#and like the first part is for carol’s point of view and the second is hal’s

[ajaxxx-x]

The Mountain Goats were so good for writing a song about Hal and Carol failed toxic relationship

[brewsterispunkk]

THE TUTOR

eddie munson x reader

part 1/4

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader, eddie munson x shy!reader (only one use of y/n and I cringed writing it)

rating: 18+ mature! minors be gone!

summary: reader has had a secret crush on Eddie Munson for months, only she has been too scared to tell him. When she’s forced to tutor him, she lets it slip that she feels like she’s missed out on the normal “high school experience.” Eddie aims to change that.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since LAST MAY!!! & i am just now finishing it jfc. this is part one to a series I’m looking to make three parts! I’ll finish it if it’s the last thing I do!

You hated first period. Always had, ever since sophomore year when you’d had AP literature with the juniors and Carol Perkins had made it her life’s work to make your life a living hell.

You didn’t know exactly what you had done to make her hate you so much, but early on in the year, she’d made it abundantly clear that you were going to be her new target. And you, being the only awkward, braces-faced sophomore in the class, had elected to suck it up and take the bullying.

After all, she was telling you everything you already knew; your hair was frizzy, your teeth were crooked, your acne was ugly and awful. The usual things that you, with the same awful self esteem that was characteristic of every knobby-kneed 14-year-old, had already heard and already believed.

Eventually, when your study-buddy and the only other underclassman in the class, Nancy Wheeler, found out about the full extent of the bullying, she’d done something about it. She had just started dating Steve Harrington at that point, and despite his larger than life hair and not so great reputation, he was nice to you by association. He was the one who got Carol to stop.

Still though, you thought that that god-awful year of excruciating first-period classes had ruined them for you for good; conditioned you somehow into expecting the worst from your first class of the day so that now, as a senior, you still dreaded it.

Today was no different.

You tapped your foot distractedly in the back seat of Steve’s car as he pulled out of your neighborhood.

“For the last time, Robin, no you cannot play the new Clash cassette. Put it away—“

“Oh come on, Harrington. It’s good.” Robin sighed exasperated. She’d been your next door neighbor since you were five, and your best friend ever since.

“Oh, oh! Like the new Madonna album?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised as he looked at Robin in the passenger seat.

“Or the Duran Duran one?” You piped in, biting your nails and looking at her expectantly. Immediately, her head whipped back to you, mouth open in a silent gasp.

“Wha—“ she made a choked sound, looking between you and Steve before bringing her gaze back to you, narrowing her eyes. “Who’s side are you on?”

“Uhm, the side of good music.” You countered, playfully sassing your best friend.

“Wow..” she drawled dramatically, interrupting you.

“And right now,” you continued. “Harrington has the better mixtape. Sorry!” You batted her hand away as she reached back to smack your arm.

“Boom!” Steve declared triumphantly, raising his hands from the wheel for a split-second. “Sorry, Robs, we love you but if I have to listen to one more of your mix tapes, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah! I get it.” Robin was silent for a moment before turning around to glance between the two of you. “You know, every day I remember how it was me that got this little group together, and every day it comes back to bite me in the ass.”

“Oh right,” Steve scoffed. “You’re forgetting, I’ve known y/n since junior year, and I’ve only known you for like, I don’t know, nine months.”

“Okay, but you two weren’t friends.” She gave Steve a pointed look. “It wasn’t until I convinced her to come work with us at Scoops Ahoy that we all started hanging out. So what I should be hearing is ‘thank you Robin.’”

In the rear view, you saw Steve roll his eyes at her antics, a smirk on his face.

“Actually,” you pointed out. “Steve and i hung out almost every day sophomore year.”

“Yeah,” Robin pressed. “But that was because of miss prissy-pants, Nancy Wheeler, not because you two were friends.”

You bristled a bit at your best friend’s name for Nancy. You knew she probably didn’t mean anything by it, but still. She didn’t know Nancy like you did. And Nancy had been nice to you when you didn’t have many friends besides Robin. She’d made it her problem when you were being bullied and did what she could to stop it, when she didn’t have to.

You and Nancy hadn’t really talked much since she and Steve broke up. Even after the whole ordeal last summer, with the mall “fire,” and Russian agents in Hawkins, you two hadn’t really reconnected. But there was no bad blood there. You wished her the best.

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve interjected. “I think she gets bragging rights for knowing me longer.”

You laughed at that.

“Oh whatever,” Robin shook her head, leaning her elbow on Steve’s open window, bopping her head to the music pouring through the speakers.

“Good god, I don’t wanna be going back there.” She groaned as Hawkins High came into view. “It’s not too late to skip you know.” She craned her head back to look at you, a hopeful look in her eyes.

“I’m highly considering it.” You bounced your knee, trying to relieve some of the tension in your limbs.

“Ugh, no I can’t.” Robin exasperated. “My moms gonna kill me if she finds out I skipped again.”

There goes my chance, you thought, knowing there’s no way you’d skip without her.

“Yeah, I do not miss this place, gotta say.” Steve mused as he pulled into the parking lot. Robin rolled her eyes at him. You chuckled. They fought like an old married couple.

“I have Ms. Taylor first period,” you groaned at the memory of the stern, mean older woman who you had for home room this semester.

“Oh god,” Steve laughed. You smacked his shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll see you two at 3.”

You and Robin begrudgingly exited Steve’s car, facing the pit of despair known as Hawkins High School.

Thank god this was your last year, you thought to yourself.

As you eyed down the beige brick building, you could’ve sworn you felt a bit of your soul get sucked out. It may sound dramatic, but it was true. You felt yourself retreat into yourself the closer you got.

Something about Hawkins high just did that to people. Made them retreat and put on whatever mask they had to go get through the day. You were no exception.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robin mumbled beside you, beginning to walk toward the doors.

“Let’s.” You sighed back.

- - - - - -

There was one aspect of first period English with Ms. Taylor that you considered a saving grace—not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Eddie Munson.

You weren’t sure why it started, if you were honest with yourself.

In fact, at the beginning of the year, you, like everyone else, were actually a little bit terrified of the lanky, tall metalhead that the rest of the school had dubbed “the freak.”

Before this year, you hadn’t really had many encounters with Eddie Munson. You’d known of him, sure, but never really interacted with him. Besides the few random outbursts he’d have in the cafeteria, and one time when you’d given him a pencil in your art elective freshman year, you’d kept your distance. Most of what you’d heard about him came from the kids; which meant they were lies, at worst, and exaggerations at best. You could tell they admired him from the way they spoke of him—Dustin in particular, who had spoken of Eddie in the way he’d only ever spoken of one person before: Steve. But that was the extent of your knowledge.

Eddie had been two years ahead of you technically, although now he was a senior, same as you, and stuck in the same miserable first period English class with Ms. Taylor.

It had started out innocent enough, you liked to tell yourself. You weren’t always swooning over him and his leather jackets or studded rings. It had just snowballed.

It had begun like this: it was the first day of your senior year, and to add to your nerves at a new dreadful year, Ms. Taylor had given you, and all your classmates, assigned seats.

Great, you’d thought. Just great. Now you had to sit next to a complete stranger while also being a complete ball of anxiety all class.

You were early. Much to your chagrin, Steve had insisted on picking you and Robin up earlier than usual because it was your first day, and what if you have trouble finding your classes. Completely ignoring the fact that you and Robin had gone to Hawkins High for three years and knew it like the back of your hand.

Still, it had gotten you here, 15 minutes early to the first bell, trapped in a room with no one other than Ms. Taylor, and Eddie Munson himself.

“You’ll be right there, beside Mr. Munson.” Ms Taylor had drawled monotonously, eyes focused on a stack of papers on her desk.

You froze, looking over at Eddie, who was scribbling down in a notebook in the second to last row of desks from the back. He looked up at you for a moment before going back to his writing.

“Did you hear me?” Ms Taylor said your last name. You snapped out of it, smiling over at her and gripping the strap to your backpack before making your way to the seat.

“Yeah. Sorry, Ms. Taylor.”

You sat down rigidly, looking anywhere but at Eddie. Ms Taylor left the room to refill her coffee cup in the teacher’s lounge, leaving you and him the only people in the room.

You felt your hands begin to shake at the impending doom of first period rolling around. You knew it was dumb; it’d been two years since the first-period-from-hell, and you still couldn’t shake your fear of home room. You clasped them together, folding your fingers on top of each other on the desk, trying to calm your breathing. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Look, you can relax, okay,” Eddie’s annoyed voice beside you snapped you out of it. “I won’t bite.”

You looked over at him, his face looked impatient, though if you looked closely, you thought you could detect a little bit of hurt there too. Your eyebrows furrowed, before you realized what he must have been thinking.

He thought you were scared of him.

It made sense, though that was far from what was going through your head.

“No,” you began quietly, before clearing your throat. “That’s not what I—that’s not—that’s not it.”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, eyebrows raised as he continued writing.

That was the day it started. The watching him.

It’d begun as a way of coping; a way to distract yourself from Ms. Taylor’s droning on about Shakespeare, or the whispers of the two mean girls who sat at the front and liked to glance back at you and snicker.

Your therapist had mentioned the method to you a few months before, a way to maybe cope with your anxiety in anticipation with the upcoming school year. It was a method that your shrink had described as a way of ‘hyper-focusing’, or concentrating on one thing until the anxiety wore away.

And in the haze of your first day, you’d focused on Eddie.

But eventually, as the year wore on, it developed into something different.

You began to notice his hair; how it would fall over his face as he frowned in concentration at whatever he was writing in that book. His hands, big and flanked with gaudy silver rings. You began to wonder how they’d feel on your skin, running through your hair, over your stomach.

It was almost a type of game you played with yourself; a form of escapism. On days your anxiety got too much, the days your hands would sweat and your feet couldn’t cease their tapping, you could look beside you and focus on Eddie. And it would all fall away.

You supposed that’s why you kept your little obsession a secret; it was embarrassing.

Not the fact that you were infatuated with him, but the fact that you’d been using practically a complete stranger to talk yourself down from anxiety attacks. You hadn’t even told Robin, the person you shared everything with. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that this wasn’t some little crush or admiration—it was more than that.

But you refused to admit that to yourself, because there was one huge, glaring problem. That being that Eddie Munson hated you. You were sure of it.

It was as if after the awkward encounter you’d shared at the beginning of the year, he avoided you like the plague. Not looking, talking, or even so much as breathing your way once. And the one time when you’d gotten the nerve to ask him a question, he’d barely grunted out a response before the had rung and he was gone.

That had been the first and last time you’d attempted to talk to Eddie Munson. Your crush was doomed, you knew it. Not only were you convinced he couldn’t stand you, you also were almost positive that he still thought you were scared of him, like he did at the beginning of the year.

Which, to be fair, you were. Just not in that way. As far as Eddie was concerned, you were scared of him in the judgy, superficial, ill-intentioned way that the rest of Hawkins was, not in the butterflies, tongue-tied, make-your-hands-sweat way that you truly were.

Besides, even if you were the most confident person in the world (you were far from it), and if Eddie didn’t, for some inexplicable reason, hate you, you were sure that you would have absolutely no chance with him anyway. Because why would Eddie Munson, all crooked smiles and sure steps and kind eyes, be even the least bit interested in you? It was inconceivable. Because you were shy and scared and binary and everything he was not.

So, you’d deduced that you were doomed to wait out this life-ruining crush the same way you’d been doomed to wait out countless other things in your high school life: silently.

- - - - -

Today was no different than the other nearly insufferable first periods you’d endured this school year, aside from the fact that today was Monday, which brought with it a more tired you, and a much, much more irritable Ms Taylor.

She’d assigned two detentions so far this period, to Bradley Green and Doug Mitchell, two boys from the basketball team that had been throwing spitballs and harassing Eddie, who merely smirked at them in response, effectively egging them on.

You glanced at the clock, tapping your foot subconsciously on the off-white tile below your feet.

5 minutes left, you reminded yourself, watching the clock tick down. Your hands started to clam up. Perfect.

You let out a shaky breath. A few rows in front of you, Pam Simpson and Diana Fiorelli glanced back, eyes zeroing in on you, before Pam snickered and leaned over to whisper into Diana’s ear.

This wasn’t new; they always had some off-color remark or an unnecessary eye-roll to throw at you ever since they found out about your close friendship with Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High.

How two nerds like yourself and Robin Buckley had managed to bag someone as popular as Steve the hair Harrington as a best friend seemed to be beyond them, and they sought everyday to punish you for it.

The truth was: Steve had left all of that behind. From the wake-up call that was his break-up with Nancy, to the whole fighting-monsters-from-another-dimension thing, he didn’t really care about it anymore. He’d found better friends in you guys. The whole Russians-in-Hawkins, and Starcourt “fire” helped too.

It was true what they said about trauma: it brought people together.

You tried to ignore their whispering, like Robin had encouraged you.

She was absolutely livid when she’d found out that Diana had “accidentally,” spilled her yogurt parfait over your new blouse last week. It had taken a whole five minutes of both you and Steve talking her down from her stupor to stop her from marching straight to the gymnasium, interrupting cheer practice, and giving Diana a black eye. After though, when you’d managed to calm your best friend down, she’d gone off—trying to convince you to stick up for yourself, to say something. If not to the mean girls themselves, then to Ms Taylor at the very least.

But that was the difference between you and Robin; where she would act, you would listen. Remain passive. It was a trait that served you well when it came to retaining information or solving upside-down-related issues, in situations like these, it kind of screwed you over.

You turned your head from the front of the classroom, blocking out Ms Taylor’s lecture on T. S. Elliot and instead turning your head to the desk beside yours. Eddie’s desk.

He was hunched over, head on his hands, which were crossed and folded on top of the desk in front of him. His chin rested there, and his dark eyes were focused on the board, squinting, as if trying to make out what it said.

He seemed to be trying to pay attention, a stark contrast to how you usually saw him hunched over around his worm notebook, scribbling or drawing.

He wore dark blue jeans today, instead of his usual black ones, and a Quiet Riot band T-shirt . His leather jacket was draped over the chair behind him, as Ms Taylor’s room was hot today. His hair fell messily over his back and in front of his face. His ringed fingers tapped on the desk—he was evidently as anxious for the class to end as you were.

You knew he had trouble focusing. You’d picked up on as much throughout the school year, watching him try and try and try to stay locked in to whatever Ms Taylor was teaching.

So many of your classmates had written him off: cult leader, satanist, idiot, freak, but you saw something different. The Eddie you knew (well, not really knew, more like observed) was none of those things. He was different, yes. Flamboyant, sure. But he was not an idiot. Nor was he evil or freakish or anything of the sort.

The ringing of the bell snapped you from your thoughts. You jerked your head back to your desk as your classmates began to pack up and bustle out to their next classes, the sound of backpacks zipping and chatter filling the classroom.

Per usual, Eddie was the first out of his seat, already packed and ready, before leaving the classroom with long strides, eyes trained on the floor, narrowly avoiding your gaze.

You shoved your notebook into your bag, bending over to zip it up and run like hell out of the classroom. You hoped to avoid any unnecessary contact with Pam and Diane. Ms Taylor cleared her throat, before saying your name.

“I’d like to see you for a moment, please,” she said monotonously, eyes focused on the grade book in front of her. A shot of anxiety spread through your stomach.

“Yes, Ms Taylor?” You asked quietly, noting that you were the only two people left in the classroom.

“You have one of the top grades in the class, second only to Mr. Levy, did you know that?” She asked, still not looking up. You puzzled. So you weren’t in trouble?

“Uh-I-no, I didn’t, actually.” You mumbled, brows furrowed.

“Indeed,” she hummed. “I also have been made aware that you are lacking an extracurricular for graduation, is that correct?”

Shit, you thought. She was right.

Last summer, you’d been set to take a summer gym elective; the ones that the school offered during the school year were too crowded and made your anxiety act up, so you and Robin had both signed up to take summer gym. However, the upside-down and the Russians’ presence in Hawkins at Starcourt had had other plans, so both you and her had failed the class, due to bad attendance. And while Robin had made sure to complete her gym credit last semester, you’d completely forgotten about the whole debacle until now.

“Yeah,” you breathed, in shock that you’d managed to forget about something so important when graduation was only months away. “I-I forgot—“

“I figured as much,” Ms Taylor cut you off, finally looking up at you. “Well, seeing as it’s too late in the semester to sign you up for any electives, it would seem that you’ll be having to repeat your senior year.”

Your breath left your lungs.

No, you thought, no, no, no. The last thing you could handle was another year stuck here. In this high school, in this city. You felt your breathing stutter at the thought.

“Luckily for you,” Ms Taylor continued, refocusing you on the moment. “I have a solution that may just save you from that.”

You blew out a breath between your lips, looking at her anxiously.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Anything— I completely forgot about—“

“I trust you’re familiar with Mr. Munson?” She interrupted you. Your brows furrowed. What did Eddie have to do with this?

“Yes.”

“Well, then I’m sure you’re aware that this will be his second time repeating his senior year.” Ms Taylor looked up at you now, her beady eyes laser-focused. “If he fails again, the school won’t be giving him another chance. It would seem that this class is one of the only things standing between him and a one-way ticket out of this school.”

“I dont think I follow—“ you began.

“You will tutor Mr Munson.” She clarified, face stoic as ever. “From now until the end of the spring semester. If you do this, and if I see improvement, I will make it count as your extracurricular. You’ll be able to graduate on time, and he will get the hell out of my classroom for good.”

You were stunned—not only by the fact that you’d be forced into proximity Eddie Munson for the rest of the year, but the fact that Ms Taylor would speak so candidly about a student.

“I—I-“ you tried to articulate what to say next, but found you were unable to gather your thoughts.

“I can’t,” you finally managed, dumbly. Ms Taylor raised a thin eyebrow at you.

“Well,” she said. “It seems that unless you want to repeat your senior year, you don’t have much of a choice.”

“But, Ms Taylor, I—“

“Look,” she sighed your name. “You’re a smart girl. Mr Munson may be… a handful, but I promise he’s harmless. You will be fine. You can even meet on the school premises, if you’d feel better about that.”

Dear Lord, you didn’t know how to tell her that the reason why you couldn’t tutor him was not because of his reputation, or that you were scared of him, it was because you could barely form a coherent thought in his presence.

“Are we clear?” She asked, arms crossed. You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. You just gulped and nodded.

“Good,” she smiled tightly. You sighed, turning to leave, already knowing you’d be late to your next class. She called your name as you began to exit, your hand on the door handle.

“Just know, I will be checking weekly with Mr Munson to see how tutoring is going. So don’t think that if you fail to show up I won’t know.”

You nodded, shutting the door behind you as you left.

Great. No escaping it. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if he really did hate you? What if—

“Hey.”

You jumped, too caught up in your thoughts to even notice the tall, lanky figure leaning up against the lockers next to Ms Taylor’s classroom.

“Jesus, sorry.” Eddie looked at you with wide eyes, an arm coming to steady you on your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

When you just stared at him, he cleared his throat, removing his hand from your shoulder. A part of you mourned the loss.

“So, uh,” he began, looking down at his feet as he walked alongside you. You tried not to notice the faint scent of his cologne that sent a thrill through your gut. “So I guess she told you? About the tutoring?”

When his curly head snapped up to meet your eyes, you quickly faced forward, realizing that you’d been ogling his side profile while he was stumbling over his words. You nodded in confirmation.

“Ok,” he said, rubbing his hands on his legs. “Ok,” he repeated, stopping and turning to face you. “I’m just gonna cut the bullshit: I really, really need the help in this class.” His eyes were a bit wild, panicked. Like he thought you were going to run away from him the moment you got a chance. “Like, ‘really,’ as in, if I don’t pass, I don’t graduate. And I know you really don’t wanna do this, and she’s forcing you, and that you hate me, and you’re scared of me, and all that, but if you could please—please— just help me get through this class, I will make it as painless as possible spending all the time with me.”

By the end of his little speech, he looked frantic, like he was pleading—and you suppose he was. And before you could stop yourself, you just nodded, looking at him dumbly, before remembering to speak.

“I’ll help you pass.” Was all you could manage.

He sighed a breath of relief, running a hand down his face.

“Thank you,” he said, and you could’ve sworn it was the most sincere you’d ever heard him. “Thursday after school in the library sound good?”

- - - -

You arrived early, because, of course you did.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement; you were terrified. Mostly of making an even bigger fool of yourself than you had earlier in the week.

You’d spent the better part of the last three days poring over your last interaction with Eddie in the hallway, when he’d begged you to tutor him, and you’d gotten about five words in edgewise.

He’d practically accused you of hating him, and instead of correcting him—like you’d been dying to do for the whole semester—you stood there like an idiot.

You wished you’d told him then and there in that hallway that he was wrong; that you weren’t scared of him, and that you didn’t hate him. That you were just shy and awkward and he unnerved you. So, you decided to do just that.

Last night, while finally talking through the whole situation with Robin, you’d decided that the first words you’d say to him would be: “I’m not scared of you and I don’t hate you.”

It was a bit abrasive and to-the-point, you knew that. But, you also knew that if you let him get a word in before that, you’d lose your nerve. At least this way, you got your point across.

Your eyes ran over the page of your book for what felt like the fiftieth time. You sighed, throwing the worn novel down on the table.

There was no way you’d be able to get any reading done, not with your nerves eating you alive.

The book wasn’t that good anyway. You had no clue what Robin meant when she said Hemingway was ‘profound.’

You sighed again, eyes finding the clock in the library.

He was five minutes late.

You felt something deflate inside you. Maybe he’d been bluffing about the whole thing, or maybe he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t show. Your mind ran with the possibilities.

The library was sparse at this time.

It was just past three, and most students had already rushed out of the building. It was Thursday, which meant that the town was just waking up for the weekend. It wasn’t uncommon for friend groups to have small get-togethers, or even for one of the bigger cliques to throw a party.

In fact, Steve had managed to convince Robin and yourself to attend one later that night. Which was a feat, because you didn’t make a habit of going out.

It was at Darren’s house: one of the few friends from high school that Steve actually kept up with after, y’know, everything.

Robin was hoping Vicky would be there. You were just hoping to let loose a little.

With all this business with Eddie and your impending (maybe) graduation, your nerves had been through the roof. A party was just what you needed to calm down.

“Sorry,” he appeared out of nowhere, and before you could stop yourself, you jumped.

“Sorry!” Eddie rushed out, slumping down in the chair across from you. “Really, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you all the time. Sorry I’m late.”

You stared at him.

God, he was pretty.

His hair was big and frizzy, per usual, and fell around his face as a halo. His brown eyes were wide and almost doe -like, and his cheeks were rosy with exertion.

He must have been running, you thought. But why? He wasn’t that late.

“Were you running?” You blurted before you could think. Your brows furrowed as you looked at him.

“Uhhhh, yeah,” he drawled. “Yeah, I ran into some trouble getting here.”

“What trouble?”

“The usual.” Eddie rubbed his eyes, and for the first time since he’d sat down, you noticed how disheveled he looked.

