#skull drawing practice paid off

[gomzdrawfr]

🤠x👨🏻‍🌾

warm up doodle for bressynonym

layout and style inspired by valiants

[staarboyyy]

Paid in kind

cooper howard [ the ghoul ] x bounty!reader | no pronouns

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control

summary ; you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you.

word count ; 5.2k

a / n; inspired by the wonderful @ghoulsbounty and @ghoulbrain ! both are such lovely writers, i couldn't help but jump on this old man's bones !! (also as a texan i just had to put a fic out there using my southernisms)

The sun was achingly bright - That was the first thing you recalled. It beat down against the tattered and worn material of what you could manage for clothes, your eyes squinting as they couldn't resist to meet the sky. Everlasting, going as far as you could see - It brought strange comfort to have this one constant in this place, while also being a nice change from the large warehouse you took shelter in. Your feet moved slowly, the gravel against the soles of your shoes shifting with each step, eyes still pinned on the infinite blue stretching above your head forever. Instinctively, you knew being distracted, and taking time to enjoy the small things in this broken world, would be far less than short-lived. Though, taking in slow breaths of the thick air, clogged with the stench of the dirt below your feet and a dry breeze that stung your eyes; So much so, that you hardly noticed the hulking mutated mass moving towards you. It took in ragged breaths, crouched forward, wet tendrils obscuring its surging bloodshot eyes and split-cheeked jaw, messily hanging off the hinges. This action exposed rows of teeth, tattered and yellowed over the years roaming this land - As you whipped your head around, your hand moved with a practiced poise, already hovering over your weapon, itching with the need to draw against this thing that amassed itself towards you. An ear-shattering crack reverberated through the air before you could even finish bearing your teeth, white-knuckling your weapon. The blast was nasty, crushing through the reptile's large skull with an obscene squelch before falling forward to the hot ground with a thud. It lay in the seeping mess of what must be its blood, a dark pungent green, reeking of hot rubber - It stung your nose with a sharp sour tang, churning your stomach as you threw your hand over your mouth, staggering backward from both the sudden onslaught on your senses and the sudden shot tearing through the air.

"Well, well."

Your blood ran cold as the familiar gruff voice came a few yards past the bleeding mess in front of you, your eyes shuddering over the scene to meet the speaker with a widening gaze. He came from around the corner of the warehouse, that man - The one that insisted on shadowing your every move, no matter how far you ran. The soft breeze of the blazing day swept the tattered edges of his long coat, soft jingles following him as he took a few slow steps forward. He had lowered the gun level your face, gloved hands steady on the weapon as his eyes found yours. They were alive - Coherent, a sharp contrast to the little visible skin he showed, stretching scars bound over his cheeks and neck arching down and distorting the grassy texture of his tanned skin. Slowly, his thumb rose, letting it rest on the gun's hammer with a punctuating step.

"Looks like someone's not payin' attention."

You had been on the run for hours, and yet he cocked his head off to the side as his gaze raked over your hardening expression; It was all for nothing, the ghoul hardly affected by the travel you were desperate to turn into escape. Escape from the world that still tangled itself around your neck, pulling you across this wasteland with little, if any direction. Your heart slammed against your ribs, taking in a tentative breath of the nauseating air, keeping your eyes as far from the gurgling body of the reptile. You were hot, hungry, and most of all, exhausted of running. Maybe he knew that - Maybe that's why he chased you, knowing that one day, you would finally give up. The clicking of the hammer being drawn back pulled you from your thoughts, eyes moving to meet the barrel, then scrape back up to him.

"Why don't you just kill me?" It hurt to talk, your throat cut up and raw from breathing the thick radiated air - Still you couldn't shake the question as it pressed past your chapped lips, keeping your eyes pinned on the barrel. It was challenging, how you spoke to the shell of the man. Your eyebrows drew together, focusing past the smoking barrel of his shotgun with an insistent expression. At this, his eyebrow muscles shifted with a slightly suprised chuff.

"So you do speak." The Ghoul. You heard stories, making your way across the wasteland with little you could to make do, falling into bounty work, and getting caught up with bad people - The wrong people. The ones that talked about digging him up, that he would be able to take out the one target that seemingly ruled the wasteland. The Ghoul's voice scraped across the air, the breeze carrying the rough twang in his voice, the jingle of his spurs as he shifted his weight. You didn't care for the stories of your peers; And my, there were stories. Cooper Howard, movie star, face pasted across battered billboards. You also didn't care for the night three men you worked beside insisted on digging him up - But when you saw your face smeared across the radiated land, posters crumbled and pinned messily to boards and the inside of almost every building; You knew he was looking for you.

"I don't know what you want from me," You said in a rasp, unable to dwell on the near teasing tone in his rugged voice, not in this sweltering heat, not with the stifling smell of the creature between you and The Ghoul - The thing, the shell of a man, Cooper Howard; Or at least what was left of him.

"Well - Looks to me, I just saved your life," He mused, clearing the raggedness in his throat as his eyes lowered to your hand. How it twitched over your weapon, tattered gloves hiding bruises and scars. Cooper pushed his tongue to his cheek, head falling slightly to one side as he eyed your trigger-happy fingers strum at your holster teasingly; His mind pulsed with flashing images, the forking of how this awaited meeting would actually pan out. His tongue slid over the grit of his teeth with a slow hissed breath.

"Now, you plan on usin' that thing?"

A beat met you, breath hitching for a moment as he flicked his speculative gaze to return to yours - And just as you caught each other's eyes, your hand moved. Your fingers wrapped over the mangled handle of your pistol, fabric tied over the base for some steadying on your trembling hands; And as soon as you drew, the bullet fired, keeping his eyes on yours as you squeezed the trigger tight. The sound rocketed through the dusty air, his left shoulder falling backward with an unnatural shift, letting his weight fall off to the side as he grunted softly. His gloved hand reached his shoulder, rubbing at the hole now torn through his jacket, hissing through his teeth. You tried to move quickly, the exhaustion cementing you to the hot dirt of the wasteland as your boot heels scraped against the rubble, pushing yourself away from the other. However, it didn't matter now, not as his hand moved from his crooked shoulder to the coiled thick rope slung around his thick belt, wasting no time seeing your sudden urgency to escape.

"Not lettin' you get away again sugar." You nearly made it to your feet as you heard the chilling metal clinks of his spurs, panting as the sun that boiled overhead went dark; Cooper stood above you with a scowl, grasping the lasso now looped around his hands, clutching at the fraying rope with the assured intent to use it. "Now, you best put that toy of yours away. I need you alive." The sharp pull of the lasso whipped through the space between you, taking hold of your throat with a sudden drawn pressure of your quickly swallowing breath. Your hands rose, letting the pistol fall from your grasp as you white-knuckled the rope, now being pulled by it to your feet. Cooper sucked his teeth, tightening the knot with a gruff exhale as your cheeks flushed, blood rushing in your ears in crashing waves. It wasn't choking you per se - Though the pressure spun your head, staggering as he yanked you forward, invasive eyes now inspecting both your growing frantics and the expertly tied knot.

"From how I'm seein' it - I deserve a little kindness for not lettin' that thing tear you apart," You still managed to scoff, even as the rough frayed rope pressed tighter, threatening to take your breath completely.

"Just trading one monster for another," You spoke in a strained voice, eyebrows twitching together as you still tugged at the rope constricting your air, temples pulsing with hot sparks of pain. His lip twitched, eyes darkening and forcing the knot to slide tighter against your throat for just a moment. You choked, breath pulled entirely from your lungs before suddenly falling against the dirt to your knees, ragged coughs pushing between your lips, drinking down gasps of air with a gluttonous groan. Upon opening your eyes, you could make out his boots, and the sound of his soft snickering - He was entertained by it, the way you so quickly fell from challenging him to kneeling, saliva spilling from your lips onto your chin as you coughed on the radiated air, finally able to tear the constricting rope away from your bruised neck. Cooper let it go on, head tilting off to the side with a smug expression before one of his hands met the top of your head. The leather creaked as his fingers spread and tangled themselves in your hair, gripping the locks and yanking back, you had no choice but to rest your watering eyes on his, trying to control your desperate need for clean oxygen.

"You know how many people want'ya dead?" He looked down at you with a blank expression, his jaw shifting slightly as he kept a firm hold on your hair. "Now, I could sure as hell use the caps," Cooper went on, the muscles of his brow shifting as he sucked his teeth. Your mind raced with the many posters you remember seeing, pasted in nearly every store window in Filly - You didn't know the price they set for you, you just knew it was enough to keep your head low and stay far away from any wastelander that seemed a bit too keen on helping you.

"But, I could also see about being paid in kind."

The hot smell of aged leather clogged the wash of dusty oxygen you gasped down in shuddered breaths. He gripped your chin with his free hand, thumbing the pooling saliva glossing over your bottom lip. He looked perversely deep in thought, eyeing the glassy strings as he drew his thumb back, lips parting slightly with a dry chuckle.

"Well ain't you a sight." Cooper sighed the words in a lower tone, as if speaking to only himself. You bared your teeth, jerking your head off to the side with a grunt, the hot sting of his iron grip on your hair causing you to hiss. "Ah, ah. You cut that shit right now," Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders, glaring towards him with a determined expression.

"You've been tailing me for weeks, you know I don't have anything you want." You spoke through grit teeth, making an attempt to reason your way from his grip on your hair, at least long enough to get a better shot on him.

