#so we will need to continue to push for that

[coriihanniee]

TELL ME, WILL WE SURVIVE? ⋆˚࿔

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you're the 4th member of Huntrix, tasked to eliminate the Saja Boys, five powerful demons disguised as idols. However, encountering them face to face brings an achingly familiar pain to your chest.

۶ৎ PAIRING : reincarnated 4th member huntrix!reader x saja boys ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : romance, reincarnation, angst ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of death, use of weapons, slight emotional manipulation, sexy hot fictional men

۶ৎ A/N : asked if I should write this fic with a poll and 434 votes is crazy... so here it is! This will probably be my only kpdh fic 🥹 I hope this satisfies you~ It was tough to come up what to write apart from Jinu's considering the fact we don't have more information about the others T^T

The tension in the Huntrix dorm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I still can't believe it," Zoey muttered, pacing back and forth across the living room while clutching her notebook. "A new boy group that just debuted... and they're actual demons."

Mira sat cross-legged on the floor. Her usually perfect hair was tied back in a messy bun. "The way everyone was completely fascinated by them..." She shuddered. "Like they couldn't look away or think of anything else."

"Five guys who came out of nowhere and had everyone mesmerized on their very first performance," Rumi said grimly, her voice still hoarse from the throat issues that had sent them to the doctor in the first place. "That's not normal idol talent, that's demonic influence."

You looked up from lacing your combat boots, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. While your three groupmates had discovered the Saja Boys' true nature during their trip to the clinic, you'd been stuck in back-to-back variety show recordings. Part of you felt guilty for missing such a crucial moment, but another part was almost grateful. Something about facing demons, especially these particular demons, made your chest tight with an emotion you couldn't name.

"So what's the plan?" you asked, trying to push away the odd nervousness in your stomach.

Rumi stood up, her leader instincts taking over despite her vocal strain. "Intelligence suggests they're operating out of several locations around the city. We need to track them down and neutralize the threat before their next public appearance."

"Five of them, four of us," Mira noted. "Not impossible odds, but we'll need to be smart about this."

Zoey stopped pacing and looked at you with concerned eyes. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, this is our first time facing demons this powerful. The Saja Boys aren't like the lower-level creatures we usually hunt."

You nodded, though your heart was racing for reasons you couldn't explain. "I've trained for this. We all have."

"We don't know much about their individual abilities yet," Rumi warned, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "But we know they're organized and powerful enough to steal our fans and mess with the Honmoon. They've been systematically targeting our fans, hypnotising them with some kind of influence we don't understand yet.”

"We split up," Rumi continued. "Cover more ground that way. But nobody engages alone unless absolutely necessary. These aren't ordinary demons, they're organized, intelligent, and extremely dangerous."

As your groupmates continued planning, you found yourself staring out the window at the Seoul skyline, a dozen city lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, five demons who had quickly become the nation's beloved idol group in less than a day were hiding, planning, hunting.

So why did the thought of facing them feel less like preparing for battle and more like... coming home?

"Ready?" Rumi's voice snapped you back to reality.

You grabbed your weapon and stood up, pushing down the strange emotions swirling in your chest. You were a member of Huntrix. You had a job to do.

Even if something deep inside you whispered that this mission would change everything.

JINU ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Three hours after the briefing, you crouched behind a concrete pillar in an abandoned office building, your heart hammering against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the mission. You had tracked Jinu here alone, separated from his group members, conducting what appeared to be private business on the fifteenth floor.

The elevator had been deliberately disabled, forcing you to climb the emergency stairwell. Each step upwards felt heavier than the last, as if your body fought against an invisible current. When you finally reached the target floor, the silence was deafening.

You pressed your ear to the stairwell door, listening for voices, footsteps, any sign of demonic activity. Your weapon felt foreign in your grip, a silver-blessed blade that had never failed you in past hunts, yet now trembled with your uncertainty.

The hallway beyond stretched like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically, casting dancing shadows that made your vision blur. You moved silently, checking each empty office as you passed, until you reached the corner suite at the end of the corridor.

The door stood ajar.

Through the gap, you could see him.

Jinu sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his profile illuminated by the pale glow of Seoul's skyline through the windows. Even in the dim light, his features were sharp and aristocratic, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. 

"The contract is simple," his voice carried through the crack in the door, smooth as silk yet cold as steel. "Your daughter's medical bills disappear. Her surgery is guaranteed successful. All I ask in return is a small favour down the line."

"What kind of favour?" The other voice was desperate, broken, a father's voice.

"Nothing that will harm your family directly. You have my word."

You should have burst through that door immediately and struck while Jinu was distracted, before he could complete whatever twisted bargain he was weaving. But the moment your eyes found his face, your entire world tilted off its axis.

Inexplicable pain lanced through your chest. Your vision blurred from the tears suddenly sliding down your cheeks. Images surged and vanished too quickly to grasp : a child's laugh, the strum of a bipa, a soft voice humming, arms wrapping around you beneath a threadbare blanket.

"I'll take care of everything. You'll never have to worry again."

You gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly dropping your weapon. The sound echoed in the empty hallway like a gunshot.

The conversation inside the office stopped abruptly.

"I believe our business here is concluded," Jinu's voice had changed, taking on an edge that made your spine stiffen. "You know how to contact me when you've made your decision."

The desperate father's voice slowly faded as he was presumably escorted out through another exit.

You pressed yourself against the wall, mind racing. You had lost the element of surprise, but the mission remained the same. Jinu was alone now. This was your chance to strike before he could reunite with the other Saja Boys.

You kicked the door open and rushed inside, blade raised and ready.

Jinu stood by the window with his back to you, hands clasped behind him as if he had been expecting your arrival. The moonlight turned his silhouette into an ethereal and angelic vision, a cruel irony given what you knew him to be.

"You're faster than I anticipated," he said without turning around. "Though not as quiet as you think."

"Turn around." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

He complied slowly. However, when his eyes met yours, your soul cracked down the middle.

You could see a brief flicker of recognition cross his face, perhaps even mourning, or maybe grief worn thin over centuries.

You raised your blade higher, just enough to hide how much your hands were shaking.

"You've grown beautiful," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat, forcing down a wave of emotions that threatened to break free. You gritted your teeth. "Don't."

He stepped forward. 

"I said don't."

He moved closer.

You slashed by reflex. Jinu blocked it with his arm. He didn't exactly attack back. But he parried, blocked, dodged with the ease of someone who'd trained lifetimes for this.

It happened before you could think. Your body moved, like it already knew what to do. Your chest rose and fell too fast, ears buzzing with the rush of your heartbeat. Jinu barely fought back, annoyingly and effortlessly dodging your attacks. However, you refused to stop until the hurt had somewhere to land.

Until he disarmed you, your blade clattering across the floor.

Jinu didn't press the advantage or move to strike.

Instead, he stepped back. 

You froze for half a second. Why isn't he fighting back? Was this pity? Mercy? Did he think you couldn’t handle it?

"You don't remember." It wasn't a question.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Four hundred years ago," he said quietly, "I had a mother and a sister. We were starving. I played the bipa on street corners, until I found you, you were the only light we had left. You kept us together, even when everything fell apart."

Images tore at your mind again : your hands mending a child's robe. Jinu's fingers brushing yours. The bipa's music cutting through the dark.

"You were there," you whispered, not understanding why you knew it was true.

"I was." His voice cracked. "And I failed all of you."

"But… you're a demon now. You manipulate people. Steal their souls."

"I offer what they ask for. I offered it then, too. I was desperate and hungry. My family and you were dying in front of my eyes. Gwi-Ma found me and promised me a life of comfort and power. I thought if I accepted it, I could bring you all with me."

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"But the gates closed behind me," he said, barely audible. "I turned around and they wouldn't let you through. I left you in the cold while I slept on silk."

You shook your head, but the memories were surfacing now,

"I searched for you after. But you died, didn't you? Alone. Like the rest of them. While I lived in luxury with blood on my hands."

The truth settled like ice in your lungs. Your memories were fractured, broken by time and pain, but you remembered enough. Remembered waiting put in the cold and the hunger that ate you alive while he feasted in hell.

"I waited for you," you whispered.

Jinu closed his eyes as if the words were a blade through his chest. "I know."

The admission ignited a fury so pure it burned through your veins like poison. He knew. While you were wasted away in that freezing hovel, praying for his return until your throat was raw. While you'd begged strangers for scraps, sold every precious thing you owned just to buy another day of life, he was feasting in warmth and safety. He knew, and he'd done nothing.

"You knew," you snarled, and the rage in your voice made him flinch. "You knew we were dying and you left us there to rot."

Your hands clenched into fists. Every cell in your body screamed for violence, for justice, for him to feel even a fraction of the agony he'd caused.

You lunged for your weapon again. He didn't stop you.

"I'm going to kill you," you said, raising it with trembling hands.

"Then do it."

However, you hesitated, the blade wavering above his heart. Tears blurred your vision as you stared down at him, this man who had once been your entire world. Your arm shook with the effort of holding the weapon steady, but your body refused to obey. Every instinct screamed at you to drive the silver through his chest, to end his suffering and yours, but your heart betrayed you.

Even after everything, you couldn't bring yourself to destroy him. The realization broke you more than his abandonment ever had.

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I loved you more than my own soul. And letting you end it is the only way I can repent for what I've done."

Your eyes widened at his words, the blade slipping from your nerveless fingers. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that echoed through the empty office.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the fallen weapon, in disbelief at what had just happened. His composure finally cracked, and tears spilled down his cheeks, the first real emotion you'd seen from him since you'd entered this room.

Why?" he whispered. "After everything I've done to you... why can't you do it?”

"I-I don't know…’ you said, voice cracking. “But… this doesn't mean I forgive you…”

"I wouldn't dare ask."

"And I'm not letting you walk away."

He nodded, tears tracking down his cheeks.

You stepped closer, your heart shattering with every breath.

"This time, we need to talk, about the four hundred years you stole from us."

ABBY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The underground fight club pulsed with sweat, blood, and money changing hands. You pressed your earpiece, static crackling back at you as you tried to reach Rumi. 

"Rumi, do you copy? I lost visual on the target."

Nothing but interference.

Intel had tracked two Saja Boys to this district, Abby and Mystery had split from the main group. Following a thorough discussion, you and the other girls decided to split into duos to ensure greater safety. You and Rumi were supposed to stay together, but the crowds and maze-like underground tunnels had separated you. Now you were alone in the bowels of Seoul's illegal fighting scene.

The roar of the crowd guided you deeper into the complex. Through a doorway marked with graffiti, you found the main arena, a concrete pit surrounded by screaming spectators waving fistfuls of cash. 

In the center of the ring stood Abby.

He moved like violence incarnate, all muscle and controlled fury as he circled his opponent. Abby was shirtless, his body a map of scars and fresh bruises, sweat making his skin gleam under the harsh lights. 

The expression that you caught on his face made your breath catch. Pure, undiluted joy. He was having the time of his life.

His opponent lunged. Abby sidestepped with fluid grace, then drove his fist into the man's ribs with a wet crack that echoed over the crowd's cheers as the man fell to the ground hard. 

"Next!" Abby called out, not even breathing heavily. His grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Who else wants to dance?"

Three men climbed into the ring together as the crowd grew wild.

You should have taken the shot then, but watching him move was hypnotic. Every punch and dodge was precise and calculated. 

Two opponents were quickly taken down, and the third hesitated to swing.

"Come on," Abby taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Don't tell me you're scared now."

The man reluctantly charged. Abby caught him mid-lunge and slammed him into the concrete so hard the ground cracked.

The crowd erupted as money flew. Abby raised his arms in victory, basking in the adoration.

You waited until the chaos died down, until the crowd dispersed and the arena emptied. Abby was collecting his winnings from the promoter when you finally made your move.

"Good fights tonight," you said, stepping out of the shadows.

He went completely still for a second, so brief you almost missed it. Then he turned around with that cocky grin already sliding into place. 

"Well, well. What do we have here?" He looked you up and down, but it wasn't the casual appreciation of a stranger. It was recognition wrapped in careful performance. "You don't look like the usual groupies. Too pretty. Too dangerous."

"I'm not a groupie."

"No kidding." He stuffed the money in his back pocket and grabbed his shirt from where he'd thrown it, but didn't put it on. Still showing off, but his movements were more deliberate now, as if he was buying time to think.

 "So what are you? Reporter? Cop? Or just someone who likes watching sweaty men beat the hell out of each other?"

"I'm here for you."

His grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that's direct. Though I gotta say, most people who want me specifically don't usually start with small talk."

The arena was empty now except for the two of you and the lingering smell of violence.

Perfect.

"You're coming with me," you said, hand moving to your weapon.

"Am I?" He stepped closer, and the playful mask slipped just slightly. "And here I was thinking you might be here for something else entirely."

"This isn't a game."

"Everything's a game, sweetheart. The trick is figuring out if we're playing by the same rules." He was circling you now, but it felt less predatory and more like he was trying to get a different angle, trying to see something in your face. "Though I gotta ask, do you even know who I am?"

You drew your blade. His expression shifted, resignation mixed with anticipation.

"There it is," he said quietly, flexing his fingers. "Was wondering when we'd get to this part."

He moved faster than you'd expected, still testing you. Every move of his was calculated, like he was trying to figure out how much you remembered about fighting. 

About fighting him specifically.

"Come on," he said, dodging your blade with familiar ease. "I know you're better than this. You always were."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. You saw the moment he realized his mistake, saw him try to cover it with that cocky grin.

"Always were what?" you demanded, pressing your attack.

"Always were too careful," he said, but his voice was strained now. "Stop holding back."

"I'm trying not to kill you."

"How thoughtful." His voice was softer now, almost fond. "Always looking out for everyone else."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he caught your wrist and pulled you against his chest. For a moment, you were close enough to see the conflict in his eyes.

"Got you," he said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a taunt.

You drove your elbow back into his ribs and spun free. He let you go reluctantly.

"There we go," he said, rubbing his side. "That's more like it."

You came at him again, blade swinging through the air. This time when he grabbed your wrist and twisted until you had to drop the weapon, his grip was careful, like he'd done this exact move with you before.

"How do you know how I fight?" you asked.

The question made him freeze. His grip loosened just enough for you to break free, but instead of reaching for another weapon, you just stared at him.

"Have we met before?" you asked.

All the pretense drained out of his expression at your question, replaced by rawness and desperation.

"Every day for a hundred and twenty three years," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones like he was memorizing them all over again.

"You really don't remember," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "God, I hoped... I thought maybe..."

His touch was so gentle, and his voice was softer now. 

"How do you know my name?" you whispered.

"Because I've been saying it every day for over a century." He laughed bitterly "Because it was the last thing you heard before you died."

Images flashed through your mind : rain-soaked streets, a thin boy with kind eyes, the sound of your own scream echoing off alley walls.

You stumbled backward, hand pressed to your temple. "What's happening to me?"

"Hey." He reached for you, movements careful now, gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm seeing things that aren't real."

"What kind of things?"

"A boy. Someone I loved." The words came out before you could stop them. "Someone who died because of me."

Abby went very still. "How did he die?"

"I don't know. I can't—the memories aren't mine." You looked up at him desperately. "This is crazy. I don't even know you."

"Yes you do." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You do know me. You just can't remember because dying screws with your head."

"I didn't die."

"Yeah, you did." He was close enough to touch now, hands hovering just shy of your skin. "Hundred and twenty three years ago. In an alley. They put a knife in your back while I watched, too weak to do anything about it."

The memories hit like a tsunami : cobblestones slick with rain, rough hands dragging you away from a thin boy who was calling your name, the burn of steel between your ribs.

"Oh god," you whispered.

"I made you a promise," Abby continued, his voice thick with a century's worth of grief. "On your grave. That if I ever got the chance to see you again, I'd be strong enough to protect you."

You looked at him, and saw past the muscle and scars to the boy underneath. The boy who'd loved you. The boy who'd become a monster for the chance to keep you safe.

"You became a demon for me?"

"I became whatever I had to become." His hands finally made contact, cupping your face gently, as if any more pressure might shatter you into a million pieces. "I don't care what that makes me. I care about keeping you alive."

Footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind you. Rumi's voice called out your name, worried.

"Shit," you whispered. "My partner's coming."

Abby's expression hardened instantly, all the vulnerability vanishing behind that familiar cocky mask. "Right. Back to reality."

"Abby, wait—"

"No, it's fine." He stepped back, putting distance between you, but his eyes never left your face. "You've got a job to do. I get it."

"I can't just—"

"What? Kill me? We both know you're not going to do that." He grinned. "So what's the play here, sweetheart? You gonna tell your partner you found me and just... let me walk away?”

The footsteps were getting closer. You had maybe thirty seconds before Rumi found you.

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Well, you better figure it out fast." Despite his words, he wasn't moving towards the exits. He was just standing there, waiting for you to decide his fate again.

"There's another exit through the back," you said quickly. "Behind the equipment room."

His eyebrows shot up. "You're letting me go?"

"I'm giving you a head start."

"Why?"

Because somewhere in your fractured memories, you remembered loving him. Because he'd spent over a century becoming strong enough to protect you, and maybe you could be strong enough to protect him too.

"Because I remember enough," you said simply.

His mask cracked just for a moment. "This isn't over."

"I know."

"I'll find you again."

"I know."

He started towards the back exit, then paused. "Hey, sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to die before I see you again. I'm getting really tired of that particular tragedy."

In a blink of an eye, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows just as Rumi's voice echoed closer.

ROMANCE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rooftop overlooked the glittering chaos of Seoul's entertainment district, where neon signs blazed advertisements for idol groups and concert venues stretched towards the horizon. You crouched behind the air conditioning unit, silver blade steady in your grip as you surveyed the empty space. 

Wind carried the distant sound of traffic and late-night revelers, but here, twenty stories above the city's pulse, silence reigned.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

You tensed, weapon raised when you heard his voice, achingly familiar despite being impossible to place. It wrapped around your ribs like phantom fingers, squeezing until your chest felt tight with inexplicable longing.

Romance emerged from behind the rooftop access door with fluid grace, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Under the city's electric glow, his features appeared sharp and ethereal, pink hair catching the wind as he regarded you with calm amusement.

"Though I suspect you're not here for sightseeing," he continued, taking measured steps forward. "Hello, hunter."

Your blade remained steady despite the tremor in your voice. "You know what I am."

"Of course I know exactly what you are." His smile held no malice, only a strange sadness that made your throat constrict. "The question is, do you know what I am?"

Without warning, you lunged.

Romance flowed backwards like water, your strike cutting through empty air as he spun away from your advance. He moved with practiced precision, dodging rather than retaliating, speaking in that same measured tone even as you pressed your attack.

"You fight beautifully," he observed, sidestepping another slash. "Trained well. Committed."

You snarled in frustration, spinning to catch him with a backhand strike that he avoided by millimeters. "Shut up and fight back."

"Why would I want to hurt you?"

The question threw off your rhythm, long enough for Romance to close the distance between you. His hand found your wrist with gentle firmness, and your weapon clattered across the concrete.

You struck out with your free hand, but he caught that too, holding both your wrists as you struggled against his grip. His touch burned with unnatural warmth, sending sparks up your arms that had nothing to do with his demonic nature.

"Let me go," you hissed.

"In a moment." Romance's eyes searched your face with desperate intensity. "I need you to see—"

He shifted, a small and bright object tumbled from his pocket, a ring that caught the neon light as it fell. Simple silver band, modest stone, nothing extraordinary except for the way it made your heart stop.

Pain lanced through your chest. Your knees buckled as emotion crashed over you in waves, grief so profound it stole your breath, love so pure it felt like drowning, loss that cut deeper than any blade. You didn't understand where these feelings originated, only that they threatened to tear you apart from the inside.

Romance released you immediately, crouching to retrieve the ring with reverent care. "You feel it too," he whispered.

"I don't—" You stumbled backward, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache pulsed with each heartbeat. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. This is yours." He held up the ring, and the sight of it made tears spring to your eyes without explanation. "It was meant for you."

"What—that's impossible."

"You taught me what love felt like, centuries ago." Romance said quietly, his mask of casual amusement finally cracking. "Before you, I was nothing. A shadow in my own house, invisible to parents who saw only disappointment when they looked at me. You were the first person to show me kindness, love me without expecting anything in return."

He cradled the ring like it held his entire world. "I saved for months to buy this. Worked every odd job I could find, skipped meals. I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep."

His confession struck a place you didn’t know could still hurt. Your eyes flickered back to the ring again, breath hitching.

"You fell ill a few weeks before I planned to propose." His voice cracked, centuries of grief pouring through the fractures. "I held your hand for seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay with me."

"Y-You're lying." But your voice had no strength behind it.

"Your last coherent words were asking me to promise I'd love someone else after you were gone. You were so worried about me being alone." Tears tracked down his perfect cheeks, and seeing them made your own eyes burn. "I lied and said yes because I thought it would help you let go peacefully."

The pain in your chest intensified, spreading through your ribs like poison. "That's not—"

"I tried to keep that promise as a human. I spent years searching for someone who could make me feel what you had.” Romance's voice dropped to a whisper. “But no one came close to you.”

"You became a demon because you couldn't move on..."

"I made a pact with Gwi-Ma after years of failing to love anyone else. I became something that could create love, manufacture and distribute it to anyone desperate enough to want it." His smile was self-loathing incarnate. "If I couldn't feel real love, at least I could give others a taste of what you gave me."

"You're feeding on people and hurting them."

"I'm keeping my promise to you." His eyes blazed with centuries of accumulated pain and twisted devotion. "Every heart I touch and every moment of artificial bliss I create is all for you. You asked me to love someone else, and this is the only way I know how."

The logic was twisted, but the raw anguish in his voice made your chest tighten with sympathy you couldn't afford. "You're manipulating innocent people."

"I give them what they desperately need. The feeling of being cherished, desired, worthy of devotion. When the illusion breaks, yes, they're disappointed. But at least they got to experience something transcendent." Romance stood slowly, the ring disappearing back into his coat. "Tell me that's not better than the emptiness they had before."

"It's a love built on lies."

"All love is lies in the end." His smile returned, but it held no warmth. "The difference is I'm honest about the illusion I create."

You backed towards the rooftop edge, every instinct screaming at you to flee. The mission was clear, eliminate the demon. However, your hands shook as you reached for a backup blade, and the pain in your chest made it difficult to breathe. Each word he'd spoken felt like a knife twisting deeper.

"This isn't over," you managed, but the words came out weak.

"I know." Romance made no move to stop you as you retreated. "But I won't fight you anymore. I've caused enough damage to someone I—"

He cut himself off, the unfinished words hung in the air between you.

"Someone you what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

"Someone I loved more than my own existence." His voice was barely audible above the wind. "Someone I'm still failing, even now."

The words crashed over you like a tidal wave. Ring. Proposal. Seventy two hours. Promise. Death. Demon. Love. The pieces swirled in your mind, too many fragments to assemble together, each one cutting deeper than the last. Your training screamed at you to stay, but your heart couldn't bear another second of his confessions.

You turned and ran.

The fire escape blurred past as you descended, taking stairs three at a time until your legs gave out two floors from the bottom. You collapsed on the landing, gasping for air that wouldn't come, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically force back the tears threatening to spill.

His voice echoed in your mind : I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep.

Why did that hurt? You were a hunter trained to kill demons, not sympathize with their tragic backstories.

You forced yourself to continue down the fire escape, your movements mechanical and disconnected. 

Seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay.

Your back hit the alley wall and you slid down until you were sitting on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face as you grieved for reasons you couldn't name.

This couldn't have happened before. You would remember dying. You would remember being loved with that kind of desperate devotion. You would remember someone saving money for months to buy you a ring.

...

Wouldn't you?

MYSTERY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You lean against the Huntrix dorm balcony railing, watching Seoul pulse beneath you like a neon heartbeat. The city sprawls endless and electric, towers of glass catching streetlight, traffic threading through concrete arteries. Behind you, voices clash over mission prep.

"We should split up and handle each demon individually," Rumi insisted. "Pick them off one by one."

"That's suicide," Mira counters. "We stick together, overwhelm them with combined firepower. Safety in numbers."

"Okay, okay!" Zoey jumps between them with enthusiastic gestures. "What if we compromise? Split into pairs? Best of both worlds, right? Right?"

There are weak spots in the Honmoon barrier scattered across Seoul like broken bones. You've memorized their coordinates, trained for this until your muscles know the patterns by heart. So why won't your pulse settle tonight? 

The argument behind you fades to background noise as you stare at the skyline. 

Suddenly, a soft and delicate melody drifts across the night air.

It felt like a tune you hum when your hands are full of flowers, when you're dizzy with new love. It shouldn't reach you from this height. Seoul's chaos should swallow such fragile notes whole, but the song finds you anyway.

Your breathing stops. You've heard this melody before in dreams that leave you gasping at dawn. 

Across the urban maze, movement flickers near a crumbling rooftop. A shadow that doesn't belong.

You don't hesitate one second. 

The balcony railing becomes your launching point. Rooftop to rooftop, your feet find purchase on surfaces that shouldn't hold human weight. The melody grows stronger with each leap, pulling you forward like a current.

Seoul blurs beneath you, kaleidoscope light and shadow, lives stacked in vertical towers. You follow the song through this maze, breath controlled, heart pounding against your ribs.

The tune leads you to an abandoned building that time forgot. Dark windows, cracked facade, studio spaces that once housed art but now hold only dust. You slip through a broken skylight, landing silent on debris-covered floors.

The music comes to a stop.

Mystery stands beside a shattered mirror, fingers turning over what looks like an old locket. He doesn't startle when you drop in. Instead, his mouth curves into a smile that holds too many secrets.

"You've always been good at finding me."

Your weapon clears its holster, barrel trained on his chest, and his smile deepens.

Ice floods your veins. Your grip tightens on the weapon. "Who are you?"

He laughs softly, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "I would tell you now, but where's the fun in that?"

"This isn't a game." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, studying you with eyes that hold starlight and shadows. "You followed my song across half the city. Left your friends mid-mission. That sounds like playing to me."

Heat rises in your cheeks. He's right, and you hate that he's right. "Answer me. Why do you know me?"

He steps closer curiously, like he's watching a flower bloom in real time. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"All those summer nights when you'd sneak out just to hear me play." His voice drops to a whisper. "The way you'd fall asleep in my arms while I hummed that exact melody."

Your heart stutters. The exact melody that's been haunting your dreams for months. "That's impossible. I would remember—"

"You would remember me, wouldn’t you?" He reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek. 

You should pull away, you know you should put distance between you and this stranger who claims to know your past. But his touch feels familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

"You haven't changed. Well, except for the blade." His gaze drops to the weapon still trained on him. "You never needed those before."

"Before what? Before when?" Desperation creeps into your voice.

He smiles again, stepping back. "Don't remember me yet. It's more fun this way."

"Fun?" The word explodes from you. "You think this is fun? I'm losing my mind trying to figure out who you are, and you think it's entertaining?"

"I think," he says, moving towards the broken window, "that some things are worth waiting for. Some mysteries are sweeter when they unfold slowly."

Moonlight catches in his dark hair as he pauses at the window's edge. "Besides, you always did love puzzles. You used to spend hours on them when you couldn't sleep."

Another piece of impossible knowledge. Another fragment that feels true but shouldn't exist. "How do you know that?"

"I know lots of things about you." His grin turns wicked. "You bite your lip when you're thinking too hard. You always eat the corners of sandwiches first. You used to trace constellations on my back with your fingertips."

Your weapon wavers. "Stop."

"Why? Does it hurt to remember what you've forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten anything. I don't even know who you are." But even as you say it, phantom sensations ghost across your fingertips.

"Liar." He says it fondly. "You remember pieces. Little fragments that visit you in dreams. That's why you followed the melody tonight."

He's right again. You hate that he's right again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, preparing to slip through the window.

"Wait—" The word tears from your throat. "At least tell me your name."

He pauses, half-silhouetted against the night sky. "You'll remember it when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? What if I never remember?"

For a moment, his smile falters. Vulnerability flickers across his features. "You will. You have to."

He turns to leave, but moonlight catches his profile at just the right angle. Your breath hitches. Along his temple, barely visible unless you know what to look for, the faint outline of demonic markings. Intricate patterns that shimmer like oil on water, there one second and gone the next.

Your training kicks in before your heart can catch up. The weapon in your hands shifts, finger finding the trigger. He's a demon. You're a hunter. The math is simple.

His hair shifts slightly, and for just a moment, you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the strands.

"You see it now," he says quietly. "The monster I am.”

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This is what you've trained for. What you've dedicated your life to. But something deep inside you hesitates.

Your hand trembles. The weapon feels impossibly heavy.

"Tomorrow," he says again, stepping towards the window. "When you remember who we were, you'll understand why I can't fight you. Why I'll never fight you."

In the blink of an eye, he's gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his voice, that phantom melody, and the terrible knowledge that you just let a demon walk away.

You land back on the balcony, chest heaving. The sliding door opens before you can compose yourself. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey spill out, eyes wide with panic.

"Where were you?! We've been searching everywhere—"

"Can we go tomorrow instead?" Your voice sounds foreign. "I don't feel great."

They exchange loaded glances. Eventually Rumi nods. "Of course. Rest is part of prep too."

You turn away before they can see the cracks spreading across your composure and witness how your hands shake.

That night, your bed feels like a battleground. The melody plays on repeat behind your closed eyes. Each note carries weight you can't name and memories you can't quite grasp.

The mystery of it all pressed against your mind. What past did you share? Why couldn't you remember? 

Mystery himself seemed to revel in the unknowing, content to watch you struggle with fragments of what you'd once been to each other. 

BABY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Something was wrong with your hands.

They'd been trembling since you left the dorm, and no amount of clenching your fists or pressing them against your thighs could make it stop. Rumi's words echoed in your head like a mantra you couldn't shake, "Don't let his face fool you. They're still dangerous demons working for Gwi-Ma nevertheless."

Pictures of the Saja Boys were already circulating online in less than a day. Five demons who'd seemingly appeared overnight, stealing the hearts and souls of your fans.

"Ugh, I’m going to beat their stupid pretty little faces," Zoey had said, tapping the images with her pen. "Seriously, look at them! Acting all mysterious and brooding like they're in some kind of boy band. I mean—they are… but look! The internet's already making fan edits—fan edits! Of demons!" She'd gestured wildly at her tablet, where countless social media posts were flooding in by the minute. "Half the comments are people asking where they can meet them. It's insane!”

You'd barely heard her. Your eyes had been drawn to one face among the five, sharp features that still held traces of boyish softness.

His face had made your chest tighten with recognition, like looking at a stranger who wore the face of someone from a half-remembered dream.

Why did he feel familiar?

The neighbourhood around you was a study in urban decay, half the buildings scheduled for demolition, the other half already hollow shells. You decided to turn a corner and came across an abandoned playground.

You knew this place.

You stopped mid-step at the chain-link gate. The monkey bars where someone had scraped their knee. The slide with the chip in the yellow paint. The bike rack, now empty and listing to one side like a broken rib.

This was from your dreams. Or maybe...

"Didn't expect you to come."

The voice drifted from somewhere behind the playground equipment with an edge that made your hand move instinctively to your weapon. You'd heard that voice before, in fragments that scattered whenever you tried to grasp them.

"Show yourself," you called, stepping through the gate. The metal squealed in protest, the sound echoing off empty buildings like a warning.

He laughed mockingly. "Still giving orders, I see."

He emerged from behind the slide, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill of the night. He looked barely out of his teens, with features that still held traces of boyish softness despite the hard set of his jaw.

"You always had a thing for chasing monsters," he said, tilting his head as he studied you with uncomfortable intensity. Those dark eyes flickered, darting away from your face as if looking directly at you caused him physical pain.

"How do you know me?"

Baby shrugged with affected indifference. "Lucky guess."

The way he held himself like he was trying very hard not to care, made anger flare in your chest. "That's not an answer."

He kicked at a piece of broken glass, sending it skittering across the asphalt. "Maybe you're just forgettable."

The casual cruelty in his voice should have stung. You drew your blade, silver gleaming in the late afternoon light.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do we have to do this the hard way?"