His white tee shirt was stained on the shoulder with what looked like… fruit?

“Is that… food on your shoulder?”

“Shit,” his gaze snapped to his shoulder. “Yeah, uhm. It’s jello.”

Eddie looked… embarrassed. For the first time in the time you’d known him, he looked sheepish.

“Was it Jason?”

“That obvious?” He laughed mirthlessly. In fact, it was a little menacing.

“He’s a dick.” You said without thinking.

Eddie just nodded, staring down a place on the table.

“Are you okay?”

He looked at you, dark eyes guarded.

He seemed to be sizing you up, eyes following you up and down. But his usual playfulness was gone. Instead, he looked almost… forlorn.

“Uh, yeah.” His lips lifted into a humorless smile. “Just done with this bullshit, I guess.”

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m a freak. I’m tired of not behind able to fucking walk to class in peace, I’m tired of people being fucking,” he slammed his hands on the table in front of you. When you jump, he throws them up. “Scared of me!”

You stay silent for a moment, letting him stew and collect himself. After a few seconds, Eddie sighs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“I’m not scared of you, and I don’t hate you.”

“—mean to—what?”

“I’m not scared of you.” You repeated, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans. “And I don’t hate you, like you said on Monday. I’m Im just,” you stopped to take a breath. “It’s just hard for me sometimes. With… new people.”

“You sure? Because you look scared to me.”

“You aren’t helping.”

Eddie shivered, rubbing at the jello-colored stain on his shoulder.

“Do you… want to change?” You asked shakily.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you rushed out, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. You just—looked cold. I have an extra sweatshirt.”

“And you think it would fit me?”

“I like to wear them a few sizes too big.” You added lamely.

Eddie contemplated you for a moment, before sighing.

“What the hell,” he said half to himself. “Why not?”

After he pulled the lilac crew neck over his head, he smiled.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I know it can’t be great for your…image.”

You snorted at that.

“Yeah, my image isn’t exactly suffering.”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward, setting his chin on his fists.

God, his forearms. You forced yourself to look away.

“Yeah. Not exactly prom queen here.”

“Eh, prom queen is overrated.”

You laughed, your own crinkling eyes meeting his. You thought you saw his eyes soften as they looked at you. The vision of him there, in front of you, made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, turning to your notes in front of you.

“So,” you straightened your notebook. “Ready to talk about T. S. Elliot?”

- - - -

The party was loud. Mötley Crüe boomed through the speakers that Darren’s rich family had in what seemed like every room.

You silently thanked Darren for having good music taste. The party would have been unbearable otherwise.

You sighed as you walked out the back door of the house. The inside had gotten a bit too stuffy for you, and with Robin trailing after Vickie and Steve reconnecting with one of his old flames, you were flying solo for the time being.

You brushed your jeans with your hands before sitting down on the back step, a lukewarm rum and coke in the solo cup in your hand.

You felt yourself deflate.

As a senior in high school, this was the closest you’d come to actually living.

While Robin had had her fair share of secret flings and parties and Steve had lived a wild four years of high school, you were just… there.

At eighteen years old, you felt like you’d missed out. Been robbed. The Upside Down had something to do with that, you supposed. Fighting for your own and the kids’ lives from Russians and other-worldly demon creatures tends to do that. Still, it didn’t stop your friends from living. You felt like you’d let your teen years pass you by, but mostly, you felt pathetic.

Sure, you had the grades, but rather than that? You had nothing to show for your time at Hawkins High.

“Hey tutor,” the smooth drawl came from the side of the house. You’d know it anywhere.

Eddie rounded the corner of the house, approaching where you were sitting on the back step.

He wore the same black jeans he wore earlier today, but his jello-stained shirt and your lilac crew neck were gone, replaced by a t-shirt with what looked like Judas Priest’s logo. His arms were crossed over his chest, covered by the black leather he wore more often than not.

“Hey,” you offered lamely, rubbing your hands together.

“What ya doing out here all alone?” He came to stop in front of you, his chunky combat boots taking up your line of vision.

“Just…taking a breather.” You smiled up at him, tight-lipped.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Scoot over, then. It’s a little too… preppy for me in there.”

You obliged, scooting over a few feet so he could sit next to you. As he dropped down on the concrete step next to you, he was close enough that you caught his scent.

It was deep, some kind of cologne, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of what you knew was weed.

“So…” Eddie bumped his shoulder into yours. “Thought this wasn’t your crowd?”

“It’s not,” you pressed your hands between your knees. “Robin and Steve dragged me here. I thought it would help me… unwind.”

“Robin… she’s in band right?”

You nodded.

“And Steve… I don’t think I know that one.”

You chuckled.

“You definitely do,” you peeked over at him, eager to see his reaction. “Uh, Steve Harrington?”

Eddie looked at you like you grew a second head.

“The hair?” He asked incredulously.

“The very same,” you nodded.

“God, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m beginning to question the company you keep.”

Your heart leapt at what he called you. Sweetheart.

“I know, I know,” you held out your hands. “He was an asshole. But he’s different now.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He is!” You turned to Eddie defensively. “I wouldn’t be friends with him if he was still the way he used to be. He isn’t like…”

“Jason?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at you. “Like Pam and Diana?”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “He’s still… peppy. He just lost all the bad parts.”

“Hmm,” he crossed his arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, the only sounds being your breath and the roar of the party inside. Your breaths swirled in the chilly air around you.

“Why are you here?” You spoke finally. “You said this wasn’t your scene.”

“It’s not,” he shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little baggy filled with green substance. “I’m, uh, supplying the party favors.”

You snorted at that.

“These things good business?”

“You have no idea.” He nodded to the inside of the house. “A lot of these kids’ allowance is more than what my uncle makes in a week.”

You hummed, content to just sit in silence.

Eddie tilted his head at you, leaning his chin on his hands again like he did earlier in the library. He tilted his cheek toward you, an easy smile on his lips.

“So, why are you really out here, tutor-girl?” He looked at you curiously. “You look upset.”

You drew a heavy breath, before sighing.

“It’s dumb.” You picked at your nails.

“Try me.”

“I feel like..” you looked up, before turning to Eddie. “I feel like I’ve missed out. I’m a senior, I’m graduating this year, and I have done nothing.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t move to interrupt you. He only leans further toward you, spurring you to continue. The alcohol gave you the rest of the confidence you lacked.

“All my friends have had their little rebellions. Their flings, all of it. And I have done nothing, except drink shitty booze and nearly lose my mind.”

You blew a deep breath once you’d finished. Somehow, you felt even worse—more pathetic—now that you’d vocalized it.

But Eddie didn’t look at you like you were pathetic. Instead, he looked pensive, hand on his chin as he contemplated. It was your instinct to backtrack.

You moved to stand

“Sorry. That was a lot. Nevermind. Let’s just forget I—“

“No, no, don’t apologize.” He grabbed your arm and gently pulled you back to sit beside him. “Especially after what I dumped on you earlier.”

Your cheeks were red, you could tell. Whether that be because of the combination of the alcohol and the confession, you couldn’t tell.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, still thinking. You snuck a glance over at him and noticed a wry smile on his face. “Let’s fix it then.”

“What?”

“We have til May, don’t we? That’s eight months. Your senior year isn’t over yet.”

You laughed nervously.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that—“

“You’re not! I’m offering. Consider it payback for all the hours you’ll be tutoring me in Taylor’s class.”

“Okay…”

“Okay.” Eddie smiled. “It’s a deal, then .”

[pers-books]

Obituary

William Russell obituary

Stage and screen actor who was part of the original cast of Doctor Who

Michael Coveney Tue 4 Jun 2024 17.40 BST

William Russell, left, as Ian Chesterton, with William Hartnell as the Doctor, Jacqueline Hill as Barbara and Carole Ann Ford as Susan in the Doctor Who serial The Keys of Marinus, 1964. Photograph: BBC

On 23 November 1963 – the day after the assassination of President John F Kennedy – the actor William Russell, who has died aged 99, appearing in a new BBC television series, approached what looked like an old-fashioned police box in a scrapyard, from which an old chap emerged, saying he was the doctor. Russell responded: “Doctor Who?”

And so was launched one of the most popular TV series of all time, although the viewing figures that night were low because of the political upheaval, so the same episode was shown again a week later. It caught on, big time, with Russell – as the science schoolteacher Ian Chesterton – and William Hartnell as the Doctor establishing themselves alongside Jacqueline Hill as the history teacher Barbara Wright and Carole Ann Ford as Susan Foreman.

Russell stayed until 1965, returning to the show in 2022 in a cameo appearance as Ian and, since then, participating happily in all the hoop-la and fanzine convention-hopping, signing and schmoozing that such a phenomenon engenders.

Before that, though, Russell had achieved prominence in the title role of the ITV series The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-57) – he was strongly built with an air of dashing bravado about him; he had been an RAF officer in the later stages of the second world war – and as the lead in a 1957 BBC television adaptation of Nicholas Nickleby, transmitted live in 18 weekly episodes.

William Russell on the set of the 1950s television series The Adventures of Sir Lancelot. Photograph: Mirrorpix/Getty Images

When Sir Lancelot went to the US, the first British TV import to be shot in colour for an American audience, Russell rode down Fifth Avenue on a horse in full regalia, like some returning, mystical, medieval knight in the heart of Normandy. The show was a smash hit.

By now he was established in movies, playing a servant to John Mills in The Gift Horse (1952) and a clutch of second world war action movies including They Who Dare (1954) opposite Dirk Bogarde, directed by Lewis “All Quiet on the Western Front” Milestone – he met his first wife, the French model and actor Balbina Gutierrez on a boat sailing to Cyprus to a location shoot in Malta – and Ronald Neame’s The Man Who Never Was (1956), the first Operation Mincemeat movie, in which he played Gloria Grahame’s fiance.

Until this point in his career, he was known as Russell Enoch. But Norman Wisdom, with whom he played in the knockabout comedy farce One Good Turn (1955) objected to his surname because he felt (oddly) that it would publicise a vaudevillian rival of his called Enoch. So, somewhat meekly, and to keep Wisdom happy, he became William Russell, although, in the 1980s, for happy and productive periods with the Actors Touring Company and the RSC, he reverted to the name Russell Enoch. Later, he settled again on William Russell. All very confusing for the historians. His doorbell across the road from me in north London bore the legend “Enoch”.

He was born in Sunderland, the only child of Alfred Enoch, a salesman and small business entrepreneur, and his wife, Eva (nee Pile). They moved to Solihull, and then Wolverhampton, where William attended the grammar school before moving on to Fettes college in Edinburgh and Trinity College, Oxford, where his economics tutor was the brilliant Labour parliamentarian Anthony Crosland.

But Russell didn’t “get” the economics part of the PPE (philosophy, politics and economics) course and switched, much to Crosland’s relief, to English. In those years, 1943-46, he worked out his national service and appeared in revues and plays with such talented contemporaries as Kenneth Tynan, Tony Richardson and Sandy Wilson.

Derek Ware, a fight co-ordinator, runs through a scene with Russell during a break in filming the Doctor Who story The Crusades at the BBC studios, Ealing, in 1965. Photograph: Mirrorpix/Getty Images

On graduating, he played in weekly rep in Tunbridge Wells, fortnightly rep at the Oxford Playhouse and featured, modestly, in the Alec Guinness Hamlet of 1951 at the New (now the Noël Coward) theatre. He had big roles in seasons at the Bristol Old Vic and the Oxford Playhouse in the early 60s, while on television he was in JB Priestley’s An Inspector Calls with John Gregson, and was St John Rivers in Jane Eyre.

He played Shylock and Ford (in the Merry Wives of Windsor) in 1968-69 at the Open Air, Regent’s Park, before joining the RSC in 1970 as the Provost in Measure for Measure (with Ian Richardson and Ben Kingsley), Lord Rivers in Norman Rodway’s Richard III and Salisbury in a touring King John, with the title role played by Patrick Stewart.

His billing slipped in movies, but he played small parts in good films such as Superman (1978), starring Christopher Reeve, as one of the Elders; as a passerby drawn into the violence in the Spanish-American slasher film Deadly Manor (1990); and in Bertrand Tavernier’s Death Watch (1980), a sci-fi futuristic fable about celebrity, reality TV and corruption, starring Romy Schneider and Harvey Keitel.

With John Retallack’s Actors Touring Company in the 80s, he was a lurching, apoplectic Sir John Brute in John Vanbrugh’s The Provok’d Wife, possessing, said Jonathan Keates in the Guardian, “a weirdly philosophical elegance”; a civilised Alonso, expertly discharging some of the best speeches in The Tempest; and a quick-change virtuosic king, peasant, soldier and tsar in Alfred Jarry’s 1896 surrealist satire Ubu Roi in the Cyril Connolly translation.

Back at the RSC in 1989, he was the courtly official Egeus in white spats (Helena wore Doc Martens) in an outstanding production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by John Caird, and both the Ghost and First Player in Mark Rylance’s pyjama-clad Hamlet directed by Ron Daniels. In 1994 he took over (from Peter Cellier) as Pinchard in Peter Hall’s delightful production of Feydeau’s Le Dindon, retitled in translation An Absolute Turkey, which it wasn’t.

He rejoined Rylance in that actor/director’s opening season in 1997 at the new Shakespeare’s Globe. He was King Charles VI of France in Henry V and Tutor to Tim in Thomas Middleton’s riotous Jacobean city comedy, A Chaste Maid in Cheapside. Many years later, in 2021, his son Alfred Enoch (Dean Thomas in the Harry Potter movies), would play on the same stage as a fired-up Romeo.

Russell is survived by his second wife, Etheline (nee Lewis), a doctor, whom he married in 1984, and their son, Alfred, and by his children, Vanessa, Laetitia and Robert, from his marriage to Balbina, which ended in divorce, and four grandchildren, James, Elise, Amy and Ayo.

 William Russell Enoch, actor, born 19 November 1924; died 3 June 2024.

-- I'm a bit annoyed there's no mention of the fact that William continued to play Ian Chesterton for Big Finish.

[zmbienii]

” LOST “

pairing : daryl dixon x f!reader

wc : 1.3k

warnings : harsh reader, reader has a dog, daryl has feelings, both silently care for eachother, prison era

summary : he takes up carol’s idea and goes to find something you lost, taking your dog with him. leaving you worried in the prison.

your dog was the only thing that was keeping you sane during this part of your life. from being by your side losing your family and closest friends. he kept you grounded, reminding you who you were still alive for. 

when you first showed up in front of the gates, they didn’t wanna let you in. 

scared that you’d set the dog crazy on them. they kept questioning you as if you were one of them walkers. after what felt like hours of interrogation, they finally let you in. 

taking your appearance in, they studied you as well as your dog. treating him as if he was a human too. 

but soon you found your place in the prison, so did goose. you took your trips and helped out as much as you could, you took runs out to get food, you kept watch, you helped kill. you two finally fit in somewhere. 

you and goose lay in your cell, covered up under your blanket. still deep into sleep the sun peered through the window, gracing your skin with a golden glow. 

the sun finally rose to the point where you were getting blinded. sputtering awake you stretched out. sighing to no one. reaching out to pet your comrade, you were left with an open hand. the space next to you left open. 

shooting up in the bed you scanned the room for him. to no avail, you got up to search around the prison block. looking in every nook and cranny around. anxiety filled your body. buzzing as tears slowly slid down your face. 

you passed carol’s cell multiple times and she must've noticed. dragging herself out of bed she came up to check on you.

”what wrong hun?” her gaze lingered on you.

”goose. dunno where he is.” you shot out harsher than you meant it to be. her hands fell onto your shoulders. “hey, we’ll find him.” you huffed in reply.

”have you asked maggie and glenn if they’ve seen him? they’re on watch”

you laughed. “like they’d notice anything. probably been fucking up there all night.” 

“worth a shot, i guess.” you mumbled as you shortly thanked her before walking off. making your way out of the prison and to the watch towers, nervousness filled your stance.

you yelled up to the two in the tower. rustling and clattering emitted from the tower.

maggie slid her way out of the tower and met your view. 

“ya’ll seen goose?” you shouted up to them. maggie turned to glance at glenn, maybe he had seen him. 

after a few seconds she turned back to your gaze. 

“nah, i’m sorry. maybe rick knows?” she said curtly. 

another huff fell from your lips as you stormed away. anxiety fell way as anger bubbled inside you.

everyone knew that goose meant a lot to you. for them to not pay attention to where he might’ve gone, pissed you off. 

you reached rick’s cell. clanging on the bars and gaining his attention. 

“ya seen goose?” 

his eyes turned to sorrow. “no, i haven’t.” 

“any idea where he might be?” you shot out. 

“i really don’t. i bet someone here knows though. i can help you look for her?” he offered. 

a scowl filled your face. “nah, i’ll keep lookin’ for HIM by myself.” 

majority of the day had passed as you questioned the group members. none of them having seen where your puppy may have gone. you sat out by the gate as the sun fell. night slowly taking over the day. small tears falling from your face as you throught about where goose may be.

he might be out there fending for himself? maybe a walker in the prison got him? maybe he was stuck in a cell somewhere, waiting for you to come and get him?

you thoughts were soon cut short as you heard rustling in the woods. a branch being thrown onto the ground and a short four-legged creature running to retrieve it. 

the animal stayed where the branch was thrown, waiting for someone to catch up.

now that you truly thought about everyone you talked to today, you realized. daryl was no where to be found. he was the last person you thought of to go look for, the last person you thought of in general. 

you watched the person emerge from the woods, crossbow thrown against their back. 

you watched closely as both of them came closer to the gates. anger fueled inside of you as you watched them enter through the gate. 

you stood up without thinking as they walked further into the yard. 

“hey!” you shouted, gaining both of their attention. your dog hearing your voice and running over to you as fast as he could. tackling you down to the ground. 

“ya never heard of telling someone when you take their fucking dog?” you shot to the man.

“not a big deal, girlie.” he chuckled. oh was he in for it now. you stood up harshly. gaining up on him quickly. 

“not a big fucking deal? you must think you’re so funny, huh?” 

“never said tha’.” he spoke as he kept walking. 

“oh fuck you.” you shot at him. a chuckle fell from his lips. “you’d like tha’ huh?” 

you were done with his shit at that point. turning back on your heel and back towards where you once were perched, goose trailing behind.

——

you had sat up in the watch tower for who knows how long. a tired goose laid at your feet. silently rubbing shapes into his spotted fur, you watched the stars. sleep overcoming the animal, soft snores falling from his snout. 

silent tears fell onto your skin as you thought about the past day. 

you thought you lost the closest being to you. the one who had been with you through it all. the one thing that could calm you down during your worst days. it pissed you off how daryl thought he could just take your dog right from your cell. 

even through your thoughts you could hear the sounds of boots coming up the stairs of the tower. placing your leg over it, you silently wished he would give up and walk away. 

he knocked on the top of the hatch, but to no avail. 

“c’mon jus’ let me in.”

”why? you wanna grab my dog again?” you scoffed.

“jus’ let me in.” he huffed. your thigh slid away from the hatch, pulling back to your body.

hands connecting onto your dog in front of you again.

the hatch opened as daryl emerged from it, climbing up into the space. a silence fell over the two of you. neither of you wanting to speak first. 

the silence edged on for quite a while. the only noise filling your ears were goose’s snores. 

“look, i didn’t think it was a big deal.” he finally spoke. 

“wasn’t a big deal.” you scoffed. “i woulda let you take ‘im if you’d asked.” 

“well my bad.” he rolled his pretty blue eyes.

you hummed, not knowing how else to reply. 

“though’ rick tol’ ya.” he spoke digging into his pocket. “i asked him. didn’t say shit.”

”why’d you ask rick to tell me but not tell me yourself.” 

“was tryin’ to get somethin’ for ya.” he spoke softly, barely being able to be heard. your eyes glanced over to his, examining him. 

“why would you get something for me?” you questioned. “carol gave me an idea.” he spoke as he fiddled with the object in his pocket. 

you raised your eyebrow at him. silently questioning him. 

“remember when we found you after we left the farm? you lost your necklace?” 

“what about it?” your expression softened as you glanced up at him. ”tha’s why i brought goose. we went ‘n found it for ya.” he stared at the floor as he pulled the object out of his pocket. 

the shiny silver chain glimmered in the moonlight, softly falling into your hands. a small smile filled your face as you examined the object.

”how’d you find it?” you gazed up at him. “goose did most of it, we were in the area and we were lookin’ around for it.” 

“oh, thanks.” you held it in your hands. “no problem.”

”need some company?” he offered, a lopsided smile itched your face. 

“sure.”

[ssa-montgomery]

we're slaves to any semblance of touch

Part 2

Word Count: 8891

Summary: Y/N and Daryl have been pining after each other for weeks and when Maggie finally urges Y/N to make her move, she and Daryl end up alone for the first time. Daryl is more than happy to help Y/N lose her virginity.

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader, Maggie Rhee

Warnings: Swearing, mutual pining, loss of virginity, smut, oral sex, blow jobs, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, slight innocence kink, unprotected sex

A/N: This fic was requested here on Tumblr by @azanoni using my prompt list and I had so much fun working on this one! I'm a sucker for prison-era Daryl so I knew the prison had to be the setting for this one and I just loved this request! Please feel free to send me any requests you might have for Daryl fics :)

Prompt(s): "Show me how you like to be touched." "Is this your first time?" "I don't know what to do." "Let me teach you."

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

Masterlist

By now you were really starting to question what exactly you'd done for the Georgian sun to this level of a personal grievance against you. You used the bottom of your top to twist the cap off your second water bottle of the hour, your hands too soaked with sweat to get a proper grip on it. It had finally reached that point in the middle of summer when everything was unbearable, even the metal railing of the watch tower was burning against your skin as you leaned forward on it. You thought maybe on the ground below it wouldn't be half as bad but you and Maggie and the unfortunate luck of drawing the first watch duty today. You stuck to the walkway surrounding the tower, trying as much as possible to avoid the tiny concrete sauna that was the watch tower's main room. Even out there it didn't seem to help with the humidity in the air.

Though you did have to admit, even if the heat was choking you there was always one positive to taking the watch shift - the view. The view from the tower covered most of the prison and for miles into the forest that surrounded it beyond the fence, giving you the perfect view of everyone going about their own jobs below you. 

Carol, ever the worrying mother figure to the group was making her rounds with water and food, making sure to get drinks to the people that would otherwise forget and collapse of dehydration in this heat. Further across the prison, you could see Rick tending to the fields that had been established for a more steady source of food with Carl doing his best to help. Beth sat near them, Judith playing in her lap as she watched her dad and brother work with a curious expression. As you scanned across the prison finally, your eyes fell on him.

Daryl as per usual was tucked away in his own corner of the prison, hiding away from the chatter and noise of everyone else. He was on his knees, shifting to sit back on his heels as he examined something on the old motorbike in front of him. One of the old prison toolboxes sat next to him as he searched around inside the now open side of the engine. Even from here, you could see the black streaks of greasy motor oil coating his fingers as he work them over the mechanics of the inside of the engine, holding one of the tools in his teeth while both of his hands were busy.