"We both know that ain't true." Silence befell your snarled lips, eyes twitching over changing his expression - It was somber. As close as his mangled face could manage, muscles clenching in his jaw as his eyes sought something distant and familiar. He looked as if he was trying to remember a dream, eyes searching for that connection. How long has it been since he touched another with no violent motive to do so, you wondered. Your eyes softened, a sigh making its way past your cracked lips. Cooper would never admit just how human you were, that familiarity of how your breathing wavered haunting him. The man would not admit many things, that this motive for caps had fallen away weeks ago, that he pictured what this meeting would look like for hours on end; Would you be terrified, fight back as any normal wastelander would? Would you wriggle free of his desperation for a broken connection, even if rooted in malice? Questions like this kept him from approaching you on those nights.

The nights he watched you from afar, making a fire for yourself as you glanced over your shoulder every moment you could, cooking the little amounts of meat you managed to harvest while on the run. He considered interrupting it all, a quiet shot through the night you wouldn't see coming, even going as far as to click back the barrel with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. Though he never did. Even as you slept, and as he held his gun with a ferocious intent to use it, he never even made himself known.

"I saw you." Cooper's grasp on your hair reflected those many nights, fingers twitching, his senses toying with the idea of allowing you to go on or stopping this entire conversation entirely. "I saw you so many times and just waited for the moment you would fucking do it. And you didn't. So please, just be a human for a second and," The man growled, throat rumbling with a charred snarl as he shoved you backward onto the dirt, releasing your hair and wiping the remaining saliva on his glove over his duster. You caught yourself with a grunt - What would it take then? The heel of your palms scrapped into the hot gravel, as you refused to back down. You deserved answers. "And tell me what you want!"

You shouted the last words - If he killed you, so be it. It would just proved to you how much he's lost of himself, the stories, the fuzzy black and white movies you'd heard endlessly about; That you were right the entire time, there was no legendary Ghoul, just a man in pieces reformed by the wasteland. He grimaced at your voice pitching up, hand hovering his holstered gun with an instinctive need to defend himself before glaring down at you.

"Don't look at me like that." He muttered as he watched you push yourself from the ground, grimacing at the throb in your wrists as you knelt with squared shoulders before him. Your lips shaped the words, throat vibrating with the hum of your voice, though they never came to be; What could you say? He wouldn't answer you, and looked at you with pain in his eyes - Your eyebrows twitched, pursing your lips to pacify the pressing questions that threatened to spill. With a slow movement, you lifted your hand, perching your fingers against the worn fabric and leather of his thick belt.

"How do you want me to look at you?" You asked, the question desperate, seeking any answers he would give you. His gaze darkened, head tilting forward to carefully watch your hand, the shadow of his hat cast over his face. A part of you knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe part of you didn't want him to, even as your other hand lifted to slide the coarse leather tail of his belt through the metal buckle, trying your hardest to ignore the holster just off to the left of his hip. As you drew it away, your eyes snuck a glance upwards to meet his eyes. It sent chills through your veins, the focus on his expression a twisted part monster and so painfully human, his brown eyes unable to settle on just one part of you. He hadn't been touched by someone like this in years - Far longer than he could ever explain, let alone remember. His heart stuttered in his chest, lips twitching as a shuddered breath escaped him.

"Like that," Cooper whispered. His voice - Alluring, a deep purr pillowed with a desire. The voice was nearly foreign, the canvas of the wasteland falling away just for a moment; He let himself fall back in time, eyes softening as the familiar pull of his pulse rushed through his veins, the gloved hand that shielded his holster falling away. The warm leather of his glove met your hand, guiding you to him even as his eyes refused to keep your gaze for too long. His grasp on you was soft, his breathing wavering as your palm met the base of his cock, the friction even through his pants eliciting a soft grunt.

Cooper Howard was never a man to beg, even before the wasteland. Though, as he tipped his head back slightly, the word shaped his lips, swallowing back the urge with a clenched jaw. Now was not the time to let his guard down - But your hands were just so goddamn warm. Moving on their own now, your fingers dancing with the rusted zipper and loose button, he pressed his tongue to his cheek, unable to shake the urge. He released your hand and with an animalistically watchful eye, spoke.

"Please." The desperate tone of his growl was not one of demand - It was the need to be touched without scorching ropes, without venomous words, to be human again, even if for just a moment. There it was, you thought. The man in the movies, you could see it in his pleading eyes, in the way his fingers now laced themselves with tremors. He knew better than to be distracted in the heat of the chase, yet in that silent moment, he was helpless. As your touch lingered on the zipper of his pants, a barely audible groan escaped his lips. The coy tug at his clothing was met with barely resisted impatience, his jaw clenching and eyes darting around, warily assessing the safety of your surroundings. With a final click, the last barrier between you and Cooper's now sparking need was removed, freeing him from this teasing torment of anticipation. His cock resembled the rest of his visible skin, scars arching down the stiff base, veins tracing the underside of his shaft, and aching tip beading with arousal; You had your fair share of dalliances across the wasteland, and so had he - Though not like this, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the size of him, how his eyes watched your every reaction. As your hand wrapped around the man's throbbing cock, rugged and needy, hot and pulsating, his breath hitched.

In that moment, you were as much a captor as he was the hunter. The Ghoul's muscles tensed, beads of sweat dewed against his temples; He bit his tongue, silencing the breathy gasps pushed from his lips. Each stroke of your hand along his shaft sent a shockwave of pleasure and agonizing need crashing through him, his lungs straining for breaths that seemed to evade him.

"Shit," Cooper seethed the word through grit teeth, escaping your locked gaze with half-lidded eyes. His cock responded to each one of your movements, his hips stuttering forward in an unpracticed motion as he ached for more. Your thumb breezed over the scabrous tip, gathering the beading arousal now sliding down his shaft with a shudder.

"Like this?" Your lips ghosted over the tip of his twitching cock, eyes heavy as they sought perilously to meet his, letting the hot weight of him press against the soft of your cheek. Hesitantly, his brown eyes found yours, flickering over the wasteland behind you and your tattered clothes, how they shaped the silhouette of your body. His were parted, taking in unsteady breaths with tense shoulders, anticipating your every motion. His eyes were inexplicably human; Perhaps, you thought, for just a moment you could fall into the very same fantasy that he did. That connection, that heat - You craved it just as much as he did. As your tongue pushed from between your lips, you could hear the pleased groan fall from his chest, shoulders rolling back as he yearned for the pleasure you held just over his head.

"Just like that." Cooper gave a slight dip of his chin, shadowing his eyes with the brim of his hat. You hummed at his confirmation, your tongue pressing to the underside of his throbbing cock, generous with your saliva as you slid your mouth to wrap over him entirely. He hissed a chain of curses under his breath, now refusing to move his gaze from yours as his hips eased forward. He wanted more, greedy upon getting the first taste of something so painfully familiar, that heat he craved, the slick warmth of your lips making their way lower around him. Your tongue worked in slow waves, drinking down the salt of his sweat and the sounds you pried from him with every deliberate movement of your head. The texture of his cock rolled over your tongue, the tip now prodding at the soft of your throat, your lips tightening to accommodate the size of him; At this, his hips jutted forward, eyes tightening closed for a brief moment, eyebrow muscles drawing together in a pained expression of impetuous pleasure. He pushed himself deeper, hips now rolling forward in a rhythm he craved, his fingertips tingling as your teeth grazed against the sensitive scarred skin of his cock. "Fuck baby, that's it," Cooper took a heady breath, lifting a hand to his lips and bearing his teeth with a hiss. He took hold of the tip of his glove, swiftly biting down and pulling the thick leather away from his large hand. Warm bare fingers, met your hair, tangling through it with a purr strung tight in the mans chest. You were so soft, hot to the touch, searing his dulled senses with an electric singe he swore he forgot long ago. Glassy saliva slid over your chin, spreading messily over your lips as you took him as far as your throat would allow, the size of him taking your breath. " Christ - Takin' a ghoul's cock down your throat like that," He followed his obscene growl with a shallow thrust, threatening to surpass the limits of your pillowy mouth and throat as he watched you silently struggle for air. He held himself deep inside, each twitch and spasm of your throat working breathy gasps and trembling groans from his shivering body. After a smug moment, he pulled your head away from his length, the sting of your scalp hitching your messy breathing, instinctively moving to wipe the back of your hand against your soaked lips.

Cooper caught your wrist with his still gloved as it rose, swallowing down the biting urge to continue his ravaging of your throat. Sweat traced his jagged features, the shadow of his hat shifting with the glinting sun overhead, his panting causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall. He found himself searching for the words, on the tip of his tongue he could swear it - How long had it been, since he's been run this desperate for someone? His cock tensing and twitching at the simple idea of someone bent over for him? He tugged you to your feet with a chuffed exhale, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to keep your gaze on his. He wouldn't let you go, not now, not as the hunger flamed in his veins, not as he pressed your stomach against the warehouse you once took shelter in. The man pried off his other glove, tossing it to the dirt below your feet. He wanted to feel you.

"Is this what you wanted?" You breathed raggedly, a chuff of an almost smug exhale ghosting past your lips as you rested your cheek against the rusted steel of the warehouse. His hands were invasive, hungry as the rough skin grabbed hold of your waistband, calluses and scars rubbing over your skin as he yanked your pants to your ankles. A glaze of sweat lit your body aflame, his rough palms groping your ass with a shameless groan. "Is this what you pictured those nights you watched me?"

Your words tugged a deep moan from his throat, his bare fingers making their way to your lips; He gathered the left over saliva from your chin, yet your tongue extended to wrap over his middle finger, coaxing him into your mouth with a tantalizing arch of your back. His cock was heavy against your ass, pulsating with a fierce need for release, fingers lathering over your tongue.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" Cooper leaned down, his length glazed with your saliva sliding over you - He purred in your ear, the throaty bass of his voice stippleing goosebumps over the nape of your neck. He drew his soaked fingers from between your lips, moving to slide them messily against your hole. Your breathing hitched, thighs parting instinctually as his fingers prodded teasingly at your entrance.