Baby looked at the weapon, then back at your face. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across his features before he crushed it down.

"Do what the hard way?" He stepped closer, invading your personal space with  reckless confidence. "Fight me? Kill me?" His voice dropped, a hint of intimacy laced inside, bitter amusement threading through each word. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

You raised the blade between you, but instead of stopping, he knocked it aside with casual violence, the metal ringing as it struck the nearby swing set. Before you could recover, he was on you, crowding you back against the chain-link fence with predatory grace.

"I waited for you, you know," he said, one hand braced against the fence beside your head, effectively trapping you. "Stupid thing to do when you're a kid."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "What?"

His free hand came up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The touch was rough, but not enough to hurt.

"You really don't remember," he said, his laugh sharp enough to cut. "How convenient."

"Remember what?" The desperation in your voice made you flinch, but you couldn't take it back.

"Us." The single word fell between you, sending ripples through memories you couldn't quite grasp. "This place. The promises you made."

You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them against the fence. His grip was careful despite his aggression, strong enough to hold you, gentle enough not to bruise.

"You died," he said, voice flat and matter-of-fact. "And I had to grow up. Happy now?"

The world tilted sideways. Images flashed through your mind like broken film, a boy with tears streaming down his face, small hands clutching yours, a voice promising forever, all turned into ashes now.

"I'll never leave you."

The words rose from deep in your throat. Baby's eyes snapped to yours, wide with… hope, if hope weren't such a dangerous thing for creatures like him to carry.

"You broke your promise first," he whispered, and the accusation send a chill down your spine. 

You stumbled when he finally released you, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache was spreading like cracks in ice. Baby stepped back, flexing his fingers, trying to forget the feel of your skin.

"I don't—" You shook your head, struggling to make sense of the fragments flashing through your mind. "I don't understand."

"No," Baby said, his mask completely slipping. "You never did understand. You were always too good for this world."

He kicked your fallen blade across the asphalt, the metal scraping against concrete. "That's why you had to die, isn't it? Pure things don't last in places like this."

The words were bitter, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. He turned away quickly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Next time we meet, I won't be nice," he said without looking back.

"Please, wait—"

He froze at the sound of your plea, shoulders going rigid. You thought he might turn around. Instead, he let out a short and humourless laugh.

"Begging now? Huh, pathetic."

H walked away, each step deliberate and final. Just as he reached the edge of the playground, he stopped.

"The songs," he said quietly, not turning around. "Those stupid lullabies you used to sing when I had nightmares. I still—"

He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Forget it. Forget everything."

He simply walked away down the empty street like any other person with anywhere else to be. You watched until he turned the corner and vanished from sight, leaving you alone with your forgotten blade and the sound of wind through rusted swings.

You picked up your weapon with trembling hands, but the silver felt cold and foreign now, it now felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

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[ilianasbruce]

“In the heat of the night.”

word count: 5,626

summary: some wild idea of your Bruce for the night ♡

warnings: full +18 content with a plot. minors do not interact, please

notes: hi, hi!!! ♡ may i present you this wild piece?? there are no limitations for young, husband Bruce and here we go again!! ♡ this can be a sequel to my this piece, but it still can be a standalone, too, i guess. happy reading, my loves!! thank you so much for your support!! kiss, kiss!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

Iceberg Lounge.

A place that you wouldn't cross alone nor did you ever want to be there for hours. According to the things you’ve heard, it was usually filled with Gotham’s double-sided face. Sometimes the higher ranks were wandering around with their glamorous suit and ties, sometimes it was a random thug in the name of working for the Penguin. Either way, it was still for the highest. The same word that involved both you and your husband.

It was not your idea to come here, on a Friday night in scorching July with your beloved Bruce — it was his idea since the beginning. He decided it was good to renew your appreances since the last three weeks, the opera house night. It was a good cover for Batman’s investigation on Oswald Cobblepot, in other representations he was referred to as the ‘Penguin’. There were some vulgar burglaries from Gotham’s highest and illegal trafficking on the Gotham port, and Bruce was cynical about the arrows leading to this peculiar man. Thus, Bruce was rigid about his date night with you and now you were here, your dazzling eyes wandering through the ‘icy’ interior as you strode to your reserved table with Bruce’s arm around your waist.

“What? Are you still angry with me?”

His lips brushed your ear. “You know, I can eat your anger out if you can be a good girl for me tonight.” he continued as he kissed the sweet spot below your ear. God, it drove you mad how he was sometimes nonchalant about his words.

You slightly pushed him with your hand on his chest, earning a stupid grin on his handsome face. He had no shame about the people of Gotham seeing how he was smitten with you, how he liked to show off his obsession, such as casually kissing your bare shoulders or neck as soon as he had a chance. You were still irritated with him since the last few days after his ‘friend’ incident — fucking you with great pleasure for his jealousy and you being confused about his non-existent explanation of the situation and the next morning nuzzling you like a puppy. As if he weren't the one who was responsible for the love bites with stains on your chest and shoulders for the next few days, and as if he weren't the one who was responsible for the soreness between your thighs.

It had been a few days since you’d been giving him a cold shoulder, refusing to interact with him out of necessity. And he was aware of that — aware of your rejecting his morning kisses or your nightly staying-ups for him through the night. He knew his fault with you, but he was slightly busy with Penguin rather than engaging with you. When he told you that you two are going for a date night, Alfred and you gave him cynical glances. It was too easy, wasn't it? But he also added that he needed to ‘look through’ Oswald Cobblepot, and the real picture was revealed.

“Oh, Sir, I thought you finally had a rational thought.”

Alfred was aware of the silent tension between you and Bruce, mainly your irritation, and he was on your side most of the time. And whatever was bothering you, was bothering him, too. Since he had seen Bruce’s devotion to you — Bruce’s eagerness in wedlock with you — and he was happy finally in his life after the darkness of years. But he was also aware of the two young lovers’ struggles during their early marriage years. He was afraid as a father to Bruce and you, that some trivial miscommunication or anything would happen and Bruce would lose his North Star, you, forevermore. It was well known how Bruce couldn't handle his beloved parents’ death, and it was a strangling thought for Alfred that something like that could happen again to Bruce, just him to be goner until the end line.

Bruce was angry and fueled, but he was also arrogant in his vision. Alfred could handle his son, but could you handle him even though he was the love of your life? Your dearest, young and confident Bruce? Alfred was scared, he had no chance at that time of tragedy, he had no power to halt the nightmare but he did have the capability now. And he was no fool for letting the similar darkness cover his son’s life again.

However, Bruce’s intention was really to take you out on a date with his detective vision. He loved you so much, and he was trying to fix his wrongdoing with this rational thought. He couldn't bear to see your lovely eyes avoiding him or your endless love halting to flourish for him.

You, at first, did not want to go out with him, truthfully. You just said ‘I am tired’ that day, well in fact, you were just making a chocolate cake with Alfred from his generational, Pennyworth recipes. It hurt Bruce to see your unwillingness; after seeing your lowered gaze from him to the chocolates in your hand. But he ushered you with his generous bouquets of your favorite flowers after a few hours, leaving you stunned.

“Oh, I think he is very serious about his offer, Madam.”

So, here you were, walking right next to him in your lovely silhouette as you two were accompanied to your table.

“Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you.”

You and Bruce halted by the voice, turned to see no one but the one and only Oswald Cobblepot himself. Neither Bruce or you had the opportunity to speak to him before, nor Mr. Cobblepot. As he saw both of you, he took the chance to introduce himself to the Son of Gotham and his wife.

Oswald Cobblepot was a peculiar man. He was feared but also respected in Gotham, came from the real Gotham families like Bruce. He was a nobleman outside but inside? Your Bruce was thinking about him lately in his cave.

Mr. Cobblepot gave a courteous bow for both of you, and then asked for your hand. You let him politely and the next, your hand was brushed by his lips.

“We can say the same, Mr. Cobblepot. Thank you for your invitation.”

You withdrew your hand and felt Bruce’s hand giving a soft squeeze on your hip. “My wife was enthusiastic about a refreshment from the heat of Gotham. I thought one of your freezing nights could be a great gift for her.”

You smiled politely when Mr. Cobblepot’s gaze found yours behind his monocle. He gave you a satisfied smile, his eyes crinkling cheerfully. “We are delighted to hear about Mrs. Wayne’s preferences. I assure you that she will have a wonderful night here. I specifically gave the orders for your table, Mr. Wayne.”

He gestured with his hand for you to continue, “Please, do proceed and enjoy the night. I wish it would be marvelous for you.”

In the next few minutes, you were sitting opposite each other, your eyes looking down at the scene of the Lounge. It was crowded, filled with the specials of Gotham and a few notorious ones. Your eyes wandered through the people and the scenery of “icy” walls, the stage where there was a preparation for the singer of the night, and the ceiling from what you could see the gleaming night lights of Gotham and the slightly visible stars in the sky.

“Do you like it?”

Your attention was interrupted by Bruce as he took your hand into his and kissed your knuckles. He brushed his lips on your soft skin lovingly as his keen, bedroom eyes under his thick eyebrows looked at you. He kept his lips on your skin, expecting an answer from you. He knew how to get under your skin, bending your attention to him with his calm gaze.

“I didn’t know I was the one who was enthusiastic about a ‘frosty’ night out?”

You still pursued your stubbornness about your cold shoulder. He sighed and kept your hand in his on the table. “You were searching for every cold corner in the Manor.”

“How — Were you following me?”

You were, frankly, looking for it during the afternoon naps. Wayne Manor was spectacular to you in every sense and you loved to spend your favorite time in every corner of it. But when Gotham was burning, you chose to look for a comfortable corner in your home. And to your wonder, Bruce, as he was supposed to be either in the cave or in his fourteen hours of sleep after his patrols, was obviously aware of your little research. He gave you an unimpressed gaze, his thumb caressing your rings.

“God forbid if I look for you in our house.”

You did not answer his sarcasm, tearing your stare from him to the singer whose voice was now filling the chilly air of the Lounge. Bruce followed your eyes after a few seconds of looking at your features, thinking about how he could win you over.

Twenty minutes later, your drinks were served and you were sipping your mimosa, since you refused to drink alcohol as your husband, eyes on the band. Bruce, slightly opposite of you, swirling his wine spritzer as his eyes were locked on Mr. Cobblepot who was wandering with his ‘suit and tie’ right hand, seemingly discussing something. His blue eyes didn't leave any momentum of ‘Penguin’, watching him until he disappeared from his sharp eyes. It was a great opportunity to use his time, since you were also giving him no attention.

He placed the glass on the table and took your hand for a kiss. “I need to use the bathroom, my love. Will you be alright if I’m gone for a few minutes?”

Your fluttering gaze found his; you knew what he was referring to. You just nodded your head with a small ‘yes’. He gave you a small smile and squeezed your hand. Then, he left your table.

His ‘few minutes’ stretched out for a long, heavy time. You did not realize at first, but no lie, as much as you were irritated by him, even for a mere time — you were still in love with him heavily. Your lovely eyes wandered through the people, the poker tables, or the bar under your gaze. There was no sign of him. You waited for a few more minutes before you left the table.

You walked through the dim corridor of tables, filled with the notorious people of Gotham and the outsiders, drinking your vision with their eyes. You tried to keep your gaze on the way ahead since you did not want to engage with anyone. There were familiar faces at the tables, smiling and nodding at you as you repeated with the same ladylike effort.

Where was your husband? As you descended the stairs, you were thoughtfully blending through the crowd, thinking about where to look for him. You knew he could take care of himself, but hell, where was he? Every kind of high people of Gotham were there, and your lovely but uneasy eyes were looking for your husband. They indeed were the vultures, looking at the little bird of love with a great appetite.

“Would a pretty girl like you want a drink?”

Your eyes found the young bartender as you bypassed the bar. You shook your head with a small, uncomfortable smile as you dived through the crowd towards the washrooms — or you hoped. You did find the washrooms. But also a few, suited men looking for.. something? They passed over you in skepticism, as if trying to find someone that they were now hastily speaking to each other about. You were suspicious of something, turned to go way back to your table but you were interrupted there.

“Mrs. Wayne, are you lost?”

You turned and found Mr. Cobblepot who was staring at you with curiosity blended with irritation. He looked more terrifying when he was in that state.

“I,” you started as he approached you with his cane in his languid movements due to his physique. “I was-”

“There you are, baby. Want me to take you to the dance floor?”

Bruce’s sudden appearance from behind shook you and Mr. Cobblepot. His arm snaked your waist, pulling you slightly to himself as you turned your face to the side to meet his gaze. He looked so effortless, giving you one of his favorite smiles you adored, as your eyes gazed up at him speechless.

“I,” you murmured barely with your lovely eyes locked in his blue eyes, “Yes, please.”. Mr. Cobblepot was looking at you two in confusion but he did not bother to intercede since he was looking for the snitch who was eavesdropping.

“Mr. Cobblepot, you have a good place here. It is quite thrilling for us.”

“Glad to hear that, Mr. Wayne. Pardon me.”

With that, he left you two alone. You thought you were supposed to go to the dance floor but in the blink of an eye, Bruce guided you to the ladies’ restroom. He made sure that there was no one inside before pulling you in and locking the door after you.

“Where were you?” you asked him quietly before he pressed you to the door. He kissed your lips for a peck, murmuring the words on them.

“Me?”

“Yes.” you breathed out when his cold palms found your skin under your satin, thigh-length dress. He pecked your lips again with “Why? Did you miss me?”.

“They,” he pressed another kiss on your lips, “were looking for you?”. You let him kiss you as much as he wanted since he was only thinking about it as you realized. He slowly had his lips on you, sweetly taking every second. After a few seconds of his pleasure, you softly pushed him for both air and an answer.

“Were they looking for you?” you murmured to his lips as he gave you a disturbed gaze in the eyes. “Were they?” he muttered, eluding your inquiries before kissing you again. This time, he was a bit rougher with you. You let a softest moan to his mouth as his hand went higher than before.

You did not want him to have his way with you smoothly as always. You were supposed to be giving him a silent treatment; you were trying but it was challenging when he was orbiting around you like this. You did not let him touch you since that night, always slept away from him on the bed. But he was almost daring you in this situation. When he broke the kiss for a breath for you two, you whispered to him as he had pressed his forehead to yours.

“Bruce,” you breathed out, “Someone’s gonna come on us.”

“Don’t worry,” he muttered to your lips, ready for another kiss. “I’ll make no one will.”

Your attempts were futile. He kissed you as he longed for, over and over again with soft bites of your bottom lip. He let his tongue devour you, letting you melt in his mouth while his fingers fiddled with the waistband of your liliac, lacy panties under your dress.

His lips, after leaving you breathless, found your jaw, then your neck. He kissed every inch of your soft skin, breathing in your floral scent. Your fingers went to his shoulders, holding onto him. When he bit your neck, you hissed his name since it’d leave a stain without any concealing and that was the last thing you wanted this night. He just kissed the same spot and licked your skin next.

You were flushed, breathing in the mild air of the washroom, as he kissed your bare shoulders after pulling the straps off them. You thought he’d just fuck you for one round, then you’d leave this madness but no. A thought was spiraling in Bruce’s head for quite time during the day, to go on his knees for you.

He bit your throat and pulled back to take off his jacket. He just threw it on the countertop before coming back to your lips. He kissed you more before going down on his knees, looking up at you from his thick lashes. You were watching him with a warm face, uneasy about the spot you two were in. You just shook your head as a ‘no’, but that made him smile at your loveliness. His calloused hands gently went under your dress again as if he did not want to scare you off.

“Come on, baby, just let me take a bite of my dessert, yeah?” he muttered with a merry glint in his blue eyes, making you already wet from how he looked. God, he was almost unreal — his slicked back, dark hair was now slightly messy from whatever he did before you and his blue eyes were hazy with longing as he looked at you. You felt his fingers go upwards, just through the waistband of your flower-detailed underwear. He elatedly caressed his thumb on the elaborated material, just getting slightly hard in his pants. You were torn between his plea and the possible scandal but he deftly started to pull down your delicate piece.

“B-Bruce, we’ll-”

“Shh, baby, we won’t.” he muttered as he kissed your thigh, peeking up at you from the hem of your dress. “I’ll make sure we won’t.”

Your drip-covered panties slipped through your thighs and were freed from your legs next, finding a way into his pocket. He just put his hands back on your hot skin, under the dress of yours. He pressed kisses to your soft skin, just mumbling as his lips brushed it.

“Don’t you trust me, darling?” he urged you with his sweet tongue. “Me, baby? Your husband?”

His lascivious eyes found yours as he inclined his head slightly. “You know, I’d do anything for you.”

It was impossible to stay mad at him like this. When he was just on his knees to worship you. Your blurry mind was fighting for a notion to get him on his feet to leave here but your heart… It was just beating for him no matter what and he must’ve been aware of his spell on you. His precious girl, how could he not?

As he saw your torn expression on your lovely face, all blushed just for him, he quietly did what he wanted to do. He started to press kisses on your thighs as one of his hands went under your thigh to place your leg on his shoulder to dive into you. You softly gasped at his action and he successfully got you in the position he wanted. You felt his mouth closer to where you were wet.

“Just.. j-just once, baby.” you muttered to the air as your eyes were on him as he fisted your dress for not creating any distraction. “Mhm,” he hummed through your skin as you heard it barely. “Just once.”

Bruce did not waste any time as he reached his destination. He, at first, opened your legs with the help of your knee on his shoulder, then gave you small licks between your folds. You let out a breath, pressing your head against the wooden door behind you. He licked your wetness with a muffled groan and then slightly sucked the tender flesh with his mouth.

He spread you more by your thigh, diving his tongue more inside of your cunt which made you let out a breathy moan, and held your thigh in a grip that prevent you from losing balance. He started with his slow flickers of his tongue, tasting your hot juices in his mouth for good extended minutes. He prolonged his strokes, just filling you with his tongue. He then started to eat you out thrilled, thriving for every second of it. Your eyes were fluttering due to his mouth, and your hands were looking for anything to grip onto. Bruce roamed his tongue between your folds, up and down, some moments sucking them. You hid your mouth with the back of your hand to prevent your soft moans from reaching any possible person on the other side of the door.

The sweat started to form down your spine, as well as on Bruce’s temple as he was feasting on you between your thighs. You couldn't dare to run your ring-covered fingers through his hair to mess it up, yet it was already messy from his nuzzling there. For good minutes of eating you out in a languid way, he pulled your thigh to press your pussy more to his mouth, his slightly crooked nose stuffed in your wetness. He was licking, biting and sucking your soft flesh and fluids with his hungry appetite, making you dribble on his tongue lusciously. You were singing for him softly to the back of your hand.

Bruce gave your first orgasm with his tongue, just his finger on your clit to stimulate you, but his lips that you loved so much to kiss and sweet tongue were buried in your cunt.

You saw the stars, brighter than tonight's. You just remember the feeling so achingly at the moment. It was so thrilling, sending a jolt to your body. Thankfully, your husband was there to hold you because you were a mess from the pressure of his grip and the lazy strokes of his tongue. When you were breathing heavily with half-lidded eyes, looking down at him as he cleared every amount of your euphoric juices between your folds, you thought it was over. But in the next few minutes of Bruce’s good appetite, he wiped his thumb to clear your sweetness on his chin with his eyes on you. The vision of him was almost enough for you to be wet again, but your mind was blurry. Blurry that you couldn't realize his next motives.

Bruce pressed a few needy kisses on your lips, letting you taste your sweet flavor on his tongue, pulling you into his arms. Your arms found his shoulders for a balance but you realized he led you to one of the private stalls along with his discarded jacket. He just pushed you there before he entered and locked it after him. Your mind was too dizzy with him that you did not even realize him unlocking the main door of the restroom. So, it was open to anybody now.

Bruce tossed out his jacket in the corner before kissing you in the dense stall. He just handily altered your positions where he had you on his lap on the seat. He compelled you to straddle him as he kissed you, his hands under your dress on the bare skin.

“Be my good girl, yeah?” he murmured to your lips. “Let me see you ride.”

You were at the moment too messed up. Fucking in the some washroom stall was the last thing you thought he preferred to do. And you knew it was an effort to make him let go of the idea. You were just staring into his eyes with your pretty ones with uncertainty. He knew your inexperience in risky situations, for easing you, he was giving you his bedroom eyes that you couldn’t resist.

“Wasn’t it just… for once?” you murmured to him. He sighed against your lips, pulling you more to him where his lips brushed yours as he answered you. “I won’t leave this fucking room until we fuck.”

You were already flushed and his direct words were much for you, specifically with the fixed look in his eyes. He saw your quietness, so he leaned and kissed you softly. He knew you were scared of some ‘miscalculation’ but he knew better. He promised you about that, didn’t he?

You just let him kiss you, be intoxicated with you as he took his time. His thumb was caressing your bare skin, remembering the softness of it. He let you whimper into his mouth as he pushed his tongue in. You just loved him more when he was kissing so in love, gently coaxing you into him, softening you in his tongue as he liked. When you were breathless, you two broke the kiss, you drunk on him. You pressed your forehead against his with closed eyes, just to feel his proximity for extended moments. But he had other plans.

You felt him fiddling with his belt, the clicking sounds of it in your ears. You opened your eyes to look and found him with creased brows as he struggled to free himself. You sighed and gave in to his dangerous idea, your fingers working on the belt. It took your thirty-nine seconds to free his cock from his trousers, already hard in your warm palm.

He just breathed out a ‘Fuck,’ under his breath when you slowly rubbed the tip with your thumb. He let his head press back to the wall behind him with closed eyes as you grazed your finger on it. He slightly pulled you from your thighs to usher you to take him but you knew better. You just quietly played with his tip.

“Baby,” he muttered with a need in his tone. “Please.” he just simply continued his plea. One thing about him always surprised you that he wasn't playing any games with his requests or his pleas. If he needed you so fucking bad, he’d tell you straightforwardly. And he’d not try to dominate you into his plea. He’d be just good for you to take him however you liked. He was just yours.

“Will you do that for me, pretty girl?” he came back to your lips for a soft kiss. “Yeah?” he guided you with his lips.

“Yeah.” you whispered after one kiss. “Hm?” one kiss more, “That’s my girl.”

You two kissed until he helped you to be in a position to take him. You felt his tip between your folds, at your entrance. You softly moaned into his lips when he entered you. A few seconds of taking him fully gave you a familiar feeling you knew very well. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall on his shoulder as you exhaled quietly, his thickness filling you overly. He fixed the angles of his hips to be buried in you as much as he could, your pussy lovingly wrapping around him. He kissed your cheek before murmuring to your skin.

“Are you alright, baby?”

You hummed before finding his eyes. He gave you just a sweet smile of his and pecked your lips. As you started to move your hips, it was a bit of a struggle for you to find the pace. You started slowly, fully taking him, in and out, with your soft moans. He was just bare with nothing but his length inside of you pussy. It was so perfect, so right as you moved on his cock. He was quietly tensing his jaw for not to make any sound other than his occasional groans.

His hands were on your hips and thighs, holding you from falling as you rode him how you yearned for. You just started at a slow but steady pace, but he encouraged you to be faster with his blue eyes under his creased brows from the pleasure he was having as much as you were. Your scorching pussy had been squeezing him too flawlessly from thrusts, luring him for more of you. You tried to take him as much as you could with you needy state, moving your hips to hit your sweet spots.

Your breathing started to speed up from the movements of your hips before the main door of the washroom opened and a few girls came inside. You were too stunned, halting your hips immediately. But Bruce, God, he was just surprised for a few seconds before he turned back to his high feelings of your pussy clenching his cock without any mind. In fact, he was only surprised that it took so long for someone to use the restroom.

The girls were loud and ecstatic in their own world, not presuming what was happening behind one of the locked stall doors. Your mind was dizzy and alert at the same time but your Bruce knew how to handle you. He just started to press softest kisses on your throat and neck silently as he could (he was very sure that the girls wouldn't even notice your hushed actions, but he knew you were like a deer in the headlights. His lovely doe.), then soft whispers to your ear.

“I got you, baby.” he murmured barely as he skillfully inclined you to lift your hips. Your panicked eyes locked in his but he was effortless — like how he knew how to twist it to his will. That arrogant husband of yours. He, a few times, made you continue to ride him which resulted in your strained moans against his neck. The girls were speaking about a theme passionately to notice your sweetest, softened sounds.

The whole six minutes passed as one of the most dreadful moments in your life. You just prayed they’d leave and no one would enter until you two were finished. Bruce guided you unhurriedly in those minutes, nestling to your skin with his kisses, making you wrap your arms around his neck as he helped you to move your hips. He was pampered in his seat, his thumb brushing on the soft skin of your hip as he was sucking and biting throat, — blooming the faded spots again — while you were holding him dearly. And when the girls left and you were now alone in the restroom again, you caught his eyes. You were speechless but he pecked your lips and muttered, “I told you to trust me.”

You just sighed at his neck in disappointment and he only smiled at himself. He kissed your hair as you hid your face, murmuring a ‘please’ for you interrupted moment. You breathed out in peace, the quiet relief in your heart that you were actually out of sights. It took you a few moments but he got you just as needy as before with his words and kisses in the following minutes, to tutor you to ride him just like earlier.

“There you go, baby, just — fuck — just like that.”

You pressed your forehead against his as you moved your hips with a sheen on your temple as his. He was just burning just as you, in his white, tailor-made unbuttoned shirt in the heat, holding you skillfully as you were fucking him. A whole extended period of thrusting on his cock got you to the finish line. Your soft moans and mewls were filling the dense air between as your cunt was utterly tightening with his thickness over and over again. And when you felt the familiar pressure in your stomach, you just called his name into his ear.

He could feel how your pussy was clenching him, giving him his elated seconds. “Fuck, are you close?” he asked you as he pressed kisses on your neck. “Hm?”

“Uh-huh..”

You felt his fingertips on your clit, pressuring the exact spot got you breathless. “B-Baby..,” you breathed out to his neck. He knew the tone of your voice and the desperation of the moment and did what he usually does. It felt amazing, so dazzling when the euphoria blinded you. You just remember the tight clasp of yours around his neck and the deep inhale of air. The next thing you reminisce about was that you were in his arms, nuzzling into his neck with soft exhales.

You never fully remembered how he came but he did after you with the squeezing of your cunt as you came and your sweet calling out of his name. He came inside of you, his thick seed filling you and now, messy between your thighs. You two were breathless, pressed up against each other in silence.

You felt his fingers tangled in your hair later. He was serenely and contently running his calloused fingers through it. You felt his fingers then pushing your locks on your face, on your blushed cheeks before his hand found your face to angle you to him.

When your eyes met, you two smiled at each other. He softly traced your bottom lip, his blue eyes fixed on that. He then gently grabbed your chin between his fingers to pull you in for a kiss. You shared a few more kisses happily, appreciating them one by one.

“You are a mess.” you whispered as your eyes were lovingly carving his features into your mind. “Am I?” he muttered as his eyes slightly crinkled.

God, you loved him so much.

His hair was messy, his pale cheeks were tinted in the fluorescent light as yours and his stupid smile detailed on his mouth. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, pulling you in for the last kiss.

“We should better be gone, baby.” he muttered to your lips. You just hummed, sluggish in your reply. He just smiled at your mood and pressed a kiss on your temple. “We can cuddle in bed, come on. Unless you want to spend some time in here.”

You let him help you with taking himself out of you and pulling you up on your feet. You two were genuinely a mess, in any sense. It took you twenty minutes to be in ‘decent’ condition, after the refreshment of water and some kisses. Bruce had covered his jacket around you, for your disheveled dress and the love marks on your neck.

“Ready?” he murmured to your temple after a kiss as his arm circled you. You just nodded, thinking about how the hell you will leave before someone notices you two leave the restroom in that state. But as your Bruce said, he’d handle it.

thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

[janiehellion]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺����𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon doesn't say much—but when you almost die, he finally tells you everything. Turns out, the man who you thought hated you the most was the one who loved you the hardest.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Submissive Daryl Dixon ⋮ Angst ⋮ Hurt/Comfort ⋮ Smut ⋮ Violence ⋮ Fluff ⋮ Dry Humping ⋮ Trauma ⋮ Cock Teasing ⋮ Handjob ⋮ Orgasm Control ⋮ Body Worship ⋮ Size Kink ⋮ Condom Use/Play ⋮ Praise Kink ⋮ Cock Riding ⋮ Dissociation ⋮ Aftercare ⋮ Daryl Dixon's Biceps

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 26.062 ⋮ 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S02E04 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑨𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑶𝒘𝒏

The Georgia sun was already feeling way too hot by mid-morning, shining down on the farm like it had a personal problem against you as soon as you and the rest of the group had arrived on the Greene's property. After the funeral of a man named Otis, you stood near a truck with your arms crossed, listening to the voices around it. Maggie had put a map onto the hood for Rick and the rest of you to continue the search after Sophia.

"How long has this girl been lost?" Hershel asked, looking at Rick's pale face. You didn't blame him—Carl was still inside the house, recovering and quiet in bed, and everyone else was still somewhat in shock since Otis didn't come back, especially Shane. Or so it seemed.

"This'll be day three," Rick answered, and the sound of exhaustion in his voice was very noticeable.

Finally moving closer after some time, you stood right next to Hershel Greene. Not because you wanted to, but because it was the only space left around the hood of the truck.

"County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations," Maggie had said, making Rick nod, looking at everyone around him.

"This is perfect. We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area... start searching in teams."

But Hershel immediately cut him off. "Not you. Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out," he said, then looking over at Shane. "And your ankle... Push it now, and you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."

This nearly made you open your mouth, about to offer something—you hadn't given any blood, your ankle was fine, and you wanted to help, just like everyone else—but Daryl beat you to it, jerking his chin toward the map and pointing at a spot with one finger.

"Guess 's just me," he threw in. "'M gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there."

Of course.

"I can still be useful," Shane added quickly, adjusting the police cap on his now-shaven head. "I'll drive up to the interstate. See if Sophia wandered back."

Rick looked down but then nodded. "All right, tomorrow then. We'll start doing this right."

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives. They need the gun training we've been promising them." Shane leaned forward, looking past you and toward Rick.

But Hershel didn't back down from what he apparently had told both Rick and Shane already. "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property. We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."

"All due respect," Shane fired back in an instant, shaking his head, "you get a crowd of those things wandering in here—"

"Look, we're guests here," Rick started and silenced him, then looked at Hershel again. "This is your property, and we will respect that." Before he even continued, he pulled his Colt Python revolver from the holster and placed it on the hood of the truck.

Shane hesitated, then did the same with his pistol.

"First things first," Rick then said. "Set camp. Find Sophia."

Finally, you cleared your throat. "We'll find her," you said. "We're not giving up."

Shane shot you a quick look but nodded. "Right... But I hate to be the one to ask," he said further, "but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bitten? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that."

"You do what has to be done." Rick's answer came with no hesitation.

Maggie looked up, her gaze switching from him to Shane. "And her mother? What do you tell her?"

"The truth," Andrea suddenly answered flatly, but that was about it.

Shane took a step back from the truck. "I'll gather and secure all the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying till we're at a practice range off-site. I do request one rifleman on the lookout. Dale's got experience."

"Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," Rick told Hershel again, who finally gave him a thoughtful nod in return.

"That stuff you brought… Got more antibiotics, bandages, anything like that?"

But as the conversation turned toward medical supplies, Daryl grunted and moved away from the group. Just like that. You didn't hesitate—your feet were already moving after him as he walked in the direction of his tent like he'd never been part of the conversation at all.

"Hey!" You called out, running a little. "Wait up."

He didn't turn, but he didn't speed up either. That was about as much of an invitation as you were ever going to get from Daryl Dixon.

You caught up to him just as he was about to kneel down, grabbing some more bolts for his crossbow and a knife. "The hell ya followin' me for?" He asked, not even looking up.

"I want to go with you," you answered. "I can help."

But Daryl snorted. Actually snorted. Like you'd just offered to fix his engine with a wrench and no knowledge at all when it comes to motorcycles.

"Go back to playin' nurse for the kid," he answered. "Ain't draggin' yer ass out there just so ya can trip over yer own damn self and die."

You blinked. "Okay, Daryl. How about you try to not act like a dick?"

