fresh water. you leaned back against the seat, letting the calm of the lake settle over you.

as the shoreline grew distant, quinn slowed the boat to a gentle drift. the lake stretched out around you, endless and serene. he turned off the engine, and for a moment, the only sounds were the soft lapping of water against the hull and the occasional call of a loon in the distance.

“this is perfect,” you murmured, looking out at the horizon where the sun was just beginning to sink below the tree line.

quinn nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “thought you’d like it.”

he moved to sit beside you, his arm brushing yours. you turned to look at him, heart skipping a beat at how the fading sunlight caught the angles of his face, making his freckles stand out.

“i like spending time with your brothers,” you said, breaking the silence. “but I think I like this even more.”

his gaze softened. “me too. it’s nice to get away from the chaos for a bit.”

there was a quiet vulnerability in his voice, one that made you reach out and take his hand. he laced his fingers through yours, his touch warm and steady. for a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply be in the moment.

then quinn stood, his balance impeccable as the boat swayed gently beneath him. “wait here,” he said, disappearing into the small storage compartment at the front of the boat.

when he returned, he held a blanket and a small cooler. “i figured we’d be out here for a while,” he said with a shy grin.

you helped him spread the blanket out on the deck, and he pulled out a couple of bottles of sparkling water and a container of strawberries.

“you really thought this through,” you teased, popping a strawberry into your mouth.

he shrugged, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “i just wanted to make it special.”

and it was. the two of you sat on the blanket, talking and laughing as the sky turned from orange to pink to deep purple. the stars began to appear, their reflections dancing on the water.

at some point, quinn lay back, pulling you down beside him. you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. his arm wrapped around you, holding you close.

“this is my favorite place,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “the lake, the quiet… it feels like home. and having you here makes it even better.”

your heart swelled at his words. you tilted your head to look up at him, your faces inches apart. “quinn…”

he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle and full of emotion. the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you under the blanket of stars.

when you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “i could stay out here forever,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“me too,” he replied, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

the evening passed in a haze of quiet conversation and stolen kisses, the kind of night that felt like a dream. when the air grew cooler, quinn reluctantly started the boat to head back to the dock.

as the lake house came into view, the glow of the porch lights guiding you home, you could hear jack and luke’s laughter carrying through the night. quinn helped you out of the boat, his hand lingering in yours as you walked up the dock together.

“think they noticed we were gone?” you asked, glancing toward the house.

quinn smirked. “probably, but they’ll get over it.”

inside, the chaos resumed—jack immediately started teasing quinn about being “whipped,” while luke pretended to gag. but you didn’t mind. you knew the quiet moments were yours and quinn’s alone, a secret you’d carry with you long after the weekend ended.

as you settled in for the night, the memory of the boat ride lingered, a reminder of the magic that could be found in the simplest of things: a lake, a sunset, and the person you loved.

© amourquinn

[austinbutlerslovers]

Thankful  

Label Mature 18+

Summary It’s your first big holiday with Austin and you have tasked yourself with planning a dinner to host all of his celebrity friends. Your nervousness keeps trying to get the better of you, but Austin is right there to keep you calm and grounded with his love and support.

Everything is falling into place until you discover his secret that sets your heart racing and leaves you wondering what’s to come.

💝Romantic Smut💝 Loving affectionate• romantic fluff• praises• can’t be without you• body worship•intuition• pleasure bonding• nipple play•clit play•fingering•missionary•overstimulation • orgasms•creampie •aftercare 

🔗Master List

Thankful

The afternoon light filters warmly through the window, casting a soft glow across the room as Austin lifts another box, setting it down with a smile. “What’s next, babe?” he asks, his voice warm and steady which is a grounding presence in the whirlwind of pre-holiday nerves swirling inside you. It’s the first time you’ll be celebrating away from home due to his filming schedule.

You sift through the decorations spread out on the table—ornaments, garlands, golden candles—your fingers pausing over a wooden sign etched with the words, -Give Thanks Always - The sentiment stirs something in you as you trace the carved letters with a small smile. “Maybe this by the window?” you ask, tilting it up, to get his reaction.

Austin steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he surveys your choice. “That will look perfect,” he says, the approval warm in his voice. His hands slide down to gently squeeze your waist. “Every choice you’ve made is spot-on. You’ve got this holiday thing down .” He compliments.

A small grin spreads across your lips from his praises, though the tinge of uncertainty still lingers. You glance around his sleek New York condo, which feels a little intimidating. The modern furnishings, expansive windows overlooking the city, and the knowledge that all the guests tomorrow evening will be his celebrity friends only add to your nerves.

“I just want to make sure all of your friends are happy with everything—including…me,” you say, trying to sound lighthearted but unable to fully hide the worry of their approval in your voice.

He hears it immediately and turns you to face him, cupping your face with both hands. “Baby, listen to me,” he says, his voice quiet but firm as his eyes lock with yours, filled with unwavering reassurance.

“They’ll love you because you’re everything to me, and they’ll see that,” he says, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “I can’t wait for them to get to know the person who makes my life better every single day.”

Your lips smile slightly, as his words settle deep in your chest, chasing away the doubt. “You really think so?” you ask softly.

“I know so,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re going to charm them, just like you always charm me,” he says, full of affection.

You nod, a small smile spreading across your lips as you lean into him. “Thank you Austin,” you whisper.

“Always,” he replies and softly kisses you letting his words sink in as you feel the warmth and reassurance of his love melting away all your fears.

He pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns along your back, and you feel your nerves subside, leaving behind a feeling of safety, and anticipation.

After arranging the last of the decorations, you start clearing the boxes, stacking them near the ladder to have Austin put them away in the storage closet. Wanting so save him time you climb up the step ladder holding a box of decorations, sliding it onto the shelf when your gaze catches a small, unassuming box tucked away behind some spare blankets.

Curiosity piqued, you pull it out, fingertips brushing over the smooth surface before you gently pry it open and feel your breath catch. Inside is a smaller, elegant box—a ring box. Your heart pounds as you stare at it, the implications nearly knocking you off balance.

You quickly steady yourself and open it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring nestled inside. The large stone sparkles brilliantly, set on a delicate platinum band adorned with smaller diamonds that catch the light like tiny stars. You quickly reseal the ring box and put everything back in its place knowing you shouldn’t have see it, but the image is imprinted in your mind, leaving your head swimming and your heart racing.

As you step down from the ladder, you catch sight of Austin coming into the hall, concern etched on his face. “Aw, baby, I wanted to take care of all those boxes. Some of those are so heavy,” he says, his voice soft as his eyes linger on your flushed cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod quickly, a little breathless, trying to calm the pounding in your heart. “Yeah…—I’m fine,” you reply, your voice softer than usual. “Y-yes some of them are too heavy I picked a lighter one,” you admit, hoping to blame your flustered state on the task.

Austin steps closer, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before an appreciative smile spreads across his face. “You’ve been working hard all day,” he says, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’ve really outdone yourself.” He says proudly.

You grin, melting into his embrace, your head tilting back to look at him adoringly. “I couldn’t do any of this without Austin,” you say appreciatively.

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Baby, you’re the one who holds everything together for me, and that’s just one of the million things I love about you.”

Your heart flutters at his words as you glance up at him, knowing his little secret.

“Come on, let’s call it a night. I don’t want you wearing yourself out before tomorrow.” He says affectionately.

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner and a glass of wine, Austin takes your hand and leads you upstairs. As you enter the bedroom, he pulls you into his arms, his touch soft yet deliberate.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, “I don’t think I tell you enough how lucky I am to have you. How beautiful you are. How much I love you.”

You grin, unable to hide the beaming smile spreading across your face. “Austin, you’re too much,” you whisper, your voice soft with affection.

“Never enough,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, leaning in to kiss you. His lips are tender and unhurried, caressing yours as if he has all the time in the world. He deepens the kiss, slowly, passionately, building it in waves as his hands cradle your jaw, tilting your face to claim your mouth fully.

Without breaking the kiss his fingers trail down your shoulders, undoing the buttons of your top with deliberate precision. Each touch is accompanied by soft whispers, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “You have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence. “Every curve, every inch of you is so beautiful to me.”

Your shirt slides off falling to the floor, followed by your bra as his hands glide across your bare skin, his touch making you shiver. His mouth follows the trail of his hands, kissing along your collarbone taking his time to worship every inch of exposed skin. You’re trembling already, your breaths hitching with each delicate press of his lips.

His fingers teasingly slide down to unfasten your jeans as he gently kisses your nipple.

He sucks tenderly, his lips warm and soft as he lavishes attention on one, then moves to the other with equal care.

Each tug is a gentle pull on your senses, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. His hands roam as his mouth works, pulling your panties down inch by inch until you stand before him naked and trembling with anticipation.

You reach for his hands needing him desperately and he gently catches your wrists, bringing them to his lips. “I know baby,” he whispers, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving yours as he begins to undress.

He pulls his sweater over his head, revealing the chiseled planes of his torso, his body strong and mesmerizing. His pants follow, and when he’s finally bare before you, the intensity of his hard cock makes your knees weak.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that steals your breath. You softly smile at each other as he leans over you, and then his lips find yours again, kissing you softly before trailing down your neck.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” He says, placing tender kisses down your chest and lower down your stomach, his lips lingering there as your body arches toward him, trembling with need.

Your thoughts spiral as his lips move lower between your hips every kiss unraveling you piece by piece. You feel completely exposed, soft, and vulnerable in the most intoxicating way.

A soft, involuntary sound escapes your lips, a mixture of desperation and anticipation, your body trembling as he kisses your inner thighs. You tilt your hips ever so slightly toward him, silently begging for more. The ache inside of you growing unbearable, as a deep, throbbing need consumes you entirely.

By the time his mouth touches your clit, you’re already soaking wet, your body quivering under his touch. His tongue moves with maddening precision, swirling and flicking as his fingers slide deep inside you, filling you perfectly. The slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers send jolts of pleasure radiating through your core, each stroke igniting a new wave of heat.

Every flick of his tongue ever pull of his fingers pushes you closer to the edge, until you can’t hold back.

He presses his tongue harder and thrusts his fingers faster, curling just right, as a strange, keening moan slips from your lips. Your hands grip the sheets, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm rushes over you.

Wetness pools between your thighs as your body shudders uncontrollably, the slick sound of it only making you flush hotter, your breath hitching as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Austin hums with appreciation, his mouth still working against your clit as he loses himself in the moment. “Baby, you’re so wet,” he whispers, his voice strained and filled with awe. “So perfect for me….” He praises his breaths shaky as his lips and tongue continue their relentless devotion.

His words only heighten the intensity, making your body quiver as aftershocks ripple through you, the slickness coating his fingers fueling his passion even further.

“So beautiful,” he whispers , his voice thick with emotion as he finally pulls back. His breaths ragged, his gaze burning with intensity as he looks at you, trembling and undone beneath him.

He places a kiss on your inner thigh, filled with reverence, before he rises over you. He slowly settles between your legs, his cock pressing against you as his chest brushes yours. His hands find your jaw, cradling your face as he kisses you deeply.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips his voice filled with emotion as he gently pushes his hips forward, his cock gliding into you inch by inch.

The sensation is overwhelming—your entrance so wet, so soft, your walls eagerly glide his thick cock in to you, the slick heat wrapping around him perfectly. The slow stretch around his size only heightens your pleasure, making every inch feel more intimate, more intense.

A deep moan escapes his lips as your bodies press together completely. Your walls grip him tightly, the fullness of his cock sending a shiver through you, the wetness gliding his thrusts effortlessly as you gasp in pleasure beneath him.

He doesn’t rush, his thrusts are slow and steady, his lips finding yours again as he his cock presses your sweet spot between kisses.

“You feel so incredible, baby,” he praises, his voice trembling with desire as his body moves against yours. Each thrust, each kiss, is filled with his devotion, making the moment so tender, so passionate, you feel overwhelmed with emotion.

His hand cradles your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his hips pull back and thrust into you again, and again, each motion deliberate and deep, making your pulse race. His lips find your throat, pressing hot, lingering kisses against your skin as his pace quickens, the intensity of his need matching your own.

You can’t contain the sounds escaping your lips—soft moans that turn into desperate, breathless cries. Your hips rise instinctively to meet his, each thrust igniting sparks inside you, the tightness in your core building rapidly, teetering on the edge.

Sensing your need, Austin grips your hips, tilting his own to hit the perfect spot again and again. Your walls flutter around him with each deep thrust, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. The tension coils tighter and tighter until your body can’t hold back any longer.

His voice is breathless as it breaks through the haze. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me. Come for me. I’ve got you,” he whispers, and your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your muscles tightening around him as a rush of pleasure explodes through you, leaving you gasping.

Your back arches off the bed as his name falls from your lips in a desperate cry, your fingers clutching his shoulders as aftershocks ripple through your body.

Austin groans deeply, his movements faltering as your climax pushes him to his own. He kisses you fiercely, his lips catching your cries as he continues to thrust until you feel the hot rush of his come spilling inside you.

He moans deeply against your lips, his breath shuddering as his thrusts soften, letting you feel every last pulse of his pleasure as it merges with your own.

The combination of your orgasms and the lingering aftershocks leave you both trembling, your breaths mingling as you come down from the overwhelming high.

“I love you,” he whispers breathlessly, his voice heavy with emotion as his hands gently stroke your skin, holding you close.

“I love you too,” you reply softly, your voice filled with all the love and trust you feel in his embrace.

The rest of the night is spent with his arms wrapped around you, filled with love and reverence. His affection making you feel cherished and completely his as though nothing else in the world exists but the two of you.

The next evening, the condo buzzes with energy as his friends from the city begin to arrive. The smell of roasting turkey fills the air as everyone brings dishes to accompany the feast—platters of roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, casseroles and freshly baked pies cover the counters.

You flit around the kitchen, trying to make sure everything is perfect. The stress of hosting weighs on you, but Austin is a calming presence, stepping in to help whenever he sees you getting overwhelmed. He sneaks behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re doing amazing. Everyone’s loving it.” His reassurance soothes you, and by the time dinner is served, the table is brimming with delicious food and lively conversation, accompanied by the clinking of glasses.

Seated at the head of the table across from you Austin looks devastatingly handsome in a dark sweater that hugs his broad shoulders perfectly. He watches you with an affectionate smile, his gaze warm and steady as the evening unfolds. After a moment, he rises from his chair with a wine glass in hand, drawing the room’s attention.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Austin asks, his voice steady and warm as the chatter fades and all eyes turn to him. He looks at you, his expression softening with affection.

“This year has been one of the best of my life,” he begins. “And it’s not because of everything I’ve done. It’s also because of her.” He nods toward you, his gaze locking with yours as awes of admiration spread through the room.

“I just want to say how thankful I am that we can gather here together this evening, and for this incredible woman who somehow made it all look effortless.” He says gracefully.

Words of approval and nods spread around the table as everyone turns to look at you and you can’t help but smile,your cheeks flushing under the attention.

“She’s the reason every place I go feels like home. She’s the reason I smile every single day. She’s the love of my life.”

The room hums with awe’s as everyone nods and smiles in agreement, their expressions warm. Your heart swells at his words, each one feeling personal and intimate as you gaze at him lovingly.

He raises his glass, his eyes still on you. “So let’s all cheers and give thanks for love, for friendship, and for the people who make life worth living.”

The room bursts into cheers and applause, the sound filling the space as glasses clink and laughter follows. As Austin sits down after the toast the warmth of the moment is still buzzing in the air as you meet his gaze across the table. His eyes are soft, filled with love and unspoken emotion, and your heart races as his words echo in your mind.

He smiles warmly, and there’s an anticipation in his expression that makes your heart flutter. You secretly know what he’s waiting for, and the thought makes you grin. He’s eager to pop the question soon, and he’s waiting for the perfect day.

You hold his gaze, feeling a spark of excitement build in your chest. The promise in his eyes leavening you giddy with anticipation for what’s to come.

