crashlyrose

[crashlyrose]

Two kitties

[crashlyrose]

moodboard by @chennqingg divider by @fictive-sl0th

Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU

Warnings for this Chapter: horses? slight suggestive smut & talks about nudity, fluff!

Word Count: 1,9k

a/n: I adore this chapter. Definitely one of my favourites.

《 M a s t e r l i s t 》

《 Chapter Fifteen 》《 Chapter Seventeen 》

Chapter Sixteen...

...in which you return home to your family in Montana, but can't help but to miss the man you had left behind in Georgia - and so a plan is made.

You had been so occupied with focusing on your study and actually studying, that you never noticed how much you had really missed home - until you set foot on the Willow Creek ranch again and reuniting with your sister, uncle and aunt. That was the moment realisation set in and a lot of tears were shed. Happy tears, of course.

What got you emotional as well, was laying eyes on your piano again. You had missed making music, without a doubt. But nothing... Absolutely nothing overcame the moment you visited Arrow again after almost four months. Pure joy and happiness weren't even remotely enough to describe how you felt. The palomino Mustang stallion was your best friend, after all - and oh, boy, was the feeling mutual. Arrow was beside himself; almost kicking in the door to his horsebox. You spent hours with the stallion. You had a lot of catching up to do - as stupid as it sounded. You thoroughly groomed his fur and took him for a long ride through the snow. You didn't care that it was cold. You needed this, and so did Arrow.

Now you were seated inside the horsebox, wearing a thick jacket and thermal pants. A blanket was draped around you for some extra warmth. Arrow had made himself comfortable beside you; enjoying the endless scratches and cuddles you gave him.

Although your body was in Montana, your mind was currently in Georgia; thinking of the man you had left behind. It had been not even four days since you had seen him, but your heart already missed him dearly. It was aching to see Daryl again. Sure, you stayed in touch, but it wasn't the same. Still absent-mindedly petting Arrow's neck, your mind stuck with the biker - until you felt the stallion's muzzle gently nudging your cheek.

"Huh? What is it, sweet boy?" Only now did you notice that your hand had stopped in its 'task'. "Oh, uh, sorry," you giggled and started to scratch that one spot again. "I've been thinking about Daryl, you know. The other man in my life." Arrow huffed. You scoffed and giggled. "Yeah, no, you're not the only one anymore. You'll have to come to terms with that, sorry. You'd like him, I'm convinced of that. He's a great guy. And I'm certain he'd like you, too - even though he's afraid of horses." Arrow huffed again; followed by a rather loud neigh. "Don't be a drama queen now," you laughed. "I'm not gonna stop loving him only because he's scared of you. Not happening, mister." Arrow seemed to accept his 'fate' then. "There you go. Good boy."

You kept on giving the animal love, but found yourself spacing out more and more. "I miss him, Arrow..." You confessed then; sighing. The stallion whinnied. "You think I should call him?" As an answer, he gently nudged your shoulder. "Okay, okay, yes. You're right. I'm calling him." You fished for the smartphone in your jacket pocket, unlocked it and quickly searched for Daryl's contact; calling him.

It took the biker quite some time to pick up the call, as you noticed. "Hey, sunshine." "Hey, uh, I'm not disturbing you, am I?" The man on the other end of the line grunted and scoffed instantly. "Hell nah. Ya never do. I was jus' steppin' outta the shower when I heard you callin', and well... Had to look fer a towel first. Can't run 'round the trailer butt naked." "Why not?" You giggled. "It's not like a curious granny is living next door and spies on you." Another grunt left Daryl's lips. "Yeah, it ain't, but you've been in my trailer before... Too many windows for a too small place. And 'm not livin' in the most private area either, or in a damn skyscraper. A granny might be not livin' next door, but possibly across my trailer. Don need 'er or somebody else seein' my junk."

You couldn't help but to erupt in a fit of giggles. The image in your brain was just too funny. But at the same time, you were glad about his ways of thinking. He was now officially yours, after all - and as weird as it sounded, so was his 'junk'. All of him. Mind, body, soul and heart.

"Tha' ain't funny, sweetheart." You cleared your throat and took a deep breath; calming down. "Yeah, yeah, I know, sorry, I just... The scene in my head was too funny for a moment. Granny's teeth would probably fall out from seeing you naked - and that's a compliment." "Pft," Daryl scoffed. A small chuckle left his lips. "But no, honestly, I'm glad you think like that. I don't want a hot chick passing by, seeing you like that and then trying to get her hands on you." "Dun worry, sunshine. Yer the only hot chick who is gonna get 'er hands on me - if ya choose to. Promise." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl; blushing.

Since the day you left Gainesville with the knowledge that you and Daryl were in a proper relationship now and granting him that second chance, everything between you felt so naturally. So light and... uncomplicated. Not at all tense or strange. It felt right. It was different as night and day - compared to your first encounter, and the absolute false start you had.

"Well, I'm relieved to hear that." A short beat of silence passed, in which you could clearly hear Daryl rummaging - most likely, through the drawers in his wardrobe. "Wha's goin' on, darlin'? 'M quite sure yer ain't callin' to talk 'bout my package and grannies." Another laugh escaped your lips at his words. "Nope, not really," you said and paused for a moment. "I... I missed you is all. Missed hearing your voice..." you admitted shyly; feeling your cheeks heat up once more. "Ya... missed me?" Daryl more or less croaked out. He was audibly stunned. "Yeah, I did... Still do." Another signature grunt could be heard from the other end of the line and you could swear he was blushing as well; certainly at a loss of words in that moment. "I miss ya, too, sunshine. Can't wait ta see ya again." His words caused a light bulb to light up in your brain as an idea crossed your mind. "Hey, what about you spending New Year's Eve here, with me, in Montana? You could finally see where my actual home is... Meet my uncle and aunt... We're making Burgers!" The smile was audibly in your voice. "Well, unless you got other plans, of course," you added quickly then; not wanting to 'pressure' him into cancelling possible plans just for you.

"Nah. Ain't got other plans," Daryl dismissed immediately. "I'd love to spend New Year's Eve with ya. Sounds real nice, but... Do ya think's a good idea? I-I mean Tess really hates me 'n I ain't blamin' her for tha'..."

Shit... You forgot about that for a hot minute...