"Ain't got no time for that."

You moved closer, squinting against the sun as you stared him down. "Listen, I'm not stupid. I can handle myself. If something happens, then you're there to help. And I would help you in return."

That finally made him look back at you with narrowed eyes… all blue and pissed. "Ya got a death wish, that it? Go wanderin' out there like a dumbass; gonna end up just like that lil' girl."

"That little girl is the whole reason we're out here in the first place!" You snapped at him, gesturing around. "You think you're the only one who cares? The only one who can search for Sophia?"

Daryl stood back up. But in the same way as when he was trying not to punch something. "Ain't 'bout what ya can do. 'S what ya shouldn't be doin'."

You were breathing hard, just as he turned away. "Don't follow me," he added, before turning and stomping off across the field and toward the tree line.

Without thinking, you walked after him again.

"Daryl, wait!" You called, grabbing for his shoulder as he reached the edge of the field.

He turned around like he'd been attacked, shrugging you off. His elbow hit you hard enough to surprise you and enough to hurt, making you stumble back a step.

"Don't ya touch me!"

You stared at him with wide eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Daryl looked you up and down like you were a problem he didn't have the time to fix. "Nothin' wrong with me. I ain't the one out here goin' after people who told 'em no."

"That's just because you're being such a stubborn asshole, Daryl!"

He laughed, mean and without amusement. "Oh, ain't that rich, comin' from a bitch wearin' her goddamn perfume and pink nail polish—hair all shiny, clothes all clean! Ya ain't shit."

That answer felt like a slap in the face for you. "You don't know anything about me, Daryl. Don't talk about me like that." Blinking hard with a slightly trembling lip, you realized too late that he noticed it.

"I only want to help!" You quickly continued to shout. "You think I'm useless? I'm trying! I care. Isn't that what matters? God, you're such a bastard! Do you really think I'm some helpless little—"

"Yeah, I do," he growled at you, his voice dropping lower and sounding meaner. "Ya don't belong out there. Hell, ya don't even belong out here! Yer like some damn doll that—"

"Why do you even care then?" You shouted back into his face. "If I'm so pathetic, why not let me get eaten?"

Daryl stopped talking in an instant until his voice sounded normal again… unbothered. "Don't care. Just don't wanna have to be the one cleanin' up what's left when the walkers're done with ya."

The silence that followed? All you could listen to was your pulse, which was pounding in your ears.

Daryl turned his back to you again—like he couldn't even stand to look at you—and finally walked off without another word, his crossbow hanging over one shoulder, going far from everyone, like he wanted it. Like he wanted to be.

You stayed where you were, jaw clenched, breathing fast. You weren't crying. Not really. But you wanted to. Just then someone stopped beside you, and you looked up to find Glenn.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I… just talked with Daryl," you answered, brushing your palms off on your clothes, trying to get the little shaking to stop.

Glenn let out a sigh and gave you a look. One of those typical looks—worried, a little amused, and very much not buying your bullshit.

"He always that much of an asshole to you?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Pretty much. Guess I bring out the worst in him."

"I've noticed it already, believe me," Glenn responded. "As if... you walk near him and the guy forgets how to be a human being."

"He literally shoved me," you grumbled, more to yourself than to him. "Like, right now. And hard. Then told me I was useless and that I don't belong out here."

"Jesus…" Glenn blinked, shaking his head.

"Right? I ask to help, and he treats me like I'm the goddamn problem."

"Yeah, that tracks," Glenn answered dryly with a smirk. "That's what he does. Gets annoyed and acts like a dick to scare everyone away. Very much emotionally mature."

You snorted as if to laugh about it. But in reality? It hurt a little bit.

"He doesn't scare me," you answered. "He simply pisses me off."

"I think that's the same thing for him. Look, just give him some space. That man's got more walls than Fort Knox. But if you ever want to talk about it, I've got some time."

"Well, thanks for that. I mean it," you smiled weakly as Glenn started walking beside you, back toward the farmhouse. You glanced over your shoulder toward the trees where Daryl had disappeared. No sign of him. Was he already gone and looking for Sophia? You didn't know. And right now, you couldn't care less about Daryl Dixon.

But once you focused on what was in front of you, you saw her just before you reached your tent—Carol, standing off to the side, arms wrapped around herself like if she let go, she would cry. Her eyes were on the tree line, searching a forest for explanations that never answered any questions. She was waiting.

Waiting for a daughter who might already be dead.

You froze and felt it all at once—shame, guilt, helplessness. You'd been arguing around instead of helping, just because Daryl thought you were useless. But what were you actually doing to help?

What were any of you doing, really?

By the time you reached your tent, your mind was already made up. You waited until everyone had calmed down, until everyone was busy with any task they were able to keep themselves occupied with, and until Rick disappeared inside the farmhouse to look after Carl.

No one was watching. Not now, at last.

Grabbing the knife that Shane had sharpened for you a few days ago, you slipped it into your belt. It wasn't much. But it'd have to do. Not leaving a note behind, you just disappeared into the woods before you could talk yourself out of it.

Keeping to the trail you found at first, the knife gripped tight in your hand, your eyes were looking toward every rustle of leaves and creak of branches.

It wasn't brave. It was stupid. You knew that. But you didn't care. You had to do something to help. Anything.

Time passed as you walked, maybe an hour, maybe more. You weren't sure. The muscles in your legs ached, and sweat slid down your back, sticky and wet beneath your shirt. But you kept going. Eventually, you saw it. A clearing. An old house made out of wood and forgotten, with windows that looked long broken. It was something. Maybe it was a place a scared little girl might hide in.

You approached carefully, your heart immediately starting to beat faster. Each step seemed louder than it should've been. The door creaked when you pushed it open, and you winced, raising your knife. Nothing moved.

Good.

Inside, the place smelled like mold and animal piss. You gagged but forced yourself to step in, eyes scanning everything. There was a broken-down couch, a couple of empty cans on the floor—sardines, maybe?—and a hallway leading deeper into the house.

You moved slowly, your breathing as quiet as it could be. The floor creaked beneath you, and every move sounded way too loud in the silence. A few steps further into the nearest room, you saw it—something that looked like a tiny, makeshift bed in a closet.

Could've been Sophia.

Could've been… But after searching through the whole place, you came to the realization that it was indeed empty.

Stepping outside again, you blinked against the sun, squinting at the ground. That's when you saw them—white flowers, growing wild near the tree line. Cherokee roses.

You remembered these roses. The history lessons in school about the Trail of Tears, how the Cherokee people were forced out of their native land, and how the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much that they were unable to help their children survive the journey. You couldn't help but crouch down to take a closer look.

But that was your mistake.

Something snapped beneath your foot. Not loud. But you fell forward fast, your ankle twisting itself hard to the side as your foot caught a rock buried in the grass. Your knee slammed down on another, and pain tore through your leg, making you forget that your head hit the ground as well. Crying out, you tried to catch yourself, but your arm hit something jagged. Wood? Rusted metal? You didn't know and didn't have time to find out.

Either way, it cut deep. A long, deep cut inside your forearm, bleeding quickly and not stopping.

You swore, grabbing it, gasping as the pain started to be felt. Your ankle wasn't broken, but it throbbed as you tried to stand back up, only to fail. The second your weight shifted, your knees buckled and you hit the ground again.

"Shit," you hissed out as quietly as possible. "Shit, shit, shit!"

You looked around—trees, grass, endless nothing. No one was coming. No one even knew you were gone.

The blood wasn't gushing, but it didn't stop either, making your heart race faster than it should've, and the heat of the sun made everything spin.

This was bad.

It felt bad. Not walker-bite bad, not definitely dead bad, but you'd hit your head a little too hard when you fell, and the pain behind your eyes was pulsing now, pounding even. A concussion? Maybe.

But worst of all—you were alone. Out here. No backup. No plan.

You hadn't found Sophia.

You hadn't found anything.

All you had found were the Cherokee roses that blurred by now in front of your eyes like your brain couldn't quite hold the shape. You blinked, but the flower didn't sharpen. Everything was spinning. The trees swayed too hard. Your arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and your ankle had gone numb, like your body gave up trying to feel it anymore.

The grass was warm under your back. That should've comforted you, right?

And then the memories started coming back out of nowhere. They came slowly, like a fever dream.

The firelight. The sound of crickets. The quarry just outside Atlanta, back when everything still felt new, when walkers were the worst of your problems, and Daryl Dixon was just some loudmouth redneck with a brother twice as bad.

You'd never forget the first real day around them. It had been a good day. At least at first. You'd just bathed down there, using some lotion afterward you'd scavenged from a motel, along with a broken brush that barely held together as you came back with damp hair and a pink towel around your body.

The shampoo you'd used? It was strawberry-scented, the cheap kind, but it made your hair all soft and shiny. You'd taken an extra five minutes to wash it out in the water, humming to yourself, just trying to feel clean for five seconds. You even wanted to wear one of the sundresses you'd taken with you, thinking, stupidly, maybe you'd feel safe again and that this whole pandemic would be over soon.

What a joke.

Then you remembered walking up to the fire, smiling, towel around your shoulders. The way Jim gave you a nod. How Dale smiled like he was just happy someone still knew what lotion was.

You remembered Merle's laugh next. Harsh. Mean. "Well lookit that," he'd snorted, loud enough for the whole camp to hear. "Miss Georgia's right here in the end times. Whatcha doin', girl? Waitin' on Prince fuckin' Charming, or you plannin' to start a fuckin' show out here for me, sugartits? Do you think some walker's gonna fuck your pretty lil' ass? Shit, don't even need them damn dresses you always wearin', I can give ya a damn good time without 'em."

You'd tried to ignore him. Dried your hair by the fire, doing your best not to just run away when he got closer.

And Daryl? He hadn't stopped Merle. He'd just joined in like he hated what he was looking at. "Ya really bringin' that kinda shit out here? She really tryin' to get a walker to fuck her ‘fore it eats her."

You'd looked up. Said nothing.

And then Daryl had spat. Not near you. On you. A glob of spit that hit your leg.

"Dumb bitch. Still ain't got nothin' worth keepin' alive."

He hadn't even looked at you when he said it. Like you weren't even worth the eye contact. After that, you didn't eat with the others for days. But you tried to stay useful. Stayed quiet.

Even now, lying here in the grass, while some of the blood dried on your arm, your head pounding, the memory hurt.

Not just because it had been painful. Not because it was mean. Because part of you had believed them.

You knew that you weren't a fighter. You were just… you. Still using cosmetics and having a heartbeat too slow to keep up with a world that was dying around you so fast.

And Daryl? He'd known it. He'd seen it. He still saw it.

And that look in his eyes when he shoved you away—like just being near you made him weak? That wasn't anything new.

You didn't cry. Not back then. You just got up and left to go into your tent, telling yourself over and over that you wouldn't let it show.

And now you were bleeding out next to a flower instead of finding Sophia for Carol—Carol, who was grieving and strong in all the right ways—and you were still that girl with the strawberry shampoo, trying to prove you mattered before the end of the world would kill you anyway.

Maybe Merle and Daryl were right all along. Maybe you weren't worth saving.

Even now. No. Especially now. Half-conscious, with blood running down your arm and your stomach wanting you to throw up from the pain, the realization hit you hard.

You weren't one of them. You were just decoration. A joke. Useless. Always useless.

The last thing you saw before your eyelids felt too heavy was that stupid white flower, moving just slightly in the warm wind of the Georgia sun, like it was just here, waiting and watching you die in silence.

Back at the farm, Daryl yanked his crossbow into place, holding the strap over his shoulder a bit tighter when he prepared to go into the woods to continue his search for Sophia. He had been gone, yes, but he hadn't continued his search for the little girl and was only now about to leave.

Just before Rick's voice stopped him.

"Daryl. You okay on your own?" He asked.

"'M better on my own."

Rick nodded like he already knew the answer. "We got a base now. We can get this search properly organized."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Ya got a point, or we just chattin'?"

"My point is it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything."

"My other plans fell through." And then Daryl turned without waiting for a reply.

Soon enough, the farm disappeared out of view behind him. Out there, it was quieter. No bullshit. No looks. No whispers. Just nature, animals, and the walkers.

Daryl followed a trail he had seen earlier, retracing old steps, ducking under branches, and stepping over logs. He kept his eyes low, scanning. Looking for tracks. A footprint. Any kind of hint he could find.

It was nearly an hour later when the house came into view.

That old abandoned building, half-eaten by time. He approached it slowly before he entered a place that felt like it still remembered the people who'd lived here once. Crossbow raised, he stepped in and moved from room to room. The first one? Empty. Except for an old can of sardines on the counter, peeled open. Recent.

Someone had been here.

He kept going. Into the hallway, past a bathroom, and into another room with a closet door half-ajar. Inside was a makeshift bed. Small. Like someone had curled up and hoped to disappear.

"Sophia!" Daryl called out, not loud, but clear. No answer. No hope, either… Giving up after he made sure the house was completely empty, he stepped outside again, squinting his eyes in the sunlight. That's when he saw it. The flowers.

Cherokee roses.

Moving slowly toward them to take a closer look, his gaze dropped just before he wanted to kneel down—and that's when his eyes widened.

You were lying there.

Blood all over one of your arms and your side. One foot was at an angle that wasn't looking quite right. Eyes closed. Lips pale.

Daryl didn't move at first and only stared. Like maybe it wasn't real. Maybe if he blinked, you would disappear and he could go back to pretending you didn't matter. But you didn't go away.

"God fuckin' dammit…"

His knees hit the ground as he dropped beside you before he grabbed your wrist first—rushed and too tight—but he needed to feel a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there. You were breathing, but shallowly.

"Shit," he hissed as soon as he saw the deep and long cut along your arm next, yanking a half-clean rug from his pocket and pressing it to your skin where the blood was coming out. "Stupid. Stupid goddamn—what the hell were ya thinkin'!"

Unable to answer, your head lolled to the side. Daryl pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.

"This what ya wanted?" He continued to yell at you, even though you couldn't hear him. He looked down at your face—smudged with dirt and sweat—and for half a second, he felt something like guilt. But it was gone before he could name it.

"Stupid girl," he grumbled again, but it sounded different now. Quieter.

Grabbing your other arm and pulling it across his shoulders, he lifted your body with a grunt. You were dead weight—not conscious, not responsive—but he got you up, holding you awkwardly against his side like you weighed nothing.

"I swear t'God, if ya don't die, 'm gonna kill ya, bring ya back, n' kill ya m'self again! Fuck!"

And then Daryl started walking. Back through the woods, back toward the farm, his jaw clenched, his face looking pissed, cursing the whole way like that would keep the anger away from him. Every step moved your body a bit, and every little noise you made had him tightening his grip.

You didn't remember much of the trip back. Just the Georgia heat and some motion above your head, all the while every breath was a fight. But Daryl remembered every step of the way.

His arms were on fire, his muscles burning by the time the farm came into view. Some of your blood had soaked through his clothes, clinging to his shirt and skin. The rug tied around your arm was doing a piss-poor job at stopping the bleeding, and you weren't doing much at all—not even mumbling like he had hoped you would do after some time.

Rick was now on the porch of the farmhouse, talking to Hershel about something—medicine, rations, or safety probably—when he caught sight of Daryl coming out of the tree line with you in his arms.

His eyes went wide. "What the hell… Daryl!"

"She's hurt," Daryl snapped, stomping past him. "Went out on her own. Found her like this, bleedin' near some old-ass house."

"What happened?" Andrea gasped, running up to him, while Lori covered her mouth with both hands as she got out of the house to see what was going on.

"Get outta my damn way!" Daryl barked, heading up the porch.

"There's no room," Hershel immediately answered, stopping Daryl from walking into his home. "Carl's still inside."

"Then where the hell do I put her?"

"The RV," T-Dog cut in, looking at Dale for his approval.

Dale didn't argue and rushed to open the RV door while Daryl climbed the steps. He moved quickly, lowering you gently onto the couch, and Hershel was following with some of his medical equipment the second Daryl took a step back.

"Let me see. She's lost quite some blood. Probably a mild concussion. I need some time."

Daryl backed off only because he had to, watching with his arms crossed and lips tight while Hershel cut the rag from your arm and cleaned the cut. It wasn't fatal. Deep, long, painful, yes, but you were lucky. Soon, Hershel said something about shock and rest and stitches. But Daryl still just stared at your face. Pale. Eyelids still closed. Lips dry. And all he could do was stand there and watch.

That night, the camp outside the farmhouse was rather quiet. Everyone from the group went to their tents as the time passed by. Glenn sat on the steps of the RV for a while like he was guarding you, but eventually even he wandered off. Daryl had waited. He was now behind the RV, chain-smoking cigarettes like it would give him a better excuse for the nervousness he was feeling.

He hated this. He hated you. No, that wasn't right. He hated how you made him feel like this. Like he gave a shit. Like he'd never forgive himself if you died. It was past midnight when he stepped back in. The RV door creaked a little as it opened, and for once, he flinched at the sound. You were still there on the couch, with a bandaged arm, and still as death.

Kneeling beside you and staring at the bandage, he imagined how many stitches on your arm there might be before he started talking.

"Y'know, I was gonna leave ya out there," he smirked. "Saw yer dumb fuckin' ass lyin' in the grass and thought, ‘Good. Serves that bitch right.'"

He suddenly sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm. "But I ain't done that."

Looking up at you—your sleeping face—his eyes went to look down to your lips. Just a breath away. Daryl leaned in slowly, like even gravity didn't want to push him too fast. But when his nose nearly touched yours, he stopped and pulled back with shaking hands and a dry mouth.

"Bet ya'd punch me if ya knew." His own words made him smile.

"'N I bet ya still got some fight left. Ya always been fightin' my damn brother away. Ya remember back at the quarry?" He continued. "Me 'n Merle… we used to—fuck, we were assholes. Used to think ya were the dumbest damn slut—girl—I ever met."

Daryl laughed again, shaking his head. "Painted nails. Lil' pink bag full o' crap. Lip stuff. Glitter lotion or some shit. Whatever the fuck that was. Dunno. Shit… who the hell wears glitter durin' the damn end of the world?"

His voice cracked, but he ignored it. "Ya were always tryin' to make things pretty. That damn girly shit. Ya got a whole damn bag of soaps and creams and fuckin'... ribbons. And what did I do? I spit more 'n once on ya and yer shit, remember that? Said it was useless. Said ya were useless."

He looked away, huffing, only to look down. "Fuck… Ya always kept all o' yer things clean. Yer tent. Yer hair. Yer hands. Made the rest o' us look like fuckin' trash. Not good 'nough for ya."

Daryl paused, inhaling deeply and breathing out slowly, making sure no one was coming to look at how you were doing. "That deer I brought in? When Rick joined? Got it for ya. Was fuckin' mad at ya that day, ‘cause ya smiled at Shane or Glenn or—fuck, I dunno why it bothered me, it just… did."

He then pulled something from his pocket—a dirty little bottle of rose-scented hand cream. "Ya had one of these once, 'fore the CDC blew up," he grumbled, setting it down on the little table beside you. "Said it reminded ya of home. Heard ya talkin' 'bout it with Lori. I told ya it was useless bullshit. Made fun of ya for it while I was wasted."

He swallowed hard but then continued to talk to you while you were sleeping. "I went back to that damn pharmacy for it 'fore I went lookin' for Sophia. Saw it on the damn map 'fore ya asked me to come along. Wanted to slip it in yer stuff when ya ain't lookin'. Did that more than once. Soap, too. That fancy coconut or vanilla shit."

He dragged a hand over his face. "'S my fault that ya almost… Yeah, mine. Shouldn't have gone to that damn pharmacy. Could've kept yer damn ass safe."

His throat felt tight. Everything ached. All his muscles were tense by now, burning with shame and guilt. "Dunno what this bullshit is. I ain't never had nothin' good. But if ya died out there…" He stopped, swallowing hard, as hard as it was even possible. "I think I'd lose my goddamn mind..."

The second the words left Daryl's mouth, he flinched again. Saying such things out loud hurt worse than any injury ever could. "Ya always tried to make me feel like I ain't just shit. Like I ain't just Merle's dumbass brother and a fuckin' problem. Like maybe I'm... I dunno. Somethin'."

His forehead dropped to the edge of the couch, hiding his face. Half a sob, half a curse, Daryl shuddered like a storm was rushing through him, one that refused to stop letting him drown.

And then you moved. A groan. Maybe a whisper. But he heard it, and his head shot up. You weren't awake. Not fully. Still out cold, or so it seemed. But your mouth had moved, you had talked; Daryl was sure of it.

Another groan from you—uncertain, half-conscious.

"Fuck this," he suddenly snapped, taking the bottle and grabbing for the door handle of the RV. "Fuckin' idiot! 'M such a fuckin' idiot…"

But he didn't go far, especially since he made sure no one was nearby who might notice him. No, Daryl just sat in the dirt by one of the RV wheels, with his head leaning back against it, his teeth biting into the palm of his hand to keep himself from crying.

Soon enough, the days passed, not many—but enough for the bleeding to stop and for the bruises on your skin to start turning all sorts of ugly. Your arm was stitched up, the muscle still pulling every time you moved. It stung like a bitch. And you weren't allowed to use it much, which meant you spent most of your days lying and sitting around in Dale's RV.

Rick had stopped by more than once to see how you were doing. Lori brought soup that tasted like water and, well, just water, really. And Maggie came around sometimes with Glenn, but that was about it. It got a little easier to move your arm, eventually. Easier to breathe, too, without feeling your head spin. The farm was quiet most of the time—birds, sounds from the horses here and there, and the distant sound of shots, since Rick and Shane had started to teach how to shoot.

You started making short walks around the farm. Then to the field. Then the house.

Still, you hadn't seen him again. Daryl was nowhere to be found anymore. But T-Dog found you instead when you were leaning on the fence one afternoon, holding your arm like it might fall off if you didn't. You weren't crying, but damn if it didn't feel like you could if someone even breathed too loud.

"Doing okay?" He asked, jogging over, but you just shrugged in return.

"I guess."

"Don't push it too fast. That kinda cut, it's no joke," he nodded toward your arm and held out his own. "Guess we're some kinda twins now, huh? Same side as yours."

You managed to give him a small smile in return. "You're not still hurting?"

"Oh, I'm hurting, alright. Just not bleeding on people anymore and leaving a trail of blood for the walkers to follow."

You glanced at him, almost laughing. "Yeah. I remember your accident, too. On the highway. I've never seen so many walkers at once."

"Shit, yeah. I sliced my arm open trying to get outta the way of one of them. Thought I was done for."

Your eyes narrowed as you thought back. Back to the walkers. Back to the ways every single one of you had tried to hide from the danger. "You know… I never asked, but how'd you even get out?"

T-Dog looked at you, a little sideways, like maybe he wasn't sure if you were serious. "You don't know?"

You shook your head slowly. "No. How should I know? I was up in the RV with Andrea. It was bad enough with that one damn walker in there and next to her in such a small place. But thanks to Dale, we're still alive... So? How did you make it?"

He laughed, but it sounded more like a huff. "Daryl. He's the one who saved my ass. White boy came up to me outta nowhere and covered me and him under walkers. We lay there under those dead bodies. Didn't even move."

"Wait, wait—Daryl Dixon?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Wasn't what I expected either. I mean, remember Merle? That guy was a full-blown asshole. And I figured Daryl was just like him, you know? All that racist, hillbilly shit? But he didn't even hesitate. Saved my life."

"But… I also thought he was like Merle. In fact, I'm pretty much sure he is just like Merle."

"So did I," T-Dog admitted again. "Still not sure sometimes. But I guess he's loyal. Just doesn't know how to act loyal without being a real dick about it at the same time."

"Yeah… Sounds about right."

Watching how you turned a bit away from him, T-Dog took a step back, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. "You don't think he gives a damn about you, do you?"

"Why would he?" You asked dryly, shrugging your shoulders. "He's hated me since they'd arrived at the quarry. Said I was useless. Spit at me. Mocked me for every… well, every 'girly' thing I still owned. Stuff I still own."

"But he carried you back," T-Dog answered quietly. "Didn't stop to ask, didn't wait for help. He found you and moved. That's Daryl."

You looked down at your hand, flexing your fingers slowly. The wound on your arm still ached. But this time, it didn't feel like what hurt the most. You didn't say anything else in response at first. Just looked back out toward the tree line, where the wind had started blowing just slightly.

"But I'm so sure that he hates me. You just don't treat someone you don't hate the way he treats me."

T-Dog looked at you for another moment, then shrugged as well. "Could be. Or maybe he just doesn't know how to act loyal. Loyalty doesn't always come with manners."

You huffed at that. "He didn't even stop by. Not once. And I've been stuck in that RV for days. That man does not give a damn, believe me, T."

"'Cause he doesn't do ‘checking in.' Dude's probably sitting alone somewhere, thinking too hard and pretending not to give a shit."

"Think I should go and thank him?" You asked, biting the inside of your cheek and laughing quietly.

T-Dog snorted in response. "If you can find him. It doesn't hurt to say thank you, especially if you don't care about how a man like Dixon might react."

His words made you think. Daryl had saved T-Dog. Daryl had saved you. And yeah, maybe he was a dick about it. Maybe he said mean things and looked at you like you were pathetic. But you also remembered this tiny, stupid stuff you found in your bag that you thought was from Jacqui or Amy before they'd died—cute little comforts that you couldn't even imagine may have been from someone like him.

Soap. Lip balm. A tiny comb. A little pink lighter that still worked…

Thinking back to these many things that had magically appeared in your belongings, the sun was starting to go down when you finally worked up the nerve to find Daryl. You'd been pacing near the RV restlessly for half an hour, or longer, chewing your lip, thinking of a hundred different ways to start a conversation, and hating every single one of your ideas.

Why'd you carry me back?

You chose the most neutral thing you could come up with: Ask him why. Casually. Like it means nothing.

You spotted Daryl's tent now much further from the rest of the group, like he couldn't stand the sound of humans for longer than ten minutes. He was sitting outside, sharpening the blade of a knife with that same pissed-off expression he always had when someone approached him.

You stood there for a second, watching Daryl from a few feet away, just long enough for him to notice you. But he didn't look up.

"Lost?" He then asked, still dragging the knife along whatever he used for sharpening it.

"No," you answered, stepping closer. "I was looking for you."

"Well, ya found me. Congratulations."

"I just wanted to ask you something," you swallowed hard. This was a mistake, for sure. But it was too late now.

Daryl didn't answer you, waiting for you to speak, and just kept sharpening. So you pressed further and finally asked the question. "Why'd you bring me back?"

He stopped moving, but then he scoffed. "Was out lookin' for the lil' girl. Found a body bleedin' in the grass. Figured I'd put it over my shoulder and be done with it."

"You're saying you didn't even know it was me at first?"

He looked up now, finally, and his eyes were cold. "'M sayin' it wouldn't have mattered shit. Just don't need 'nother walker out there. Woulda put a bolt in yer head if—"

You flinched, and he saw it. Of course, he did. "Hell, shoulda just left ya there. Woulda saved me a helluva walk, too."

You blinked hard. From anger, not from tears. Not this time. "Why are you like this, Daryl?"

"Like what?" He smirked at first, scoffing quietly.

"This… cruel."

Daryl's smirk was gone fast, and, putting his knife aside, he finally stood up. "I ain't cruel, woman. 'M honest. World's gone to shit, and ya still walk 'round like yer a fuckin' princess. Maybe if ya stopped worryin' 'bout bubble baths and started learnin' how to not get yerself sliced open, ya wouldn't need any damn carryin'."

Staring at him for another moment, not saying anything, not giving him the satisfaction, you just turned and walked off. You didn't run. You didn't cry. You didn't say another word. Just walked. Wanting to leave him to rot with whatever broken part of a soul made him push kindness away if it disgusted him this much.

Again, the hours passed quietly, like the world was trying to pretend it was peaceful. In the meantime, you had cleaned up as best you could. Maggie had brought you food. Glenn had made a dumb joke that almost made you smile. Almost. You went to your tent later, rubbing near the itchy spots on your arm where the stitches were pulling a little too tight. Dropping to your knees, you unzipped the flap, reached for your bag… and froze.

There, on top of your stuff, was lip gloss. Not the lip balm you always used, but the exact kind of lip gloss you'd run out of weeks ago. Next to it? A tiny bottle of rose-scented hand cream, a little dirty, but still sealed. And a small bar of soap, wrapped in light purple wax paper with floral patterns on it. Lavender. And so much more... And next to it all?

A white Cherokee rose. No note. No explanation. Just there.

No one else would've thought to bring you that kind of stuff. You were sure of it by now as you sat back. Hell, most of the group didn't even know when some of your things were empty to begin with. Nor did any of them know that you were bleeding out right next to a Cherokee rose bush. Except one. The same man who'd told you to your face that he should've left you to die.

Touching the edge of the rose gently, you laughed. A bitter, breathless, and choked laugh. "Asshole..."

You sat there on your knees in silence, with your heart beating harder than it had during the walker horde on the highway. But what you felt at that moment? It was fury. And it was the kind of fury you hadn't let yourself feel in a while. Maybe ever.

You gathered the things carefully but not tenderly. All of them, even the flower, with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Then you stood up, walking back out of your tent. Daryl was still where you left him. He was leaning over a small fire now, poking it. His crossbow leaned next to a log, untouched, and he didn't look up when you approached. Typical.

But he didn't have to. He felt you coming.

"You think I'm fucking stupid?"

Daryl flinched at your words, but his eyes stayed fixed on the flames.

"You think I wouldn't notice? The things you put into my shit? The gloss, the balm, the shampoo, the soaps, the stupid-ass lighter with the pink rhinestones? Oh! There's so much more!"

Now he looked up with narrowed eyes. "I told ya, I—"

"No! No," you cut him off, stepping forward. "Don't do that! You got me these things. You went out of your way. Hell, you got me the exact same hand cream I told Lori about, didn't you? Smells like roses!"

You kept going like your voice just had to be heard for once. "I'm not stupid. I'm not blind. But you want to treat me like I'm some idiotic little girl who can't survive without her glitter and her goddamn bubblegum lip gloss, right? Like I'm just some waste of fucking space!"

Daryl scowled. "Ain't never said—"

"You didn't have to," you snapped back. "You made sure I knew!Every single day! You spit on my things, Daryl. On me! You called me useless! You mocked everything I had left before the world ended. Everything that reminded me I was still a fucking human being!"

"I ain't done that—"

"You did! And now you brought me back? But you won't look me in the eye? You won't talk to me? You don't even admit it, you damn coward!"

"Ain't got no time to explain, woman."

"Bull-fucking-shit, Daryl Dixon," you hissed. "You owe me an explanation! Not for carrying me. For this."

You stared down at all the things in your hands. Then, slowly, you raised one of them. "You wanna know what this is?" You asked quietly, while Daryl didn't answer. So you threw it at his chest.

"It smells like lavender… and feels like shame on my skin."

You threw the next one—the lip gloss. "This one's pity, right?"

Another bottle, this time aimed at his shoulder. He flinched when the hand balm hit him. "This one's your hate… and my guilt. Smells good, doesn't it?"

You threw the last—a tiny little mirror—and it cracked when it hit the ground near his feet. "And this one, Daryl? This one's not even from you, but it's my reminder that when I look in the mirror now, I hate what I see. Because every time I see my face, I hear your voice calling me useless."

He flinched again, breathing faster now. "I never meant—"

"You never meant to?" You cut him off, shouting at him. "Stop! You meant every word you ever said to me; you just didn't expect me to remember them all!"

His hands curled into fists, and he stopped poking the fire. "Ain't done it for ya."

"Really?" You asked back. "Then who was it for? Your fucking idiot brother, Merle? Amy? Andrea? Jacqui? Lori? Carol? Yeah, right! Fuck that!"

He got up and stepped forward suddenly, with an angry expression on his face. "Don't talk 'bout shit ya don't understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty," you shot back, not moving an inch. "I understand that you only know how to hurt people who give a damn. I understand that you are scared as fuck of someone giving a shit about your sorry ass!"

Daryl pointed at you, stepping closer. "Ya don't know anythin' 'bout me."

"Oh, I know enough! I know that you'd rather make a girl cry than admit you were scared when you saw her bleeding out."