You couldn't pull your eyes away from the way he worked with his hands, the sweat shining on his skin where it clung to his arms and the back of his neck. There was something about the way his muscles moved under his skin while he loosened the parts with the wrench that made your skin flush with heat in an entirely different way to the harsh rays of the sun, your cheeks now burning warmer than before.

"You're starin'." The sing-song tone of Maggie's teasing voice rang out as she leaned in over your shoulder to follow your line of sight. You spun around, ripping your eyes away from Daryl no matter how much you wished you could keep watching, practically falling over yourself as you did. The rifle over your shoulder clattered against the railing as you finally steadied yourself only to be met with Maggie's grin. 

Maggie was one of your closest friends at the prison and your days on duty together like this often turned into gossip sessions for the pair of you. She was the one person you told everything to, including when you'd started to develop a crush on the tracker she'd just caught you trying to undress with your eyes.

"I'm not starin', I'm just- admirin' from a distance." Your weak excuse of a defence crumbled under one knowing look from Maggie as she tilted her head to one side, raising an eyebrow at you. Okay so maybe you were staring, maybe you did stare at him at any chance you got. Maybe you did stare at just how skilled his hands were working with his crossbow, easily manipulating it in his hands while he cleaned it or the rare, soft, loving look he got on his face whenever he was around Judith.  It didn't matter to you, as long as you were looking at him in some way nothing mattered to you. It was like everything else fell away around you. "Well, maybe I'm starin' a little."

"So you still ain't found the nerve to talk to him 'bout your feelings yet then?" Maggie asked looking at you curiously as she leaned against the wall opposite you. You could see the way she kept the perimeter of the prison in her line of sight at all times, even while you talked.

"Who says I haven't?" You brought your hand up over your heart, a fake offended gasp falling from your lips as you laughed at how obvious it was that you were still very much hiding your crush.

"You mean besides the quite frankly sad puppy dog pining?" You could always rely on Maggie to call you out on your bullshit when you needed her to. You scoffed at her blunt way of phrasing it as she laughed at you but she was right, you knew that. The pining truly had reached a whole new level. "I mean come on, everyone can see it. And with someone as observant as Daryl? He's an idiot if he hasn't already figured out your feelings for him."

At this point, you were certain Daryl already knew about your feelings for him. What was going on between the two of you was - complicated, to say the least. Maybe even more complicated than you'd let on to Maggie. You were confident it wasn't one-sided, Daryl having nearly straight out told you as much when you joked about the possibility of you having a crush on him. You could feel his eyes on you around the prison almost as much as you stared at him but things at the prison had been chaotic. Trying to establish a new community here had its own challenges and adding a relationship to the mix would have just complicated things for both of you. 

Now though, things were starting to settle, day-to-day life becoming smoother and maybe it was finally time to see if your gut feeling that Daryl wanted this just as much as you was right.

"I just - I'm nervous is all. You know I don't have much experience in certain areas Maggie, or well any experience and I don't know how to bring that up with him. It's not a conversation I've had to have with someone I really care about before." You sighed, shifting your hands nervously as you thought about it. You were willing to admit that your thoughts about Daryl more often than not turned inappropriate and you wanted nothing more than to act on them with him. Unfortunately, your experience with anything in that area stopped at a sad excuse for a messy make-out session with an asshole of an ex-boyfriend in your teen years. You didn't want to scare Daryl off if he thought your lack of practice would ruin the experience.

"I've seen the way he looks at you Y/N, given the chance that man would fall to his knees and worship the very ground you walk on. He ain't gonna care about your experience level as long as you're learnin' with him." Maggie said then, her tone serious as she gave you a reassuring look, her hand resting on your arm. Maybe she was right, you'd waited so long now that maybe it was time to stop worrying and just do something about your feelings.

"I guess the thing now is finding the time to talk to him alone with how busy we've all been lately." In the past few weeks, everyone's focus had been on turning the prison into a livable space for the group which had proved to be a challenge. When you weren't helping to clear the cell blocks you were on watch and on the rare few times you did have a day to yourself Daryl was away on runs. The most one-on-one time you'd managed to have with Daryl was during watch duty like this.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong but, he seems pretty alone down there right now." Maggie seemingly caught the nervous look on your face as you looked down at him again, torn between wanting to run straight to him and your duty to your job. Who knew when you might get another chance like this. "Just go for it, don't worry 'bout keepin' watch. I'll call Glenn, and tell Rick we wanted the time alone if he asks 'bout it. Don't waste any more time thinkin' 'bout it." 

