#all I needed was the adding light on the left *chef kiss*

[ilikedetectives]

[thebearer]

rosé flowing with your chosen family | carmen berzatto x reader|

anyways here's a blurb inspired by my lil friendsgiving i hosted and how i think it would be with carmen bc im delusional in my head lolz

"Carm, look at this for me." You frown, turning the bronzed pumpkin at the center of the table.

"Yeah, one sec," Carmen muttered, turning with the pot in his hand, stirring the whipped potatoes vigorously. "What am I looking at?"

"The table." You tilt your head to the side. "Should I just move the pumpkin? It's too much with the candles, right?" You huff, the tapered candles flickering in their brass holders.

"No, baby, looks nice. Leave it. We can move it if it gets too crowded." Carmen hummed, a tiny curl of his lips had your heart swooning. "Need to go get ready. It's six-thirty."

"I just have to put my clothes on." You wave him off, fixing a napkin so it was centered on the plate, each place card in it's assigned place. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

Carmen shot you a look, rolling his eyes playfully. "No, I got it, alright? Go get ready." He shook his head gently, pushing the asparagus around in the pan.

You scurried behind him, pinching his jean clad ass gently, grinning at how he jumped before pressing a kiss to Carmen's cheek that left him blushing.

Your first Friendsgiving hosted at your place. An apartment a little bigger than Carmen's old one, but still cozy and all your own- the two of you. What better way to spend your first holidays together than to invite your friends over?

You were fussing over the glazed carrots on the counter when Sydney arrived, always early. "Hey," She crept in awkwardly into the kitchen, her head poking around the corner. "I, uh, I brought a dessert."

"Wow, that looks amazing." You grin, taking the dish from her, hugging her briefly in greeting. "What is this?"

"It's-"

"-It's a champagne cake with whipped butter cream frosting and a light raspberry spread." Marcus finished, stepping in behind Sydney, balancing a bottle of wine and his coat. "Don't let her take all the credit. I made it."

"Ok, well, I told you to add the raspberry-"

"-Well, I was the one who made it and added it-"

"-Alright." Carmen huffed, his voice edging on the tone he used at work. "Glad you both are here, alright?. The cake looks amazing."

Marcus whistled dramatically, peering over at the food laid out on the counter tops. "Looks good in here, Chef." He grinned.

"Thanks." Carmen muttered, brushing the rolls with butter, checking the oven again.

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" You ask, pulling the fridge open. "I have rosé or wine or anything?"

"I'll take a glass of rosé." Sydney nodded, shedding off her coat and hanging it over the back of the couch.

"Yeah, better get some now." Carmen snorted lightly. "Before Alicia comes."

"I have her a backup bottle." You smirk, pulling out the bottle proudly. "Alicia and I were watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills reunion, right? And she-" The door closed and you turned, your best friend walking in with a huge grin.

"-And she literally brought her own bottle of rosé." You laughed, shaking your head at her.

"I did." Alicia beamed, hugging you tightly. "Carmen, I promise I will not throw up or sob on your couch this time. I'm very stable now." She grinned at Carmen's huff of laughter.

The kitchen was packed, crammed at the table, laughing and swapping stories over the food. Carmen looked at you, the glow of the candles you insisted having to make it feel more homey- they did. How you were grinning, laughing at Fak and Richie bickering, giggling to your own friends and reminiscing.

For once, the holidays didn't feel like a chore. Carmen had been dreading this dinner, not the cooking or the setting up, but having people in his space. He didn't dare say anything, you were too excited and he'd never ruin your glee like that. Still, for him, the holidays were chaotic, everybody tense and scared.

Not here.

Not next to you, surrounded by all your friends.

Carmen finally got why people loved the holidays so much, why it was the most wonderful time of the year and all that. In his tiny apartment, sitting next to the love of his life, your hand holding his gently under the table, thumb swiping over his knuckles, squeezing it lightly when you'd look at him, eyes crinkling in a smile.

[raainberry]

Whispers in the Hallway

Momo x gn!reader

synopsis - two months of hiding your relationship from the kitchen, it’s only a matter time until it gets out

wordcount - 5.2K

T/W - this serves as an epilogue to “compliments to chef” but you dont need to have read it to enjoy this one kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food - you don't hate each other anymore - kinda suggestive at some points but nothing too crazy - that's all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything

A/N - chef epilogue v.2, shout out to @cry4mina this ones for you sorry i gatekeeped it for so long tell me when you read it so i can delete

The last of the dinner shift guests left the building, unknowingly crossing the path with the owner.

Momo sent them a polite nod, her eyes shifting to their linked arms and entwined hands. Two months ago, she would have rolled them at the sight. Love on display, even late at night when only the moon could complain, she used to despise it.

Or so she thought. Turned out she was only single

That night her eyes narrowed with a soft smile. The couple barely paid her any mind, lost in their love, but she couldn’t care less.

She was on her way to meet her own.

Sure, she had to sneak around the back and hid it from most people, but it was there. Waiting for her, in that dim lit hallway near the walk-in freezer.

That location wasn’t exactly sexy, but romance wasn’t dead. As long as you were there, she’d meet you anywhere.

Holding her excuse against her chest—a stack of meaningless papers—she slipped into the restaurant, her presence a well-practiced secret.

A small smile played on your lips as she approached. It was an oddly intimate invite, the lighting casting soft shadows that seemed to close you off from the rest of the world.

"Hey," she greeted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey," you replied, stepping closer. "Everything alright?"

She nodded, handing you the stack of papers. "Just wanted to go over these changes with you before tomorrow."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you looked down at the printed ink. “‘March ‘22 Menu Items’? Seriously?” You looked up to find her eyes, meeting the faint blush on her cheeks.

“It was all I had around...” She said, allowing herself to pout a little at your amusement.

“I guess it’ll do,” you shrugged off, deciding to let her off the hook this time. “To what do I owe this honor then if not for actual work?”

Momo grinned. Real talk, finally. “There’s this place a few blocks away I wanted to check out.” Her hands wiped the jet black uniform on your shoulders, adjusting the wrinkles from the day. “Benchmarking. I could use your help.”

You hummed, “That new Japanese place that opened a couple weeks ago?”

“That one,” she nodded, pursing her lips. It was adorable, the way she tried to keep it professional. She was doing a great job. An adorably great job. “What do you say?”

“I say that’s a great idea. Can’t let an opportunity to get inspired slip my hands, right?”

It took everything in her not to kiss you. That smile of yours, the way you looked at her… This was the only downside of keeping you a secret.

She settled on a smile, and you were more than fine with it. Seeing her struggle not to lean in was enough of a satisfying sight for now.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You stood there, wrapping up the conversation with soft laughter and shared smiles. These were also a rare moment of peace amidst your hectic schedules, and you made sure to savor it.

It wasn’t unusual for you to prolong them, carrying your talks into a much more personal territory. Nothing crazy nor risky, only a couple questions about each other’s day. The information was probably not worth risking getting caught, especially if you could get it in the privacy and comfort of her living room an hour later; but alas.

Falling love is anything but rational.

“How did you like your lunch?” You asked, eager to get her feedback on that new twist you’d added to her favorite.

And as she told you all about her thoughts, Mingyu and Ryujin were making their way through the kitchen, finishing up their tasks for the night.

As they passed the hallway, they heard the soft murmur of voices.

Curiosity piqued, Ryujin nudged Mingyu, and they both peered around the corner, their eyes widening at the sight before them.

You two were standing close. Too close. Heads bowed together, whispering. There was an unmistakable tenderness in the way you looked at each other, something that spoke volumes no matter how hushed your voices were.

"Are they...?" Ryujin trailed off, her voice barely audible.

Mingyu grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Looks like it."

They watched for a moment longer, seeing Momo lightly touch your arm, her fingers lingering just a bit too long for it to be casual. The way you leaned into that touch confirmed it all.

Ryujin pulled back, a grin spreading across her face. "I knew it. I knew there was something going on. Pay up.”

Mingyu chuckled quietly. "Wallet’s in my locker. I’ll give them to you later.”

Ryujin narrowed his eyes on him. “Right. Twenty dollars,” her finger reminded, and he laughed.

“Twenty dollars.” He nodded, glancing back to the hallway. “Guess we should keep this to ourselves, though, huh? Let them have their secret for a bit longer."

Ryujin nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but it’s going to be fun watching them try to hide it."

Their eyes met once more, the same idea popping in both their minds.

“Twenty more on the table, how long do they keep this up for?” Mingyu said, holding out his hand.

Ryujin only looked down at his palm, thinking. “Let’s talk.”

They shared a quiet smirk before quietly retreating, leaving the two of you completely unaware and oblivious that your secret was no longer as well-kept as you thought.

“You parked outside?” You asked, already knowing the answer. She confirmed it with a slight nod. “See you there in thirty?”

She nodded once more and you finally parted ways. Momo headed back to her car to wait for you while you returned to the kitchen. You both carried the warmth of your connection, but unlike her, you had to cool it before joining Ryujin and Mingyu.

The two of them greeted you with innocent smiles. You didn’t like it.

“What?”

“Nothing, chef.” Ryujin’s expression was nonchalant. Stacking plates like you’d asked her to moments ago.

Only odd thing was the twinkle in her eyes when she glanced at Mingyu.

“Just wrapping things up.” Mingyu added, wiping down a counter.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, sensing the unspoken words between them. “Okay… Right, well let’s make sure everything is spotless.”

—

“Are you okay?”

The poor sushi on your plate was grateful for the break. Momo’s voice had halted your train of thoughts, during which you kept pushing your food around.