"Shut up," he growled, his voice cracking.

But you didn't. You leaned in, close, your nose almost touching his. "You don't hate me... You hate that I make such a pathetic being like you feel like a person. Human."

Daryl pushed you roughly away from him. Not enough to knock you down. But enough to get your attention. "Ya don't know shit! I carried ya back ‘cause I didn't want 'nother fuckin' dead body walkin' 'round here! 'S it!"

"Liar!" You spat, throwing the last thing he got you without even looking at what it was, almost hitting his head. "You carried me back because if I died out there, you would've had to admit you cared!"

"Ya don't get to say that! Ya don't get to decide why I do shit, 'n ya don't know what I—"

"You liked watching me bleed out, didn't you?" You then continued, your face turning red in anger. "Made you feel strong, didn't it? Because a girl like me needing a man like you meant you weren't nothing for once in your pitiful life!"

Dead quiet, Daryl stepped back. And the expression on his face? It was pain, rage, and shame, all at once. "Don't fuckin' say that," he whispered.

But it was too late.

"What, does it hurt?" You scoffed, your eyes still cold. "Good! Do you know what else hurts? Lying in the woods bleeding out, thinking the man you thought was cute at first, but who actually hates your ass to death, is the last person you'll ever listen to! Wishing you'd actually died instead of having to face him ever again! And you know what? I fucking liked you, Daryl. God help me, I fucking liked you. And you made me feel like shit for it."

Daryl didn't look up… as if he couldn't.

"Stupid fucking redneck. Giving me this shit like it means anything."

"'CAUSE I AIN'T NOTHIN'!" He suddenly shouted, with his fists gripping at his hair like he could rip his thoughts out. "'S ME WHO AIN'T SHIT!"

Daryl sank down on his knees, both hands still on his head, gasping wildly, rocking back and forth, back and forth. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!"

His voice broke off, and he started hitting his head with the side of his fists. Once. Twice. More and more. He did not stop until he felt dizzy. You blinked in shock, your heart pounding in your ears. That wasn't the Daryl you knew. This wasn't even the Daryl you hated. And it made time seem as if it stopped.

"W-why do you hate me?" You whispered carefully. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I didn't know how else to do it!" He shouted, his voice cracking hard. "Ya want words? I ain't got the damn words! I don't—" He broke off, breathing fast, dragging his hands down his face.

You didn't respond.

"I got ya that bullshit ‘cause ya fuckin' liked it! ‘Cause it made yer stupid ass smile! And I—I dunno—I thought maybe if ya smiled at me for one goddamn time 'stead of—!"

He sniffed loudly. Like he wanted to cry or just say something nasty, but nothing came out. Only a tiny, broken inhale. All you could do was stare, but this time? It was still shock and confusion. "God, I'm such a dumb bitch… Shit…"

You started to turn, just a little bit, ready to go somewhere and scream at yourself for what you've done—but movement stopped you. Daryl reached out. Clumsy, almost afraid to touch all of it, he picked up the lip balm first. Cracked now, dirt stuck to the side. Then the mirror. The bar of soap. The hand cream. One by one, he gathered all of it together.

You paused, arms crossed, trying not to care. Trying. Then you saw it. A single, tiny tear landed on the hand cream as he held it in his palm, the tremble in his hands impossible not to notice. He stared at it for a long moment, sobbing as quietly to himself as possible. Then he looked up. Not at you. Toward you. And he stretched out both arms, holding the little pile of things in his big, strong hands. No words. Just his eyes that were all wet and looking hopeless, like he was offering up what little was left of himself.

"Take it back…" Daryl sobbed. "I… I didn't mean to… I dunno why—"

His voice cracked again. He looked like he wanted to die. And with a deep breath, you stepped back in his direction, shaking your head. He kept staring at the stuff in his hands, his voice dropping even lower, like he hated every word coming out of his mouth.

"I don't hate ya! Just… didn't wanna care," he sobbed, and you swallowed hard. "But… ya just kept bein' all… you."

You blinked several times in a row.

"I thought… if ya hated me, then it wouldn't matter if ya left one day—if ya died... And ya weren't s'posed to be prettyand smell like fuckin' strawberries or whatever and look at me like I was anythin' other than white trash! Ya weren't s'posed to matter!"

By now, you were crouched down right in front of him. "But you were mean," you then whispered. "You hurt me, Daryl…"

He nodded slowly. "I know."

"And I almost died thinking you hated me…"

Daryl finally looked up. His eyes were red as he looked into yours. "I didn't—I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I-I know," you cut in, your voice now trembling slightly too. And then, finally, your hands reached out. You touched Daryl's cheek first, your thumb sliding along his jaw before you cupped his face, making him shudder.

"I ain't good," he whispered. "Don't talk right. Say shit I don't mean. I fuck everythin' up. And I—" His breath hitched. "I jus' wanted ya to… not die."

You saw it again. The pain. The way his mouth opened like he had something—everything—to say and didn't know how. And that was when you put a soft kiss on his forehead as you pulled him close.

Daryl made a tiny broken sound before his brain caught up, and he immediately panicked. "Don't," he gasped. "Don't do that. Don't… don't pretend!"

He looked scared when you didn't answer. But you just wrapped your arms around him and held him tight. Like you were trying to hold the broken parts of him back together with just your touch. Daryl's face pressed to your neck, his hands suddenly gripping your back like you might be gone if he opened his eyes again. You felt it—the trembling, hearing the sobs, feeling the way he pressed into you.

"M'sorry," he whispered into your shoulder. "M'sorry. I didn't mean it. I-I swear, I just…"

You didn't need an explanation. You just held him tighter. Let him feel you. Let him know you weren't going anywhere, even if his whole body desperately tried its best to relax against you. His breath hitched differently now. The sobs turned a little quieter. Less panic. More need. Not pulling away, you saw it now. All of it.

The little boy who never got love. The man who thought hatred would keep him safe.

How much time passed by wasn't on your mind as you knelt there with Daryl for a while, letting him fall apart into your arms, until the shaking slowed and the wet sobs against your skin turned completely quiet. When Daryl finally let go of you, there was this dazed look in his eyes. Like he'd forgotten where he was or who he even was.

"Come on," you then said gently, just loud enough for him to hear. But Daryl didn't move. So you pulled gently at his hand and helped him up, patiently, and as fast as he wanted to move again. He followed you without a word, stumbling a little, his head low as you helped him back into his tent before he sat down without any words on his sleeping bag.

In the meantime, you reached for the stuff he'd gotten you—picking it all back up off the ground, since he'd let it fall into the grass once you'd put your arms around him, and brought it with you. Daryl didn't even look up when you left all of a sudden; he still sat there.

Once back in your own tent, you moved as fast as possible. Wipes. Lotion. Some clean water in a bottle. A small towel. The flannel shirt you always wore on warmer nights that was way too big for you. You carried it all back in your arms.

Stepping inside Daryl's tent and kneeling down in front of him, he glanced up, confused and wide-eyed.

"I ain't…" He started, his voice shaking. "I don't want—"

"Quiet," you answered gently, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't have to want anything right now. But you need. Listen, just sit there, alright? Let me."

You took the wipes first, pulling one from the pack and warming it a little bit between your hands. Then, slowly and carefully, you wiped the dirt and tears from Daryl's face. His mouth trembled when you touched him, his lips twitching like he might say something—but he didn't. He just let you clean him. Quiet and shaking ever so slightly.

"I ain't clean," he then said, almost ashamed. "M'dirty…"

"No," you whispered with a small smile. "You're not."

Soon enough, you worked your way down his arms, wiping off dirt and sweat and the faint bits of blood that were still left on his skin. Then his hands—his big, rough hands, all calloused, but still trembling. You took your time there. Between each finger. The back of his palms. His wrists.

Daryl watched you in silence, but when you started pulling at the hem of his shirt, he finally flinched, and his eyes were going wide again. "What're ya doin'?"

"Just going to clean you up proper," you answered softly. "It's just a shirt. Relax."

He looked like he wanted to say no. Like he wanted to grab it and yank it back down. But something in him broke a little more, and he let you pull it over his head, only to turn away from you as if in shame. And that's when you saw them. The scars. Not all of them, since he wasn't fully turned away from you, but what you saw was enough to notice how deep and all over the place they were. Scars that shouldn't have been there across his back.

Daryl panicked the second he realized what you were seeing and tried to back away. "Don't—don't fuckin' look at that, a'ight? Ain't nothin'! Nothin' ya gotta—fuck, just—just leave!"

But you didn't pull away as you reached for the small towel and the water bottle you brought with you, opening it to clean him a little more. "Who did this to you, Daryl?"

"Don't matter," he grumbled, arms now crossed tight across his chest. "Ain't yer damn problem."

You leaned forward, arms wrapping around him from the side, your chest pressed to his biceps. "It is my problem," you whispered. "You are."

Placing the towel over his shoulders after you were done drying him off, you grabbed the lotion next. You rubbed it slowly over his arms, his shoulders, and his hands, all the while he sat frozen and looking confused, like it was the first time someone had touched him without hurting him.

"You smell like me now," you smiled, but he just sat there, swallowing hard, breathing shakily.

You reached out and touched his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask."

"Yeah, 'cause ya don't even—"

"I'm not gonna ask," you said again. "You don't have to tell me anything, Daryl. But I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it. And I'm also not going to pretend it changes anything."

He turned fast. Wild-eyed. "Ya don't needa pretend nothin'. Yer—yer tryin' to be nice or some shit. Ya don't—"

Not finishing what he wanted to say, Daryl stared at you once more, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth was open like he wanted to scream or cry but didn't know which one would save him.

Using the moment, you reached for the flannel now. "Arms up..."

He blinked in confusion, maybe wondering why you were still here, which made you smirk. "Come on now, Daryl. I'm not leaving you sitting around shirtless."

He let out a weak, stunned huff but lifted his arms, watching as you slipped the flannel over his head and let it fall around his body, the sleeves way too short for him.

Then, slowly, you reached for his face. "Look at me."

He did as you held his chin, caressing it. "You don't have to be an asshole around me, Daryl. You don't have to yell. Or lie."

All he responded with was a nod in return.

"You want me to stay?"

Another nod.

And you didn't try to pull back. You just stayed there, kneeling in front of him, one hand still on his face, the other soon resting over his chest where his heart felt like it was trying to beat out through his ribs. He looked at you like he didn't get it. Like he was still waiting for the trap.

"You wanna lie down?" You asked eventually, voice soft, but he hesitated until he gave the tiniest nod again.

So you laid down first, letting your side press down on the sleeping bag before you patted the spot in front of you. "Come here."

Daryl snorted, but it came out cracked, sounding more ashamed than mean. "Shit. Ain't never—"

"Now's a good time to start."

He grumbled under his breath but crawled toward you anyway, arms stiff, not really knowing how to be held. Like it was something that needed instructions.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulled him in close, and let your body press to his. His back pushed against your chest, all tensed up and full of confusion, still waiting for some kind of rejection that wasn't even coming. His hands stayed awkwardly near his chest, and his shoulders trembled now and then like he still hadn't run out of tears but just didn't have the strength to let them fall anymore.

"You're shaking," you whispered, holding him a little tighter.

"M'fine..."

"Nope. You're not."

Daryl didn't continue arguing. You pulled the sides of the sleeping bag up over both of you and put your face into the crook of his neck, letting your breath warm his skin there.

He was quiet for a while, and you didn't rush him, since after some time, he finally spoke up again. "Why ya always been like that?"

"Like what?"

He hesitated again. "Weird, I guess? N'... y'know. Just girly. With all them lil' bottles n' fuckin'... soaps n' shit. Creams or whatever all that stuff is ya usin'."

You snorted against the back of his shoulder and kissed the skin there, which made him squirm. "Is that such a big problem for you?"

"Nah, I just... I don't get it. Ain't never made sense. Ya know... world's gone to fuckin' hell, n' ya still put on lotion as if it matters."

"Well, it matters to me," you laughed in response.

"Why?"

You held him a little tighter. "Because it's who I am. I've always been that way. Even before the world ended, I guess. It's what makes me feel human. Like I'm still me. Not just some scared girl trying to survive."

Daryl was quiet again until he whispered. "'N why the hell would a girl like—" He started but cut himself off. "Don't need someone smilin' at me."

"Daryl."

He didn't answer, so you let your hand glide over his side. "You're the first person that ever made me feel safe back at the quarry. Shane always seemed so… impulsive. The others? Well, no one really fought like you did. I'm not saying the rest of the group can't keep us safe, but when that walker got that deer you were hunting down? Made me realize you knew more about survival than everyone else. You were the first one to point out that we need to destroy their brains. You were the first one, the only one, really, who knew how to hunt. It seemed so… natural. Not because you're big or strong or scary—though, let's be real, you kinda are—but because you see people. You look after them. Even when you act like an asshole."

He huffed out a grunt, his shoulders relaxing a little more.

"You gave me those things," you continued softly. "Little things. Stupid things. A flower. A bar of soap. So many things… So you cared. Even if I didn't know at first."

He didn't answer you, but his hand found yours, holding it tight against his chest.

"And yeah, you're… you. Sometimes a bit rude. But now I think that—" You didn't talk about it further, just pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, softer this time. "You don't have to understand it. Not all at once. But I really do likeyou. I liked you right from the start. I just didn't smile at you because… well, you know how you were acting around me."

His grip on your hand loosened, and you felt him slowly, finally, letting out a deep breath. Like he'd been holding that breath since Atlanta. And you stayed like that. Daryl didn't say anything else, but his breathing slowed after a while, sounding calmer, until he fell asleep like that, in your arms.

Like a broken, little boy who'd never been held in someone's arms for the sake of it.

And when you were sure Daryl was out, you slowly, so slowly, moved yourself away from him, pressing one last kiss to the side of his face and putting the sleeping bag tighter around him. He grumbled something in his sleep. A quiet sound where you couldn't make out what he was saying. But it didn't matter what exactly he said when you gathered your stuff back together and stepped out of his tent again. At least you knew he was feeling safe for now.

The next day when you were back on your feet, you weren't thinking too hard about the night before. Making yourself as useful as possible, you tried to help the rest of the group as best as you could in the morning.

Lori handed you a knife while Carl ran around the farm, finally able to move after he'd been out for days after the incident, and already having more energy than he should've had after being shot. But hey, Hershel worked miracles. The kid was back to running around as if nothing ever happened.

"Don't let him wear you out," Lori said with a wide smile, wiping her hands on a towel. "He'll run circles around you until you get dizzy."

You snorted. "That's what I'm afraid of. And I think he's already making my head spin. But, you know, he's feeling like a kid again for once; that matters the most, especially with everything going on…"

Carl then ran up beside you, holding out a deflated ball to play with. "Wanna play catch real quick?"

"Only if you go easy on me," you answered, pointing to your arm. "Doctor's orders."

"Deal!" He grinned and ran back a few feet, while Lori chopped onions beside the fire. For a moment, it all felt so… normal. Almost like something from the before-times—morning air still chilling and not too hot, smells of wood and watery coffee in the air, people waking up, stretching, and starting their day.

And soon enough, you noticed him from the corner of your eye before you heard him—always the quiet one.

Daryl.

He was walking in from the tree line, his crossbow as always with him. Same sweat-drenched skin while walking around in the sun, the same scowl that was more habit than emotion. But he didn't look your way, and you didn't call out, since Carl had already started playing with you. Still, you couldn't help but watch him walk toward the RV before returning your attention to the kid.

Meanwhile, Daryl pushed open the RV door. He'd been avoiding Carol for a while now—not because he didn't give a shit, but because he didn't know how to. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry yer kid's missin'? 'M still searchin'?" That didn't help anyone.

But he had remembered the roses that bloomed in the woods. Right there, where you had been bleeding near the house, like they were waiting for him again. He'd stared at them for a full minute before pulling one out of the dirt and shoving it into an old beer bottle he found.

He felt stupid carrying it back. Felt even more stupid walking up the steps of the RV, holding it. But he did it anyway.

Inside the RV, Carol was cleaning everything, trying to distract herself from the emptiness that was eating her up from the inside out. "I cleaned up," she said without looking at him. "Wanted it to be nice for her."

Daryl glanced around. "For a second I thought I was in the wrong place." He set the beer bottle with the rose down on the little table.

She finally turned. Her eyes looked at it, then back at him. "A flower?"

"'S a Cherokee rose." He sighed. "The story is that when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way from exposure, disease, and starvation. A lot of 'em just disappeared."

Carol froze but continued to listen to Daryl. "So the elders, they said a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, and give 'em strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell. I ain't fool 'nough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother. But I believe this one bloomed for yer little girl."

Her eyes filled up with tears, but she shrugged it off with a laugh.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he added, nodding once. Then he turned away and stepped back outside.

But Daryl didn't head straight back to his tent. Not right away. Instead, he stopped near one of the fences, where he could see you, even though he'd made up his mind to head out again soon.

You were laughing, tossing a ball, even if your movements were stiff, and Carl almost fell when he caught it. Lori said something, probably about food or ordering Carl to be more careful. But you, you looked...alive.

Still pretty. Still you. Still 'girly n' shit,' with your beautiful hair and your clean clothes and that voice that didn't sound like anyone else's.

Daryl could still feel your hands on his skin; that damn flannel shirt still smelled like you, which he carefully left in his tent.

Raising a hand without thinking, he waved a little. Awkwardly. But you looked up and smiled at him. Really smiled. And that's when Daryl's face turned red and he damn near panicked. He dropped his hand, spun around, and stormed off toward his tent like he hadn't just spent a few hours walking through the woods while secretly hoping to see you at the end of it.

Meanwhile, Lori leaned over, grinning a little confused. "What was that about?"

"Long story," you answered, shaking your head.

Lori raised her eyebrows but didn't push any further when you turned your attention back to Carl.

"Alright," you challenged him. "Last round. The loser has to eat a whole onion raw!"

But every now and then, your eyes looked toward the tree line again, right where Daryl had disappeared again. You'd be checking on him later. And as time passed, it was safe to say that you barely saw him all day. He was nowhere to be found. Not that you were watching or anything—okay, maybe you did want to look after him. Still, you weren't about to start jogging all over the Greene's property, but damn if your eyes didn't automatically look to every movement of the trees, every corner of the farm, every second someone from the group came walking out of the woods or was near you.

Still, Daryl was just... gone.

And it wasn't like you to worry—not in the clingy, 'where's my man?' kind of way, but after last night, after everything he let you see, the way he sobbed in your arms like a hurt little boy, the way he clung to you like he'd drown otherwise? It didn't sit right with you that he could disappear so easily, like none of it ever happened.

By the time it was afternoon, you finally gave in and went looking.

Finding Glenn near the stable while Maggie stood at one of the stalls and stroked one of the horses, you heard them talking, laughing about something.

"Hey," you called as you approached. "Have either of you seen Daryl? I saw that he left again, but he's still not back."

Glenn tilted his head. "Yeah, earlier, when we came back. He asked me about the town where the pharmacy is. The one Maggie and I hit."

You nodded slowly, a little confused. "But doesn't he already know where it is? Did he say why?"

Glenn shrugged. "Said he was going scavenging again. But probably still looking for Sophia too. Guess that takes some time."

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. Of course, he went alone. Again.

Meanwhile, Glenn narrowed his eyes a little. "Why, are you still trying to go thank him for saving your life or for ruining it a bit more?"

"Wow. What a joke, Glenn. Maybe I just miss his charming personality," you snorted, rolling your eyes.

Maggie laughed, and Glenn wanted to answer, but your mind was already somewhere else, and your feet followed those thoughts soon after—back down the way to Dale's RV.

You stepped up into the RV with the intention of grabbing a weapon. Not a big one. Just something small enough to carry, big enough to keep you from getting attacked by a walker if you crossed paths with one. A pistol. A knife. Both.

But the second you turned and went back outside…

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

You froze. Shane was leaning up against the RV, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed just enough to let you know he'd been waiting and watching.

"Just walking around, looking, watching," you lied flatly.

He stared at you with a smirk, shaking his head. "Don't look like walkin'. Looks like you were grabbin' a gun."

"Maybe I wanted to do both," you grumbled. "Feels safer."

"What's goin' on?" Rick's voice stopped you from behind Shane, who still didn't move.

"My bet? She was about to head out on her own."

Rick frowned, stepping closer, looking at you like he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Is that true?"

"I just wanted to check out that town Glenn and Maggie went to. That's all."

Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're still not fully healed. You know how dangerous it is out there. Especially alone."

Shane was shaking his head. "What he said. Not happenin'. Not alone."

"It wasn't up for debate," you argued back. "And it still isn't up for debate. I can handle myself just fine."

"Well, now it is," Shane answered. "You're not goin'. Period."

And just like that, they were walking off, leaving you alone. But Lori showed up not even a minute later, carrying a basket and looking somewhat amused.

"Okay," she started. "What's going on this time?"

You let out a deep breath, staring at the spot where Rick and Shane just stood. "I wanted to go look for Daryl, but no, of course, the only two cops that are still alive around Atlanta stopped me from doing so."

She stopped mid-step, but without answering you, so you glanced at her. "What?"

But Lori just smiled. Not in a mean way—just a knowing one. "I'm sure he's fine," she said gently. "Come help me with the eggs, okay?"

"The chicken coop? Eggs? Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, you've got to keep your hands busy before you go out and annoy both Rick and Shane at once. Believe me, you don't want that."

You followed her, grumbling, "Not a bad idea, actually..."

"Oh, by the way," Lori added casually as you reached the coop. "Daryl actually called me Olive Oyl."

You turned your head in confusion as you crouched down. "Wait, what?"

She smirked, crouching down by one of the nests as well. "I called him selfish. He called me Olive Oyl. You figure out what that means…"

You stared at her, half confused, half in thought, and she just tossed you a couple of eggs like she wasn't just out here admitting something to you, but you weren't really sure what she meant.

Hours passed again.

Chickens were settled, dinner was halfway done, and, as always, everyone kept themselves as busy as possible.

You were wiping your hands on a towel near the porch of Hershel's farmhouse when Lori nudged you with her elbow. "Look," she said softly, nodding her head toward the tree line.

You turned. And there he was. Daryl. Finally.

He came walking out of the woods, a bag slung over one shoulder. No blood. No obvious injuries. No anger in his walk. Just calm and relaxed, like he hadn't just ghosted you the entire day. And without even looking over to the farmhouse or at the group, he walked straight to his tent and disappeared as if nothing ever happened.

But you knew that it would soon be late enough where no one would pay attention. No one would notice if you moved away during the night. And if Rick or Shane would notice? You somehow counted on Lori to have your back.

You caught sight of Daryl before you made it to him—sitting outside his tent with his back turned, searching through that bag he probably found in that small town nearby like he was checking it for something. And you could see how stiff his shoulders were, even from a distance.

Hesitating for a second, you then decided to walk over to him as quietly as you could manage in hopes of not scaring him off, your hands curled into fists like the pressure might help with the sudden nervousness you felt out of nowhere.

Being close enough after a while, you could see the fumbling of his fingers and the new bits of dirt beneath his nails. You reached out, one hand raised and your fingers stretched, just about to tap his shoulder—and the second your hand made contact?

Daryl moved fast. Too fast.

Before you could even yelp, he had you pushed on your back in the grass, one foot pressing down by your hip, the other leg straddling your thighs. His forearm came down hard near your neck, not on it, but close enough that you knew—if he'd wanted to hurt you, really hurt you, or even worse—he could've.

His other fist was in the air, ready to punch. And then he saw you. Stunned. Taken aback. Breathing hard and trying to cough beneath him.

Daryl's mouth fell open the second he realized it was you. Shock and horror were written all over his face, his eyes quickly looking around, as if unsure what part of your face they should focus on, and his fist dropped instantly.

"Shit! Shit! Fuck," he stammered, pulling back but not quite getting off you. "I ain't—fuck—I didn't know! I thought—hell, I ain't mean—shit! Shit!"

You reached up before he would freak out completely, both hands finding his face. Your thumbs slid along his cheekbones, and he flinched like you'd hit him. But you didn't say a word. You simply lifted yourself as best as possible and kissed his forehead like you'd done before—slow, soft, waiting for him to calm down. You felt the panic slip out of him in shaky breaths, his body relaxing against yours, until you pulled back and wrapped your arms around him.

Daryl didn't say anything. For quite a while, he simply let you hug him, his forehead dropping against your shoulder like he wasn't sure he deserved it.

Eventually, he crawled off you completely and helped you up, grumbling a bunch of apologies—and curses—as he did. You could barely make them out. He was red in the face, not just from embarrassment but from shame.

Brushing your palms off, you followed his eyes to the open bag beside his tent. Whatever was in there had fallen out in the heat of the moment—some canned food, a bottle of water, some medicine he'd found, a few hygiene things that looked suspiciously like they'd been taken from a women's section—and then, carefully folded underneath it all, was a dress.

Pink. With ribbons. Not over-the-top, but definitely... you. Your size. Your style.

"Well," you said with a smirk, stepping closer and crouching beside the bag. "What's this?"

Daryl went stiff. "I—ain't—look, I didn't mean nothin' by it," he answered fast, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he wanted to disappear into the ground. "Was just... y'know, ya still like all that stuff, an' I saw it hangin' there all clean-like, figured it'd maybe... I dunno... ya still like that kinda shit, right? Thought maybe ya'd... wear it. Or somethin'. Ain't mean nothin' by it, just saw it, figured it was dumb, but it made me think'a ya, and—fuck…"

"It's not stupid," you said, cutting him off gently, but he looked at you like he couldn't quite believe you meant it.

You picked up the dress carefully with your hands, held it against your chest, and spun a little around as if you were modeling for him. "You got the size right. And it's got some ribbons as well... You really have been paying attention, huh? To everything."

His head was so red by now you thought it might explode on the spot.

"I like it," you continued, more quietly this time, not wanting to push him too much. "A lot."

Daryl swallowed so hard it was almost audible, his eyes looking at the dress, then to your face, then immediately away again. "Y'do?"

You nodded.

"Yer so fuckin' weird," he responded, but it sounded like a joke. No anger behind it.

"Guess I am," you answered with a smirk. "And I guess you like weird girls who wear pink dresses and make you sleep like a baby when they hold you."

Daryl opened his mouth to argue for a second, then shut it again. Stepping toward him and sliding a hand into his hair, brushing through it gently, you watched how his eyes shut close at the contact. He was so touch-starved it somehow hurt to see.

"Ya, uh... ya gonna go back to yer tent now?"

You tilted your head in confusion at his sudden question. "Why? Do you want me to leave?"

Daryl shrugged a little, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Just... Y'know. 'S gettin' cold and all."

"Daryl? It's warm. I won't freeze to death." Shaking your head, you held back a smile. "Are you asking me to stay?"

He huffed a breath and gave a helpless little nod of his head, not looking at you. "Yeah, yeah, right… But… Ain't askin'. Just… Would be okay if ya did, s'all."

Quickly taking a step back, you leaned down to put all the things that had fallen out of his bag back into it, picking it up and holding it out to him until he took it. Finding his other hand, you then put it into yours.

"I'll stay."

Daryl followed behind in silence as you slipped inside his tent without any hesitation, with him throwing the bag into one corner of the tent as fast as he could. Inside, it was dark, but not pitch black—the moon gave you just enough light to see everything—the sleeping bag, his gear, and the flannel shirt you'd given him that smelled like you, lying right next to where some improvised pillow was lying on the ground.

You turned toward him, still holding his big, calloused hand in yours. His fingers twitched like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to let go or tighten his grip.

"So," you said softly, smiling at him. "We sleeping or what?"

Daryl shrugged, his eyes switching from you to the sleeping bag like the situation was somehow too complicated for his brain to process. "Yeah," he grumbled, "guess so."

He sat down awkwardly first, then lay back, giving the sleeping bag a few rough pats like that was going to magically make it more comfortable. You crawled right beside Daryl and turned your back to him instinctively, expecting him to just sort of… get it.

But Daryl didn't move an inch.

Peeking over your shoulder, he just grunted at you, clearly ashamed and confused, but finally slid closer next to you. He lay on his side behind you, arms straight at his sides like he was getting ready for a casket instead of cuddles.

You waited. And waited…

Finally, you sighed and reached behind you, grabbing his wrist and putting his hand over your waist.

Daryl went rigid. Completely tensed up and unsure. So you laughed to yourself and wiggled back into him until his chest was pressed against your back and his big, strong arm rested across your stomach.

"Do you still not know how spooning works, Dixon?"

Still awkward. Still stiff.

"What, this?" He scoffed. "Ain't nothin' to it."

But his voice cracked just a little, and you could feel the hesitation in the way he touched you. Careful. Nervous, even. But you didn't push him. You just covered his hand with yours and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

Daryl's breathing slowed eventually. You felt his nose against the back of your head, his fingers twitching now and then against your side, and soon, your body relaxed too, feeling his chest rising and falling behind your back.

You felt safe, stupidly so, when you dozed off like that. And it might've been an hour later when you felt it.

A little movement. Barely there, at first. Just the press of his hips rougher against you, and then again.

And again.

You blinked awake slowly, still a little bit sleepy. And then it hit you.

He was hard. Really hard. And he was—shit, he was humping you in his sleep.

Not fully. Not aggressively. But enough that you could feel the drag of his cock against your ass, big and hard, right through his pants, softly grinding, lazy and slow, as if he didn't even know he was doing it.

You smirked to yourself, eyes still half closed, not daring to move just yet.

Holy shit, that man was packing.

With your thighs clenching a little without even wanting them to do so, you didn't even need to see it to know. You could feel it. How thick he was. How the head of his cock pressed against you when he moved like he was grinding in a daze, with no idea you were wide awake by now.

You bit your lip at the realization of it all—Daryl Dixon, quietly, accidentally dry-humping you in his sleep as if he was desperate and didn't know how to ask for what he wanted.

Holding your breath, you tried not to giggle—because laughing would wake him up, and waking him up might ruin the moment. Or worse, embarrass the hell out of him. But shit, the way his hips rolled was so slow and lazy… His body was dreaming of something he'd never admit to wanting.

Another sigh left his lips. This one was more like a whimper. And that's when your thighs clenched for real. You pressed your lips together, closing your eyes. You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop your hand from drifting down to rest on his again. The one he still had on your waist.

Daryl's fingers twitched. He reacted. Shit, was he waking up?

"Mhm..." He mumbled. Not a word. Just a sound. And he moved again, a little more this time, his cock pressing harder against your ass, making your breath hitch.

The longer it went on, the hotter it got—him so unknowingly needy, and you, getting wet from the feel of it, every roll of his hips pressing that thick, aching cock against you like it just needed somewhere to go.

Daryl let out another soft sound behind you. Not a groan. Just a broken sigh that made you swallow hard and your pussy throb.

You could wake him up. You could turn around. You could grab his jaw, kiss him just like that, and show him what to do next. Or you could wait a few more seconds and see just how far that sleepy little grind of his was going to go.

And Daryl kept it going, his hips rocking ever so gently, pressing himself against your ass like he was in a different world entirely—a fantasy, a dream—where he got to have this. You. Where it was okay to want.

And oh, how he wanted you. You could also hear it by now, the way his breath hitched just a little more each time he moved. Louder. Another soft whimper barely made it past his lips. You wondered if he even knew he was making those little sounds and if he'd hate himself for them in the morning.

Shifting slowly, you let your thighs part just a little. Not enough to be obvious—just enough to feel him better. You let his hand go, moving back with your own until your fingertips brushed over the side of his thigh. He jerked, only a twitch, like his body felt the touch even if he wasn't awake yet.

Then, quietly, carefully, you rolled over to face him, feeling how his strong arm slipped off your waist. His brow was furrowed just a little, his lips parted, almost looking innocent. And maybe he really was.

Reaching up, you couldn't help but let your thumb touch his bottom lip softly, parting his mouth a little more.

And then, you kissed him. Only one deep kiss.

Poor Daryl had no idea. Or maybe he did and just couldn't help himself. But then you slid your tongue along his lips. That was the moment he stopped moving entirely, and you didn't have to look to know he was wide awake now.

Still, you froze for a second. So did Daryl.

Then he pulled back in an instant, realizing what kind of situation he was in. "Shit! I… fuck! What—?"