"R-Right, yeah, but..." You took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, listen... I'm gonna talk to her. Have to, anyways. I don't want to keep you a secret. Not again. My aunt and uncle won't be the problem. I'd say quite the opposite... They grew tired of only Tess bringing home boys a long time ago, so..." You couldn't help but smile at the memories, which crossed your mind - but you quickly snapped back to reality.

"Tess has to accept it. You're the man I chose - whenever she likes it or not. I'm gonna explain everything to her, yeah? Don't try to worry too much about it. I'm sure she'll warm up to you eventually. Perhaps not right away, but sometimes."

On the other end of the line, Daryl was listening to your every word; gnawing on the tip of his thumb. He trusted you, of course. He trusted you to calm Tess down, so that the whole family meeting thing won't go south and end catastrophically.

"A'right. I hope yer plan works, darlin'." "Me too, but... It simply has to." You and Daryl paused for a moment, before you asked in a quiet, hopeful voice: "So... Does that mean you're gonna spend New Year's Eve here?"

Daryl smiled - unbeknownst to you. "Yeah, absolutely. Gonna pack a few things, gas up and leave first thing in the mornin'." Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Perfect, baby. Can't wait to see you again." "Same, sweetheart."

Knowing that Daryl was on his way by now, meant you had about forty hours to tell your aunt and uncle about him and drop the bomb on Tess - which was going to be one hell of a task. An inevitable task...

"Tess?" You approached your big sister in the cowshed, while she was feeding the cows. "Hey, little sis," she smiled. "Everything alright?" You nodded, "Uh, yeah." but fumbled nervously with your fingers. "Can we talk?" "Absolutely, hon. Just give me five minutes to finish up here, alright?" You gave her a soft smile and nodded. "Sure, no rush. I'll be waiting inside. It's fucking cold." "Noted, sis." You backed up; starting make your way out and back to the farmhouse.

Since your aunt and uncle were grocery shopping, the house was pretty quiet and empty. Well, given the reason why you wanted to talk to your big sister, it was probably better that way...

Arriving in the kitchen, you made yourself and Tess a big cup of hot cocoa; topping hers with some extra mini Marshmallows - just how she loved her hot cocoa.

Nooo, you absolutely didn't try to butter her up...

Sitting down on the large, folksy, but nevertheless comfortable corner bench in the dining room just across the kitchen, you waited; nervously tapping your fingernails against your mug. You just hoped this conversation was not going to end in a disaster...

Barely five minutes later, you could hear the creaking of the front door - announcing Tess' arrival. Some shuffling and clattering later, she entered the dining room, "Here you are..." and sat down opposite you on the chair. "Ooo, and you made hot cocoa!" Her eyes lit up instantly. "Even with mini Marshmallows! Thanks, sweetie." You tried to play it cool and gave her a smile. "You're welcome." She smiled and took a small sip; humming in satisfaction as the delicious treat hit her taste buds. "Okay, so, what do you want to talk about?" Her eyes settled on you; looking at you with anticipation. You swallowed. You had racked your brain within these few hours on how to exactly break the news to her. Hence, on how to even start... Taking a deep breath, you met her eyes as well.

"Well, I... I got a boyfriend, and he's coming over for New Year's Eve. I still have to talk to auntie and uncle, though," you just blurted it out then; kinda overwhelmed by the whole situation.

Tess' eyes widened for a moment. She blinked and her jaw slacked, before a cheeky smile spread over her face. "Well, now you got me hooked," she giggled and leaned slightly over the table. "I wanna know everything. Who he is, where he comes from, how he looks... If he's a great kisser and of course, how good he is in bed." She shot you a cheeky smirk and a wink. "Gotta make sure he's worthy of you. Unlike that asshole Dixon."

Fuck, you cursed internally. You were definitely screwed, weren't you?

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @bigbaldheadname @loz-3 @negansbestie @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @imadisneyprincessiswear @belitoxx @ffsjustletmesleep @ellasdixon @dixonsstinkysock @justmanthatareolderthanme @darylandbethfanforever9 @huntedmusicgardenn @mayday2007 @cakesandtom

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[crashlyrose]

Where do I apply? ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[crashlyrose]

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man. 

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades. 

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?  

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest. 

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.  

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks. 

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..." 

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting." 

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap. 

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours. 

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath. 

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us." 

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.  

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you. 

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you. 

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger. 

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you." 

"Al... alright," you wisp. 

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy. 

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..." 

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh. 

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing." 

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides. 

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry. 

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time. 

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock. 

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?” 

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.” 

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.” 

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap. 

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you. 

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp. 

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat. 

“Wow, this is yours?” 

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.” 

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock. 

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat. 

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.” 

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps. 

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.” 

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously. 

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes. 

“Oh, uh, okay?” 

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back. 

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums. 

“Good girl.” 

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you. 

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine. 

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons. 

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back. 

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering. 

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be. 

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves. 

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment. 

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip. 

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves. 

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch. 

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms. 

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.” 

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open. 

“Oh...” he utters. 

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it. 

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.” 

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.” 

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.” 

“Oh,” you gulp. 

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.” 

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest. 

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment. 

“I--I--” 

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.” 

“I... okay. I'll try.” 

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.” 

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.  

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket. 

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.” 

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.” 

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it. 

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.” 

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.” 

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers. 

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest. 

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric. 

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin. 

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.” 

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think... 

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle. 

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists. 

“Nick!” 

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?” 

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks. 

“Turn over.” 

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums. 

“Oh, princess,” he drones. 

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms. 

He tuts and swats your hand away. 

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.” 

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands. 

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear. 

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm. 

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits. 

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up. 

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips. 

He hovers just before you. “My turn.” 

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start? 

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong. 

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms. 

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband. 

He lifts his head and groans. 

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.” 

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it... 

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually. 

[crashlyrose]

A Perfect Match (1)

Summary: To Ravenna, her little sister deserves only the best when it comes to marriage: a man who will adore her and wants her for his wife not because of her money, but because he loves her deeply. It’s why she brought Rosetta to their mother’s land, so she could have the same luck their parents had when they fell in love. Rosetta and Mr Samuel Winchester hit off so quickly and so easily, it must simply mean to be. If only his older brother and her older sister didn’t hate one another so much. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Ravenna Matarazzo (OC), Sam Winchester x Rosetta Matarazzo (OC) Warnings: Regency Era – very loose historical accuracy (I’m a lot of things, but not a historian). Fluff. Tension. Family stuff.