Glancing up at Momo, you found her eyes already on you, her chopsticks paused mid-air. She tried to ignore it, but the lack of conversation on your end was kind of ruining this date night.

You knew it. You felt it. That’s why you hesitated to tell her about what circled your mind. Your suspicions about Ryujin and Mingyu’s odd behavior lately.

You weren’t blind nor deaf. Neither were you stupid. You could put two and two together, regardless of the result pleasing you or not. They definitely were on to you.

You didn’t want to worry Momo, but you knew keeping it to yourself would only make you nervous. More prone to errors and slip-ups.

So you sighed, “Yeah, I’m fine,” trying to sound casual. “Just… I think Mingyu and Ryujin might have figured us out.”

Momo’s eyes widened slightly, her chopsticks lowering slowly. “What makes you think that?”

“They’re acting a bit… weird lately,” you explained, fiddling with your napkin. “You know how they are—playful and stuff, but… I don’t know, tonight they were just too… odd. And there was this look that they shared too.”

Momo’s brows furrowed. A little too loose of proofs but, she didn’t want to dismiss them just yet. “Do you think they’d tell anyone?”

You thought about it for a bit, but it was useless. The answer was obvious. “No,” you sighed, leaning back against the chair. “I don’t think so. They’re good people, just very nosy. Knowing them, they’ll probably just have their fun watching us.”

Momo smiled, somewhat reassured by your words. She allowed herself to relax, picking up the sushi she’d given up on earlier. “Well, I guess we’ll have to be more careful.”

You chuckled softly, the tension easing away. “Really? I thought you’d stop your little visits.”

Momo giggled, shaking her head no. “Never. I mean, it was annoying at first, but it’s actually kind of exciting. The sneaking around, the secrets…”

Her gaze held a sense of mischief you recognized from your moments behind closed doors. The ones at her place or yours, where you didn’t have to hide from her world. The memories made you smile, along with the sight of them through her eyes.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying it.” You smiled, grabbing your glass to cheer with her.

She clinked her glass against yours, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To keeping secrets.”

“And to not getting caught,” you grinned.

—

“Do you think they’ll bet on us?”

You glanced at Momo, and the sight of her in your t-shirt made her question vanish from your mind for a hot second. The way it fell on her shoulders, baggy and reaching slightly too high on her thighs, revealing just enough of the cute shorts underneath to make your heart skip a beat.

The evening was calm, a nice close to the night. You’d walked into Momo’s apartment right as midnight turned to one. The late hour enveloped you in it’s peace and quiet, offering you a moment to cherish.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“If you want to stare at least do it subtly.”

Blood heated up your cheeks in no time, and you focused back on the toothbrush in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Sorry, you just look… really good.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Nice save.”

You watched from the corner of your eye as she raised a foot to the sink she was sitting on top of, hugging her knee to her chest. The movement was casual, yet it highlighted her grace and the intimacy that had grown between you two.

You cleared your throat, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Anyway, yeah probably. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“What do you say we give them a run for their money then.”

You raised an eyebrow, the toothpaste foaming at your lips now. “What do you mean?”

Momo grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Just… subtle things. Little moments that keep them guessing.”

You laughed softly, the idea sounding both thrilling and amusing. “Oh, I didn’t know you were bad like that,” you teased, making her to roll her eyes. “But I’m all for it. Go on, what do you have in mind?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe… a secret smile here, a lingering touch there. Just enough to make them question everything.”

She demonstrated by brushing her fingers lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. Her touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, her eyes locking with yours.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. Your voice was a little higher than usual, strained, betraying the sudden lack of oxygen from her touch. “It could be fun.”

Momo chuckled, clearly amused and loving to see you lose your composure like that for her. It was familiar, taking her back to when you both spent all your time getting on each other’s nerves in the kitchen. The memory held a weird sense of nostalgia now.

You finished brushing your teeth and rinsed your mouth, still smiling at her earlier proposal. Momo hopped off the sink, her bare feet making a soft thud on the bathroom floor.

Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Ready for bed?” she asked, her voice soft, a bit tired.

You nodded and leaned in for a kiss. She hesitated for a moment, making you chase it just to tease you, but ultimately gave in, granting you that small peck you’d grown addicted to as days went by.

Her giggles resonated when your lips trailed to her neck, contrasting with the quiet and shy compliments that followed. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, though the word did nothing to tame the affection in her voice.

You loved these moments—seeing Momo so relaxed and happy, away from the pressures of work. If only you could go back in time, tell yourself everything you’d learn to like about her… Just to see your own face. It’d be worth the round-trip.

That smile she gave you, the look back at you as she guided you to her bed, was just one of many.

—

Your steps were light, carrying, hurrying you to meet her as you walked along the glass bay separating her office from the rest of the open space.

The sight of her in there made you smile. She was wearing a black suit, glasses perched on her nose, her name badge hanging around her neck. She looked focused, all serious and professional like she loved to present herself. Funny how that side of her made your heart race for entirely different reasons now.

It was one of those rare afternoons when you had some time to visit her at the headquarters. Usually in between your lunch and dinner shifts. The office was quiet, with only the soft hum of the air conditioning breaking the silence. You didn’t bother to knock, and Momo looked up from her work just as you entered, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, you," she greeted softly.

"Hey," you replied, closing the door behind you. "Busy day?"

"Always," she sighed, but there was no real complaint in her tone. She loved her work, and it showed.

You walked over to her, unable to resist the urge to touch her. Your fingers brushed against hers as you leaned on her desk, causing a shiver to run down her spine. She looked up at you through her glasses, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Two months, yet you still weren’t getting used to it.

"Got something for you," you grinned, reaching into you bag.

Momo's curiosity was piqued. "What is it?"

You pulled out a takeout box that she recognized from the kitchen and opened it, revealing a beautifully crafted marshmallow-based treat. It was a delicate arrangement of marshmallows squares, dipped in chocolate and adorned with tiny edible flowers. "Just a little something sweet to keep you going."

Her face lit up, a small gasp escaping her lips as if you didn’t bring her food multiple times a week. And yes, you also melted at her reaction like you didn’t witness it just as much. "These look amazing! Thank you." She took one and popped it into her mouth, her eyes closing in bliss as she savored the taste. "They're delicious."

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad you like them."

Momo placed the container on her desk, right next to her monitor. "They'll be my little rewards. Thank you.”

You leaned in, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. "You’re very much welcome."

Just as you were about to pull back, there was a knock on the door. It opened before either of you could say anything, and her assistant stepped in.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," She said, clearly not expecting to find you there. Though she did question those expectations after realizing just how often she’d caught you hanging here.

Momo quickly composed herself, adjusting her glasses. "It's fine. What do you need?"

As her assistant explained the situation, you stepped back, giving her space to handle it. But you couldn't help but notice the subtle smile that played on her lips whenever she glanced your way.

The subtle gesture took you back to her scheming a couple weeks ago. She never put her plan in action. Not that you expected her to—you knew it was just fun and games. It didn’t keep people from talking though… With spring and summer coming up, her (non-secretive) visits to the kitchen were getting more frequent. Lots of actual business planning ahead of the most profitable season, done in broad daylight but behind the office closet door.

You could understand how it could be seen. Their speculations weren’t exactly baseless either; you weren’t strictly talking business in there... So as long as they remained gossip, the whispers didn’t bother you. But after Mingyu walked in on you a few days ago, you could tell this whole situation was starting to bother Momo.

The sound of the glass door closing pulled you out of your thoughts. Her assistant had finally left, and Momo turned back to you, her smile widening. "Where were we?"

You grinned, watching her pull on the string to close the blinds. The newfound privacy prompted you to lean in closer. "Right about here," you said, brushing your lips against hers.

Her kisses were still so hesitant. Soft, like she was stuck in your early days. When those lips of yours were all but a reminder, a blend of how sharp and hostile your words had been with her. As if she’d cut her own on the remnants of your journey up to this point.

Yet she’d steal yours often. More as time went on, being brave for the both of you. Allowing her doubts to grow into a blossoming connection, pulling you into a need, a craving for it she prayed wasn’t one sided.

She considered you a weakness. But as long as you consider her yours, she'll be fine with it.

The warmth of her breath mingled with yours, her taste a sweet blend of the marshmallow treat and something that was uniquely hers… She pulled away first, you gave her no choice.

Your breath was a little uneven, and she could see the same awe in your eyes that she felt in her heart. “I can’t believe I used to hate your guts,” she chuckled to herself.

“Wasn’t that long ago. Things could change again.” You joked, earning yourself a playful push.

“Let me go back to work.”

“But I’m here, it’s break time,” you pointed out, walking after her as she made her way back to her chair.

“That’s an entirely self-proclaimed thing. I never agreed to that.” She gave you a mock glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

“Why not? You’re the boss.”

“I am. That’s why I need to finish this,” she said, settling back into her chair, her focus returning to the papers on her desk.

You dropped into the armchair across from her desk and sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

And so you did, you watched her as she worked, the way her fingers moved over the keyboard, the slight furrow of her brow when she concentrated. It was mesmerizing, seeing her in her element, so competent and strong.

Every once in a while, you couldn’t resist the urge to poke fun at her, tossing a paper ball you made out of boredom her way.

She sighed, picking it up and tossing it back at you without even looking up. “You’re such a child.”

You only shrugged, grabbing the ball from the ground, “Sure, but when are you gonna be done?”

She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Soon.”

You sighed once more, and after a few more minutes of quiet, your mind drifted back to your earlier thoughts. About the whispers in the kitchen hallways.