"I noticed," you whispered and gave him a loving smile in response. "And I simply kissed you in return."

He opened his mouth, like maybe he had something to say, maybe an apology, maybe an excuse, but you beat him to it. Crawling toward him, you quickly pushed him back down to keep him from escaping you, straddling him.

Daryl's face turned a shade of red you didn't think possible for a man who spent all day out in the sun. "I—I didn't know I was—fuck, I didn't mean nothin' by it! I wasn't…"

You caught one of his hands and wrapped your fingers around his. "It's okay," you said, your thumb stroking his knuckles gently. "Was kinda cute, actually."

He made a strangled noise like he couldn't decide whether to groan or storm out of his tent as fast as possible. "Cute?" He asked, clearly offended by the word.

"Yeah… You heard me," you answered, sliding your hand down between your bodies until your palm pressed against the hard outline of his cock.

Daryl didn't know what to say anymore, but he didn't stop you either.

So you kissed him again, with just enough pressure to make him gasp. You felt the way his mouth opened for you, the way he stopped breathing, so you let your hand continue to move against his cock ever so slowly, and when it moved over the thick tip of it, he choked out a sound that damn near made you moan in return.

"Jesus," he groaned, letting his head fall back with his eyes squeezed shut.

Taking the opportunity, you leaned forward and kissed his jaw and his neck, nipping gently at his skin.

He was already so fucking hard…

"Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth like the word had been ripped out of him.

"What?" You smiled against him. "You literally hump me in your sleep and then act like you don't want it when you're awake?"

He made another strangled sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan this time, his face turning deep red. "I wasn't—I didn't!"

Daryl's eyes looked into yours, wild and wide, and then lower, down your body.

"Yeah, you did," you smirked, pulling back a little, not wanting to overwhelm him. "You just didn't know I'd let you. Now..."

Making yourself comfortable to straddle him tighter, you pulled your shirt up and over your head, slow enough to make your point clear. His eyes never left your skin—staring at every inch like it was something new, something forbidden. Your bra came off next.

And Daryl looked like he forgot how to breathe. His jaw dropped, his tongue wetting his lips so fast he didn't even realize he was doing it, his eyes fixed on your tits like he was terrified to blink, and his hands twitched at his sides.

You tilted your head and grinned. "Are you going to touch or do you want to stare all night?"

Swallowing hard and not wanting to refuse, one hand came up trembling, like he was expecting you to slap it away, but then he stopped halfway.

"Daryl... I'm letting you. Just try and touch me."

That certainly helped. His fingers moved up your waist first, cautiously, like he needed to warm up to the idea. Then, slowly—so goddamn slowly—he brought his hand up to your chest.

And fuck, the look on his face… As if he'd never seen a naked woman in his life and wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or about to die from it.

Daryl's palm cupped one of your tits with doubt, but also hunger, like he wanted to devour them but was too scared he'd hurt you if he squeezed too hard.

He didn't even squeeze. He held.

But when you gasped—when your back arched a little more and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan—then he started to touch, kneading gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, where he didn't even realize what he was doing until you shivered from it.

His eyes looked up to yours, panic on his face, thinking maybe that noise meant he did it wrong.

Reassuring him, you shook your head, smiling gently. "That was good, baby. Don't stop."

Daryl didn't. He kept touching. You could see the way his jaw clenched, see the tense muscles in his neck, and feel the way his cock twitched hard beneath you in an attempt to hold himself back from thrusting up against you.

Leaning down, you let your tits rub across his chest up to his face, just enough to tease, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Daryl whimpered. He whimpered, the poor thing…

You could feel the tremble in his thighs now, his hand still clinging to your tit with a look that said he was afraid you'd change your mind. But his fingers tightened further, wanting to make himself believe that your sounds weren't even pity, but want. Real want.

"Do you want to come for me, Daryl?"

His hips bucked up without permission, and his breath hitched again at your words, all the while you kept your hand on him—pressing and sliding your palm over the bulge in his pants, feeling how hard he was, but still trying to hold himself together, which was getting harder with every second that passed.

"I, uh," he stuttered, almost too quiet to hear. His eyes went shut when your fingers squeezed just the tip of his cock through his pants out of nowhere. "F-fuck—don't… don't... PLEASE."

You bit back a grin. There it was.

His hips bucked up once again, just a little, trying to get you to touch him some more. It was obvious that his body didn't care that he had no real idea what he was doing—it wanted more of you.

Leaning in close, you let your tongue lick over his parted lips. "You sound like you're begging for it, you know..."

Daryl's eyes snapped open at your words.

Wide. Confused. Embarrassed.

You watched the realization hit him—watched him remember what sounds came out of his throat. His mouth was still open, attempting to take it back, maybe deny it—but nothing came out. Only another moan. By now, he was all whimpers and stutters and fuck-me eyes.

You laughed softly, rolling your hips against his thigh. "Didn't even realize, huh? You're just so damn worked up you don't know what you're saying anymore."

Tilting your head, you pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before dragging your lips along his jaw. "You never had someone make you feel like this before, Daryl?"

"N-no…"

"Mhm," you smiled against his skin. "I didn't think so."

Daryl whimpered again, and you felt his cock twitch under your palm.

You leaned closer, letting your breath tickle his ear, whispering. "Does your dick get hard like this for just anybody, sweetheart?"

His head turned to the side with the expression of someone who was more than just ashamed.

"I'm gonna touch you for real, Daryl," you whispered, not moving your hand further for now. "And you're going to be good and let me. You're going to say ‘thank you,' too… like a sweet little boy who listens."

"I…"

"You what?"

"I… thanks," he stammered, hardly able to say it out loud.

"Good boy. All the while you're begging for it without even meaning to."

His hips jerked up again—uselessly on instinct—and he made the softest sound you'd ever listened to in your life. Was it a sob? You weren't sure with his fingers still on your tits and him looking too stunned to do anything.

"Oh, baby…" You smirked, pretending to be all sweet and kind while grinding down against his thigh. "You want it that bad?"

Daryl nodded. Just a tiny, helpless nod—but he meant it.

You sat back some more, sliding your hand from his cock up to the button of his pants, but didn't open it. Not now. Reaching up, you started to open the buttons of his own flannel shirt instead, one by one, only to kiss your way to the middle of his chest. One kiss. Then another. Then lower, sliding your lips and tongue down to his stomach.

He was panting now, his chest rising and falling wildly, his other hand twitching like he didn't know where to put it. "Please," he whispered. It slipped out quietly. But you heard it. Hell, you felt it.

"Please?" You asked, not stopping your trail of kisses down to the skin just above the waistband of his pants. "Please, what? Tell me."

"Dunno," he whimpered, almost desperate. "Just, just—don't leave."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words, kissing his skin just above his belly button. "Don't worry, Daryl. I won't leave, and believe me, I'll tell you what to do."

He blinked down at you, looking like he'd agree to anything if you just kept touching him like this.

As soon as you got off, kneeling down beside him, you grabbed his jaw. "Lay back onto the sleeping bag."

He obeyed immediately, lying down flat on his back and breathing like he'd run for miles, his eyes looking from your face to your tits and back again.

You straddled him again, slowly, getting comfortable like you had all the time in the world. "Wanna suck on my tits now?"

His mouth dropped open at your question. No sound came out. Just an overwhelmed, shaky cough. Suddenly cupping your own tit in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, then brushed your thumb over your nipple, watching how Daryl's eyes followed the movement of your finger.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm letting you, Daryl," you whispered. "Come on. You can do that. Be a good boy for me and do as I say."

Daryl nodded slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows and thinking he might still be dreaming of a fantasy. A fantasy he's had since the first time he saw you at the quarry outside of Atlanta. But he already knew it back then… how you'd become his undoing.

You guided him gently, making yourself comfortable next to him now, and arched a little closer so he didn't have to reach far. He stared for one more second—just one—and then leaned in. Awkwardly so. His mouth was unsure at first, with quivering lips brushing over your nipple that didn't quite know what was allowed and what was not.

So you sighed and put your fingers into his hair, caressing the back of his head. "Open that pretty mouth, sweetheart."

Daryl obeyed. You brought your nipple to his mouth and watched him. Watched him take it in, his lips wrapping around it as if he was scared. "That's it," you whispered. "Suck."

He did. Carefully at first—then with more confidence when your hand returned to his hair, guiding him. His tongue flicked over your nipple, his lips sucking gently, then harder when he heard you moan. You felt the way his cock throbbed beneath your thigh, how he was still so hard it probably hurt—but he didn't ask for anything. Didn't even grind up to feel more. He just sucked. Sweet. Quietly. Needy.

"You're doing so good right now," you whispered, letting him take the other nipple into his mouth next, his tongue moving with more urgency now. "Look how well you listen."

Daryl whined again but never stopped. By the time you looked down at him again, his lips were shiny, and his cock was leaking so much precum that his pants were dark and soaked through a little.

But you let him continue to explore your tits as long as he wanted to—slow little licks, then sucking gently, then sucking harder when he was sure you liked it as much as he did. One of his hands came back up too, holding your tit, trying to memorize the feel of it while he kept going, switching sides when your hand in his hair pulled it a little.

And all the while, he kept making those noises. Not words. Just quiet, breathy sounds. Whimpers. Moans. Every now and then, a broken little 'fuck' or 'shit,' wanting to try and hide that he couldn't really handle it. Pulling back after a while, only enough to see his face, you smiled down at him.

Daryl only blinked at you, so you kissed his temple. "Do you realize how sweet you are? I bet I could make you come like this. Just from sucking on my tits."

That made his hips buck again. And the noise that came out of him? Practically a whine. You knew it now—knew Daryl. How desperate he was. How careful. And you could tell that he was already close. Only from this. The thought alone turned you on.

You couldn't help but press your knee between his legs to tease him a little and to feel it—that cock throbbing against you, for you, and still aching. Poor boy was losing it, and you hadn't even taken his pants off yet.

Reaching down slowly, you let your fingers tease the skin near the waistband, making him shiver. Daryl froze for a moment like he was trying not to run away. But he didn't stop you, even though he was still fighting with himself. You worked his button open, then, patiently, pulled the zipper down just enough to slip your hand into it. His breath hitched when you brushed over the front of his boxers. So warm. So hard. Fuck, he felt like steel, and he throbbed so wildly under your hand when you barely even touched him.

"You're so cute," you whispered, letting your lips kiss his jaw as your hand started moving over his cock. "So sweet…"

Daryl moaned—not even loud enough, really, making it sound like a broken whimper. He looked down between you with disbelief in his eyes. It was clear no one had ever touched him that way before. And he wasn't even able to concentrate on touching you as well when you teased him for a while through his boxers.

Long strokes. Nothing fast. And enough to keep him on edge.

Watching him being this close so easily felt almost unfair.

"Don't," he whined all of a sudden. "I—I can't!"

"You can, believe me," you hushed him softly, watching him hide his face out of embarrassment, but you could still hear every broken little noise that left him. Then you slid your hand down, right inside his boxers.

Trembling and barely able to hold himself together, he gave you a shocked gasp when your fingers wrapped around his cock. His body betrayed him, wanting more before his mind could even catch up.

"You poor thing." You said, kissing his neck. "I hope that didn't hurt?"

Daryl didn't answer. He couldn't. His hand had grabbed part of the sleeping bag, eyes shut tight when you started to move your hand—once. Just a pump. Twice. Again. Watching the way he reacted to every single one. He couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop gasping.

"Already this wet and leaking," you smirked, feeling the precum dripping down along his shaft. "It's quite impressive how much you're trying to be good."

"Please…" He then sobbed, and you looked up at him. That red face. Those quivering lips. His pleading eyes.

Oh, shit.

Your brain just kind of stopped working when your fingers wrapped harder around his cock at that sight. He felt so warm. So thick. And Daryl groaned—deep, broken, as if in actual pain—and his hips bucked up just barely. Lord... He really was desperate.

Slowly pumping his shaft with your hand moving up and down, you kept the pressure torturously gentle, making his abs clench every time you reached the base of his cock, his breath shuddering.

He was losing it, and his hand found your wrist suddenly, gripping—not to stop you, but to beg you without words.

You leaned down, lips brushing over his jaw. "What is it, baby? You wanna come for me?"

A strangled groan left him. He was too scared to say yes.

"You think I'll stop if you come too fast?"

Daryl didn't know if he should nod or shake his head at your words, and it turned into a mix of both. It looked almost pathetically wholesome how this strong man let himself go in a way you could've never even imagined. Especially not a few days ago.

"Good thing I want to see you come." And then, without warning, you changed your rhythm, pumping his cock harder now, faster.

"F-FUCK—m'sorry—I can't!" He moaned, louder this time. His back arched up off the sleeping bag, unable to control his body anymore, even though he wanted to.

Your other hand went to his hair again, stroking it gently. "Look at you. So cute. And I haven't even started riding you."

"I—I'll do anythin'! Just wanna come for ya… fuck! I'll be good!"

"Oh, I know you'll be good," you giggled. "But good boys wait. Good boys hold it back."

"Please," Daryl whimpered in response. "Please, please, please…"

You hushed him, cupping his cheek as he shook, letting it overwhelm him. Every twitch. Every breath. Every bit of feelings he didn't know how to handle.

"That's it, baby," you encouraged him. "Good boys come when they're told... Do it."

His whole body jerked and tensed up. A quiet, choked groan, a full-body tremble, and then a broken moan that ripped itself from his throat as he came—hard—right in your hand.

You felt Daryl's cum shoot into his boxers, his cock pulsing against your palm while he gasped for breath, hoping that maybe you wouldn't see how ashamed he was.

"N-no," he whimpered to himself. "I—I didn't wanna! Fuck!"

"You didn't want to?" You teased softly, licking your lips. "Seemed like your dick had other plans."

Daryl groaned again as he let himself fall back down onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face, totally embarrassed. He didn't even realize your hand was still inside his pants, but you felt him shiver beneath you, his cock still throbbing in your grip.

He was quiet. Not because he didn't have anything to say—but because he didn't know how to handle this situation. Even when his sticky cum in his pants had to be starting to feel awkward, he just lay there, soon with his hands over his face.

But eventually, you moved just a little and smiled, "Let me clean you up."

Daryl stiffened immediately. "Ya don't gotta—"

"No arguing. Be quiet. Give me something to clean you with. I want to. Now."

He flinched at that as if it hurt more than helped, but he obeyed, reaching for a cloth near him. You sat up gently and took it from him, just when he tried to push you back down—his hand on your body feeling so unsure, like he didn't even know how to ask you not to leave. But you just kissed his forehead.

"Just a few seconds, sweet boy. Then you can go back to hugging me."

It made Daryl grumble, but he let go. You pulled his pants and boxers down slowly, cleaning him up with care. Like taking care of him was just what you did. And Daryl watched in silence. Red in the face, lips parted, still breathing a little too fast.

He didn't say thank you. But his hand found your thigh, poking it to make you notice him. It was a nervous apology for coming too soon, for shaking too hard, and for needing too much.

Once you were done, you smiled and kissed his forehead again. Then you crawled back into his arms, and this time, you were facing each other. Daryl's hand trembled where it rested on your back. Not from exhaustion—though you knew he was exhausted—but from a little bit of fear. So you hugged him. Let him breathe. Let him come down for a while. And when he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

"Yer not… just doin' this 'cause—I dunno," He started. "Told ya… ya don't gotta pretend."

You tilted his face up, kissing the tip of his nose. "Daryl. Stop. Stop it right there."

Without saying anything, he put his head beneath your chin, one arm trying to pull you closer. You were still shirtless, and you felt the way his breath stuttered against your skin when his cheek pressed to your tits once more, but he didn't try to pull away this time. Didn't want you to cover up, either.

He just grumbled something into your skin, probably some curses, and you couldn't help but giggle. Another grumble. And his arm only held you tighter.

"You know… I know that you know that Maggie and Glenn went to the town not far from here, right? The pharmacy's still got a stash… I bet," you smirked, kissing his hair.

That made him lift his head just a little more. "What kinda stash?" He asked, confused.

"Oh, I dunno. Things a girl might need. Like... lip balm. Some body lotion. Maybe even condoms."

You ran your fingers through his hair again, and Daryl stared at you. Clearly shocked. His mouth opened, but he couldn't say anything, just like before.

"And if there are still some left," you added in a thoughtful voice, "maybe I'd put on that pink dress… Let you lay back. Let me climb on and ride you until I come."

Daryl whined. Honest-to-God whined and dropped his face back against your tits so fast it made you laugh. "Oh, you like that idea," you teased, stroking the back of his neck.

Without answering that question, he nuzzled deeper against your tits, praying that if he hid there long enough, the shame would go away. You stayed like this a little longer, just feeling the way his body stayed tense against yours, but Daryl feared that maybe if he moved again, he'd come a second time just from breathing the air you were breathing as well.

"Hey," you soon whispered into his hair.

A muffled grunt answered you.

"I've been thinking…"

Another grunt. Thinking was clearly dangerous right now.

"About that pink dress you got me," you smiled against his head, sliding your fingers up the back of his neck gently. He didn't say anything. But you could feel the answer.

Leaning back just enough to search for his gaze, you looked down at him. His eyes, still a little glassy, still wide and panicked, blinked up at you.

"Daryl," you continued, "do you want me to wear it for you?"

His mouth dropped open. Then shut it again. "I—I dunno…"

"You don't know?" You asked sweetly. "Or do you not want to say it out loud?"

He looked away fast, so you just giggled and cupped his cheek. "It's okay. You don't have to say it. But maybe…" You let your thumb slide slowly across his skin, making him shiver. "Maybe I should try it on right now."

His whole body tensed up immediately when you pulled away, trying to reach for the bag where the dress was still inside, along with the other things he'd scavenged.

"What? No... No, don't!" Daryl reached for your wrist, panicking, but his pants were still half-down his thighs, and he couldn't move worth shit. "Just wait! I didn't... I just—fuck!"

But you were already crawling to the other side of his tent as you reached for the bag to get your hands on that dress again.

"Don't," he still begged, sitting up halfway but unable to stop you. "Ain't—just… Just wear it t'morrow!"

You turned to look at him, though you were a little confused by his weird reaction. "I could wear it tomorrow, or I could just wear it right now. Where is the difference? Why are you freaking out about a dress?"

"I ain't freakin' out!" He snapped back, his voice rising, and yanked his boxers and pants completely down to get them off and to finally move. "Just don't—ain't no need for ya to wear it now!"

"Daryl, stop… I'm sorry, but," you laughed, grabbing the bag anyway, "now I have to wear it. Whether you like it or not. And I think you will like it. Calm down."

Daryl groaned and dropped back flat onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face. "Jesus...shit…"

You pulled the first couple of items out that you've seen before: the canned food, the bottle of water, the medicine, and other hygiene things that he probably got for you. But once you reached for the dress, your hand touched something else at the bottom of the bag.

Pulling it out slowly and turning it over in your hands, you had to blink several times in disbelief.

"...Daryl." He didn't answer, and you stared at the condoms in your hand. "Are these… what I think they are?"

He groaned once more and turned his head away from you, feeling how the shame was about to kill him. "I ain't—I wasn't—I just found ‘em!"

"Found them?" You responded, grinning by now. "And you just happened to put them safely into the bottom of your bag? For what, for emergencies?"

He grumbled something you couldn't make out, so you turned back and got closer to him, waving the condoms in front of his face on purpose. "Daryl Dixon," you whispered playfully, "you got these because of me."

"Nah. I didn't."

"You little liar," you smirked. "You didn't think I'd find out? Or were you just hopingyou'd need them in the future?"

"I didn't even think ya'd—" He sat up finally, his face red all over, and ran a hand through his hair. "I ain't even know if they're good; I just…"

Leaning in close, you reached down between you both, putting your hand on his thigh and feeling him shiver. "You've been dreaming about fucking me, haven't you, Daryl?"

His breath hitched.

"Don't worry, baby. I won't do anything… yet. But…" You leaned in to whisper right into his ear. "I love knowing that you thought about it."

Moving slowly, you gently pushed him back down by the chest until he lay flat again, with his eyes shut tight and parted lips.

"I should reward you," you continued, crawling onto him. "For being brave enough to even think about it."

Daryl's hands twitched at his sides as you straddled him, not right against his cock, but close enough.

"Undo my pants," you smiled, and he froze. "You heard me."

"I—I don't…" His voice cracked. "I never—"

"Doesn't matter," you promised, nuzzling his neck now. "All you gotta do is use your hands."

With shaky fingers, he actually reached for your waistband, but still, he looked at you once, pleading in confusion, and you gave him a nod. "Go on, baby. You can do that."

The button popped open under his fingers.

"Good boy," you praised softly. "Now the zipper."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. But he did it. Slowly. Carefully.

You moved your hips to help him, watching as he opened your pants, and when your panties peeked out beneath them, Daryl let out another shaky breath.

"Want me to take them off for you?" You asked, all gentle and sweet.

He nodded fast. Desperate. Unsure if he should've said no and shaken his head instead, especially since he didn't know what you'd say next.

"No… You do it."

"W-what?" He asked in shock, staring at you.

"You're the one who wants to see," you teased. "So go on, sweetheart. Take them off as well. Not just my pants."

He was breathing harder again now, his chest rising and falling fast, his hands shaking like he didn't dare to touch.

"Don't be scared. You won't hurt me. I promise."

Slowly, shakily, his hands slid to your waistband. With a quiet grunt and a whole lot of effort, he tugged them down your hips.

"I—" His voice cut off into another broken groan. He was getting hard again. You could feel it. Your position over his thighs was perfect, and that little bit of pressure was definitely waking up his cock.

"Shit… Please…" He begged, though he probably didn't even know what he was asking for.

But it didn't matter. You were going to give it to him anyway. Let him take off your panties. Let him see everything.

Out of nowhere, you stood up and got off of him slowly. He was still laid out on the sleeping bag, not wanting to move unless told to. Picking the pink dress back up from where you left it, you watched the way Daryl's eyes stayed on you while you played around with it.

"You want me to put this on for you, baby?" You asked, your voice sounding as sweet as sugar. "Me wearing this while I ride your dick like I promised?"

Daryl let out another groan and tried to hide his face behind his forearm.

"Oh no. Don't be shy now," you grinned, getting him to peek at you from under his arm in return, trying not to smile in embarrassment.

You held the dress up and slowly put it on, not pulling it all the way down just yet—only down to your hips, holding it there. You knew what you were doing, and so did he.

"You're thinking about it right now, aren't you? Me in this little thing… climbing on top of you, telling you how to fuck me? Or maybe I'd ride you with it bunched up around my waist, my tits out of the top for you to suck on like before…"

Daryl whimpered again with a visibly harder cock that wanted more, even if he wasn't sure he should.

Stepping further away from him, you pointed down at the end of his sleeping bag in front of you. "Crawl to me."

Daryl wasn't sure he'd heard you right and tilted his head.

"You heard me. Crawl. To. Me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you looking at him like that stopped him before a word came out. Shame-faced and trembling, he started to move. And it wasn't exactly graceful. Daryl was awkward as hell trying to crawl with his cock hardening against his thigh, but he did it—hands on the ground, knees following as he moved closer, his face burning red the entire way.

Reaching down, you grabbed his jaw to make him look at you. "Good boy," you praised him with a smile. "Do you really want me to wear this dress when I ride you? Tell me."

"Y-yeah," he nodded shakily.

You smirked, letting out a relaxed sigh. "You really wanna be inside me while I'm wearing it, huh?" Another whimper. A twitch from his cock below. "But you know what you have to do first, don't you?"

Daryl swallowed, looking away from you. "N-no?"

You grinned a little and slid your other hand into the waistband of your panties but didn't pull them down. "You still need to take these off for me. But not with your hands."

He stared at you again, lips parted, a confused expression on his face. "Huh?"

"With your mouth, Daryl," you answered dryly, biting your tongue after those words left you.

His eyes widened. "With… with my—my…"

"Use your teeth," you continued sweetly, letting go of his jaw. "I'm not using my hands. And neither are you. Go on."

Daryl stared at what was in front of him, right at your panties, swallowing hard. And you? You just stepped a little closer. Close enough that your thighs were almost touching his face. "Do it, Dixon."

He stopped, but then you felt his breath on your skin as he leaned in, trembling. With his mouth open, he slowly caught the edge of the waistband between his lips, his nose pressing against your lower stomach. You gasped softly as the warmth of his breath hit your skin, his teeth barely biting into the fabric as he pulled at it. It took everything in you not to moan at how careful he was.

Working your panties down awkwardly slow, Daryl was clearly unsure if he was doing it right. But you just sighed calmly and stroked his hair, praising him further. "That's it. You're doing so good. Keep going, sweetheart."

He grunted, pulling them further down inch by inch, kissing your skin accidentally between his pulls, his stubble brushing your inner thigh—and by the time they slipped past your hips, his nose was buried close enough to your pussy that you felt his shaky breath there.

"That's good, baby. Now pull them all the way down."

Daryl obeyed. His teeth pulled them lower until your panties dropped to your ankles, and you stepped out of them, one foot at a time. You bent to pick them up, but not before giving him a full view of your pussy. Though you didn't have to ask—his eyes were already staring, wide and stunned.

"Gonna let me ride your dick with nothing but this pretty little dress on?" You asked once more to get his attention back, running your fingers over your thigh.

No answer.

You looked down at his cock; by now it was already leaking.

"Now, look at that," you smirked. "I think you liked that more than you want to admit."

Daryl simply nodded, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch you, to taste, but was too scared to do so.

"Can you wait for me?" You asked, wanting to calm him down softly. "Can you stay good a little longer?"

He nodded when you leaned down, giving him another kiss on the mouth, slow and soft, before you took a few steps toward the bag, grabbing one of the condoms. Daryl was still kneeling, his eyes looking from your fingers to your face, trying to commit the whole moment to memory in case it was just a fever dream in the end, even after everything that has happened so far.

"Lie back down."

Crouching down after you said those words and helping Daryl with pushing him onto his back again, you suddenly moved to press a kiss to the tip of his cock—just a quick one—and he almost sobbed. You then crawled up into his lap, straddling him, your pussy just above it, not touching it yet.

"Arms over your head," you said next, watching as he obeyed without any words.

Stretching them and holding one wrist with one of his hands made his biceps flex instantly, while he himself was looking all helpless beneath you.

That was the moment you were the one almost losing your mind—just because of him.

You hadn't expected how immensely strong he looked laid out like that. The second his arms flexed, you stopped breathing. No, you hadn't expected it at all. You'd known he was strong, sure—years of hunting, tracking, and surviving life—but seeing it? Your mouth went dry.

"Goddamn…" You stammered before you could stop yourself, blushing slightly.

Meanwhile, Daryl looked at you kind of confused, not understanding what was wrong. "What?"

"N-nothing," you answered quickly, hoping he wasn't able to notice the effect he had on you. "Just… stay still. Eyes on me."

He obeyed again. Good boy. Too good. So good that you had to let out a deep, long breath. And he saw it. But you caught yourself quickly, pressing your thighs a little together to hold back the trembling building between them, your knees pushing against either side of his hips.

"Don't move," you whispered. "Not a muscle."

Leaning back ever so slightly and spreading your legs wide enough to show off everything, you then slid your hand down the dress. "You will stay quiet and watch me," you explained to him. "That's all you're allowed to do for now."

You slid your fingers down over your belly, past the edge of the dress, and let your touch slip between your thighs, making your breath hitch, and his too. Daryl's hips twitched slightly, but he still didn't move his arms. He just bit his lower lip, which was trembling a bit now. But you kept your movements slow. One finger was sliding between your pussy folds, parting them. Then two fingers, spreading them wider and teasing yourself, rubbing them softly over your clit while you moaned—just for him.

Daryl groaned in return, and you pushed your fingers deeper, pressing inside enough to feel how wet you were before pulling them out and bringing them back to your mouth. You sucked one finger clean—still watching him—and his body shivered, his fists clenching where they lay above his head.

"Poor baby," you teased him on purpose. "You're trying so hard, aren't you?"

Daryl nodded desperately. No words, just him nodding, wanting you to save him from himself. Then, he did something again that made you stop.

Only one thing.

One tiny, unplanned, accidental thing.

Something he'd done since you'd woken him from grinding and humping against your ass in his sleep. It was him looking at you. But not at your tits, not at your pussy, but at your face. Daryl looked up at you with those goddamn blue eyes, as if he was already in love with you and wanting you to notice that this wasn't only about lust—it was all about you, you, you.

"God… f-fuck… Daryl," you whispered with a shaky voice.

Immediately grabbing for the condom next to you, you quickly bit at the edge of it, fast, tearing the package open with your teeth. Daryl's eyes went wide in confusion as you held the torn wrapper between your teeth, letting him see it there while you stared him down, lips parted around the piece you bit off, before spitting it away to the side.

Taking out the condom and throwing the rest of the package away, you moved lower over his body until your face was right above his cock. You watched Daryl flinch, his legs tensing as you reached out, gently wrapping your fingers around his shaft. He hissed through his teeth, whimpering at the feeling of your touch.

"Hush now," you whispered and began pumping him slowly, with just your fingertips at first. He throbbed in your hand, his head dropping back against the sleeping bag as you worked him up.

Still keeping your eyes looking at his, you leaned down toward his cock and pressed your lips to the tip, making it leak even harder, but you did manage to hold him still.

Smirking at him next, you brought the condom to your face instead, putting the ring of it carefully between your lips, and used only your mouth to roll it down over his shaft, inch by inch, holding his shaft steady with one hand. It took effort. But you managed it. When the condom finally slid all the way down, you pulled back, leaning over him again and letting your tits press against his chest.

Daryl moaned quietly, so you just kissed him again—really kissed him.

Not like before. This time, you kissed him roughly, letting your tongue slide into his mouth. He gasped and shivered under you, his tongue all clumsy but wanting more, his body shaking all over.

"Look at you," you whispered against his jaw when you pulled back. "Lying there and just waiting for me to fuck you."

Daryl swallowed hard at your words. Then you moved, sitting upright on his thighs and moving forward until your pussy pressed to the length of his cock, still not letting him inside, just grinding yourself down along the shaft.

The warmth of his cock, the shape… Shit, it felt good.

"F-fuck," Daryl breathed out when you rocked forward again, sliding up slowly, notching the tip ever so slightly against your clit before grinding back down.

"Shit—please—fuck."

You laughed as a response, short and sweet, and reached up to grab one of the straps of the dress, letting it slip slowly off your shoulder. It slid down, giving him another chance to look at your tits again.

"Wanna suck?" You asked him, and he nodded helplessly, staring up at you with an overwhelmed expression.

Leaning back down, you offered it to him. His mouth found your tit instantly, his lips sucking on your nipple while you kept grinding down along his cock. You could feel how close he was again, his cock throbbing with every little movement.

"God," you moaned. "You make me feel so good, Daryl..."

He whimpered against your skin, sucking harder at your nipple, until you straightened up, letting it slip from his mouth, only to reach down and grip his cock, guiding the tip right where you wanted it to be next.

That first moment—simply letting the tip of his cock push against your soaked pussy—was almost too much. Even through the condom, you felt everything. The thickness. The throbbing of it. The sheer size of him.

Jesus Christ. He really was big.

Then, slowly, so goddamn slowly, you sank down onto him. The tip of his cock pushed into you with such a deep, thick stretch, it made you both moan—louder and longer, but not too loud. And you took your time. Letting inch after inch of his cock fill you up until he was completely inside, your ass pressing down onto his lap.

"Holy… holy shit," you breathed out, half-laughing, half-groaning, your hands now on his chest to steady yourself as you rocked your hips forward, letting yourself feel him pulsing inside. "Daryl, you're—fuck…"

Looking down at him, Daryl choked on another moan, but still, he didn't look. That wouldn't do.

"Look at me, baby."

He shook his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Don't wanna fuck it up," he sobbed in return. Your heart damn near broke at that, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you reached out to caress his cheek.

"You're not doing anything wrong. You're doing good. Now open those eyes and look at me."

His eyes opened slowly, almost afraid, but when he looked up at you, they seemed to relax.