Masterlist

It was Ravenna’s idea, after Papa’s death.

Everyone Genova knew of their life, and the one year Rosetta decided to debut, their line to suitors was so long it was nearly reaching their door!

All of the, of course, with one obvious goal, it didn’t matter where they were from; Promonte, Lombardia, Bologna… all of them, sniffing for her inheritance.

It was why she thought of coming to Mama’s land for their search.

Rosetta needed a husband. She was young, and was the most beautiful and accomplished girl in all Genova, Ravenna had made sure of that.

Her little sister could embroider, dance, sing, play the flute, write poetry, do numbers, speak and read and write in four languages, and was trained to be a marchioness once her time came to be so, in her own right.

Rosetta was perfect. She was too smart and beautiful for a man only looking for the Matarazzo fortune. She needed someone who utterly adored her, like Papa adored Mama.

It was why they had come to her land. It was going to be perfect, really, they would stay with the grandparents for the season, and no one would know much about them. They were just two orphans, with no titles.

And no money, if Grandmama and Grandpapa had done what she had asked them to do: spread gossip secretly about them, their name and their situation.

In Mama’s land, women could not inherit their family’s belongings. Once their fathers died, they were left with a dowry and that was it. Their money would go to their next living man relative, which in their case would be their uncle Alessandro.

Of course, Zio Alessandro had no intention of coming after their money, he enjoyed a life of no responsibilities, so she had nothing to worry about, but the ton didn’t know.

They had no brothers, so in their logic, Ravenna and rosetta were on their own and living off of their dowry and their grandparents’ good hearts.

Rosetta deserved a man who wanted her for who she was. She deserved someone who wanted her to be his wife out of love, not looking for a name of their money.

“You could meet someone too,” her sister spoke, taking Ravenna from the thoughts, and she turned to look at her from the window of their carriage. “

Rosetta was beautiful and smart, but she was also so sweet. Too hopeful.

“I doubt it,” she took her hand, squeezing it. “But who knows? We’ll have to wait to see.”

Ravenna was past the age of marriage already, and she had no dreams of doing so.

When mama died, she was old enough to know what she needed to do for her family. Papa was devastated, Rosetta was a child, they needed her. Her sister still did.

No, she had no pretension or ambition to find a husband, and that was her goal.

They’d taken a long travel by ship to be here – it would be simply too exhausting to cross the land to France by carriage, Rosetta had asked to go on ship and they did so – and they were just arriving in time for the season, they had planned their travel well.

Mama had taught them her language to both of them, but Ravenna was more prepared than that. Tutors had lived with them for a year and travelled with them to the old country, and all they spoke was English since then. Rosetta even spoke as well as mama! They learned their dances, their food, their fashion and everything in between.

The sun was setting when their carriage stopped by the gates of their grandparents’ home, in a street full of other houses just as similar and the coacher opened the door them.

Rosette stepped out first, and then Ravenna, and the cool air that gushed on a balm after hours stuck in such a space.

The house was as beautiful as she remembered, painted white with a red door. She’d only been there once, before mama died, but she could never forget it it.

Grandmama and Grandpapa were waiting for them at their door, and she was so quick to wrap her arms around Ravenna it was a sweet surprise.

“Welcome, my dear,” she spoke softly. “We are so happy to have you with us.”

Grandmama stepped back, and touched her cheek with her hand, looking at her with soft eyes.

“Oh, look at you,” she exhaled. “You look just like her.”

Her face burned, and Grandpapa took her hand as Rosetta moved to their grandmother.

“Hello, dear,” he squeezed her hands. “How did the road treat you?”

She exhaled.

“As gruelling as we’ve been warned,” Ravenna told him. “But we’ve arrived.”

Grandpapa smiled.

“Safe and sound.”

At last, they were brought inside, leaving the servants to take their belongings into the house.

Grandmama and Grandpapa set the food to be served to them with tea, and they sat in the drawing room to wait while their bedrooms were set.

Ravenna’s thoughts drifted like clouds passing over distant hills as Rosetta excitedly told their grandparents about the places they saw on the way and their plans, of how their uncle was travelling France with his wife and their cousins, but she was simply too exhausted for all that.

Her eyes travelled through the walls, through paintings of their grandparents, and everyone that came before them, probably every pair of Viscount and Viscountess Pembroke to have ever been, since the title was created, though Ravenna wasn’t in the mind of counting.

"Is something troubling you, my dear?" Grandmama's voice broke through Ravenna's reverie.

She looked to her, startled.

“Oh, not at all,” she replied softly. "Just lost in thought."

Grandpapa's eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Thinking about some beautiful suitor you’ve left behind in Genoa?”

Rosetta looked at her with soft eyes, and Ravenna set her teacup down.

“I have no suitors in Genova, Nonno,” she shook her head.

Her eyes widened at her own slip.

“Forgive me,” she spoke quickly.

“Oh, don’t,” grandpapa spoke quickly. “We are your nonni, aren’t we? Our Henrietta taught us some Italian too.”

She breathed out to smiling, relaxing. They were the sweetest people, their grandparents.

"As a good nonno, I must add," he continued with a kind smile, "I believe you'll find a very worthy suitor for you here."

Ravenna attempted to mask her discomfort with a soft nod and smile.

“My focus is on our family, and on Rosetta,” she told them. “I’m too old and too tired to be chasing suitors or to be chased by them.”

"Plenty of men seek a mature wife," Grandmama interjected, her tone sweet and yet firm. "You need not resign yourself to spinsterhood, my dear.”

Ravenna looked over at her sister, and there Rosetta was, looking at her sweetly.

But she had been in the market already, and had been very much told of how she needed to change much of her personality, unless she wanted to live a life without a husband.

And it was certainly easier not to have a man than to uproot her very being.

Yet, she couldn’t just say that to them. Her grandparents didn’t deserve such a harsh answer.

“Well see, grandmama,” she answered them. “You might be right.”

She smiled.

“Oh, please,” she corrected her. “I’m your nonna!”

Ravenna smiled a bit more.

Of course.

“Thank you, nonna.”

She heard a knock, and they all turned to see a servant awaiting by the door, and the women curtsied quickly.