"Thank you, Maggie, I really do appreciate this." You felt more excited than you had in a very long time as the possibilities ran through your mind. You gave Maggie a bright smile as you pulled her into a quick, tight hug before rushing to disappear down the ladder of the watch tower. You weren't going to wait for a second more.

~~~

"Whatcha doin' out here?" You asked peeking over Daryl's shoulder at the engine as you walked up behind him, your shadow towering over him as for once you were the one standing taller in your exchange. His eyes snapped up to you standing over him where he still knelt on the ground, dropping the wrench he'd been holding between his teeth. You could see the surprise on his face at your sudden presence behind him, not expecting to see you all day when he knew you were on watch duty. You let out a slight giggle at his reaction, not used to seeing him actually surprised. "Just me didn't mean to spook you."

"Nah. Ya didn't spook me." He said with an almost embarrassed shake of his head, his hair falling into his face to hide his piercing eyes. Your hand twitched at your side as you fought back the urge to reach out and brush his hair back out of his face. "Just ain't expecting anyone out 'ere is all. Pretty sure I burned out the brake pads on the last run. See that? Ain't supposed to be like that." 

You dropped your rifle down next to Daryl's crossbow and took a seat on the ground next to him, the concrete warming the skin of your legs. You leaned in as close as you could, your shoulders touching as your gaze followed his finger to where he was pointing at some exposed part of the bike. You let out a hum and nodded your head as he leaned in and started to work on pulling the piece loose. You pretended you knew what was happening just to continue watching him work with his hands, seeing each delicate touch this close up when in reality none of his bike talk made any sense to you.

"Gonna have to take her apart and replace the belt most likely." Daryl sighed, wiping his hands on his already filthy jeans as he sat back, propping one arm up on his knee. His arm brushed against yours as he moved and you sucked in a harsh breath at the contact. "A project for another day. Ain't gonna be able to do it without some scavenged parts so I gotta wait till the next run now."

There was a beat of silence as you both enjoyed the company. Daryl sat down fully on the ground, resting on his elbows as he stretched out, his legs spanning out in front of him until he was practically lying down. You watched the way his head tipped back, his eyes closing as he took in the heat of the sun on his face. His body was already covered in a thin layer of sweat, his hair sticking to the nape of his neck while his hands were coated in motor oil practically up to the wrists. 

There was something about him like this, messy and so involved in something he was passionate about that made him so attractive to you. Even when you had no idea what he was talking about you could listen to him talk all day, that deep southern accent commanding every ounce of your attention. It was rare for him to hold a conversation he was truly interested in so you savoured every single one.

"Have you been out here all day? Why don't we head inside for a bit? It would do us both some good to get out of the sun for a while and wash up before you end up with heatstroke."  You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as you realised what you'd just said, the suggestion slipping out before you could even think. Part of you was still nervous you'd the read whole situation wrong as you waited for an answer, Daryl watching you curiously. What if he really wasn't interested in you like this and you scared him off for good?

"Sure, yeah. Good idea." He nodded much to your relief and pushed himself up from the ground, rolling out his neck muscles that had grown stiff from being bent over the engine all morning he did. The movement gave you the perfect view of his muscles tensing all the way down to his shoulders and back, your eyes following them until he turned around to face you again. You tried to look away but it was too late, Daryl catching you staring directly at you. You could have sworn you saw the slight tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he reached a hand out to you, grabbing your wrist to pull you up from the ground. He glanced down at your wrist and winced at the ring of oil he'd left on your skin where his fingers had been wrapped around you. "Shit sorry. Guess I really should get washed up." 

"Don't worry 'bout it." You reassured him, your fingers absentmindedly tracing where he touched you. In reality, it felt like the oil would burst into flames at any second with how your skin burned from even the simplest of touches for him. It really was time to admit you were down bad for this man. "C'mon then."

There was a look of confusion on Daryl's face as he watched you grab your gun and walk away from the entrance to the central cell block that everyone used as living quarters. Your nerves were growing, almost stripping you of your confidence as you tried to figure out a way to explain your choice without entirely clueing Daryl into your plan. 

"On a hot day like this everyone's gonna want to wash up, the queues for the washroom in there are gonna be long, the other cell block is still mostly unused and the water system works just as well." You shrugged as casually as you could, gesturing towards the other building. 

There was a flash in Daryl's eyes as you turned away from him, your hips swaying more than usual as you made your way towards the door. It was as if he realised your plan at the mention of an empty building to yourselves on the one day you skipped out on your work to give you the time alone you needed. He didn't say anything, instead nodding at you as he grabbed his crossbow and moved to catch up to you.

You could feel your heart beating against your ribs almost hard enough to break free as you walked, Daryl's low strides quickly catching him until his steps fell in time with yours. Neither of you said anything as you walked, both of your minds racing with the idea of what could possibly happen when you were finally alone together. 

You were the first to push open the door to the cell block to find you were right, it was entirely empty, your footsteps echoing off the high ceiling. Unlike the other cell block, this one had only recently been cleared for use and people who were already settled in the other building hadn't bothered to move their stuff out there yet leaving the two of you completely alone.

"See? Told you we could skip the lines." You laughed, hoping your playful tone masked the nerves bubbling just below the surface. Your plan was more spur of the moment and as a result, was far from well thought out. Sure you finally had Daryl alone but you had no idea how to go about outright asking him for what you wanted or how to get him to make the first move on you.

"Clever girl." His eyes seemed to trace a path down your body as he spoke, no longer trying to hide the way he let his gaze linger on certain parts of your body a little longer. The sound of the praise coming from him had that blush threatening to creep back up on your cheeks. Something in the air had changed, it was no longer heavy with humidity but instead with a tension between you that could have been sliced with a knife.

You slipped your gun back off your shoulder and left it on the table in the main entrance hall along with the belt holster you'd become so fond of and it was shortly followed by the sound of Daryl's crossbow clattering down next to them. You turned to head down the hall towards the washroom, genuinely looking forward to cleaning the heat of the day off your skin even if this was all part of your plan. You had expected Daryl to wait in the hall until you were done so he could take his turn but instead to your surprise, he followed you down the hall and into the washroom. 

There wasn't a word exchanged between the two of you as you cleaned yourselves up, a tension filling the air that you both seemed unwilling to break just yet. You slowly cleaned the oil from your wrist, the action more of a second thought as your focus stayed on the mirror in front of you. In its reflection, you could see Daryl running his hands under the water, carefully rubbing away the oil on his skin. He dipped his head down and splashed his face with the running water, washing away the oil he'd managed to smear over his brow. You copied his movements, the cold water admittedly feeling amazing against your face.

The final part of your plan clicked in your mind at that moment, this was your chance if you were ever going to get one. If you were being honest the front of your tank top was admittedly filthy. Your morning started with helping Carol collect the ingredients for breakfast from the fields in the front of the prison and the dirt was still caked into the material of your top. In a split-second decision, you were sliding the top off over your head before you could back out, leaving you standing in only your grey sports bra.

Your hands practically shook as you dipped the top under the running water and tried to rub away the dirt. You weren't sure that Daryl was even looking, his back still towards you as you took one final look in the mirror before turning your attention to cleaning your top. You thought you might actually forget how to breathe if you let yourself think about what you were doing too much but it didn't take long to get your answer.

Daryl's fingertips were still cold from the water as they met your back, the feeling a strong contrast against your warm skin. He was standing directly behind you now, his movements nervous, as if he was still afraid of reading the situation wrong but he was playing into exactly what you wanted. His fingers traced a path down your spine, starting at the bottom of your neck and coming to a stop just above the waistband of your shorts.

"Is this alrigh'?" He asked, his voice rough and uneven, already becoming laced with lust but needing your reassurance before he went any further. He needed to hear you say this was what you wanted. You turned around to face him, his hands falling to the rim of the sink as he trapped you between it and his chest. Your breathing was becoming laboured already, your cheeks turning red with the heat that was now burning through your veins. At that moment you had never been more certain of anything in your life.

"Daryl, I didn't invite you out to the only empty building around for no reason." You laughed, the sound light and sweet to his ears as you basked in the feeling of this finally happening. Sure you'd know for a while this wasn't one-sided but to have Daryl confirm it felt surreal, part of you thought you were dreaming this entire thing. You reached out a hand and let it gently rest on his chest right over his heart, feeling it beat against your palm as it picked up speed. This wasn't a dream, this was very real. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want this."

That was all the invitation Daryl needed as he brought one hand up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together as he leaned in, his lips finally, finally meeting yours. The kiss was softer than you'd expected, slower. His lips moved carefully over yours as he took his time, learning how your body melted against his, the way you moved as your lips started to match his movements. It had been a long time since you'd kissed anyone and you were admittedly out of practice but there was something about Daryl, about the way his hands fit so perfectly around your waist that calmed your nerves and made everything flow more naturally.

"You were really plannin' this the whole time?" Daryl smirked against your lips, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. You squirmed under his stare, feeling overwhelmed by just how much power he had over you already. "You didn't give a damn 'bout my bike, did ya?"

"Daryl you are so incredibly sweet when you talk about what you're passionate about. I could listen to you all day." You sighed finally giving into the urge and reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes as you smiled sweetly at him. "But I have no fucking clue what you're talking about when it comes to that bike."

Daryl let out a laugh at that, a genuine, loud laugh that you'd never heard from him before. The sound made your heart skip a beat, it was like music to your ears, your smile lighting up your whole face as you watched him. There was something about seeing him like this, the side of him that no one else got to see, the side that was for you and you only that made you curious about what else he had to show you. That needy feeling was starting to take over again as you took both his hands in yours and slowly started to walk towards the washroom door, leading him behind you.

"You think these cells are still as intact as ours?" You asked, your voice still managing to hold that hint of innocence despite the intentions that question so obviously held. Daryl happily followed you out into the main cell block before taking the lead, pulling you into a small cell further down the first row. The cell was cleaner than you expected, the bed was still made with a soft blanket and there was a gas-light lamp sitting on the desk giving the room a surprisingly cosy feeling. You looked around the room and slowly started to recognise the clothes scattered around as Daryl's

"Sometimes I need space to myself." He shrugged as he caught the look of recognition on your face. He dropped down onto the bed and spread his legs apart, pulling you in by the waist until you were standing between them. "You ain't the only one with yer eye on this cell block. Been wantin' to take ya up here for a while."

Daryl slid his fingers into the belt loops of your shorts and pulled you even closer until you were pressed against him, chest to chest. You made the move this time, leaning in to kiss him slowly as you melted into his touch. His hands found your hips and gently squeezed before starting to slide downwards, exploring every curve of your body. You couldn't believe you weren't the only one who'd been thinking about this. You grew needier the more you thought about Daryl fantasising about bringing you out here and who knows what else he'd thought about doing with you.

He pulled away from the kiss and took in the sight of you standing in front of him in nothing but your bra, his hands running up your bare sides as he did. His touch was gentle against your skin, almost curious, exploring as he took note of every reaction and sound he drew from you. You let out a soft sigh as his hands trailed down to grab at the back of your thighs and he took the opportunity to pull you into another kiss, sliding his tongue into your open mouth. 

His hands were so close to where you needed them now and all you could think about was how much you wanted him to touch you properly, to relieve some of the pressure between your legs that was now becoming unbearable. Instead, he took his hands off you earning a disappointed whine as he leaned back on his hands on the bed, tilting his head to the side as he watched you closely.

"Show me how ya like to be touched. Wanna treat ya right." He said then, his voice holding that commanding tone that made you weak at the knees. You could feel the flush settling over your chest, creeping up into your face and betraying your false confidence as he placed all the focus on you. It wasn't that you were completely inexperienced with pleasure. You'd touched yourself before, admittedly mostly to the thought of Daryl but that was different. Those times you were focused on the end goal, there was none of the teasing or neediness you wanted from Daryl. You wanted him to touch you like you were the only thing he cared about in the world. 

"I uh -" You stuttered over your words, trying to find the best way to voice your thoughts to Daryl but the words seemed to die in your throat. You could feel the embarrassment you'd feared clawing its way up into your chest as you watched the expression on Daryl's face change. He seemed to have pieced it together but his look was more curious than it was judgemental.

"Is this yer first time?" He asked, his voice soft and quiet as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His thumb traced across your side trying to ease your anxiety as he waited for an answer.

"I hope that's not a turn-off." You chuckled nervously, turning your face away from his gaze as you admitted the truth. Admittedly it did make you feel better to finally have it out in the open and Daryl didn't seem as affected by the news as you'd expected. 

"There ain't nuthin' you could do or say that's gonna be a turn-off. Been wantin' ya too damn bad for anythin' to change that." Daryl reassured you, pressing a kiss to the centre of your chest. You could feel your anxiety melting away at his words and the way his lips felt against your skin. The scruff of his beard tickled your skin as he tilted his face up to meet your gaze, the surprising softness in his steel eyes almost taking your breath away. His lips moved over your collarbone pressing gentle kisses there. "I'll take care of ya, be gentle with ya, I promise."

 "I trust you." You nodded knowing he meant every word of it.  You'd never trusted anyone in the way you trusted Daryl. Your hands fell to the back of his neck, running through the hair there before lightly pulling. You loved the new shaggy look he had as he grew his hair out longer, it suited him nicely you thought. Daryl tugged on your waist, pulling you down to straddle his lap before his hands glided up your back, meeting the edge of your sports bra. You got the hint as he snapped the elastic against your skin and leaned back, giving him the space to pull the material up over your head.

You could practically feel the path his eyes burned across your skin as he took in the slight of your now entirely bare chest. His touch returned to your chest, his calloused hands gently kneading at your breasts. You whined out at the feeling of finally having Daryl touching you like this as his palms rolled over your sensitive nipples. His own eyes were heavy with lust as he stared at the way your breasts looked under his hands, enjoying the feeling of your warm skin under his touch.

"You look fuckin' incredible like this Doll," Daryl mumbled against your skin as his lips found their way to your neck, moving across the front of your throat. The words seemed to tumble from his mouth before he even really thought about them and the rare praise from him had you rolling your hips against him, your body searching for any friction it could get. Your reaction spurred him on as he realised how much you loved the praise. "Best tits I've ever seen."

"Daryl." You tried to hold onto enough of your decency to still at least sound embarrassed by the way he was talking but his name sounded more like a moan on your lips. You didn't want to admit how much his words affected you but the way your hips started to grind against your control showed it. His lips left a trail of red blotches across your skin in their wake as his blunt nails dragged down your back, marking you as his.

"I mean it. Every word. Could spend all day worshippin' this perfect fuckin' body. Got an ass to die for too." His hands roamed lower down your back until he grabbed at your ass, using his grip to pull you closer to him. You collapsed into his chest, your arms winding around his neck as you pulled him into a needy kiss. He squeezed at your ass, making your hips roll forward again and with this new position you could feel his erection straining against his pants underneath you.

His need was growing with each kiss, his lips growing rougher, messier against yours with each kiss becoming all teeth and tongue. You needed more, needed everything you'd been daydreaming about with him. You had a hundred fantasies running through your head and even if you were unsure what you were doing you wanted to learn, with him.

The kiss broke as you shifted further back in his lap, his mouth chasing yours as you pulled away with a teasing look on your face. You glanced down at his lap as your hands finally found his belt. Daryl let out a soft groan as you played with the leather material before you started to thread it through the buckle, sinking off his lap and onto the ground between his thighs. As he pieced together what you were trying to do he caught your wrist then, urging you back up.

"You don't gotta do that, not yer first time."  You smiled up at Daryl through your lashes, giving him the sweetest look. It truly was heartwarming how willing he was to put the full attention of this moment on you but you'd been dreaming about what it would be like to go down on him for weeks now. 

"I know but I wanna." You reassured him, kissing the inside of his wrist where he was still holding yours in his hand. You let the kiss linger for a moment longer, feeling his pulse under your lips. "I just- I don't know what to do really is all."

"Let me teach ya then." He said, his voice raspy with the thought of just how much you wanted to please him. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about you on your knees like this for him before. He quickly undid his own belt before kicking his boots and tattered, well-worn jeans off to one side leaving him in just his boxers. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs at the sight of the outline of his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. You hadn't even touched him and yet your head was swimming, making you feel drunker than any alcohol ever had. "Just go slow, take ya time." 

You reached out and lightly dragged your fingers across his cock over his boxers, feeling the way he twitched as your touch pulled a strangled moan from his lips. The sound awoke something in you, making you forget about your own nervousness for a moment as you went for it, finally tugging off his boxers to throw them down with the rest of his clothes. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and slowly stroked him up and down, watching for even the smallest reactions on his face. You could see the rise and fall of his chest as he fought to keep his eyes open, watching you as you let your tongue peek out, leaving kitten licks just under the head on every downward stroke.

"That's it Darlin' j'st like that." His southern drawl deepened as the lust he was feeling took over, building higher and higher. There was something about your innocence and how willing you were to learn, to let him be the one to ruin you that turned him on beyond belief. You kissed your way up his length all the way from the bottom until your tongue ran across the tip, licking up the precum that was starting to build up there. You leaned in then and took the tip between your lips, looking up at him as you slowly pushed your head forward. Your tongue ran along the underside as you took the first inch or two. "C'mon ya can take a lil' more, atta girl." 

You couldn't say no to the praise coming from Daryl as you pressed forward again, stopping just before his cock moved far enough back in your throat to make you gag. You moaned lightly around him at the feeling of finally having your mouth on him, the sound vibrating in your throat sending a spark of pleasure through Daryl,  You let your tongue do the work as you held him in your mouth, letting your body adjust to breathing through your nose as you traced along the vein that ran up the length before lapping over the rip.

"Suck." He said then, his voice breaking on the word as he tapped your full cheek. His hand found its way to your hair, tangling his fingers there as he slowly started to pull your head back before urging you forward again, setting your pace. He needed more, needed movement before he lost his mind. "Ya gotta suck and move yer head." 

You followed his instructions, hollowing out your cheeks as you matched the pace he set for you, bobbing your head over his cock. His hand tightened in your hair as you sucked and he let out a low groan of your name, his head falling back towards the ceiling. You pressed your thighs together in hopes of getting some relief as you ached between your legs at the noises he made. You got a little too eager at how good you were making him feel and took him deeper than you could, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he hit the back of your throat and you gagged around him.

"Shit-" He moaned out at the feeling of sliding further into your throat, getting him even closer to the edge but he held himself back, resisting the urge to thrust his hips knowing it was too much for you. "Just breath, 'ts alrigh'. Easy sweetheart."

It sounded like he needed to listen to his own advice as his breathing grew heavy, his ragged breaths turning to groans as each movement brought him closer to the edge. You could feel your panties being ruined between your legs, growing wetter with each gasp and breathy moan of your name that fell from his lips. You started to gain more confidence and brought your hand up to join the mix, stroking what you couldn't take into your mouth

"Fuck!" Daryl practically growled low in his throat as he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him rougher than he'd intended as you started to move your hand harder along his cock. You looked up at him, wide-eyed with fear that you'd done something wrong but that quickly faded when you saw the look on his face. He collapsed backwards on the small bed, his eyes screwed shut as his hand tightened around the base of his cock, trying to regain control over himself. His chest was rising rapidly, a string of curses falling from his mouth. "Fuck- I almost fuckin' came. Christ woman how the hell was that your first time? That mouth is sinful." 

"You could have you know," The mix of knowing just how good you'd made Daryl feel and your slight nervousness at matching his dirty talk made you giggle. You rested your chin on his thigh and looked up at him through your lashes, sinking your teeth into your already swollen and saliva-coated bottom lip. "Come in my mouth. Kind of hoped you would."

"Next time Darlin' next time." You could feel your heart racing at the thought of a next time with Daryl already. You never wanted anyone else after this, Daryl was all you needed. He leaned down and helped you up from the rough cell floor, his hands smoothing over the harsh red marks showing on your knees. You kind of hoped they'd last, as a reminder. "C'mere to me."

You crawled onto the bed next to Daryl as he sat up and finally shrugged off his leather bike vest and short-sleeved flannel, giving you a full view of his chest. His body was perfect, every mark and scar just adding to how attractive he was to you. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his stomach muscles tensed under your touch the lower you reached. Every touch and every moment of this was better than you could have ever imagined. You could never have imagined how hard his muscles would feel under your hands as they moved to his forearms, tracing over the tattoos there. 

Daryl's hands found their way back to your waist and he easily manhandled you, moving you however he wanted until you were lying down on the bed underneath him. He kneeled over you, grabbing your jaw in both hands as he crushed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss that knocked the air from your lungs. He was already strung out, his entire body on edge from how close he'd been earlier but still, his hands were gentle with you as they slid over your stomach, his kiss the only thing betraying how desperate he was.

He made quick work of your shorts, flicking the button open with one hand before pulling them down your legs. Within seconds of your shorts hitting the ground, Daryl sipped his hand into the front of your panties, slowly dragging his fingers across your folds as he felt how wet you were.

"This all for me? Did ya get this wet just from suckin' my dick?" He asked his voice dripping with that teasing tone that drove you wild, stopping his movements until you answered him.

"Yes. All for you Daryl." You gasped as he drew his fingers around your clit in painstakingly light circles as a reward for your answer. It was enough contact to send fire burning through your nerves but nowhere near enough to give you any kind of release. You bucked your hips up into his hand, hoping to get any kind of pressure but instead, he pulled his hand back out of your underwear moving to pull the already ruined material down your legs. He threw your panties to the side and returned his thumb to its previous position, brushing over your clit while he slowly pushed his middle finger inside you.

"Fuck ya really are tight aren't ya?"Daryl groaned out feeling the way you clenched around his finger as he imagined what it would feel like around his cock. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of you as he started to stretch you out. You were admittedly worried about being able to take Daryl when you felt the slight burn from his finger alone and he was bigger than you'd expected. "Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make sure yer ready." 

The feeling of Daryl fingering you was unlike anything you could have ever had with your own hands. His fingers were thicker than yours, stretching you out as he a second one to the mix and they were skilled. Years of working with his crossbow gave him the precision he needed to find your g-spot as he hooked his fingers inside of you. You never knew it could feel this good when it was someone else bringing you pleasure. He leaned down and caught the sounds of your moans with his mouth in a messy kiss.

He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across your jaw and down your throat towards your chest, you already knew they'd leave a mark as he sucked at your skin. His teeth nipped at your collarbone as you lost yourself in the pleasure that was starting to build higher and higher in the pit of your stomach. His tongue licked across your skin, soothing where he'd just bitten before slowly moving down to lap across the curve of your breasts. He focused his attention on you, trying to ignore how painful hard he was as he felt you buck up against his hand at another curve of his fingers. His lips latched around your nipple as his fingers never let up their pace, slowly stretching you out until Daryl could easily slide a third finger in.

Daryl grew restless with each minute that passed, changing his focus to your other breast as he sucked and lapped his tongue across the hardened nipple. The feeling of you clenching around his fingers as your hips thrust up to meet his movements drove him crazy. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Think ya can take me now sweetheart?" He asked, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear, his hot, uneven breath fanning across your skin. Your hands found his shoulders before sliding up to lock around his neck, pulling him into a kiss as you nodded. You were more than ready to feel Daryl inside of you, your body practically screaming at you with how badly you needed to come.

"Y-yeah Daryl please, please fuck me." You whined out at the feeling of Daryl pulling his fingers out of you, suddenly clenching around nothing. He brought his hand up admiring the slick coat of your arousal that coated his fingers before slipping them into his mouth. He let his eyes fall shut as he sucked, his tongue licking the taste of you from his fingers. 

"Fucking hell woman, I'm eatin' that pussy first chance I get. Taste so damn sweet." He groaned out, that low gravelly sound pooling between your legs as you pictured Daryl's head between your thighs. "But right now I might just fuckin' explode if I don't fuck ya."

Daryl shifted you both into a more comfortable position as he settled between your legs, his hands pushing your thighs further apart. He took a minute to admire the sight of you spread open in front of him before he lifted one leg to wrap around his waist. You got the hint, digging your heel into the small of his back to pull him even closer. You could feel his cock pressing against your folds when he adjusted himself as close as he could get to you.

"Ya ready for this?" He asked looking down between your bodies as he took his cock in his hand and teased the head over your clit. You threw your head back at the feeling, your leg tightening around his waist.

"I want you, Daryl." You gasped out, nodding your consent as he move his cock lower to gather some of the wetness around your entrance. Lube hadn't exactly been a top priority on your last few runs but Daryl still wanted to make sure this was as comfortable as possible for you as he stroked himself, spreading your arousal over his cock. 