Your eyes found Momo again, focused on whatever was on her monitor. She seemed preoccupied. This probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but it slipped your lips before you could even think to hold it back.

“You know, there’s rumors spreading back in the kitchen.”

Momo looked up from her report, all worries on her features fading to leave room for curiosity. “What kind of rumors?”

“You know, the kind that involves us,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “People are starting to notice how often you come by.”

She frowned slightly, considering your words. “I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. I never really did that before you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just that,” you continued. “Some people are starting to think there’s more to it.”

Momo tensed up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Right. Then let’s have our meetings in my office from now on.”

You raised an eyebrow. Kind of a drastic move, even coming from her. “Wouldn’t that be more suspicious if you stopped coming in all of a sudden?”

She sighed, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t want people talking.”

“Why are you so worried about it?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Her reaction was a little odd. Very different from the one she had at the restaurant, when you told her about Ryujin and Mingyu. You had a feeling she was serious about hiding from the kitchen, despite her passing off her worries as nothing more than jokes.

At first you thought it had to do with the industry. About the word going around fast or something along those lines. Thinking it had to do with her family, you agreed to her wishes. You thought it was a good thing too, and it would allow you to explore this whole thing in peace.

But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be visiting her office so often then, would you? The word would spread faster in corporate than in the kitchens.

It’s been a few weeks since you realized that, and her intentions were still as blurry. Her actions made little sense to you as days went by, but you knew best than to question them. You’d seen enough of that with the banquet.

But now, seeing her so visibly agitated… You didn’t like it. Her worries obviously ran deeper than just industry gossip. You could see the way her shoulders tensed, the worry etched into her expression. She wasn’t just concerned about the whispers

She was scared of them.

You took a deep breath, deciding to press gently. “Momo, is this really about the industry? Or something else? Because I can’t help if I don’t understand what’s really bothering you.”

Momo looked away, her fingers playing nervously with the edge of her blazer. “It’s not just the industry or my family,” she admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

“Me?”

She nodded, meeting your eyes again. “I don’t want them to think you only got the job because you’re sleeping with the boss. I don’t want anyone to undermine what you’ve achieved because of me.”

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t realized the extent of her concern, how much she was trying to shield you. Hell you hadn’t even realized she even was shielding you. “Momo, that’s—”

“I know it’s not true,” she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. “But people can be cruel. They can twist things, make assumptions. They can act on those and… I just don’t want you to face that.”

You felt a pang of emotion at her vulnerability, at how much she was willing to protect you even at the cost of her own comfort. You reached out, taking her hand in yours. “Thank you for looking out for me. But we can’t live our lives based on what people might say or do. At this rate we’d have to hide forever.

“But what if they—”

“They won’t,” you interrupted gently. “And if they do, I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about me.”

Momo scoffed and rolled her eyes, a hint of the stubborn chef she was trying to hire just months ago resurfacing. She recognized that same defiance, that same determination. It was oddly reassuring.

“Besides,” you added, a mischievous glint in your eye, “even if they think all that, they would just sound stupid.”

Momo furrowed her eyebrows at your words. “What do you mean?”

“We never slept together,” you grinned.

Her confusion melted into amusement, and she cracked a smile despite the slight annoyance at your comment. “You’re right. I guess that’s one thing they can’t twist.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the tension easing from the room. Momo’s grip on your hand tightened.

“You know,” you continued softly, “we can’t let them control how we live our lives. We’ve worked too hard to be where we are.”

She nodded, her eyes softening. “You’re right. It’s just… difficult sometimes.”

“I know,” you whispered, pulling her closer. “But we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

Momo took a deep breath. “Alright then. Let’s be careful, but not scared.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “No more sneaking around.”

You couldn’t blame her for being cautious. The industry was as small of a world, as it could be vicious. You’ve seen it on your own account. She was right, but unrealistic. Hiding your relationship forever wasn’t an option. You had to find a balance, a way to be together without giving people the ammo to hurt you.

—

The next day, you maintained a professional demeanor when Momo came by the restaurant. She was all for letting the stolen glances and subtle touches free, but you could tell it cost her.

She kept catching Ryujin and Mingyu glancing over at the two of you. They were definitely betting on you, and it took everything in her not to scold them into focusing on their work.

It was a Friday afternoon, and the kitchen was bustling with activity in preparation for the evening shift. You’d usually be running that kitchen like the marines, but Momo had requisitioned you for the next hour. So you stood at an empty corner of a counter, papers spread out before you, discussing the finer points of the upcoming summer menus.

You’d noticed her glancing around every so often, visibly nervous about this new setting. So you decided to bring her focus back on you.

“I think you might need to yell at me or something soon.”

Momo furrowed her eyebrows at the sudden change of subject. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know, they’re looking at us weird. Whispers might spread,” you teased.

She wanted to whine so badly. She also hesitated to actually yell at you, but instead, she settled on playing into your dumb teasing and saved her annoyance for later. Maybe she could give you the silent treatment or make you walk to her place instead of picking you up. Right now there were more important matters.

“I mean, I could, but…” She trailed off, looking over a dish you’d sketched out. “Would it work?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know until you try.”

She paused and stared at you. “But I thought we didn’t care about people talking anymore. If you miss me yelling at you, just say that.”

You stayed silent and shrugged, fiddling with your fingers. Neither denying nor confirming the claims.

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t hold herself back on shoving you. She deemed it necessary.

“So it did turn you on, you freak.”

“I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I wouldn’t have to if your intentions were clear.”

“My only intentions here are to cook and make you the best in the business.”

“I already am.” She said, handing you a pen. “Sign here; it’s the menus for the first half of the summer. You reviewed them, right?”

You nodded, taking the small stack. You went through it one more time, and it picked at Momo’s patience. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure there’s no surprise marriage clause hidden somewhere.” You smirked, eyeing her reaction above the stack of paper. “You never know with you business families.”

“You wish. Just sign it,” she sighed, desperately trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Wait, I just want to see something. There’s a dish I thought about last night. Might be able to take it up a notch.”

“How?”

You spiraled into an explanation, your words as animated as your hands. Momo listened intently, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she chimed in with her ideas.

“…and I think if we add a hint of yuzu, it’ll give it that perfect summer twist,” she suggested, her hands gesturing with that circle she always did. Regardless of what she was talking about, it was a circle. It made you smile.

You nodded, smiling at her passion. “Sounds good. I can try and get my contacts working at the market for some fresh ones.”

“But do you think it would pair well with the main courses?” Momo asked, her eyes focused on the menu.

You nodded, your attention equally split between the menu and the kitchen staff. “I think so. The flavors should complement each other nicely. But we should probably do a taste test first, just to be sure.”

Momo smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “Do what you need to. I trust you.”

Time passed by, and the dinner shift approached. The staff around you visibly picked up the pace, and you had to get back to them soon so Momo gathered her things as she prepared to leave.

She let you walk her to the door separating the kitchen from the dining hall, your hand hovering over the small of her back. Your eyes lingered down on her as your conversation wrapped up on the hushed part of the business.

“Don’t forget to text me on the feedback from tonight’s service,” Momo said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“I will,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “Drive safe, alright?”

Without thinking, Momo leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek, a reflex she’d picked up from your mornings together. The gesture was so natural and familiar that she didn’t realize what she’d done until she pulled back and saw the stunned expressions around the kitchen.

The kitchen fell silent. Every pair of eyes turned to you both, and the sudden stillness was almost deafening. Momo’s eyes widened in realization as she pulled back, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

You were stunned too. Only you managed to keep your composure at least. You had to. Momo was already too far past the point of even trying to.

“Uhm, thanks,” you muttered, trying to play it off. You glanced around the kitchen, noting the shocked expressions on your staff’s faces.

Among them you noticed Ryujin and Mingyu, catching the triumphant look they exchanged.

Mingyu mouthed, “told you,” to Ryujin, who could barely contain her laughter.

Clearing your throat, you clapped your hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get back to work. We have a service to run.”

The staff quickly resumed their tasks, though the air was thick with unspoken questions and barely contained amusement. You and Momo continued your conversation as if nothing had happened, but the blush on her cheeks and the subtle smirk on your lips told a different story.

As the kitchen buzzed back to life, Ryujin slid up to Mingyu, her voice low. “Guess you won the bet.”

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it would happen like that. This is going to be interesting.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

Hello! I'm the girl with filthy ideas but this time I'm not here to ask for something dirty. I'm out of my country alone in a university dorm, and I just had my four wisdom teeth removed and I'm extremely spoiled and sensitive, so I just want you to please write something Where Lewis pampers and takes care of his girl during her recovery from surgery, lots of pampering and love. Thank you.

Hiiii my favorite anon!!

I'm soooo sorry it took me a whole month to get this out, I'm sure you're all recovered now, but I hope everything went well ❤️❤️

I drabbled something to apologize for how long it took though?! Hope you like it.

"That's what I'm here for" and "You're spoiling me rotten"

The scent of the dentist lingered on Y/n's clothes even hours after getting home. The surgery, though minor and on her mouth, had left her drained and sore all over.

Lewis had manage to transform their London apartment into a haven. In the living room, where she'd spend the majority of the next week, pillows were strategically placed on the sofa, creating a makeshift nest, blankets draped invitingly, and a fluffy heating pad was nestled at the small of Y/n's back.

The hum of the television played in the background as Lewis kept a close gaze upon his very sleepy and drowsy girlfriend.

Painkillers were neatly arranged on the coffee table beside a glass of water, a bouquet of her favorite flowers added a touch of cheer. He'd even bought a stuffed animal, Patches the Panda with its bandaid and get better message, placed by the tv, a silent promise of companionship.