🍁 END

🔗 Master List

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @lindszeppelin @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @thejoywillburnoutthepain @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesficsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @ifuckindontknow @jjubilee-fluff

[baxndaid]

Hiiiii i was just wondering if you could do some smutty billford x reader hcs please❤️ I loved the first batch sm

bill cipher x stanford x afab!reader silly little nsfw hcs , tw non-con i think minors dni pls , heres the last one x <-

as i established in the last post, i think ford would be too pussy to initiate anything with you at all

too pussy and too busy like sorry i think he'd rather just jerk off his stupid machines rather than himself

ford keeps you in the dark about a lot of the things he does, you, like fiddleford, know about bill but youve never interacted with him (as far as you knew)

first time you interacted with him was when he possessed ford for the first time and climbed up onto the roof while shrugging off your concerns for ford(s body)

remember when bill took a bunch of polaroids and recordings of himself taking a joyride in fords body?

can you tell where im going with this

he would definitely record it, violently taking your clothes off with one hand and holding the camcorder with the other, fumbling with the buttons of your blouse like he was drunk and didnt know how the fuck buttons worked

you were already super tired from quadruple-checking fiddleford's equations that day so having "ford" stumble in and touch you so desperately made you a little suspicious

especially the fact that he was recording it, ford is a very private man

he reeks of alcohol and his white dress shirt was stained, his tie loosened and his trench coat forgotten on the wooden floor

taking no time to be gentle, he would lie you down on a desk, the trinkets digging into your skin making you gasp

keeping one hand on your throat, he would prop up the camera on a neighbouring storage shelf, getting a perfect angle of the both of you

you didnt bother fighting back, he was far too strong to push away and the iron grip he had on your throat kept you from moving even an inch, it scared you

with his right hand now free, he gripped your hips and dragged your body further down the table, artifacts and small machines being knocked onto the floor, your jeaned crotch touching his

whenever you struggled out of instinct, he would simply squeeze your throat a little harder until you stopped moving again

as much as bill loved seeing you struggle, he wanted to have a clear visual on his camera so ford could be squeamish about it when he watched the tapes

he would probably use any rope or wire to tie your wrists together, its way easier to rip your jeans off when your arms arent flailing around trying to push him off

by the time hes finally taken all your clothes off, he'll probably take the camera off the shelf and give ford a close up of what hes working with

close up of your flushed face? he probably slaps you and moves onto your chest like what an asshole i need him dead

close up of your chest? tweaks one of your nipples harshly and laughs as you jolt up in pain, pushing you down again

he gently trails his fingers down your stomach, the camera's gaze following, and finally reaches the spot in between your thighs

close up of your cunt? he puts the camera down next to your core while propping your leg up with one hand

"fords" head was hovering over your cunt, he turned his head to the camera to flash it a harsh, sly smile before turning back and messily kissing your pussy

im ganna be honest he dont know what the fuck hes doing like hes licking it hes biting it hes drawing blood hes doing whatever the fuck he feels like doing

your screams and gargled moans are muffled by his six-fingered hand as he continued to lap up your insides like a feral dog

tongues ur entrance while his teeth graze ur clit i think he'd be into that

he defo scratches you up while doing this btw, every time the real ford sees your wounds he feels really bad

he wont let you come until you claim that hes the best youve ever had, hes really childish like that i think

i lied though even if you begged he wouldnt let you finish, not like that, its not good enough

he puts the camera back on its shelf and makes swift work of his pants and boxers, only pulling them down enough for his cock to spring out

he leaned over you, the room was dark, the only source of light came from the weak candles and the artificial blue flights of fiddleford's inventions

his eyes glowed yellow and his smile was so wide it looked like it hurt, you already knew it wasnt your ford in control today

it was scary, but you cant help but be excited

from how embarrassingly wet you were, im pretty sure bill could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was too

he kept eye-contact as he pushed himself inside, it was humiliating but thats what he liked

he would grab your cheeks and force you to look at him if you ever let your gaze wonder to anything that wasnt him

he was surprisingly slow, it was appreciated at first but then it was torturous

he giggled manically as he watched you grow desperate for him to speed up

bastard would probably turn to the camera like it was a fucking tv show and ask the audience (ford) if he should go faster, if you deserved to come on his cock, if you even deserved to come at all

eventually he would though, he wants to get off and he cant do that while going at a snails pace

the sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, bill kept his hand on your throat, not choking you, simply keeping it there as he messily thrust into you

you both end up finishing at the same time, which bill is a little annoyed by

he berates both you and ford(s body) for not lasting long

he keeps himself buried into you while reaching for his camcorder and a polaroid camera that hes been using to document what hes been doing in fords body

he takes a few pictures of you and your lower half, white fluid leaking from your hole and covering his cock

he sighed, satisfied, collecting the photos and reached for the memory gun

ford wakes up the next day and looks at all the recordings and photos bill took the night before

to say hes horrified would be an understatement

immediately checks up on you, only to find you passed out on the desk, fully clothed and cleaned up, like it never happened

when he wakes you up in a panic hes confused to hear that you dont remember anything that happened last night

he doesnt tell you about anything that he saw

youd be better off as blissfully unaware, he thought yeah im a degenerate whatever man gravity falls masterlist

[americanchestcompany]

Durable Solid Wood Chests: Timeless Storage for Every Room

In terms of home organization, the furniture has to be both beautiful and functional. One of the definitive things when it comes to classic items that can help you declutter your living space is a solid wood chest.

Let's take a look at why a solid wood chest is such a worthwhile investment for your home and how they can be both functional pieces and decorative elements in every room.

Read More: https://bloggingaadd.com/durable-solid-wood-chests-timeless-storage-for-every-room

[yooniivrse]

hating you, craving you | ksj

summary. you don't exactly remember how the man you hate most ended up between your legs, but you're not complaining.

pairing: seokjin x afab reader

genre: co-workers to ??, implied enemies with benefits, smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content, pussy eating, petnames (princess), oc gives seokjin blue balls lol

notes: this has been in my drafts since the day jin's office concept pics dropped :3 comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

────

main masterlist

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Seokjin is a very unlikeable man.

He's arrogant, lazy, overconfident, selfish, and oh — did you mention arrogant? He wears that stupid smirk on his face constantly, using it as a leverage to get everything he wants. It was a pathetic sight, watching your co-workers stutter and stumble over their words in front of him while their skin grew deeper in the familiar shade of embarrassment.

You've always been the one person exempt from his charms — you're pride refusing to let you kneel to him like everyone else.

Which is why he’s the one with his knees digging against the hard, wooden floorboards, and his head between your thighs.

How you ended up in this position, you honestly have no idea. But none of that matters right now because fuck, did Seokjin’s mouth feel heavenly against your pussy.

His lips suck and lick at your cunt softly, his tongue delving in and out, exploring all of you. The fabric of your tight, pencil skirt is hastily bundled up at your waist — both of you had been too impatient and too worried about the lack of time you had to properly strip.

Seokjin’s fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping your shaking legs steady on the ground.

Your hands tug at his hair every time a shiver of ecstatic pleasure courses through you, followed by a lazy attempt at muffling a moan by pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. You can practically feel his lips curl into a smirk against your pussy when your actions go in vain.

“That good, huh princess?”

You look down to meet his eyes — pupils completely glazed over either lust.

“Sh-shut up.”

A muffled chuckle vibrates through your cunt and the feeling has you pressing his head closer into you. Your throbbing in his mouth, your back arching up as you feel your orgasm build up.

A plethora of curses fall from your lips; sinful pleads and lewd slurps filling the air of the almost-abandoned storage room. Any moment, the door could open to expose your little rendezvous. More arousal than worry fills you at the thought, and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Seokjin seems to be drawing out the alphabet with his tongue all over, taking his time to bring you over the edge — time that you were pretty sure neither of you could afford. But you were so fucking addicted to his mouth on you that you couldn’t bring yourself to protest.

“Shitshitshit. ‘m so close.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and one of your hands move from Seokjin’s hair to grip on to the side of the table, the pads of your fingers turning white from the force. His lips latch and lock against your folds, coaxing the knot in your stomach to come undone.

“C’mon, princess. Wanna taste you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like a strong tide, making your walls clench around nothing in steady waves. Seokjin eases on his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm in his tongue.

Your chest rises falls rapidly, small pants dropping from your lips. He licks a long strip along your cunt, collecting your juices on his tongue. Your hand snakes its way to the nape of his neck and you pull him up for a messy, sloppy kiss.

You clean the wet arousal that coats his chin and mouth, tasting a mixture of you and his saliva. His hands wrap around your waist securely, and you ease your weight off your buckling knees.

“When do you have to get back?” you ask, your voice breathless and your mind still fuzzy from the pleasure.

A kiss. “Don’t know.” Then another. “Don’t care.”

You giggle. “Wow, so professional of you.”

“Mhm. Don’t act like the idea of being caught doesn’t turn you.”

You’re rolling your eyes when three sharp knocks rap against the door. The two of you are blocked from view by the rusty shelves, but you still try to make yourself as small as possible.

The door doesn't open, but Jungkook's voice is unmistakable from the other side. “Hyung, you better hurry up. Namjoon’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t find him the file in the next five minutes.”

You keep your eyes on Seokjin, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he lets out a sigh of annoyance. “Tell him that I’ll be there in a bit, Kook.”

“You better.”

Jungkook's footsteps trail off, and you finally let out the breath you were holding.

“Yeah, no. We’re never doing this in here, ever again.”

Seokjin lets out a sigh. “My bad. That kid’s always ruining something,” he groans, pressing his lips to yours again.

“Keep it in your pants, Seokjin.”

He scoffs. “You cannot be saying that right now.”

“You heard him,” you say with a shrug. “You can’t stay in here any longer.” You step away from him, pulling down the fabric of your skirt roughly. Despite the shivers of ecstasy that still faintly ran between your legs, the events that had just transpired had began weighing down on you; you let Seokjin eat you out during work hours in the file room, and he was never going to let you live it down.

Fuck.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh — one clearly laced with annoyance. "Fine."

You smoothen down your shirt and quickly fix your hair as he steps off to the side. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his dark pants and leans his head against the wall.

"You coming?" you ask.

"Give me a minute. You go on."

You can't stop the teasing smirk that tugs at your lips and Seokjin avoids your gaze. At least you know that your not the only one affected by his charms.

Your walk off but come to a stop after a few steps. You turn around and his eyes meet yours. The words lie on the tip of your tongue, but you're pride tries to stop you from letting them tumble from your lips.

Fuck it.

"Want me to make it up to you tomorrow?"

A beat of silence passes, and regret instantly starts bubbling in your chest. But before you take back your offer, Seokjin lets out a small laughing breath and nods.

"Sure. Text me whenever you want, princess."

[axeeglitter]

Melorius's shop: Piracy in the blood

Ethan stood on the bustling street corner, peering into the dusty window of a small costume shop he had never noticed before. The worn wooden sign and faded paint suggested the shop had been there for decades, yet it was the first time Ethan had seen it. Desperate to find something unique for Halloween, he decided to step inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a bell jingled, and a thick wave of musty air hit him. Inside, the shop was crammed with racks of elaborate costumes. Everything from Victorian attire to knight's armor hung on the walls. The dim lighting gave the place an eerie, antique feel.

At the back of the shop, behind an old wooden counter, stood a man with silver hair and a long beard. His deep-set eyes watched Ethan with a knowing smile, though he said nothing.

Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine, but he brushed it off. He needed a costume, and this shop seemed to have exactly what he was looking for. Approaching the counter, he caught sight of an ornamented portrait painting, covered in dust, hanging on a nearby wall. The portrait looked ancient, almost as though it had been forgotten for centuries and neglected. Ethan was intrigued by it but before his brain could really focus on it, the owner appeared in front of him. “Good morning, sir, how can I help you today?” said Mister Melorius in a kind, peaceful voice.

"Hello, I was wondering if you had any costumes for a Halloween party I’m going to tonight? It’s not really my thing so I don’t really know what to wear, I know that some of my friends go as Super Heroes, other into officer. I simply have no idea what to get that could fit me." Ethan said, his voice wavering slightly.

The shopkeeper’s smile widened, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he went in the storage and came back a couple seconds after holding a box and placed it in front of Ethan. “Trust me son, this is exactly what you need!” No words were exchanged, just a simple gesture for him to take it.

Ethan, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension, picked up the box. It was surprisingly heavy. He didn’t ask any more questions, simply nodding in thanks before heading to the small dressing room tucked away in the corner of the shop.

The dressing room was cramped, with an old mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. Setting the box down on a rickety chair, Ethan carefully opened it, revealing the contents: black trousers, a white, billowing shirt with a deep V-neck, a thick leather belt, knee-high boots, and a weathered coat. An ancient looking leather harness and a couple of weapons sat neatly on top. “A pirate costume?” he thought out loud. “I mean, it could work, Julia always said she had a thing for Will Turner so maybe wearing this I’ll have a chance to approach her and finally invite for a dinner date.”

Ethan stood there in the cabin holding the clothes between his fingers, there was something undeniably authentic about the outfit. Ethan couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward it. He removed his own clothes and began to dress, starting with the shirt. The fabric felt soft but heavy against his skin, the deep V exposing more of his chest than he was used to. Next, he pulled on the black trousers, which fit snugly against his legs.

As he tightened the leather belt around his waist, something shifted within him. His breathing grew heavier, his heart pounding in his chest. "What... what the hell?" he muttered, glancing at his reflection.

The moment he slipped into the boots, a sudden surge of heat coursed through his body, like an electric shock radiating from his feet to the top of his head. He staggered, gripping the chair for support. His reflection blurred, the mirror rippling as though it were water.

He gasped, watching in disbelief as his body began to change.

His shoulders started to broaden, muscle bulging under the fabric of the shirt. His chest heaved as it expanded, growing thicker, more defined. Hair sprouted between his pecs, the once-smooth skin now covered in coarse, dark fur. The hair spread quickly, forming a dense mat that stretched down his abdomen and forming a happy trail, stopping just above his groin.

"What’s happening to me?" Ethan’s voice trembled, but it was already deeper, rougher. He tried to pull the shirt off, but his arms wouldn’t obey. His muscles flexed against his will, as though they had a mind of their own. He could feel the power growing in his biceps, his forearms bulging with veins that snaked across his skin like ropes.

A strange anger began bubbling up from deep within him, replacing the fear he initially felt. His usual calm, quiet demeanor was slipping away, replaced by something far more aggressive, primal.

His hands, once soft and delicate, now looked like they belonged to a man who had spent years working under the sun, gripping ropes, handling weapons. The calluses formed almost instantly, thickening his palms, making them rough and unyielding.

"No... no, stop this!" Ethan’s thoughts raced, but his body continued to morph. He watched helplessly as his legs lengthened, growing taller, more imposing. His thighs swelled, pressing against the fabric of the trousers, the muscles there thick and corded. His calves, too, became more defined, the boots now fitting perfectly around his larger frame.

Then, he felt it, a sharp prickling sensation on his face. His jawline, once clean-shaven, began to darken as bristles of hair pushed through his skin. Within seconds, a thick, wild beard sprouted, covering his face. His reflection showed a man he didn’t recognize, a man far older than his 25 years.

The muscles in his face hardened, his boyish features replaced by a rugged, weathered look. His nose seemed to grow more prominent, his cheekbones higher, more angular. His lips twisted into a sneer, a cocky, arrogant grin that didn’t match the terror screaming in his mind.

"No! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts screamed, but his body didn’t care. His hands reached down on the chair, grabbing the leather harness and securing it around his chest, making sure his heavy muscled hairy pecs were pushed even higher, almost slipping out of his V line shirt. Then he grabbed the weapons before securing them too inside the harness.

He stared at his reflection, feeling the heat rising in his groin. His cock, which had always been average and uncut, now strained against the fabric of his trousers. It grew bigger and thicker with every beat of his heart. Like if his blood was transporting inches and girth with them. Then as he saw his bulge growing heavier and heavier inside his well-used pants, he started to feel a rush of sensations around his cock head. Suddenly he felt an awful pain around his girth as his foreskin disappeared in dust. His cockhead started to rub against his pants again and again. The sensation was growing duller and duller, and soon, it was something his new dick was used to. The sensitivity in his dick head dulled as though it had endured years of rough handling. His groin felt foreign to him, yet powerful. It belonged to this new body, a pirate’s body. Ethan tilted his head back up only to be met with a cocky grin plastered on his face. Suddenly, the tingling sensation started again, this time in his arm pits, legs, and most particularly around his new huge cock. From the corner of his eyes, he could see millions of hair follicles starting to grow, faster and faster, thicker and thicker, curlier and curlier. Ethan wanted to scratch, to get this itch to stop, but the only reaction he could summon from this new foreign body was to scratch his pubes before his hands automatically rise to his nose where his lungs took a deep breath. His brain was assaulted by a new sensation, his potent musk.

The smell hit him hard, an overwhelming musk of sweat, rum, and saltwater. He reeked of the sea; his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that only added to the intense masculinity radiating from him.

"No, please... I’m not this man..." Ethan thought desperately, but the man staring back at him in the mirror was no longer Ethan. He was someone else entirely. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power in his grip, the authority in his posture. He was no longer the shy, soft-spoken young man who had entered the shop.