Cooper thought of those nights briefly, gloved hand wrapped at the base of his cock as he watched you from afar, teeth crushing into his tongue to silence himself. Cumming to the sound of your voice, the images of you pulsating in his mind wading into his mind, positioned just like this. He chuckled darkly, the tip of his cock throbbing against your soaked entrance. "Arch that back baby - There you go, that's it," He spoke against the shell of your ear, the rough palm of his hand planted at the small of your back, pressing down gently to arch you to his satisfaction.

You don't remember saying his name, though you distinctly recalled the scrawled cursive of navy blue and yellow all over billboards and television screens; There was nowhere he wouldn't follow, there was no way to forget the taste of his name falling over your tongue as he pulled you tight against him, pushing inside you with little hesitation. You could feel him still for a moment, heart staggering in his chest as you cried out. You cried out for him.

"Cooper!"

The man snarled, the palm on your back clutching at your clothes as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you. The moment your hips met his, he pulled away, then back again. He filled you ruthelessly, pulling your weight against his own just to draw back and fill you again; He clawed at your hips, your lower back, grabbing any of you he possibly could to be sure he'd keep you there. Your head swam with electricity, the slight burn of being stretched so suddenly easing into a head spinning heat, bundling itself tight in your abdomen. Each one of his thrusts stoking the roaring fire in your senses, beads of sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you moved in tandem with the Ghoul.

"Fuck - Sayin' my name all pretty like," He grunted, his head falling back as he pulled one of his hands back, cracking his rough palm against the soft of your ass. You yelped, body flinching at both the sting and the sudden sound, but that seemed to only rouse his hunger for you more. You gasped and arched into the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the slickness of your saliva and his thickness meld together in a twisted symphony of desire. You pressed against the warehouse, white-knuckled as the pleasure and pain coursed through your body. Every slap echoed in your ears, each time intensifying the sensation, your body clenching around him as you begged for more.

"Cooper, please" You cried out once more, the words tumbling from your lips as if his name was the only thing you'd ever need to say. His hands were tight on your hips, a strangled moan escaping him as he took you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost to the euphoria of it all. You could feel the walls of your entrance clenching and pulsing around him, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The Ghoul's rough hands explored your body as your hips began to meet his animalistic thrusts, matching the rhythm and urgency until you were both moving in perfect synchrony, a symbiosis of lust and need. You clawed at the warehouse wall, your legs trembling as your body inched closer and closer to the edge.

"Shit, I'm- I can't, I'm gonna," You knew it wouldn't be long, the coiled rope of need within you was about to snap. A low growl escaped his throat in response, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, and you knew he was close as well. A hand gripped your hair, tugging gently, his other hand still wrapped over your hip as he drove into you with renewed fervor.

"Cum for me, baby," He moaned for you, a bated breath on his lips. And so you did, the world shattering around you in a wash of blinding pleasure, the shudder that wracked your body echoing the spasms of your core. You screamed his name once more, the sound guttural and raw, as you shattered into pieces, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Each spasm of your inner muscles caused him to shudder, his own release close at hand. You could feel your knees shaking, his body accommodating your limp weight as he kept you close against him.

"Look at you, fucked so stupid you can't even stand, sugar?" Cooper spoke between grunts, his hands lined with tremors as he held onto you with a desperate gasp. "Shit baby," His eyes locked on your ass, watching how you threw your weight back against him with reckless abandon - He clenched his jaw tight, the fire in his mind and senses sparking aflame in a sharp thrust forward. His movements became messy, clinging to you and muttering obscenities, shuddering out gasps as the fire roared inside him. "This what'ya want huh? Get filled up rough by a man like me?" Cooper groaned at your responsive whimpers, tipping his chin forward in a slow nod, the fire crumbling into an explosion within mere seconds. He came with torn outcry, burying himself to the hilt inside you, watching your hips slowly milk all he was walling to give you.

For a long moment, you remained locked together, breaths coming in ragged pants, before he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling both empty and full at the same time. You slumped forward, still clinging to the steel wall of the warehouse, feeling every nerve in your body tingling. The soft clatter of a glass bottle pulled you from the wading pleasure of your mind, eyes slowly opening to see a bottle of Rad X hit the heel of your shoe. You swore his hands were still on you, the heaving of his breaths still on your ear - Though as you turned, kneels wobbling slightly, he had disappeared into the sinking dusk of the wasteland. Your eyes circled the land around you, shoes crunching the gravel as you leaned your sweat glazed back against the warehouse.

"Fuck," You sighed the word through panted breaths, glancing down at the Rax X, and quickly doing a double take upon catching sight of something else. A leather glove, discarded in the sand and gravel. With a hesitant breath, you leaned down slightly, fingers hooking the glove into your grasp. You held the warm leather in your hand, turning it in your grasp fondly.

Surely he'd be back for this.

[remidiy]

We Don't Gatekeep Art Resources | A Comprehensive List

Here's a list of some of the tools/sites I currently use or have used previously for works/studies. I'll separate it into Software/Utility, Reference, and 'Other' which will be just general things that could help you map out things for your experience with art. **[Free highlighted in pink, paid highlighted in green. Blue is variable/both. Prices Listed in USD]**

Software/Utility:

2D

Krita Painting app (PC) (my main digital art software on PC for 5+ yrs)

Clip Studio Paint [PC] [CSP 2.0+ allows for 3d modelling within the painting app and a lot of other cool features] [apparently allows up to 6 months free trial]

Procreate (12.99) [iPad/iPad Pro] (the GOAT)

Artstudio Pro [iPad/iPad Pro] (An alternative to Procreate if you enjoy the more traditional art app layout) -- I find this app handy when Procreate is lacking a feature I need, or vice versa. (you can easily transfer files between the two, but keep in mind Procreate's layer limit)

2D "Collaborative Painting/Drawing apps"

Magma Studio

Drawpile

Discord Whiteboard

Gartic Phone (Pretty decent for 2d animation practice, but has a hard limit on frames)

3D

Blender [3D Modelling, Sculpting + Layout] (PC)

Sculptris [PC] (it's an old unsupported version of Zbrush, but can help to get ideas out, and functions better than browser sculpting apps

Nomad Sculpt [iPad/iPad Pro] ($20) Works pretty well if you prefer a mobile setup, but it is a bit intense on the battery life and takes some getting used to

References + Study

Magic Poser [ PC and Mobile ] Has both free and paid versions, I've made do with just the lite version before

Artpose ($9.99) [Iphone + Steam]

Head Model Studio [IPhone] A 3D head, with both a basic blockout version for angles, and a paid version with more detail

Cubebrush [simply search "[keyword] pose reference pack"], they usually have good results + they frequently have sales!

Line of Action [Good for Gesture practice + daily sketching], also has other resources built in.

Quickposes Similar to Line of action, more geared toward anatomy

Drawabox | Perspective Fundamentals Improvement modules (Suggested by @taffingspy )

Sketchfab, this skull in particular is useful, but there is other models that can help you study anatomy as well.

Pinterest can be good, you just have to be careful, usually you're better off just finding reference pack if you have the money, sometimes certain creators have freebies as well

Artstation Marketplace can be decent [make sure to turn on the Aye-Eye filter so it doesn't feed you trash], a colleague of mine recommended this head model for practicing facial blocking, there is also this free version without lighting.

Local Art Museums [Unironically good for studying old "master work" if you're into that, or even just getting some inspiration]

Brushes + Other Useful software:

I personally have used both of these brush packs before making my own

(I actually don't know how to share my daily brush set because I frequently switch between Krita, Procreate, and ASP, but once I figure that out I'll be sure to do that lol)

Marc Brunet's Starter brush pack [Technically free but supporting him for this if you like it is ideal, there's some good brushes]

Dave Greco Brush Pack [$3]

Gumroad in general is a good place to find brushes and art resources. *Note; for Krita specifically, brush packs are a bit weird, so it may require you to find different packs, or import them in a particular way

PureRef [PC] - Reference Compiler/Moodboarding

VizRef ($3.99) [iPad] - Moodboarding/Reference Compiler

Artist Youtubers/Creators that helped me improve/guide me along as a self-taught artist from when I first started digital art to where I am today:

Proko

Marco Bucci

Sinix Design

Sycra

Hardy Fowler

Lighting Mentor

Winged Canvas

Moderndayjames

Swatches

Chommang_drawing

Marc Brunet (YTartschool)

+ Observing a lot of speedpaint art by people whose work I enjoy on social media/youtube, trying to dissect their processes

If you've gotten this far, first of all, congrats, you can read a lot, and second of all, thank you for reading and I hope this helps! I'll continue to come back and update this if I find any new resources in the future, or if my processes change :)

Much Love,

-Remidiy

[sodascribbles]

two weeks of whump: day one

(read on ao3 here!) For @promptsforyourwhumpfic's Two Weeks of Whump! Thank you :] Poker | Shock Collar | Ashes Characters: Sly Cooper, The Contessa, misc. wolf guards Content: the titular shock collar, mentioned conditioning/'training', very minorly implied whipping, swearing. Note: i assure you, it only goes downhill from here >:3c

Maybe if she didn't want to get shocked, she should have paid better attention.

He’s still learning how to properly utilize the Voltage Strike that he’d tomfuckered his way into while scuffling in Rajan’s temple. He’d panicked and had just sparked up, lightning arcing from his cane as he’d swung.