Lewis had warned everyone he'd be taking meetings from home, determined to be with her until, at least, she could eat solids.

He'd prepped a grocery list a mile long, ensuring a steady stream of healthy and delicious meals wouldn't be a concern.

Y/n sighed contentedly as he brought her closer to him on the sofa. Having Lewis by her side made everything a little less daunting. She drifted to a light doze, the warmth of the heating pad and the gentle murmur of Lewis' voice a soothing lullaby.

The aroma of sizzling garlic and fresh herbs drifted into the living room, jolting Y/n awake. Her stomach rumbled, a sweet reminder that she hadn't eaten much all day. Lewis appeared in the doorway, a chef's towel slung over his shoulder, a content glint in his eyes.

"Alright, sleepyhead," he announced, holding up a bowl steaming a bit and smelling a lot like his tomate soup "Dinner is served."

The plate looked so good it almost made Y/n forget the initial twinge of discomfort she felt when while trying to stretch she felt her stitches. Lewis swooped in before she could even attempt to move again.

"Nope" he said firmly but gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back against the pillows. "That's what I'm here for."

Lewis propped her up with more pillows, creating a perfect backrest. He placed a small table on her lap, the surface covered with a crisp white napkin where he carefully set down the bowl.

"Let me know if you need anything else," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, placing a quick kiss on her forehead. "You just relax and enjoy"

Y/n giggled, a genuine, unrestrained sound that warmed Lewis' heart. It was a far cry from the weak smiles and forced joviality she'd managed all day.

Lewis chuckled, returning to the kitchen and reappearing with a glass of cold-pressed juice and a straw. He held it out to her, watching as she took a hesitant sip.

"See?" he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Y/n shook her head, taking another sip. The juice was refreshing, contrasting perfectly to the warm savory flavors of the food.

"Wow," she murmured, surprise evident in her voice. "This is actually really good, Lewis."

"Thank you" he replied with a mock bow. "I'm all booked for the next three to four days but I'm sure I could arrange something for you after that, miss." he jocked as Y/n laughed again.

"You're spoiling me rotten," Y/n said between spoons, the playful smile still tugging at her lips.

"You deserve to be spoiled rotten" he countered sincerely. "Now, finish your food so I can bring you some ice cream. Doctor's orders."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

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[bahrtofane]

jude helping you in the kitchen because you’re hosting his family for dinner and youre running around at 100 miles an hour trying to find that damn stick of butter, it was just in your hand come onn

all while jude is having the time of his life taking his time gingerly cutting potatoes into neat little squares (roasted potatoes are a must)

"am i doing good?" he pipes up, already done with 3 Potatoes, youre so proud of him

you scramble over to him with a pound of meat in your hand, "yes love youre doing great."

he beams, wiggling his shoulders happily, "what do i do with them?"

you set down the meat on the counter while grabbing what you can from the spice cabinet, "the potatoes? just put them into a big bowl and ill worry about them."

he hums, going to get said big bowl while you run back to the fridge. you need asparagus how could you forget!

he manages to get the squares off the cutting board and into the bowl without much hassle, and you’ve started getting your pans out for the meat and asparagus. the squash is in the oven all ready, you need to make room for your lamb when its time though, desert also needs to get started, oh your mini quiches you completely forgot.

you slide back over to the fridge, the dough you made this morning, grabbing it and some flour. the lamb can wait while you get the crusts in the oven.

by the time jude looks back over at you, your covered in flour.

he snorts, "looks like you lost a fight to a baker."

"very funny jude, get the asparagus in the pan please and keep an eye on the squash for me while i finish getting the dough ready."

he puts the cutting board to the side, wiping his hands on a paper towel "yes ma'am."

you feel like gordan ramsey, barking our orders and running around with enough stress to last a life time. and you tell people you love cooking. pfft. sure. poor jude only follows you, doing what you ask. hes even worm a silly apron with big red words "kiss the chef" plastered on them. he thought it was the funniest thing ever. it was pretty funny you admit.

you spend too much time balling up little wads of aluminum foil for the crusts but jude keeps everything else in order, and before you know it in they go, out the squash comes, and you get started on the meat.

you love lamb, you hate the amount of pans and pots it takes though. first you sear, then you transfer to the oven while you sear off vegetables in the same pot, in they go with the lamb, pull them out, blend them with left of lamb juice at the bottom of the pan, boom you have a little gravy.

jude gasps and for a moment you think he'd burned himself, but he turns around with a stick of butter in his hand.

you light up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "i love you," taking the butter and adding it to the asparagus.

somehow, someway, all your courses get done just on time, the deserts in the fridge, jude cleaning up the last of the kitchen while you get changed.

you come back down to greet the family, plating their food and basking in the praises they sing after every bite.

you love cooking !

[httpsdana]

omg please write prompt 49 with florian wirtz. there is not enough fics of him🥺😩

Birthday Cake~Florian Wirtz

*GIF is not mine. credits to the owner*

finally we're back with these and it's Florian Wirtz for the first time. I hope you enjoy <3

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers I write for

49-"How is my gorgeous girlfriend doing ?" "What did you do?"

It was y/n's birthday. And Florian being her very caring and loving boyfriend, he wanted to make her feel special on this special day.

She was sleeping at his house, and in the morning, Florian woke up before her. He pressed a light kiss on her forehead and silently got up from their bed.

After using the bathroom and brushing his teeth he went to the kitchen. He started off by making a pancake batter which was probably the best thing he can do. He wasn't the best chef, but he would always try for the sake of y/n, since she wasn't the best chef either.

He tried shaping the pancakes as hearts, didn't end up looking really good but the shape was there. After that he cut her some fruits, a banana and some strawberries. He added some syrup before he went to do her iced coffee.

When he finished everything, he placed the plate and coffee on a tray. He did himself some coffee and walked to his room.

y/n was still asleep, her arms wrapped around Florian's pillow. Florian smiled and the cute sight

He placed his mug and the tray on the nightstand, leaning closer to y/n. He pecked her forehead lightly, before moving to her cheeks and kissing them a few times too.

y/n started shifting in her sleep, still asleep. Florian smiled and pecked her lips too. Finally, she opened her eyes with a small smile.

She was met with her sweet boyfriend's contagious smile, his messy hair making his morning face just more perfect

"good morning honey" y/n mumbled, her eyes still half open.

"good morning my sweet girl. happy birthday beautiful" he mumbled back, brushing her hair away from her face. She smiled at him, kissing the hand that was caressing her face.

"I made you some breakfast" he said, handing her the tray. She looked at him in an 'awe', kissing his cheek.

"thank you. that's so thoughtful of you" she pouted, her eyes slightly tearing up.

"don't cry baby. enjoy your food" he said, kissing her forehead before she started munching on her pancakes.

"you know... I've always dreamt about breakfast in bed" she said, her mouth full of her boyfriend's pancakes.

He laughed at her words, kissing her shoulder softly.

"I'm glad I was the first one to do that for you" he smiled.

"oh shit. the girls are supposed to be picking me up in a few" she said glancing at her phone.

Florian nodded, sipping on his coffee. He knew she was gonna go out which made it perfect for him. He was gonna try something new.

"enjoy sweetheart. if you need me just text" Florian kissed her before she left through the door.

He rushed to the kitchen, grabbing his phone and opening YouTube.

"how to make cake for my girlfriend's birthday"

The first video popped up was the video he opened.

He first got all the ingredients needed, and placed them on the counter in from of him.

He started by breaking the eggs, which ended up with a broken egg on the floor and some on his hands. He washed his hands quickly and cleaned the floor, before going back to work.

Time Skip

The cake was in the oven, but at what cost? Florian had flour in his hair and on his clothes, he dropped some oil on his shirt and now they won't go off. That's beside the floor and the counter that were messy.

He sighed, checking the time. y/n was supposed to be home in an hour or so. He runned to his bathroom, taking a shower to clean up.

After the shower, he went through his phone on his bed, before he started smelling something... burning?

His eyes widened at the realization, rushing to the kitchen and opening the oven.

It wasn't that bad but also, he had to cover it up. He groaned, his plan for the cake ruined by the burning of it.

He started first by cutting the burnt parts, throwing them away. He learned a fast way of making whipped cream. Which he did and tried covering up the cake.

But now it was all white and boring. He opened the fridge, trying to find something to design the cake. He found some strawberries which he cut and put around the cake. Then he found some M&Ms which he put in the middle. The cake was decent at end, but as soon as he finished the door of his apartment opened.

He rushed to the door, seeing y/n already taking off her shoes.

"how's my gorgeous girlfriend doing?" he chuckled nervously, making y/n look at him suspiciously

"what did you do?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest with a smile.

"why would you assume I did something?" he laughed anxiously, his eyes avoiding hers.

"well first your avoiding eye contact and second the house smells as if it was on fire" she said in a as a matter-of-fact tone.

Florian slammed his hand against his forehead, making y/n laugh.

"okay i tried something..." he mumbled. He walked her to the kitchen, leading her to where he placed the cake.

Her jaw dropped to the ground as she stared at the badly decorated but adorable cake her boyfriend made for her. Tears filled up her eyes quickly as she turned to Florian

"why are you crying? is it that bad?" he said quickly, making her slap his shoulder

"no stupid. I love this so much" she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

He let out a sigh of relief hugging her with same force back.

"this means so much to me you have no idea. thank you so much Florian." she mumbled into his neck. He kissed her head before she removed it from his neck.

"does it taste good tho?" y/n joked, getting a fork from the drawer. Florian gave her a nervous look, shrugging his shoulders.