A sinister voice echoed in his mind, low and gravelly, as his reflection smirked. "Ye be Captain Blackstorm now, lad. No turnin’ back."

The room around him shimmered and dissolved. Ethan’s heart raced, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend what was happening. But the harder he tried to hold on to his old life, the faster it slipped away.

Ethan blinked. Darkness swallowed him for a couple of seconds and suddenly, he was no longer in the dressing room.

The creaking of wood, the crashing of waves, and the scent of saltwater overwhelmed his senses. He found himself standing on the deck of a massive pirate ship, the Blackstorm, surrounded by a rough-looking crew of only men going from 20 to 45.

Ethan tried to scream, tried to move, but his body no longer obeyed him. His mouth opened, but the words that came out weren’t his own.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! RAISE THE BLOODY SAILS, YE SCURVY DOGS!"

His deep voice boomed across the ship, the crew scrambling to follow his orders. His body moved with the confidence and swagger of a man who had been a pirate captain for years, barking commands left and right.

"No! I’m not Captain Blackstorm! I’m Ethan! Stop this!" His mind screamed, but his body didn’t listen. The pirate captain’s cocky grin was plastered on his face as he stood at the helm of the ship, guiding it through the turbulent seas. …………..

As the days passed, Ethan’s soul became trapped inside his own head, a prisoner in a body that was no longer his. He could still think, still feel, but he had no control. Every time Captain Blackstorm laughed, every time he bellowed orders, Ethan was forced to watch, helpless and horrified, wondering if he would ever go back to his college life and see his friends and family again.

His thoughts grew darker, more confused, as Blackstorm’s memories began to replace his own. He couldn’t remember his last name anymore, or what his life had been like before the transformation. The more he tried to hold on to his identity, the more it faded.

Soon, even his name felt foreign. He wasn’t Ethan. He was Captain Blackstorm.

One night, after a particularly brutal raid on a coastal town, Blackstorm stood on the deck of his ship, surveying the spoils. Among the prisoners was a young man, dressed in fine clothes, clearly a young officer from the Spanish Marina. The man was elegant, his sharp features framed by short, curly hair. Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto him.

"Bring ‘im to me," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with hunger.

Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto the sailor’s terrified expression, and a predatory grin spread across his face. Ethan, trapped deep inside, recoiled in horror, not knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it.

“Tell me son, what is your name?” “My name is Paulo sir.” Said the young men with fear in his voice. He knew that he wanted a chance to survive, he had to do what this captain wanted. “And tell me, Paulo. What were you doing out there? You look around 22, a bit old to be a cabin boy.” “I was just promoted as an officer, sir. Please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything. Please.” Paulo broke almost in tears as he remembers the legend of the captain of the Blackstorm.

"Ye look soft, lad," Blackstorm sneered, his breath hot and reeking of rum. "But ye’ll toughen up. I’ll make a proper sailor outta ye."

Ethan’s thoughts screamed in protest, but the words coming from his mouth weren’t his. "No! Stop this! I’m not him!" But the pirate captain’s voice continued to fill the air as if Ethan's consciousness no longer mattered.

Paulo, trembling in Blackstorm's grip, whimpered, "Please, sir, I’m no pirate. I, I’m just an officer."

Blackstorm chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the young man’s shirt. "For now! Ye’ll learn soon enough, lad. Now get below deck. I’ll see to yer trainin’ myself."

Ethan’s body moved of its own accord, dragging Paulo down to the captain’s quarters, where the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns. It smelled of sweat, rum, and the salty sea air, Blackstorm’s natural musk now, deeply embedded in the walls and furniture. Ethan wanted to gag at the overwhelming odor, but instead, his body breathed it in like it was the sweetest scent.

Ethan watched helplessly as Blackstorm tossed the young officer onto the bed, his powerful muscles flexing with every movement. The younger man looked terrified, eyes darting to the door as if considering an escape, but Blackstorm was faster. He pinned the young men down, a dark hunger in his eyes.

Paulo struggled beneath him, but Blackstorm’s calloused hands, worn from years at sea, held him firmly in place. "I’ve had my eye on ye since we boarded yer commander’s ship, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Now, ye belong to me."

"No! I can’t let this happen! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts were frantic, but the captain’s grin only widened as he leaned closer to the young men, inhaling his scent. The fear radiating off the man seemed to excite Blackstorm, fueling his dominance.

"I’ll make ye a man of the sea, lad," Blackstorm whispered, his hands roaming over the butler’s body, feeling the smooth, uncalloused skin beneath his fingers. "You see, what makes a great captain is not the fear he inspires in his enemies; Noooooo… It’s the respect he inspires in his crew. If you have a crew devoted to you, then nothing is impossible. And I make sure that each and every one of my men are the best versions of themselves. And in exchange, they are devoted to me. Now, you have a great potential, lad, let’s see what’s hidden under the surface. We’ll start with rum, but soon enough, ye’ll learn there’s more to bein’ a pirate than just sailin’."

Ethan screamed internally, but his body reveled in the power and control Blackstorm wielded over Paulo. The pirate captain’s beard brushed against Paulo’s neck, and Ethan could feel the younger man’s pulse quicken in fear.

As Blackstorm grabbed a bottle of rum from the bedside table, uncorking it with his teeth, he forced the officer to drink. "Take it, lad. Ye’ll need this to survive aboard the Blackstorm."

Paulo sputtered, coughing as the harsh liquid burned down his throat, but Blackstorm gave him no respite. He shoved the bottle back into his hands, forcing him to drink more, the warmth of the rum spreading through his body.

With every gulp forced down his throat, Paulo could feel the heat rising in his body. Drops of sweat started to appear on his forehead as his legs started to shake and tense with pression. Soon a crack was heard as his pants started to tear at the seam. The same started to occur on his chest, then his feet. His short brown hair started to grow longer and curlier, his face sharpened a bit, his cock lengthened and lost his foreskin and the sensitivity that goes with it and his body hair started to grow under his pits, and around his cock. Soon Paulo’s body was totally transformed. A perfect specimen of a young manly men devoted to his new life style of pirate.

"Now, lad," he growled, his hands unbuttoning his new crew member’s torn shirt and pants, exposing the smooth, tanned skin beneath. "Let’s see what ye’re made of."

Ethan’s mind fought desperately to regain control, but his body didn’t listen. His hands—Blackstorm’s hands—caressed Paulo’s body with rough, experienced strokes, exploring every inch of his skin. Paulo gasped, his body responding despite himself, a mixture of fear and arousal flashing in his eyes.

Ethan’s thoughts screamed as he realized what his body was about to do. He wasn’t even attracted to men. All he wanted was to get to the party to ask Julia on a date. Ethan could feel his thought getting muted, they were growing weaker, drowned out by the sensations overwhelming his body.

Blackstorm’s cock stirred in his trousers, hardening as he pressed against Paulo’s thigh. The once-shy, soft-spoken Ethan was gone, replaced entirely by the pirate captain who reveled in his dominance, who craved the control he had over his captive.

Paulo, now panting under Blackstorm’s touch, whimpered, "Please... sir… I need … you” Blackstorm silenced him with a rough kiss, his beard scraping against his chin as the pirate’s tongue claimed his mouth.

The taste of rum lingered on the Paulo’s lips, and Blackstorm groaned, his hands gripping the man’s hips tightly as he ground against him. His cock, thick and heavy, strained against the leather of his trousers, begging to be freed.

With a swift motion, Blackstorm yanked down his trousers, exposing his throbbing length. The pirate captain wasted no time, positioning himself between Paulo’s legs, his rough hands forcing them apart.

Ethan’s mind was a swirling storm of panic and confusion, but it was drowned out by the primal lust consuming Blackstorm. His cock brushed against the ass, and with one rough thrust, he entered the younger man, groaning as he buried himself deep inside.

Paulo gasped in pain, his body tensing beneath Blackstorm, but the pirate captain didn’t stop. His thrusts were hard, brutal, and unrelenting, his cock stretching the ass in ways he had never experienced before.

"Take it, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice thick with lust. "Ye belong to me now."

Ethan, trapped in the pirate’s mind, could only watch in horror as Blackstorm claimed the young men with each powerful thrust. The pirate’s body was drenched in sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, the scent of musk and sea growing heavier in the small cabin.

Paulo, now whimpering beneath him, began to relax, his body slowly adjusting to the brutal rhythm. His soft cries turned to moans as Blackstorm’s cock filled him over and over again, stretching him until there was nothing but pleasure.

The captain grinned wickedly, leaning down to whisper in his new lover’s ear. "Yer mine now, lad. Ye’ll be beggin’ for more soon enough. Now cum for me, Esteban"

Ethan’s thoughts were fading, his sense of self slipping away with every thrust, every groan of pleasure that escaped his lips. He could feel himself being absorbed into Blackstorm’s mind, his old life nothing but a distant memory. Paulo could feel every thrust going deeper and deeper, he was moaning in pure pleasure not remembering what just happened to his body. As he heard Blackstorm, he felt his body tense. Suddenly, a rush of feelings opened in his brain and he fainted in pure bliss as he started to shoot his cum and his old life. He couldn’t remember where he grew up, what was his work, what was his name. All he could see were Blackstorm, the sea, and the name Esteban flashing in his eyes.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, Blackstorm came inside Paulo, filling him with his seed and cementing his dominance over his new crew member. The pirate groaned, his body shuddering with release as he collapsed on top of the younger man, his chest heaving with each breath. Ethan screamed one last time as he felt himself being totally assimilated in this new life that was given to him.

For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the soft creaking of the ship and the distant crash of waves against the hull.

Blackstorm rose from the bed, pulling on his trousers and adjusting his belt. He glanced back at Esteban, who lay panting on the bed, his body trembling from the intensity of their encounter. He went to his personal clothes and grabbed a white shirt, a crimson red sleeveless coat, a black leather trouser and a pair of leather boots before putting them next to Esteban.

" Your name, your life and your future are mine now," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. " Get some rest, lad, ye’ll need yer strength for tomorrow’s session."

As he left the cabin, Esteban’s soft, exhausted moans followed him and after a couple of hours, Esteban got up and dressed himself before walking on the deck of the ship as a new men. Blackstorm grinned to himself as he saw his new devoted crew member smiling at him while groping his manhood to adjust it.

Ethan was gone, lost forever in the depths of the pirate’s mind. Only Captain Blackstorm remained, cocky, ruthless, and forever bound to the sea. ............ Mister Melorius was walking back to his counter when he heard a tingling resonating in his left ear. As he turned back, he saw the portrait behind him start to vibrate as the golden plaque under it shone while a new text appeared on it: “Captain Blackstorm, commandant of the Blackstorm. Respected and beloved by his whole crew, adventurer of the seven seas and beyond. 1718” Melorius smiled, knowing Ethan, or Blackstorm, was on for a great adventure and will remain in history as the greatest captain of them all.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Hope you'll enjoy this story created from @tf-vigilante's prompt: "A shy and soft college student enters Mister Melorius's shop looking for a costume. Even though that kind of costume is not like his personnality at all, he is weirdly compelled to ask for a pirate costume. What will happen to him ? How will his Halloween night turn out to be ? Maybe this will be truely life changing…" Hope you guys enjoyed it and as always, feel free to send me asks if you want to pick a costume from Melorius's shop! See you soon!

[tinachristeen]

Photos of You

Fem!Reader x Subbish!Daryl Dixon

word count: 20,498 (I hope)

NSFW.

Warnings: Explicit, full of horny, Minors DNI. Pillow humping, Sexual photographs, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Talks of alcohol, vague talks of Daryl's child abuse. That's pretty much it, can't think of any more trigger warnings.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of abandoned books in the corner of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick had sent you and Daryl to scavenge for, well, anything useful actually. The children needed new books to read, The pantry could always use more food, And you can never have too many medical supplies in an apocalypse. you and Daryl had thought you hit the jackpot when you came across an old, rather large, thrift shop with enough clothing and books to keep Alexandria stocked for a while. Daryl even found a recliner he seemed to like. Unfortunately, the universe has decided to make your lives a billion times more difficult ( as usual) by sending a decent-sized herd in your direction. you both made it out fine, with only a few bruises and at least 50 of the undead bastards still on your tail, so you both decided to look for a place to wait them out until morning. and like a beacon of light shining in the cold, damp night air, you both stumbled across a dilapidated shack with a set of metal doors protruding from the ground beside it. thinking it was your best chance at a safe shelter for the night, Daryl quietly opened the doors and moved down the stairs to scan the room for potential threats. Once he gave the all-clear, you shut the doors tightly and not even five minutes later, heard the shifting and shambling of the rotting undead above your heads.

turning on your flashlight, you scanned the room to take in your surroundings. it looked to be a makeshift bunker of some kind. It was pretty large, walls made from some kind of metal. In the left corner of the room, there was a bunk bed with gray sheets, colorful quilts, and rather comfy looking pillows. In the right corner, a little kitchenette with various appliances and cabinets for storage. In the middle of the room there was a wooden table with two folding chairs, cards and other assorted items strewn about the surface. you had to admit, besides how cold it was

"Do you think anybody lives here?" you asked Daryl as he started rummaging through cabinets to look for spare supplies. You watched as he brought two fingers down and gave the counter a quick swipe.

"Nah. S' a lotta dust"

You moved further into the room towards the table, where a storm lantern sat, untouched for months or even years. you pulled out your metal zippo lighter and palmed it fondly for a second. Daryl had given this to you months ago and it was one of your prized possessions to date. You recalled a time when you thought he would never give you a gift, or even talk to you for that matter. When you two first met, he wouldn't even look at you and only threw you the occasional snarl, and now he was one of your closest friends. He had really grown as a person since Atlanta... And you had grown fond of him.

Snapping back to reality, you tried to focus on the task at hand, lighting the lantern. with a single flick, the lighter produced a perfect flame. The damn thing was always reliable. The lantern roared to life and gave the room a soft orange glow. You moved around the room, lighting the other three lanterns that were meticulously hung for optimal lighting. You glanced over to ask Daryl a question, but it died on your lips as your eyes found him. From where you were standing, you had a perfect side view of his face. The light hit him as it danced in flickering shadows across his features. He knelt over a chest filled with blankets on the floor, concentration painted on his knitted brow. He looked pretty like this, his bangs falling lightly over his eyes while he moved about. He stuck his tongue out in concentration, one of his many admirable idiosyncrasies, like when he fidgets with something in his fingertips, or rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

You break from your thoughts again, mentally scolding yourself for once again getting side-tracked thinking about Daryl. You decide to at least try and look around for things that could be useful, focusing on a nightstand next to the bunk beds. It was a shoddy thing, looked like it was built out of a pallet and nailed together by a blind child. It had a drawer though, so that was a start. opening it, you find quite a few... interesting things. A chain of at least 15 condoms, a really expensive looking vibrator, a polaroid camera, a few boxes of film, and some already taken photos. Upon closer inspection, the photos revealed a couple in some very compromising positions. One photo in particular was a view of a woman laid out on a bed, sweaty and tense, breasts on display for the camera with her back to the sheets. You immediately begin striding over towards where Daryl was hunched over a box with an amused look on your face.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of books in the corner of the room.

"whatcha got there?"

You lower your hand, silently offering the pictures to him. He flicks his head to the side, effectively moving his bangs from his eyes for a better look. His cheeks fired up as he flipped through each picture and felt the embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"These too," you said lightly as you held up the chain of condoms and the vibrator with an amused look in your eye.

Daryl's blush spread from his cheeks to his shoulders, and his ears were comparable to the color of a ripe strawberry at that point.

"Some couple back a' Alexandria gon' enjoy 'em," He managed to utter. But oh, how he wished it was the two of you putting them to use instead.

"Oh hell no! this bad boy is mine!" you said, holding up the vibrator, "They can have the condoms though."

Daryl did NOT need that image in his head right now. Of you all laid out, that thing going between your legs, your moans filling his ears, maybe his name spilling from your lips...

The truth is, Daryl had been harboring a crush on you since the prison. He had to admit, the beginning of your relationship with him had a rough start. He was mean to you for no reason other than he was too scared to get close to you. Wasn't any easier with Merle in his ear all the time, "Tha' girl ain' gon' wantchu baby brother. you're just a lowlife." But after Merle was gone, Daryl had slowly realized that he hurt you over time. You avoided him around camp and used every excuse in the book to prevent spending any time with him. When Hershel's farm burned down and the group was on the run, Daryl would ask Rick to give him as many watch shifts as he could with you. And when the group found the prison, He did the same thing. Taking shifts with you up in the guard towers, bringing extra snacks he found on runs with him so you two could eat. Eventually, Rick started pairing the two of you up on runs, and you two made a flawless team. you both maneuvered expertly, like you were fine tuned to each other's movements and reactions. You both worked on the same brain wave, which came in handy when you needed to make quick decisions on an impulse. And eventually, the archer began to develop feelings for you. At first, he would find himself looking at you, admiring how your body moved when you took out walkers on the fence. Then he started thinking about you, finding little things on runs that reminded him of you and pondering o if you would like them or not. He didn't usually bring them back though, Merle still in his head telling him that it didn't matter how many gifts he gave you, you still would never see him like that. Eventually, the thoughts wandered. They progressed, and sometimes even followed him into the confines of his cell late at night, swirling in his head like a catchy song.

click.