With your final nod of approval, he pushed forward, the first few inches sliding inside you. You cried out at the feeling, your back arching off the bed as your hands grasped his arms, dragging your nails across his skin. Even with how much Daryl had tried to prepare you it still burned as your body fought to adjust to his size. Your chest heaved with your harsh breaths as you whimpered.

"Shh hush sweetheart yer alrigh'. Just breathe, it'll get better I promise. I'll go slow." You could feel your body relaxing from the simple words of praise from him as his hand cupped your jaw, swiping his thumb across your cheek. He moved at your pace, waiting until he felt your muscles relax, releasing their tight grip on him before he thrust forward again. This time he sunk into you fully, holding himself close to your body as he fought every instinct that was telling him to thrust, to just move. He buried his face in your chest, placing kisses between your breasts as he waited for you to adjust again.

"Daryl - move, please." The pleading tone in your voice sounded foreign even to your own ears but you couldn't help it. You had never felt this full, so completely surrounded as Daryl's body caged you into the bed. He stretched you out in all the best ways and even the pain it caused got you higher and higher. It felt like time slowed around you as Daryl stayed still inside of you and it was driving you crazy, you needed more, needed to feel him move.

Daryl wasted no time in giving you what you wanted, he pulled out almost entirely before thrusting back in. The rhyme he set was slow but deep, each thrust reaching a place inside you that had you moaning out at the contact. You gave into the feeling more and more as you adjusted, the pain giving way to pure pleasure. There was something freeing about being in the building alone, you didn't have to worry about who would hear you or what kind of attention you'd attract as your moans grew louder which each thrust until you were damn near screaming Daryl's name.

This feeling was far beyond anything you'd experienced before, beyond anything you could have imagined. Your senses were entirely overwhelmed by him, the feeling of each thrust building you towards the best orgasm of your life. The sound of his pants were growing heavier in your ear with each thrust and you were breathing in the rich, heady scent that was so unmistakably Daryl that made your head spin whenever you were around him.

You dragged your nails down his back, feeling the raised skin of his scars under your touch as you went, leaving new red marks after you. His thrusts were starting to grow sloppy, losing their rhyme as they came faster than before as he chased his own release while trying to keep his focus on you. His hands pinned your hips down to the bed as you tried to arch into the feeling, completely losing control of your body as your brain melted with how close you were.

All it took to break the pressure that was building inside of you was one swift drag of his thumb across your clit and you were spasming around him, your entire body freezing as you came hard. You grasped at him, needing something, anything to ground you as broken moans fell from your lips.

"Daryl! Oh god - I - shit - please. Please." You weren't sure what exactly you were begging him for anymore, all you knew was everything was too much and yet somehow not enough at all. Your control over your body entirely shut down as you turned to putty in his hands, letting him use you in whatever way he needed as he chased his own orgasm.

"Fuck ya feel fuckin' perfect, that pussy squeezin' me like that. Look so fuckin' sexy when ya cum like that for me. I coulda watched that forever." Daryl's words were becoming slurred as he spoke, barely making any sense anymore as his entire focus was on the feeling you were bringing him. His hips snapped roughly against you to the point of almost being painful before finally he rutted against you, moaning loudly into your neck as he came. You could feel him twitching inside you as he collapsed against you, his arms giving out underneath him. He didn't bother pulling out of you yet. "Doll ya have ruined me forever, I ain't ever gonna get as good a fuck with anybody else. Don't wanna either." 

"Daryl that was - that was- holy shit." You laughed but it came out more breathy as you collapsed back against the pillows, trying to steady your breathing. Daryl slowly pulled out of you, the feeling making you groan out at the slight discomfort but you were almost glad of the ache that you knew would remind you of what you'd done for days.

"Hope that was as good as ya were expectin' for yer first time," Daryl said nuzzling his nose under your jaw as he lay down beside you on the small bed, turning you on your side so he could pull you back against his chest.

"It was more than perfect, thank you, Daryl." You reassured him as you tangled your arms with his that had settled around your waist. You lost track of how long you lay like that, simply enjoying each other's company as Daryl pressed light kisses across your skin. You could have easily fallen asleep like that and any other time and you would have but you were still technically on duty. "We should get back before the others start askin' questions." 

Daryl hummed his agreement as he watched you sit up on the bed, running his hand up your back before you put your bra back on. He stood up from the bed as you started to dress yourself again and quickly threw back on his pants, walking over to grab a clean washcloth from the desk. Without saying a word he knelt down in front of you and gently wiped away the mess between your legs, leaving a light kiss against the outside of your thigh once you were clean. You could feel your heart flutter at the gesture, just the simple act of him taking the time to take care of you.

With your tank top still damp and abandoned in the sink of the washroom you slipped Daryl's oversized shirt on over your head before reaching to grab your panties from the pile of clothes. You glanced around in confusion when you noticed they weren't next to your shorts anymore.

"Daryl did you see my -" You looked up to see the cheeky grin on his face as he slipped his hand into his back pocket and dangled your panties from the tip of his finger in front of your face.

"Lookin' for these?" You rolled your eyes and reached to grab them from him but he quickly dodged your movement tucking them back into his pocket. "Consider it a keepsake. Until next time."

"Well in that case," You stood up slipping back on your shorts with nothing underneath, even after everything you'd just done it felt like the naughtiest thing you'd done all day. The denim rubbed against you in all the places you were still sensitive. You pushed up on your toes to kiss his cheek before whispering the next words in his ear. "I'll find a cuter pair for you to keep next time."

Taglist: @azanoni @ineedmorefanfics2

[midnightmayhem13]

hii i was wondering if you could write something with carol x reader potentially inspired by i can see you, if not no worries! i love your writing btw 🤍

I can see you

i love you for requesting this anon😭🩶 it's deff my most played song now🩶❕

carol danvers x reader; sexual hint but js kinda hot

being earths mightiest hero's, they had to have some ground rules.

1.no going on solo missions without at least one person knowing

2.don't steal each others equipment

3.no dating

now only a few cases were excused on the last one. maria and nat were allowed because maria wasn't an avenger when they met.

but carol always tended to be a rule breaker anyways.

when carol was introduced to the avengers. she was told the 'rules' there was a bunch more but she didn't really care about them.

that last one made her laugh though. she didn't have any business falling in love here on earth. lord was she wrong.

carol was talking to fury when she laid eyes on you. her sentence soon turning into mush.

"ah danvers, this is y/n. y/n, carol danvers. she will be working with me and the avengers for the time being."

you two shook hands and greeted eachother. fury had to go attend a meeting so you two talked for a little. after learning the basics of her you had to go train.

"see you around danvers" you said with a wink waking away.

"see you around beautiful." she said staring at you as you walked away. you had completely taken her breath away.

both you and carol could tell that you were attracted to each other. but decided to keep it professional. fury couldn't know.

and this wasn't the easiest thing ever. being surrounded by some of the greatest spies and all. but who cares at this point.

you and carol started getting close. really close. you started talking more and spent nights in eachothers rooms.

without being seen of course.

at work and around the team you two could be seen as close friends. piers. office buddies..?

but there was some thing more going on behind closed doors. in the middle of the night giggles and pants could be heard from your room.

during training when carol was almost sure she could pin you, you surprised her. slamming her down and pinning her to the mat.

whispering "i quite like this view captain" bitting her ear lobe, while straddling her lap.

god she was addicted to you.

seconds after you got off and helped her up steve walked in.

you grabbed your bag. greeting him and saying goodbye to carol with a wink and a little grin.

"care for a spar danvers?" steve asked not noticing the gesture.

"i-i'll catch you later steve." she said walking past, eyes looking someone dreamily.

steve was tired enough to not question it. and carol could wait to have you against the wall.

later that day carol caught you walking into your room, looking around as if you were expecting her to follow you. you smiled when you saw her.

she pushed past the door, hand grabbing your hips and lips instantly going to yours.

"god you little minx" she whispered on your lips crashing into the wall

----------—---------—---------—-------—--------—----

at carols first gala, hosted by tony of course, she didn't know what to expect.

and god she wasnt sure how much longer she could keep you a secret but you looked breath taking.

the curve of your ass, the plump of your beautiful breast, your gorgeous eyes, soft and supple lips, the way your hair fell perfectly like dominoes. safe to say she was incredibly smitten.

your dress wasn't helping the urge to make out with you right then and there either.

meanwhile you were practically drooling at the sight of carol. her velvet, dark red suit. her biceps straining deliciously against the fabric. her smirks and winks couldn't go unnoticed either.

the whole time carol was sending you knowing glances. while you sent her kisses, making sure no one could see.

when you two found a corner in the room away from most people, you had some much needed pecks. quickly parting when your heard steps coming closer.

after deciding to head to the bar you two engaged in a conversation. it couldn't hurt to just talk, right? didn't hurt to be that close either. definitely didn't hurt that carols hand was on your exposed thigh.

but you were interrupted when some business people wanted to talk to carol. it got a little more personal than either of you wanted it to.

"and you miss y/n have you got a special someone?" the old lady asked.

you smirked at carol before answering, " no, i don't actually"

it was simple but the women seemed satisfied with it.

"but i must get going, i have a few things to get to." you added as you said your goodbyes winking at carol.

"see you later captain"

you meant it to be flirty. the other women assumed it was a form of respect. what she didn't hear was the hushed "meet me tonight"

as you walked to the hallway that would eventually lead to your room you looked back at carol. winking one final time that night, disappearing into the dimly shaded walkway.

"i have to get going too" carol muttered interrupting whatever the lady was saying, pushing past her following your steps.

much to her surprise she found you leaning against the wall next to your door, waiting for her.

she looked back before grabbing your waist and kissing you passionately. putting one of your legs on her hip.

"they're gonna find out" you whispered on her lips. grabbing ahold of the back of her hair and neck.

"just don't make a sound" carol answered picking you up and wrapping your legs around her.

throwing you in the bed she threw her jacket on the floor as she moved fast but kept quiet.

a/n this was so hot and i hoped i did this amazing ass request justice🩶

[callsign-joyride]

No Doubt About It | T.K.

Summary: You tell Tom that you're pregnant right before Maverick's surprise party.

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Content warnings: Pregnancy, talk of pregnancy, fluff

Word count: 797

“I don’t know, Carol. There’s something different about this detachment. Nick and Mav just got back and I know Tom’s got another two weeks, but I’m more worried about him than usual.”

“You’re pregnant. How long have you guys been trying?”

“We started this time a month ago. But you know that people don’t always get pregnant on the first try, so I don’t even know why that’s part of the question.”

“Take a pregnancy test. It’ll at least answer one of your questions.”

You wanted to wait for Tom to come home before you took the first pregnancy test. That wasn’t how things were going to go when you stayed up for most of the night wondering if you were pregnant or not. Carol had a point. You called her and Charlie over when you decided to take one of the tests.

Waiting was the most stressful part. You couldn’t sit still for the five minutes that it took for the results to come in. You almost jumped off of the couch when the timer went off. As you looked at the test in the bathroom, you realized that you couldn’t really see if there was a second line or not.

“Here, you’ve been pregnant. Tell me if you see two lines or not,” you said as you handed the test to Carol. She chuckled and turned on the main light in the living room to get a better view. She showed the test to Charlie and they both started giggling.

“What is it? Come on, I can’t wait,” you said.

“You’re pregnant,” Carol said.

“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t - oh.”

Two weeks went by in a blur. You had to swear Carol to secrecy on the whole thing. Charlie wouldn’t tell anyone, but if Carol told Nick, it wasn’t going to be long before all of Top Gun knew. You were able to pick Tom up in the late morning, which gave the two of you some time together before you had to put the final touches on the surprise party for Maverick. In everything that you did, it felt like there wasn’t a good time to tell him. 

Both of you slept until late the next morning. Tom had decided to make a quick trip to the grocery store to get some food for breakfast and lunch. He was slightly confused when he came back to see you on the couch, laughing with Carol and Charlie. 

“What’s all this about?” He asked.

“We’re trying to finish planning Mav’s surprise party on Saturday. Goose and Bradley are in the backyard,” you explained.

“I don’t want to go. I just wanted to spend the next few days with you before I gotta go back to work.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going because I’m going. I’m not drinking, either.”

“You’re gonna deal with Mav sober? I can barely handle Mav while I’m sober.”

You looked at Carol and Charlie before smiling.

“Well, someone’s gotta get you home and I’m pregnant.”

Tom’s jaw dropped and you laughed.

“Wait wait wait. Back up,” he said.

“Someone’s gotta get you home?” You asked.

“No, after that.”

“I’m pregnant,” you said. More laughter ensued as he asked you how you could’ve been pregnant. (“I’m pretty sure you were there.”) He walked over and gave you a hug. Words couldn’t describe how happy the two of you were in that moment.

Mav’s surprise party rolled around, and you had been the one in charge of bringing the cases of soda. Tom would barely let you lift a finger as the two of you got out of the car and he went for both cases of soda, leaving you to carry the gift.

“Babe, I’m barely eight weeks pregnant. I can carry the sodas,” you said.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to.”

With the party in full swing, you stood with Tom and Slider. Tom had his arm around your waist while he was holding a bottle of water. 

“Alright, man. We’ve got another surprise for you,” Goose told Mav.

“Uh, okay. What is it?”

“Ice and his girl.”

“Oh my God, did they break up? They look real chummy if they broke up. Why would you tell me that on my birthday?!”

“No, no, they didn’t break up. She’s pregnant.”

“Goose, that’s worse! We’re gonna have an Ice junior running around here in a couple months! Again, why are you delivering this news on my birthday of all days?”

Goose’s laugh distracted you from the conversation that you were having with Slider. You looked in his direction and saw a shocked look on Mav’s face, and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle at the situation.

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“I think Goose just told Mav.”

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07

[callsignthirsty]

OMG THIRSTY YOUR SUGGESTION BOX IS OPEN UMMM, first of all hi I love you, second I was thinking maybe a maverick x femPILOTreader can (her call sign be avalanche?) were they are a thing that only goose and carol know about, but not really just “casual sex” in mavs words, then ice starts flirting HARD with the reader and mav gets jealous and makes a big scene and they end up breaking up over it (cause maverick is too hard headed) and he regrets it forever but says nothing (that man won’t swallow his pride) and maybe a time skip to top gun maverick? Where he and the reader are called back together to train the team (is this too much?), I think it’d be cute to see mav fall in love all over again (not really cause he never forgot her) with her and be together in the end. Bonus points if she is like an aunt to rooster cause she was also good friends with the Bradshaws. I don’t know if it’s something you’d like to write or if it’s really not up your alley. Sorry if it’s a mess not good at explaining my self, anyway I hope you have a lovely day ❤️❤️❤️

Hey there @i-wear-wet-socks313 — Thanks for sending in your suggestion. There was a lot to unpack with this one, so I hope you don’t mind that I shortened it a little bit by breezing over the events of the first movie. That said: it’s still fixing to be about 10k by the time I get around to publishing part 2 (yeah, that’s right, I had to break it into two parts!) But what can I say? Your suggestion definitely smacked me upside the head (and I liked it)! Be on the lookout for part two in the coming week or two ❤️

Pairing: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x F!Pilot!Reader (call sign: Avalanche) Word Count: 7500 Warnings: Canon character death (x2), language, a general glossing over of movie events, the author knowing nothing about the Navy or aviation smut coming in part 2 Minors DNI

Call Sign: Avalanche

You hadn't kept in touch with Iceman since graduating from Top Gun. Honestly, you hadn't kept in touch with any of your classmates — it had been easiest to cut all ties. Despite this, you'd have had to be exceptionally observant not to notice the Iceman's rise within the ranks. Not that you hadn't done well for yourself but you were no Commander of the Pacific Fleet. So when Admiral Kazansky put in the call to have you transferred to North Island for a special assignment, you were flattered. Really. You figured that Iceman's recommending you for the job spoke to his appreciation for your shared craft and his belief that you could train the squad to do what needed to be done.

The good feelings last until you learn who you'll be expected to teach alongside.

Maverick.

That's when you see this assignment for what it is: a cruel joke.

Like Iceman, you haven't seen Maverick since your joint graduation ceremony in '85. Unlike Iceman, you actively worked to avoid Maverick. Because it was just your luck that you'd have a history with the Navy's best pilot.

You'd dated for months, though neither of you was brave enough to put words to it. Carole was, though. Date. Relationship. Love. Any time she mentioned it, your cheeks would flame, Maverick would awkwardly look away, and Goose would pull her into a hug, kissing her until she giggled and the topic was changed.

Those were the days. And in a kinder world, things would've stayed like that forever. Instead, Iceman had unintentionally swooped in and blown your good thing to shit.

But even you could admit that it wasn't entirely Iceman's fault. As much as you liked Maverick, you knew that you had to keep your relationship under wraps. Though the Navy allowed women within their ranks, getting the opportunity to become one of the first female naval aviators was still a hard-won privilege and one that you didn't take lightly. The last thing you wanted was for someone to call you out for fraternization and jeopardize your job. And though you looked at Maverick as if he'd hung the moon just for you, you knew that few others within the Navy viewed his endeavors — and you knew they'd consider you, an endeavor — similarly.

But as hard as you'd tried in the beginning, you hadn't been able to stop Maverick from worming his way into your affections. And, it appeared, your efforts were similarly wasted on Iceman.

When you first met Ice, you'd suspected he was a dime-a-dozen. Tall and confident and by the rules. Until you saw him fly. You had an ego like the other pilots who made it to Top Gun, but you, at least, knew when you were beaten. And Iceman had all of you beat. Well, except for Maverick. That appreciation, however, must have been misconstrued. Somewhere along the line, Iceman had gotten it in his head that sliding into the seat next to you at the O Club and flagging the bartender down to grab you a drink was a good idea. You hadn't known he was interested until it was already too late.

You couldn't even remember the words that blew your world to pieces. Only knew that Maverick had his hand around your arm, your drink spilled all down the front of your khakis as he'd hissed and spit until he was red in the face. "You want to fuck Kazansky. Fine. I won't stand in your way."

"Pete."

"I'm done." And he'd gotten on his bike and driven away.

It had been the end of your relationship but the beginning of Maverick's downward spiral.

Goose died the next day.

Maverick turned in his wings.

Iceman won the Top Gun trophy.

Maverick was called away to the USS Enterprise right after the graduation ceremony.

You were long gone before he came back.

But here he is. Strolling into the briefing late, clad in his dad's jacket and old jeans. His brows draw down in confusion when his eyes land on you, his head tilting. Assessing.

At least he hadn't been expecting you, either. Neither of you had the advantage.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell." Cyclone draws Maverick's attention to himself, sitting behind his desk. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir."

Cyclone's frown deepens. "Wasn't a compliment." It does little to humble the smile on Maverick's face, so Cyclone goes on to introduce himself, Warlock, and yourself, though, from the casual greeting they shoot each other, you gather that he and Warlock have met before.

With little delay, Warlock goes on to outline the mission. "The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational."

Warlock goes through his slides. The plant is in an underground bunker at the end of a GPS-jammed valley guarded by an extensive surface-to-air missile array and fifth-generation fighters. "Which, in turn," Warlock continues with another click to zoom in on an aerial view of the nearby airstrip, "are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few F-14s."

"Seems like we're not the only ones holding onto old relics." You'd have taken Cyclone's words personally if they hadn't been meant as a blatant attack on Maverick. As it is, Maverick ducks his head as if the shot at him is expected.

"What's your read, Captain?" Warlock breaks the stalemate.

Maverick looks at you briefly before clearing his throat and approaching the projector. You follow along in your own hastily scribbled notes as Maverick talks through the possibilities. GPS-jamming means F-35s are a no-go. The low-level laser-guided strike is about as tailor-made for the F-18 as a mission can get. Two precision bombs. Four aircraft flying in pairs. High potential for g-loc on the way out and a dogfight all the way home. But it can be done. Supposedly.

"It's been a while since I've flown an F-18, and I'm not sure who I'd trust to fly the other three, but I'll find a way to make it work."

And then Cyclone hits you with the twist: "We don't want you to fly it. We want you to teach it."

Twelve Top Gun graduates have been recalled for the special detachment. Among them: Bradley. You can pinpoint the moment Maverick sees Bradley on the board, and you almost feel bad, but Maverick had brought this upon himself. You'd been there to pick Bradley up after Maverick pulled his papers to the Naval Academy. Had jumped in your car and floored it to the Bradshaw residence to hold the boy — now a young man — as he'd sobbed fat, angry tears.

That doesn't mean you don't wince when Cyclone sticks his fingers into the open wound that will evermore be Goose. "Tragic what happened." Even you want to smack the Vice Admiral for that.

But if Maverick has the plan and Maverick is expected to teach the graduates… "Admiral Simpson," you say, breaking your silence as you close your notepad, "I fail to see why I'm needed for this detachment if Captain Mitchell has the planning and training under control." Professional. To the point. "So if you don't need me…." You stand and make for the door. The sooner you can slip away, back to your life without Maverick, the better.

"Not so fast," Cyclone interrupts your exit and leans forward against his desk. "Let me be perfectly blunt. You–" you turn to find him pointing a stern finger at Maverick "–were not my first choice. In fact, you weren't even on the list. You are here because of Admiral Kazansky. Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy. What that is, I can't imagine. And he has assured me that you–" Cyclone's steely green eyes lock on you "–can keep him in check."

Well, isn't that rich? "With all due respect, Cyclone, I'm an Admiral for the United States Navy, not a babysitter."

"Well, for the purposes of this mission, it would appear that you are both." He tosses a file onto his desk, and you glare at it. Not only does Cyclone outrank you, but the orders technically come from the Commander of the Pacific Fleet. You could say 'no' and walk away, but unless you're officially dismissed, it's a career-limiting — possibly career-ending — move. Ultimately, you walk back to the desk to pick up the file and stack it on your notepad.

Satisfied, Cyclone turns his attention back to Maverick. "You don't have to take this job, but let me be clear: this will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun, or you never fly for the Navy ever again."

That night, as you pour over the mission file, you wonder what Kazansky is up to. There's no way he put you, Maverick, and Bradley all in the same place over a mid-life power trip. But you can't figure out what he's out to accomplish for your life.

— — —

Warlock introduces you and Maverick to the twelve graduates. Well, eleven — you both know Bradley. Cyclone is beside himself when Maverick throws away the F-18 NATOPS and shoots you a look, but what does he expect you to do? Fish it out of the trash? This is Kazansky's circus. He can fish the NATOPS out of the trash.

Bradley catches up to you as everyone disperses to get changed into their g-suits for the day's hops. "Why the hell is he here?" he asks, voice low but venom clear in his tone.

"Iceman."

"Figures." Bradley's lips pull into a tight line. "So, what do we do?"

You sigh, exhausted, and the day has only begun. "What we do best, baby bird. Fly."

Frustratingly, Maverick's just as good as you remember him. Better, even. The fire of his youth still there but tempered marginally by time. And you hate to admit it, but you're rusty. No one told you when you joined the Navy that the higher you climbed the ladder, the further you'd get from the sky. You're shot down once by Hangman — which you're sure he'll brag about later at the bar — but Maverick is untouchable.

You're already on the ground when Bradley touches down to do his own pushups. Once your arms have turned to jelly, you let Hondo go with a promise to count the rest for Bradley.

"I told you to fly, not lose your shit," you say once Hondo has walked far enough away to give you the illusion of privacy. Bradley glares at you before returning to his pushups, sweat dripping off his nose and onto the tarmac. "When you let him get to you like that, you give him the edge."

"What does it matter?" Bradley says, taking a seat and looking up at you for the first time since he was thirteen. "He's going to wash me out."

"I won't let him."

Bradley shakes his head. "Don't."

"I won't."

"Well, you couldn't stop him last time." And that's not fair. You weren't the one who'd pulled Bradley's papers. You hadn't even known until the deed had been done. Until Bradley was asking if he could stay with you for a while, and you insisted on driving to him. The same night Maverick's name had become a dirty word to both of you.

You do your best to keep the hurt off of your face. Bradley isn't mad at you; he's stressed and lashing out. But on base, you're still his superior officer. "The four best pilots will be on the mission. Whether that includes you or not, Rooster, is up to you. But it won't if you keep flying like that." You leave when your phone buzzes with a message to meet at Cyclone's office in — you check the time — ten minutes.

— — —

It's cathartic, you decide, to watch someone else lose their shit on Maverick. Unfortunately for Cyclone, though, this is one of the rare times that Maverick's rule-breaking has a defensible reason behind it.

"The hard deck will be much lower for the mission, sir," Maverick responds at your side.

"And it will not change without my approval!" Cyclone snaps. "Especially not in the middle of an exercise. And that cobra maneuver of yours? That could've gotten all four of you killed. I never want to see that shit again." All you do is shrug when Cyclone's stare focuses on you. You aren't sure what Iceman told Cyclone to make him think you could make Maverick behave, but you're not sure what you're supposed to do when you haven't spoken to the man in nearly forty years.

And then they're off again: Cyclone and Maverick. Oil and water.

"You have less than three weeks to teach them how to fight as a team and how to strike the target," Cyclone says, and he looks like he's ready to wave a hand, dismiss you all for the day, and pour himself four fingers of whiskey.

"And how to come home." Your head snaps to Maverick. His lips are parted as if he wants to say something else, but the words must escape him because instead, he repeats: "And how to come home, sir."

You try to swallow, but your throat is dry like sandpaper. Eyes wide, you stare at Cyclone. Coming home had never been a part of the training plan. This — Maverick is the first person to mention bringing the team home. A pit settles in your stomach as the realization of what you've been assigned to hits.

A suicide mission.

You're sending six people into enemy territory to die. Less, if you're lucky, but not everyone is coming home.

Cyclone chooses his next words carefully — "Every mission has its risks." — but they do nothing to settle you. Your blood is on fire, and you're simultaneously hot and cold, an icy sweat breaking out across your temples. "These pilots accept that."

"I don't, sir." Maverick's statement settles around you like a well-worn quilt. You shiver, despite yourself as a part of you that you'd believe to be long-dead flickers back to life. Because at that moment, in those words, you know that Maverick will do everything in his power to ensure everyone comes home. It feels like hope. Like trust. Clumsy fingers pull the feeling tighter around you.

"Every morning," Cyclone breaks the silence, "you will brief us on your instructional plans in writing. And nothing will change without my express approval."

"Including the hard deck, sir?" You're running through a plan to get all the paperwork together to lower the hard deck as soon as the question is past Maverick's lips because, much to your chagrin, Maverick is correct, and you should all be flying much lower to properly prepare.

"Especially the hard deck, Captain."

Without skipping a beat, Maverick hands a manila file over the desk to Cyclone. "Sir." And it appears that years of getting on Admirals' bad sides have prepared Maverick for this exact moment. You have to fight the twitch threatening to bring your lips up at the thought that Maverick knew he was going to break the hard deck and had come prepared with the paperwork already filled out.