She took a bite from the cake, her eyes widening, as she swallowed the piece slowly.

"it's...good" she said hesitantly, making Florian's face drop

"oh god is it that bad?" he chuckled.

"maybe a little bit" she said

He laughed, grabbing her waist and pulling her to his arms. He kissed her lips softly and tenderly.

"happy birthday baby. I'll phone the patisserie next to your house to make you another cake." he mumbled against her lips, making her laugh

[anjelicawrites]

Warnings: nipple play, nipple piercings, nipple weights, overstimulation, a bit of pain play.

A/N: the two requests came one after another and they complement each other perfectly, I had to mash them: they're *chef's kiss*

NSFW and 18+ only please!

The light chain is dainty in his hands, small rings so light he can barely feel them against his palm; the weights as well, two small beads he can attach to his nipple rings.

"Are you sure?"

You let your chin rest on Aemond's shoulder as your eyes focus again on the elegant jewelry in his hands. He doesn't immediately respond, his eye still caught by the play of the light against the shiny metal.

"I am." He, then, answers, turning his head to kiss your cheek.

He's been given the full green light by the piercers, to do whatever he wants with his nipple piercings, since they're fully healed.

"Shall we?"

You can see the way Osferth is vibrating in his own skin with excitement and you'd be lying if you said you don't feel the same: Aemond 's chest area is so responsive, almost to a ridiculous degree. With the addition of the piercings his responses have skyrocketed, even when you three couldn't play with them too roughly because his nipples were still healing; now you're curious of what his body could do.

Your hands idly caress Aemond's tight abs, he's so ripped it is almost unreal how the cords of muscles play under your fingers, you can feel the excitement coursing through his body as Osferth, slowly, attaches one weight on the right nipple, and the twin on the left; the moan that leaves Aemond's parted lips runs through you, adding fuel to the fire of your desire.

"How does it feel?" Osferth asks.

Against you Aemond moans again and rolls his hips, his cock already hard and leaking obscenely against his tummy.

"You're so pretty, sweetling, all bejeweled of us." You murmur in his ear, feeling the shudder coursing through his body. "You just need one little thing to be perfect."

On cue, Osferth's index finger curls in the hoop of Aemond's collar to support his already lax body in a sitting up position, while you crawl in front of him with the long chain dangling from your fingers.

Aemond's chest rises and falls fast, torn as he is between pleasure and excitement, the weights on his nipples stinging deliciously; because you can, you pull on his nipple, forcing the small ball downwards, only to let go suddenly, letting it bounce against Aemond's chest as he whines, his long back arching at the sudden painful sensation.

"Good boy." You drawl.

Seeing him so raw and needy ignites the darker part of your brain, the one that wants this beautiful, intelligent man, reduced into a moaning, screaming mess that lives for pleasure only.

You kiss his forehead after you've finished attaching the chain to his nipples, the silver now dangles against his chest, enhancing his beauty.

He looks so fuckable, ready to be taken, naked as he is, and hard, the black leather of the collar in contrast with his alabaster skin, his nipples a darker shade of pink adorned with silver: he's such a sight to behold, his whole body trembling with desire, his cock leaking delicious precome all over his abs.

He keens when Osferth tugs on the chain again and again, putting more weight with each pass, testing how far he can go before he has to stop. You're not idle either, you pull on the weight again, your eyes glued to the way Aemond's hips push upwards, fucking nothing as tears stream down his cheeks.

"You know the fun thing, sweetling?" You can see the way Aemond is desperately trying to focus on your words. "Those little things will dangle and move, no matter the position we fuck you, or you us. They're gonna pull and pull, and move with each push. I bet you'll come within seconds, and stay hard like a good boy for us."

Your words, the heath and desire they hide, the pleasure that spreads from his chest with every pull on the chain and ball, everything flies to his cock, liquefying his upper body strength: he wants to fall on his back and be taken, but he's not allowed, not with the way Osferth is grabbing the chain, keeping him sitting up, pulling at his chest with increasing strength. Aemond doesn't even realize there’s tears streaming down his cheeks, or that his hips are pumping against nothing as you take one bead between your teeth to suck and bite on the delicate skin of his nipple, all he feels is pain that morphs into pleasure, that blurs everything in his mind: his words, his desire, his control.

He's painting, saliva dripping from his open mouth, small sounds of pleasure escaping as the band of need in his belly tightens and tightens as you both suck and tug on the weights and the chain as his cock slaps against his abs with the force he's fucking the air.

His muddled brain knows what you two want, spurred on by the lewd encouragement you two are murmuring against his chest, the pleasure rising like mist that muddles his mind, the pain when Osferth lets go of one bead, only to pull at it again, never giving him the chance to catch his breath, your tongue flicking the nub of his nipple, moving the weight around as he cries and keens and cants his hips like a desperate dog. Everything comes crashing down, his seed exploding against his abs as you two keep playing with him, forcing his orgasm to continue, until you two let him fall on the bed, his tears streaked face red and hot.

Aemond's hips jump when Osferth's calloused palm curls around his erection: he's still as hard as diamond, as if his balls haven't drained themselves until it hurt.

"You were right." He hears him say. "Still ready, like a good boy."

Aemond's lonely eye roams the room as Osferth lazily jacks him with a loose fist, the pleasure now a simmering warmth that makes him want to curl up and doze in it until you two deem him ready to go again. He hiccups a moan when he sees you adjusting the strap around your hips, selecting one of the dildos.

"You did so good, Aemond, my sweet boy." You say with a smile. "Now go on all fours for your reward."

His whole body shudders, for a moment he can't move, can't breathe, imagining all the ways you two are going to have him: his body yours for the whole week end.

"What's your color?"

Osferth's hand stops playing with his cock and travels to his chin to cup it tenderly.

Osferth's chapped lips find his forehead in a tender kiss and then travel to his eyes to drink his tears away gently, in such a different way from how he has mouthed and bitten his nipples, Aemond melts against him, the love he feels for you two overcoming his senses.

"Kasta, kostilus. Green, please." He babbles.

"I'm so proud of you."

He lays pressed between you two for minutes, soaking up in your shared affection, deaf to the world outside.

He burrows in your combined embrace a tad longer, dozing in the love you're giving him. Perhaps five more minutes, a bit more of this tenderness and then you can make him cry and beg again, until his body gives out. He’s fair game until he uses his safeword anyway, isn’t he?

"Sir. Gūrogon nyke sir. Now. Take me now." He murmurs against your chest, his voice dreamy and distant.

"Are you sure?" You ask, he's falling into subspace, you realize.

"Kessa. Jaelan ziry. Yes. I want it now." He whines.

"Spoiled baby." You answer with a smile.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize​

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[stealingyourbones]

Places down three mouse skulls a gift from my cat. Her name is Daisy and and hunts for for whole family, especially her brother. His name is Scar Face. He may not have the braincells to be a hunter and takes multiple full seconds to realize you have sprinkled him with water, but I can say his face sure fits the name!

Anyways, I head you like non human AUs, yes? What about Secretly A Mermaid Tim Drake? Both his parents are mermaids but different kinds which led Tim to having a very... unique body. He has the colors, strength, shape, and length of his father's Koi tail but he has the fins, shimmer, flashieness and speed of his mother's Beta Fish tail. All together this means he has quite the look about his tail. Which is part of why he does his best to hide it.

The other part of why he ties so hard to hide his powerful tail, so strong that if he hits it right he can dent rail road tracks, despite how much secret speed and strength training he does with it, is that while yes the switch from human to mermaid is fast and simple, it can often be a few hours before he can change back and thanks to the fact it isn't long enough to slither on, he's quite the sitting duck if he's not somewhere like the Bay.

Now the Batfamily knows about this. Sort of. He has told them that he isn't a human but refuses to tell them what he is. If not for Duke saying his light is different from everyone else's, he doubts anyone would believe that he is anything but human. He regularly taunts them with the fact that they don't know what species he is and yet they claim to be detectives.

If course all good things must come to an end, and what he is gets revealed during a fight with Killer Croc. Riddler had knocked Jason into Croc's tank and without hesitation, Tim dove in after him, transforming on contact and using his large, flashy fins to distract Croc as the bulk of his tails and his sharp claws lashed out to try to take down the much larger water beast. With few helpful hits from Jason, they take him out and without hesitation, Tim leaps out of the water, spreading his fins as wide as he can to slowly wave back and forth in a beautiful, hypnotic sway as he yells, "hey Riddler! Over here!"

Tim can't keep the tremble out of the tip of his fins as Riddler stares at the tail, completely distracted. He knows deep down that if Riddler snaps out of it before someone can take him down, he's absolutely a sitting duck. He has two, maybe three jumps or tail bashes in him before he risks hurting himself, and 4 minutes and 32 seconds left before his gills dry up and he needs to get shoved back in the water. But for now he can use those seconds to keep all eyes on him long enough to let the bats catch their breath.

Homie I am buzzing in my seat with ideas this is so good. I am a sucker for Mermaid AU’s and this is just *chefs kiss*. I’ve made a mermaid AU before for the bats and adding to another makes me hella happy

Interesting tail pattern I enjoy it a lot, I will sprinkle in some Not Human because I hold the firm belief that mermaid’s shouldn’t look like a dude + fish, they should look like a different species because they are a wildly different species.

- Long spindily teeth that got a little bit of snaggletooth action going on. Teeth slightly poke out from his closed mouth and it looks adorable even though every single one of those fuckin teeth are canines.