“Lady Pembroke, the chambers are ready.”

Grandmama- well, nonna nodded.

“Thank you, Beatrice. Come, girls.”

Ravenna stood, waiting for Rosetta and walking down by her side, and her sister took her arm as they walked down together to their bedrooms, and it was a very beautiful place. It was beautifully decorated, with flowers and the most beautiful curtains and a painting of what she supposed was their estate, deep in the country and vast.

And yet, despite of the beauty of her surrounding, Ravenna was far too tired to ever explore anything, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion whenever she took a seat. She visited Rosetta’s room and kissed her goodnight before doing so to her grandparents, and walked off to her room again.

A servant helped her out of her clothes and brought a tub into her room, the fragrant scent of lavender wafting through the air as Ravenna sank gratefully into its welcoming embrace when she saw herself alone, the hot water relaxing every bit of muscle she had in her body, from toe to neck.

It felt so good to finally be able to relax and to have a bed waiting for her. Oh, how good it felt to be unmoving, not swayed around in the waves or in a carriage. Ravenna never knew she would appreciate the stillness of dry land so much before, but after weeks of shaking and ups and downs and side to sides… yes, stillness was wonderful.

She didn’t even realise she had fallen asleep until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Danielle stood before her.

“Signora, si è addormentata,” she told her, with no attempt of speaking in English. “È l’alba.”

Ma'am, you fell asleep. It's dawn.

Danielle was Ravenna’s personal servant, she had come with them from home.

She also hated English, and the English.

“Sono stanco,” she yawned.

I’m tired.

“Lo so,” Danielle smiled.

I know.

Ravenna stifled a yawn as she helped her stand groggily from the cold water, covering her with a towel before the cool air made her shiver, and she dried herself as she watched Danielle set her nightgown to her bed, and helped her dress up as she had done every day and night.

“Vai a dormire,” she told her, urging Ravenna to the bed.

Go to sleep.

“Buona notte,” Ravenna wished her.

Good night.

Danielle left, and she could hear her steps as she left to wherever her quarters were now, and she brushed her hair with sleepy fingers, the gentle rhythm lulling her into a sense of calm.

She looked up when a gush of wind blew from a forgotten open window, and stood, walking to it.

Someone probably missed it when they were setting her room.

She held the side of the curtain, reaching up to grab the window and close it, and grunted in frustration when it didn’t quite give in.

“Cosa testerda,” she hissed.

Stupid stubborn thing!

It was the sound of a laugh that startled her so much the window just fell closed, loudly and nearly on her fingers.

Right across the street and seeing straight into her room, a tall man in near tangled rich clothes was watching her, probably drunk, sat upon a large black horse, illuminated by the faintest light still left in the street.

He had no shame when he caught Ravenna looking. Instead, he stared at her openly, and she held onto his gaze, squinting.

What did he want? What was he looking at?

She gasped, of course, when she realised that what he was looking at was Ravenna!

Simply in her nightgown, with her hair in disarray.

Her hands pulled onto the curtains before her mind thought of it, hiding behind them as her heart thundered against her chest and her face burned hot, probably pink.

She put a hand over her chest, panting.

Oh, God.

She should step away from the window.

But what if he was still there?!

Ravenna hesitated, but pushed the curtains the tiniest bit, glancing at the street, but it was empty now.

Good, very good.

She would tell the servants to check every window before leaving, this wouldn’t happen again.

…

“A Perfect Match” is a slow born Regency AU, and was posted on my Patreon in 2024 and is in its final arc. To have early access to over 60 chapters now, consider subscribing! It's just $2 a month for early access to everything I do and exclusive access to some works, and I promise you won’t regret it.

…

Next chapter: Chapter 2 (on Patreon) - Coming to Tumblr on the 1st of July

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[crashlyrose]

Enough Love To Go Around

Summary: At The Breeding Bench, omegas willingly lend their ‘services’ to alphas in need.

Pairing: Alpha!Ketch x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader, implied Alpha!Gabriel x Omega!Reader.

Word Count: 3,079

Warnings: Knotting, claiming, multiple alphas, bondage, nipping, light nipple play, power bottom Omega, slight bit of degradation, I think that’s it.

A/N: This fills my ‘power bottom’ square for @spnkinkbingo​ and my ‘slutty omega’ square for @spnabobingo​.

Keep reading

[crashlyrose]

Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

[crashlyrose]

what if u lost your eyesight, temporarily maybe. and daryl tries to teach u to start relying on ur other senses. “it’s not all about what ya see,” maybe he throws a rock at a tree and u hear it and shoot in the same spot.

idk him just being there for u to help u until ur vision comes back. he’d be so patient

Even If We Can’t Find Heaven, I’ll Walk Through Hell with You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (unestablished)

Warnings: Typical TWD violence & gore; injuries; blindness

Summary: When an accident leaves you (temporarily?) blind, Daryl steps up.

A/N: I, by no means, know anything about being blind. I tried my best with this.

Maybe they didn’t realize you could hear them. You yourself were surprised that you could. They were in the other room. You shouldn’t be surprised though. You knew that other senses would heighten when you lost one. You just never thought you would experience that firsthand. But then the accident. Falling from that height should have killed you. You almost wished that it had. It would have been preferable to the state in which it had left you. Blind. Hershel had said it could be temporary. Could be. That wasn’t a comfort in a world gone mad. So you sat against the heavy barred door of the cell that you had chosen when the prison was first acquired. Even with its familiarity, it was nothing but a labyrinth to you now. You had been trying to navigate it, tripping over everything. You had busted your knee on the concrete floor twice. Overcome with exhaustion and hopelessness, you could only listen as your future was discussed without you. “We have to be realistic. The likelihood that she’ll make it now is—” Rick sounded so broken even as he tried to reason with everyone. He was likely reasoning with himself just as hard. “So what exactly are ya suggestin’?” Daryl barked. Even from a distance, his tone made you flinch. “She ain’t some lame horse we gotta put down. She’s a fuckin’ person.” “I’m not saying that, Daryl.” Rick was trying to calm his friend. Beyond the darkness that enveloped you, you could nearly picture him trying to place a hand on Daryl’s shoulder only for the hunter to shrug it off. “S’what it sounds like you’re sayin’.” The sound of boots scuffing on the concrete—defined short crunches that came with a footstep on gravel or debris—came next. “I got ‘er.” “What’s that mean?” Carol called, concern evident in her tone. Obviously, Daryl was retreating, and from the sound of his footfalls, he was headed straight to you. “Said I got ‘er.” He shot back. What did that mean? You could hear your own heart beginning to hammer a tattoo into your ribcage, your breathing becoming erratic. No, Daryl would never hurt you. You were friends. You were all friends. How could they give up on you so easily? 