He didn’t currently have his cane, unfortunately. Hopefully he could still do it.

. . .

He’s dead. He can’t quite find it in himself to be guilty, but he’s definitely about to be dead.

Sly had meant to use the Voltage Strike alongside some kind of escape plan. Knock out some guards, turn off the power, something.

She’d startled him. He’d shocked the Contessa. He’s about to die.

An icy fury burns in her eyes as she glowers at him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he freezes, ears pinned to his skull. He has half a mind to apologize— but he doesn’t get the chance. (And he really doesn’t feel bad. For a split second, before the oh shit had settled in, he had thought it was funny.)

The Contessa smiles. Her expression remains dangerously dark, mandibles clicking as she fucking grins at him. If he hadn’t already been convinced of his imminent demise, that would have done it.

“Hold him here for a moment,” she hisses between her teeth, still smiling.

When she returns, the guards practically scatter away from him, desperate to avoid her wrath. Suddenly unhindered, Sly scrambles backward. He pins himself to the wall, claws scrabbling against the stone.

She has something, held behind her back like one might hold a surprise present, still beaming. He growls, only for it to pitch up into a frightened hiss as she continues to approach.

Unfazed by his (frankly pathetic) attempt at a warning, she gives a quick gesture. Two of the wolves lurch into action, taking him by the shoulders and wrenching his head upward.

“Get off of me—!” He thrashes, of course he does, but the struggling doesn’t do much.

She clicks something into place around his throat. It digs, turning his breaths quick and shallow. It’s not enough to choke him— that is, until she hooks a claw into it and yanks, and he’s cut off with a sharp strangled sound.

“That’s a fascinating ability you have, Cooper,” she coos, waving a ‘hand’ once more and allowing the wolves to release him, “Unfortunately for you, I’ve come prepared.” He flattens backward again, hand coming up to press at the strange—

—collar? She’d collared him?

“Go on!” The Contessa claps her hands together like an excited child. “Try your cute little party trick now.”

…Sly really, really doesn’t want to do that. But he knows better than to disobey an order like that. (The gashes still crisscrossing his back ache pointedly.) So, reluctantly, he reaches into that feeling, letting—

—White hot agony arcs through him. He lets out a choked cry, now-twitching hands coming up to desperately scrabble at the collar— at the shock collar. He’s sent spasming, writhing away from the pain— get it off, get it off, get it—!

All at once, the worst of it is over. It’s like a switch is flipped (belatedly, Sly realizes that’s probably exactly what happened), and the pain sizzles off into an ache. He slumps, eyes glassy, panting.

The Contessa stands over him, looking positively thrilled. “Well, that was a wonderous show,” she coos, crouching down enough to cup his chin and tilt his gaze to hers. He whines, ears pressing down as he tries to pull away. Her grip turns bruising, and he stills. “I think I’ll keep that on you for a while. Teach you some lessons, yes?”

Sly hisses, and almost immediately regrets it as she draws back to turn the collar on again.

“Now your training can truly start,” she smiles, though she knows he can’t hear him. “I can’t wait.”

[iamthecomet]

And hoot again :D

Yeah, you’re very right (both with so quickly depending on it being overwhelming and with it showing how much I needed it)

The trip to therapy went quite well! The bus wasn‘t overly full on both ways, so I could sit down which was really good. I‘m still nervous for the first time that I’ll sit down on the floor if all seats are taken (it would be safer and better for me, but before I was always too scared to do that. Now that I have a cane that makes it sort of visible that I have trouble walking/standing, I want to try to do it).

I have suspected that I have hypermobile joints for a while (the problem is that I’m not in enough pain to really struggle so much that it would really be worth seeing a doctor for, but I’ll mention it when I got my next appointment). Part of the problem is my bad memory, because due to that I honestly can‘t even remember if I’m in pain (I know stuff constantly and quickly starts hurting but that’s probably normal in most cases and I also have a really high pain tolerance).

My body can do things it‘s apparently not supposed to do though

But I feel it with the cane, cause my wrist always sort of wobbles cause it’s really not stable. So I tried applying tape today, but only went to the very near grocery store that takes like a minute to walk to. So I don’t really know how much it has helped yet regarding walking with the cane. I do feel more comfortable though, and I think it‘s also helping me with writing and drawing

(On the video I watched the guy explained what the hypermobile thing in that hand he was showing it on is exactly, what it would look like if it wasn‘t hypermobile and what the tape is gonna do. And my thumb has the exact position that is a result of the joint being hypermobile (so like my suspicion doesn’t seem to be too wrong)

Since noon I had a really really bad headache that felt like my skull was split open and my brain crushed. So really not nice. I took 1,5 ibuprofen and later one paracetamol but nothing helped.

Then I tested myself cause I remembered that the only time I had such a bad headache was when I had COVID and boom! Positive

So yeah. I‘ll stay in bed tomorrow (and my head hurts so fucking much. I hate it)

I‘ll send you pics when the order gets here if you want! :D

But two pairs of Doc Martens sounds very nice!

A really sweet and funny story:

A friend of mine asked me to explain Ghost (as in, explain everything).

Three days ago I sent a video of like a few clips of Jutty, one of which being this clip in which he is like “unfollowing is bullying“ and “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨“

And since then, we‘ve constantly been sending “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨” back and forth (then we started to send the clip as a only one time viewable video so it wouldn’t be visible beforehand).

Today, I cut off the beginning of an edit and put that clip behind that to hide it and sent it to them. They have also hidden it in a poll on WhatsApp already

It turned into a game and we can‘t stop laughing about it because it‘s so fucking silly xD (it‘s practically like Rick-rolling)

wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨

(You just got wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨-ed. You‘re welcome xD)

~ @owlishanon

I'm glad it's still going well! It's good that it gives you so much peace of mind and that you feel confident doing what you need to do now without worrying that something awful is going to happen. But I'm so sorry that you have COVID! It's rotten. I hope you get lots of rest and your headache doesn't last too long. Sleep and drink lots of water! You can definitely send me pictures of the stuff you get when it comes in! I always love to see people's hauls! I am very excited about my docs. I paid $140 for both pairs, which is like half of one what one of them costs brand new. I feel VERY lucky about it. One pair is rusty orange suede, they're short boots. Great for every day. The other are standard black knee highs which have been my dream boots since, like, forever (I've owed many, many pairs of knee high lace-up boots, but none of them were Docs). The wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨 thing has me giggling. Thank you for that. What a great joke to have with your friends, seriously. Fucking Jutty. He kills me in the best ways.

[hooman4ever]

!NSFW! ‘Some Whore’ Danny, Jed Olson |Ghostface| x Male Reader

Requested by elijah the high waisted man he got feminine hips on Ao3

Lightly edited bc it’s 2am and I’m tired.

Contains: NSFW, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Outdoors, Exhibitionism Kinda, Voyeurisms Kinda, Ass Cheek Fucking (Idfk what you call that), Refers to Danny as Ghostface, Pre-Relationship

This is horribly risky— you thought, biting your bottom lip. 

Currently, you were hiding out in a small closed-off area hidden in a basically useless loop, a hand shoved down your pants as you fisted yourself, looking for a quick release. “Fuck-” you gasped out eyebrows scrunching together. Pleasure rolled through your body making your mind grow fuzzy, only thoughts of cuming on your mind. 

Throwing your head back your skull knocked against the wall you were leaning against on shaky legs. Your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it on the tip of your tongue. Just a few more strokes and you would- 

A slow clapping pulled you from your hazy state of mind– a choked noise spurred from your lips as your eyes widened. Quickly pulling your hand from your pants you stumbled, turning to whoever had caught you in such a sinful state. A white mask caught your gaze and panic-filled you. 

Red light flooded the ground just in front of you as your heart beat like a jackhammer against your ribs, adrenaline filling your veins. The urge to run flooded your body yet you froze. 

Ghostface was blocking the only exit out of the corner you had pushed yourself into. “Gotta say– I love a good show,” He paused unsheathing the knife clasped to his thigh before letting the blade dance in the artificial moonlight The Entity created “but this is just offensive. I’m out here working– and you’re getting off in the corner like some whore?” 

Fear pulsed through your veins yet your dick still found it to twitch the derogatory name twisting your insides in a pleasurable way that had you accidentally keening before you could stop yourself. 

Pure and utter mortification was what you felt– your face noticeably paling– as Ghostface was silent his posture now rigid. His eyes were boring into you through the mask and you could feel the heavy gaze, it was too much. You let your eyes drop down raking over Ghostface’s body before stopping. 

“Seems like I’m not the only whore here,” you retorted, your voice shaky as you glanced over the noticeable bulge in Ghostface’s pants. 

A startled gasp flew past your mouth as gloved hands found themselves on your body. One was placed on your navel the palm pressing down into the skin there as the other sat loosely around your neck. A silent promise of what Ghostface would do if you mouthed him off again. 

“You sure about that, sunshine?” he mussed his voice dangerously low as you felt hot breath– puffing out from his mask fan on the shell of your ear. “N-no–” you said weakly, trying to take back your earlier statement. 

“Thought so,” Ghostface’s hands tailed down to the hem of your pants his fingers dancing along the hem of your bottoms. “Now, let’s see what I'm dealing with here.” not even a second after the words left his mouth Ghostface was pulling down your bottoms and briefs, letting the clothing pool by your ankles– letting his fingers wrap around your length. 

He hummed appreciatively his eyes trailing down between your legs. “Not bad– I thought you would be smaller,” he taunted giving you a few lazy strokes to silence any rebuttal you could have given. His grip soon turning firm– his movements falling into a dizzying rhythm that had you uselessly bucking up into his hand. 