The sudden sound caught him off guard. He looked up to see you chuckling to yourself with that bright smile he adored. He would do anything to see you smile like that, even if it killed him. He watched you with adoring eyes as you pulled the freshly taken picture from the slit in the camera and shook it back and forth. He felt embarrassment creeping up his neck again when you took a look at the photo and smiled. He took a deep breath to compose himself and choked out, "ya gon' lemme see the damn picture r' wha'?." He's trying his hardest to sound nonchalant, but deep down he was nervous, and sweat forming on his palms was certainly showing it.

You hand him the picture, and he replies with a scoff. "tch! I look ridiculous," He remarked while throwing the picture down on the floor.

"No, I think you look great."

He stiffened at that. Fuck! one more thing he's going to think about later when he's alone. He could already feel himself growing in his pants as he groans just low enough so you can't hear. 'Really? jus' a compliment 's giving ya' a hard on? c'mon man,' He reprimanded  himself in thought. The silence thickened, as you shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot with a sad-ish look on your face. 'Oh shit, she thinks she made ya' upset. respond asshol-"

"Well, I guess we should eat," you said, cutting off his thought process.

'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,' "Sure." 'you fucking coward'.

After that, you both sat down to eat your glamorous dinner of canned pork and beans. The uncomfortable energy had faded at that point, which was another thing Daryl loved about you so much.  You never dwelled on anything longer than necessary, and you always knew how to make the mood right. When you got up to go get something from the kitchenette, Daryl couldn't help but replay what you said in his mind. 'You look great,' what did you mean by that? maybe he imagined the whole thing. Yeah, that must be it. His eyes drifted down to the legs of your now empty chair in thought, where your backpack was propped. And maybe he was imagining this too, but he could swear he saw the corner of a polaroid picture sticking out of the front pocket...

That night he laid down on the bottom bunk of the bed in quiet thought, agonizing over his lack of response earlier, thinking about the picture. He wondered if you would silently resent him now because of it, or even more, he wondered if you wouldn't take his picture again. He always hated having his picture taken as a child. Once in a while, his mother would pretend to give a shit and try to take family photos to hang on the walls. He hated the pictures she took because his bruises were always visible, almost as if to taunt and humiliate him when he'd walk by the frames in the hallway. He's been sour towards pictures ever since, avoiding them like the plague. That was, until about an hour ago. He found himself hoping you would take pictures of him, even with him maybe. God, he would let you do anything to him as long as it made you smile.

His thoughts wandered again, making his cock stiffen in the tight confines on his jeans. Fuck! He couldn't do this now, you were asleep right above him!  The thought of you catching him made the burning feeling in his core worse somehow, as his pants became uncomfortably snug. He flipped over on his stomach in an attempt to diffuse the situation that had been building since the two of you entered this godforsaken bunker, but failed miserably when his sensitive tip brushed against the mattress, causing him to hiss out in pleasure. Fuck, he was a goner. Just then, he noticed the flannel shirt you had left on the floor next to the bunks. He felt shame at the idea that flashed across his mind, but convinced himself that it wouldn't hurt. He was about to do something he hadn't done since he was a horny highschooler. He pulled your flannel up onto the bed by the sleeve and brought it to his nose, taking a big whiff of the area around the neckline. He groaned in satisfaction and flipped on his back as he pushed his pillow on top of his hips and placed your shirt over his face. He reached down, lifting his hips off the bed just enough so he could free his red, throbbing, cock and push it against the surface of the pillow. The contact made him dizzy with anticipation as he thought about what he was going to do. He started moving his hips up in a thrusting, grinding motion slowly so as to not wake you up, moaning a little with each pull and push.

He thought of you as he chased his pleasure, as he always did. He thought of your hips and how they swayed when you walked. He thought of your hands, and how they felt that one day you grabbed his arm to show him something. He thought about that time you insisted on putting his hair in a ponytail, and how was he going to deny you when you looked all sweet and happy? The feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair to get it in the hair tie will be forever engraved into his brain. He thought about you on top of him, riding him while he holds that vibrator to your clit and brings you to your climax.

He whimpered a little bit, pushing the shirt into his face to envelope himself in your scent. you smelled so good to him, like that lavender soap you loved and leather books. The best goddamn smell in the world, or at least he thought so. His hips started to speed up as he became dangerously close to his high. The stark contrast in temperature between his hot, twitching dick and the cool, soft pillow sent shivers down his spine. The friction, The thought of you, Your smell, Your hands, Your mouth. It was slowly becoming too much for him to handle. He needed to cum. He needed to cum to you, FOR you. Then a thought hit him, what if you kept the polaroid because you were attracted to him? what if you kept it because you wanted to... use it. What if you thought about him like this, all sweaty and desperate for you??

oh

OH

That was it, That thought is what made his nerve endings light up all over. His climax came in white hot flashes of pure pleasure, His thick cock spurting long streams of warm cum all over his pillow and bare stomach. He moaned wildly into your shirt as he bit down on the collar, riding out the waves of his orgasm with reckless abandon and no concern for noise.

He laid there slick with sweat and semen, his hair stuck to his face and neck, breathing heavily as he shivered through the post orgasm cooldown. He stayed there for a good minute, still giving little thrusts that made him whine with sensitivity from the overstimulation. Ridiculing himself in shame over what had just happened, He slowly placed your flannel back on the floor where it had previously been and tucked himself back into his pants. He would just clean himself later. However, When he pulled his pillow back up to his head, he realized his mistake. in all his horny desperation, he had forgotten about the fact he had just cum on his pillow with no way to clean it. 'Way ta go dumbass, ya' ruined yer only pillow.' He shook his head as he threw the pillow under the bed and laid back down. Only one slightly embarrassing thought still crossed his mind before he fell asleep, 'I wonder if she'll take more pictures of me.'

Little did he know, that's exactly what would happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came, and aside from the shame Daryl felt deep in his gut, the day went pretty well. You returned to the store you two were at the previous day, loading everything you could fit into the storage truck (especially Daryl's chair) and heading for home. The ride home had an awkward air to it, even though you tried your best to lighten the mood with jokes and gossip about the people of Alexandria. Daryl just couldn't keep the conversation going, too busy thinking about last night.

He lit a cigarette and opened the window to get some fresh air. You took notice of how the afternoon sun made his skin shine, and how his lips wrapped around the damn thing perfectly.

click

Daryl turned to you, watching you shake out the film again and giving it a good look.

"S' this gon' be a thing now?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He let a small smirk grace his lips and heard another click to his right.

"What? I rarely see you smile," You said, defending against his scrutinizing look. You gave the photo in your hand another studious glance. God, he was pretty. from the long, brown hair that graced his forehead, down to the stubble on his chin you dreamed about rubbing on your thighs. What would it feel like to have those angular lips drag across your body with need and desire? What sensations would those rough, callused hands make you feel? You bet he's rather dexterous on account of all the whittling he does with those arrows, and the pure skill his fingers use to expertly skin a deer. You bet he's really good at applying pressure in all the right places...

"Hey! Daryl, what the hell?"

Your attention is gripped by Daryl grabbing the camera from your lap with one hand and bringing it up to his face in one swift motion. He snaps a picture of you and glances at the road while he waits for it to print.

"'S my turn, sunshine."

Was he... Trying to be playful right now? The only other time he was playful was that night when you were both up in the guard tower and you challenged him to a game of knife throwing, to which he responded with a competitive grin and a, 'You're on.' You both threw your knives at a very well made target you had drawn yourself that was taped to the pole in the middle of the tower. The rules were simple, First person to hit the bullseye would emerge victorious. After three or four throws, you landed the shot perfectly, causing Daryl to sarcastically accuse you of cheating. Those nights in the tower were some of your favorite memories. Snacks shared over mutual silence, just enjoying each other's company and occasionally talking about random stuff. Such a simpler time.

"Are you gonna let me see the damn picture or what?" You remark, mocking him about the comment last night.

"Nah, don' think so." He retorted, taking a drag from his cigarette and puffing it in your direction.

You faked an offended look, watching him stuff the picture into his back pocket. You think nothing of it as you both make your last turn towards home...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Rick took it upon himself to throw a party for the new group that had arrived at the gates. You had to hand it to Him, The idea to put signs up on the major roads and train tracks had been a huge success. Alexandria had gained quite a few new members since then, most of which were actually decent people, which was hard to come by these days.

You invited Rosita over so you two could pick out clothes and do makeup together. You enjoyed quality girl time since You didn't have any sisters growing up. Rosita always helped you piece together outfits for these events, she was the self-proclaimed best stylist in Alexandria, not that you would disagree.

You stood in front of the mirror, Feeling the fabric of the dress between your fingertips. It was cute, a red sun dress that hugged your hips and showed off a considerable amount of cleavage. She paired it with a set of black strappy heels that accentuated your calves nicely. She also insisted on you keeping your hair up with two strands down in the front to, "make your collarbones and cheeks really stick out," or whatever.

"Damn mama, You look sexy as hell in that dress, I'm jealous. Daryl's going to love it."

You threw her a sour look.

"What? you know I'm right."

Deep down, you knew she was. "I just don't think he likes me like that Rosa," You said with a sigh. You gave yourself another look in the mirror with a droopy expression.

"That's a lie. Anyone would take the chance to be with you. If I swung the other way, I would sleep with you the minute I saw you, hermosa. And I KNOW Tara would too, That girl has a looking problem."

"Rosita!" You turn back to her with a shocked laugh.

She just shrugged and continued on, "What about that thing you told me about?"

" 'Sita..."

"You saw that man on the bottom bunk of that bed, Masturbating, right underneath you! And you still don't think he has a thing for you?"

You started to feel flushed, "That probably wasn't because of me."

"you're oblivious. Wait! was it big?"

"Oh. My. God. Stop."

Rosita cocked an eyebrow at you, expecting an answer.

"I- I didn't get a good look. It was dark and I didn't want to invade his privacy like that, so I just popped my head back up."

You remembered hearing him breathing heavily and dropping your head over the side to see if he was okay, Only to be met with the sounds of moans and whines and his face covered in some sort of cloth. probably to keep himself quiet so he didn't wake you... It definitely didn't work. You hate to admit it, but you listened to him carry on for another few minutes. Hearing him whine and moan so close to you had your underwear soaked and your legs rubbing together. When he reached his climax, it took everything you had not to make any noise. He was so vocal, and you were just aching for any kind of relief.

You couldn't help but touch yourself after you were sure he had fallen asleep.

"Bor-ring." Rosita said with a disappointed look, followed by her ushering you to come closer so she could start on your makeup. "Next time, Hop down there and assist him."

You chuckled, "Unfortunately, Rosi, I don't think there will be a next time. Now hurry up so I can start on you!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl heard a knock on his front door and shuffled off his new chair and up the stairs to answer it. He was not at all surprised to see Rick on his front stoop, holding a bag in his hand.

"What'd Ya want? M' not goin' to tha' damn party, so ya' might as well stop tryin'."

Rick knew Daryl hated these parties, but had to attempt to sway him to come anyway. When Daryl walked back into the house, Rick followed in hot pursuit all the way to his room in the basement.

"Come on, brother. Just give it a chance, you might enjoy yourself," Rick said as he stepped through the doorway.

Daryl flopped down on the wooden chair that he had pulled out from his workbench to face Rick, " 'S not gon' happen."

Rick had seen the way Daryl looked at you, like a desperate puppy who couldn't breathe unless in your presence. He was about to play dirty, but this was his last resort.

"Y/N is gonna be there."

For a split fraction of a second, Rick saw a hint of excitement in his eyes. But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

"an' why's tha' matter?"

Rick walked towards Daryl with the bag still in hand, lowering his voice a bit.

"Wouldn't you like to look at her in person instead of staring at that picture you like so much?"

Daryl stayed silent. He couldn't trust his voice not to come out shakey.

"Here, I brought you some clothes and some other stuff."

Rick tossed the bag in Daryl's lap. Daryl opened the bag to find a pair of charcoal dress pants and a dark green button up shirt, along with what looked like hair gel.

" 'M not wearin' this shit." He said with a disgusted look on his face. "Don't even know how ta'."

"I can help you, And she'd like it. you know I'm right."

Daryl grunted in response, embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"Fine."

"Good. Now take a shower and put those on and I'll help with the rest." Rick said as he walked out of the room. "I'll be waiting out here.

Daryl drug his feet to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom and started stripping layers. As the water started to run, he got lost in thought. If Rick could tell he liked you, did you know too? What if you saw him and laughed at him because he looked dumb? Rick better know what he's talking about. He picked up his bar of soap and got to work on his legs, scrubbing vigorously until his skin had a pink tint to it. Now he was getting a little self conscious, trying to make sure his skin and hair was clean for you. He really would do anything to see you smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I look ridiculous."

"No you don't, now sit down and hand me the comb."

Rick was a persistent son of a bitch, Daryl had to give him that.

Rick ran the comb through Daryl's wet hair, slicking it all back and adding in some gel as he went.

"Alright, looks good! Oh, just one more thing." He unbuttoned the first two buttons on Daryl's shirt, causing him to let out an uncomfortable groan.

"Never leave the top two buttoned, Girls love to see a little chest."

Daryl threw the comb in Rick's direction as Rick dodged it and laughed. "I used to do this for my little cousin, He was a few years younger than me and he loved it."

"ya well 'm glad ya had yer fun, playin' dress up like I'm a damned doll."

Rick just chuckled in response and exchanged goodbyes so he could go get dressed and ready himself.

Daryl looked in the bathroom mirror, His nerves were getting the better of him. What was he doing? pretending like he wasn't redneck trash and dressing like an idiot. If Merle could see him now, he'd be having a field day with this. How was he even going to talk to you like this? You'd probably be too busy laughing to talk.

Well, at least he would see you smiling.

He shook the thoughts away and mentally prepared himself for the shitshow this was about to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick smiled to himself as he entered his room to change.

He was happy to help his brother with any lady issues.

He was even happier that Rosita had come to him with this idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly approached the front door to the party, silently wishing Rosita had never talked you into this. "Damn Rosita! And damn rick and his stupid parties." You thought to yourself as you took a deep breath in and closed your fingers around the chilled door knob. With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside.

The smell is what hit you first. Warm, home-cooked food and alcohol. A soft, upbeat tune played from somewhere deeper into the house. Before you could even process what was happening, Maggie had walked up to you, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you into a circle of people to chat, muttering something about needing to introduce you to the new people. You met a few new folks, Including some new guy named Mitch who was an architect before the world fell apart. you two got to talking, but in all honesty, you were only half paying attention once you realized Daryl wasn't there.

As if the universe listened to your thoughts, the door slowly creaked open and in came Rick and Daryl. And he looked... wow. All thoughts escaped you as you looked him up and down. He cleaned up well, His hair slicked back and that tight-fitting shirt made your head swirl with desire. The two buttons had been popped open at the top, giving you an excellent view of his collar bones and upper chest. Then his eyes met yours, and it was like there was no one else in the room. Quite a few people turned to stare, mostly from your group, probably in surprise at how clean he was. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and decided to throw him a little wave and a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl left his house and started his stride to the party in the brisk, cold night air. "Ya really let Rick talk ya inta this huh? ya stupid bastard, she's gon' laugh atcha when she sees ya like this. swear ta god im gon' kick Rick's ass later." He approached the front door of the event, hearing the music and laughter buzz through the door. He considered going home and changing out of the stupid outfit to save himself the embarrassment, just sitting in his new chair all night and reading one of the books he found on that run last week. He had only been out for ten minutes and already missed the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his old ratty shirt. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around to find Rick smiling at him.

'fuck, too late now. The bastard caught me.'

"You'll be fine."

Daryl just offered a grunt in response as Rick opened the door and led them both inside.