- Funky pupil shape/iris shape

- Extremely clawed fingers. The tips of his hands have the same coloration as his tail but disperse fully at the last finger joint (maybe the coloration goes up to mid forearm who knows)

- Jaw that can unhinge to a terrifying degree.

- the tail isn’t small. That shit is at least 4ft in length and that’s being generous. His tail is very easy to tear which is a problem (beta fish’s tails are super delicate), but you could just turn your head and say “yeah don’t know what you’re talkin about” and look the other way/ maybe it’s a very thick membrane as his tail and not the thin almost translucent fins that normal beta fish have. I like the koi fish tail but add the pizzaz of the beta fish tail angle a lot, you could make angst ideas with Tim injuring his fins with this in mind.

- that tail? All muscle. Being smacked with his tail is like being hit by a charging bull. That shit will knock you off your feet and make you airborne for 20 solid feet before finally hitting cement.

[amethystina]

Spotify Tag Game

I got tagged by @sofapup17! Thank you so much 💜

The game: Put your Spotify On Repeat playlist on shuffle and post the first 10 songs!

Honestly, I'm the worst person to do this x'D I don't use Spotify all that often so right now all songs on my On Repeat list are from the Who Holds the Devil playlist I made. So this turned into less of a "what music do you listen to" and more of a "let me explain why I put these specific songs on my Who Holds the Devil playlist." BUT I guess there might be an audience for that, too?

So let's go, I guess?

___

1. Heroes Rise - Tommee Profitt, Sam Tinnez

Definitely more of a Ga On-focused song what with that whole "hero" thing he's got going on and his attempts to make a change in the world. But there are also definite hints of Yo Han in that whole "heroes never die" aspect. Because while what he did was technically illegal and he's more of an antihero than anything else, he IS definitely still a hero. And what he did will be remembered for a long time to come, if nothing else because it gave rise to new heroes (see what I did there? ;D)

This is just a very good song to convey the overarching plot of heroes and the power they hold — but also the amount of conviction and dedication it requires.

2. I Didn't Ask For This - Beth Crowley

I am OBSESSED with this song right now, specifically in relation to Yo Han. There are parts of this song that hits just right for his character, both in the original drama and Who Holds the Devil. I mean:

Take what's left Of my fractured heart Bloodstained 'cause The pieces are so sharp

*chef's kiss*

But also:

*pterodactyl screech*

3. The Sacrament - HIM

My teenage emo phase coming back to bite me in the ass x'D No, but really, there's just something with this song that vibes with the whole religious themes of The Devil Judge. And the longing, desperation, and reverence of Who Holds the Devil.

Also, I just really, really love that piano. So sue me.

4. Die For You - PENTAGON

This one is pretty self-explanatory, I feel. Very much Ga On at the start of Who Holds the Devil, desperately longing for Yo Han. It also perfectly conveys his recklessness and just how far he'd be willing to go to be forgiven for his mistakes.

5. Dancing's Done - Ava Max

Possibly added during a bit of a YOLO moment, not going to lie xD BUT, there are definitely parts of the lyrics that apply:

I wanna give into your dark temptation I wanna touch you like nobody does, oh People like you and me were born to run So where we going when the dancing's done? (Oh)

Because Ga On sure has hell wants to give in to Yo Han's dark temptation, even if he pretends that he doesn't.

6. A Little Bit Dangerous - CRMNL

Yo Han. Through and through. It also has a bit of the same cheekiness as the original soundtrack, which I like. And, I mean:

Let out of the cage, took my chains away I'm so tough to tame now Look at what you made me Look at what you made me do

7. I Want You To Want Me - Chase Holfelder

Another Yo Han song. Like, if you've read The Gentle Light? You know why this song is here. You know about the desperation and the yearning and the need. So, really, I HAD to put this on the list.

BECAUSE PINING.

8. Let Me Be Your Armor - Assemblage 23

I am SO glad this song made it onto the list because this one actually requires an explanation. It's one that might not make a lot of sense in terms of style (it definitely has a different vibe than the rest) BUT. The lyrics. The LYRICS. Like, babes. Listen to the lyrics. Listen to the lyrics ALL THE WAY THROUGH and then tell me this isn't Yo Han (as he sees himself).

This is a song I've had in my folders for literal YEARS (a friend sent it to me as a mood song for one of my OCs) and the moment I decided to make this playlist, I KNEW this song had to be on it.

9. A Dangerous Thing - AURORA

Honestly, I'm not sure if I need to explain this one all that much. It kind of speaks for itself in a lot of ways. Though I WILL say that while the dangerous thing is Yo Han in most situations, just maybe, there might be times when it's Ga On. Especially in Who Holds the Devil.

(... you'll understand after chapter 37)

10. Addicted - MONSTA X

Look. I know we haven't really gotten to that part yet, but they be horny, okay? Desperate and horny. And very much addicted to each other. What more do you want me to say? xD

(for real, though, MONSTA X sure know how to make desperate and horny songs. Mercy is even worse, in the best way possible).

___

Well, I hope that was fun! Even if it turned into an advertisement for Who Holds the Devil and the attached playlist x'D

As for tagging, I tag @shi-toyu because I know you at least use Spotify ;) And everyone else who wants to do it!

[imaginedreamwrite]

Silverfox Sunday-can we finally hear the details on how professor!Ari met the librarian?

“I got tickets to this masquerade event, its held at a bar and its pretty exclusive-“

“-this is it. Are you ready? You look so damn cute!” She gushes over your dress, complimenting you heavily despite going for a safe option.

“And your mask matches! Let’s see if we can’t pin down some hot men…” she squeals in excitement and drags you along behind her, tickets in hand.

“I really don’t think…I don’t know if I’m up for this.” You stop her before the entrance, eyes widening beneath the mask as the entrance is feet from you.

“Y/N, come on! You can’t keep moping because your ex is a complete piece of shit! You deserve to be happy and…” she grins, nudging you with her elbow. “I heard there’s gonna be a lot of hot older men. Hello sugar daddies!”

“I’m not a sugar baby, that’s not me.” You frown, inhibitions making you want to turn and run.

“No one’s saying you have to be a sugar baby but there’s something about older men that just…” she presses her fingers to her lips and kisses them with a soft pop, a chefs kiss as an ode to her desire to experience an older man.

Your hands tug at the skirt of your dress. A nervous tick that you’ve been catering to since you’d arrived, even with reassurance that the skirt of your dress wouldn’t show your ass you still feel the need to give a tug.

You have to admit that its beautiful, with a tiered tulle skirt overlaying silk. The strapless bodice is beaded and intricate with added details in the bandeau top that is neither plain nor square. The dress fits you well and in all reality it makes you feel gorgeous, despite your ex’s best efforts to leave you a mess.

“Just get a drink and relax.” Your friend encourages you to spread your wings and find someone to take the edge off since your breakup, but the idea of finding another boy like your ex is maddening.

Still, you follow her advice and grab a drink. You sip on the mixture of the signature select, and begin to wander the crowds. There’s a dance floor to the far left packed with bodies grinding against each other and a balcony above that’s got people milling about.

You find yourself stopping in the thick of the crowd speaking to each other and drinking merrily, completely unaware of the set of eyes on you. You’re unaware of a man who’s talking quietly among his friends bidding them goodbye, before taking for the stairs.

You’re so drawn in by the atmosphere of this place that you entirely miss the approach of this tall gorgeous Silverfox, until he’s upon you.

“You look a little lost.” His question startles you and you nearly jump out of your skin, your drink splashing against the glass.

“I’m not lost, I’m just…” you find yourself biting down on your bottom lip, watching him as he’s watching you.

He’s got a black and gold mask that’s heavily detailed and seems to be in the style of some Ancient Greek or Roman depictions attached to the front. Its heavily detailed with sharp and crisp edges, adding another layer of intrigue to the man who’s standing before you.

He’s well dressed in a sleek button down shirt tucked into a pair of black dress pants. A slim belt is woven through the loops with a matching gold buckle that’s catching the reflection of the lights overhears.

You know he’s massive, you know he’s gorgeous and he seems to be interested in you.

“I’ve never been to something like this before.” You lift your drink to your lips again, eager to take a sip but his hand stops you.

“You need a cover on your drink, honey.” He offers to take the glass and you let him, startled but not disdained at the use of a pet name.

“These kind of events are exclusive, they’re usually safe but there’s still the typical asshole frat boy that slips in.” His voice is soft yet husky, and its inherently pleasant to your ears.

“I didn’t know.” You state, a shiver coursing through you.

“Tell ya what,” he leans in and you catch the scent of his cologne or aftershave, and practically melt on the spot, “I buy you a drink and you dance with me?”

“That’s all?” You wonder, looking for your friend and finding her dancing with another man who’s clearly a Silverfox.

“One dance, one drink.” He offers you his hand and you take it, pleasantly surprised when he keeps you close to him.

As if he’s safeguarding you.

“What’s your name?” You ask him when you reach the bar, your eyes captivated by his.

“That’ll cost you another drink.” He smirks at you, fingers daintily grazing your arm. “You up for it?”

“Let me finish this one first.”

[youngerfrankenstein]

Sooooooooo I may have been watching Hannibal again. And making notes. (Okay I only started actually making notes around Entrée.)

Episodes 1-3

Definitely the episodes I’m most familiar with. Think I’ve seen them the most.