Ghostface worked expertly against you, drawing out breathy moans and unintelligible pleas along with the slick noises accompanying his quick controlled strokes. With a yelp, your knees buckled as your orgasm shook your body making you lurch forward hands fisting the front of Ghostface’s jacket as he fully wrapped his free arm around your waist holding you to him. Your seed dripped from Ghostface’s hand to the ground but he paid it little mind. His hand on your member not stopping till you fully spent, whimpering from overstimulation. 

His hand receded allowing you a few moments to catch your breath. 

Spinning you around and pushing you forward Ghostface made you fumble— your hands scrambling to find purchase on the wall you were now facing before your face could make contact with the surface. His hands were on your hips, resting there and holding you so your back was slightly arched your ass on view for his greedy eyes. 

Ghostface moved his hand down rubbing a cheek and giving it a squeeze “Think I just found my new favorite view,” Ghostface murmured his words accompanies by a harsh smack. “Ah-” The sudden pain flaring through your behind made you jolt forward hands balling into fists. 

Both Ghostface’s hands moved to your cheeks fondling you. His hands were warm on your body– it was nice. One hand left your flesh shortly followed by the rustling of clothes and the buckle of a belt being undone. Ghostface’s hands were back on you as you heard pants fall to the ground. 

You felt Ghostface grab both cheeks, spreading them apart and exposing your entrance to him. “God- you look so fuckable, it’s killing me.” he groaned through stuttered breaths “If only I caught you jacking off outside of a trial. Then I could take my sweet time with you, baby boy.” you felt Ghostface’s length slide between your cheeks his head brushing over your hole. 

The plastic of Ghostface’s mask made contact with the nape of your neck “This’ll have to do for now,” he whispered more to himself than you as his hips thrust forward. 

He used you like this, rutting between your cheeks and moaning quietly down your back. The flushed tip of his dick occasionally stimulating your rim and teasing you till you were pushing back against his movements.

Every low moan he let out had heat pooling in your stomach. “Gonna paint your skin,” Ghostface’s voice was audibly strained, his movements speeding up till his hips stuttered and stilled– a loud moan flying from his throat– his seed shooting up your spine. The warmth splattered your skin mixing with your sweat. 

His hands slid up your sides as his ragged breathing gradually slowed alongside yours. A chaste warm kiss was pressed to your shoulder his lips pulling away from your skin before you could fully process his actions. Begrudgingly the warm body once pressed against yours was gone as quickly as it had come leaving you vulnerable to The Entity’s simulated environment. 

You let yourself fall to the ground, Ghostface’s release sliding down your cheeks and back. 

The first blood-curdling scream brought you from your afterglow bliss, throwing you headfirst back into the reality of things. 

You don't know what had just happened between you and the killer known as Ghostface but as you got decent, wandering off into the darkness in search of a gen you could only hope for a sequel. 

[denim-mixtapes]

Diamonds and Rust [1/5: Treasure Hunting] - (Eddie Munson/Reader)

Rating: T Word Count: 2100 Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader Warnings: Language, Slow Build/Slow burn, pet names instead of Y/N, unironic use of the word "milady" Summary: Working in a thrift shop makes for some long, boring days, especially in the summer when you can't even fill the time with studying. Luckily your favorite metalhead regular stops in often to help pass the time. Also posted on AO3

Working in a thrift store at the edge of town usually meant long, boring days. You’d get the occasional antique hunter, a few moms shopping for their families on the weekends, a handful of regulars, and every so often some bored teens would stroll through but for the most part it was quiet. You liked it that way. All the more time to get some studying done all while getting paid, right? At least that excuse worked during the school year. Now, mid-July of the summer after your senior year, the days passed like molasses through an hourglass. Shadows stretch along the walls as the sun moves across the sky and not a soul passes through the door. 

You spend your shifts processing donations, sorting clothing into piles such as Menswear or Children’s or Dear God Why Would You Donate This There Is Literal Shit On It , and testing electronics and toys for functionality. It’s a little dull sorting diamonds from rust, but it’s a living.

Like clockwork around 2 PM, the bell above the door signals the entry of your favorite regular. He’s missing his signature leather jacket and battle vest combo, and his mop of hair is tied into a knot at the base of his neck, but he still has that signature Eddie Munson smile plastered on his face. He beelines for the counter you’re sitting behind and taps out an enthusiastic beat on the glass top, the silver of his chunky rings clicking against it louder than he anticipated. 

“Anything new for me today, Sweetheart?” He asks, drawing out the pet name a little too slowly. 

Reaching under the counter for the milk crate you and your coworkers stashed the particularly good donations, you shrug. “Not much more than yesterday, Munson. Most people don’t drop off donations in the middle of the week.” 

As you set the crate on the counter, his eyes shine with excitement. He’s practically bouncing on his toes, watching as you dig in the bin for the box you’d stashed there earlier today. 

“Maybe not,” he muses, “but I know you don’t always go through everything as soon as you get it… and you wouldn’t have reached for your little treasure chest down there if you didn’t have to so, again I say,” he actually does bounce this time, his hands coming to a teepee in front of his wicked grin, “what’cha got?” 

You can’t bluff any longer, and roll your eyes when you toss the velvet jewelry box onto the counter. “Dunno if it’s your size,” you say, “but it’s got your name written all over it.” 

Eddie opens the box quicker than you thought humanly possible, and the noise he makes can only be described as a roar of excitement, followed by a hearty laugh. He pulls the thick silver ring from its place in the box and inspects it. A heavy skull sits on the top, much like the one he already wears daily, but this one has a set of dark, tarnished metal horns curling from its forehead and small red stones set in the eye sockets. He immediately slips it onto all of his fingers to test the fit. It doesn’t look hopeful until he switches hands, slipping it onto the second finger where his other skull ring sits. 

Chuckling, he switches them, tossing the old ring up in the air and catching it before stuffing it in his back pocket. “Would ya look at that? Guess there’s only room for one,” he chuckles, flexing his fingers and admiring the new piece. “How much?” 

“As you can guess, we probably wouldn’t make much on that from anyone but you,” you tease, looking over all the other jewelry prices in the case before you. You throw out a random number, “Two-fifty?” 

“Oh,” the man before you feigns offense. His hand flies to his chest, pressing softly against the Hellfire logo, and he throws his head back. “You wound me, sweetheart. You really think that little of my style that something I love is worth a mere two dollars and fifty cents ?”

Laughing, you raise an eyebrow, your hands resting mockingly on your hips. “You wanna pay more for it?” 

“No, no,” he holds out a hand, stopping the bit before it can go any further, and rummages in his wallet for a few crumpled dollar bills. “But keep the change,” he says as he hands them over, “I don’t like…jingling.” 

Your eyes narrow at him while you pluck two quarters out of the register and deposit them into the penny pool next to it. 

“I dunno,” you murmur, “you seem to me like exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t mind jingling, what with all the chains and buttons you wear.”

“Touche, my dear, touche.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives an exaggerated shrug. Turning on his heel toward the door, he calls over his shoulder, “guess I just don’t like change. Pocket or otherwise!” 

When Eddie is around, you fear you’ll never stop rolling your eyes. Which you do, affectionately, and bid him adieu until tomorrow, when he’ll inevitably show up once again asking if anything new has come in.   

You'll definitely look. You always do. It’s a habit now, to keep an eye out for things that your regulars may like while you sort and process donations. Charles, the old man who looks for cat trinkets for his wife, always stops in on Saturday mornings while she’s at her hair appointment. You set things he may like aside so that you can show him and save him the time of browsing. Anything remotely trendy or something that may seem like a cool find, you tend to hide amongst the racks to make it more of a challenge for the teens that come in and love the hunt of it all. Likewise, the items that scream Eddie Munson at you, you can’t help but stash away with your own findings, because he can spend all day browsing the racks – and he will – but seeing his face light up when you produce your wares from under the counter is one of the highlights of your day. 

You weren’t sure how to feel when the town outcast seemed to pick your shop as his new hangout. To give yourself credit, you never really were one to buy into all the rumors spread around high school, especially in Hawkins. If you did, you wouldn’t trust anyone. No, you didn’t think he could be nearly as bad as everyone made him out to be, but his personality and style still didn’t paint him in an overly-inviting light, and you didn’t want anyone stirring up trouble in your (for the most part) peaceful place of work. At his first visit, you figured he just needed a thing or two and that he would be in and out. Then he hit you with that damn smile, and he kept coming back . Soon enough his “freak” persona melted away before your very eyes, and with every visit, over casual conversation and the occasional Icee he would bring you from the gas station across the street, you got to know the true Eddie Munson. Sure, he was still a metalhead with quite the eccentric fashion sense and devil-may-care attitude, but he was also an excitable and inviting nerd who loved a good opportunity to talk about his interests and even your own. 

So now you find yourself tucking tee shirts and patches and tapes into that milk crate and looking forward to the next time you see him. Really, you always looked forward to his next visit, but your little treasures were a better excuse for that excitement. 

The day after you presented him with his new favorite ring, the store received a donation that you’re more excited than ever to sort through.

The record store in town has had “CLOSING SOON! EVERYTHING MUST GO!” signs in its windows for months, and you had assumed they were just waiting to sell the last of their inventory before finally closing their doors, but according to the former owner the rent on the building had become too much to make keeping the doors open worth it. So, he brought the last of the inventory (about 9 crates full of records, and a few boxes of resale tour merch) to you, hoping that they might have better luck on your shelves. 