The first thing Daryl noticed was you, it was always you. No matter if you were wearing the dirtiest rags you could find, or the most beautiful thing you owned, he would always be able to pick you out of a crowd. No matter what. The second thing he noticed was what you were wearing, and he would be damned if his heart was still beating after. He raked his eyes over every inch of you he could, taking in every agonizing detail. The black heels made your legs look strong yet delicate at the same time. his hands itched to run his fingers over your thighs while you sat on his lap, taking the pleasure you wanted from him. He longed to leave that red dress that showed the delicious swell of your breast on the floor of his room. When his eyes lifted to yours, he swore the world went quiet. your eyelashes fluttered as if you were trying to figure something out.

'Here it comes.'

But it never did. You only smiled at him and offered a small wave. And he offered one back.

Only then did he realize people were staring at him and he shrunk back into himself. He tore his eyes away from you and started walking towards the kitchen.

'Where's the alcohol?'

He made a B-line for the open liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Bourbon that would be his best friend for the night. He already felt sweaty and was thankful that cologne rick had let him borrow. He was still going to kill him later though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rosita swiftly walked towards you and you were already rolling your eyes before she ushered you to an unused corner of the room.

"Tell me you just saw what I saw, because I think I just had a stroke Y/N."

"Stop."

"Girl, that man showered and dressed up for you. His hair is out of his eyes, this may be a marriage proposal."

You had to admit, you were having less than pure thoughts about him right now, specifically his chest, which you thought about on a nightly basis at this point. That shirt brought out his ocean colored eyes perfectly, and you often wondered if you dove deep enough into them, would you ever be able to swim back to the surface? Did you even want to? How would they look closed tightly underneath you in an expression of pleasure? How would his mouth look pleading for more? How would that hair of his look spread out on the floor around his head like a chocolate colored halo?

"I have to admit, He does look rather handsome in that shirt." And you meant it. you REALLY meant it.

"Oh my god! You were totally just having a sex fantasy weren't you?" She said when she saw the ever so slight tint to your cheeks.

"Keep your voice down!"

Rosita gave you a knowing look and smile before you walked away and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. Lord knows you could use a cooldown right now. Once at the sink, you pulled a red party cup from the stack on the counter and filled it up with the tap. Turning around, you find Daryl in the corner, sipping a glass of amber liquid.

"Hey."

He looked at you and nodded in response.

Fuck it, why not bite the bullet?

"You look nice. That shirt is a pretty color."

All right. this time his heart might have actually stopped. His body tensed and the room suddenly shot up a few degrees.

'Oh no, no this again. say sum dumbass, tell 'er she looks good'

"Ya- mm," He choked up a bit and lifted the glass in his hand to his lips to take a sip of liquid courage. "Ya look great too. 'S a nice dress."

"Thank you, Rosita lent it to me for the night, along with this tacky purse."

You gestured to the oddly shaped handbag that was draped around your shoulder. The thing was sort of ugly-cute, but it was the only bag large enough to hold the things you wanted to bring tonight. Oh! That reminded you. Somehow without Daryl noticing, you pulled your beloved polaroid camera out and prepared it for a picture. Luckily, Daryl was staring straightforward and lifting his glass for yet another sip, making it the perfect opportunity for a photo.

click

Daryl recognized the sound all too quickly and made an annoyed face. You had been terrorizing him with that camera for the past week. Snapping pictures of him while he was working on his bike or checking the snares outside the wall. You had to have at least 7 of them by now.

He shifted his eyes between you and the camera before you finally lifted the picture to your eyes and smiled.

There was that warm feeling in his chest again.

Your gaze moved from the picture, to him, and back to the picture.

"This one is definitely a keeper."

"pfft, I look ridiculous."

"You look handsome." You have absolutely no idea what just possessed you to say that. you were sure Daryl was going to leave and never come back. Why would you say some stupid shit like that? Why wasn't he saying anything back?

Well, the truth was Daryl was in shock. He must be hallucinating, because He could have sworn you just called him handsome. Were you flirting with him or just being friendly? He tried to come up with something witty to say, but all he came up with was, "Stop."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night moved like molasses in January. You talked with a few other people about upcoming events, future runs, and guard shift schedules. You introduced some of the new people to long time residents of Alexandria you thought they would get along with.

Rick approached Daryl at some point in the night and attempted to get a conversation out of him. Deciding he had enough of Rick's shit for one day, He started towards the porch to have a smoke. Grabbing the bottle of Bourbon, he stumbled a little when he took a few steps and almost fell into the door. Shit, was he really that wasted? Whatever, a little more couldn't hurt. It was a party right?

You noticed him leave the room out the corner of your eye and contemplated following him to make sure he was alright. You felt ridiculous for even thinking like that. Daryl was a grown man who could take care of himself, he didn't need you bothering him all the time. But maybe he would like some company? He never seemed to mind spending time with you, sometimes it seemed like he would even seek it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air outside was a nice change from the stuffy atmosphere in the house. Stepping out on the porch, you immediately noticed Daryl leaning on the railing, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of alcohol to his left. You cleared your throat to alert him of your presence and prevent him from getting startled. The moment he saw you, His face broke into a dorky grin and he dropped the cigarette into the ashtray on the banister.

"Hey, 'S you"

Was he drunk?

"Ya here ta see me?" He looked around for other people you could be there to see.

He was so drunk.

"D'ya want sum?" He slurred as he lifted the bottle towards you.

He was wasted.

His eyes looked so happy as he offered you the bottle. You had never seen him like this, it was uncharted territory in your friendship. You realized he was waiting for a response so you just smiled and shook your head no.

"How much have you had?" You said as you approached the banister and leaned on it with one arm.

He lifted the bottle and squinted his eyes at it like he was trying with all his power to see, then brought his thumb and pointer finger to the side. He looked like he was trying, and somewhat failing to measure how much had been taken from the bottle. When he was satisfied with his measurement, he held the two fingers up in your direction.

"'Bout tha' much."

You thought this was the most adorable thing you had ever seen, besides that time Judith had chocolate cake all over her face and threw some at Carl. You sat there admiring Daryl with a smirk as he picked up his cigarette and took a drag, a swig of Bourbon followed closely after.

"Daryl Dixon, you are the pinnacle of health, you know that?"

" 'anks, Got it from ma dad."

Your face drooped a little at that. You remember Daryl telling you stories about his family on one of your late-night guard tower talks. He didn't outright tell you his dad was abusive, but he gave you enough pieces to build a very depressing puzzle. It wasn't a very happy puzzle either. You recalled the story about his 13th birthday. His mom forgot what day it was and His dad passed out on the couch watching old black and white movies. But Merle? Merle tried his best to give his little brother a good day. He bought Daryl a little cake from the convenience store in town and presented it to him at the local park. Daryl always said that Merle could be mean, but he still cared for Daryl as best as he could. As best as he knew how.

You took your camera out of your bag again and Daryl looked at you in sad confusion.

"why ya' always tak'n pictures o' me?"

You sighed and began piecing together your explanation. He probably wouldn't remember any of this anyway, so why not?

"Because you are Beautiful, Everything about you is. You are strong, and capable, and when the light hits you at the right angle, it's impossible to resist saving the moment. Your facial expressions are so unique and rare that it makes me want to capture them all and hang them up for everyone to admire. I would paint murals of you if I could find enough wall space to do so."

You hesitated for a split second before bringing your fingers up to his chin.

"You are the most amazing man I have ever met and you don't even know it, do you?"

He stood perfectly still, but not tense this time. He narrowed his eyes in focus like he was trying to sober up to remember this moment.

"y-ya really think tha'?"

Instead of responding, you just moved to his side and brought the camera up to put you both in frame. You got a little closer to him so your head was almost resting on his arm

"Of course I do."

...

Click

...

You brought the camera back down, Grabbing the fresh film and shaking it to cool it down. You turned over the photo, only to realize Daryl had been staring down at you instead of into the camera. You chuckled as you turned towards him to show him the picture.

"Hey big guy, you were supposed to look a the ca-"

You stopped your sentence when you met his eyes. He was still looking down at you. It felt like he was staring into your soul with puppy eyes and nestling his way into your heart with each passing second.

In all your months of friendship, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. You felt two arms snake around your back and a head rest on your shoulder before you realized. Daryl Dixon was hugging you. And... sniffling?

"Daryl, are you alright?" You asked, worried you might have hurt him in some way.

No response.

You pulled away from him and saw that his eyes were a little wet, so you brought your thumb up to wipe them away. Normally, you wouldn't even think about being this close because he hated when people touched him. But right now, He looked like he needed it. It hurt you to see his beautiful eyes filled with tears, no one this sweet should cry.

"No ones ever said tha' 'bout me."

Your heart broke just a little bit more.

"Well it's true. Now, I'm going to tell Rick I'm calling it a night. Wait right here so I can walk you home."

Just as you walked away, Daryl grabbed your wrist to get your attention.

"Ya don't have ta leave 'cause of me."

Even when he was drunk, he was still as considerate as ever.

"Honestly, I'm getting sick of being here. It's too hot and my feet are starting to hurt from these damn shoes." You offered with a light-hearted laugh. "I'll only be a second."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Leaving so soon?"

You loved Rick, but sometimes you were really sick of his shit.

"Yeah. I'm taking Daryl home."

He raised a playful eyebrow at you. The asshole.

You sighed with annoyance, "He drank too much and I want to make sure he gets back okay."

"Well, that's very nice of you."

"Shut up rick."

He laughed that annoying laugh and gave you the go ahead to leave while Rosita gave you a look. You swore to yourself at that moment you would never show up to one of these parties ever again for as long as you lived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, come on." You motioned for Daryl to follow you.

He silently obliged.

"Alright, now give me your arm so I can keep you from falling down the steps."

He held his arm out for you and you wrapped your own around it. When touched him, his skin buzzed from the contact. He had never been this close to you, and his drunk brain questioned why he hadn't tried to sooner.

You successfully led him down the front deck steps and towards the road with few complications. He was still stumbling like a child trying to walk for the first time, and you found it pretty adorable how he put his hands out a little when he felt unstable. You both walked for a few moments in silence until Daryl lost his balance over a curb and fell into you, grabbing you for support, almost sending you barreling over.

“'M sorry. ya shouldn' have ta take care o' me like this.”

"I already told you, I don't mind it sweetheart."

He flushed at the pet name as he straightened up. Those goddamn pants Rick gave him were already too tight, but it was even more so now.

"Do you have your keys?"

"Hmm?"

"Your house keys bub. Do you have them? The door is locked," You asked him in as clear a voice as you could. He fumbled through his pockets as you waited patiently for him to produce them. He checked his last pocket and felt something jingle. Pulling them out, he placed them in your hand and watched you search the key ring for the correct one.

When you slotted the key into the door, you felt Daryl wrapping his arms around your waist from the back. You froze as he buried his head into the hair that fell against your neck. You heard him take in a large breath, like he was trying to smell something.

"Ya smell so good."

A heat grew in between your legs and you couldn't move. It was wrong to be turned on by Daryl when he wasn't in the right state of mind, but the way his body felt pressed against yours had your cheeks warm and your eyelids feeling heavy. You almost collapsed when his embrace got tighter.

"D-Daryl, honey, you have to get off so I can open the door."

"Mmm." He reluctantly let go of you and you shakily turned the key and opened the door.

"Can you make it from here?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, that answered my question." You chuckled and stepped inside.

"ya have such a nice smile. Makes me happy ta see it."

"Thank you. I'm almost upset you won't remember any of this. come on big guy, let's get you settled and in bed."

By pure luck, you somehow managed to conquer the stairs to the basement with Daryl in tow. You opened the door to his room and ushered him inside to sit him on the bed.

"Hold on, I'll be right back. Change your clothes while I'm gone." The thought of him naked briefly made its way across your mind, but you shook it off and focused on getting him something to drink and eat. You entered the kitchen and made a mental note of things you would need. First off, water. You grabbed a bottle from the fridge and set it down on the counter. Next you needed something easy on the stomach. Looking in the pantry, you spotted a pack of saltine crackers. Perfect! That's what you used to eat when you had the flu. If it could work for sick ass you, it could work for drunk ass Daryl. You figured he would need something for the inevitable headache. The medicine cabinet was just over the refrigerator, you remembered from when Abraham needed antacid and the only person who had some was Daryl. It was a struggle to reach, but ultimately a small hurdle to clear. You mentally patted yourself on the back for a successful and bountiful expedition, and headed back down the stairs. You knocked on the door and heard an affirmative grunt from the other side.

"Alright, I have some water for you, some food too. and ibuprofen for the headache. Don't drink too much, you're gonna be thirsty in the morning."

Looking over at him, you noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. Now, you knew Daryl had been through a lot during the end of the world, and most of it left scars. But some of the scars littering his torso looked old, really old. You deduced that these were most likely marks left by his father, and most of them looked like healing came rather hard. How could anyone do this to a child? Especially someone as sweet as daryl?

You realized he was looking at you, waiting for you to continue.

"I brought you some crackers too, Eat them in small amounts or you will regret it."

He stared at you as you walked towards his nightstand and placed the items there.

Months of watching you. Months of hearing your sweet voice. Months of watching your thighs peek out from your shorts, and Daryl had enough.

You were startled as you felt a rough force pulling you downwards and it took you a second to realize where you had landed. Daryl wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, His warm lips found their way to your neck.

"D-mm." Your words were interrupted by Daryl moving his hips upward. You could feel how hard he was and it made you cry out with pleasure. He was holding on to you with pure desperation, Every inch of your body felt like it was burning up.

He moved his lips away from your neck to speak, "I need ya', please Y/N. I need ya ta take me. Y-Ya can h-have me any way ya want. I need ta feel ya." He punctuated the sentence with a thrust upwards that left your head empty and your mouth unable to function. "I-I want ya so much, sunshine. Want ya ta hold me down an-...an`." His hips bucked up wildly and He let out a grunt as his hands left trails of fire down your shoulders and arms.

"Daryl, w-we can't."

He grunted in frustration and looked up at you with big, sad eyes.

"Why? You don't want ta? With me?"

His voice wavered on the last two words and you felt terrible, but he was under the influence and you were worried he didn't really want this. You just didn't want to take advantage of him...

"You're drunk Daryl. I don't want you to regret doing this," You motioned between the two of you, "With me. You might not even remember."

"S-so ya do want ta?"

You leaned down to place your lips on his forehead.

"More than anything."

You took his hands in yours and spoke.

"I'll tell you what, If you remember this in the morning and you still want it, you come find me."

You couldn't help but frown a little as he looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes full of sadness. You brought your finger up to his forehead and ran it over his brow bone, then down his cheek and on to his bottom lip. He kissed your fingertip and you smiled.

"Tomorrow, imma come find ya."

"I'll hold you to that, love."

Daryl sighed as you wiggled out of his lap, already missing the warmth of you against him. He flopped backwards on the bed and grabbed his pillow, shoving it under his head.

You padded your way back to the front door where you had left your heels and purse, all the while thinking about what just happened a few moments ago. Daryl fucking Dixon was kissing and begging for you to take him, and you felt him... All of him. You wanted nothing more than to rip off the layers of clothes that separated the two of you to feel him even more. Tonight's events got you thinking, what if Rosita was right? What if that night in the bunker, he was thinking about you?  You shouldn't get your hopes up, he was most likely just drunk and horny. You've never seen him show any sexual interest in anyone, so he was probably as pent up as could be and just relieving a little bit of the pressure. As unlikely as it was, you hoped he wanted you like you wanted him. His words were like fireworks in your mind, bright and explosive with sparks of color.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

After such a long night, your bed felt like a toasty marshmallow. Your feet were aching, your thoughts were racing, and your body was at its limit. You needed a day of rest and at least three ibuprofen, but a glass of milk and 6 hours of sleep would have to do.

Before heading to bed, you pulled out your leather bound journal and added your new pictures from that night to the pages of your choosing, along with descriptions of each. This was a new thing you started doing after the day you found the camera. You got a few of Glenn and Eugene talking about video games, one of Carl stuffing his face with cupcakes, which was definitely a keeper. Your fingers stopped when they reached the pictures you took of Daryl earlier, especially the one of him looking at you. You decided to keep them out of the book and put them in your nightstand, along with your camera, for safekeeping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Daryl noticed was the jackhammer someone let loose in his skull. The second thing Daryl noticed was the unbearable amount of light seeping through his basement window. Seriously, who gave the sun the right to be that fucking bright? He sat up and rubbed his eyes to try and rid himself of the mount Everest sized migraine, effectively making it worse. Great, a wonderful start to the day. He figured he might as well brush his teeth to get rid of alcohol breath. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A bottle of water, some pills that looked suspiciously like ibuprofen and... Were those crackers? No way he would have gotten these for himself, he's never done that before, just came straight home and passed out. which means someone brought him home. Someone very considerate.