And shit, there was that same look on his face again, giving away that he'd never seen anything so unreal in his life. You, in that pink dress, breathing hard, your tits bouncing just slightly as you ground your pussy on his cock, your eyes looking into his like you owned him. Like this moment, this man—was yours.

"There we go," you whispered. "Keep your eyes on me."

And then you lifted yourself just a bit, leaving only the tip of his cock inside of you before you sank back down.

Your mouth dropped open as he slid in again, inch by aching inch, and all you could do was to start riding him faster—and you meant it—your hips rolling, your ass slapping against his thighs. And the more you moved, the harder it was to stay calm. Especially when you looked at his reactions.

"Keep looking," you reminded him with a breathless voice.

Daryl tried; he really did. But his eyes looked down, then back to your face with another loud groan. His hips pushed up once, involuntarily, and you whimpered at the sudden, deep, rough thrust.

"Oh, fuck! Y-you like watching it go in, don't you?"

Daryl bit his lip and nodded, but then looked back at your face as if it was the most important part of you.

Smiling, you began to move faster again, your rhythm picking up, riding him harder now, which had both of you gasping, cursing, and trembling. Your soaked pussy was taking him again and again, his cock filling you so perfectly, stretching you with every movement, so deep you could barely concentrate.

And you loved it. Loved how shy he looked while his cock was buried inside you, loved how he watched you so insecurely, not wanting to hurt you.

Your hands moved to your tits, pulling out the other one, squeezing them right in front of him, and pinching your nipples as you bounced on his cock. That got you a grunt—and a broken, whispered, "Goddamn..."

Now he was really watching.

"Yeah… just like that," you breathed. "That's it, baby. Watch me."

He moaned again, his mouth open now, totally lost.

And you were getting close. You could feel it—the way your clit ground down against him just right, the muscles of your thighs aching from the effort of riding him. But you didn't stop. You could feel him fighting it, staying still beneath you, letting you use him just like you'd promised. But then he bucked again. Out of nowhere, his hips thrust up once more.

"Oh God—fuck!" You nearly screamed, your whole body tensing up as the thick tip of his cock slammed as deep into you as it possibly could.

Your hands searched for his shoulders as you struggled to hold on, and Daryl instantly panicked. "Shit—I—I didn't mean to!"

Not wanting to answer him, one of your hands grabbed for his wrists, holding them down roughly.

"Don't move," you hissed, but your voice cracked, sounding more like begging than an actual command he'd have to follow.

Daryl's biceps flexed, though he didn't resist as you leaned down, kissing him at first, only to bite him next, right on the muscles of one arm. Your lips left a bruise, your teeth a mark, and still you didn't stop moving, your pussy continuing to clench around his cock.

You couldn't even talk anymore. All the words were gone. All you had left were the noises you made. Breathy, broken moans. Shaky, little whimpers every time his cock filled you up completely. Soft, short gasps that escaped between kisses to his arms, his neck, his shoulder—anywhere you could reach his body with your mouth, but without ever letting go of his wrists.

"Fuck, fuck…" Daryl was groaning beneath you, ragged and fast, his muscles twitching under your grip.

He was trying his hardest to hold back, knowing it would be beyond any kind of hope if he let his body continue to respond to your every little touch.

You felt drunk on it. Wild. Overstimulated and insatiable all at once. Then it hit you, that deep feeling inside that told you that your orgasm was coming fast, and you barely managed to choke out the warning.

"S-shit! I'm about to—"

You had to slow down. With shaking hands, you let go of his wrists, putting your palms on his thighs instead, and leaned back—arching your body and trying to keep calm. It was right there… right there.

"Hold me," you then gasped. "Now. Please."

Daryl obeyed. His hands quickly moved to your hips, trembling and sweaty, but still as strong as always. And as soon as he gripped you, it slowed down everything. You didn't exactly know if time had stopped, but it sure felt like it. Just long enough to see him.

"Look at me," you whispered. He already was, and you knew that, but you felt the need to convince yourself that he wouldn't look away.

"I don't want to come without you… I want to come with you. With."

You weren't sure if you were begging or controlling anymore—maybe it was both. Maybe that's what desperation looked like on you: shaking, wet, aching, and stretched full with him, your voice almost nothing but that one plea.

With.

Daryl's fingers tightened just a little on your hips, but he didn't answer. His mouth opened in hopes to answer, to say anything, and to give you everything in return, but nothing came out except a long, needy moan that turned into a needy, broken sound as you rolled your hips slower, with Daryl feeling himself twitch inside you.

"Please," you said again, but this time it was quieter. You were so close it almost hurt—it was just too much—but you waited. You held it back with every bit of strength you had left. Simply to make sure.

Daryl looked done, even scared to let it happen. "'M tryin'…"

His voice broke off, and you nearly screamed. Everything inside you tensed up. "Come with me, Daryl, come on… Touch me."

His hands finally grabbed your ass hard, pushing you down onto his cock, and his hips bucked up into you, uncontrolled now, losing himself. Then it hit you both at once.

You cried out but didn't care. Couldn't hold back the sob as you came hard on his cock, taking your breath away, your everything. Daryl came the same second. You felt it. The way he shook. The way he groaned with his lips trembling and eyes squeezed shut as his cock pulsed hard inside you.

As soon as it was over, you leaned forward, your forehead touching his, kissing him softly several times in a row. And for a while, neither of you moved. Nothing but the sound of panting. Of hearts trying to calm down. And Daryl… poor Daryl looked like he wasn't sure he'd survived it.

"Still with me, sweetheart?"

He didn't answer at first but nodded. His voice, when it came, was sounding kind of hoarse and unsure.

"Y-yeah… I… goddamn..." He trailed off, burying his face in your neck, without being able to stop himself from remembering something. Something he'd already been trying to push away, probably the moment it happened.

"Ya bit me," he then whispered, his voice quiet like he was trying not to draw attention to it. "‘S'pose that was on purpose?"

Looking back at him, you raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly. Not teasing in a way that might confuse him. Just amused. And maybe still a little… hungry.

"What, you didn't like it?"

Daryl looked away instantly. "N-no, I, uh, I didn't say that. I just—" He swallowed loudly. "Was kinda… surprised, I guess."

"Surprised?" You repeated, moving your hand across his chest and further until it stopped above the spot on his biceps that you'd bitten. Biting your bottom lip, you then grinned at Daryl as if you were about to devour him all over again. "I simply told you to keep still."

"But I did…"

Your smile turned into a tiny smirk. "Then maybe I was simply proud of you."

Daryl didn't know what to do with that answer. You could see it in the way he looked at you. He looked like a man who'd never been praised for anything except maybe not dying. "Flex your arms for me..."

"What?"

You pulled back just far enough to look right into his eyes again, your hand not leaving one of his strong arms. "I told you to flex for me. Be a good boy and flex your arms again. Come on, show me."

Daryl closed his eyes and still hesitated. Really hesitated. His brows were furrowed in thought, checking if you were messing with him. Knowing that his first instinct was to run away from being seen again, you continued to wait patiently until he breathed out slowly through his nose and obeyed. The muscles under your touch tensed, feeling ever so strong and still trembling a little from everything you'd done to him before.

Hell, he had no idea what that did to you.

You immediately leaned down and dragged your mouth along his bicep, soft at first, just a teasing little kiss. Then your tongue came out, licking along it until he shuddered, before your lips were pressed to the mark you'd left earlier, sucking a little harder this time.

"Shit," Daryl whispered. "What're ya doin'…"

But he didn't stop you.

"I'm making sure you know," you said quietly, pulling back again, "that you didn't imagine this."

He didn't answer, but his eyes looked at his arm to where your lips had just been, then back up to your face, unable to believe it. As if all of this—your mouth, your voice, your gentleness—was too much to understand. And that was when you could feel how something changed. It wasn't even noticeable at first. The way his hands twitched and then went still. The way he stopped looking at you, even though your face was still so close to his.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly. "Daryl, are you okay?"

His jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened further beneath you, making him uncomfortable. "…Yeah."

"Did I hurt you?" You sat up a little, carefully, and that's when he hissed again.

"N-no," he answered with a strained voice, not really convincing you.

"Okay, okay, wait," you whispered, slowly lifting yourself off him, trying to be gentle, but he winced again, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock slipped out. He turned his face to the side, biting down on his tongue, wishing it would help, since he didn't want you to hear him make another pitiful sound.

Once you slipped off him, you instinctively reached down to take care of the condom. Kneeling between his legs, your fingers cautiously slipped it off, tying it together and tossing it aside without saying anything, trying to keep things quiet.

But Daryl was trembling again by now. He was lying there with his face turned away, seemingly chewing on the inside of his cheek with his teeth. His hands were curled into fists on either side of him, his arms all stiff, not knowing what to do with them anymore.

Daryl only then realized that you'd pulled off him. Not because you weren't on him anymore, riding him. No, you weren't with him anymore. That was when his thoughts started screaming. That this was over. That you got what you wanted, and now you'd realize what an asshole he was underneath it all. He hated how much he wanted to pull you back down. Onto his lap. Onto his cock. Onto him. Just to feel safe again. Just to feel needed. But he didn't say a word. Didn't even breathe right.

Reaching out to caress his chest, you were caught off guard the second your fingertips touched him, his arm shooting out, grabbing your wrist.

You gasped, and Daryl realized what he was doing too late. His eyes snapped open, and he instantly let go. You pulled back a little from the shock of it, holding your wrist, and the expression on his face?

He looked like someone had just hit him. "Fuck, 'm sorry! This ain't—"

"Hey, it's okay," you cut him off fast, holding up your hands, even though your heart was still racing a little bit. "It's okay, Daryl. You didn't hurt me. I'm fine. I'm okay."

But you weren't sure he heard you when he sat up. His face was turning pale now, his hands shaking as he slid them through his hair, back and forth, over and over again. He was grumbling something—probably to himself—but you couldn't make it out.

"Stupid… stupid fuckin'—goddamn—shouldn't've…"

"Daryl," you said softly, still kneeling in front of him, but he didn't look at you. His eyes were somewhere else, far away.

"I fuckin' touched ya like that," he finally whispered. "Grabbed ya."

"Yeah, and then you let go," you said gently, but your voice was shaking now too, but not because of any pain he thought he'd caused. "Daryl, you didn't hurt me."

Then you realized he wasn't breathing right. Short, shallow gasps, like he was trying not to cry or scream or vomit. Or maybe all three.

"I ain't like that," he whispered. "I ain't—I ain't him!"

You didn't know who 'him' was, but your heart sank at the sound of it. Some memory, or so it seemed. Some long-buried monster, maybe.

Daryl looked at you once again. But there was no man in front of you. He looked like before—just a boy. A boy who never got held after someone hurt him. A boy who was taught that love was dangerous and wanting love made you weak. A boy who'd never been looked at like he was wanted, let alone loved, and now that he'd let you see all of him—let you use him, take him, and especially care for him—it was too much. And now the shame was devouring him from the inside out.

"I fuckin' spat on ya," he then remembered. "Treated ya like shit. Told ya that ya were nothin' but some fuckin'… useless dumbass…"

"Daryl—"

"Ya should hate me," he simply continued, louder this time. "Ya should. Ya should hate me, ya should leave, shit, ya should go!"

He moved to get up, but his knees wouldn't let him the second he stood. His legs gave out, and you caught him in time, your arms wrapping around him as he leaned against you, trembling harder.

"Daryl, hey… hey," you quickly said, holding him up, or trying to as best as you could. "I'm here. Listen to me… I won't leave. I won't."

Pressing his face into your shoulder, he didn't answer you and went silent. Breathing hard. Twitching a little in your arms like he was cold. Or scared. Or both. You sat down slowly, pulling him with you, holding him in your arms, sensing that he didn't know how to hold himself up anymore. You didn't do anything else for a while. You only held him.

Eventually, you felt one little, wet drop hit your naked chest. Then another.

And you said nothing, but Daryl had gone quiet now, with his forehead pressed against your collarbone. Eventually, he tried to put one of his arms around your waist, and the twitching of his muscles definitely wasn't the good kind. They twitched way too fast for someone who wasn't really moving.

As soon as you moved slightly away from him, he sobbed in shock, thinking you would really just leave.

"Easy, baby. Just grabbing something for you."

Daryl's eyes followed you, wide and glassy, unsure if he should stop you or not, so you gave him a tiny smile—just enough to convince him you weren't going anywhere for real. Then you crouched by the corner of his tent, searching through the clothing you left on the ground. His pants, your panties, his boxers, your bra, and your shirt were all tangled together, looking through it until you found what you were searching for.

The flannel shirt you gave him. You picked it up and brought it back over to where he was still half-sitting, dazed and shivering.

"Arms up," you whispered, remembering how you'd told him those same two words before.

But Daryl only sobbed.

"Come on now," you said gently, watching how he moved awkwardly and unsure. "Only the shirt."

You slipped the sleeves on, one at a time, then buttoned the middle lazily. Not all the way. Just enough so it wouldn't slip off his shoulders if he moved again.

Then you leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Lie down."

He did. Not all the way at first, but once he did, you lay down next to him, pulling the edges of the sleeping bag slightly over both of you, hugging him close until his leg rested over your hip, your hand on his chest, and his forehead against your temple.

You thought maybe Daryl would fall asleep like that. But his breath stuttered.

And the next sob came out of him so suddenly, so harsh, it didn't even sound like crying. It sounded like a choke. Like his body was wanting to push away the pain and couldn't keep it in.

Daryl then grabbed onto you like he was scared, and you could barely keep him still. Even with both arms around his shoulders, his sobs cracked, and he stuttered every time he tried to apologize, repeating it over and over as if it were the only words left in his throat.

"…'M sorry. 'M sorry. 'M sorry…"

"I know," you whispered and kissed his cheek. "I know. I know."

It went on for a while. You lost track of how long. Could've been ten minutes. Could've been thirty. But you didn't care. Eventually, Daryl's crying stopped. He was still trembling, but not violently. His hands relaxed around you, though they didn't let go.

"Daryl?" A hum was the only answer you got. "Can I ask you something?"

This time, he didn't answer with a hum. Just a slight nod, the tiniest one, like it was all he could manage.

"I wanted to know," you started softly. "When you came out of the woods and went up to the RV…" You waited, wanting to see if he remembered what you meant or if he would simply brush it off.

"Just gave Carol a damn flower..."

You nodded and smiled. Not a big smile. Not the kind that told him he did something wrong or something right. It was a quiet, understanding little smile, as if saying, I understand.

But once Daryl realized you weren't answering him, he looked up at you like he couldn't figure out why you weren't mad. Or confused. Or disgusted. Or whatever he thought he deserved. His hand then came up fast, moving in a way that wasn't really familiar for him, with his fingertips brushing against your lower lip once while looking at your mouth. And for a second, it really did feel like the world had gone normal again. As if all that crying and shame and panic never existed.

For you, it seemed Daryl just needed to remind himself that you were real. That your mouth hadn't cursed him out in secret, hadn't spat in his face like he used to do to you. That you were still kind. Still looking at him like he wasn't just white trash.

You then kissed the tip of his finger gently. That was all it took to undo him again. His eyes got wet instantly, and the little shaky breath he took like he was trying not to cry again—it hurt you. Moving closer, your nose bumped against his, one of your hands moving to caress his cheek with the back of it. His skin was still a little sweaty, and he swiped under his eye, even though the tears hadn't fallen again yet.

"You don't have to look at me like that," you whispered.

His voice cracked. "Like what?"

"Like you expect me to leave for good."

Daryl looked at your arm then, the one with the healing injury where you'd sliced it open, the one he thought he was guilty of, in shame and silence. He looked so tired. So tired from thinking that he was the one that almost killed you.

"I don't know what you told Carol," you then continued gently, brushing your nose along his cheek. "But you got her that rose for a reason, right?"

He swallowed once but didn't answer.

"She's not me," you whispered with a smile. "And I'm not her. But I understand."

That got him. He wasn't sure if he should move, if he should do what his twitching hands wanted to do right now. To hold you in his arms as well.

So you reached down and took one of his hands in yours and brought it to your chest. Laid it flat right over your heart. "I know the story," you continued. "The history of the Cherokee roses."

Daryl's lips were parting slightly, but he was nodding in silence.

"That flower only grew when their women cried. Their tears watered it. And when it bloomed, it protected them. It gave them strength. So they were able to keep going. So they could protect again as well."

"Yeah..."

You smiled when Daryl finally spoke, but still, you wanted to remain careful. "It's kinda like... it's a promise."

He tilted his head, still looking unsure.

"Like… no matter how hard it gets, no matter how much shit is in the way," you said, sliding your finger lightly over his chest through the flannel shirt, "there's this rose that grows. It's the courage to keep going, the strength to protect what matters. It sounds familiar, don't you think? Thinking it's invisible... but still holding on. Still here."

"But I hurt ya…" He answered and immediately buried his face in your neck, reaching for your waist so hard that it almost bruised, but not from aggression. Just panic and instinct.

"You didn't mean to. You were scared. You still are."

You looked Daryl straight in the eye so he wouldn't flinch too far away. His lip trembled. Then he did it anyway, apologizing again.

Sighing softly, you pulled his arm a bit tighter around you, letting him feel how warm you still were, how unbothered, how there.

"You're not a bad man, Daryl," you smiled. "But you're a man who got too used to losing."

He didn't answer but held you again, this time much more gently. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, then stopping like he was still afraid he'd fuck it up. But you just cuddled close and let him.

For once in his whole life, someone was feeling warm, safe, and simply there, and it was him getting to keep it. And for the first time since the world ended, Daryl Dixon let himself fall asleep with someone in his arms—with no fear, no distance, no shame, and no guilt.

Just with you.

And he slept like he knew you'd still be there come morning.

𝑻𝒂𝒈-𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕: @cokeangell

[cottonlemonade]

Booktok Challenge

word count: 731 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: husband!Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

warnings: suggestive

“Soooo, you love me, right?”

Your husband looked up from the magazine he had been flipping through in bed when you plopped down next to him, feet crossed, swaying in the air behind you.

“That strongly depends on how the rest of this conversation is gonna go.”, Kei said.

You beamed because that wasn’t a no and stretched to the side to quickly snatch a book from your nightstand.

“I’d like to try something.” Wiggling the book in his face, you looked at him over the top of the cover excitedly, then opened it to get to a red tag somewhere near the middle.

“No.”

“Baby.”

“I won’t tie you to the bed and degrade you.”

You pouted, mumbling something about him always being mean, but suddenly, when it came to the bedroom, he was a saint. You fiddled with the next red tab and opened your mouth to speak when he shook his head again, “I also won’t take you in a public restroom.”

“How do you know what my tabs stand for?”

“Because while your headphones may be noise canceling for you, they aren’t sound canceling for me. I hear what your booktok girls talk about.”

“Fine… what about…”, you grabbed a blue tab and slowly turned the page, holding the marked passage up to him to read. Your husband adjusted his glasses and leaned in to skim the text, then raised a highly judgmental brow.

“And that’ll make you happy?”

“No time like the present to find out!”

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed the magazine in his lap. “Fine.”

“Alright, I’ll need you to be a bit more enthusiastic, babe.”

“I’m cold.”, he deadpanned, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

To stay true to the scene you had led him out onto the balcony after instructing him to lose his shirt. Even though it was almost July, a heavy downpour from earlier had lowered the temperature significantly, leading your husband to shiver like an angry chihuahua in the cool night breeze.

“Okay, so you stand there and I’ll lean against the wall.”, you explained, “Kinda like this, I think. Wait. Like this, yes. And then you pretty much… kabedon me, basically.”

“I read the scene.”

You remained unperturbed and continued your little rambling, “And then with your left hand you just grab my chin-“

“I get it, I get it. - I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stand still so we can get this over with.”

Your determination quickly turned into giddiness and incoherent screeching when your shirtless husband did as instructed, and his scowl grew deeper whenever you had to stop him before he could even say his line because him towering over you like that, his long toned arm right next to your temple was too much to handle.

“Who did this to- will you stop laughing? I was almost done.”

“Sorry! Sorry!”, you patted your own chubby cheeks with both hands to regain some composure and looked up at him again - all hot in his annoyance and concern about your sanity.

You had to suck in your bottom lip not to squeak again when he - for the fourth time - slapped his palm against the wall to “trap” you and leaned in close, his long fingers grabbing your chin and tilting your face to meet his eyes.

“Who did thi- are you done? Good. Then stop laughing and focus. - Who did this-“ He stepped back again and clicked his tongue impatiently. “One more time. And if you can’t keep it together we’re going back inside.”

“Okay! Okay. Give me a moment.”

He watched as you took a few deep breaths, then rolled your shoulders and slumped against the wall again, expectantly.

This time when he leaned in close he used his free hand to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t laugh, his gaze unyielding as he recited the all-important line, “Who did this to you?…” Because he could feel a muffled delighted scream bubble under his palm he dipped his head to your neck, keeping your mouth covered as he nipped at your skin. Your eyes widened and rolled back when his legs pushed between your plush thighs. Finally, he let go of your mouth just in time for you to gasp his name as he marked your neck again, just like the character in the book.

[blossomcola]

omg pt2 of risky lara with u two catching manon being pervy and lara letting her join in please

i accidentally turned this into ot5 katseye and free use with the reader... i hope you like it!

pairing. ot5 katseye x fem reader

content warnings. degradation, fingering, gropping, hair pulling, humiliation, toys, overstimulation, scissoring.

we all know that lara is a loving and charming woman who would clearly be the sweetest and most romantic girlfriend in the world, but what happens when her group mates have a certain weakness for her girlfriend and she has no problem sharing her girl?

manon being the one who enjoys this the most because for months she’s been dying to get her hands on you... of course she wouldn’t try to make a move because you’re dating her friend, but if the opportunity arises she wouldn’t let it pass! her excitement is more than evident and you realize it when manon takes her toy box out of her closet... yes, she is the type of girl who loves toys. no matter what your preferences are because she doesn’t let you say anything about it, just by making you lie on her bed with your legs open for her and at her complete disposal, having no choice but to stay here and accept whatever she gives you regardless of whether you can take it or not :( manon is a bit naughty and doesn’t care if she’s being too hard for you or if you feel like you can’t cum again, she will not miss the opportunity to do whatever she wants with you and she doesn’t care if that means playing with your sanity, you’re just her doll.

sophia can be at the same level of cruelty depending on her mood, just as she can be heartless with you, she can also be super gentle and fuck you as much as you like or prefer, but she decides what mood to have with you! she prefers to start slowly and increase the intensity slowly, so sophia would first make out with you while she desires you to the point that your juices soak her hand and slowly run down her wrist, but she doesn’t care! sophia would go a little crazy for your taste so she would proceed to bury her face between her thighs and eat you out until her jaw hurts, regardless of whether you are very sore and feeling overwhelmed <3 and of course she also loves toys, but unlike manon, she has a big adoration for her strap, which is so big and thick that with just a glance you know it will be hard to take... and well, you know you were right the moment she’s fucking you missionary in her bed, legs shaking on her shoulders because the head of the silicone cock is hitting that spongy and sensitive spot inside you but she seems to understand that every whimper from you means you want her to push her cock deeper and deeper into you.

i fear that daniela is a girl who loves scissoring but in a way where everything is messy and sweaty, basically it means she can fuck until the bed breaks but it’s not a problem because you can continue on the floor! it is evident that she would choose to be on top because she needs to be in control of things for several reasons; first of all, it’s because daniela, being a dancer with years of experience, knows how to move her hips and that means she would use her dancing techniques to fuck — and secondly it’s because she knows that you’d probably get whiny soon after you two started getting wild and would probably have a hard time keeping a steady pace that doesn’t lose consistency... it doesn’t matter much what the reason is because daniela ends up on top of you anyway! maybe she’ll even hold your wrists above your head so you just have to lie under her and worry about making cute noises while she does all the work because pretty girls like you deserve to get laid and be cared for and looked after.

my dear megan... girl recently out of the closet so she doesn’t have the luxury of saying or showing off her experience or bragging about at least something, which is a fairly good thing because she would be somewhat afraid to act and her actions would be clumsy most of the time. among all the girls she would be the most “normal” because she is not yet a depraved freak, she may be kinky but she hasn’t developed that part of having a big confidence yet. even though lara has authorized them to do whatever they want with you, megan keeps asking every five seconds if you are sure and if what she is doing is okay, regardless of whether she’s doing something as simple as taking off your shirt or something more serious like about to touch you.

[jj-one]

you asked for hard thoughts so i felt the need to pull through 😌😌

ik this is probably a popular thing, but jisung in literally any public/semi public setting. the initial hesitation before the horniness wins out?? feral.

pulling him into a bathroom without any warning? pushing him into a camera booth at the mall and planting yourself on his lap? letting your hand creep far to high on his thigh when no one is looking? yes. yes please.

ANYWAYS THATS MY THOUGHTS OK THANK YOU BYEEEEE 🫶🫶

one thing about me is i love public sex specifically bc of the elements of it being risky and making sure not to get caught so ily for this 🤭 anyways let’s goooo

jisung’s most definitely not the strongest soldier when it comes to being able to resist you— especially when you’re the one continuously provoking him. he notices everything. from your small touches here and there to the side glances you keep making every so often, it pushes him to a point of no return. it makes his head spin. and all he wants is to bury his cock so deep in you until neither of you can think a single thought anymore.

you knew exactly what you’re doing, too. the way you giggle at nothing, fingers trailing along his arm like you’re testing just how far you can go. the way you press a little closer every time you two walk past a store window, pretending to glance at something inside, but it’s him you’re watching in the reflection. his jaw tightening. eyes narrowing. the growing tension in his frame each time your hand almost brushes his belt.

so, really, it should be no surprise when he yanks you into the photo booth at the far end of the mall, drawing the curtain closed with shaky fingers, the low hum of the screen flickering to life just as you land in his lap. the confined space is barely wide enough to hold you both, and yet, you manage to straddle him with ease, your knees pressing into the bench, thighs caging him in like you planned this.

“you’re unbelievable,” he mutters, breath warm against your neck, voice caught between disbelief and pure hunger. his hands already gripping your sides, holding you down against him like you might float away otherwise. you only smile, that wicked little curve of your lips that makes his cock twitch in his jeans, and let your hand creep far too high on his thigh. knuckles brushing the outline of his hardening length, slow enough to make him shiver.

“and yet you’re doing nothing to stop me.”

jisung hisses between his teeth, head falling back briefly against the booth wall as you palm him fully. one arm fastened around your waist while the other fumbles to tap “start” on the booth screen, pretending you’re just two sweethearts taking goofy photos. four flashes. that’s all you get. four timed photos to act like you’re normal, like you’re not pressed against his bulge, grinding slow and heavy, mouthing at his neck like it’s a private room instead of a public setup tucked behind the food court.

but his hips buck up the moment your grip tightens, and suddenly you’re rolling your hips in his lap like you’ve forgotten you’re still technically out in public.

“you keep that up,” he growls low, lips dragging across your jaw, feeling hotter as his tongue flicks the shell of your ear, “and m’gonna make you sit here dripping while we walk out of this damn mall.”

you only hum in response, leaning in like you want that. like you want to push him to the edge, right here where anyone could walk past and pull that curtain aside. you kiss him deep and slow, not sweet— completely feral. tongue sliding into his mouth, moaning low as your body rocks harder into his.

he groans into the kiss, fingers digging into your ass now, shifting you just right so your clothed core presses straight into his zipper. “f-fuck, baby,” he gasps, voice barely holding steady. “you’re gonna make me ruin these jeans.”

you tilt your head innocently, lips brushing his cheek now, and whisper like the little minx you are, “so don’t wait.”

and when the third photo snaps, you’re both already too far gone— half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, your hips grinding with intention now. anyone walking by would think it’s just a couple being a little too handsy.

but inside that curtain, jisung’s losing it. and you? you’ve never looked more satisfied than when he’s unraveling underneath you.

[hvnty]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Clark sat at his desk in the Daily Planet, deep in conversation on the phone, discussing a story for the Daily Planet. His brow furrowed in concentration, his glasses sliding down his nose as he adjusted them with a quick push. Meanwhile, you were hidden beneath the desk, the cool surface of the wood pressing against your back. “Yeah, I understand the urgency, but we need to make sure we have all the facts before we publish,” he said, his voice steady and authoritative. The thrill of being so close to him, yet so hidden, sent shivers down your spine. You could hear his voice, smooth as he spoke to a colleague about the latest scoop.

“Yeah, I think we should follow up on that lead,” Clark said, his voice steady, but you could sense a change in his demeanor as you continued your teasing. You took him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, and he stifled a groan, his grip tightening on the desk. “Uh-huh, that sounds good,” he managed to say, his voice slightly strained. You could see him adjusting his glasses again, trying to maintain his composure. You began to move your head, taking him deeper, and he bit his lip, trying to focus on the conversation. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said quickly, clearly distracted now. “I just… need to check something.” “What are you doing down there?” he breathed, his voice low and filled with surprise and desire. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to tease him, your breath warm against his skin. Clark’s eyes narrowed playfully, frustration and desire swirling within him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he tried to refocus on the conversation. Clark’s breath quickened, and he could feel the tension building within him. “I— I really should—” he stammered, but the words fell away as he surrendered to the moment, the call forgotten as he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to enjoy the pleasure you were giving him.

𝐌𝐫.𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 © 2025 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[mortal-ethos]

The first time I started figuring out my gender, I felt very fluid, but due to the rise in transmed ideology and being a kid in an oppressive household and society, I tried so hard to be a man. I thought I had to be a man, and I felt like shit because I constantly was questioning myself, constantly insecure, I did everything I was "supposed" to do and be as a "man" both by the standards I grew up with, and the modern standards I had begun to see and still continue to see amongst "progressive" circles (which was doing everything by myself and taking abuse from my partners because the idea of men standing up for themselves or taking a single second to themselves is pushed as abuse and laziness, so I just. Did everything. And took all of it).

I was the handy man, I Mended the garments, I cooked every meal, I cleaned the house and did the dishes, I was the only one working, I put aside any issues or emotions I had for every person/partner, I was constantly told anytime I showed emotion that I was scary or that I was wrong, that I wasn't allowed to feel the way I felt, that I made problems all the time out of nothing, so I stopped and when I would keep my emotions down during conversations I was told I wasn't talking like a real person, any time I tried to talk about mental health issues I was made fun of so I stopped, any time I had a need I was degraded for wanting something so I stopped expressing a desire for closeness and emotional connection while being told that I needed to talk about my problems more even though they were constantly ignored, I was my partners' wallet, I couldn't have my own interests and always had to engage others with theirs while mine were judged and belittled, not even getting into how much pressure there was on me to "look" like a man. I did fucking everything I could until I broke.

I used to think if I just was a Good Man, if I just did everything asked of me, everything I was told, if I did everything right, if I was only ever gentle and kind and vulnerable, I would be happy. The pain would go away, I could be myself, and I could make everyone else happy. I could show what a Good Man was, I could be better. And I tried so hard. But I broke. I wasn't a good man. I couldn't do it. I broke down wondering what was wrong with me. Why was it no matter what I did, it wasn't enough. I would never be gentle enough, kind enough, skilled enough, strong enough, communicative enough, stoic enough, happy enough, rich enough, I would never be enough. So I gave up and I asked myself, who was I trying to be enough for? For people that don't know me? For people that don't care about me? For people that would never understand me anyway? Why was I never happy, even when I did everything asked of me... Why was no one ever happy with me?

Why was I STILL NOT MAN ENOUGH.

So I said fuck it. Who am I being a man for. My gender shouldn't feel like a fault in my personhood. And I let myself sit with it for a while. I asked myself, why do I still connect with my womanhood, with the lesbian community, with girlhood, why is this feminine rage still inside me intricately entwined with my masculine transness? Why, when I talk about women's issues, why do I have to choke down saying "we" and "us?" Why, when I feel like a man, is it strongest when I'm helping the ones that I love? What about those days I feel like neither, the days I feel more connected to the moss beneath my feet, to the shadows of tree branches, to the smell of rain, to the sound of boots on pavement, to the metallic taste of blood, to the ones that wear masks? What about those days I feel like I don't want to decide, I don't want to settle on one thing, where I feel like the planets in orbit, all circling each other simultaneously, each rotating themselves? The days where I see myself on this earth as intimately woven into the fabric of existence, when I experience creation and make myself into a new person for that moment, a new color unseen, a new emotion unfelt, a new breath never shared?