“Y/N.” Daryl was in your doorway now, standing just above you. You could smell cigarettes and leather. A hint of pine. A musk that was just—him. You had never noticed it before, not even when he had been the one to sit at your bedside while you recovered. Or when he had led you to your cell when Hershel said you could leave the makeshift infirmary. You swallowed around the sudden tightness in your throat. “Yeah?”

He was quiet for a moment but the way he sucked on his teeth was loud. “S’go outside.” His fingers brushed your shoulder, a touch so light that a feather would be heavy handed in comparison. “C’mon.”

“O-okay.” You had to grab the bars of your cell, sliding your hands up as you rose. Daryl didn’t help you, but you could at least hope he would catch you if you fell. “Why are we going outside?” You asked, your voice quavering. It was difficult to move without your hands instinctively being out in front of you, preparing for the inevitable fall. Another light touch, this time on your elbow. “Y’need some fresh air.” He answered. There was the slightest twitch in his grip. If you weren’t so tuned in with every other sense, you would have missed it. He had shrugged, a gesture that was classically Daryl. “Hold up. Stairs.” You stopped instantly, waiting for him to pick you up and save himself the time. He didn’t. “Daryl?” You turned your head toward his quiet breaths, his grip tightening slightly on your elbow. “S’go, then. Y’gotta learn.” A gentle tug on your arm had you feeling for the edge of the top stair with the toe of your boot. The anticipation of that first step had your gut twisting. “Ain’t gonna letcha fall.” When you began to lower your foot, he stopped you with his free arm reaching across your body. Your hand in his, he guided them both to the railing. “Hold the rail. Can’t always depend on someone to be ‘round to help ya.” Can’t always. So, he wasn’t going to mercy kill you when you reached the outdoors. “Okay,” was all you could say. It seemed like a time when a word or two of gratitude would be warranted, but your voice didn’t want to cooperate. Continuing to slowly descend was what you chose to focus on. Unsteady step after unsteady step. Daryl let you set the pace. He didn’t even huff with impatience. “Doin’ good.” When you stumbled, he would stop and let you correct yourself, find your bearings. “There ya go.” 

When the warm summer air greeted you, you tilted your face upward, closing your eyes as if you were confined to the darkness by your own will. “Feels nice.” You breathed, more to yourself than him. He didn’t reply but instead tugged on your arm to keep you moving. “Where’re we going?” 

You thought he might not answer, the silence stretching past the point of any reply becoming unwarranted. “Gonna teach ya.”

Huh? “Teach me?” What was that supposed to mean?

“Mhm.” Daryl Dixon, a man of few words and even fewer answers. 

It wasn’t until you could sense a change in the terrain—walking downhill—that his crossbow nudged the round of your shoulder. There was something else there too. It tapped against your hip, unfamiliar and daunting. 

“Open the gate.” Daryl barked. You paled. 

“Are you insane?!” Maggie. Her exclamation gave your own incredulity a voice.

“No more than yesterday.” 

You just knew a shrug accompanied that flippant response. 

“You can’t take her out there!” Glenn, from the tower. How did you even know that? 

Daryl huffed a laugh through his nose. “Know where they are, don’cha?” His voice was quieter now. That was meant for your ears only. He wasn’t wrong. Maggie was on the right side of the gate. Glenn high on the left. “Gonna teach ya how to use that.”

Daryl had always been a man of action, and he never wasted time or energy on anything he believed to be futile. So, he must have believed in you and your ability to survive. 

“Daryl, I—” you began as you heard the gate roll against the gravelly pavement. “The walkers—”

“I gotcha. Just walk.” He urged. He never released your elbow. Even as the walkers’ sinewy snarls drew ever closer. Even as you felt him move all around you, the thwacking squelch of his knife of a threat ventured too close. “Alright. Clear but gotta keep movin’.”

You nodded, even though you barely registered his voice. Your heart was too loud. “How exactly—”

“Can’cha just trust me?” He blustered. “Christ on a cracker” followed immediately after. You wished you had it in you to satirize him with playful banter. 

The sounds of the forest quickly swallowed you. The crunch of the leaves beneath your boots, embrittled as if they’d given up on the world. The creaking trees at the mercy of the warm breeze that disturbed your hair. The melodious call of birds. 

The scent of earthy resin, the trees wearing it like perfume. The herbaceous and floral aromas of all the species of flowers. A whiff of damp wood brought about by the high humidity. 

Even if your sight returned, you’d never forget experiencing nature in such a manner. 

“This should be good.” Daryl spoke abruptly, startling you out of your reverie. He finally released your arm, the action followed up by the heavy shifting of his crossbow. Then there was a sound you didn’t recognize at first. Maybe it was just that you had never appreciated it until now. 

A traditional bow. 

Your jaw fell open. “You’re not suggesting—”

“Ain’t suggestin’ nothin’. You’re gonna do it.” He wasn’t fucking around. He really believed that you could manage to use a loose an arrow while totally blind. “Seen ya use this more than once. Take it.” He didn’t put it in your hand. What the hell? “Ain’t got all day.”

Oh. He wanted you to reach for it, use your knowledge of where he stood to accept the weapon. Your fingers searched, grasping at air before they finally brushed the smooth arch of the bow. And then it was pulled away. 

“Gonna hafta to do better than that.” There was an undertone of patience there that Daryl just wasn’t known for displaying. 

“Daryl, I can’t see. How do you expect—”

“Ain’t ‘bout whatcha can see.” He was moving, circling you. “Ya got ears.” He stilled. “Use ‘em.” Angling your head, you listened. “Focus on whatcha wanna hear. Tune everythin’ else out.”

It took a moment. Longer than you would have liked. Eventually, you picked up on his breathing, the minute creaking of the wooden arrow rest within his grip. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his. 

“Atta girl.” He praised. You could hear the pride there, practically see that small smile he’d give when something went his way. You couldn’t help but curve the corners of your own lips, the expression souring when the bow was pulled away. He was moving. “Again.”