You can barely contain your glee and have to stop yourself from ripping into the boxes before he’s even left the store. By the time two o’clock rolls around you’ve managed to sift through about half the boxes, and have a short stack of records on the counter waiting to show off. 

“Well, well, well,” Eddie’s voice startles you from your concentration on the task at hand, you’ve been so engrossed in sorting through the items that you didn’t even hear the bell above the door. “What do we have here?” He gestures to the overflowing counter with both hands, excitement dancing in his eyes. 

“Christ, Eddie,” you scold, hand to your heart and a soft glare on your features. “You scared the pants off me.” 

Raising his eyebrows, he leans heavily on the counter, leaning in close to peek over the edge at your legs, “aw, man,” glancing back up to your exasperated face, he chuckles. “I was hoping you meant literally.” 

“Shut up, Munson.” You breathe. 

“Alright,” he reaches for the box closest to him and digs in, “but only ‘cause I’m itchin' to see what this is all about.” 

So you dive into the story, explaining everything the shop owner told you when he dropped it all off and you both sort through the records. Although, while you organize them alphabetically, Eddie is sorting them into two distinct piles: “Worth Listening To” and “Utter Trash.” You won’t tell him you saw, but he definitely slipped an extra ABBA album underneath Bat Out of Hell in the 'good' pile .

“Oh!” You exclaim after setting the last of the boxes behind the counter to get priced and shelved, “I almost forgot the best part!” 

“Oh yeah?” He probes, his dimples on full display when he gives you a cheeky grin, “What’s that?” He leans his elbows heavily on the counter, leaning into you with interest.

You grab the stack of hand picked items from under the counter and push it toward him, your expression full of pride. It’s not much, a couple of pins, a shirt, and three records, but they’re the ones that stood out to you most before Eddie showed up. 

“Take ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper despite there being nobody else in the store, “they haven’t been logged yet so they technically haven’t been donated.” 

He holds the shirt, a Black Sabbath Tour ‘78 design, up to his chest and bites back a grin. “Now something tells me you shouldn’t be doin’ that.” Then, pulling the shirt away from himself, he holds it in front of you, making a show out of closing one eye and lining it up perfectly so that he can picture it on you. Your cheeks heat – whether it’s under his stare or at the comment you aren’t sure. He holds the shirt out to you and winks, “You should keep this one for yourself though. I’ve already got one like it and I’m sure you’ll rock it better than me, anyway.” 

You snatch it from his grasp and busy yourself with another box of donations to hide the fact that your blush is only getting deeper. 

“We aren’t technically supposed to hold shit for anyone after it’s been processed either, but you don’t seem to complain when I do that.” 

When you look back up, he’s holding his hands up in surrender, “hey, no complaints over here, I just wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with the law or anything. That’s kind of my schtick.” 

“Eh,” you shrug, “what the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and with a donation as massive as this, they won't be missed.” 

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he scoops the pins into his pocket and shuffles the three records between his hands. His gaze flicks between the titles (Judas Priest Stained Class , Rush 2112 , and Motörhead Overkill ) and your face, his smile widening as he does, “these are some good picks.” 

“I know , ” you press, “now get outta here so I can do my job.” 

He bows, actually bows, with his hands outstretched and turns toward the door. “Till next time, milady!”

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

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

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

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

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

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

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

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

He appreciated the quiet these days.

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

And then he thought of her.

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

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

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then suddenly, it stilled.

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

And then he saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not Daryl.

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

Little did he know.

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

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

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

“Need a hand?”

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

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

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

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

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

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

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

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

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

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

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

“Hey, wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

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

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

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

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

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

But then her eyes met his.

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

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

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

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

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

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

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

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

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

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

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

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

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

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

No matter what the cost.

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

But Y/N was just as quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old habits die hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[thatonecoryosimp]

The Devil's Mercenary pt. 2 Technoblade X reader. The Bet

"Heloo. How are you? I'm good btw. I was reading some of your fics and was wondering, can we get a p2 of Devils Mercenary? If you dont wanna do it just ignore me. Also, can I be 🐍Anon ?"

~~~~~~

🐍 anon by beloved. I'm doing pretty good at the moment. But I think you deserve a huge welcome to the family. I was actually really hoping that someone would ask for a part 2. I didn't know if you wanted your account to be completely anonymous so I didn't add the original ask. Thank you so much for requesting darling.

Warnings: Suggestive content. Cussing.

Series Masterlist

Part 3

My spine was stiff as I listened to the trodding of his footsteps. My breath finally released as they faded from hearing range. There were so many questions and so many answers out of reach. How much could he really know?

~~~~

The moon had covered the once bright L'manburg walls, making it easy for my body to blend into the dark cover of night. Scaling the walls had become more of a chore over the past few months, always having to find the proper fitting.

My hands made a blind grab for the familiar rough edges of the blackstone. As polished as it may be, nothing is perfect. My feet and hands worked in a gentle rhythm as I pulled myself up. It was a quick jump down into a small puddle of water.

My eyes scanned quickly over the tree line as they found the porcelain hidden in the green. Quick feet and steady movement carried me to the man.

"It's done."

"I'm rather aware, darling." The bag was quickly slipped into my hands as I stared into the unchanging void of the mask. "I have another job for you."

"I don't think that's the smartest idea."

I could only imagine the piercing cold stare that man was giving me.

"And why not? Hmm?" His voice was low and slightly teasing. But it didn't stop my body from tensing.

"Someone knows." Rather be blunt and honest than beat around the bush.

"Who? Tommy? Tubbo?" His voice was questioning but not concerned. "The pig?" I nodded my head slowly.

"He's watching, Dream. One wrong move between either of us and I'm dead and you have to find another assistant."

The thundering chuckle broke all seriousness the situation held. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to make me slightly panic.

"Guess we'll have to be twice as sneaky, huh?" He whispered as he leaned in closer, his finger hooked under my chin as he pulled my head up slightly.

"Wouldn't want our plans to be ruined, would be, sweetheart?" The blade was pressed against my neck with enough pressure to draw blood. I gave the best shake of the head I could with the position I was in. "Good."

My eyes widened as he moved in and kissed the side of my neck, I flinched away slightly before being tugged back.

"We have a contract sweetheart, you're not getting away that easily."

~~~~~

My legs ache slightly when I wake up. My mind was still kind of fuzzy. I practically tumbled out of bed and walked to the kitchen. The cooling glass of water felt heavenly on my sore throat. My eyes locked on the little folder with information in it. A gut-wrenching feeling appeared as I stared at it.

I placed the glass on the counter and opened the envelope.

It was someone named Jimmy, apparently, Dream is salty at the man. It had Jimmy's current residents written down, as well as his attributes and quirks. He seemed easy enough. A quick in and out mission. But I had to be careful with the Blade still hot on my tail.

There was a loud knocking at my door that startled me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to shove the paper into the container and find a hiding place. I practically threw it into one of the cupboards.

I ran to the door as the person knocked again. I swung the door open. Technoblade stood there with a glare. He practically pushed me out of the way.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I questioned.

"Don't play the innocent game, you and I both know why I'm here."

I bit my lip and sighed, "What do you want? Don't tell them. They'll never forgive me."

"Well, maybe that's just what you deserve." My eyes widened at the man's words... but... it was probably true. Did I really deserve my friend's trust when I was literally sleeping with the enemy?

My eyes followed upward, "What. Do. You. Want. You clearly haven't told them yet, so what do you want?"

Technoblade's smirk formed with his next words.

"I want to make you a bet." My eyes widened.

"A bet? Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. I'll keep quiet if you win." My eyebrow raised.

"And if I lose?"

"You pay with your life."

"No. Fuck no. You can go jump in a Cadillac and drive off a cliff."

"Well then, you can be forever shunned by your... 'friends'"

My eyes slightly trailed. "What's the bet?"

"I'm so glad you asked. I have to make a trip to the Nether, need lots of Wither skulls, and I need help. That's where you come in-"

"What's the bet in that? That's just a favor."

"Don't cut me off. The bet is, you're not aloud armor, if you live after I get all the skulls, I keep my mouth shut. If you die, well, your debts have been paid, and I get my sweet satisfaction."

There was a pause in time for a minute. Only a moment though.

"Deal."

~~~~

🐍anon I hope you enjoyed that. I'll probably write a part 3 if you want it. I'm kinda invested.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Do you have any autistic Scout headcanons? :P

Hell yeah!

I’ve actually thought about this a lot. A lot of people might think that Scout has ADHD, but I think he either has both ADHD and autism or just autism.

This is both because labeling Scout as having just ADHD is kind of a low-hanging fruit, and I also want to explore his symptoms a little more. So, in a word, I do, and thank you for asking about them!

*****************

Scout’s Spectrum:

So, where exactly does Scout fall on the autism spectrum?

First of all, he probably has both ADHD and autism, but wasn’t diagnosed with the latter until much later. This means that some of his symptoms were taken into account, but not all.

The ones that were paid attention to ramped up out of control, and the ones he didn’t hear about were stuffed away.

His ADHD symptoms include impulsiveness, need for stimulation, hyperfixations, forgetfulness, and insomnia; his autism symptoms include trouble with social skills, stimming, near inability to remember names and faces, lack of eye contact, hyperfixations again, and sensory processing issues, especially with noise and touch.

He used to have a lot of meltdowns when he was younger, usually about wearing new clothes and the amount of noise his eight brothers generated.

However, he was teased and pushed into masking nearly all the time, and made his whole personality about his ADHD, since that was what everyone accepted.

As he got older, he usually wrote off any autistic tendencies as either his ADHD or just “little habits” of his.

During his middle school years, he used energy drinks to bounce back from being exhausted every day after school. This would work, except those energy drinks would upset his ADHD, and would make it much harder to focus on even basic conversation.