He took the ibuprofen and washed it down with some water, then ate some crackers to settle the unease in his gut. He tried to desperately remember what the hell had happened last night. He got to the party with Rick and... drank. Ah, that explained the memory loss. He remembered you, and that dress. You took a picture of him, he remembered the camera lens pointing at him, but nothing else. He felt the gel Rick had lent him still stiff in his hair, which meant he had to wash it out. No way in hell he was taking another shower, so a quick wash in the sink would work good enough. He dipped his head down and turned the water on. If he saw Rick today, He made a mental note to hit him.

He lifted his head to stare into the mirror, and his hair was back to its normal self. Perfect! time for toothpaste. He thought about you and tried to recall if he even talked with you. After all, even though he would never admit it to Rick, he DID come to that party for you. He hoped he wasn't an asshole to you, he had a habit of being like that after enough to drink. He needed to figure out what happened, and he knew that someone at that party would have answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"yes?"

Rosita looked tired when she answered the door, eyes droopy and face turned down in a frown. Her face changed when she saw who was on her front stoop. "Well, if it isn't Romeo. Tell me, what can I do for you at 'way too early for this o' clock."

"Wha' happened a' Rick's dumb party last nigh'?"

"Straight to the point then." She motioned for Daryl to come inside, but he shook his head no.

"Jus' tell me."

"Other than you showing up looking like Al Capone? You drank a lot and Y/N... Took you home." Rosita gave him a suggestive look and if he was being honest with himself, he was shitting bricks. Did something happen with you last night? He would remember if you two... Wouldn't he? Of course he would, it was you, and you were unforgettable. His stomach was churning nonetheless though.

"Ya' didn't hear anythin' else?

"Well...''

"Jesus, jus' fuckin' tell me."

"Alright, Alright."

And she told him everything. She told him about the conversation she overheard on the porch, or at least the little portion of it she heard before she gave you two some privacy. She didn't have to say anything else though, Daryl started remembering a little. And then he remembered a lot. Then he remembered all of it. Everything.

He needed to find you.

He needed to find you NOW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The knocking on your door grew quicker and louder with each passing second. Who the fuck woke you up and what the fuck did they want. You swore on your mother's grave that if it was Rick, you were going to beat him with your slipper.

"Y/N, are ya home?"

You cut him off mid-knock by opening the door.

"Daryl, are you okay? Is someone hurt?"

The look on your face almost broke him in two before he remembered why he was there.

"Can I come in?"

You opened the door and made a mock butler stance, bowing your head and gesturing towards inside. He walked inside and shut the door behind him rather quickly.

"Jesus, somebody is antsy-"

He got close to you, close enough that you could smell the scent of that cologne still radiating off him in waves.

"Did ya mean it? please tell me ya meant it! tell me ya want ta and we- I-. 'Ve been thinkin' 'bout this forever. dreamin'."

You looked at him in confusion, studying his hopeful features. To be fair, you had just woken up and were not firing on all cylinders. You usually needed a cup of coffee and some food in order to even see correctly. Then it hit you.

oh.

That's what he was here for.

"Yes, I meant it." You DEFINITELY meant it. You wanted him more than anything.

"Good," Was all he said before attacking your lips with his in desperation, as if you would vanish when he stopped to take a breath. His lips were surprisingly soft and warm, like a fresh meal just waiting to be devoured. Your hands threaded through his messy hair, tugging just a little. He groaned and you pulled him down so his head was level with your mouth.

"Any way I want?" You asked, mimicking his words from the previous night.

You heard his breathing stop suddenly for a moment.

"A-any way ya want."

"Follow me, beautiful."

He obeyed and trailed after you, hand in hand, up the stairs towards your room. His nerves were starting to catch up to him and he wished he was as confident as drunk ass Daryl right now. What if you didn't want to be with him and you only wanted to satisfy an urge? This time he didn't let what Merle said, or even his own overthinking, get to him though. You wanted him, you really wanted him, and nothing else in the world mattered to him right now except that. Even if you only wanted him for pleasure, he could learn to live with it. As long as he got to be close to you. He told himself that multiple times as you led him down the hall, and the truth was, it was a lie. He wanted to be with you in every sense of the word. He wanted to wrap his arms around you at night, and confide in you about his worries, and take pictures of him, and put his hair in a fucking ponytails every day so he could see the smile that lit a campfire under his heart.

You opened the door to your room and led him inside. "Everybody crashed somewhere else for the night, so don't worry about being loud. Although, you really didn't seem to care when we were in your room." You shot him a sarcastic grin but stopped when you turned to look at him. He had an embarrassed aura about him and his eyes were diverted to the left. You put your arms around the back of his neck and spoke in a low, suggestive tone, "Your little noises made me so wet, sweetheart. Couldn't stop thinking about them all night."

His cock jumped a little at your words. He was growing in his jeans, and you seemed to take notice. You turned around in a brisk stride towards your bed, and swayed your hips with each step. Daryl was quick to follow as you sat down on the edge and beckoned him.

"Undress yourself for me, sexy."

He stood in stunned shock as he tried to process what you just said. Y-you wanted him to strip for you? He'd never done that before. Well, he had never done much of anything before actually. He wasn't technically a virgin, but just barely. Despite his nerves, he was aching at the thought of being on display for you, so he slowly shucked off his vest and started working at the top button of his sleeveless flannel. No matter how hard he wanted to be sexy and keep eye contact, his brain failed him and his eyes drifted down to focus on his hands. He managed to get two buttons undone before pausing.

You knew immediately what was wrong and you stood up to take his hands in yours.

"I-"

"It's alright Daryl, I uh- I already saw last night, remember? You don't have to continue if you don't want to. You can keep your shirt on, or we can stop if that's what you want. No pressure, all you have to do is tell me. But I want you to know that you are the most breath-taking man I have ever met, and nothing can ever change that."

You rubbed his hands with your thumbs and smiled up at him, trying to tell him how much he meant to you without uttering a single word. His eyes almost welled up in tears from the onslaught of emotions you made him feel. You dropped his hands and softly grabbed his chin, waiting for his answer.

He somehow mustered up the words in his chest and spoke, "I don't want ta stop. P-please."

His little beg went straight to your core. "Then don't," You said as you sat down and leaned back on your forearms.

With each button that came undone, more of his toned chest was exposed to the chilled air in your room. He looked up to see your expression as he reached the last button, your expression looked... hungry. No one had ever stared at him like that before. He weirdly liked it. He watched your eyes rake over his torso as he shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He was so hot right now, so completely turned on while he stood in front of you, as vulnerable as could be. 'Slow down ya dumbass...'f she wants a show 'en giver 'er a show,' He thought to himself as he reached for his belt. He got the buckle free and pushed his hips forward ever so slightly as he slowly pulled the belt out in one tug. He felt stupid for the attempt until he saw you rub your legs together the slightest bit in arousal. He pulled his jeans down over his hips and ass, making his erection slightly more visible to you, and he saw you lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth. That meant you liked what you saw, right?

Sensing his question in the air, you spoke, "You are doing so good Daryl, you look amazing for me. Such a god boy."

Your words spurred a sudden confidence and arousal through him. He turned his head to he side, shutting his eyes tightly as he hooked both his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers. He hissed as he dragged the boxers down his legs, making sure his cock was pushed down until the elastic caught on the rim of his sensitive head. He stayed there for a second, making sure you got a full view of his heaving chest and veiny shaft.

"Daryl. stop."

Fuck! Fuck! you didn't like it. You thought this was stupid and he was trying too hard. You decided you didn't want to do this with him-

"Can I take a picture of you? Like this?"

Y-you wanted a picture of him? Like this? T-to keep? God, his cock was throbbing at that thought and he couldn't form words right now, so he just weakly nodded his head.

"Don't move. you look perfect just like this." The praise was making his head weak and his skin glossy with sweat.

You reached into your nightstand and pulled out the camera which was, thankfully, pre-loaded with quite a bit of film. He watched you lift the camera to your eye and speak, "Look at that, so beautiful." You could see the effect your words were having on him. "Look at that sexy chest, and that thick shaft. I bet you are going to feel amazing buried inside me Daryl." He whined a bit and moved his head to the side, most likely to hide his embarrassed flush.

*click*

"Look at me, sweet boy."

He obeyed.

*click*

"F-fuck. Y-ya love takin' pictures, don't ya?" You could hear how horny he was by his speech, and it was really starting to get you going.

"How can I resist when you look so damn tempting. I'm gonna stare at these when I miss you and get myself off to he thought of your hands on me Daryl."

"Ahhhh," He moaned as he lowered the boxers enough to let his hard cock spring upwards and bounce a bit. He just needed relief, just a little relief. He was big, bigger than average, and you knew it.

"I want it in my mouth baby, only for a second, will you let me?" He nodded furiously and already walked towards where you sat on the bed.

" 'Ve never had s-someone- not with their-"

"I'll make it feel good for you sweetheart, I promise. Just enjoy the way it feels." You said as you brought a hand to his pink tip and lightly ran it over his slit.

"G- ahh." He started whimpering lightly.

"I've barely touched you yet angel, and you're already singing for me. Are you sure you can handle more?"

He nodded in response and you closed your hand around his length and started slowly stroking. His hips were shaking a little, this poor man was so pent up it wasn't even funny. You then leaned your head down a bit and opened your mouth to drop his tip on your tongue, and his knees started to wobble when you took him into your mouth fully. Your throat was like heaven around him, hot and wet and tight, so tight. You kept eye contact with him as you worked at his cock, smiling a little when you saw his head throw back in pleasure. Your tongue traced every vein on his girthy meat until you were satisfied you had memorized and mapped out every single one, and by the time you were done, Daryl was panting for air in between moans.

"Now, what was it you told me you wanted me to do? Hold you down and..?"

The sound of his dirty words leaving your lips was the most erotic thing he had ever heard.

"Come on, big guy, use your words."

"H-hold me down an- an f-fuck me 'ntill I can' T-take it." His words were failing him and he felt stupid for not being able to say a single dumb little sentence. He wanted nothing more than to be underneath you while you used him for your pleasure, as long as he got to touch you.

"Lay down then honey,” you said, pulling his arm towards you.

He still couldn’t believe what was happening, even though it was unfolding before his eyes. All the months spent telling himself hell would freeze over before you considered him an option, and here he was, laying on your bed waiting for you to have your way with him. He watched in awe as you started removing your shirt.

“Do you want to help?” You asked him and he nodded in response. “Words baby.”

“Y-yes.”

He went to put his hands on your stomach where your shirt ended, but stopped before he could touch you.

“Are you okay Daryl?”

The genuine concern in your voice toyed with his heart strings in the worst way possible, and he was reminded of how much he actually adored you. You were so caring, understanding, and thoughtful. How was he going to tell you he didn’t know what to do? How was he going to tell you he was nervous to touch you and mess up? Luckily, you spoke up.

"You're overthinking Daryl, I can practically hear the racing thoughts. tell me what's going on in there." You lift your pointer finger and tap at his forehead.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Daryl shakily spoke,

" 'v Jus' never done this before really with anyone and I-I jus' don' want ta mess this up because I r-remember tha' time at the prison when y-you and Rick were in the garden... t-talking 'bout your high-school days an' all the guys ya've... and..." His eyes lower from yours, and his voice softens to a whisper, "Ya' just have so much more e-experience 'an me when it comes to ta'... this."

Oh, that's what he's worried about?

You open your mouth slightly to begin your reassurance, to let him know it didn't matter to you and you want him no matter what, but he hurriedly started up again.

"I jus' want to make ya' feel good Y/N, I-I think about it all the time. when 'm alone a-at night, touching myself ta' the thought of ya'. the thought of bein' b-buried inside of ya'... I d-don't deserve ya'"

The fire that has been lit by Daryl is now burning with reckless abandon, only stroked by his breathless, heartfelt confession.

"Daryl, look at me."

His face doesn't move, still pointing towards the left of the room somewhere, obviously embarrassed.

"Look. at. me." You grab his chin softly, resting your thumb under his lip, and tilt his head towards you. When his eyes meet yours, your breath stops. You have never seen a man look more lost and full of need in your life, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

"Daryl Dixon, there is not another man that has, is, or ever will be on this planet that I will want more than I want you." You lean down to his ear and lower your voice, "There is no man I would rather have buried inside me, experienced or not."

He moans lightly, and you feel his cock twitch under you.

"T-tell me what ta' do Y/N. T-tell what ta' do ta' make ya' F-feel good an' I'll do it. Please. I'd do anything ta' please ya'."

"Fuck, Daryl, I can't handle it when you beg like that."

"D-do ya' like it when I beg?" He looks uncertain, and you reassure him with a soft kiss on his nose. The sweet and seemingly innocent gesture makes his face warm.

"Yes, very much. Take off my shirt for me."

He obeys, hands shaking, but only slightly. His gaze burns trails of heat up and down your abdomen as he reaches out a thumb and places it over your naval, rubbing at the skin softly. He looks up at you, assumedly for permission, which you hastily grant with a controlled nod. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Daryl's hands trail up your stomach and towards your back, moving ever closer to your bra clasps.

His fingers work at the little hooks for a few moments before he turns a whole new shade of red and drops his hands to your lower back in defeat.

"Need help?" You ask quizzically.

"Y-yes... please. 'm not sure how ta' yet."

You giggle a little bit but immediately stop when you hear him groan in frustration. Oh no, you hadn't meant to make him upset. He wasn't used to a little playfulness in between the sheets. You pull the clasps of your bra and slide it down your shoulders ever so slightly, you want to leave him the pleasure of removing the garment himself. You grab his hands and pull each of them up to the bra straps hung low on your shoulders. As he pulled the bra free from your chest with a muted gasp, his eyes widened in awe. You both stayed there a moment as he studied every hill and valley on your chest. His eyes met yours in a desperate yet silent plea.

"You can touch me Daryl, go on pretty boy."

The nickname makes him involuntarily move his hips in a wave of unexpected pleasure. You take note of this and decide to stow that information away for later. Led bravely by your words, he reached his palm up and cupped it over your right breast, testing the weight of it in his large, warm palm.

"Shit, 's so...soft," he grunted, experimentally pinching your stiff nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation shot electric currents through your nerve endings and earned him a short but sharp inhale of breath from your lips. His eyes widened in horror as his hands recoiled from your skin. "S-Shit Y/N, Fuck! 'm sorry, did I hurt ya'? I told ya' I weren't no good a' this-"

Sensing the panic in his voice you cut him off without letting him finish his ramblings. "NO! No! Daryl that felt great. do it again, please. Your hands feel amazing on me." You waste no time in pulling his hands back to your chest and using his fingers to pinch your nipple again. All reluctance vanished from his features when he heard you moan in pleasure and press your still very clothed core against his very naked cock.

"Fuck Daryl. Good job, Good boy."

His cock twitches once again and he knows you felt it for sure this time. He turned his head and buried the side of his face into the pillow beneath him.

"Oh you like that, don't you? Do you like being my good boy Daryl?"

No response. He just closes his eyes tightly.

"Talk to me, sweet thing. I like it when you're vocal, It's hot."

Upon hearing you liked it, he spoke up.

"Y-Yeah. I do like it. I like being-... I like being your good boy Y/N."

You don't think his face can get any redder and the blush is now appearing over his shoulders and chest, as if his system is so overloaded it doesn't know what exactly to do.

"Don't move, keep your face right there, angel."

When the bed shifts he becomes a little suspicious but doesn't dare move after you told him to stay. He wants to be good for you. He wants to be your good boy. Daryl doesn't have to guess what you are doing for long, as you return and he notices the outline of the camera in your grasp. Fuck, you want more pictures of him.

Why does that thought turn him on so much every time?

He lifts his hands to the side of his head, gently tugging at the pillow... posing for you. He'd pose any way you wanted him to just to make you happy. He'd let you take a million photos if that's what it took.

"Somebody's eager. Do you like being my model angel? You like having yourself on display all desperate and horny for me?"

"Yes. L-Love being under ya Y/N. Love b-being yours ta look at. Never thought ya'd W-want ta-... see me like this...T-Take all the pictures ya want. P-please. Never stop. Please never S-stop."

*click*

You wiggle your hips a bit against his erection and his mouth opens as his back arches off the bed. He whines as his chest lifts towards the sky.

*click*

"So pretty. you look so good in these pictures Daryl. I may just have to put one in my wallet to carry around."

You still liked to carry your wallet around from before the world went to shit. It makes you feel normal, like it's just another work day where you forget your keys and spill coffee in your lap. You could think of no better place for some of these photos than in your back pocket, tucked away in between the leather folds...

"Ya'd really do tha?" He looks surprised.

"Oh, absolutely. Now, what do you say about getting these sweatpants off of me?"