When you regroup the next day, the hard deck sits much lower.

In two-plane teams, the graduates take turns flying the simulated course on their nav systems. And because you're going easy on them, they have both extra time and a higher ceiling than they'll have when they fly the actual mission. Even with these allowances, no one can make it to the end of the course. Except for Bradley, but he'd flown too slow despite Yale's insistence that they would be late.

As Maverick and Rooster argue over whether or not running the course in four minutes would be a death sentence, you can see the graduates' faces drop as they come to the same conclusion you'd come to in Cyclone's office: that this mission might not be doable.

"That's no time to be thinking about the past," Hangman says as if he couldn't stand that Bradley's ire had been aimed at anyone else.

Bradley's head whips to Hangman. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Something about this screams danger, but Maverick is frozen to the spot. "Rooster," you say, hoping you can get in front of this; calm Bradley before Hangman can dig his nails in and give him a shake.

Hangman leans back against his seat, a smile curling his lips. "I can't be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man."

"That's enough." Maverick finally snaps out of whatever had held him silent before, but Hangman is undeterred.

"Or that Maverick was flying when his old man–"

"Lieutenant," you bark, "that's enough!" But it's too little too late. The fuse must have been lit before you and Maverick had been on the scene because Bradley is suddenly out of his seat, other graduates clamoring to their feet to grab him or push Hangman out of his reach.

Maverick throws himself into the middle, ordering each man to stand down while Bradley snarls, "You son of a bitch!"

When you get a hand on Hangman's shoulder, he shoots you a self-assured smile. "He's not cut out for this mission."

You shove him away from Bradley. "Walk."

Hangman's pale eyes land on Rooster. "You know it."

"I said walk, Lieutenant." You give Hangman another shove for good measure, and his feet finally begin to carry him away from the situation, but not before his eyes lock on Maverick's over his shoulder.

"You know I'm right."

Back in the hangar, Maverick dismisses the class. You march Hangman to an empty classroom to reprimand his piss-poor behavior. Hangman nods in all the right places, but you doubt any of your scoldings get through to him.

— — —

Getting all the graduates on the same page calls for a new strategy. They can fly the course on their navs until they're blue in the face, but it won't bring them closer together. Won't keep Hangman from leaving his wingman out to dry or light a fire under Bradley's ass. With a few ideas in mind, you arrive at the hangar early, hoping you can snag Warlock and go over some of your ideas before seeking approval from Cyclone.

Instead, you find Maverick.

"You're a bit early," you say as you take a seat atop one of the desks in the back row. And underdressed. It seems that he hasn't updated his wardrobe since the '80s. Instead of khakis, Maverick must have walked onto base today in his jeans and an old, white t-shirt.

Maverick jumps a little bit, then erases an errant mark on the whiteboard with the hem of his shirt and returns to what he was writing. "Yeah," he agrees. "Wanted to get here before everyone else."

Clearly. "And what's that?" you ask, gesturing at the board.

"Oh." Maverick stands back and taps at the board. "New plan for the day. I'd have talked with you about it, but…." He doesn't have your number.

Class on the beach.

Meet at The Hard Deck.

Wear civvies.

"What's at the beach?"

"Dogfight football," he says as if that explains everything.

You cross your arms. "This isn't volleyball all over again, is it?"

"No." Maverick shakes his head with a fond smile crinkling his eyes. “No, this is teambuilding.”

"Ah," you play along and nod as if that clears everything up. "I think that's exactly what Viper called it when he sent us to the volleyball court." More like when Jester had chucked the volleyball at Maverick's head, and Viper ordered he and Iceman get their posturing bullshit over with. They hadn't, of course, but it had been worth a try.

"He did, didn't he?" Before he can start fiddling with the whiteboard marker, Maverick caps it and sets it down. You wonder if he's thinking about it, too. The long summer days. How the sun beat down on all of you until your shoulders were red. Goose. "Let's hope this goes better, then."

When you arrive at the beach, Hondo's already there with two nerf footballs in his hands and a referee whistle around his neck. Maverick's bike is in the parking lot, but you don't see him when you scan the beach.

"Avalanche."

"Hondo."

"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" Hondo shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the sand. Maybe Maverick had told him about your history, maybe he hadn't, but the two seem close enough. Whatever he does or doesn't know, Hondo doesn't let it come between your professional relationship.

"Just trying to figure out what dogfight football is."

The idea is all Maverick's, but the concept is pretty simple. Offense and defense at the same time. Score by running your ball into the opposing team's endzone before they run their ball into yours. Stop the other team from advancing by grounding their ball.

As Hondo gets into the hastily made-up rules, Maverick comes down from the bar, jeans rolled up to just below his knees and dragging a cooler behind himself. "You made it," he greets you, his movie star smile warm like the sun as the sea breeze tousles his hair.

"What's in the box?" you ask, hiding behind the question and your aviators. Instead of answering, Maverick opens the lid to reveal a multitude of cans. "Beer? On the job?"

"There's water in there, too," Maverick says, digging through the ice until he uncovers a water bottle and hands it to you. You drop the bottle back into the ice with a crunch. "The class on their way?" he asks as he closes the cooler.

"I'm not sure." So you fish your phone out of your pocket and send Bradley a quick text to make sure he's on his way with the others. Truthfully, you hadn't stuck around long enough to be sure. Had simply added your own note below Maverick's before leaving yourself.

Erase after reading.

The class shows up, and shirts come off. You fight to keep your eyes on Hondo as he separates you into teams. For someone pushing sixty, Maverick looks good. Trim waist, toned arms–

"Avalanche." Your attention snaps to Hondo as he motions you to the left. "Orange team."

After a quick huddle, both teams line up. Maverick and Bradley against you and Hangman. You don't have enough time to overthink it when Hondo blows the whistle, and you all take off at the snap.

By the time you stumble to the cooler for some water, you've lost track of the score. Hondo might know, but you doubt it. Laughter rang out from the group as Phoenix brought Fanboy down to the sand. Count on Maverick to succeed where others have failed.

"Looks like your plan worked," you call out as Maverick makes his way over to you, jeans wet and sandy from all the times he'd been knocked into the surf, aviators crooked on his face. You get off the cooler to grab him a water bottle as he sits in the nearby chair and pulls his shirt back on. When you turn around, he's beaming.

"Get him!" Halo screams, and you and Maverick look to where Hondo has intercepted a pass. He looks between the ball and WSO as if he's surprised before he runs, but he doesn't get far before — regardless of which team they're on — the aviators jump on him like a bunch of puppies. Screaming and laughing and wiggling as they bring Hondo to the sand. A laugh escapes you, and suddenly you and Maverick are laughing together. It feels good to laugh with him again.

Not even Cyclone's shadow can dim your shine, but Maverick does peak at him over his sunglasses. "Sir?"

"What is this?" Cyclone asks as everyone sets up again, none the wiser to Cyclone observing from the sideline.

"This–" Maverick gestures to the surf "–is dogfight football."

"Offense and defense at the same time," you say once you take a sip from your water bottle.

Ever critical, Cyclone asks: "Who's winning?"

"I think they stopped keeping score a while ago," Maverick says, his own water bottle crinkling as he drains it.

"This detachment still has some training to complete, Captain." His words are said to Maverick, but they're directed at both of you. Cyclone shooting you a look that says he expected you to do more to keep Maverick on Cyclone's track than go along willingly when he decides to play hooky. And maybe it's because this is the most fun you've had in years, but you'll readily admit that Maverick's plan had worked better than anything you'd wanted to run by Warlock. "Every available minute matters. So why are we out here playing games?"

Bob scores a touchdown, and Bradley lifts him onto his shoulders. Bob raises the ball above his head as the rest of the squad mills about them and chants, "Bob! Bob! Bob!"

"It's a teambuilding exercise, sir," you say, catching Maverick's surprised look out of the corner of your eye. "You asked him to create a team. There it is."

The three of you watch as the group runs into the ocean to cool off, only Hondo appears to be aware of their spectator, but Maverick raises a hand in his direction as if to let Hondo know that you have it handled.

"I expect them to be ready to fly tomorrow." By the time the graduates fish themselves out of the surf, Cyclone is long gone. And as they begin to walk around The Hard Deck with the promise of food and a few rounds of pool, Maverick's eyes find yours through your sunglasses.

"Well," Maverick sighs, hands clapping against his thighs, but he doesn't make to stand up. "I've gotta see if Penny will take some of these beers back."

You nod, dusting sand from your legs and shaking your shirt before pulling it over your head. "Make sure they drink some water," you say because you remember what it was like to be young and in the Navy. "I don't want Cyclone on our asses about them being hungover tomorrow."

"You heading out?" He rises to meet you.

"Yeah." You pat down your pockets to make sure that you have your keys. "It's about that time."

"Stick around," Maverick says when your keys jingle in your pocket. "Penny makes a mean burger."

Mean might be an exaggeration, but it turns out that Penny's burgers are pretty good. You hadn't expected much from a Navy bar, but credit where it's due and all that. By the time Maverick finds you at your booth, he's returned all but two of his beers and passes one of them to you. "I'd have gotten you a glass, but I already paid for these, so…" he trails off, and now that you can see his eyes, he looks uncomfortable standing at the end of your booth.

Maybe you're still running on the endorphins from your teambuilding exercise, or your newly blossoming trust is making you do some weird shit, but you decide to accept the can that Maverick offers you. You crack it open and take a sip, nodding to the bench across from you. Maverick jumps at the chance and slides onto the seat, his elbows resting on the table as he takes a gulp of his beer.

"So," you say, not entirely sure where to start with how long it's been since you've willingly engaged in a conversation with Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, but you're in a mood to humor him, "still a Captain, huh?"

Maverick chuckles. "A highly decorated Captain." It sounds like he's been saying it for years.

The conversation is stilted. Strictly professional. But it's more than you've been willing to give Maverick in years. The conversation is shot dead when the jukebox is unplugged, and Maverick gets a faraway look on his face as Bradley begins tickling at the piano keys. Before long, the rest of the bar is scream-singing Great Balls of Fire along with him, but your silence stretches even after Bradley moves on to the next song. And the next.

Your anger rises with each change of the keys. Finally, you can't take the silence any longer. "It was wrong what you did." It's the least of what you've wanted to say to him for years.

"I did what I had to."

"Bullshit," you grit. You see red. Because who the fuck did — does — Maverick think he is? "You had no right–"

"Carole asked me to do it." He says it so softly that you almost miss it between the clack of the pool table and din of conversation. Of all the defenses you'd been expecting, all the excuses you'd imagined over the years, you'd never…

"What?"

"She– Well, she–" he stumbles over his words. A couple non-starters until he can finally spit it out with a careful look in Bradley's direction. "She never wanted him to fly. Not after what happened to Goose." So there it was. What you'd always assumed was Maverick's own selfish reason for keeping his best friend's son from flying.

But it wasn't his selfish reason. Fuck! You stared into your can, the carbonation fizzing against the thin metal until you could feel it beneath your fingers.

Fuck. You'd had Maverick wrong for years. Bradley had him wrong.

Maverick clears his throat when you don't have anything to say to his overdue confession. "She made me promise before she died."

"How long?"

"The next day," Maverick gives you a sad little smile.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You still hate it, but you begrudgingly get it now. Years later. Maverick hadn't wanted to pull Rooster's papers. Carole had put him in an impossible position. "You could've lied." You hate to even offer it up. It feels wrong the second the suggestion slips past your lips. Who lies to their friend on the deathbed? But Carole wouldn't have known. She could have died in peace, and Bradley would've been none the wiser.

"I couldn't bring myself to tell her, then…" he shakes his head. "Anyway, I knew Bradley would fly." He gestures across the table at you. "Knew you'd be there to help him get back on track."

But something about all of this still doesn't sit right with you. "Why not just tell him?" You abandon your beer and lean across the table, catching Maverick's downcast eyes. "He's… It would've hurt in the moment, but you've had years." An urge seizes you, and you have to fight every instinct in your body telling you to reach across the table. To cradle Maverick's hand in your own and rub some comfort into the old bones beneath tan skin. "You have to know by now that he'd have understood." That he'd still understand. He'd be angry, but he'd understand.

For all that you were the wind in Bradley's sails after their falling out, you knew you'd always be a piss poor replacement for Bradley's Uncle Mav. God, you wished Goose was there to knock some sense into him.

Maverick takes another sip of his beer, his gaze on Bradley, surrounded by his teammates by the piano. "It's better this way," he says. "I'd rather him hate me than resent her."

"You're an idiot if you think Bradley ever could've hated Carole."

A smile tugs at the corner of Maverick's lip, but his dimples don't pop. "No one ever accused me of being smart."

— — —

You and Maverick play the role of intercepting fifth-gen fighters while the graduates practice the course at speed and attempt to hit an old refrigerator in the middle of the desert meant to simulate the underground bunker.

The day doesn't go as planned.

It starts with several unsuccessful runs, then Coyote going into g-loc, followed by a bird strike that forces Phoenix and Bob to eject. Your hands, steady in the cockpit, shake once you touch down while you try to keep your mind from spiraling. You try to do simple math in your head, and when that isn't distracting enough, you force yourself to look at the positives: Coyote is fine; Phoenix and Bob punched out, their parachutes deployed, and a helicopter is picking probably picking them up right now; Bradley hadn't been in the air.

Bradley.

Thinking about your baby bird makes your breath catch. Heart beating in your throat. How was he handling all of this? Had he watched them punch out? Had he ever–?

Before you can go to him, Maverick is there. "Hey," he says with a hand on your shoulder, and you don't brush it off. The touch is grounding. It's the only thing keeping you from entering a flat spin. "Are you okay?" All you can think is that you should be asking him that. What you muster is a nod. It's been a while since you've been in the air when something had gone wrong, and your mind keeps circling back to Goose. Maverick's eyes study yours before he ushers you toward the building. He asks you to wait before disappearing into the men's locker room and returning with a manilla folder. "Think you can bring Cyclone tomorrow's lesson plan?"

You accept the folder, looking at the thick card stock in your hands. "Where're you going?"

Hesitation and desperation war in his eyes. "Rooster." Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. You want to go after Bradley yourself, but Maverick needs it.

You swallow to wet your dry throat. "Yeah," you croak. "Good. Yeah. I'll make sure he gets it."

Maverick's hand squeezes your shoulder. "Thank you." Then he's gone down the hallway, peering through windows as he goes.

But bad news always comes in threes.

The call comes in while you're defending Maverick's lesson plan.

You hadn't even known that Iceman was sick.

Warlock offers his condolences to Cyclone, then dips out of the room to find Maverick and deliver the news. Seconds later, footsteps hurry past the door and out of the base. A door slamming as the rumble of a bike disappears into the distance.

You stand with your old Top Gun class at the service. Well, the ones who had been able to show up. Slider. Hollywood and Wolfman. Viper.

Ron had tried to get approval to fly one of the jets overhead, but his request had been denied, which, you thought, eying his hands as they shook during the eulogy, was probably for the best. After the service, the five of you grab a drink for old time's sake, and Viper pours one out for your fallen comrade. Maverick doesn't join.

But when it rains, it pours.

An email is all the warning you get that Cyclone is taking over the mission. Maverick's career as a naval aviator is over, but yours isn't. You're expected to stay on. Without Iceman to fight for him, Maverick is grounded. All over the world, you're sure, admirals and air bosses were breathing a collective sigh of relief — but to your surprise, you weren't among them.

For the first time since joining the Navy — with his best friend gone and his career at large buried alongside his wingman — Maverick is well and truly on his own.

Everyone is given a day off to mourn and collect themselves while Cyclone develops a new game plan.

New orders come through the following day. You arrive on base early and are briefed on the latest mission parameters, but they make you feel like you've swallowed lead. It's a feeling you can't shake while you change into your flight suit, a voice in your ear buzzing that you're sending your team off to an early grave. You're on your way to run through preflight to fly an example of Cyclone's plan when you swear you see Maverick out of the corner of your eye.

You squint through the early morning sun. "Maverick?" He puts a finger to his lips and waves you over, and with a quick look around, you go to him. When you're close enough, he pulls you into the shadow of the hangar he's hiding behind so neither of you will be seen by officers about their dailies. "What are you doing here?" you ask, quiet this time. "Cyclone said that you were done."

"Yeah," Maverick said, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I'm sure he'd like to believe that."

"I don't like that look." But you're smiling.

"A lot of people 've been saying that lately." He smiles back. Then: "I'm going to steal a jet."

"Come again?"

Maverick holds his hands up to calm you down. You must've been loud in your surprise because he's looking around the tarmac like he expects to be found out any second now. "The only way they come home is the way we've been teaching them," he says, and it's truth. You both know it. The squad knows it. Cyclone knows it.

Every mission has its risks. These pilots accept that.

"I won't drag you down with me, but if you could just — I don't know — distract the ground crew while I climb into one of the F/A-18s, I'll deny that you had any part in–"

You hand Maverick your helmet. "Take mine."

"What?"

"I'm set to fly the course in–" you check your watch "–at the top of the hour." With your helmet in Maverick's hands, you begin loosening the strap that fits under your chin so it'll go on easier for him. "Keep your head down and use signals during preflight or you won't make it off the ground."

"Avalanche–"

"Cyclone doesn't think it can be flown, but it can," you say and place your hands on Maverick's shoulders. "Prove him wrong."

"Thank you."

"Turn 'n' burn, Mav."

You make your way to the class after you watch Mav take off in your plane. As luck would have it, you arrive just as your plane appears on the screen.

"Avalanche," range control crackles through the comms, "you are approaching point Alpha. Confirm green range."

"Copy, Range control. Green range is confirmed." Cyclone's eyes find yours when he starts at the very decidedly not feminine voice that responds to the tower.

"Umm… Avalanche?"

"Maverick."

"We have this event scheduled for Avalanche, sir."

"Well, I'm going anyway," Mav says. "Setting time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds."

You might be the only person in the room who isn't surprised when Mav pulls off his stunt.

Cyclone takes off from the hangar with Warlock hot on his heels. You follow as they pass you by.

"You were supposed to keep him in line," Cyclone says, but he doesn't turn to look at you. Warlock does, you even think he understands why you did it, but Warlock wasn't the one Mav had to convince.

"With all due respect, sir–"

"Dismissed."

Your steps falter. "What?"

Cyclone shoots you a glare over his shoulder. "Go home, Rear Admiral. We will discuss this later." Then to Warlock: "Bring Mitchell to my office. Now."

With no other way to contact him, you head to the Hard Deck, knowing Mav will find you there eventually. You hope he's got good news when he does.

Mav takes significantly longer to show up than you'd anticipated, which is either good or bad. It's a busy night at the bar, the jukebox plays hit after hit, and one unlucky sod has the bell run on him for disrespecting a lady. No one is tossed overboard. You've only managed to drink half of your beer, your stomach lurching uneasily each time you take a sip, and your eyes jumping to the door every time it swings open, unsettled with the knowledge that you all ship out in the morning. That this was the last chance Mav had to prove the mission could be flown, to change Cyclone's mind before the team was selected. That he — you — might have been too late.

Then he shows up. Nostalgia personified in his dress whites, cap tucked beneath his arm as Loverboy croons over the clink of glasses and laughter that fills the bar. Your breath catches in your throat.

This is it. The moment of truth.

Mav's face gives nothing away as he leans in close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. "Take a walk with me?" You abandon your room-temperature beer and follow Mav onto the deck and down to the beach. He lets out a bone-deep sigh as his dress shoes fill with sand.

"What's with the whites?" You're shooting for casual, but you're practically shaking. Is this a final night of glory? A swan song? A victory lap?

"Just seemed appropriate." Mav shrugs and drags out your suffering.

"So," you say, drawing it out until the vowel is lost in the breeze, "did you get canned?"

"No." You give him a look, and he relents. "Close, but no."

The surf fills the silence, but there's only so much it can do before the space between you grows stale. The moment to say something has almost passed when: "Spit it out. We aren't getting any younger."

"I've been appointed team leader."

It crashes into you like waves against the hull of a carrier. The whites, the solemn expression. This is supposed to be goodbye.

"Don't go." And you mean it. Don't even have to think about it.

But Mav's eyes stay on the water. Dark waves gliding up the sand and retreating. "I have to."

"No. You don't."

His shoulders stiffen; you can see it clear as day with the way his whites contrast the inky black of the night sky. "Is that an order, Admiral?"

You scoff. "No. If it was, you'd just break it." Mav chuckles despite himself. "It's a request. From a friend." But the request feels hollow when you put it that way. Tastes like a lie on the back of your tongue.

"I'm the only one who's flown the course in the timeframe. It has to be me."

"Please," you say because you aren't above pleading. Because you're desperate and running out of reasons.

"I love you." The words feel like ejecting without a parachute. Like diving headfirst into an alpine lake at the height of summer — frigid water filling your lungs as you gasp. "Never stopped, but," he pauses, meets your gaze with his own, and for the first time, Mav seems every bit his age. You can't help but feel that he looks all the more handsome for it. "I wanted to say it now. In case I don't get the chance to, later."

You pull him into a kiss and breathe him in like water. Longing. Lingering. Drowning. Mav allows himself to sink beneath the surface with you before his hands cover your own on his cheeks and pulls away. He takes a step back, surfaces, stumbles slightly in the sand. "When I come back," he promises.

And that's precisely what echoes in your head when you hear that Dagger One has gone down.

Read Next Chapter

[cultofdixon]

Hurting in Silence

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • The Whispers just had enough. Had to show them who they’re messing with…and it only brought pain. It takes a lot to kick someone down, but Daryl couldn’t stand there watching the world crumble while you endured it alone • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / PTSD / Nightmares / Mentions of Self Harm / Scars / Canon Violence

Requested by: Anon

I haven’t slept yet Y/N frowns staring at the ceiling and feeling their stomach growl. Or eaten they sigh slowly sitting up and looking toward the window to find it is still snowing.

They slowly and quietly got up from their bed checking the hall making sure no one was awake before going down to the kitchen. Granted it was just Carol and Lydia in the upstairs part with them, while Daryl kept to himself in the basement.

She’s still breaking cups Y/N frowns seeing the broken glass in the sink knowing it was Carol. They started to think about that day again while cleaning up the pieces.

________

“Siddiq!” Michonne frowns rushing over to her friend’s tied up body as Daryl gave Carol a worried look instantly giving her the same anxious feeling.

“Siddiq where’s Y/N?” Carol frowns watching as he struggled to speak and pointed outward to the horizon making Daryl take lead on approaching while Michonne helped Siddiq up.

As the small group moved forward, Daryl went on a full on sprint the second he spotted Y/N knelt before…

The pikes.

Daryl froze behind them wanting to assess his kid when he realized who were on the stakes. He left their side running to Carol.

“No!” Daryl blocked her view holding his best friend watching the shock turn into sadness instantly. “Just look at me. Just look at me…”

Y/N continued to shake in their place ignoring the pain coursing through their body as they watch Daryl drop to his knees when Carol did. She held onto him trying her best not to break entirely there…

But how could you sit there? Watching this all unfold…knowing damn well—

________

You should’ve done something Y/N suddenly felt pain in their right hand looking down at the blood spilling. “Shit…” it wasn’t smart taking care of the broken glass when their mind is elsewhere. They finished taking the glass out of the sink and into the bin beside them before even caring for the gash on their hand.

The sound of the front door opening and closing rang a bit through the house. But only woke Daryl from his sleep, even if he was sort of already awake when he heard shuffling upstairs. Light sleeper. Dog jumped off his bed before he got up to investigate.

It doesn’t take long for the tracker to find Y/N in the infirmary trying their best to keep quiet given Siddiq is asleep upstairs. Daryl didn’t say a word so he wouldn’t startle them but the fact that they went out of their way to go to the infirmary to get a bandage instead of the bathroom in their place, only concerned him.

Don’t wake Siddiq. Don’t wake Siddiq. Y/N repeated to themselves holding the bandages in its packaging feeling the blood stick. They went toward the door when they locked onto Daryl causing them to gasp a bit. Quick to cover their mouth with their uninjured hand.

Daryl held up his hand with the ‘keep quiet’ sign before getting out of their way to leave the infirmary…and before he could ask question.

“What’re you doing?” He frowns seeing them hide their hand from his gaze. “Let’s clean that up”

“I don’t need—-“

“I know yea don’t need my help, but yea getting it” Daryl scoffs helping Y/N back to their home.

The two were sat at the table in a comfortable silence even if every part of Daryl wanted to ask how it happened. He eventually gets the answer himself but he really wanted to know from them about what happened.

“Mmm…might need stitches.” Daryl frowns not liking the fact that it bled through the first set of bandages. “Stay there” he states going to get the first aid kit they have in their place.

Y/N watched him leave before bringing themselves forward again to stare at the bandage.

________

“Too tight?”

Y/N looks up from their lap with a confused look at Michonne who’s currently redressing their wounds before they leave with the Kingdom folk toward Hilltop and then Alexandria.

“Is it…too tight? I don’t want you to lose feeling in your arms. Should’ve kept you with Siddiq but after what happened…it’s best to keep you with family”

“All of you are my family…” Y/N frowns watching Michonne finish up and before she taped it down, they stopped her from looping once more. To avoid taping it too tight. “…it’s cuz Daryl’s afraid isn’t it?”

“You’re his kid. He doesn’t want to lose you either. He’s afraid of such”

“But it’s my fault…”

Michonne finishes up watching the tears spill from Y/N’s eyes as they couldn’t help it. The sobbing came faster just from that statement and Michonne didn’t hesitate to bring them into her embrace.

“It’s not your fault. Neither yours or Siddiq’s. Both of you didn’t see what was coming” She kept her voice low and she was already a calming figure to Y/N. They knew she wasn’t moving until they were okay.

________

Thank god she wasn’t the only like that

“What are you doing?”

“Setting up the couch?”

“But why” Y/N watches Daryl get himself situated to sleep in the couch for the rest of that night.

Daryl didn’t want to be blunt about it. Didn’t want to scare Y/N off just because he cares and thinks there’s much more to it than cleaning up Carol’s mess.

“Just in case. Can barley hear anything from the basement”

“Fine…” Y/N left him to sleep, returning back to their room to find themselves like how they were earlier.

Laying in bed

Unable to sleep

Staring at the ceiling

And trying really hard to fight that urge.

“He still sleeping on the couch?”

“Yeah”

“That must be annoying” Kelly scoffs finishing up packing the crate the two were asked to fill with rations for their trip to Oceanside. “Connie can be over protective, maybe it’s just that”

“It’s not…and I don’t really know how to talk about it” Y/N frowns taking the crate leaving Kelly to pack it into the wagon.

Right as they left, Connie came up to Kelly tapping her before giving her sister a worried look.

“Y/N is still…going through something” Kelly signs to her sister as Connie looks over to her friend seeing Y/N triple check the bands securing the boxes.

“We’ll keep an eye on them” Connie signs back with a smile of reassurance before going to get her bag on the wagon.

“I know I ain’t coming til later, but mind checking up on Y/N before you leave for your voyage or whatever it is” Daryl asks Carol while she was occupied getting her belongings on her horse. “Carol?”

“They seem fine to me right now, why do I have to check up on them later?” Carol caught Daryl’s annoyed expression instantly as she quickly turns away to avoid what he has to say with it. “Fine pookie”

The ride to Oceanside was quiet with a few murmurs here and there about the plans Aaron and Daryl have drawn up about training. Y/N watches as the scenery went by and felt their anxiety get the best of them whenever a walker would come into view of the fading tree line.

We are the end of the world

You’ll join us eventually