They struck gold getting Hugh Dancy for that role quite frankly

GOD Hannibal comforting the mother of the girl HE MURDERED

Just HOW much Hannibal’s interactions with Abigail are like, carefully affectionate blackmail

In all honesty I’m still not sure whether I think he ever grew to care for her. Perhaps but, in the same way as a prize pig. It’s still a pig

And part of me wonders how much of Abigail was actually left when he killed her. How much was consumed by two men who claimed to love her

Abigail in general is a fascinating tragedy to me

Will is, I think, a person who both desperately wants to and is terrified of being a father

Oeuf

This episode is actually so fucking good

Something about how one of the first things Abigail does in Hannibal’s house is break a teacup

Jack in his Morpheus getup lol

The obvious parallels this episode are Hannibal pulling a very similar thing with Abigail as “Wendy” is with the boys and I think it’s well done

Also “found” family as horror :)

No Will! Don’t let the dogs become comfortable with him!!! Also the frame-up begins

Coquilles

Man the Jack and Bella storyline is heartbreaking. And really well done

The scene where the lady is talking about how her husband was pulling away and he’s figuring it all out…

The bit of lighting that makes it look like Will has a halo chef’s kiss

Due to the weird “preternatural or not?” tendency of the show… I wonder if the angel maker did become an angel. If he was really there to help/warn Will

“I can give you the majesty of your becoming” vibrates

Note to self: Look more into Scapegoat practice

But really there probably is something to be said for Will semi-literally taking on the sins of humanity to save lives

Also note to self: Read “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell” because I think Blake’s weird musings may have inspired more of the whole franchise than the obvious

Entrée

Abel Gideon :) He’s an addition to the cast I really enjoy

“Don’t worry I won’t leave you here” Making promises you can’t keep Jack?

I actually kinda love Chilton. He fucking sucks

I should watch/read Silence of the Lambs again…

Even if the case here is based off the pre-canon Red Dragon one

The series has so much love for and so many references to the source material while adding and tweaking so much and I appreciate it to hell and back

God he’s so fucking despicable… just to see what happens…

Sorbet

Did not need to see a glottis up close

AUNT VIVIAN!!! :D (Well, Ellen Greene)

Franklin is supposed to be like, reminiscent of the guy who’s head gets found in a jar in SotL right? I remember that being my takeaway when I first watched the show and I still think that. Even if the book is far less fresh in my mind

First Bedelia appearance

The fact it’s confirmed later he was putting human organs in the beer. What the fuck

Alanna makes me sad… in a lot of ways another example of Hannibal corrupting everything he touches

“And I sincerely hope he does” The wild thing is I think that may be the truth. Yeah he’ll kill Will if he figures it out but he does want to watch Will do just that

Oh Jack… yes. You will kill him

Hannibal’s “grocery shopping” montage will never not be funny

As will “ugh, stop, you’re just my patient” vs. the epic mope when Will doesn’t show up

Will starting to put the pieces together but his brain is too on fire to make them fit

Cannibal puns <3

[amazeingartist]

*deep sigh* ok the brainrots bad enough, and with tiktok’s finally giving the real content I want, I’ll do a loose promare ghoap au.

the vibes aren’t all the way there but just the thought ghost/soap giving their fire up/to the other only for them to return it in the cpr scene is just. do I really need to explain all the scene represents cuz I think it’s speaks for itself honestly—plus it’s hard to not want a moment like that for beloved characters. I doubt I’ll draw shit for it but I’ll see if I can write a little smth

also, the added bonus of the emotional release/comfort that the ghoap dynamic brings to that scene is just *chefs kiss*.

simon dying happily cuz he knows soap’s safe, that he’s finally managed to protect the one light left in his life, only for him to be saved (again) in a way that genuinely surprises him and solidifies that johnny is it for him.

or johnny, more or less doing the same but he’s doing it to stop the world from reaping what’s left of simon (also a confession of love that he thinks is unrequited and is ok with that). only for simon to be dragging his ass back which is also a moment of genuine surprise.

both versions end with a proper confession and the do the normal kiss and live happily ever after lmao

[midyearflowers]

i have some Thoughts about totk that i have to get out cause i watched zeltik's review and i agree so hard

obviously major spoilers ahead

so i wanna start by saying i absolutely LOVE totk and its easily my fave zelda game ever, with botw being in second. but i will say both games as incredible as they are definitely suffer from the nintendo treatment in that there are awesome moments that blow everything out of the water, and then there are some bad moments that can really bring them down. case in point for totk specifically, zelda's sacrifice and draconification brings me to tears every time and her final words give me goosebumps. but then the cutscenes after each dungeon are... literally copy and paste. like you play them together and its beat for beat the same ("demon king?? secret stone???" nintendo why....)

like i love the story and think they couldve really had something if they had put more effort in and not only fleshed it out more but delivered it better. the whole "find the memories that can be out of order" thing worked for botw cause you already knew the ending so they were mostly additions rather than the full story. but with totk you dont know the ending, you dont know what its all leading up to. there is a mystery to it all, and being able to basically walk up to the end without any other context just ruins that. its just a weird decision honestly

and this all makes it clear that 90% of the development time went to the gameplay. which isnt entirely a bad thing, the gameplay is fucking AWESOME. the world and the way you interact with it is seamless, they NAILED the atmosphere and sound design for every single thing. like the tense beginning as you get closer to ganondorf, the ancient and solemn sky islands and ruins, the creepy and unknown depths. diving down my first chasm, which wasnt the story one so there were NO lights waiting for me at the bottom, i got CHILLS. Falling further and further, the area getting darker and more gloom infested, to land in endless darkness in all directions and having "the depths" title appear onscreen. *chefs kiss*

tho that brings me to another point in that, like botw, totk suffers from "world too big" and there ends up being many pockets where theres just. nothing. maybe a korok, but those get boring after the first few. but theres so much that is just empty and bare that you wonder if they wouldnt have benefited from a smaller map. like i love open world games, and totk at least added caves to the surface world which helped, but theres really only so many random puzzles you can do before youve seen everything. the depths being an inverted hyrule is SO cool, but they didnt really do anything with it. aside from the camera quest and very brief yiga stuff, there really isnt any real reason to comb the depths, unless you need some zonaite or something. the dlc stuff being treasures you could find was neat, but also nearly every armor being the same as botw except for a couple extras was kinda a let down. the new dragon armors are so cool and unique, i wish they did more

the zonai. merely hinted at in botw through ruins and vague item descriptions. they were so mysterious and literally everyone was theorizing on them. and then we get a game that is going to explore it all! the mystery is going to be solved! .....except it wasnt. id almost argue we know LESS about the zonai than we did before. they supposedly descended from the heavens with magical artifacts and founded the kingdom of hyrule, and then when zelda travels back to this time, theres only 2 zonai left and they barely know anything about their own species??? like what?? its like the timeline between the first mural and the second is like. centuries. why are there only 2, where did the rest go? if they were there before the kingdom of hyrule, what did they do? WHY did they descend from the heavens? it feels like nintendo needed to explain where the new tech was from since it wasnt sheikah, so they just kinda made stuff up as they went to justify it. its as if the story was just built around the gameplay. which id honestly believe cause initially it was just supposed to be dlc for botw but they came up with too many ideas so just made a new game in the same world

which brings me to my next point. why was it marketed as the sequel to botw, when it basically did its hardest to pretend botw didnt even happen. the botw references were basically just that. references. not continuing the story or adding to it. its just "yea that happened and we're rebuilding now". the fact the developers literally just said "eh the sheikah tech just disappeared one day and no one knows why" like come ON. not to mention all of the important characters you directly affected in botw seemingly forgetting link exists within the 2-3 years between the games. the man who you paid to build your house doesnt even recognize you! HESTU doesnt recognize you, and youre one of like 3 people who can see him!! the people of HATENO where link literally LIVES dont recognize him!!!!!!!! WHY

i have more but this is already long. i have something else on ganondorf but ill make a separate post. anyway i do love this game with all my heart but nintendo has me scratching my head more often than not

[strange-dreams-are-made-of-these]

congratulations on 50 your writing is an absolute chefs kiss, can i request a fluff fic? Im a sucker for soft comforty strange 💤

Oh my goodness!! You are so kind! I hope you enjoy this.

No One Loves Like Ghosts

Word Count: 1,805

Summary: The reader and Stephen have a few things to get off their chests

Warnings: none? Fluffy comfort (grab the tissues)

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, Doctor Strange, or any characters mentioned in this story

The light of the sun pierced through the curtains of 177A Bleecker Street, stirring the woman awake. Normally the alarm on her phone would wake her up, but she had turned her notifications off, enjoying a nice evening with her crime-solving partner and better half, Doctor Stephen Strange. She sat up in the bed, taking in a deep breath before looking over at him. He had still been sleeping, watching his chest rise and fall. She smiled looking at him feeling incredibly lucky to have him by her side. She broke through his walls to see who the real Stephen was, and he was just as she suspected he was.

She gently turned in the bed, placing her feet on the floor before standing up. Wong was in Kamar-Taj performing his higher duties, as he delicately called them. Y/n could only imagine what was considered higher duties, but the Sorcerer Supreme had to ensure Earth's safety from outside invaders and threats, she knew he was busy, which meant she could bother Stephen more. Grabbing his t-shirt from the floor, the woman pulled her hair from under the shirt, the hair bouncing off her back as it settled. It was still considered early, 7:30 am according to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

The woman left the room quietly, heading down the hallway towards the staircase. Her feet were covered by a pair of socks, making tiny thuds as she walked. She wanted to surprise Stephen with breakfast, one of the few things she got better at in adulthood. She wasn't Rachel Ray or Martha Stewart, but she could put a meal together in a pinch. The question was if it tasted good together. She had some blunders, remembering the time she burnt a chicken beyond repair, giving up and ordering a pizza for the three of them to eat. As embarrassing as it was to serve a pizza and toss the chicken away, it was still a funny memory to have. Stephen didn't let her live down the moment, watching as she pulled the chicken out of the oven as it was on fire. His quick thinking not only saved her skin from being burnt but made such a mess to clean up.