He offered no verbal response, just the hasty movement of his once nimble fingers, now clumsy as he fiddles with the knot on the drawstring of your pants. You internally laugh a little. You had witnessed Daryl's dexterous fingers build hundreds of arrows and carve a multitude of sticks. and yet here he was, fumbling with a simple knot that, quite frankly, wasn't very tight.

It made you beam with pride that you could reduce him to this.

"What was it like, your first time?" You inquired incredulously. You were filled with curiosity as you remembered his flustered statement from earlier.

After finally loosening the knot from your pants, and resting his hands on your hips, he answered, "was alright I guess." His expression became sheepish and you knew he was being stingy with details on purpose.

"You don't have to talk about it, But I'm not not going to judge you."

He contemplated for a split second.

'welp, here goes'

"Must'a been 'bout sixteen 'n Merle, He t-took me ta some druggie's house. Druggie's sister was a' least five years older 'n me. She did some... Work on the side. Merle thought it'd be good for me, "It'll make ya a man," 's what he said. S-she-"

He paused for a second, looking up to you for what you assumed was reassurance. You had never seen him look so vulnerable. You placed your hand on his chest, just under his left collar bone. He breathed a bit and continued.

"She took me ta one of the spare rooms an' I told her I'd never done anythin' like tha' before. She told me it wouldn' be an issue and we continued... I- uh, I didn' even finish. She never breathed a word ta Merle and 'm thankful for it."

He looked uncomfortable, and you felt terrible for him. You were the first person to admit that your first time wasn't the best, when you impulsively slept with your lab partner in sophomore year and faked an orgasm to get out of there, but this was definitely worse.

"And you never tried again?"

"N-nah... never wanted ta... 'till now," He replied with a wavering tone.

At least you've had some good experiences. He hasn't had any, and that thought just made you want to give him some.

"So you've never cum inside someone before?"

He weakly shook his head.

"Well then, we'll have to fix that then, won't we pretty boy? Now, I know for a fact you can cum..." You leaned down to his ear and whispered, "especially on pillows." You felt him stiffen below you.

"Fuck! Y-ya saw tha'?"

"I saw it and heard it, sweet thing, made me so horny. I just had to touch myself that night." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk roll of your hips that Daryl mewled at. "What were you thinking about?"

"Y-you."

Your suspicions were confirmed, and it gave you a rush of confidence.

"What were you thinking about me?" You wanted to hear him stumble over his words. you wanted to hear his shameful, dirty thoughts formulate on his tongue.

"Jesus fucking s-shit y/n. I was thinking about you and how ya sound 'n s-smell. I- fuck I love tha way ya smell c-couldn't help myself from..."

Your ears perked up, "from?

He tried to look away from you, but you wouldn't let him. Raising an eyebrow, you offer him a silent challenge to defy you.

His mind was racing now, afraid you might be disgusted with his confession. He needed to learn how to keep his big fat mouth shut. He just couldn't help himself though, he wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you anything you wanted to know about him. He would do anything for you.

He would do anything for you...

He loved you.

In the next few microseconds, Daryl moved that word around in his head over and over again. It felt so right. Like the word had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time, just waiting to be spoken.

He figured now wasn't the best time to tell you though. Instead, he quieted his self deprecating thoughts and opened his now red, plush lips to answer you. He wouldn't let Merle's voice fill his head when he had your sweet one to do it instead.

A sudden wave of confidence rolled over him in ripples.

"Your shirt.  Tha' green flannel tha' hugs yer chest like it was made for ya. had it pressed up against m-my face so I could smell ya all around me when I finished. Imagined if ya thought of me when ya t-touched yerself too. Wondered if maybe ya... used tha' picture ya took of me for... other things."

The smile on your face could be considered sinister from an outside perspective. "You have no fucking IDEA how hot that is Daryl. No idea at all. Jesus, Fuck, that just made me so wet. I think about you all the time when I pleasure myself, does that make you happy? Does it turn you on that I did look at that picture of you when I had three fingers stuffed inside myself to mimic two of yours?" You punctuated that sentence with a cock of your eyebrow.

Your voice almost sounded mocking.

It made your words even more erotic to him.

That was the single most arousing thing he had ever heard with his own ears. He didn't know if it was because of the current sexual context, or if it was just because they came from you.

He decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You were overwhelming him and he loved every single second of it. All he smelled was you. All he saw was you. All he heard was your voice and your breathing. Everything was you. Just you. You. You. You. He needed to have you with every fiber of his being. He needed to be surrounded by you even more.

"Fuck me Y/N please. please please pleasepleaseplease. Can't- Can't stand not being inside ya anymore." He whined out the whole thing and it was almost incomprehensible.

"Whatever my good boy wants."

And with that, you put your hands on his and guided them back to the elastic at your waistline. Something about his hands in yours felt absolutely perfect, like they were made for it. That idea mixed with the feeling of his rough fingers brought a familiar swell in your chest that you often felt when you were in Daryl's presence. However, this time it was much stronger and much more warming. You wondered if it was because of the sexual contact or if it was just because of him.

You decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You lifted your hips for his for a moment so Daryl could remove your sweatpants from the upper part of your waistline more easily. You pulled them the rest of the way down and removed them completely, along with your red silk panties.

Daryl's brain short circuited when your bare ass and pussy sat down just above his throbbing cock. He could feel your wetness leaking onto his stomach and the thought of tasting it crossed his mind. 'Later' he said to himself. He'd pleasure you with his mouth later if you would let him. And even though he had never eaten a girl out before, he would damn sure make up for it with enthusiasm to do so.

You looked at the soft panties in your hand and then back to Daryl, who had his eyes fixated on where your sex met his skin. He was so deep in thought he didn't even notice what you were doing right now. You could practically read his mind at this point, so you called out to him and held out your soaked panties towards his face.

"Go ahead baby. I know you want to."

He wasted no time in bringing the garment to his nose and giving a big, unashamed whiff... Then brought them to his tongue and licked a long strip of the crotch while keeping eye contact. The look on his face was like a starved man being fed a feast for four. His eyes darkened and he let out a moan of pure satisfaction before tossing them to join the other discarded clothes in the room.

You reached over to the drawer in your nightstand and pulled out a condom that you guessed was his size. Taking the wrapper between your teeth, you ripped the foil in half and pulled the condom out.

A memory from highschool flashed behind your eyes and you got a wicked idea. You made an "O" shape with your lips and suctioned the condom on them. You lowered your head to his cock and started slowly rolling the condom down the head and over the shaft, using your tongue as assistance.

You guessed by the little throb that pulsed inside your mouth that he liked it.

"Fuckin' Fuck!"

You giggled, "So eloquent."

"S-Shut up."

A Little amused sigh was shared between both of you.

This moment was so perfect, and it was about to get even better.

"Are you ready?" You asked genuinely, even though you knew the answer. You just wanted to make sure.

"Jesus Fuckin' Christ yes Y/N. F-fuck me already."

That definitely sounded like consent to you.

You gripped his shaft lightly as you positioned your hips over his in a kneeling stance, the head of his cock just barely beneath your entrance. Without warning, you started sinking him into your warm, wet heat.

Two things happened at that moment. You were overcome with pleasure and nearly collapsed all the way on top of him due to your wobbling knees, and Daryl let out a moan that could only be described as pure fucking bliss. If you were feeling pleasure, he must have been feeling heaven given the sheer volume and force the noise from his lips possessed. You didn't know if Daryl's neighbors could hear him right now, and quite frankly? You didn't give a single fuck. You wanted everyone in this whole godforsaken community to hear how good Daryl was feeling. How good you made him feel. You wanted that asshole Rick and Rosita to know that they got their wish and you were both enjoying every second of it. This spurred you even more, and despite your knees protest, you sunk down on him even slower to prolong the moment. Your eyes rolled back and you whimpered deeply as his meaty dick hit bottom and stretched you out sinfully. As soon as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, His moans turned to whines.

As his body fought for control over itself, he shivered and his hands became restless. At that moment he decided, somewhere deep down in his subconscious, that he was going to spend every second he had buried inside your wet, tight cunt. He was never going to waste another second without the feeling of you around him, whether it be your arms or your sweet pussy. The rest of his days were going to be spent with you. Of course, he didn't voice any of these thoughts. His mouth was too busy telling you how good you made him feel, even if it wasn't with words. He managed to open his eyes only to meet your piercing gaze, full of what appeared to be admiration. And if he wasn't buried inside of you, he could probably cry at your sincerity. He realized you actually cared. He realized you wanted him to enjoy himself. His whole life, no one had ever looked at him like that before you, like he was something to care for. After a moment, Daryl realized you were also searching his face for any signs of discomfort, and his heart melted at the sentiment. He gave you a slight nod and a soft, somewhat awkward smile.

A smile looked foreign on his face, given that he always seemed to be annoyed at one thing or the other. His frown was well known and well joked about between you and the other members of the group, especially Carol. You have very rarely seen even a ghost of a smirk flash across his face. While it was strange to see the happy expression on the mostly angry man, it was not unwelcome. A smile suited him, and you were determined to see it more often.

Agonizingly slowly, you lifted your hips and dropped them back down, the feeling it left resembled fire on your trembling walls. Daryl was laying back with a blissed-out look on his face like a man high on the most exquisite drug money could buy. That's what you felt like to him, a drug, Intoxicating to the point of suffocation, and he could overdose on you at any second. You altered his senses in the best ways possible until he couldn't form a single cohesive thought. Every movement of your insides that was awarded to him sent a jolt of electricity and pleasure up his spine, and he knew his right hand could never compare to this. With every passing second he spent buried inside you, he knew exactly how much you had ruined him.

Nothing could ever make him want it any other way.

You had never felt like this before with anyone.

No man had ever made you feel as empowered as Daryl was right now. Sex with most guys you knew just consisted of them trying to take what they needed from you, and then making up some lame excuse to leave. It always felt like a task for you, leaving you unsatisfied. Daryl was different in every way possible, he gave you everything. At this moment, he bared his entire soul to you, every vulnerability and insecurity on display, a sign of his complete trust. Even though he was a bit out of it, he still ran his hand up and down your back and chest, delicately pinching and caressing your breasts with fervor.

This was more than just sex to you, and it was more than just sex to him. The rhythm, the matching movements, the energy that was radiating in the air, all of it formed itself into the most delicately perfect dance, a waltz of two lovers. You couldn't imagine a better dance partner.  Daryl was a masterpiece to you, an awe-striking painting that was made with billions of perfect brush strokes and a quality of paint that only true master artists possessed. He deserved to be admired. He deserved to be recognized. You wanted to paint murals of him and write songs about him, you wanted to capture his every expression in photos and fill the empty spaces of your existence with them. You wanted to be full of him in every way you could be because the laws of imperfection didn't apply to him in your eyes.

You mustered the strength in your arms to pick the camera back up from where it was resting, and bring it to your eye. You wanted to remember this moment forever, and you were going to snap as many photos as it would take for that to happen.

*click*

Daryl whimpered and bucked his hips.

Before you could realize what was happening, Daryl had a surge of coherence and used it to flip you over, keeping up the pace without a hiccup. You were surprised at how fluidly he managed the motion like he had done it a thousand times, even though you know he hadn't. You would be proud if you could muster up a thought that wasn't laced with lust and wanting, however, the rhythm of his snapping hips wouldn't allow that at the moment.

You opened your eyes to take in the sight above you, the camera still in hand. This gorgeous man's woodland brown hair was hanging from his head and swaying in the air with every thrust, and his eyes were strained shut with concentration. There was just enough space between you for you to bring the camera in front of you comfortably and snap a quick picture. His strong shoulders and forearms were flexing deliciously as he held himself above you, and the camera flash made the sweat on them sheen like he was glowing.

That one was going to look great later when you could focus.

You dropped the camera to your side and reached out your hands and placed them on his face, rubbing them over his brow bone and cupping his cheeks in your fingers. His facial tension dissipated the moment your skin came into contact with his, and he opened his eyes to greet the image below him.

"It's okay to go slow, my love. There's no rush. Just feel it. Just feel me." You stated in a husky, almost whispered voice.

He exhaled in response, and the sheer length of the breath served as a reminder of how much smaller than him you actually were.

"Wan' ya to feel good." He informed you, sounding mildly timid, yet still as confident as ever. He smirked at you and punctuated his sentence with a rather cocky roll of his hips that momentarily left you breathless.

"I feel fucking fantastic," you sighed, "I feel like you are wrapped around every piece of Me Daryl. I can feel you in my nerve endings, I can sense you in my lungs. Please don't stop. You make me feel like I am dying in the best way possible." You meant every word and so much more.

Daryl's expression changed from confident to loving in an instant, and he experimentally rolled his hips slower and softer, studying the movement of your face. He spent so long with his eyes shut from the pleasure that he barely got to see what you looked like when he buried himself inside you, and he could kick himself for wasting that time. You looked like a dream with your eyes fixed on his, that pure sexual expression painted on your features. Your hair spread itself out over your charcoal gray pillows and sheets like you were floating in a pool of water. He took notice of how your breasts were warm and sweet like softened butter, the small amount of light in the room cast shadows that contoured your figure perfectly. You looked like a goddess below him, chest heaving and long, feminine lashes blinking. Somewhere along the way, the comforter had been discarded from the bed to the floor, and the sheets had become rustled. They shaped themselves around the outline of you like a renaissance painting of a noble queen, the kind that would have men bowing at her feet.

It was his turn to take a picture.

Daryl leaned back on the balls of his feet and grabbed your thighs so he could pull your hips to meet his once again, letting his touch linger for a moment or two before grabbing that camera that you loved so damn much and charging the flash.

"Stay still." You hear him grumble out under his breath.

You gave him your best sexy pout and felt his cock jump a little inside you.

"F-Fuck," You heard him grunt out once again, "Fuck, you are so- such a-." He pulled the photo from the camera and studied it, shuddering out a breath as you clenched around him slightly. "B-Beautiful."

He dropped the camera down somewhere gently, and honestly, you couldn't care less about the fucking thing right now. All you wanted was to feel him moving inside you again. You didn't have to wait long, because he was back on top of you again in an instant, but this time it was different.

Daryl lowered himself onto his forearms and knees, making sure to bury his head in your neck and hair, keeping his chest connected to yours to the point where you could feel his heartbeat. He wanted to be able to smell your scent all around him when he finished, just like he did with your shirt in that bunker. He wanted to be surrounded by you as much as possible. He wanted to be totally overwhelmed by you. This new position allowed him access to places you didn't know someone could reach, and his moans and whines were bringing you ever closer to your end.

"Close." You struggled the words out, both a warning and a promise.

"Tell me. T-tell me where yer-." He was interrupted by an involuntary moan escaping from his throat, "Tell me where ta T-touch you. Want to help ya. Please I-I'll be good. Promise. Please please please," He trailed off.

He definitely knew how to get what he wanted.

You grabbed his hand and guided it slowly between your legs until the rough pads of his fingers found your clit and you cried out. He began carefully rubbing circles over that spot as he picked up the pace. This was absolutely devastating for you, the feeling of his fingers and his cock working in perfect tandem had you practically crying for him. Daryl's moans were becoming needier by the second. Every time he pressed down on your clit, you clenched around him tighter. You felt like wet velvet. Wet, hot velvet.

"P-Please cum fer me Y/N, want ta know 'M makin' ya feel good. 'M so c-close fer ya. Please let me feel ya cum 'round me." His voice was almost unrecognizable, filled with need. And it sent you over the edge.

Your legs wrapped around his lower back, and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, leaving streaks of red in their path. The wave of your orgasm came crashing down around you, clouding all of your senses and making your vision go white. All you could feel is pure pleasure, and Daryl's hair in your fists. He wasn't too far behind.

Your legs constricted around him like a snake ready to strike, but if this is what being poisoned felt like, then he would gladly die right here, like this. The only pain he had ever felt was filled with hate and malice, but as your fingernails raked down his back, the fire he felt made him dizzy. The pleasurable pain spurred him on even more. Your scent surrounded him as he desperately pressed open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach on your neck and jaw before he felt your sweet pussy pulse around him. The final straw was the feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair, and the coil inside his stomach snapped. He came in thick, hot spurts that forced a small scream from his throat as he humped into you needily. He melded completely into you, and you were so close at that moment, that you didn't even feel like two people, you felt like one.

The scene looked like something out of a movie. The sheets were misplaced and wrinkled, and clothes littered the floor, thrown off in the throes of passion. Countless polaroid pictures were spread out around the bed, surrounding you and Daryl, the camera long forgotten on the floor. You both came down from your high breathing heavily, slick skin now comfortable and chilled in contrast to how feverish you both were a moment ago.