Y/N groans a bit, leaning over the edge of the wagon letting their arms dangle a bit. Trying to focus their mind on something else but hearing that will always eat at them.

That and the sound of Carol sobbing. She lost her son. Her son. Blood didn’t matter or anything. That was her child that she had lost for…wow.

How many times is this going to happen Y/N choked up a bit gripping their head a second before returning back to their seated position staring at the now moving sky. How can I make up for it?

I can’t turn back time and switch places

But god is that all I want to do

The night before Carol was setting off on this fish expedition, she was watching Y/N carefully. Not because Daryl asked her to. Not entirely because Daryl asked her to. But how Y/N went from being awake that day right as the sun rose doing chores given by Oceanside folk to that evening cleaning up after everyone after dinner. They’ve been working all day and night doing everything that was asked and then some. Even got the shipwrecked walker cage more secured until the training day.

Carol took the opportunity to check on them when Y/N took a second to sit. But as she got closer, Y/N just knew someone was approaching and their whole body flinched causing them to fall out their seat.

“Sorry. Sorry, Uhm. Hey Carol” Y/N scrambles up to their feet brushing the dirt off their hands once rising and quickly pulling their sleeves down. “Did you need me to do somethin’ for you before you turn in?”

“You’ve been doing everything, hun. I’m just checking on you” Carol frowns watching them continue to scramble to collect themselves. “Are you alright? I know we…haven’t talked since—-“

“I’m fine. Really.” Y/N smiles reassuring Carol who wasn’t buying it in the slightest but they both knew why neither of them said any more.

________

“You have to stop blaming Y/N. They’re just a kid”

“Seventeen is a fucking adult in this hell. And they got my fucking son killed. They should’ve had his back”

“By laying down their own life? You know how many we found out there and the army they have. They couldn’t have saved us all by themselves” Michonne tried to get to Ezekiel but all he was hearing was excuses through red colored sunglasses. His rage was doing all the talking.

And it wasn’t the only one.

“They should’ve…”

“Carol..”

“They should’ve tried harder”

“Carol listen, Siddiq was also there. He couldn’t have stopped them either—-“

“I DONT CARE ABOUT SIDDIQ. HE HAS A FAMILY, WE FOUND Y/N AS AN ORPHAN” Carol snaps. “THEY DONT HAVE A FUCKING FAMILY TO WORRY ABOUT. NOBODY WOULD MOURN THEM”

There was regret when saying that. Yet as the words fell…Ezekiel regretted everything he said, Michonne stood there shocked at the words that escaped her friend, and Carol watched as Daryl stormed out of the room as he couldn’t believe the words that left her lips.

But when he left the room, all the rage left his body as he dropped to his kneels taking Y/N’s tear stained face into his hands. They were eavesdropping when they should be in bed resting, and every ounce of their body wish they would’ve just listened. Instead of hearing Carol say all of that.

“Hey. Don’t listen to her”

“H-He…” Y/N struggled to just say what they’ve been saying since they survived that night.

________

It should’ve been them.

It really should’ve. Y/N frowns sitting on the dock listening to the ocean and taking in the calmness that the silence brought.

They were unexpectedly joined by the infamous Dog that they thought they weren’t seeing until the morning. But the heavy footsteps that followed the pup’s quick paced ones, made it obvious Daryl drove through the night to get there.

“How yea holding up?”

“Don’t you know cuz you always call on the radio in the morning just to check on me?”

“Mhm. But it’s night now” Daryl smiles hearing their annoyed scoff as he joins them on the edge. Dog immediately moving to their other side resting his head in their lap. “He missed yea. Cried every night at the door”

“He just likes me more because I let him sleep in my bed”

“My bed is a couch. He’s a space hog” Daryl kept his smile hearing them laugh to such, especially when Dog sighed. “Watch Carol go?”

That’s when the mood changed and his smile faded when they turned away but nodded. Daryl frowns turning his attention back to the water.

“Yknow. She’s been through a lot” Daryl starts as Y/N turns to him confused. “Lost her daughter. Lost two more she took in as her own. Lost a son. Hell, thinking back to my shit…if this was a contest, I wouldn’t want to go up against her. This new world took a lot from her and she didn’t know how to expel that maturely. It was all happening and it all sunk in.”

“…D, this is—-“

“Y/N. It’s not your fault”

“But—“

“It was never your fault” Daryl frowns turning to the kid seeing them get lost instantly. “Y/N…what happened was never your fault.”

Y/N brought their gaze back to their lap trying to contain themselves hearing him say that. They choked up on their words again trying so desperately to just repeat it again.

They wanted to inflict pain

Ruin people’s lives

The ones who crossed them

They wanted to take the most important thing to them

And rip it from their grasp

They took you for a reason.

To inflict pain.

On someone close to you.

“It was never your fault, kid” Daryl frowns wrapping his arm around their shoulders feeling Y/N instantly rest their head against his shoulder. “I can’t lose yea. You’re my family. And you don’t have to keep hurting in silence. I’m right here”

I’m right here

[my-mt-heart]

The way I look at Season Two: Book of Carol is them having her first literally cross half way up the US East Coast with the tiniest bit of information possible. And she was capable of speaking to him on the radio but didn’t get any information to were he was. BUT SOME HOW, She is going to on whim not just end up in the same country, but the same city, and eventually exactly where Daryl is at in said place in Paris. And we are talking no phones, no real maps, no forms of communication smh the bloody Vikings 4 thousand years ago had more intel as far as maps and knowing had to read the stars and the night sky to know exactly where they were located. But upon landing on foreign soil there was no way to communicate or find your brethren that sailed ahead of you. France is HUGE…🤦🏻‍♀️ So let’s suspend all forms of actual realistic notions. And she finds Daryl despite it being the end of the world and they are like the few people left alive and they both just traveled to a massive foreign place( its so silly) course we know that, but why bring them to hell and back again if they aren’t going to finally make them canon. You know what I mean??? Why go through all this effort to reconnect these two just for Carol to be like “ Ohh hey Bestie, Just happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to give you a Hollar. Ohh is this your new girlfriend and adopted son? Wow well neat, everything looks great here with your new family that you have chosen over your family at home who misses you like dearly. But that’s ok you’re doing great, oh before I head back across half the freakin entire world again for a second time. Thought you would want to know Rick says hi, ohh yea btw he is back now. Him and Michonne both are but you got new life don’t worry I will send them your love. So I am just going to head off on way...Bye ✌🏻️" smfh

The premise is so absurd, if they are GOING THIS FAR TO BRING THEM TOGETHER ON A SCALE THIS SIZE. Its something huge and them going canon and them finally breaking the walls down that have kept them from taking their relationship to the next level and admitting they want more them friendship has to happen. Cause there truly is no other reason to drag Carol on some crazy far fetched journey literally half way across the globe if its not for somethinghuge. We do not need her to show up to kick some major ass and save the day. As awesome as that is, we have already seen it countless time, she truly is the undisputed queen of the apocalypse. A living force of nature that is forever under estimated and every single person on the show by the time it ended was alive cause of something Carol did or sacrificed one way or another....So yea we know she can kick ass but Daryl doesnt need anyone to rescue him...He desperately needs the love of his life to break down her walls and let him in. Something that should of happened a long time ago. And I swear if this upcoming season if they go threw a bunch crazy shit to reunite them and it's just more best friend bullshit I am going to mentally snap 🤬 I know I shouldn't be hopeful after 12 years of disappointment. But I just vant imagine the atory going any other way..

WHAT IS YOUR OPINION AS FAR AS THIS? YOU ARE ALWAYS HAVE SUCH GOOD GROUNDED INSIGHT, AND DEFINITELY A INSIDER VIEW OF WHAT'S HAPPENING,IS IT WORTH EVEN BOTHERING TO GET OUR HOPES UP??? 😞😫

I want Carol to have a hero narrative because she deserves it after getting sidelined in S11, but like you said, getting her happy ending with Daryl is a really important part of her journey. It's the only natural step after traveling across the world to find him, and if that gets ignored or messed up, then what's the point?

I think there are definitely reasons to have hope. The teaser looked good. Melissa knows her character and gets to help shape her story. There are just other cooks in the kitchen whose interests may not align, and it makes me nervous if someone is acting more like a fairy godmother to them than a boss. The power dynamics are really unusual and need to change.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

My Re-Watch of Ghosts, Part 3

@galadrieljonesones:

Thanks for this, @wdway. Slabtown is just one of those episodes that keeps on giving. The title itself is a whole easter egg, as Slabtown was the name of the red light district that used to be where Grady stands now, and it, too, was a railroad terminus.

Basically, Beth and Rick end up in their own train cars, going in two different directions, on two different tracks, at a fork. Sometimes, I think that Rick perceives Beth as having died and the reason her death is so confusing and full of holes, is because, for what Gimple has been planning, he needed her to be killed off, basically removed from Rick’s storyline and Rick’s point of view.

Gimple used Beth to leak the CRM storyline in its most prototypical form, and she became its ambassador. Sometimes I think he killed her not fully knowing how that would play out, but he made it so weird and confusing specifically so he could come back to it at any time and fill in the blanks.

I mean, we have to ask ourselves why Beth was chosen for this. Maybe because she was a minor character but who played a major role, because she was pretty and lovable but strong-willed, and because she was young but not a child. Her father was dead and her sister was married. She was on her own and basically the perfect choice for a brand new heroine.

I know a lot of people write Beth off and think she was just the babysitter, but why would the babysitter be scheduled opposite of Daryl in such an important, influential role in season 4? Why would the babysitter be featured in the flashbacks for A, when literally nobody else is? Why would the babysitter get to wear Rick’s hat?

Maybe because when she stopped being the babysitter, that is when her story truly began. But because of the rules and what Gimple had to work with at the time, he wasn’t allowed to tell her story yet.

I think, too, that people were attached to Beth but she wasn’t a principle character, not yet. People liked her a lot but it was still justifiable that she could exit the show and not affect the internal plot too much. It’s still true that Grady has gone completely unanswered. Her entire plot just disappears. It’s like she never even existed, and yet all these years later they’re still planting seeds that always lead back to Grady. It’s crazy.

Daryl literally never gets over what happened.

If he were to get over it, he’d have moved on. He’d have dated Connie, shacked up with Leah and then just, whatever. But he’s literally still so damaged from what happened to Beth. And it’s obvious. Yet we’re supposed to believe that Beth was a pointless character, and because Glenn Mazzara originally planned to have her be killed off by Axel the Serial Killer in season 3, that means that’s all she ever was.

Part of what I was struggling with yesterday was related to this same thing, ie: the coda. @wdway , you reminded me of the crazy coda man in No Sanctuary, and @twdmusicboxmystery , your Ghosts revisit reminded me of something totally weird I’ve always believed about Carol. It’s that thing that I’ve been struggling to articulate!

First, I think that 5a is arguably the first coda, as it’s bookended by Morgan codas in which he finds the coda trees. The first coda in a piece of music will similarly be bookended by coda signs. In 4b, Beth finds the D.C. (al coda) spoon, letting us know what kind of coda we’re entering into.

But it’s not the coda itself, not yet. The coda begins with No Sanctuary, and it ends, obviously, with Coda. Beth’s death is contained within the false ending, before the reset.

This is how the D.C. al Coda works. You play through the first coda, until you get to the second coda sign. Then you go back to the beginning, play all the way until you get to the first coda sign, then you SKIP the first coda and jump forward to the second, where you play through to the end, or the next coda, this can theoretically keep going.

Is it relevant that Morgan encounters THREE coda signs in No Sanctuary? I don’t actually know. The coda signs are tilted, which is both misleading but also enlightening. They look like Railroad Crossing signs.

Ofc the two topics are not divorced from one another in the context of TWD, specifically in seasons 4-5. So like, I feel like Morgan, as the prophet, is there to show us how the narrative is working. Everything contained in 5a is, not changable? But it’s only the first version of what happens. It’s NOT complete.

This is where my weird feeling about Carol comes in. But first, I need to go back and explain how I view 4b and what happens after the prison falls. I know I have gone into this a little before, but I really don’t know how in-depth I’ve gotten so here goes.

I feel like, after the prison falls, the writing becomes notably more surreal than usual. I feel this is to communicate that the timeline has become unstable. We see this in things like the inconsistencies with the seasons, and the lack of clarity with passage of time. It could be two weeks, six weeks, or four months they’re all out there. We have no way of knowing, and the writing seems to do this purposefully.

The groups also seem to cross paths quite often, but it’s just always at the wrong time. This is important thematically, but I think it’s also mechanic. This is where a postmodern reading comes in, because it’s looking at how writing can take a metaphor and manifest it physically and literally in a text.

The show becomes self-aware in some ways in season 4. It’s using very pointed symbolism which becomes self-referential. It’s an exercise to communicate how it feels after experiencing a major and life altering trauma. When one’s life is shattered, time stops. Directions change. East becomes west, north becomes south, etc. The world becomes fragmented and needs to be put back together.

I feel like Gimple is using this manifestation of a very real human experience in order to mess with what we know to be true, so that he can give himself an out to change it later.

So like I feel that the timeline, after Hershel dies and the prison falls, becomes very unstable, and then eventually, it splits. It splits in two: Timeline A and Timeline B.

So what does this have to do with Carol? We have to return to Indifference in order to understand. In Indifference, Rick drives Carol away from the prison and into a suburban neighborhood, ie: a liminal space. It’s not the city and it’s not the country.

While he’s there, Rick takes off his watch, gives it to Sam, who leaves with it and never comes back. Carol comments on this. “It was a nice watch,” she says. It calls our attention to the fact that the watch is gone, that time as stopped. Ava dies, and we find her disembodied leg with the compass. There’s no time, and the compass has been disconnected. There’s no direction.

Rick then exiles Carol from the prison, and therefore, from his timeline. He is the protagonist after all. He leaves her behind in the liminal space and returns to the prison without her. Okay, this is where my ability to articulate what I feel breaks down lol. SO I will do my best. I feel that, in Indifference, Carol becomes “unstuck.” She gains like, a superpower. She can enter and exit any timeline, at will, and not all characters can do this. So like when the timeline becomes unstable after 4.8, all of the characters are flung to the wind.

Eventually, they all gravitate to the train tracks, toward Terminus, aka: Rick’s timeline, and the events of “A.” All except Beth. Beth is removed from this timeline and starts her own. We don’t feel the effects of this until Slabtown, but that’s what happens. After she’s abducted, Daryl runs all night, and where does he end up? On the train tracks, discovered and picked up by the Claimers, on a straight path to Rick. Until now, Daryl hasn’t been following the train tracks. He’s been following Beth.

Beth never even knew about Terminus. She’s the only one. But Beth is on her way somewhere else entirely after Alone, somewhere that Daryl cannot go. But, Carol can!! And she does. Carol seems to reenter Rick’s timeline after she finds his watch at Terminus and gives it back to him. She hugs Daryl. Reunions, yada yada. But then, Carol tries to leave again, but she’s interrupted. They see the Grady car! They follow it. It sort of tows them out of this timeline, and into another, into Beth’s. Atlanta is then foreign and empty and surreal.

Consumed is a strange episode. That’s because Daryl and Carol are in a new place. They’re on another timeline altogether. Carol is hit by one of the Grady cars, again with the cross. She’s carried off to the hospital, but Daryl is prevented. He can’t go there. He immediately turns around and returns to Rick. Carol, meanwhile, is fully integrated into Beth’s timeline. She is referred to by Dawn, by Edwards. She’s IN it. She’s a part of it.

All the other characters visit Beth’s timeline at some point, in Coda. But it’s weird and wrong, the whole time they’re there in that hallway. Carol is the only character who is able to become a part of Beth’s timeline. I feel like this means Carol has a special connection to Beth, and to Beth’s timeline. This is why I totally agree with you, @twdmusicboxmystery, that Carol may in fact find Beth first. Because she can see what others can’t. She knows what was going on. She was THERE.

This leads back to my notes on Ghosts which I don’t have time for right now. But basically, all of this is to say, I came at this from a totally weird and different point of view, and yet I ended up in the same place. I have believed this for a long time!! That Carol is connected to Beth’s timeline. Like, there’s a gravity there, and she can enter it and exit it in ways that Daryl can’t. Because she’s not bound to Rick, or to the “main story.” She’s unstuck.

I have to go pick up my kid from school but I’ll leave you with this for now, Is it weird that both Beth and Carol are driven away from the main timeline in cars with crosses on the back? That Daryl and Carol “hitch” to the car with the cross on the back, which leads them out of one timeline and into another? Idk. I think there’s some sort of conduit thing going on here. It could also be connected to the “lead on some guns” tip, which seems to signal abduction, or an open door into the CRM.

[themculibrary]

Maria Hill Masterlist

Date Night (ao3) - natashasbanner carol/maria T, 9k

Summary: Carol and Maria have been friends for years and are practically inseparable. It only made sense for Carol to move in with Maria and Monica. And it worked out for awhile.

But when Maria starts dating again, it digs up feelings Carol thought were long buried. She refused to ruin their friendship because of her stupid crush, but will she end up doing it anyway?

Done With the Games (ao3) - insxouts clint/maria E, 3k

Summary: Clint is tired of Maria riding around on that high horse of hers. He figures it’s about time someone knocked her off of it. Can he truly get under her skin, though?

Gone to the Dogs (ao3) - avesnongrata, Woodface maria/natasha M, 173k

Summary: Being assigned guard detail is not exactly what Maria Hill wants from her first week at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, but she really didn’t expect it to turn out like this.

I Knew Life Was Never Meant to Be Easy (ao3) - ChElFi maria/sam T, 6k

Summary: Maria knew there would be fallout when she followed Steve to take down SHIELD and HYDRA, she just never imagined how far and wide it would spread across her life. Still, she wouldn't go back and change it. She knew life was never meant to be easy. First story in a five part series. MCU canon-compliant, as far as my old brain can recall. T for language.

Keep Calm And Curbstomp HYDRA (ao3) - tielan G, 2k

Summary: Maria Hill is not known as a people person.

laughter is the best medicine (ao3) - sweetwatersong G, 1k

Summary: Five times Sam Wilson has a good laugh, and one time Maria Hill has the last one.

Maria Hill and the Three Bears (ao3) - RomanoffonamoR implied clint/natasha/bobbi T, 17k

Summary: Maria Hill gets tasked with babysitting Little Natasha, Clint, and Bobbi.

What could possibly go wrong?

Maria Hill is Not a Robot (ao3) - anothersouladrift maria/steve M, 11k

Summary: Starts out as The Avengers movie from Maria Hill's point of view. Continues on post avengers, following the development of Steve and Maria's relationship.

Maria Hill's Interview At Stark Industries (ao3) - lita pepper/tony G, 5k

Summary: Tony was very interested in attending the interview of Maria Hill at Stark Industries because he was just being Tony. What mayhem would he cause? Would Maria kill Tony by the end of the day? Would Pepper help?

Rebuild, Replan (ao3) - D4RKL0RDR3V4N T, 2k

Summary: In the wake of Civil War, the Avengers are scattered. What remains under the authority of the Accords is a shadow of what it should be. However, a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is on a mission. A mission to protect the world, a world that needs the Avengers.

Reform (ao3) - just_makeing_it_gay_97 maria/natasha T, 4k

Summary: Maria is taken by the Red Room, this is how that goes.

Rumour Has It (ao3) - linguamortua G, 1k

Summary: Maria at work and Maria at home are two very different people, a fact which causes much confusion at SHIELD when she starts spending a lot of time with Sam Wilson. In which: SHIELD bros are terrible, Maria loves food and ex-military cynicism in alive and well in DC.

The Bounty Hunter and the Spy (ao3) - uofmdragon maria/sam T, 7k

Summary: Sam and Maria meet for the first, second, and third time.

The Devil's Keeper (ao3) - TheTruthAboutLove maria/natasha E, 161k

Summary: Maria stopped as soon as she entered the room and raised her eyes towards the woman in the cage, the reason they were called and ordered there. The alleged Black Widow. The red hair, the green eyes, even the curious tilt of her chin were familiar to her. She knew that woman.

“Natasha?”

“Who told you that name?" [...] "I've never seen you before. But whatever I did to you,” she paused and faked a smirk, she felt her fingers begin to tingle, her jump was about to end, her time was almost up, “I'm going to enjoy every second of it.”

The Perfect Girlfriend (ao3) - TheTruthAboutLove maria/natasha M, 63k

Summary: Maria’s sister is getting married and her parents are trying to set her up with a date for the wedding. Natasha offers to go with her, instead, because what could possibly go wrong while pretending you’re dating the best friend you’re actually in love with? They’re super spies, so they’re exceptionally good at lying. Especially to themselves.

True Resurrection (ao3) - Vampiric_Ant T, 24k

Summary: A year after the events of "Secret Invasion", Maria Hill mysteriously appears on S.A.B.E.R. Space Station. Only she's not the Maria Hill whom Fury knew.

Under the Glow of an Orange Shaped Moon (ao3) - RomanoffonamoR N/R, 4k

Summary: Little Maria Hill really misses her Auntie Nat. What happens when she decides to break a few rules in order to talk to her?

Weekend Plans (ao3) - avesnongrata maria/natasha M, 43k

Summary: Maria Hill is looking forward to a quiet weekend alone, but a break-in at her apartment disrupts her plans.

[gravitascivics]

ENTITY OR INCREMENTAL

If readers are of the mind, think back to middle school (or if you are as old as this blogger, think back to junior high).  Ask: is intelligence or how well they did at school the product of inborn intelligence or from figuring out how that learning game was played?  American psychologist, Carol S. Dweck, argues that this basic distinction in how people see intelligence plays a big role in how likely individual students will perform at that level of instruction.  And, consequently, how they will be likely to experience success from that point on when it comes to schooling.[1]

          This blog last addressed Dweck’s work in a posting, “A Middle School Challenge,” back in 2019.[2]  It reports how this psychologist labels each view.  The “I’m just smart or I am not” view is given the name entity theory, while “I just have to figure out how to learn this stuff” view is named incremental theory.  She claims these two views or theories prevail among students.  Students tend to see intelligence either one way or the other.

The first, entity theory, sees intelligence as a given amount a person has from birth.  The more one has, the easier it is to learn new material or content.  It is judged to be a fixed, tangible, or concrete quality, and is part of what makes a person who he/she is.  People either have it or they don’t.

On the other hand, the other view, incremental theory, Dweck describes as malleable, changeable through effort, and has a dynamic quality.  In short, in this second view, people can become smarter or more intelligent.  Yes, it calls for people to work at it, but such challenges take on a puzzle quality and have a higher likelihood of being experienced in positive ways.  And making mistakes in the process can even be given a positive slant since they are opportunities to advance learning.

Asking middle school students, through her research, Dweck found that “entity” students tended to agree with the following statements:

“The main thing I want when I do my schoolwork is to show how good I am at it.”

“I mostly like schoolwork that I can do perfectly without any mistakes.”

“I have to admit that sometimes I would rather do well in a class than learn a lot.”[3]

Whereas incremental students were likely to agree with:

“I like schoolwork that I’ll learn from even if I make a lot of mistakes.”

“It’s much more important to me to know new things in my classes than it is to get the best grades.”

“I like schoolwork best when it makes me think hard.”[4]

Ask any teacher which set of biases they wished their students shared, and this blogger believes they would overwhelmingly want their students to see schoolwork and learning through the “incremental” lens as reflected in the above quotes. 

Yet, this blogger believes that most teachers do not see this distinction being based, at least in part, on how their students view or understand intelligence.  As a matter of fact, he also believes that many, if not most, teachers share in the entity theory of intelligence themselves.  If true, this can be detrimental in many ways, including ones in which they – and their students in upcoming years – view civic concerns.

For example, if intelligence is a set element of one’s makeup, is it determined by biological factors?  Can those factors be related to such classifications as race, gender, nationality, and the like?  While the emphasis of this posting is not on these concerns; in passing, they seemed worth considering.

But overall, incremental students consistently chose options reflecting exhortation of effort.  While entity students tended to choose, when it came to schoolwork, options of avoidance, alternative options to study and work such as avoiding subjects or courses, and even entertained cheating on tests.  Incremental students were more apt to seek out the challenges involved.  The next posting will apply these distinctions to the concerns of civics more directly.

[1] Carol S. Dweck, Self-Theories:  Their Role in Motivation, Personality, and Development (Philadelphia, PA:  Psychology Press, 2000).

[2] Robert Gutierrez, “A Middle School Challenge,” Gravitas:  A Voice for Civics, October 11, 2019, accessed February 3, 2024, URL:  https://gravitascivics.blogspot.com/2019_10_06_archive.html.

[3] Dweck, Self-Theories, 33.

[4] Ibid., 33.

[keen-li]

FROZEN MARMALADE: a Christmas special. ☆before.

A/n: these drabble don't affect the plot in anyway, just here to give you some insight on things.

1st drabble; part of the MARMALADE series.

Brother's best friend jk, fuckboy jk, college student reader.

Pairings: fuck boy jk x fem reader.

MARMALADE series

You begged your brother if you could join along on the fun he was going to have with his friends at a Christmas party. And since you didn't have anything to do, all your friends had left to their families and your brother being a good brother and not wanting you to be alone on Christmas decided that it'd be okay if you joined him.

You knew that you were probably gonna meet some people you know from campus but not any you care to talk to.

So you put on your best winter party outfit you could find and grabbed your bag to meet your impatient brother in his car.

"Do you have to take so long" he asked  but you ignored him telling him..

"Just drive off"

You watch the little snowflakes fall as you and your brother wait for the traffic to clear. The little Christmas Carols coming from the radio soothing your thoughts.

"Bro are you gonna be here sooner? " you hear a loud and impatient voice speak through your Brother's speakers.

"Yeah I'll be there soon, I'm caught in traffic"

"Boooooo" you hear a second male voice speak, the music in the background blocks you from hearing their voices clearly.

Your brother chuckles.

"Hoseok have you already been drinking?" Your brother asks as the hoseok guy responds with a loud...

"YEP!"

you hear some shuffling on the call, sounds like hoseok doesn't want to move away from the phone.

"He's a light drunk" the first male voice speaks, after being able to push hoseok away.

"...how long are you gonna be?"

"Not long if the traffic moves quickly" your brother tries to move his head out the window to check for any progress. No progress at all.

"Alright be quick... we need you here" he pauses "more like hyung needs you here"

Your brother chuckles understanding as he glances at you staring out the window.

"I'm bringing my sister though" he turns back to the road and your ears perk up at the mention of you.

The person on the phone hums in acknowledgement.

"Oh okay that's fine" he says voice softening "the more the merrier"

"Get here quickly though"

-

"You're late" you watch a guy approach your brother, dark hair brushing against his forehead as he walks to you both. You do recognise him. He's one of your Brother's friends, jungkook.  How did you not recognise his voice earlier.  You've seen him before and even talked to him before, you slapyour forehead mentally for forgetting. Guess you couldn't hear over the music that was playing and now that you're here you hear the loud music and it plays sharp and clear through your ear drums.

"I know, the traffic took longer than I thought" your brother defends.

Jungkook, you're pretty sure that's his name, turns to look at you and nod his head at you.

"How Are you? " He asks and you get kinda nervous.

"I'm good thanks" he seems to have noticed your nervousness when you respond.

"Don't get shy with me like you don't know me" he tries to lighten your mood. And it's kinda worked.

"I'm not shy, it's just that I don't know anyone here" you confess, fingers playing with eachother in your sweater pocket.

"Well you know me, that should be enough " he laughs as you feel reassured by his words and warm eyes. You've never seen his smile until now, you actually haven't even paid attention to his face the way you're paying attention to it right now.

You give him a smile back. "You wanted to come so you can't complain " you hear your brother say and you roll your eyes, when did you ever complain.  You aren't even complaining. He likes to make you take responsibility of your choices, yiu understand his point of view but its getting irritating. You scoff.