He circled and crouched and held the weapon high. Each time, you managed to locate it, even if you never seemed to grasp the same place twice. Finally, he released it and left it in your hand.

“Ya did good. Gonna come back tomorrow.” There was no room for argument there. He was determined to see this through. And maybe he had enough faith to compensate for what you lacked. 

The two of you did indeed go back the next day. And the next. And it was more of the same. He moved farther and farther away, encouraging you to seek him out and take your bow. There were a few pauses when walkers would stumble upon your training ground, but other than that, things went smoothly. 

“Nock your arrow.” 

“But where are they?” You questioned, already tilting your head to listen. You heard the clatter of the arrows being dumped onto the forest floor. 

“Find ‘em.” 

“Son of a—” You took a step, then another. An arrow snapped beneath the weight of your boot. “Shit.” Daryl said nothing. Find them, he says. You moved more deliberately, lowering your toe first. Until you heard it: that slight groan that stood out. Keeping your foot still, you bent at the waist and found what you were looking for beneath the softly pressed sole. 

“Nock it.” He directed as he moved, his footfalls growing further away. You did as you were told, pulling the string taut and waiting. “Now ya gotta find your target.” He said from somewhere off to your right. 

You lowered the bow. “Are you nuts?! You want me to shoot at you?!” Your voice was high-pitched, panicked. “What if I hit you?!”

“Ain’t gonna hit me.” He slapped the trunk of a tree, indicating he had coverage. “Now find me.” 

You lost count of how many arrows you let loose, each one missing the mark—either by you stumbling when you turned or just by not finding the correct trajectory. 

“This is hopeless.” You murmured, hearing Daryl approach from collecting the arrows.

“Rome weren’t built in a day.” When he tugged on the bow, you released it immediately. “Gonna try again tomorrow.”

“It’s not even dusk.” 

The ticking of the arrow shafts went silent. “How y’know that?” The words tumbled out, rushed and breathy. Surprised. 

You closed your eyes breathing in the air, cooler than just moments before. The cicadas had come to life, replacing the birdsong. “I can hear it, feel it.”

There was a beat before Daryl cleared his throat. You wished you could see him in that moment, quiet and thoughtful. Maybe staring at the sky while trying to experience things as you were. 

“Should still head back. Be late ‘nough as it is when we get there.” He was shouldering everything in preparation to head out when you stopped him. 

“I can carry something. My balance is better.” You could tell he was considering you. He did that a lot more lately. Or maybe he always had but you could fill the silence by holding his gaze. Those pretty blue eyes. God, you missed them. 

“A’ight.” 

You felt the strap of the quiver pass your face, then his hand tapping your arm for you to lift it and slide it through. “I can do it.”

“Know ya can,” was all he said as he continued, adding the bow next. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was making an excuse to be close to you. Touch you. 

You did know better, right?

“Thanks.” You murmured, audibly tracking his movements. The squeaking slide of leather on leather; crossbow strap against his vest. His footfalls. His breathing. It was strange how each person’s respirations sounded different. With Daryl, there was a roughness, as if the air carried weight and scraped his throat as it passed. 

He hummed in reply, his fingertips brushing your elbow before he actually took hold of it. “S’get goin’.” It was the one thing that hadn’t changed. He maintained a hold on you when you walked to and from the prison. It was comforting, even as you felt yourself adapting to your new life. It was more than just a touch. It was a reassurance. It was a promise.

“I can’t do this, Daryl.” A week. A fucking week of training. Cycle after cycle. Failure after failure. You had managed to graze two trees and never the ones that shielded Daryl. How was he maintaining any level of calm and patience while you were defective time and time again? He had been shucking his duties around the prison to cater to a lost cause. It was only a matter of time before his hand was forced. “Yeah, y’can!” He called out, his voice barely carrying over the rain that surged around you. It was impossible to hear him clearly. “Focus!” His constant heartening was really beginning to grate on your nerves. Why couldn’t he comprehend that they were all better off without you? “I can’t!” You countered, spinning in place, an arrow nocked but the bow lowered. There was too much noise. You couldn’t lock down his location. “Quit your whinin’ an’ concentrate, for fucksake!” He commanded with an undertone of austerity. Finally. He was getting angry. Maybe he’d see reason now and just go back without you. “Ain’t lettin’ ya quit, woman.” Well, fuck. “Daryl, you know this isn’t—” There. The chafing of footfalls on wet leaves. You angled your head just so, narrowing unseeing eyes. The thick slurp of boots pulling free of mud. Movements that defied the rhythm of the rain, standing out in a cadence of their own. You didn’t think. The bow raised, the twang of the string setting the arrow free echoing in your ears. And then all you could hear was the rain. “Daryl?” “Holy sheep shit.” There was a breathless quality to his words. “Y’missed the tree.” You felt your heart sink. Another fucking failure. “But ya damn near took my nose off.” Wait. “What?” You nearly dropped the bow. “I almost hit you?! Daryl, you said—” “Would’a if I didn’t slip an’ nearly bust my ass.” You came to two very different conclusions at the same time. First, you’d nearly shot Daryl. This wasn’t worth him dying. You weren’t worth it. Second, you had used the sound to locate him between the trees. Not when he was stopping behind them. You dropped the bow, stumbling toward where you could hear him walking. There was an indignant oomf when you collided with his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He was stock still for a moment, muscles tense and breath hitching. “Daryl, I didn’t—I would never—” When his arms wrapped around you, it was your breath catching in your throat. The point of his chin pressed against the crown of your head. “Take the win, Sunshine.” His words were a soft rumble in his chest as you hugged him. You didn’t smell blood but it did little to combat the need to search him for wounds he might be hiding. “Are you sure I didn’t—” “Not leavin’ with any more holes than I came out here with.” You scrunched your nose. “Gross.” Your laughter mingled with his soft chuckle. He didn’t do it often, but it wasn’t lost on you how much you liked hearing it. If only you could see him smile—

“Reckon ya might be able to change that if we keep doin’ this.” He moved, your head instinctively turning to follow the noise. He was picking up the bow and quiver, completing his daily ritual of sliding them over your head to secure them to your back. “Prolly gonna change things up now.” “Thank god.” You tittered, holding out your arm for him to grasp your elbow. He didn’t. He held your hand instead.