I'm not a man, or not just a man. I'm not just a woman, I'm not just non-binary. I tried fitting my experiences, my existences, into one singular label. Into the label that was supposed to be right, the one that was easy, the one everyone else is. I felt like my gender queer experiences were a gender failing, a pathetic flailing attempt at transness. I wasn't man enough, but I had to be because... I thought that was my only option.

Anyone thinking being non-binary, being gender fluid, being agender, bigender, gender queer, is all just part of the process of eventually settling into a binary identity is so, so wrong. I am not lost or confused. I didn't lose myself, my transness, my queerness, in the fluidity. I found my way back home.

when nonbinary people discover they are actually transgender binary, i wish them all the best, but i cannot STAND when they dismiss their previous identity as illegitimate. sure, maybe it wasnt you, but nonbinary is still real and valid.

i remember when a nonbinary content creator i really resonated with came out as a trans man instead, he started saying that nonbinary is "only a stepping stone to being the opposite binary!!" and that its "just a pipeline effect and nothing solid :)" i had recently separated from my long term partner due to identity related reasons and i was feeling insecure, finding community online. i questioned myself for months then, forcing the idea of being binary onto myself in what was admittedly an ocd spiral. its not his fault but i feel if you make queer content you kinda owe it to your audience to not spread false and harmful narratives about it

this is exorsexism.

i've seen it time and time again that previously-nonbinary content creators come out as binary trans and suddenly become really exorsexist in their stance, behaviour, language. this stuff never hurts their following though and nonbinary people who point this out usually end up being accused of transmisia and "being too sensitive". meanwhile people act like our genders are time bombs.

[sunarinio]

down the aisle

rintarou suna x reader

grocery run turned proposal

you pushed the trolley in front of you while suna followed behind, humming to himself as he looked around the aisle. you knew he was about to get distracted so you sped up, the trolley zooming past shelves of chips, biscuits and protein bars.

“hey, slow down,” suna complained as he jogged to catch up with you.

“no, thanks,” you snapped.

he sighed, “you’re still mad about that?”

you stopped in your tracks and jabbed an accusing finger to his chest. “maybe if your annoying ass didn’t get distracted, we wouldn’t have had to make two supermarket trips.”

you were right. this was your second trip to the supermarket in three hours. the two of you first came in at 10 AM sharp for your weekly groceries, as was the sunday ritual. suna, however, ended up getting distracted every ten minutes by the new collaboration of kinder joy with his favourite series. and that’s how you ended up with twenty kinder joys in your cart.

“i think we should get a couple more,” he kept repeating every now and then, concerned about his chances of getting the character he wanted. what a gambler, you thought, but didn’t mind his eccentricities until-

“rin, you idiot!”

he was immediately by your side. you were back home, putting away groceries when you noticed something missing.

“you got neither the handwash nor the room freshener i asked you to!” you scowled at him, “it was right next to your kinder joy aisle!”

“oops~” was all he said.

so here you were, on your second trip to the supermarket. you purposely had not let him handle the trolley.

“i told you we could just get the handwash at a local store. you-”

“no. it is cheaper here in bulk.” you jabbed your finger into his chest again as if to prove your point.

“fine, fine,” he held his hands up in surrender, “i won’t get distracted this time. promise.”

he walked beside you obediently, calling out names of household items and asking whether you needed anything more than what you came here for.

“what’s could be in this anyway? i haven’t opened it yet,” he pulled out a kinder joy which he had pocketed just before leaving the apartment again. a little something to soothe your wrath.

“get that thing out of my face,” you grumbled immediately.

“not even the chocolate?”

“you’ve ruined these for me, rin”

“you’re being dramatic”

he opened the package and peeled off the cover for the toy inside. you couldn’t help but peer in curiously.

“a ring…?” suna tilted his head to the side. then something clicked, “oh it’s the one he uses to save his village…meh, not that good of a find”

“it’s pretty though...” you comment, looking down at the ring before meeting his gaze.

suna stares at you. then he looks around. no one is in the aisle. he smirks.

“what-”

suna gets down on one knee. he takes your hand in his while you put a hand over your mouth to not burst out laughing.

“my dear y/n. i sincerely apologize for what happened today and i will put in my best efforts for the upcoming grocery runs. they bring immense joy to me and i hope you wish to continue these with me- forever,” he looks up at you expectantly.

“y-yes,” you manage to say between giggles. you’re blushing, embarrassed of being caught in the ridiculous situation, “i forgive you”

he inserts the ring onto your finger with a smile before standing up and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“who’s gonna help you carry the bags anyway, if you stop bringing me to grocery runs?” he chuckles, leading you down the aisle.

“i can carry them myself,” you huff, fiddling with the ring. the weight of it felt good, even if it was plastic.

“nah, i’ll carry all the bags, you just focus on carrying the ring,” suna smiled, ruffling your hair with the hand that was not pushing the trolley.

ah yes, the trolley duty had been smoothly shifted to him.

[intoblonde6ftwbbplayers]

Transferring Hearts; a love story from Columbia to Storrs

TransferTeammate! x UconnPaige!

pairing; octransferteammate! x uconnpaige!

description; A South Carolina transfer comes to uconn after winning her second championship. Not a lot of people know why but all Andrea knows is that she needed to get away for her cheating ex and her lying “friend”.

random details; Andrea Pierce was ranked #1 on espn for her class and that’s how she got a big following. She’s basically 3 years younger than paige (like 2 years and 10 months) she’s entering her junior season and has won the championship twice with south carolina and got MOP in the 23-24 season. Her ex bf (yes a bi queen represented) and her close friend were hooking up behind her back for weeks. Andrea is very active on social media especially tiktok and youtube (think tara yummy style vlogs and edits being made of her). 

warnings; none really just I have no clue about basketball like other then what I learned 8th and 9th grade when I was forced to play. Probably bad spelling and grammar bc idk how to used commas. Oh also forgot to mention Andrea is going Latina bc I love my Latina baddies

lmk if y'all want longer chapters like this or shorter ones!

||

High off wining; prologue

April 6th 2024

"Hey guys what's up. It's your girls here with a quick little check in before tomorrow's game" Andrea said pulling her best friend and teammate Chloe Kitts into the camera

"Andrea Pierce basketball phenom and internet sensation everybody!" Chloe said giving her friend an introduction that wasn't needed but well deserved after her performance during this tournament.

Andrea begins blushing slightly "Okay bro not too much on me" she said with a smile

"alright y'all... i'm feeling it for tomorrow's game like seriously. Mark my words if our girl Andrea gets hot tomorrow then REALLY it's over for Iowa"

"Yeah we're speaking it into the universe guys. Gamecocks are taking the title tomorrow!" Andrea chants

"Yeahhhh! LETS GO WE GOT THIS!" Chloe yells right back into the camera before both girls look at each other laughing

"Alright, alright we need to get to bed before the big game tomorrow but we'll check in with you guys after getting the dub"

Andrea quickly stops the camera and sighs trying to shake out the nerves thinking about the game.

April 7th 2024

"And with 5 minutes left in the 4th quarter both Andrea Pierce and Kamilla Cardoso have been on fire tonight really pushing gamecocks ahead." Ryann Ruocco says

"Yes and let's talk a bit about Andrea Pierce for a second because at first glance you wouldn't expect a 5'7 shooting guard to be one of the biggest names of women's collegiate basketball" Rebecca Lobo said

"And that makes her all the more special. I mean from being ranked #1 in her class from ESPN and just seconds away from winning a national title with the gamecocks" Holly Rowe said

"I mean could Andrea Pierce be the key to a new dynasty for women's basketball? She was out for most of the season her freshman year with a knee injury but South Carolina has had a perfect season so far and Andrea Pierce has been a name that keeps coming up when you ask why" Rebecca Lobo says

"Her basketball IQ and court vision are unmatched I mean just this tournament alone, the no look passes, clutch three-pointers, and even blocks that have changed the game for the gamecocks this season." Rebecca Lobo continues

"And now finally with 4 seconds left and a 7-0 run by South Carolina, all by Andrea Pierce, the score is 87-75 with the gamecocks and Andrea Pierce solidifying this win for coach Dawn Staley and South Carolina." Ryan Ruocco said

"Lets check in with Holly on the court as she interviews Andrea Pierce" Rebecca Lobo said

"Yes thank you Rebecca, Im here with the Andrea Pierce who just got named most outstanding player. How do you feel right now Andrea?" Holly asks

"Uhm... Honestly im feeling really good right now. Just like on top of the world and just so extremely grateful for everything and for this season and for the people around me and that have supported me through everything"

"Yes you certainly have been through a lot in your short collegiate experience. How did your injury last year affect the way you went into this season?"

Andrea laughs nervously and looks down a bit before answering "It's changed the way I look at the world and has given me a deeper appreciation for everything I do and everything I want to accomplish. After my injury i was just living in a state of uncertainty but lots of people reached out, including players i've looked up to for a while, and I formed new bonds and deepened old ones that helped me get here today."

"Wow thats really sweet. Final question Andrea, you've had an amazing season and have even been referred to as the future of women's basketball and even just won MOP, what do you have to say about all this?" Holly asked

"I mean it wasn't just me it was my teammates giving me good looks, good assists, setting screens, the plays being made and just our overall trust in our talent. Everyone that's ever believed in me, close friends and family, and even my fans online that let me know that they're proud..."

Andrea looks to the side for a second with tears in her eyes.

"Ugh i'm tearing up I cant believe this, but uhm yeah when fans tell me 'you're doing so good' or like 'keep it up' like even those little moments have an impact and have gotten me that much closer to this moment and i'm so thankful for everything and everyone who has led me to this and... I cant wait to be back here next year for my second ring!" Andrea finishes excitedly, wiping her tears

"Alright thank you so much Andrea and again congratulations on the win and on the award." Holly finishes.

"Yeah thank you Holly. Bye!" Andrea says waiving one last time to the camera and giving Holly Rowe a quick side hug as she leaves to cut the net down.

"Wow what humble answers Andrea gave us, I mean at this point what's not to like she's great on the court and off" Holly says to the camera

"Yes and that comment about being back here next year? I believe it, I truly think that Andrea Pierce is just going to get better and already being so mature for being just 19 years old. We often talk about her poise on the court but off the court as well." Rebecca Lobo responds

"Yes I noticed that. Whenever you ask about a good game she talks about her teammates and coaching staff who made the plays or executed them, Andrea Pierce is next level and I don't want to jinx anything but it's likely we'll be seeing her cut this net down again in a year." Holly says bringing the broadcast to an end

Andrea runs to cut her piece of the net and even ends up getting a big piece to wear like a necklace.

She gets to the sidelines where her one of her closest friends, and roommate, Maddie, had been vlogging for her.

Andrea runs up to her and hugs her tightly.

Even though Maddie barely knew anything about basketball she had been Andreas friend since freshman orientation and was the first person to tell her that it was all going to be okay when she hurt her knee.

"You did it Drea I'm so proud of you!" Maddie says hugging her tightly while still recording.

"Thank you Maddie for being such a good friend and being there for me I wouldn't have been able to do this without you." Andrea says tearing up while thinking about all the highs and lows that her and Maddie have gone through together

As they finally pull away from each other Maddie spots Andreas new necklace that she assumes will be going home with them.

Maddie tugs on the net lightly and begins laughing at her friend. "New necklace?" she asks

"Yeah" Andrea responds glancing down. "You like it? 'Cause it's coming home with us." She says grabbing the net with both hands and lifting it toward Maddie to show her and the camera that caught this entire moment.

Andrea grabs the camera and says goodbye to Maddie who said she needed to get home to study for whatever pre-med class she said she was 'failing' (got anything below a 90).

"aight vlog its just us now! But guys oh my god i'm a national championnnnn!!" Andrea says walking toward the locker room now.

"It hasn't sank it yet... I'm just so thankful for all of you guys who have gone through everything with me and just grateful for everyone around me and most of all thank you God" Andrea finishes as she gets to the locker room where everyone is celebrating.

"There's our MOP" Kamilla says stretching the last syllable out playfully

"Aww I love you so much Kamilla I wouldn't have gotten this award without you."

"Heyyy vlogggg let me just steal them for a sec." Chloe says reaching for the camera.

Andrea and Chloe have a system when it comes to after a game. Chloe knows that the first person Andrea wants to call is her grandfather.

And she also knows that Andrea wants to capture every moment on camera so she helps her out by 'stealing' the camera for her segment of the video.

Andrea quietly thanks Chloe and proceeds to FaceTime her grandpa who picks up immediately.

"Hola abuelo!" (hi grandpa) she greets excitedly

"Hola mi princesita, estoy tan orgulloso de usted." (Hi my princess, im so proud of you) he says holding the phone at a very low angle like any old person.

"Gracias abuelo! Me nombraron la jugadora mas destacada del torneo. Y mire mi nuevo collar... le gusta?" (Thank you grandpa! They named me most outstanding player in the tournament. And look at my new necklace... do you like it?) Andrea said holding her net up to the screen smiling like someone had given her the whole universe.

"Me encanta. Bueno se que esta ocupada ahorita pero ya viene el verano entonces espero verla pronto. La quiero mucho, adios" (I love it. Well i know you're busy right not but summer is coming up so I hope to see you soon. I love you so much, bye)

"Adios abuelo lo quiero mucho!" (Bye grandpa i love you so much!) Andrea says hanging up the phone and going to find Chloe again.

"So where's Ethan?" Chloe asked Andrea as they get into the car ready to head back to the hotel

they were gonna celebrate back at Columbia since they had a 5 am flight the next day

"Oh he said he needed to study for some engineering class and couldn't come to the game or celebrate"

"Drea... You know I love you right but, why do you put up with that? I mean you deserve someone who see's how great you are and how bright you shine, not Ethans ass who gets in a mood every time someone talks about your accomplishments." Chloe says as they wait at a red light

"I dont know... I love him. When we met I was in a really dark place mentally and he helped me through it and even if we're going through a rough patch right now I do love him so much." Andrea says finishing the conversation

April 8th 2024

"Aight bye Drea see you tonight!" Chloe says once they arrive back their dorms.

"Yeah see you later!"

Thats when Andrea gets her phone out to see if Ethan has texted her back yet.

Still no reply. Andrea loved texting and often had no shame about pressing the 'notify anyway' button. Because who do you think you are on dnd?

But at this point her and Ethans texts were starting to look like he wasn't her boyfriend and more like a guy trying to ghost her.

'Heading to the game now'

delivered.

'Okay I lowk ate warmups up so we got this'

delivered.

'nvm thats fucking cc out there'

'who do I think I am? they beat uconn'

'they beat fucking paige bueckers yesterday'

'how can we even compete with that?'

delivered.

'ok officially crashing out wtf'

delivered.

'babe?'

delivered.

'sorry ik ur studying'

'just respond when u can'

delivered.

'ok momentary lapse of judgment'

'im fucking Andrea Pierce'

'I GOT THIS'

'LIKE DEADASS I GOT THIS'

delivered.

'BABE I GOT FUCKING MOP'

'LETS GOOO'

'LETS FUCKING GO OMGOMGOMG'

'IM ACTUALLY HIM'

delivered.

That was all last night. Andrea hadn't bothered to text Ethan this morning. She didn't know what had been going on lately but her and Ethan had been fighting a lot recently.

She felt like he was always on edge around her and didn't know why. He was picking fight for no reason or just wont respond for days and then act like nothing happened.

Andrea was getting a bit tired of it but she loved him so much. Be cause he wasn't always like this. He used to kind and would always check up on her mental health and never said anything about basketball because he didn't care about her stats only her.

But it felt like recently he not only doesn't care about her stats he just doesn't care about her either which really hurt Andrea but she figured that it was just the honeymoon phase coming to an end and nothing more.

All Andrea wanted to do was get back to her dorm and take a nap before going out tonight but she remembered that she had let Kamilla borrow her charger on the plane and she really needed it back.

So Andrea being half asleep at this point dragged herself over to Kamilla's dorm. Once Andrea showed up to her room she saw the door wasn't fully closed so she just let herself in.

As she walked in Andrea heard it before she saw it. Ethan's muffled voice mixed with kamilla's giggles coming from her room where that door was also left ajar.

"Bro what the fuck..?" Andrea quietly mumbled to herself as she walked up to the room where she didn't want it to be true.

As she walked in she saw Ethan and Kamilla on her bed making out and looking like the happiest people on earth so wrapped in with each other they didn't hear her walk in.

"So this is why you've been weird lately, Ethan? Because you've been fucking Kamilla?" Andrea said finally breaking them from their trance making her presence known

"I-Oh-Uh-Fuck! No! It's not what it looks like babe!" Ethan says barley able to form a sentence

"Do you think im fucking slow? She's literally on top of you. Like there is no possible way you this isn't exactly what it looks like... and it looks like 2 lil bitches who I never wanna see or talk to again."

"No Andrea this is the first time please baby you have to understand. We were just high off the win! You know a little celebration?" Ethan says getting out from under Kamilla and moving toward Andrea to try and calm her down

"High off the win? That's your excuse? Ew."

"We're fucking done Ethan. Fuck both of you."

The second the words leave Andreas mouth they feel bitter. She truly had so much love for both of them and for them to be able to treat her like this and be able to betray her then literally turn around and say 'I love you' is making her question who she can trust

Andrea quickly grabs her charger that she spots on the desk in the corner and makes her way out.

Portal Promise; chapter 1

April 13th 2024

It's officially been the most chaotic and dramatic 5 days of Andreas life.

Everything had gone downhill since that moment. Apparently in the time that Andrea had taken to take a nap and try and clear her mind after finding out her close friend and boyfriend were hooking up, they decided to get ahead of the story and start making shit up about her.

Ethan started spreading weird ass rumors about how Andrea was crazy and that she was manipulative and Kamilla was backing him which made it that much more believable.

Andrea was so overwhelmed and ended up speaking with coach Staley about everything that happened. Staley told her that she would speak to Kamilla but also knew that the damage was already done and that the team and the school would probably never feel the same to Andrea anymore.

So as much as it pained Staley to see one of her best players leave and one that she genuinely had grown to love and care for so much these past 2 years. She reminded Andrea that she still had time to enter the transfer portal.

So after some thought Andrea decided that she would. She told Chloe and Maddie of course, but the rest of the team had barely spoken to her since everything had gone down. Andrea knew they were just trying to keep the peace and not pick sides but it didn't help how alone she felt when people were believing those rumors.

And even though Andrea knew that the media would be all over her about the reason why. She knew that it was the right choice to make for her future. And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great?

May 19th 2024

'On a recent instagram post made by uconnwbb you see that 19 year old basketball phenom Andrea Pierce has officially committed to Uconn'

Andrea was nervous. She didn't know what to expect. She was going to play for Geno Auriemma who had coached uconn into the dynasty it's known for and she wanted to live up to those standards.

June 2024

Andrea was about to walk into the women's basketball training facility for the first time and officially meet everyone. Sure she had been following Azzi Fudd on instagram, they were friends.

Her and Azzi had met a couple of times during their AAU days and were even on the same USA basketball team one year. But after Andrea got hurt last year Azzi reached out knowing what it's like to tear your acl at a young age and gave her some much needed advice.

CD had already let Andrea know that she had gone through all her vlogs and actually commended how well spoken and how poised she made sure she always presented as.

And said she could continue vlogging as long as it stayed within their guidelines for what they can do or say in media.

Andrea hadn't spoken to the media about her decision to leave South Carolina yet or posted anything on socials which was out of character for her, but what was she supposed to say?

My boyfriend and teammate fucked behind my back then spread rumors about me so I wanted to leave? Ew.

But Andrea quickly shook those negative thoughts out her head as she approached the gym locker room and heard a couple voices.

"Dude i'm so excited"

"Yeah have you seen her highlights?"

"Forget her highlights, lets talk about the face card and the game day hair"

"She's so cool like"

Andrea hears a couple of phrases but since they're all talking over each other she doesn't catch everything. Suddenly she doesn't feel as nervous when she hears the quiet whispers and the giggles coming from her new teammates.

Because at the end of the day they're all just girls who all share a love for the same sport.

"Wait shut up I hear someone coming!" Andrea hears someone whisper horribly which makes her laugh slightly

"Uh... Hey everyone" Andrea says looking around the locker room at everyone thats just getting settled in.

"Oh my god!"

"Hiii"

"Hey"

"Andrea Pierce!"

Everyone echos out at the same time. Which makes both Andrea and Azzi laugh, being the most familiar with you she decides to take the lead.

"I always said you'd look better in blue Drea" She finished quietly before the hurricane of fangirl questions and comments came in.

Azzi tried to recruit Andrea her senior year of high school but she had already fallen in love with South Carolina by then. She did let Azzi know that her efforts were appreciated and that Uconn was almost chosen.

"Yes guys this is THE Andrea Pierce so fangirl all you want know because you know coach is gonna get mad if you're all distracted during practice" She says walking up and putting her arm around your shoulder in a reassuring way to let Andrea know it was all going to be okay.

(random switch to first person idk why)

It was a lot from Kk and some from Caroline and even a couple from the incoming freshman Morgan and Sarah. Most of it having to do with basketball but every couple seconds Kk would throw in a comment about your 'face card never declines' or how your 'fits are always fire' which you thanked her for and even complimented some of her stuff you'd seen as well.

Then you finally got to Paige. And even after all of them fangirling over you and wanting to know everything about how you can score at all three levels while still looking good. It was not your turn to be starstruck.

Because Paige Bueckers was someone you had looked up to since she was in High School and now you're going to be on the same team. And she was looking right into your soul with the most pleasing smile in the world.

Luckily that smile and stare only made you forget your name for 2 seconds before you remembered where you were and just went with a simple 'hi' and a smile before turning back to the group making sure you were now officially following all of them on instagram and TikTok.

(back to third)

But what Andrea didn't know is that Paige had been a little starstruck too and the only person that knew just how closely she had followed your career was Azzi.

So the second Andrea looked away already fitting in with everyone so well, Azzi turned back to Paige and quietly asked if 'she had remembered her name yet or if she was just gonna keep staring'

Paige just shook her head and said a little too loudly "Bro i'm not staring" which made some of the group look at her confused for a second before going back to their conversation

"Im simply observing the newest member of our team" Paige finished quite this time

But the look Azzi gave her best friend wasn't one of belief it was one of knowing.

Because Azzi Fudd knew that this portal transfer could promise their team the chance to get back to the final four and win it all this time.

||

all any suggestions y'all want me to include in this story, my request r always open!!

thx for reading, goodnight!

[noctiva]

sorry guys I’m angsty today. here’s how some of the boys would break up w you.

Toby: Loud and messy. More angry than sad (the grief will come later). Tears streaming down his cheeks and shaking hands as he points an accusing finger at you. His entire body taut like he’s holding himself back from lashing out further. Calls you every name in the book. Says shit so cruel you’re left wondering how long those thoughts have been stewing in his brain.

Cuts you off in the middle of a sentence by storming out and slamming the door so hard it makes you ears ring. It’s the last time you ever see him.

You would really have to push him to the absolute brink for this to happen. Toby’s always one to try and work things out instead of letting his emotions get the best of him. He loves hard, and it’s unwavering. You’d have to do something pretty damn horrible for that to be snuffed out completely.

- “I c-can’t believe I wasted so much time on someone like you.”

-

Jack: Silent but brutal. Clinical and apathetic. He won’t be the one to actually start the fight or utter the final blow, he’ll just slowly push you away and ice you out until you’re the one to sever the ties. You can practically feel the affection leech out of him over the course of a few months. Doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it. His tone with you gets drier, more detached. Like the words you speak are muffled, and he’s just responding off of autopilot

When you finally do decide to end things, he doesn’t flinch. Barely bats an eye. He won’t fight you. He’ll agree the moment you even suggest splitting up. His ears twitch at the quiver in your voice but he won’t comment on it.

You’ll probably storm out out of frustration over his complete and utter nonchalance. He’ll be gone by the time you get back.

- “If that’s what you want.”

-

Brian: Completely out of left field. Completely blindsides you to the inner workings of his mind. Thought about ending it for months, but didn’t let it show even a little bit - continued on as normal, plastered that same old charming smile on his face, let the pet names roll off of his tongue just as smoothly as always. All while plotting the easiest way to let you down. He’s always been uncannily good at keeping his true intentions hidden, the mask he wears indistinguishable from his true self. Shame you didn’t find that out until it was too late.

He’ll take you out for a drive one night. Start the conversation out like normal. But when the silence between you starts to stretch, it feels heavier than it ever has. When he finally speaks again, he doesn’t beat around the bush. No sugarcoating, no preheating the dread by starting off with ‘we need to talk’. He just says it, point blank. Peers at you out of the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction.

And of course you’re shocked. Of course you cry. But it doesn’t really phase him. He’s been preparing for this for ages now. When he comforts you, it sounds hollow.

He’ll drop you off at home with a weight lifted off his shoulders.

- “You didn’t actually expect to marry me, did you?”

-

Tim: He just leaves. Crawls out of bed while you sleep and silently packs his things into the closet bag he can find. He probably forgets a few things in the rush. He won’t miss them, but they’ll ruin your entire mood anytime you come across one of his old socks, or notice that his toothbrush is still sitting by the sink.

He’ll write you a note and leave it on your bedside table. Telling you how he’s sorry he was too much of a coward to say all of this to your face, but it’s just easier this way. He knew you’d cry. He knew you’d beg for him to stay. Doing it this way was a much cleaner break - on his end, at least.

He’ll tuck the sheets over you gently, lets his gaze linger on your face for a few moments too long - nearly long enough for him to just crawl back in bed and let this whole plan go to hell. But, that subsides rather quickly as his eyes scan across your sleeping face. You look so calm. So serene. So sweet.

He wasn’t deserving of you and he knew it. He had known from the start.

- “This was never going to work. I know you thought it would. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

-

Cody: Just shuts you out completely. The breakup version of ‘quiet quitting’. In his mind, the moment he starts to get the urge to do so - you’re already broken up. Shuts himself in his lab for hours on end and doesn’t let you in like he used to. Makes up excuses about how it ‘needs to be a sterile environment’ and that he ‘can’t afford distractions’.

Goes back to wearing his gloves around you. Wanting that barrier that he had broken down for you to go right back up again. Brushes you off every time you try to make plans with him. Short, one word answers every time you speak. Like Jack, his ultimate goal is for you to just get fed up and end things before he can, but unlike Jack - he’s less patient.

It irritates him how you try to cling on. How you just roll over and let him treat you like this just because you’re reluctant to lose him.

One day, he’ll just hit you with it. Short and sweet. And he’s walking back off and locking himself up in his lab before you can even get a reply out.

- “Your inability to take a hint is mind boggling. We’re done. Why can’t you get that?”

-

Habit: Kills you. He had joked about it when you first got together. How once he’s tired of you, he’ll just lob your pretty head clean off. It wasn’t actually a joke. You should’ve probably guessed that.

He just can’t be bothered. Would much rather avoid everything that came with a real, formal breakup. The tears, the bartering, the desperate pleas. All just trivial human emotions that irritate him so much it makes him feel nauseous. He’d much rather just put an end to that before it can even start.

How he does it depends on what mood you catch him in. Maybe he’s feeling merciful and does it in your sleep. Slits your throat so quick that you barely even have time to wake up before you’re choking on your own blood. Maybe he’s just fed up. Strangles you with his bare hands jusy so that he can watch the fear flood into your eyes - knowing that he’s serious this time.

Doesn’t even bury you. Throws you in a lake and walks off like nothing happened.

- “I told you this would happen.”

[femmesport]

Almost Something - Chapter Two

warnings: none besides language i suppose?? an: this is a bit jumpy, but i am just trying to set the pacing and build up the characters and friendships a bit. i have really appreciated all the love y'all have been showing this fic!! also, i literally needed amari to be in this fic so thanks for allowing me that 😭 wc: 3k

Merely a drink. That was all Paige had last night, and yet she woke up feeling like she had been hit by a freight train or two. Her head was pounding and her eyes were red rimmed with a disgusting dryness. A heavy nausea lingered in the back of her throat.

Paige was wholly and unequivocally fucked. Like harboring potential feelings for the one person she shouldn’t level of fucked.

Paige sighed and pushed herself out of bed as if her body weighed a ton. She barely was able to push her glasses up her face and winced as she truly was able to take a look around her mess of a room.

Walking out into the living room, Paige heard muffled conversations around the table. Upon her emergence, her friends stopped talking and their eyes settled on her in the sympathetic way that made her skin crawl.

“Good morning,” Paige headed to the cabinet grabbing cereal, “what time are you guys heading to practice?”

“P,” Caroline started and Paige couldn’t have that.

“I was thinking of heading out right after breakfast,” Paige hurried through pouring her cereal and adding milk.

“P,” this time it was Aubrey and far more firm, “sit down.”

Aubrey’s eyes point to the chair sitting across from them.

Paige sighed and brought her things to the seat slouching down and hoping for the floor to swallow her whole. She could do a lot of things but having her friends stare at her as if she were a fragile thing was not on that list.

“Listen, you can lie to yourself, you can lie to her, but clearly things are not getting better. You need an outlet, you need to tell us what is going on” Caroline explains in a firm yet soft tone.

Paige’s eyes drop to her bowl and the tears have found their way to her eyes again.

“I don’t know when it happened” Paige whispers out and her voice is so weak that she winces at the sound.

“I don’t know when I started feeling this way, or when she started meaning that much to me” Paige put her elbows on the table and pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes trying to hide.

“P,” Amari starts softly, “is it possible that it has always been that way?” Paige winces and lets out a sound that sounded an awful lot like a sob.

“I don’t know.. I don’t know” Paige whispers her voice laced thickly with raw wet emotion.

“I feel like the world’s worst friend, I am sitting here crying and hurt because my best friend is going out and trying things to experience happiness” Paige voices her feelings and Aubrey sighs at that.

“P, you know it is not like that. You are okay with her finding happiness but you can also want your own” Caroline offers gently.

The pity and gentleness of their tones rattles Paige to her core. Her stone walls are quickly falling apart.

“Listen, I just don’t want anyone to look at me differently or treat me like I am some delicate thing on the verge of breaking” Paige lifts her head and her eyes are red rimmed and filled with a bone deep exhaustion.

“You’re not different or on the verge of breaking” Caroline replies, “we’re just worried.”

“I know and it is unfair of me to hate that when I would be doing the exact same, but damn” Paige’s eyes attempt to convey the feelings that she can’t say.

The room is silent and her friends search her face for any kind of a sign that there was more that she would say. When they came across nothing, they did what they did best. They did normal.

“I have classes until noon,” Amari says, looking down at her watch.

Caroline nods and then directs her attention back to her breakfast. “We can leave for practice in thirty minutes, Aubrey and I were going to walk together. Want to join?” Paige nods and lets the world continue on around her.

Her morning remained relatively silent. The kind of silence that is heavy and loaded, but the silence no one is addressing. 

By the time they left for practice, the trio had only managed a few words and acknowledgements.

The silence around her was far more soothing than her brain which seemed to get louder and more unbearable by the time they walked into the locker rooms. The silence around her was shattered by the boisterous laughter and chatter that was filled by her teammates.

Paige tried to join in. She tried laughing with her teammates and joining in on meaningless conversations. She wanted so badly for everything to be and feel normal.

And, to her credit, it did work for a bit. That was all shattered as Azzi, her best friend, entered the locker room.

Paige had made eye contact and Azzi simply smiled before heading in her direction. Normal was only so possible when forced proximity was the reality. 

Paige had shot up from her seat at her locker. She tried to be normal when muttering something about stretches and shooting practice, but her voice sounded off to her ears and her teammates' eyes lingered a moment too long.

Azzi frowned but nodded while the rest of their teammates continued on.

Paige joined a few of the underclassmen on the court for their stretches before grabbing a ball. The ball felt like lead in her hands and her body felt disoriented. Paige had been known for her ball control and having a strong shot. Today, she noted, this would not be the case. Every touch on the ball was off, her hands lingered in the wrong spots, her feet would land off and a moment late.