Jungkook watches you as you roll your eyes and finds it amusing how he's never seen this bratty cheeky side of you. He's hasn't interacted with you enough to know you well but he never thought you'd be the cheeky type. He thinks it's quite adorable.

You hear someone, a girl, rush to your brother and pull him away.

"I'll be back" he says but you know he won't be back until you have to go home. They never come back.

"I guess it's just you and me" jungkook says turning back to you after watching your brother rush away with some girl he knows but you don't.

"Let me get you something to drink" he turns and you follow walking into a more crowded part of the party. Its a house party, those houses with a large spiral staircase and a large glowing chandelier in the center and by the look of the house you wouldn't be surprised if those were real diamonds. Who the heck owns this house? And would let some people play around in it. You definitely wouldn't but maybe that's why you don't have such a house.

Jungkook takes you to the backyard and immediately you're there you're met with a beautiful view of the sunset. The open landscape with the trees accessorised with fallen snow really fits into the Christmas holiday house aesthetic.

Some trees are decorated with Christmas lights, the ones closer to civilization. You never knew a place like this existed, so it can't be a holiday house unless its some rich man's holiday house. Music beams through every wave in the air as jungkook guides you to a seat near a fire and you reluctantly take a seat. You don't want to act like some awkward introvert, you aren't quite that but this place is kinda intimidating.

"I'll be back with your cocoa in a bit" cocoa? Are you some baby, he better be joking. You didn't come to a Christmas party filled with twenty year olds, and you being one as well, to come drink cocoa.

"Here" he says handing you a steaming cup of cocoa. You look at him for a minute to see if he's joking but he's totally serious. You take the cup and slowly take a sip as the warm steam hits your face and your once frozen nose warms up.

When you take a sip you're taken back a bit, it taste just like cocoa simple plain cocoa.  What did you want it to taste like?

You kinda hoped it was mixed with something, like a spirit, knowing the youth nowadays you'd expect that.  But it's not, it's simple plain boring old cocoa, but you won't let jungkook know that. So you put on a smile to show him your gratitude. Maybe your brother told him not to let you drink.

"Is it good?" He asks grin in show and you can't bring yourself to tell him you wanted something strong, maybe it's for the best.

Hum. "It tastes very good, thanks" you smile truly grateful he took the time to find you a place to sit and get you a drink when he probably has something else to do. Something better probably.

"Great. Cause I made it myself" he sounds proud of himself,  he definitely is. For a while people have been telling jungkook that his hot cocoa sucked and he's glad you're the first one to tell him he's cocoa tastes good. Since he's been practicing and shit, nothing serious.  Its very serious actually especially when he has to look it up on YouTube for ways to make he's cocoa fancier and pretty. In taste and appearance.

He smiles. "I appreciate it" you share a moment of silence as jungkook stares at you and you've never been so anxious to know what a man was thinking. What is he looking at, it's not a creepy stare in anyway. It's more of a I'm in a deep thought and you're what I'm looking at and I can't turn my ears away cause the thought is so good kinda stare.

You don't mind cause you've done that before but you on the other hand don't look as attractive as jungkook does when he's doing it. You probably look like a deer in head lights while jungkook looks like a star in the limelight.

"Jungkook you're needed by the bar" you here someone yell from a distance and that finally breaks him from his trance.  What was he thinking of?

Don't know. Maybe about the fact that he's glad you're the first one to try his new and improved hot cocoa and that his glad you liked it. Maybe or maybe not that's what he was thinking of.

"What's that you gave to her" a small female hand stops jungkook by the chest.  Jungkook looks at the hand already knowing who owns but she doesn't push it when he stares at the accessorised limb and then at the owner.

"Just some hot cocoa" he tries to walk away but she keeps her hand firm on his chest,  not allowing him to move. He could simply shove her away and walk past but he isn't like that.

"Can you make me some kookie" he cringes at the nickname that doesn't sound so good coming out of her mouth.

"Sure" he says not sounding so enthusiastic and just ready to be out of her presence. And so he does, he walks past her as soon possible leaving her to take in his scent as she watches you sips your cocoa in peace, watching the scenery. You're just his friend's sister she thinks to herself, it's nothing.

You place your now empty cup on the ground still stuck on your seat not planning on moving anytime soon.  Even though it wasn't what you expected,  the cocoa did make you feel warmer and more comfortable, maybe that's what jungkook was going for. Going head on with liquor isn't so good anyways.

The sweet and creamy taste really made you fall into an unknown nostalgia, reminiscing on moments you've lived in your life and your Christmas boyfriends. You honestly wouldn't mind going for another cup of it, it might just be better than alcohol.  Cause its able to do everything alcohol can do and more without the bad effects. Jungkook's little concoction, that's what you're gonna call it cause you've never tasted a hot cocoa that can make you feel so many things, maybe you're being dramatic. You're not.

"Hey" a voice speaks next to you and when you turn you see jungkook's friend from earlier...

"It's hoseok" you knew that but the assistance is appreciated. You give him a warm smile contrary to the cold air. He takes a seat next to you making himself comfortable.  He doesn't look as drunk as before.

"Why are you sitting by yourself" maybe cause you don't know anyone and your guide left you.

"Nothing just enjoying the view" by this time the sun had already set and the only view being the twinkling lights and your phone screen.

"Let me keep you some company" he nudges himself against the seat making himself even more comfortable.

"There's no ne-" You're about to protest and tell him to go have fun and not let your boring ass keep you here but he stops you.

"Don't say no. I have nothing to do and I thought I'd help you feel a little more comfortable" you nod and hum. Couldn't hurt cause you are bored of the endless scrolling on your phone.

You stay silent for a bit not knowing what conversation starter to use.

"Who owns this house?" You finally ask the burning question on your mind, hoping hoseok has the answers you're looking for.

"Yuri." He says looking at the sky filled with tiny little stars. "You must know her, you're at the same college" you've definitely heard that name and seen her around, but you haven't spotted her here. You heard her family was rich. But you never knew  she was this rich. You turn your neck admiring the place for the hundredth time. Hoseok notices and chuckles at that.

"Nice isn't it?" He also looks around at the large landscape and building.

"Very"

"Thanks to jungkook, we were able to have a party here" he informs and your ears peak at the information. "She was a little difficult but jungkook got her to warm up to it"

So jungkook's the reason for this party, not surprised but at yuri's house, how did he even get her to say yes. Bet she had to beg her parents real hard.

"Are they like-" you don't want to finish your sentence and seem nosy, so you hope hoseok is quick to catch your drift.

"Dating?" He asks if that's what you're asking and you nod.

"Jungkook says they aren't but yuri says they are" jungkook's dating. Its not confirmed.

"But to be honest.." he leans in as though about to gossip, "yuri is kinda delusional, we all know jungkook doesn't get into relationships"

He doesn't. Sigh.

"So if you want the truth believe jungkook" you nod not asking anymore questions. You're not going to believe anyone there's nothing to believe, you just wanted to know. It doesn't even matter what the truth is to you.

You go silent still unconsciously pondering on what hoseok just told you. You wish you didn't ask now you've disturbed your mood. Why do you even care.

New year's resolution

1. Learn to kind your own business.

"Are there any drinks?" Now you just wanna clear your mind. The comfort and warmth from the cocoa has now faded away and is now out of your bloodstream.

"Glad you asked" he springs up and stretches his hand out to you.

"Wanna go grab some." You nod taking his hand.

"Sure"

....

You've taken a few cups and you are feeling the hit but not too much, but enough to have you giggling at hoseok's silly jokes. You'd never laugh like this if you were sober. But you're still able to function. You haven't seen your brother seen you first entered the party.  Honestly you don't want to see him, not while you're like this.

"You shouldn't be hanging out with hoseok" Jungkook's voice speaks and you both turn to it. "You'll  get drunk" he finishes eyeing you.

"Isn't that the point" hoseok mumbles.

"Come on let's get you some water and something to eat" he say guiding by your shoulder. The main reason you're even going with him is cause you're kinda feeling hungry and really want something to eat.  Drinking alcohol on and empty stomach isn't such a good idea after all.

"Is my brother putting you up to this?" You say leaning against the counter watching him pulling something out of the fridge. Such a beautiful fridge.

"No." He doesn't say too much.

After removing the sandwich from the microwave he hands it to you.

"First a grilled cheese sandwich" you take it still a little skeptical.

"Its mine so you dont need to worry about it" He reassures as you take a bite into it. He watches your hands wrapped around it as you look down whilst taking a bite. He watches the way your lips move to chew the food, your cheeks puffing up with each movement. He thinks you look so cute right now. He shouldn't be thinking about he's friend's sister in that way but he can't help it, you're just to damn cute. But you'll never know that he's thought that.

He tries to keep his facial expressions and body language unreadable and it surely is.

"You should have some water now"

He points to the bottle of water next to you. Before you take it you can't help but wonder.

"Why are you here?" He knows what you're asking and he chuckles.

And with a straight face and a grin he speaks.

"You're my friend's sister. Don't want something bad to happen to you" your face falls, what we're you hoping he was going to say.

"There are alot of bad guys here. Don't want you to have to meet them"

If only you knew.

You smile and nodding understandingly.

Even with a sweater on the winter air seems to creep in through you one way or another and you shiver more. You feel so awkward,  you wish you never came. And the way jungkook looks at you doesn't help your mind calm down. The only time you remember feeling anything close to what you're feeling now is when your ex broke up with you on Christmas. Fuck him, on Christmas of all days. 

But why are you feeling that way cause of jungkook's words. You need to sleep this off.

2. Stay away from parties.

[lserver362reviews]

Previous review:

The amount that I could take off this score, because I don't think it's perfect (certain Gerwig-isms that grind my gears are present), are so slim that it really doesn't affect the overall 5 stars out of 5! This movie was made for me! I've been a Barbie-head for the majority of my life, and an existentialist. Phenomenal casting, music, set design, direction, and themes. I don't think this movie quite found equilibrium but the fact that it touched me and entertained the hell out of me is enough. I could go on and on but I won't! Ryan Gosling is a gift. This is the Maximalist film of the year (Elvis taking 2022's title)!! (& That's my doctor!)

Update:

This really is even better on a rewatch! Everything that hit me as off-putting or took me out of the first viewing went down easy on the second go. The feminist rant Gloria goes on to existential crisis stereotypical Barbie felt really natural and I appreciated how this is actually how people talk. It hit different for whatever reason, and this audience in the packed theater broke out in snaps for that part which surprised me. Maybe I was just being susceptible to the very thing they point out, which is that once you name something you can engage with it better. It doesn't make contradiction go away but it can shift your framework. I still teared up at the first sight of Ruth Handler, who in my first viewing I figured that was her, but I did wonder for a moment if, based sewing machine, it was Carol Spencer. I'm not sure why seeing Barbie interact with Ruth hits me so deeply but it really does. I first learned about Ruth and her daughter Barbara, and formally about Barbie, as an 8th grader for some social studies project. I hated projects and my teacher basically suggested that the conclusion of my project was that Barbie warped girls self-image. He didn't know he was talking to a day one Barbie defender. I think it hits me as the perfect reverence to motherhood, but also as reverence to having a creator (cue Nearer my God to Thee) to walk with. I think my existentialism will always fall to religious or spiritual thinking. What was also special about this viewing is that I went with my mom, which sometimes her reactions to things just crack me up. I'm glad she really really liked it and came away saying how it was funny and fun, but she did miss P.J. (her coveted doll) and Stacie. She also said that one doesn't have to be so serious about this film. (Sorry mom for the rest of this review!) The other day, after my first watch I tweeted, "It cannot be understated: the phenomenal job @lizzo's work on #BarbieTheMovie does to bring us into the world, to set the tone, to set us up for the story ahead. All the music was so well used (ty Mark Ronson) but the fact that it was Lizzo who brought me into it was everything." I still stand by this point and a second watch only made me notice more fantastic music cues and just how much Billie Eilish's What Was I Made For? is used. What a beautiful theme for this film. Once again I wear my undergrad philosophy hat by recognizing the Nietzschean "Yes" Barbie utters after grounding herself in feeling and thereby channeling her existence as a human. Barbie becomes the ubermensch. I really wish that I could teach a feminism and philosophy class with this as the primary text. I think there's also much of the messaging of the Wizard of Oz in that scene where Ruth Handler is a mix of The Wizard and the Good Witch Glinda, helping Barbie to realize that what she wants, and where she belongs, is deep within herself already. She's ready to leave a fantastical place because she loves her humanity and own soul that experiences all that makes life alive. It's very Dorothy Gale and a character that I'm deeply touched by. Barbie loves humanity, she wants to embrace her agency, just like all of us. In the wise words of FrankNFurter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, "Don't dream it, be it" (or something more contemporary, Top Gun: Maverick, "don't think, just do"). Ken also learns that all he really needs is to decipher what he's feeling, communicate it, and know that he's (K)enough. Ryan Gosling really just knocked it all the way out of the park with this role. The Ken dance number on the sound stage makes me think of the way dance is used in Footloose and how a good dance in an abandoned warehouse can really clear the mind and heart. This is a deeply humanist film delivered to us in the most maximalist way. For that, I give Barbie the Maximalist Film of 2023 Award. This award is given in my head and past winners are Elvis (2022). To quote Harry Styles, "You know, my favorite thing about the movie is, like, it feels like a movie. It feels like a real, like, you know, 'go to the theater' film movie."

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,952 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison (Season 3) Warnings: language, that's it! A/N: Kintsugi, aka "golden joinery" is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with precious materials like gold and it is strikingly beautiful. I think you'll understand why I titled the fic this at the end! Summary: After Daryl leaves with Merle, he return to the prison to find that Y/N is extremely angry with him...

Your name: submit What is this?

Your face went through a rapid series of emotions as soon as his familiar broad shoulders came into view. First was shock and surprise, and then relief to see him again and to see him in one piece, and then just... anger. Daryl shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the next, watching over everyone crowded around him as you simply stood up and turned your back on the room and left. You walked straight out and into the row of cells, disappearing through the heavy metal door. Daryl caught Rick’s eyes and the sheriff simply tilted his head and gave Daryl a knowing look. Daryl’s attention was pulled away as Carol grabbed him into a tight hug.

He was surprised when you didn’t come back out to join in the discussion of what the hell to do next about Woodbury and the Governor. He worked up the courage to try to talk to you, knowing full well it may just be an exercise in futility.

You easily heard the familiar cadence of his steps approaching your cell and the doorway darkened as his frame stopped in the space. He gripped the edge of the cell door and anxiously chewed his bottom lip.

You were sitting on the edge of your bunk, determinedly not looking at him. “Go away, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet but there was an unfamiliar edge to it.

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t leave. “Just—would ya just talk to me?” he ventured. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense as your teeth clenched. “What is there to talk about?” “I—’M back now. I came back,” he said. He felt sick. He wasn’t used to you being angry with him and it was completely twisting him into knots.  “Yep,” you said, standing and going to the doorway. You pulled the hanging sheet in the doorway, a makeshift door, closed right in his face. “Leave me alone,” your voice came out from the cell and then he heard the springs of your bunk creak as you sank back down on it.  He stepped back from the fabric and dropped his hand from its grip on the doorframe, heaving a heavy sigh. Carol stepped out of her cell, just a few doors down and looked at Daryl staring at the closed sheet in front of him. He turned at the sound of her soft footsteps.  Carol’s brow was furrowed low over her eyes and she tilted her head in the direction of the staircase that climbed to the second level. Daryl’s hand clenched and unclenched in a fist and he gave your cell one last parting look before turning away to follow Carol up the stairs. She peeked at Judith in her makeshift bed and smiled. Daryl stopped beside her and looked down at the little sleeping bundle. His heart warmed at the sight of her, but his expression was still dark. Carol glanced over at him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously again. “She won’t even talk to me,” he drawled. “Give her a little time,” Carol said gently. “She’ll come around.” Carol sounded very sure of her assertion, but all Daryl could think was that he’d ruined things for good. “I came back,” he said, leaning back against the railing. His heart was aching with regret. Going off with Merle was stupid in the first place. Almost as soon as he’d done it he knew it was a mistake.  “You being back doesn’t change the fact that you left in the first place,” Carol pointed out. “You really think she doesn’t have a right to be upset? Think about how she’s interpreting you leaving.” He gave her a questioning look. Carol straightened up and stared at him. “I understand why you did what you did. He’s your brother. He’s blood. But you leaving with him... to her it means she wasn’t worth staying for. You chose Merle, a racist asshole, over all of us, and right when we’re sitting on the edge of war against the psychopath Merle worked for. I know that isn’t really what happened. It’s not that simple, but that’s what it feels like. She thinks you leaving means that... whatever there is between the two of you wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

He gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “But that ain’t true...” Carol shrugged. “That’s how it seems to her.” 

Daryl ran a hand over his face and sighed again. “I really fucked up,” he growled. The grit and gravel in his voice was heavier than usual. “You did what you thought you needed to do,” Carol said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Just give her a little time. She’ll cool off.” But the rest of the day, you stayed in your cell with the doorway covered. Daryl hung around hoping you’d step out so he could try to talk to you again, try to apologize and explain. He was sick with regret and guilt and worry, but you never stepped out. “Who’s on watch tonight?” Daryl asked Rick. He was thinking about offering to stay up and take both shifts because there was no way he would be sleeping that night anyway. He was too anxious. “Y/N first and then Glenn is taking the second shift. He gave Daryl a knowing look. The archer looked miserable. Rick sighed. “I’m just glad you’re back,” Rick said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in nod. “Yeah... thanks...” You’d be on guard first. You wouldn’t be able to hide in your cell forever. You could, however, still tell him to fuck off, but he had to try. Just waiting around was agonizing and he kept thinking about how in this world even the next minute wasn’t a guarantee. He had to make things right as soon as he could.

Night fell and after scraping together his courage, Daryl got up, knowing you’d be in the guard tower by now. He went to the little stove and heated up some water, pouring it over a tea bag in a mug and staring down at it. Yeah, bring her tea, dumbass. That’ll fix it. But regardless of that derisive voice in his head, he grabbed the mug and headed out to climb the narrow stairs of the guard tower, curls of steam wafting off the surface of the amber liquid. You turned when you heard the metal door from the stairwell creak open, thinking maybe Glenn couldn’t sleep and was coming to keep you company early. Instead you saw the broad shoulders of the archer coming through and you turned away and fixed your eyes on the darkness blanketing the prison yard. “What?” you asked sharply. Daryl gulped. Obviously you hadn’t cooled off enough yet. “I just—uhh.” He rubbed his hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “I brought ya some tea,” he drawled.  You kept your back to him and said nothing. He edged closer and set the tea in front of you on the table. It was then that he noticed the bandage on your upper arm. He hadn’t noticed it before, probably because you’d been wearing a jacket. Without thinking, he reached out and gently grabbed your arm. “What happened?” 

You glanced at his hand on your arm and then up to his blue eyes. You felt your resolve crumbling as soon as your eyes met his. It was like some involuntary reaction you had no control over, but you tugged your arm from his grasp and shifted away from him, averting your eyes back toward the outside again. “I got shot,” you said. “What?” he urged. “The hell ya mean ya got shot?”

His voice was tinged with deep concern. “By one of those Woodbury assholes. You know, when you were off running around with Merle,” you replied. Daryl’s stomach twisted. How could he have been so stupid? If he’d been at the prison where he was supposed to be he could have protected you. What if it hadn’t just been your arm? He hadn’t even said goodbye to you... he’d just left. The hell was he thinking? You must have sensed his sudden panic because you looked over at him again and studied his face. “It’s just a bullet graze, Daryl.” Your tone was flat this time, but it was an improvement over the previous anger. “I’d rather be alone,” you said quietly. You hesitated. “Thanks for the tea.”

He gulped again. This distant tone you had was eating him alive and he felt his blood pressure rising. “Would ya just look at me at least? Gimme a chance to explain!”

You were a bit taken aback by his tone, which was now a little angry too, and you did turn to stare at him, your brow furrowed heavily now. “Explain?” You scoffed. “What the hell is there to explain? You made your choice. Your priorities are pretty damn clear. So, just—just leave me alone...”

“Nah,” he growled. “Not ‘til ya listen to me.”

You glared at him and he watched the muscle in your jaw tense as you clenched your teeth. “Actions speak louder than words, Daryl.”

“I fucked up, alright? I ain’t denyin’ that! I wanted to come back as soon as I left!” he roared. “‘M sorry!” “Sorry?” You stared at him, bewildered. “You’re sorry,” you repeated. “Yeah, well, so am I. Sorry I was stupid enough to think that maybe—” You broke off and shut your eyes, breathing in a tense breath. “That maybe what?” Daryl pressed you.

“That maybe I actually fucking meant something to you!” you yelled. There were angry tears in your eyes now and you fought to blink them away. “But if you could just leave then clearly I’ve deluded myself, because I could never do that to you. So, I guess I don’t know what this—” you gestured to yourself and then to him, “—is. Was. Whatever... apparently it’s nothing.” The archer stared at you feeling like his heart had split open. “That ain’t—that ain’t true. And it wasn’t that simple. S’not that simple.” He took a hesitant step toward you. 

Your jaw was still set. “Forget it. You don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s not like we were.... together. I was stupid to read into anything. I’m—I’m done. I’ll just send Glenn up later,” you murmured, trying to storm out of the guard tower, ready to race down the stairs and leave the whole mess behind you. But Daryl’s hand gently caught you as you tried to move past him, landing lightly but firmly on your arm.

“Nah. Don’t do that! Don’t just—just dismiss this!” he growled. 

You stared up at him, caught off-guard by his hand on you, by him physically stopping you from leaving. You were trying to think of something to say but your mind was suddenly blank. His hand finally dropped from your arm but instead of backing off he stepped closer to you. “This ain’t nothin’!” he argued. “And ya weren’t kiddin’ yerself. Now just stop bein’ so damn stubborn and talk to me!” You felt your resolve crumbling a little.  “I—I don’t have anything else to say!” you retorted angrily. “Now let me by!” You tried to brush past him again but he stepped right in your way. “Daryl,” you growled. “Get outta the way.” “Nah,” he said shaking his head. “Ya wanna be stubborn? Fine, but so will I.”

“Move!” you yelled at him again, feeling a flush of angry heat in your face. “No,” he said again, this time catching your eyes with his blue ones.

Your chest was heaving with angry and nervous breaths. “Let me go,” you said, and this time even you were surprised by how weak your own request sounded.

Daryl stared down at you, his posture defiant, obstinate. His heart was absolutely racing in his chest and he finally couldn’t suppress the urge any longer. He clasped your face in both hands and kissed you urgently, something he’d wanted to do for so long, but even more so since he’d tried to leave. It was all he could think about. A moment later he was sweeping you into him with a hand on your lower back.

You let out a noise of surprise and stumbled back, away from him, staring at him standing there with his chest heaving. “Wh—what the hell are you doing?”

Daryl gulped. Oh shit. Had he just fucked things up worse? He gestured vaguely with one hand. “This ain’t nothin’,” he drawled, breathless from his lips on yours. He stepped toward you cautiously again, half expecting you to move away or brush past him for the exit, but you didn’t move. He anxiously licked his lips, and you felt butterflies flit to life in your stomach. “‘M sorry,” he said again.

You stared at him, a quizzical expression on your face. You wanted his lips on yours again. “Say it again,” you said softly. You stepped closer to him. 

Daryl stared down into your eyes. The regret in his was plain. He slipped his fingers into your hair and clasped your face again. “‘M so sorry. I ain’t ever gonna leave again if I can help it.”

Your expression softened and you grabbed onto the front of his vest and pulled his lips down to meet yours, kissing him heatedly. Daryl’s hand landed on your lower back again and he pulled you against him, pressing forward so you were touching practically from knees to nose. His kiss was urgent, feverish. He pressed into you and you moved backwards blindly until you felt the table behind you. Daryl’s strong hands lifted you, setting you on the edge. You looped your arms around his neck and gently bit at his lower lip, eliciting a chesty growl from him. His hands wandered over your back and smoothed down your sides, feeling the curve of your waist and angles of your hips. They wandered down further and ran over your thighs, sending tingles of electricity up your back. You tugged him into you more tightly, feeling his hips pressing into the inside of your knees as you sat on the table. You slid a hand under his vest, around his back, and scratched your nails over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling his strong, tense muscles beneath the material. He pulled back from you suddenly and your eyes opened, long eyelashes fluttering, disappointed and feeling the inches between your lips profoundly. “What is it?” you asked him, completely out of breath. He just stared down at you, not lifting his hands from your hips. “Nothin’. Just tryin’ to convince myself this is really happenin’,” he drawled, his eyes flitting between yours and your partially parted lips. 

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your touch. “It is.”

He looked suddenly nervous again. “Listen, I still wanna tell ya... I can’t entirely explain it. I know Merle’s an asshole. Of course I know that... But he’s my brother. And it was almost like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I’d already left him once in Atlanta. I couldn’t do it again.” Daryl rushed on, still in vague disbelief that somehow you’d gone from yelling at him to kissing him in a span of a few minutes. “But as soon as we were alone out there... I realized he might be my brother but he ain’t really my family anymore. Maybe he never was.”

You gulped and nodded, pressing your hand flush to his chest and feeling his racing heart beneath your fingers. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you,” you said regretfully. “I was just—hurt.”

He nodded. “I can’t blame ya. ‘M sorry.”

You looped your arms around his neck again and he gave in to the gentle tug easily as you pulled his lips back to yours. The heat built between you again and you let out a small sigh as Daryl’s lips wandered from yours to kiss your neck and the delicate skin by your collarbone, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair. You found yourself arching into him more and more and Daryl was reeling as your fingernails lightly scratched his back, even over the fabric of his shirt. But the building heat was quickly quashed by the sound of the squeaky metal hinges on the door to the stairwell and both of you startled. Daryl spun around and you jumped up from your spot on the table, accidentally knocking the mug of tea to the floor, which of course shattered and sent liquid splashing everywhere. Your entire face flushed as you saw Glenn standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face, one hand still on the doorknob. 

“Uhhhhh... sorry,” he mumbled. But his face quickly broke into a grin he tried to stifle. “I’ll just—I’m gonna go,” he said jutting a thumb back over his shoulder, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Daryl shifted uncomfortably next to you. Glenn turned on his heel and headed right back down the stairs and into the cellblock again. 

Rick, unable to sleep with the threat of the Governor still looming, caught sight of him returning and gave him a questioning look. “I thought you were on guard duty now?” he asked curiously. Glenn smiled and laughed a little awkwardly. “Uhh, yeah, but uhh—Y/N and Daryl have got it,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Y/N and Daryl? Isn’t she still pissed at him?” the sheriff asked, looping one thumb into his pocket. Glenn laughed again. “I’m pretty sure they made up... Night, Rick.”