Training from that day forward consisted of Daryl standing beside you, firing bolts into trees with you using the sound of impact to hit the same mark. It wasn’t perfecting your ability to hit moving targets, but he was adamant that you didn’t deal with walkers until he knew for certain you would be able to protect yourself. At least this way, Daryl kept his nose. It was eight weeks after the accident that left you blind when Daryl held out an arm to stop anyone from following you into the guard tower. Your steps were slow but sure as you climbed the stairs. You could hear the arguments, the pleas for the archer to stop you. But no one followed. At the top, you used your bow to locate the railing. “She can’t be up there, Daryl!” “Go get her, you idiot!” “If you won’t, I am!” “No, y’ain’t. Just watch.” Daryl silenced the onlookers while you could feel his gaze never leaving you. “Go on now!” He called up. You gave him a nod, tilting your chin just so. Soft rustles of feet dragging through grass. The tracheal growls of walkers. The chaotic chinkling of hands pushing against the prison’s fencing. Sliding the first arrow from the quiver, you nocked it and inhaled as you pulled the bowstring taut. Exhale. Release.

“Thank you.” You said quietly. You were in your cell, lying on the bed and pressing the point of an arrow against the tip of your finger. Not hard enough to break the skin. Just enough to feel. Daryl was on the floor, adjusting the tension of his bowstring. His hands never stopped moving. Your gratitude was either welcome—you doubted it—or he had simply expected it. “For not giving up on me.” There was a quick pfft while he continued to tinker. You took it for what it was: just Daryl being Daryl. “Should know by now that it weren’t likely to happen.” It was you that froze, your brow furrowing as you pondered his words. “That what wasn’t likely to happen?” You asked, ducking your head to clear the metal of the top bunk as you sat up. Strange that you were learning things like that just from memory. “Me givin’ up on ya.” He was right. You should have known. When everyone else had given up on Sophia—Daryl hadn’t. When everyone had given up on Merle—Daryl hadn’t. For all his irritability and lack of social decorum, Daryl was nothing if not loyal. He’d deny it until his dying breath, but when he found it in him to care, he cared with his whole heart. And you were happy to know that he cared about you. “You’re right. I do know.” You smiled, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor to sit next to him. You nudged him with your elbow, smirking when he nudged back. Another nudge from you. Then him. Back and forth it went until you snorted and he grumbled “knock it off”—even though you could feel him smiling. Being blind wasn’t ideal but the company wasn’t bad. Two more months passed like minutes, everyday a new struggle. Daryl was your one constant. It was obvious that he trusted you to handle yourself now even though you still made mistakes. You weren’t always steady. When those moments happened, he was always there. 

“Can’t always depend on someone to be ‘round to help ya.”

That was what he had said. He couldn’t have been more wrong. For every misstep. For every arrow that missed its mark. For every threat that got too close. He was there. 

And when the world eventually swiveled back to greet you, his face was the first you saw. 

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but it had been a hot day and you had been practicing clearing the fences with Carol. You had been bone weary when you came inside. It was always a slow trek but you had learned to count your steps from the door to the stairs before you climbed, and then the same method from the top stair to your cell. 

After flopping onto your mattress, you were out. 

The first thing you noticed was light behind your closed lids. What the hell? You didn’t dare to hope. You couldn’t. Not with how much the world had already taken. So you laid there, eyes clenched shut until you could summon the courage for the inevitable next step. 

It was bright. So much so that you needed to close your eyes again and cover them with a hand. “Shit.”

“S’wrong?” Daryl. Daryl was there. “Head hurtin’?”

You shook your head, your chin wobbling. “The light.” You couldn’t focus on what he was doing while being so overwhelmed, but whatever it was stopped. Something clattered to the concrete floor just before the thin mattress dipped beside you. The frame groaned with the added weight. 

“Light?” Daryl’s hand wrapped around yours and eased it away from your face. “Y/N, can—” You turned your head toward the wall, but the light was still there. Waiting to sear you. You whimpered when Daryl gently grasped your chin. He didn’t hurt you—didn’t even scare you—but the sound had him pulling away abruptly. “Open your eyes.”

“I can’t.” Your words were fragile, threatening to shatter the moment they touched the air. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, y’can. C’mon.”

When you tried to raise your other hand, he caught it and held it immobile. His touch was gentle and soothing—-a balm. If he wasn’t holding you in some way, you would certainly shake apart. 

“What if it’s not real? What if—what if I lose it again?” You had yet to turn your face back to where you knew he was looking down at you. 

“Then m’gonna be here.” There was a softness there you had never before heard from Daryl. The words were a physical touch, a gentle caress that calmed the waves of anxiety. “S’gonna be okay.” He gave you a moment to pull yourself together. He never let go of your hands. “Lemme see them eyes.”

You turned your head slowly, nearly retreating before forcing yourself to complete the task. You didn’t open your eyes right away. First you focused on relaxing your muscles, unclenching your jaw. Just do it. 

And you did. 

There was a lack of depth, his features flat with dark patches obscuring a portion. The way your hands pulled free of his and framed his face made him flinch, but when you began to pull away, he covered one of yours with his own. 

“I can see you.” You breathed words you had thought you’d never get to say. “Sorta. You’re blurry.”

“Small favors.” He snorted. “C’mon. Let’s getcha to Hershel. See what he says.” His hand fell away, but when his head started to turn, you held him in place. His brow furrowed. 

“In a minute.” Your smile was soft, an expression of pure velvet. “I wanna look at you.” Just in case. Your thumb brushed over the apple of his cheek. Those pretty blues stared back at you, confused. 

“Better things to look at other than my ugly mug.” There was no amusement. He really thought so little of himself, inside and out. 

“Shut up.” You shook your head. “You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon.” Your expression hadn’t changed, hadn’t faltered. “Pretty too.” 

“Been called a lot’a things but that’un’s new.” He scoffed. “Would ask if ya was blind but don’t think that’d be funny considerin’—y’know.” He pulled a face, one that suggested he thought he shouldn’t have said that at all. You only laughed. 

You could see him a little clearer now. He was still blurry, all wavering edges through a faulty lens. It was like looking at him through a steamy window. You could make out his sun-kissed skin, the shade a little darker where there was facial hair. But his eyes stood out, two blue pools in a sea of east coast sand. 