And you just lay there, reveling in each other, in the feeling of one another's presence. Your skin vibrated with the feeling of your afterglow, and you both silently agreed to spend a few moments relaxing.

....

You felt him slowly gain control of his limbs and leave some soft kisses behind your ear. If anyone told you that Daryl fucking Dixon would be so soft and emotional after sex, you would have called them crazy. But right now, as he starts to trail the kisses up your jaw and cheek, making his way to your lips, you would believe anything. When his lips finally do meet yours, it's the sweetest kiss you think you could ever receive. He's so gentle and you can tell that he poured everything he was feeling into it, that way you could feel it too.

The silence was broken by him pulling out of you slowly, and you shuddered at just how empty you felt without him. You both groaned when he left you, and he noticed how you shivered.

"Are ya cold?." He asked, and he looked genuinely concerned.

The sentiment warmed your heart.

"I-," You went to speak but he cut you off.

"Cuz I can get ya a blanket, er I could turn up the heat. Here." With that, he lifted himself off the bed in search of the comforter, covering you with it when he found it.

"Thank you, Daryl, bu-."

"Or I can get ya some food if yer hungry, sumthin ta drink?"

"No no, I'm good baby. I really appreciate it, I do. but jus' want you to come lay with me. please? Hold me? If you want to, that is." You slurred out the words due to exhaustion

"Y-yeah alrigh'."

He went to take off the condom, probably to tie it off and dispose of it, but you couldn't have that. You've been dying to know what he tasted like for way too long.

"No, stop. Let me." You demanded as you sat up, the comforter falling to your lap. "Come here, please."

He complied, walking to the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You reached out and grabbed the tip of the rubber, working it off of his softened shaft slowly.

"Ya better hurry up, or imma get hard again real soon.''

The condom came off and you held it by the top as you opened your mouth, making sure to keep heavy eye contact with Daryl. His cum flowed out of the condom in thick, creamy globs, landing on your tongue in a sizable puddle.

"Fuuucck girl, yer gonna fuckin' kill me," Daryl spoke in his delicious southern drawl.

You fully expected him to stand there and watch you until the condom was empty, but instead, he grabbed your face and pressed your warm lips to his. This utters a noise of surprise from you until you feel his tongue enter your mouth and mingle with yours.

Oh, he wanted to taste himself with you.

That was bringing some familiar feelings bubbling up in your stomach.

You returned the kiss with equal amounts of passion and an eager tongue. The kiss left you both breathless as Daryl pulled away and you drug him down to bed with you. You both laughed lightly when he landed on top of you with an 'oof'. He rolled over on his back and looked at you, waiting for you to cuddle up next to him like you promised you would.

Eventually, you got the hint and made your way under his arm, laying your head on his chest.

Even though Daryl hadn't really cuddled before, it felt natural with you, like breathing. His mind wandered a bit, wondering if you enjoyed your time with him. 'Of course she did, you retard, she was screaming underneath you a few minutes ago.' At least his internal voice was actually helpful for once. He couldn't help but wonder though... Thankfully, he didn't have to.

"I can see your mind moving, sweetheart. Ask what you want to ask."

He was really thankful you could read his mind sometimes.

"Did- Did ya... Enjoy urself?" His reluctance was obvious.

He sounded small when he spoke. You didn't like it.

"Daryl Dixon, I want you to listen to me very closely. That was the best sex I have ever had. You are the best man I have ever been with, and I would definitely like to do it again. With you. In my bed. Or maybe yours. Possibly your new recliner. Your workbench. Maybe against the bike..."

"Alright, Alright. I get it," He let out a low chuckle, his mind put at ease.

The room was silent for a little while as you just enjoyed the silence that was so rare in a world filled with the shambling dead.

...

...

"So the bike, huh?" Daryl asked, laced with humor.

You looked up and met his gaze, smiling deviously.

"If you like that, you would love some of my other ideas."

His interest peaked. "hmm? Tell me all 'bout 'em."

You both chuckled.

"Well, I've seen you flipping that combat knife around..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtain-covered window, it danced across the hardwood floor smoothly. Right away you noticed three things. First, Daryl isn't next to you, which made you feel a bit sad at first. Second, You smelled something absolutely delicious, and you wanted to track down the source of the scent. You noticed the third thing as you were searching for your clothes, Daryl's shirt draped across the nightstand by the bed, which meant he was probably still there. You put it on, along with your discarded sweats from the previous night, and made your way downstairs. The smell got stronger and stronger until you entered the kitchen, the source of the odor. And there he was, standing in front of the stove in a pair of pants and no shirt. Suddenly, the smell wasn't the only thing that was delicious.

Daryl was dishing out pancakes when you walked in, a plate of bacon, and a cup of black coffee sitting next to him. He noticed you immediately and smiled softly. You walked up behind him while he was pouring more coffee from the pot into a second mug, and wrapped your arms around his torso. You noticed the scratches you left on him from the night before, and leaned your cheek on his back, feeling a sense of pride.

"What's all this?" You feigned ignorance.

"'S breakfast. for us." He looked very proud of himself.

If he got any sweeter, you don't think you could handle it.

"This looks delicious, Daryl. You did an amazing job," And you meant it, "You Look pretty damn delicious too."

He chuckled and you could feel his shoulders shake with the action.

"Tell ya what, finish yer greens, and ya can have dessert.'' The last word was a little heavier than the rest of the sentence, and you understood the implications. Who knew Daryl Dixon was so playful?

Having you in such close proximity was driving him wild all over again. He had never been touched so much by someone in such a short amount of time, and feeling your warm skin on his in a domestic environment was making him hotter by the second. He peeked over his shoulder to look at you and when your eyes made contact, he felt that electric spark all over again. You were a sweet little thing, pressing your lips softly against his back and touching his chest like this. He could feel the love radiating between you two, and it was laced with a barely tamed lust.

Were you wearing his shirt?

He might just have to fulfill the promise he made to himself the night before, and get a taste of you for breakfast instead.

How would he even initiate that though? He didn't really know what to do exactly because he was still new to this, but he did know that he wanted his tongue buried inside your moist heat until he couldn't feel it anymore. Do you even like that sort of thing? Would you want that from him?  No. No, he wasn't going to let himself overthink this. You liked eager, right? Well, then he was going to be eager for you. He decided that what he lacked in experience when it came to this, he was going to make up for in his desire to make you feel good.

"Daryl, are you ready to eat?"

"Hell yes, I am." He replied to you under his breath.

"What was that bab- Ooh!" The wind was taken from your lungs in surprise as he swiftly turned around, picked you up by your thighs, and set you down on a nearby countertop. The shock factor soon wore off and faded into excited giggles.

"The food is going to get cold," You whined as his palm covered your sex, catching you off guard again.

His mouth came to your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath tickle the skin there.

"Food feels warm ta me." He really hoped you would find this sexy and not stupid. Just in case, he made sure to deepen the tone of his voice just a bit.

You found it very sexy.

He pulled away and made direct eye contact.

Was he really serious about this? Did he actually want to put his mouth on you, or was he playing around? You wondered that for a moment, his eyes bore into you like a needle in some fabric.

And then he slowly sank to his knees...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Still keeping that intense eye contact, Daryl moved forward on his knees and pulled you to the edge of the counter by your thighs, then started working on the drawstring of your sweatpants.

You had to admit, your brain was short-circuiting a little. Was this really about to happen, or were you dreaming that Daryl Dixon was pulling your pants down from the ankles? The latter was very likely, considering you had dreamed about scenarios like this before, In this kitchen, With him. And he was about to make that dream come true, whether he knew it or not.

He made quick work of discarding your sweats, and you were thankful you had decided to forgo wearing panties today. The shaky nervousness from the previous night had obviously dissipated, and you were definitely glad for it. His gaze had moved from your face down to your cunt, greedily taking in the sight of you, almost as if he was memorizing everything perfectly. You were practically soaked already, and he felt a wave of pride wash over him.

At least he knew you liked this so far.

You grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his eyes up to look at yours. The feeling of your fingers yanking the roots of his hair was something he could get used to.

"Please Y/N, please let me eat ya out. Ya like when I beg right? 'll be good. Promise. Please? Been dreamin' 'bout how ya taste fer a long time. P-Please use me, use my face, pretty girl."

His admission made you gush. You gripped his hair tighter.

Your tone dropped lower, and your eyes became lustful.

"Open your mouth," You commanded, and he obeyed.

You pushed your hips out, presenting yourself like a five-course meal just waiting to be devoured, and pulled his head forward until his now outstretched tongue rested against your folds. You moaned softly, eyes rolling in the back of your head. His mouth was devilish, lapping up your juices like they were the best thing he had ever tasted. To him, they were.

Daryl was feeling beyond amazing, you had the most exquisite flavor he could imagine, nothing could compare. He sped up his tongue, licking from the bottom of your sweetness, all the way to the top, then flattening over your clit. Your noises got louder, and your fingers pulled him closer by his hair. You chased your pleasure by jutting out your hips, practically grinding yourself on his face. He lifted your legs over his shoulders to give you a better angle on him, to make himself more accessible to use. Every sound you uttered made him swell with even more pride, letting him know he was touching you like you needed. He pushed his tongue inside of you, wiggling it around slowly in experimentation. He noticed you gripped his hair more when he angled it up, so that's what he did. Your thighs sandwiched his head in their pillowy warmth, and it was his turn to groan, although it was muffled by the flesh of your sex. He knew what Merle meant now about eating pussy, This was fucking fantastic.

You fed off of each other's noises and touches, each becoming more eager every time. You were getting close, and Daryl could feel it in how hard your thighs clenched around his head with every movement of his tongue. It was now or never.

Daryl brought his fingers to your entrance and moved his tongue to your clit, slipping two of them inside and curling them upwards slightly like he did before. It was like he had pressed a button when he stroked that spot inside of you, and it made you see stars. Your orgasm hit you so powerfully that you almost went limp when the first wave hit. You spasmed around Daryl's fingers like you had never cum before, your vision went white momentarily and you felt something else coming from inside of you. His fingers continued their motions inside of you, coaxing you through your release. You felt yourself getting wetter, Impossibly so.

Oh shit. Did you just-?

Looking down after you gained control confirmed what you suspected.

"Fuckfuck, Y/N. Wha' the fuck was tha'?" Daryl looked mesmerized, staring down at his now-soaked arm and chest, glistening in the kitchen light.

You were still a little light-headed, so your response was staggered.

"That was-... It's called squirting. It- It happens when a woman gets really aroused." You were still a little out of breath, so all you could do was lightly run your fingers through Daryl's hair, massaging his scalp with your nails. "It means you did a very good job." You closed your eyes for a second and spoke again, "Sorry for not warning you."

...

Daryl's lack of response mildly concerned you until you looked down and he was staring at his hand in what looked like awe. His hand moved closer to his mouth and he was... tasting it? He was sucking on his fingers like his life depended on it, taking as much of your juices in as he could.

"Mmm, fuck. Ya taste better 'n ice cream," He spoke, his words muffled by his fingers.

You responded with an amused chuckle, pulling him back up to stand in between your legs. Deciding it was your turn to taste yourself in his mouth, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, tongues mingling affectionately.

"We should probably clean up a little and eat," You suggested, remembering the food that was probably ice cold by now.

Daryl offered a satisfied grunt and kissed you quickly before wandering off to look for a towel.

You couldn't be happier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The food was, in fact, ice cold by the time you got around to it. However, considering the fact that your legs wobbled a bit when you walked, you couldn't care less about how warm breakfast was. You would do it all over again.

You both talked about what the plans were for this week. Runs, weapons training, and the box of motorcycle parts Daryl found a few days ago in an old auto body shop. Somewhere during the conversation, you realized just how domestic this was, like you two were a married couple spending the morning together.

You liked it.

You loved it.

You loved him.

You both made it about halfway through your meal before you were ever so rudely interrupted by a slight knock at the front door. With an annoyed sigh, you padded your way there across the hardwood floor and unlocked the knob while twisting it. When you opened the door, Rick was standing on the porch, hands resting by his sides.

Rick took notice of your choice of clothing, specifically Daryl's shirt. He decided to play dumb anyway. He knew damn well that Daryl went to see you after he talked to Rosita because Rosita told him so.

"Can I help you with something, Rick?" You sounded mildly annoyed, which made him smile a bit.

"Have you seen Daryl 'round? 've been lookin' for 'im. Wonderin' if he maybe went out without tellin' someone again."

Before you could answer, you felt the presence of warm hands on your sides and a chin resting on your head.

"Ya found me," Daryl sounded annoyed too, "Ya need sum?"

You melted into Daryl's touch a little and cocked a questioning eyebrow at Rick. You could tell that Daryl's PDA put him off track for a second or two before that shitty grin of his returned even stronger. God, you wanted to punch him.

"I was jus' lookin' for you so we could go over the plans for the supply run in a few days," His words were filled with smarm, "But it can wait for later."

Daryl spoke before you had the chance to.

"Good, See ya later," Daryl closed the door before Rick could spout more bullshit, pulling you closer to him and sniffing your hair.

Who was this affectionate man and what had he done with the hardass you knew?

You both could hear Rick laughing as he walked off the porch, and Daryl groaned into your neck.

"'M gonna beat 'is ass later. can' believe he talked me inta goin' ta tha' damn party."

You laughed a little. "As much as I hate to say it, you should probably be thanking him. I mean. some good definitely came of it."

"Oh my god, you're right," He spoke sarcastically, fake shock playing in the undertones of his voice.

You stood there for a minute, laughing in his arms and reveling in the attention he was giving you. You had never seen him like this, so happy and loving, He seemed like a completely different person right now. Somewhere deep down, you knew this side of him would be reserved for only you, and it made the moment all the more special to you.

In truth, Daryl had never felt like this before. Of course, he felt love towards the group, but it was a familial kind of love, This was different somehow. He wanted to be your partner, your best friend, and your backup in dangerous situations. He wanted to patch up your cuts, share a beer with you, and protect you when you needed it. But most of all, he wanted to give you everything you could ever want from him. Whether that was a life of fighting and hunting or a white picket fence with a few kids, It didn't matter to him as long as it was with you.

Daryl picked you up by your legs, still giggling, and carried you deeper into the house to spend as much time as he could with you before you both had to face the life that waited for you both outside.

Neither you nor Daryl would have ever guessed that the dead would rise up and bring the apocalypse,

Neither of you ever thought you would find a family from a group along the way,

And neither of you ever guessed you would find love in a world where it was lacking.

And honestly?

Neither of you would want it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That was a genius idea, I have to admit," Rick spoke with playful admiration.

"I told you it would work, that girl has a serious thing for formal wear... and for Daryl," Rosita stated with a hint of smarm in her voice.

Rosita, tired of her best friend's shit, came to Rick a few weeks ago and they devised a plan. Rick's job was to throw a bullshit party for the newcomers and get Daryl to shower and wear normal clothes, Which Rosita knew would be easy once he mentioned you, then all they had to do was push you two towards each other all night. The outcome of that evening may not have been what they expected, but regardless, the result was still the same. At least now Rick didn't have to witness Daryl pine for you from afar, and Rosita didn't have to deal with you talking about him all the time and never doing anything. And what better entertainment was there than matchmaking during the end of the world. 

Rick, who had placed a bet that Rosita's plan wouldn't work, pulled out her winnings from his jacket pocket, placing the chocolate bar in her hand, which she received with a smug smile. He really thought it would take Daryl a bit longer to lock this down, but this is what he gets for doubting his brother, and Rosita's matchmaking skills.

"As promised," He uttered in his southern drawl. "A bet well won."

"Thank youuuu Grimes," Rosita remarked sarcastically while tearing open the wrapper.

A few short seconds of comfortable silence passed before Rick spoke up with a genuine smile instead of his usual grin.

"It's nice to see them happy, they deserve it."

Rosita finished chewing her mouthful and swallowed to reply.

"Yeah. they do.... and so do you."

"Oh no, I know where this is going." If Rosita brought up Michonne one more time, he swore to God.

"Soooooo.... Michonne?"

"Goodbye Rosita." Rick had enough of this.

"Aww, c'mon! hear me out! So, she has been complaining about the lack of toothpaste, and I was thinking..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N

sorry this took so long to write, School sucks, and yadda yadda. To be honest, I just lost the motivation to write for a long time. I have shit grammar and my spelling is a hit or miss. English is IN FACT my first language, although you wouldn't be able to tell that from my writing. No amount of Grammarly can help me at this point, Fuck formatting anyway. No beta, we die like the show's ratings after season 7. Please enjoy and be sure to point out any mistakes in the comments so I can fix them.