After a while, he got such bad grades and had such a hard time making friends that Scout just stopped going to school altogether.

Baseball helped his focus, and the quick movement and thinking made a lot of sense to him. He never had to wait very long for the next development, and the instant gratification and community it provided supplemented what he never got at school.

With sports on his side, he rarely ever drank any energy drinks (the coach would never let them on the field), and he drank bucketfuls of water during every meet and game. Those teenage years were probably the healthiest he ever was.

However, with the amount of rumbles he got into with his brothers, and the turf wars that constantly raged in those neighborhoods, it was only a matter of time before his crime caught up with him.

After his first incarceration, he was booted from the team, which led to a downward spiral of unhealthy coping mechanisms - which included fighting someone tooth and nail whenever he could.

Even if he lost the fight, it not only catered to his impulsive nature and impatience, but also gave him roughly the same sense of friendship and camaraderie that baseball had.

One thing led to another, and by the time Mann Co. found him, Scout was a monster in hand to hand (and bat to bat) and had racked up quite the criminal record.

A perfect mercenary, ripe for the picking.

On The Team:

Scout very quickly adopted the “stupid, scrappy Boston boy” persona.

It was the only thing that made sense, and it kept him from having to try too hard in both the battlefield and socially.

Besides, that meant that he could be as silly, forgetful, and fidgety as he wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

And if he ever needed to take a break from the team, he figured everyone would appreciate the quiet.

The only thing that ever gave him away was him occasionally dissociating right when battle began, especially if the day had been stressful.

It was usually how he calmed down after a fight when he was young, but now he sometimes slid into that state when he was overwhelmed.

However, a yell from one of his teammates would usually snap him out of it.

Medic noticed this pretty early on, and wanted to look more into it, but Scout would keep making excuses not to get a mental examination.

He would blame it on zoning out, being tired, drinking too many Bonks - whatever it took for people to stop asking.

And, eventually, they did.

Even Medic stopped asking after a while - he couldn’t get a thing out of Scout.

This “try so little that when you do try it’s above average” charade worked for a long time. In fact, it went on for so long that Scout forgot how much he was actually capable of.

He began to internalize the stupidity, the exacerbation, the many comments on how dumb he was, everything.

The only time he ever gave his all was on the battlefield - moving fast, memorizing strategies, doing complicated footwork, knowing exactly how much force it took to crush someone’s skull with his bat.

That was one of the only things that he felt good doing, the only thing he could really work on without him being “found out.”

That and drawing, though he never showed the actual pieces to anyone. It was all stick figures and crooked lines with everyone else.

Sometimes, though, Scout wouldn’t be paying attention and he’d let something slip.

One time, Engineer was looking for his screwdriver, and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Scout, not looking up from his comic, said, “Under the couch cushion, hard hat.”

Engineer bent down and reached into the couch, and his hand came back with his red and yellow striped screwdriver.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

At first Engineer thought Scout had just hid it, but Scout explained, still not paying attention:

“Last time we went out on th’ field, you had it on your belt, like always. But I was walkin’ by your workshop, you were usin’ a quarter to tighten a screw or somethin’. Your screwdriver had to be somewhere between the battlefield and your workshop. Engie, you’re like freakin’ clockwork. Every day, after a fight, you go to the kitchen, get a water, go to that couch, between the second and third cushion from the left, and sit there. Then ya go back to the fridge to get lunch and a beer, and ya go to your workshop until somebody needs you for somethin’. Your back loop in your tool belt is looser than all the others, ‘cause the screwdriver pulls against it when you sit down. The shank was probably in between the two cushions, and when you got up, it fell in. Demo, Pyro, and Heavy all sit on the second or third cushion at some point, so it got shimmied down. And since that’s the only time you sat down, ‘cause you woulda heard it if it dropped on the floor, and I…uh…”

“I’ll be damned,” Engie repeated, and felt the back tool belt loop. It was indeed loose.

Scout finally looked up, and realized what had happened.

“Uh, uh - l-lucky guess, huh Engie?”

Engineer squinted behind his goggles. “Yeah…real lucky…”

What ensued was Engie trying to get Scout to turn into a B.L.U Spy by chasing him around with his wrench. After a few good hits, though, Engineer saw that it was the teammate he knew and loved.

“But…how didja…?”

Scout threw his hand up, the other rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit.

“I toldja Engie! Lucky guess! Jesus!”

Ever since then, Scout chose his words more carefully.

The Breakdown:

But, unfortunately, Scout could not pretend forever.

There was one week where Scout’s assignment count was so high that, if he wasn’t in a fight, he was on a mission.

Usually, Pauling wouldn’t trust him with so much, but no one else was available - or willing - to do the jobs.

Even when she was getting concerned about the amount of hours Scout was putting in, he blew it off.

“It’s no sweat, Miss Pauling! Their practically givin’ me the pay day. Those yahoos don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

Over time, though, Scout had a harder and harder time staying focused and alert.

He’d sleep through alarms, stare off into space, zone out completely during briefing (not that he didn’t already do that), have a hard time hearing people in battle - even through his headset - ignore Spy’s taunts, and even forget to bring his bat onto the field.

Nothing seemed to help - Bonk!, warming up, stretching, cold showers, setting reminders, nothing.

And the team was starting to notice.

At first it was with the regular frustration - maybe Scout was just being lazy.

But as time went on, and his condition grew worse, their scorn turned into worry. They implored Medic to do something, but he had no way of getting through to Scout.

The doctor wasn’t above simply sedating him and dragging him into his lab for a check-up. However, he had a feeling that this was more than a physical issue.

The worst came when Scout was doing a routine battle with the B.L.U team on the field.

Everything had started out okay - he even remembered to bring his bad this time - but suddenly, everything was ear-splittingly loud.

He couldn’t focus on more than one sound at once, much less communicate the best course of action to his teammates.

He ended up hiding in a dilapidated shed, in a dusty, dark corner, somewhere between zoning out and panicking.

Scout’s head was in his knees, he was shaking, close to crying, when a sudden splitting of wood roused him.

A B.L.U Soldier had kicked his way into the shed, either having heard Scout or to hide from the other team.

Scout was stunned at first, but something of a blind terror filled him. He picked up his bat, screamed, and started pummeling the surprised Soldier.

At some point, he threw aside his bat and began to swing punch after punch, just like he did in his gang days when he had felt overwhelmed. Still screaming. Still crying.

By the time Scout had dissolved into a rocking, sobbing mess, the Soldier was long dead, with a gigantic pool of blood staining Scout’s shoes.

No one even knew where Scout was until a few hours later, when Spy heard a faint note of “Sexbomb” coming from Scout’s Walkman.

Scout had crawled into the shed’s framework, between the outer and inner wall, and was playing a specific verse over and over and over again, looking like he was on another plane of existence.

Spy immediately called for Medic, who had to lift Scout out by the underarms through a jagged hole in the side of the building. By then, the fight was over, so they could take him directly to the lab.

Medic’s Evaluation:

“I’m guessing zhis is your first mental breakdown?”

“Mental…doc, I ain’t crazy. Wait, you’re not goin’ to put me in a straight jacket, are ya?”

“If you’re not doing anyzhing later.”

Medic started to laugh, but quickly realized this might not be the time.

“No, Scout, everyvun has a mental breakdown at least vunce in their lives. It’s a…how do you say…a vake-up call of sorts. Vhen your body has no other options left.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“For zhe past few months, you health, both physical and mental, has been deteriorating. You eat less. You talk less. Your attacks are lackluster. You have bags under your eyes. You flinch vhen somevun yells for you. You stare off into space. Your routine, vhich usually has at least some changes, has become stringent, as if you can’t possibly expend any more energy into extra activities. You have avoided Demoman on zhe battlefield, even though you usually use him for cover.”

Medic flipped through his notes.

“I have pages and pages of your decline. However, as a scientist, I believe it is caused by zhe same source. And, though I usually respect my patient’s right to privacy vhen it comes to these sorts of matters, I believe you’ve been keeping something from me. Something that I should know as your general practitioner…your doctor.”

Scout shrugged, already shutting out the conversation.

Medic sighed.

“Maybe I tried to talk to you about zhis too soon. After all, you’ve just had a very sudden and exhausting episode. But…perhaps…”

Medic took a sheet of printer paper from his clipboard and a spare pen from his pocket.

“…zhere is an alternative.”

Scout was still unresponsive, but Medic continued.

“Zhere is a patient in my vaiting room vis a metal pole through the chest. It vill take me at least an hour to properly remove it, and a few minutes more to heal zhe area. Vhile I do zhat, vhy don’t you draw how you feel?”

Medic smiled.

“I know how much it grounds you.”

It wasn’t until Medic left that Scout actually picked up the pen, but he began drawing immediately.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t trying to hide his strokes or scratch up the cleaner lines. No more stick figures. No more pretending.

Five minutes later, he was fully engrossed.

Medic started to walk in at one point, but, seeing how relaxed Scout was, decided to give him a few more minutes.

He deserved it.