“Mm-mm. Pretty’s a good word.” There probably should have been some sort of evaluation of risk versus reward before you leaned up from the pillow, your lips positioned a mere hair’s breadth from his. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, your stomach fluttering. Where did that courage come from? “To say thank you?” Daryl didn’t pull away. That had to count for something. “No.”

Oh. Swallowing hard, you lowered to the pillow once again, your hands moving away from his face. “I’m sorry. I just—” Your eyes snapped over to where he had wrapped his fingers around one of your retreating hands, the image fuzzy but the warmth very much recognizable. “I don’t understand.” You said quietly, the words forming more of a question than a statement. “Don’t wantcha to do it cause ya think ya owe me somethin’.” He lingered exactly where he had been for the past few minutes, his head slightly tilted. “Rather ya do it cause ya want to.” Oh again. Once the initial shock wore off, your lips stretched into a smile that lifted your cheeks and showed all of your teeth. “Oh, I definitely want to.” You pushed onto one elbow, moving the hand he held in midair back to his face as you slanted your mouth over his. It was alarmingly obvious how inexperienced the both of you were. It was frantic and untamed. Downright sloppy. It was perfect. “That was awful.” Daryl scowled. You could see him enough to appreciate the way his eyes widened and cheeks went red. “Not that. That was—you were—I mean, me—uh—the way—eh, fuck.” His hand fell away from yours that was still cupping his face in order for his fingers to rake through his hair. “Shut up.” You pulled him in again, silencing him with another kiss. This one was slower, more about deliberate connection. 

It had become second nature to observe with your other senses. This was no exception. His bottom lip was chapped where his top one was smooth. His whiskers scratched your skin in a pleasant tickle. 

His breaths had quickened. After a moment, you realized they were synchronized with your own, passion disguised as a quiet backdrop. Then there were the sounds of your mouths moving. Tongues caressing. The benign click as you disconnected only to find each other over and over again. 

When you finally parted, slight as it was, your eyes opened to find that his were still closed. He had been just as lost in you as you had been in him. Oh, to have been able to see him clearly. 

He didn’t seem to react at all until your thumb swept over his bottom lip. “Come on. Let’s go see Hershel.” Your hand dropped away while you began to sit up properly, only to stop when Daryl didn’t move. “Daryl?” 

“In a minute.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Wanna look atcha.” He murmured. He was the one to lean in this time, fingertips wrapping around the back of your neck seconds before his lips met yours. 

For someone who had been both terrified and thrilled to see the world again, you were more than happy to spend a little time with your eyes closed.

[crashlyrose]

don't like anybody, tell me why it's different with you

[crashlyrose]

[ID: 1. Sam, standing from the bunker table, announces, “It’s easy. I’ll show you.” Dean, sitting next to him, looks panicked. 2. Ignoring Dean’s offscreen whispers of “hey! stop!” Sam approaches Cas, casually plants a hand on his shoulder, and says “Hey Cas! I love you!” with an easy smile. Cas impassively replies “Oh. Thank you.” 3. Sam, smile faltering, hesitantly says “…You gonna say it back?” Cas lifts his eyebrows sympathetically and replies “Sorry, I’m in love with Dean.” 4. Close up of Dean slumped back at the table, doing his best imitation of a tomato with both hands half covering his face. From offscreen, Sam and Cas continue their conversation through Dean’s crisis. Sam: No, Cas, I know. I meant like, platonically. Like family love. Cas: Oh. I misunderstood. I love you as well, Sam. Platonically. Sam: Thanks… Cas: To be clear, I love Dean romantically. Sam: Yeah, I know. /end ID]

See, Dean? It’s EASY to respond to a love confession. Cas is so easy to talk to for anyone who isn’t you.

[crashlyrose]

what the FUCK his arms what the FUCK what the FUCK

[crashlyrose]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Relationships -- slow burn Daryl x You

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

Pronouns -- neutral

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

feedback is nice to get :D

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?” as well as the cooking instructions Sam says in the movie.

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, then Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Oh, did the tension spike.

First thing you'd done was peek around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t.

His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. But then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick.

And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was still covering your hand, started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, too, but the sensation revved up more after the guitar question. Rest in peace Otis.

And at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed "troublemaker" to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie hasn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

And, well, right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on it. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause dude, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again, and still no blood, it's just your guilt), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop. So, you know, maybe everyone else is being extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, you see as he scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing while you open the folded note.

It reads:

“aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room.

He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet. Hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.”

If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. It's his own damn fault— he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more for fresh air, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him. And now, someone else had seen them.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “Quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — fuck, who cares? It didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off. His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was too quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants or something? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, Y/N really did just worry if I had my hand down my pants?

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.

“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same. I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Just — why’d they need to use that pet name?

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” Y/N inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.” He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but, he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, but maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt.

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a sec. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick Y/N out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to 'leave him be' like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted, “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt pork, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s white and brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you personally aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl for whom everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl suddenly surprises you by asking.

You snort. “We were trying to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time. I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on?? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…'Yo-ho…ho?'”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing, so it was just your standard fruit salad.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, giggling, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to taste how it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great.

But, like, why did Y/N say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it usually meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another quiet, hummed moan, and then Y/N opened their eyes and saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dying, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul bare-naked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.”

Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her. It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. With an empty half-laugh, they mumbled, “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with their hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out. For a few days, Y/N apparently felt like Amy’s blood was still on it and that it wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Your hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“It's not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just...existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his life was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t 'boom' fix everything, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die really bad,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them to him and — shit, sorry, uh, he meant he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, bitch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer on the nail, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too. Not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics, dang.”

“Mmhm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“It's Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick tended to squint at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pink because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do.

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savoring it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next bite was funny. “I’b also sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be cobooted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for incredibly dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them, and so, did.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. It wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N obligingly took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed deh bigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a knockoff.”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend shook their head and smiled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’ve ever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself something nice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a being bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me my PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got very good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this? I might will explode if I go on.”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

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Best Cinematography: Sinners (2025) — cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw

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Murphy MacManus for @among-the-dolls

Christmas '24 commissions are open! 🎄

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Always checking on her .. protecting her 💘🏹💘

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Happy Weekend 😜😁😜

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looking to the past .

small gift for Kibbitzer <3 I promise him I would draw more Loki. so here, have some present Loki, kid Loki and Frigga.