She could, however, make pancakes and eggs. Once in the kitchen, she grabbed everything she needed from the refrigerator and pantry. The eggs wouldn't take long to make, so she started on the pancakes first. Oddly enough, she hated breakfast when she was younger. It felt like a chore to eat in the mornings, feeling that eating that early would make her sick throughout the day. She got better over time, starting with apple or orange slices, then adding a piece of toast to the mix. Now she enjoyed breakfast foods, even in the afternoon and evening time.

Several minutes passed, and the pancake mixture had been sitting in a bowl next to the oven. The carton of eggs was next to them. She hummed to herself as she poured the first two pancakes into the pan, flipper in hand. She was still a little tired, so she had been caught off guard a little when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind. Once she felt his chest resting on her back and his chin resting on the top of her head, she settled. "Good morning, darling."

Stephen hummed a little. "Good morning, Hunny." He woke up a few minutes after she left their room. He was an early riser as well, and he didn't sleep well without her around. It was no wonder that he woke up after he finally detected her absence. "That's my t-shirt."

The woman laughed a little, flipping the pancakes in the pan. "Well, it looks like it's mine now." She leaned back in his embrace, soaking up all of the attention he gave her.

"Don't worry, I'll just collect it later," he spoke before placing a kiss on her head. He heard the music that was playing from the speaker on the counter opposite the pancake mix and eggs. "Together Forever, Rick Astley. 1987." He stated, feeling confident in his answer.

"The musical genius wins again." She replied before turning around in his arms. "You've won the game! Your prize is a dance or an equal sum of the cash value."

He looked down at Y/n, narrowing one eyebrow. "I'll take the money."

"Stephen!" She gasped, placing a hand on his chest. Since she took his t-shirt, he had been bare-chested, donning the sweatpants he wore the night before.

He winked at her, something he was good at in general, but he knew how to tease her. "If you didn't want me to take the money, then you shouldn't have offered it." He responded, his arms still wrapped around her frame.

The woman smirked, turning around to remove the pancakes from the pan, then set the pan on a different burner, turning the heat off. She couldn't have asked for a better morning. They didn't wake up to any type of commotion or destruction outside of their home. Life in New York City was as it should be; people going to work, children attending school, life working as it normally did. The two of them were able to breathe and get ready for their day ahead. If only it had been a Sunday morning, with rain falling.

Y/n laughed, listening as the song changed to Sunday Morning by Maroon 5. She covered her face as she laughed. This brought a bit of confusion to Stephen. "Is something funny?" He asked her, his hold loosening up on her.

The woman turned around, wrapping her arms around him. Her amusement was painted on her face. "I was just thinking about this song, actually. How I wish it was Sunday and raining outside, how I'd love to have a lazy morning in bed with you. Something that seems rare for us."

He shook his head, grinning before taking two steps back, bringing her with him. "Well, it is Thursday and sunny, but you know I would love to stay in with you for as long as I can." He took a half a turn, leading them in a small circle in the kitchen, a lazy waltz as he preferred to call it.

She looked up at him before pressing the side of her face to his chest. "We can always look forward to our next rainy Sunday morning." She responded before taking in a deep breath. She rolled her eyes, smelling the fresh cologne he put on before walking down the stairs to find her. "God, why do you always smell so good?"

Stephen chuckled as he spun them around. "Because basic hygiene is quite literally life-saving?" He asked in response to her question, which he found adorable. Voicing the amount of adorable it was, he could never admit it. "I could ask you the same thing."

She turned her head to look up at him. "Because I am very particular about my scents." The woman had surrounded herself with the scent or rose water. There was a greenhouse on the roof where she had a rosebush she had been caring for over two years now. Her perfume was a mix of roses and ivys, and her bath wash was from the same company and line as her perfume.

The two of them danced around in the kitchen, listening to the music that was playing from the speaker. Stephen knew he needed to be ready for anything that could come their way, but he wanted to enjoy the time he had with Y/n. He was learning from his past, and pushing through his stubbornness to go through life without having an attachment to another person. The thought of having somebody need him scared him, what if said person found another person to need more than him? What if he couldn't protect him?

His facial expressions soften up a little, the woman noticing this. "Stephen," she started. "What going on? What's on your brain?"

She knew him well, this he knew. "I can't help feeling that one day.. you're going to want to be with somebody else. Someone who is better than me." He admitted, feeling a crushing weight in his chest. "I can't help but to think what we would be today if I never went to Kamar-Taj. What if I never had my accident? Who we would be if I was still Dr. Strange, M.D and P.H.D."

The woman's eyes softened a little, moving one hand to cup his face, a gesture he melted into. "I don't know what we would be had we never met. I often think about if you would have ever noticed me if you were still a surgeon." She told him before he opened his eyes again, looking into her eyes. "I feel like what matters the most is that we have each other. I have never had the type of relationship I have with you before. Nobody has made me feel the way you make me feel. I would rather die millions of painful deaths knowing I love you with every fiber of my being than give you up for anybody else."

He didn't know how to feel, her words were a heavy confession. It made him stop in his tracks as he continued to hold her in his arms. Nobody had ever admitted their love for him in such a way before. How could she love him in such a way? He was arrogant, and ambitious, and had to be the best at everything. "How do you know you feel that way?" He asked her, his voice a few octaves above a whisper.

She smiled at him, her top lip quivering slightly. "Because I've never had to ask myself once if this relationship was going to end badly. I've never had to worry about if you cared about me because I know you do." She told him, feeling warm within her soul. "I've seen you when we have been out. I have seen the look in your eyes when you look at me, and it's everything to me."

Stephen couldn't help himself. He brought her body in closer to his, hugging her tightly to him. She reached up, her head resting on his shoulders. "Please, don't leave me, Y/n. I love you more than you could imagine."

The woman felt a mix of emotions well up in her. She was so thrilled, so caught off guard by his confession, she was so in love with him. Nothing else mattered to her. Only Stephen. "I love you, Stephen Strange. I loved you yesterday, I love you today, I'll love you tomorrow, and I'll continue to love you until the end of time. Even after the end of time."

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part fourteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Tom explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Tom haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Sam, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Tom, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

He nodded and took his dough back to continue kneading it. You noticed his jaw clenched subtly in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else. You watched as he rolled the pasta dough with a little more force, maybe a little too much.

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Tom’s, even though Sam had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Sam had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Tom was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

You were starting to sweat with effort, you were so out of shape that even cooking had you catching your breath. You had thought this was going to be fun, but instead you were having flashbacks to high school P.E. class.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Tom. He took over for Tom and instructed Sam to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Sam assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Sam whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Sam’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Tom set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Tom said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Tom put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what's the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Making the fillings for the pasta was a much simpler process than making the dough. All you had to do was mix certain ingredients together. It didn’t matter what order you added them, if you whisked fast or slow, the only important thing was that everything made it into the bowl one way or another.

You worked in pairs for this step. Sam mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Sam explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Sam ended up having to help you and Tom because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Sam warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Sam was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you said, remembering all the times you had teased him for stressing out over his ‘soufflé final’ or ‘crepe labs’. “I would much rather be writing a paper right now.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Tom snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Sam’s family, even if they had a... complicated relationship.

When the class finally settled in the dining room of the restaurant to eat you were sweaty, sore, and exhausted. You could feel your skin sticking to the leather seat, and you felt severely underdressed. Back in the kitchen you hadn’t been so self-conscious. But now you couldn’t stop thinking about your appearance.

The atmosphere was much more sophisticated. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. All of the other guests were following an unspoken black-tie dress code while the fifteen of you were still wearing your disposable aprons, only now they were covered in flour and egg yolk.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Sam to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Sam wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Sam was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Sam’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hollands chat with other students at the table.

You weren’t a huge fan of wine, but the one served with dinner was palatable, and to be honest you weren’t one to turn down complimentary alcohol anyway. It tasted more expensive than anything you had ever drank, like the equivalent of velvet on your tongue. You finished your glass and the rest of Harry’s.

-

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hollands like a dog, worn on Sam’s arm like an accessory.

You had known what you were getting into, and you were trying your best to enjoy the experiences- because who the fuck knows when you’ll ever get to go on such a nice vacation again, but pretending to be in love with your best friend was a harder feat than you had thought.

It felt like being in a school play. Every move and phrase had to be intentional. You tread the lines of your relationship with rehearsed expertise. And you had to watch what you said, because everyone’s eyes were on you. At least that’s what it felt like.

Sam’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Harry, though. Tom was the problem. Tom was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Sam had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Harry was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Sam, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Sam explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Sammy.”

You had dinner in the restaurant attached to the hotel lobby. Nikki passed around her Canon for everyone to look through the pictures from the day while a bottle of limoncello was passed around the table.

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Sam went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Harry, and Tom. You told Sam you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Sam. Back at school you could always find Sam in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

When he moved out of the dorms and into an apartment he bought a keyboard, and you’d spend nights together in his room illegally pirating sheet music for him to learn new songs. He’d play whatever you requested, and if he didn’t know how to play it he’d teach himself.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Sam always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Tom dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Harry said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Harry groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Harry,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Tom wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Tom, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You had to act uninterested, you couldn’t let on to- but he was staring back. His eyes were intense, and almost impossible to read in the darkness of the room. You knew you should look away, knew you had to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Sam but then suddenly Tom was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

logging off before i get yelled at but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

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The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That’s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh —” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!