More teammates were joining the court and Paige’s frustration was growing. Not doing well was one thing. Not doing well and letting everyone see it, well that was an entirely different beast.

Paige tried one more shot that simply hit the rim and rode around before falling to the side. She sighed and stepped off the court and towards her water bottle.

“My shot is shit today” she groans and she slouches into the chair beside KK.

“P Boogers has an off day,” KK smirks looking in Paige’s direction, “who knew it was possible?”

Paige huffs a laugh and looks up seeing Azzi across the court. Her shots were beautiful. The way she handled the ball and the grace she held was much like watching a performance. She was graceful and appeared weightless on her feet.

Azzi looked over after making a shot and just smiled brightly at Paige. Paige tried to smile in return, but her breath had caught and she is sure she looked more pained than anything else.

The moment is short lived before the team is being called over in groups to split off and run through drills. The intensity that comes with practice allowed Paige to breathe without the insistent hum of her brian working over time. 

The first drill allowed Paige to take a step back. She focused on her mindset and getting better footwork to make up for her struggling handles. Her efforts were clean and tight. It was almost impossible to notice anything wrong. Almost.

The next drill required her and Azzi to work together. Paige was fine. Really. Well, she was fine. 

She was fine until she made eye contact with Azzi. Azzi had her normal game face that was calm, fierce, and wholly unpredictable. Paige tried feeding the ball up to her, but the ball landed slightly left of where she intended. 

The touch wasn’t right for the play she had intended. Azzi noticed. She smiled reassuringly at Paige and they tried running it again.

This time, the ball went too far forward, and it was quickly turned over. Paige huffed out in frustration, but still, Azzi smiled. Though this time it was slightly strained.

The third time was by far the worst. The ball landed close enough to Azzi, but not with enough space for her to have a clean shot. Azzi quickly turned to pass the ball to Paige, and Paige was able to get a hand on it and turn it over to Sarah who was able to shoot.

“Thank God” Paige groans. This drill had been messy and she was feeling the frustration of it all.

“P, you good?” Azzi stepped up to ask with a concerned expression that showed she was just as frustrated, “you normally have a pretty good read on me, but that was all over the place.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but the idea that she didn’t have a good read on Azzi served no purpose except further upsetting Paige. “You were never making it down far enough” Paige sighs out deflecting.

Azzi’s face fell at that. “I am not the one with consistent turn overs here, let’s clean it up.” She walked away and Paige groaned out again.

Geno had called her over and she didn’t have time to linger on what Azzi was saying.

“Paige, what the hell was that?” he grits out, hands flailing in the direction of the court, “you two have some of the best chemistry, and now you guys can’t even complete a simple pass?”

Paige felt his frustration tenfold. She kept her head down but nodded with tight features. 

She had shut down and gone cold. Sensing he was getting nowhere, Geno goes into a monologue about completing beginner level passes without heads up your asses.

The rest of practice passed in a cold blur. Her handles were inconsistent, her footwork was messy, and her passes to Azzi had lost their touch.

Paige knew everyone had noticed. She knew Coach was watching her with a hardened expression and jaw tight, certainly planning an hour long film review. She knew Azzi had noticed and was just as frustrated.

When everyone began shuffling out of practice, Paige was the first to the locker room. When she was asked about recovery, she was quick to brush it off with promises of next time. Instead, she gathered her things, shoved on headphones, and headed out.

She still had about an hour before her first class, but if she sat still she would think. Even worse, she might do. So instead, she blared music in her headphones and walked to campus to grab some shitty food to focus on instead of staying in her head.

Campus normally had shitty food, but when you were suffering at the hands of your own mind, there was nothing that would be as awful as you felt. Paige knew this all too well.

As she was eating her low-quality food and trying to think about anything else, her phone buzzed.

Azzi: Hey, are we good?

Paige pauses. Her fingers hover over her phone. For once, she has lost all words for Azzi. How would she explain this at all?

Her brain runs through a million possible responses. 

Yeah, we’re good. Why wouldn’t we be? 

It is just me.

No.

I am going through it.

Instead, Paige sighs and locks her phone. She has nothing to say that wouldn’t lead to bigger conversations that she wasn’t ready to have.

Paige shifts her focus to finishing her shitty lunch and making her way to some communications class she signed up for at Azzi’s insistence that it was the best professor ever, seriously.

Class left Paige feeling just as drained. She spent most of the time berating herself in her head for not being able to focus. Her notes were disorganized jumbles with terminology she is pretty sure Azzi used.

They had been assigned a paper and Paige missed all of the instructions. As she packed up all she could do was hope it would be sent out in an email later.

She headed out of her class and failed to consider that Azzi knew her schedule and was also likely to have classes in this building. Immediately outside of the door waiting for her was Azzi.

“P,” she says firmly as Paige steps outside of the door and sighs upon hearing her name, she pauses but doesn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“P,” Azzi tries again, wrapping her hand around Paige’s elbow trying to capture her attention.

Paige’s whole body tenses up. She pauses for a second and takes a deep breath before turning around.

“Hey Az,” she says with a forced smile, “what’s up?” 

Azzi frowns, “you’ve been ignoring me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Paige sighs, “I’ve just been stressed with school, training, and draft prep stuff. We’re good” Paige says with as calming of a smile as she could manage. It wasn’t fooling Azzi.

“Look, you’re my best friend. I know you’re lying to me right now” Azzi sighs and Paige swears she sees her eyes gloss over, “but also, you’re my best friend. I need to trust that you will tell me if something is truly wrong.”

Paige tries to smile reassuringly at Azzi, but her heart breaks. She doesn’t mean to be pushing her away or letting her think that it’s her fault. She doesn’t mean to lie or avoid. She just cannot handle any of this right now.

“I will tell you,” Paige says softly with a smile. Azzi returns the gesture and drops her hand from Paige’s arm.

“Hey, team hangout tonight” Azzi says with a bright smile after a moment of silence and Paige cannot help but smile in return.

“You guys planning hangouts without me again?” Paige grins at Azzi who lets out a genuine low chuckle. 

Paige’s heart sputters at the noise.

“You would be included in making the plans if you would start opening upperclassmen group chat again” Azzi jokes leaning in to bump Paige’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, yeah” Paige laughs and then more sincerely, “I’ll be there.”

Azzi smiles at Paige so softly that she couldn’t help but melt a little bit, “see you, P.”

Azzi wraps her arms around her best friend’s middle. Paige’s heart stops for a second and she freezes with her arms laying flat at her sides. Her hands quickly catch up to the moment and wrap around Azzi’s shoulders.

In the hug, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Before the team hangout, Paige decided to join Jana, KK, and Ice at the library for a study session. She had been in her head for so long now, that she had been neglecting her friendships and studies.

“Well, look who decided we were lucky enough to be graced with her presence” Ice smirks, looking up from her work and KK gasps dramatically with Jana joining in.

“Yeah, yeah. Here to put the student in student athlete or whatever” Paige jokes putting her book bag around the chair and grabbing out her computer.

“You’re better than I am,” Jana groans looking at her computer.

Paige does spend some time working through an assignment. At least she tried. But her mind wouldn’t stop wandering.

She couldn’t stop thinking about dark curls, brown eyes, and a smile that made her melt. It was honestly kind of ridiculous. She couldn’t last more than a few minutes without thinking about Azzi.

Suddenly she was thinking of every quiet moment between practices, every shared hotel room and the hushed moments of the night. She couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who has occupied her every waking thought for the past few months and her sudden interest in Tyler.

Paige almost groans at that mere thought of his name. 

After a few minutes of flat faced staring at a blank document, Paige snapped out of it and looked around to her teammates. She noticed that all of them were too engrossed in their work to notice her struggle.

She flips her phone over and sees no notifications, but knows she needs a break.

“Hey, I have a missed call. I’ll be right back” she stands up and the other three vaguely acknowledge her before returning to their work.

She finds a quiet room and opens her contacts. She finds who she is looking for and clicks the call button waiting through only a few moments of ringing.

“Hey Paigey,” the soft voices flowed through the speaker on her phone, “what’s up?”

Paige hears her dad vaguely say something to a coworker and then a door shutting on the other end.

“Hey, dad. I just wanted to call and chat, miss you” Paige explains gently and she hears her dad chuckle a little bit on the other end.

“Are you going soft on your old man?” her dad jokes and Paige just laughs, “we miss you too.”

“How is your training going?” he asks and Paige shifts into a more comfortable subject. She shares the strengths of the team and excitement based on the results of their previous games.

Her dad fell into comfortable conversation. He shared some observations he saw from watching the previous game. Paige was always grateful for the feedback and support of her family.

“You know who I am really excited to see this season?” he asks suddenly with a lot of excitement. Paige just hums.

“Azzi” her heart speeds up at the girl’s name, “she has been playing really well. It’s like she has something to prove. She’s going to kick some ass this season!”

At this point, Paige begins floating away from the conversation. Her concentration shifts and she can only think about what her dad said.

It’s like she has something to prove.

Right now, the only person Azzi is trying to impress is Tyler. Paige cannot handle the fact that if Azzi is playing really well or is trying to impress someone, it is likely the very guy whose name makes Paige’s skin crawl.

Refusing to entertain that thought any longer, Paige settles back into a normal rhythm with her father. They discuss upcoming games and breaks and try to work out times to come visit.

The call ends, as it usually does, with promises to keep in touch.

The end of the call allowed Paige a few moments to try calming her heart. She missed her family and would normally turn to Azzi in times like these. She knew this wasn’t possible in her current mindset.

Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose, tried blinking away the emotions, and headed back inside to the library. She would not let this distract her from the things that mattered most.

Please repost, like, and leave your feedback! Thank you!!! <33

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

wc: 1.6k a/n: I listened to the kpop demon hunters soundtrack while writing this. Soda Pop has me in it's CLUTCHES. Bruce is a softie in this chapter bc me and my daddy issues say so. Also Christy? She's my irl therapist and we LOVE her here okay? prev: denial next: bargaining

Stage three: Anger

Jason sat on the couch, his worn journal in his hands. Despite only being written in a few times he continuously toyed with the edges of the paper - fraying them. He stares out the window, his mind a jumbled mess. He just got off the phone with Bruce and now he was in a worse mood than when he had woken up.

hi I miss you

it's the 17th. B just called. Wish you could've been here to hear it. Think he was guilt tripping me. Told me it's been almost a month since I've been to the manor. What does it even matter?

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

I can't. Feels like it gets harder every time I go over there. Yeah it's been a few months since

Between the call with Bruce and remembering your death, your funeral, the tombstone Bruce had placed for you in the family cemetery on the manor grounds Jason was at the end of his rope for the day. 

“Fuck!” 

It's loud, angry. Something that would have made you jump - he hates himself for it. His notebook flies across the room and smacks against the wall. His pen is broken in half. As he stands from the couch he pushes the coffee table out of the way with his foot, hitting the tv stand knocking over a picture frame.

The sound of broken glass makes Jason stop. It's like his heart is breaking all over again. It hurts. He feels his heart skip a painful beat, he feels his breath catch in his throat.

“Stop it!” You yell at him from the bedroom door.

It had started as such a stupid argument. So many little things during that day that resulted in heightened frustration between the two of you. 

“Don't tell me to stop. I didn't fucking do anything.” Jason snaps at you and you stare at him in disbelief for a split second before your expression turns hurt.

Jason knew he had some anger issues he needed to work on and he hated that he was taking it out on you even if it was subconscious. He hated himself for it.

“You're in here slamming stuff for no reason!” You shoot back when he tells you he hasn't done anything.

“Oh, boo-hoo.” Jason grumbles as he rolls his eyes. He can't stand the way he's treating you but he can't stop it.

“Jesus Christ, I can't have sunshine comin' outta my ass every second of the day for you. Fuck, you're so sensitive sometimes, you know that?”

You stop.

Jason stops.

Your disappointed scowl falters and your lips pull downward into a trembling frown. You've both said worse to each other before, more scathing biting insults. There was just something about this time that hurt.

Jason sees the way your eyes turn glassy with tears and the way you begin to frown. That's all it takes for all of his anger and frustration to completely melt away. He rubs his hand down his face and sighs.

“Baby, I'm sorry-”

You shake your head to stop him. You know that if you try to talk now you'll end up crying.

“No, no, please. Baby,” he takes a step forward and you take one back, making him stop in his tracks. He stares at you like you just burned him. With his mouth parted he watches as you turn and close the bedroom door behind you. It only takes him a second to register what happened.

He doesn't try to open the door knowing that if it was locked he might as well just rip his heart out of his chest and let you physically step on it in front of him. Instead he stands in front of the door with one tentative hand on the handle.

“Baby, please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it. I'm sorry for being such an asshole.” He begs for your forgiveness through the door.

You stay silent. You know you need space, he knows you need space but he also has a codependency issue that makes it hard for him to stay away from you.

Jason's not sure if minutes or hours pass by. All he knows is his back hurts and his legs are stiff from sitting on the hardwood floor with his back to the door. Waiting silently for you to come out. Silently listening to you sniffle and cry, dying a little bit more inside knowing he can't do anything to comfort you yet.

But eventually you do. Slowly and quietly you open the door. You sniffle quietly and if you weren't still upset with a headache from crying you would've laughed at how ridiculous Jason looks as he scrambles to his feet.

“Hey,” your voice is hoarse and raspy from your much needed crying session.

“God, baby, I'm so sorry.” Jason whispers. He's on you immediately. Big strong arms wrap you in a warm hug. Jason sighs audibly in relief. He buries his face into the top of your head, eyes closing as he breathes you in. Your nose presses into his chest and you let him hug you, too tired to reciprocate just yet - wanting to soak in his warmth.

He repeats a flurry of “I'm sorry” and “I didn't mean it” against you. You can feel the way his heart thuds in his chest and you can feel your bottom lip tremble again. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You're perfect. You're not too sensitive. I mean- okay. You are. But it's not a bad thing. I love that about you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, I'm so sorry. Please I'll do anything-” He was panicking because even though you've fought and argued before - as any couple does - he's never made you cry.

“I let my anger get the better of me, I should have never-”

“It's okay…” You interrupt him and turn your head to the side to rest your cheek against him, your ear against his heart. 

“No, it's not.” He kisses the top of your head.

You're quiet again, “Okay.. it's not… but we both weren't being the best. I'm sorry, too.”

“Don't apologize. Ever. You could shoot me and I'd never want you to apologize.”

Jason remembers how downright scared you looked that night when he slammed the kitchen drawer shut. He hates himself all over again. He walks over to the notebook and picks it up.

“Sorry…” he mutters. He's not sure if he's saying it absentmindedly to the notebook, himself, or you. Either way he exhales roughly and sits back on the couch. He looks over his journal entry and slowly gets back to it.

It's been a few months since I've been there. It's harder now with your headstone there. I wasn't at my best when Bruce had it put in. I was angry. You would have hated it. You were never afraid tho just gave me that damn disappointed look. That hurt more than anything. I <u>hated</u> that. I deserved it though I was such an asshole when I was mad

“What the fuck is that?” Jason asks as he stares out the floor to ceiling window. It's such a small thing, your tombstone being added to the family plot. But Jason notices immediately as he walks by, the way the number grew overnight.

“Hm?” Bruce hums as he positions himself near Jason.

“I said, what the fuck is that?” Jason's voice is laced with venom at this point.

Bruce finally inhales and opens his mouth to answer.

“Without my permission?” Jason asks with quiet outrage.

“I didn't know I needed your permission.” Bruce says quietly but firmly.

“Not even a warning?”

“She was part of the family-”

“Oh don't give me that shit!” Jason turns to Bruce with a look that could kill. “You didn't even ask! She didn't want to be buried, didn't want a headstone! That's why I put her in a fucking urn.”

Bruce is silent. Perhaps he was in the wrong on this one, he thought.

“What's it say, huh? Who'd you put her by?” Jason's breathing was ragged. He knew he was overreacting, deep down he knew, but with something so big to memorialize you - it made it all the more real to Jason.

“Al-” Bruce begins to answer but Jason cuts him off. He's crying. It's the first time he's cried in days but there's a small part of him that feels safe, comfortable, doing it in front of Bruce.

“Don't. Fucking don't-” Jason's voice cracks as he pushes Bruce's shoulder. “You shouldn't have-” He points a finger at Bruce. “She didn't fucking want-” Jason's crying now. Fat tears stream down his face, his eyes tired and heavy and red.

“Come here,” is all Bruce says softly, offering an open shoulder to Jason.

He stands defiantly for a second before his resolve finally crumbles. With a shaking sob he pulls Bruce into a bruising hug and cries into his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry,” Bruce murmurs as he hugs his son.

“S’not fair,” Jason cries.

Christy says I'm doing better with managing my anger. I tried so hard for you. To be better. I'm so fucking sorry I didn't do it sooner. Or try harder. I think you would be proud of me. You always said you were but this time I know you would be

Jason wipes at a tear in the corner of his eye. He mumbles a curse under his breath and grabs his phone from his pocket. He can feel his emotions beginning to overwhelm him, he sees the warning signs now and knows how to cope. 

Maybe therapy isn't as stupid as he thought, he thinks.

He sends a text to Dick asking to meet him at the gym.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[authorddreamz]

Protector - Deshon Dreamz

Brewing....

Nowhere near finished...actually just a concept currently.

Smoke x Annie (Please don't expect anything else from me...I've tried and failed at Stack X Everybody and they momma. It won't flow. Also tried Sammie and Pearline and...nope. Everyone else...chile.)

Warning: cursing

She's wanted for practicing magic...

He's known for being the "bad guy" who owns a few businesses in town. No one bothers him. He's a loner, outside of his twin brother. He's a quiet storm. A inactive volcano. He's not to be tampered with.

One night she's running from folks trying to capture her ( the KKK)(it's lowkey modern though) and she runs right into his gun shop on the outside of town.

Preview:

Her thighs burned. She'd been squatting behind this diesel bed for what felt like hours. Her heart banged loud in her throat, overshadowing the elevated cadence of her pulse as it clouded her ears. The gravel beneath her feet pierced through her sandals, her body heavy with fear. The moon shifted in the sky, casting a darker cloud over the heated streets of Mississippi. Frantic breathes pushed through her lips as the sound of galloping grew closer to her. The feeling of being trapped engulfed her like a flame, relentless in its pursuit to destroy everything surrounding it. She closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer before moving her body backwards. A stray cat jumped from a car, starling her. A quick yelp escaped her before she covered her mouth, eyes extended as wide as the Nile. Heat sparked from the tailpipe of a nearby car, the engine revving into the night, disturbing the cool air.

Annie didn't know if her life would end tonight, it hadn't been in any of her visions or throws, but she couldn't stop the burst of terror settling in her gut.

More galloping, more shouting.

I saw her go that way!

She can't be far!

We must kill her tonight!

Her hope of making it back home was fading like color from a bleached t-shirt. The street was clear, outside of the men who were tracking her and the ambient light shining from a building nearby. She knew she was pushing it coming back into town so late, but the city had everything she needed for a protection spell she was brewing just for times like this. Her grandmother taught her root work, she also taught her how to fight, negotiate and shoot a gun, but she couldn't go up against four men with sticks, ropes, guns and misplaced rage. She knew she couldn't withstand them alone, there was no way she'd survive. So, she planned to hide as long as she could.

The sight of an open sign flickering off across the street caught her attention. Before she could think too much about it, she heard her grandmothers voice loud in her ear, a rushed whisper that turned frantic. "Go, Annie. Run as fast as you can."

She listened. Her feet pushed into the ground as she lifted, running as fast as her body would allow until she made it to the door. She could barely see through the fiberglass door, but she could make out a figure moving on the other side.

She knocked, her fist heavy with panic and uncertainty as she waited. After a beat, she knocked again- somehow harder this time.

The door was snatched open and suddenly Annie found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. Her entire body felt slack as her hands shot into the nights air. "I'm sorry!" She whined, voice smaller than normal.

He lowered the gun- only slightly. Brown, untrusting eyes swung past her, then to the left and right. He took her in slowly, eyes scanning her from head to toe. A toothpick hung from his thick lips as he leaned to the side to get a better view of her, around his revolver. Silence hung in the air as Annie continued to hold her hands up.

Smoke took in the dirt decorating the bottom of her dress, the mud smudged into her beautiful brown skin and the cloth bag thrown across her body. She released hard, earned breathes as terror danced in the depths of her soft brown eyes. He wanted to lower his gun but he knew better. "Why you banging on the door this late?"

Annie swallowed. "Running."

Smoke brow arched. "From?"

The sound of horses neighing grabbed her attention. She urgently turned back to the cold man before her. "Please let me in."

Smoke craned his neck out the door, looking at the approaching horses ridden by men with pale skin carrying fire torches, wood planks and rope. "Get inside." He stepped outside the door, allowing the woman past him. "Go all the way to the back, up the stairs and into the apartment on the upper level. I'll let you know when it's clear."

Annie nodded before doing exactly what she was told.

Smoke tucked his gun into his jeans, grabbing a blunt from his ear to light it. He flicked the toothpick from his mouth, placing the blunt between his lips. Any other man would have fear dancing on their skin. Not him. He'd been in the Delta long enough to know that men like the ones approaching him on horseback existed. He'd went up against them, was familiar with their battle tactics. He was unreservedly unmoved. He reached behind him, pulling the door to his shop closed as the men on horses came to a stop before him. His frown remained as one man, who he assumed was the ringleader of this shit show, climbed off his horse.

He slowly released smoke from between his lips, his eyes trained on the ringleader. "Y'all boys far from the outskirts. A long way from home." Smoke's eyes shifted. "Looking for something?"

"A witch." The ringleader spat. "We don't want no trouble."

"Trouble is exactly what y'all gone get barking up this tree." Smoke's face didn't shift at all. "Best y'all get going before it's too late."

"You don't understand. She needs to be handled."

"Fuck that gotta do with me?" Smoke questioned.

"You telling me you ain't seen her?"

"I'm telling you I don't know who the fuck you talmbout. I'm also telling you to leave before shit get uglier than you round here."

The ringleader mugged Smoke for a while, weighing his options. The man before him had a reputation that proceeded him for miles. There wasn't a soul to in the Delta who didn't know the Smoke/Stack twins. They were a line you didn't cross. He stepped back. "Guess we'll be going then."

Smoke titled his head. "Get to gettin' then."

Without another word and a bruised ego, the man mounted his horse, turning to go in the opposite direction with his folks behind him. Smoke released a grunt as he pulled the door to his business open. He made sure to lock the door securely, pulling down the internal protective gate before locking it. He took the stairs to his loft two at a time. He found her sitting on his couch in the living room surrounded by warm hues and uncertainty. The air felt stiff, unmoving as he walked deeper into the living room. He caught the last of her mumbling, what he assumed was a prayer before she stood and turned to him. In this light, he could admire the softness of her features. Her skin was the color of Africa, deep and ritual. She was on the thicker side, thighs crafted by the ancestors of Mississippi herself. She was on the taller side, but he still had at least half a foot on her. Her lips were full and inviting. His eyes got stuck on them for too long.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't have anywhere else to go." Her voice quaked, remnants of fear making it shaky. "I'll leave."

Smoke took a pull from his blunt. "Ain't too sure the coast clear yet."

Annie's shoulders went slack in defeat. "As long as they going one way and I'm going the other."

Smoke eyed her. "How you to know which way is which?"

That question stumped Annie.

Smoke walked over to his bar, pulling out a stool. "They say you a witch."

Annie's nostrils flared. "You look smart enough to know better."

Smoke smirked. "Say they need to kill you."

"People fear what they can't control."

Smoke nodded, looking at her through the cloud of smoke that curled between them. "Now you done found yourself in the apartment of a mad man."

Annie shook her head, standing. "You ain't a mad man. You're my protector."

Smoke's spine stiffened as she walked over to him, "You got the wrong man, sweetheart."

Annie pulled a stool, sitting down beside him. "My grandmother guided me here. She'd never put me in harms way. She sent me here because she knew you would take care of me."

Smoke thought the woman was losing it. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"By keeping me here til morning and loving me for the rest of my life, which will end before yours. Not for a long while though, Elijah."

To be continued...

[francislangdon]

omg. if you have the time. we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Samira turns from her charting, scanning Mel’s face before shaking her head and starting to type again.

“He’s not,” Samira says, “He’s married, Mel. He talks about his wife all the time.”

“Not to me,” Mel mutters. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You’re probably misreading the signals.”

“I…” Mel stutters. She has been known to do that. That’s why she wanted to bring it up to Samira. “…Guess you’re right.”

Married men don’t flirt with women who aren’t their wives. Mel knows this the same way she knows everyone waits until they’re twenty one to start drinking.

Langdon swings by their desks then, she can sense him coming. A weight hits her shoulders and it’s his hands gripping onto her, solid. Mel tilts her head up into his body, resting against his chest.

“Hey, babe, you wanna take a look at the guy in North 5 with me?”

“What happened to him?”

“Mandolin accident. Guess how many fingers he lost.”

“Most people just lose one.”

“Most people,” he agrees ruefully, “But guess how many this guy lost.”

“Three?”

“Cut the fingertips off of all five, sweetheart.”

Mel winces.

He pulls her up out of the chair. “Over under three that we can reattach?”

Samira pipes up, “Under.”

“Someone’s a pessimist. What do you think, baby?” He’s standing so close his chest is touching her back.

Mel tries to catch Samira’s eye, but she’s disinterested, focused on the computer. “Um, over? I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” he pushes her towards the hall.

“I know where North 5 is.”

His hand stays on her back. “I know.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Collins continues to stitch the laceration on their patient’s leg, but her eyebrows raise in a way that Mel can tell means she’s paying attention. “Why would you say that?”

“Um, he’s been calling me terms of endearment. And he touches me a lot? More than normal, I think. Oh, and he brought me breakfast this morning. It looked homemade.”

“Langdon’s pretty impulsive. He probably gave you his leftovers.”

“What about the touching?”

“Yes, he’s very tactile. Like a big puppy, really.”

“Is he tactile with you?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mel’s brow furrows.

“Dr. Langdon is married, anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You’re a great doctor, Mel, one of our best residents.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s just playing favorites. Robby does that too, sometimes.”

“…You don’t think there’s any reason I’m his favorite?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Mel says awkwardly.

The curtain to the room opens then, Langdon’s head popping up. He winks at her. “What do we have here?”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he heard their conversation before he walked in.

“Belligerent drunk,” Collins says, “Had to knock him out so I could suture him.”

“And it seems like you’re doing a fine job. Can I steal Mel?”

Collins hands her over without a second thought. “Go ahead.”

“Great.” Langdon tugs Mel out of the room by the wrist.

“What did you need me for, Dr. Langdon?”

He shrugs, “Dunno yet. Let’s go find something interesting.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Robby slowly closes the drawer he’d been digging in, a packet of nicotine gum halfway to his mouth. Mel had caught him in between cases. He’s a good teacher, albeit very hands off. Mel’s spent a latent chunk of her shift trying to catch up to him.

“Okay…?” Robby trails off.

Mel’s hands flex. “Do you…”

This is embarrassing.

“Do you think that he is?”

“Flirting with you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mel wants the ground to swallow her.

“Langdon’s been on his best behavior since coming back.”

It’s true. He’s sharper now than he was before, she thinks, more attuned to the needs of the ED. Robby has been trying to wrangle him back into his role as the heir apparent.

“I think he was smelling my hair the other day? It was hard to tell. We were talking by the lockers and he just leaned in.“

“Langdon would never be inappropriate with any of our residents. He knows better than that.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything I just—”

“Good. If he’s not bothering you then we have nothing further to discuss,” Robby houses a few pieces of gum and shoves the rest back in the drawer. “C’mon Dr. King, we’ve got patients waiting.”

Mel takes the dismissal.

She shuffles over by the board to see what needs done, but Langdon’s standing by the ambulance doors, waiting for something to come in.

“Mel! Motorcycle accident coming in five. You in?”

She can never refuse him.

“Attagirl,” Langdon grins. He slaps her ass and gestures to a trauma room, “Go get gowned up, baby.”

Mel jumps at the impact, blushing, stealing a few glances back at him as she goes to follow his directions.

“Dr. Langdon?”

He pulls himself away from her lips, “Yeah, Mel?”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

“Little bit.”

He retracts his thigh out from between her legs. There’s a wet spot where she’s been grinding on it.

“Honestly, I thought you’d chicken out before we got here.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mel says, lips kiss-swollen. She glances at the obvious erection in his pants.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“I’m not good at social cues.”

“Ah,” Langdon says, “Alright, let me be more direct.”

He shoves her up against the wall again, kissing her intently, the press of his hard length into her thigh undeniable.

[rori-is-writing]

Conflict of Interest

A The Pitt Drabble Series.

Drabbles | Teen | Dr. Robby x Nurse!Reader | 669 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: An unwanted visitor walks into your E.R. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Angst, Doctors Behaving Badly, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Nurse!Reader

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

[ A/N: Yes, this is longer than 500 words and I'm technically breaking my own rules about what a drabble is but this idea hit me like a freight train the other day and I couldn't not write it. So shhhhhhhhh. ]

You have always been a standout nurse. A tough nurse. You’ve been hit, pushed, spat on, and groped and all of it you’ve taken in stride and continued on like some stoic Buddhist warrior. 

But not today. 

Because today…he came in. 

The moment you walk into the room and see his face it’s like you’re an animatronic that had glitched mid-loop. Your skin feels hot. Your heart thunders in your ears. Your brain goes all staticky. 

“Oh would you look at that!” The older man says with a delighted smile. “I didn’t know you worked here sweetheart—“

But you don’t hear the rest because you’re already backpedaling out of the room and back into the hallway. 

You can feel your skin tingling like thousands of tiny spiders are skittering over it. You want to throw up. To cry. To run out of this hospital and never return. Instead, for possibly the first time in your entire career, you march up to Dana at the nurse’s station and say, “I need someone to switch patients with me.”

Dana frowns. 

“Excuse me?”

“I need a different patient. Any patient. I’ll even take Princess’s fecal impaction.”

“You will?!” Princess gasped hopefully. Nobody ever wanted the fecal impaction cases. 

“Why do you need a different patient? What’s wrong with him?”

You swallow. “He’s my uncle.”

If anything, Dana looks even more confused. “I know nobody is supposed to treat their family and friends but you know nobody here is going to rat you out to admin if you decide to do it anyway right?”  

But you’re already shaking your head. “That’s not why. I just…I can’t treat him. Please get someone else to do it.” And then, without another word you walk away, heading straight for the hallway that leads to the stairwell. 

You need some air. 

Now. 

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Santos finds you. You stare up at her from your perch on the bottom steps, waiting for her to tell you to get back to work. That you’re pathetic for hiding back here instead of just doing your damn job and treating the harmless old man like you’re supposed to.

Instead, she surprises you. 

“He did something to you.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. 

Her lips thin. 

“I thought so.”

You glance away, wringing your hands to keep them from shaking. 

“Want me to take him?”

You blink.

“…What?”

“As a patient. I’ll take him.”

Your eyes blink even faster. Did…did you hear her right? “But…why?”

“Because you need someone to be mean to him. And I’m amazing at mean.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw your arms around her in an embrace. 

“Okay,” you croak instead. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said, strangely kind, before a glimmer appears in her eye. “So…how mean we talking?”

You can’t help but laugh, a strangled, pitiful sound if you ever heard one. “Mean enough that he never comes back here again?” 

This time, she smiles.

“You got it.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It’s only later—when you’re finally off the clock and indulging in a greasy, well-deserved dinner with Robby—that you hear what happened. 

“Do you know anything about the patient we had today who stormed out of the E.R.?” 

“Oh?” You say casually, knowing immediately who he’s talking about. You hadn’t been there to see it—having been assisting with a complicated trauma case at the time—but you’d heard plenty about it afterwards from your fellow gossipy nurses. 

“Yeah, apparently Santos decided to do a rectal exam. Even though, according to his symptoms, he had no need of one.” He eyed you carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

“Did she?” You say innocently. “Well, she’s the doctor. She would know better than me.” 

He sighed. 

“Do I wanna know?” 

“Not today,” you tell him as you steal his french fry. “Let’s just…enjoy this. Okay?” 

His eyes soften. 

“Okay.” 

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