[undermattsun-archive]

taste

(skate rat) kawanishi taichi x fem!reader | w.c 3.5k

a/n: SURPRISE it’s a sequel to mouth <3 my original skate rat sin i suppose, and also like my first real fic/drab for the fandom. god bless. as always thank u to @bakatenshii​ + @sugardaddykenma​ for putting up with me ranting about this fic (and also putting up with me since mouth)

big big thanku to #1 wife @pomsuki​ for reading this for me and yelling at me to finish this damn thing <3

18+ university age | pls read ALL warnings

warnings: drugs, public sex, dub/noncon exhibitionism, degredation, humiliation, dubcon, blood, slight injury (it’s a bloody nose), toxic behavior, misogynistic energy? vibes? you’ll know when u see it honestly

reading mouth isn’t necessary but it is appreciated! and pls check out melt + nightingale syndrome for they exist in the same skate rat universe (+ they’re delicious fics) also the people who wrote em r BIG SEXY

There were more than enough reasons to quit Kunimi Akira. He never texts back, he doesn’t go to class, he’s fucked a few of your friends and he couldn’t commit if you paid him. He was simply a waste of time, it was like every second spent with him was another mark ticked off a test, a percentile lowering on your next paper.

But chucking Kunimi would be like trying to sort grains of rice, difficult and damn near impossible. He always knew how to draw you back in and he enjoyed the mind games a lot more than his bored expression would let on. 

Despite the impossibility of quitting him you had to at least try, so you swore up and down that hooking up with him at Oikawa’s party some odd months ago was truly the last of it, that you were done with him and all of his irritating skate rat friends.

Which begs the question of how you ended up at the little concrete amphitheater on campus, sandwiched between Hanamaki and Matsukawa on one of the steps, a blunt being passed between the two of them without so much as a second glance towards you.

“Say, when’s the last time you and Kunimi had fun?” Makki’s grin is nothing short of lascivious, a slimy feeling weighs on your tongue as you shrug off a shudder.

“Say, was that ever any of your business?” You retort, snatching the blunt from his lips bringing it to your own and inhaling deeply, revelling at the warmth creeping down your throat and filling your chest. 

“Quit it Makki, she’s not gonna fuck you. Kunimi got her ‘round his little finger,” Mattsun coos, taking back the blunt, “besides, heard she’s a fuckin ice queen in the sack. Boooring.”

A sharp inhale keeps you grounded, the sound of Iwaizumi’s board slamming back down onto the pavement reminding you where you are, who you’re with. You’re not going to fall for Mattsun’s little games too.

“Tch.” Daggers prick at your lips, but you bite your tongue knowing that fueling the fire will earn you nothing but a headache. It’s not like you’re waiting for anything, or anyone, stealing a few more hits and leaving would be the best option.

“Oh? Nothing to say? But I heard your mouth was your only redeeming quality.” You focus your gaze on Iwaizumi telling Oikawa to stay out of his way, trying not to let your growing discomfort scare you away. The stubborn refusal of letting Mattsun’s words win only letting a dull ache grow at the base of your skull, prickling further when he and Makki let out low mocking laughs.

“Hey fucknuts!” Your head whips over to see a blur of crimson race by, followed gradually by a few other familiar faces you’ve seen around at parties and on campus.

“God, not these assholes.” Makki laughs as Oikawa makes faces at one of the newcomers. Your eyes drag across the unfolding scene as the number of rowdy idiots grows. You swallow hard, knowing that staying any longer would only cause your headache to further bloom.

“That’s my cue to leave.” You sigh, it’s not like you were waiting for Kunimi in the first place. You weren’t. You were just...killing time.

“Leaving?” Your head tips back to look up at the source of the question, Kawanishi Taichi, of course. 

“Yeah, dunno why I’m here in the first place.” You brush off his quirked brow and shove Mattsun hard with your shoulder as you stand up. With a curt nod, you smooth a hand over your jeans, turning on your heel to brush past Kawanishi, ignoring the low whistle that falls from his lips. You make it a good distance down the walkway before the sound of crunching footsteps behind you prickles at your ears as you ready yourself to tell whoever it is to get lost. 

“Want a ride?” You let out a huff as you look over your shoulder to see Kawanishi standing so nonchalantly, hands tucked into his pockets as he chews on a toothpick.

“Shouldn’t you be skating around with your little boyfriends?” The comment slips out, followed by your tongue sliding over your bottom lip as if it’ll soften the sharpness of your tone. 

“Nah, just droppin 'em off,” his eyes rake up and down your figure as you turn to face him, “where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your little boyfriend. You were waiting there like a lost puppy for him.” A protest rises in your chest, curbing it when you see a flash of something akin to flirtatious teasing in his normally passive eyes. 

“I... I don’t have one.” The words are slathered in honey, punctuated with a flutter of your lashes as Kawanishi takes another step forward. 

If Kunimi likes playing all those stupid games, why not play a few of your own?

“Is that so?” His head tilts slightly, you feign shyness, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you smile sweetly at him, confirming your statement with a nod of your head. “My car’s just over in the parking lot.” He tips his head in the direction of the closest lot, before turning to start walking. Without hesitation you easily fall into step beside him, trying to dampen your rising nerves.

Despite the dumb little hookups peppering your dating history, you had only gone so far with most of them, Kunimi being one of the few —and the only one you crawled back to— that you had made the unfortunate pleasure of going all the way with. You keep pushing away at the thoughts of inexperience as Kawanishi approaches an old, beat up, black Corolla, the paint flaking off with dings and dents littering across the body, the impeccably shiny rims on the wheels making you snort. 

It was a rather famous car across campus, seeing it around with stupid skate rats crammed in there with the windows fogged with smoke was an almost daily occurrence, especially highlighted by how it’s tied to one too many stories of girls having varying encounters with Kawanishi –and sometimes one of his friends– in said car.

“Wanna smoke or skip to the real fun?” He never minced any words, always up front or just completely skipping out on the conversation. It always made him the best project partner in the odd classes you’ve shared over your uni years.

“I don’t like waiting.” The fuzziness nipping at your spine from the few hits you took earlier were just enough, not wanting to dull your senses completely during this encounter. The bluntness of your answer causes a smirk to play at Kawanishi’s lips as he opens the door to the back.

“Well then, ladies first.” He gestures to the gray cloth seats, you make a point to ignore the questionable stains littered across it as you slide in, trying to focus instead on figuring out the heady scent permeating through the car. Cheap cologne, cigarettes, weed and maybe stale beer, and something that was distinctly him. 

Your eyes are drawn to a stain on the roof that looks oddly similar to an eagle, the thought unfinished as Kawanishi practically dives in after you. The sound of the door slamming preempting hands roaming over your body and lips moving against your neck. 

“Kawa-”

“Just Taichi.” He clips as he works the buttons of your jeans, a coarse hand working against your spine as he unhooks your bra.

“Eager much?” You laugh as he pushes at your shirt and bra exposing pert nipples to cool air, simultaneously managing to work your jeans past your hips and down your thighs.

“You said no waiting.” With a chaste kiss to your lips he’s maneuvering you onto your stomach, raising your hips in the air, face shoved halfway between the seat and door.  You let out a huff as your hand braces itself against the door, while the other on the seat below you, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped setting.

“Mhm.” It’s the best reply you can manage as he grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass, already hard. You can only imagine how many women he’s had in this situation to award all six feet and three inches of himself the ability to move so successfully around in the cramped backseat. 

Nimble and worn fingers circle around your hip, dipping down to tease at dampening lace, eliciting a soft moan from you. You push back against him, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out as he curls himself over you to scrape his teeth over your nape. His fingers continue to run up and down against your clothed cunt, pressing at the growing slick spot marking your wanting hole.

“Excited huh?” He mumbles as he skims his tongue against the shell of your ear, you manage a low hum in reply as he slides his hands back up, tugging down the flimsy piece of clothing, exposing your needy cunt to hungry eyes. He wastes no time pressing his fingers against your twitching hole, causing you to wiggle your hips just enough to earn a low chuckle and send the message of just how much you want him, need him. 

Without any further hesitation he slips in a finger, your back arching with the realization his fingers are longer than Kunimi’s, chest burning at the fact you could even think of another man in this situation. As if he can sense your wandering thoughts Taichi works in another finger, another following quickly after. There’s no urgency in his movements, each twist and thrust of his fingers methodical, curling in just the right way, making sure to brush his thumb over your throbbing clit to send a stinging pleasure up your spine. 

You can’t deny the way he’s taking you apart so sweetly, the tightening deep in your belly achingly sweet, as he starts to thrust his fingers even deeper, tiny gasps and whines starting to grow louder and louder as you careen towards bliss. With a particularly rough curl of his fingers you feel yourself come undone completely, punctuated by a shameless moan.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the fogged glass pulls you out of your blissful haze, still acutely aware of the way Taichi has his fingers lazily twisting inside of you. 

“It’s open.” He tugs you back by the hips slightly as he retracts his fingers painfully slow, listening as he unzips his jeans. Your heart races as the passenger door opens, shifting uncomfortably to try to catch a glimpse of who’s slid into the car.

“Oh, so that’s where you went, Mattsun said you were hanging around.” Your blood runs cold, your state of undress tightening your chest as you become painfully aware of the situation you’re in. The passive tone of Kunimi’s voice nips at your skin, tears away at the search of mindless fun that you had tried to pursue with Taichi, filling your chest with raw embarrassment.

“What do you want?” The tear of a wrapper following the question, whatever protest you had silenced by a hand coming down to grip harshly at your ass.

“You have my grinder.” Kunimi slips into the passenger seat, the sound of the glove box popping open making your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Yeah well close the door at least.” Your eyes widen at Taichi’s statement, you didn’t want Kunimi to just close the door, you wanted him to leave.

“Whatever. Can I smoke in here?” It doesn’t sound like much of a question, more of a declaration with the ‘can’ and the question mark tacked on for decoration.

“I don’t care, do you?” You crane your head just enough to catch the blasé expression on Taichi’s face, a quirked brow directed more at your ass than you.

“Yeah sweetheart, care if I’m in here while you’re whoring yourself out?” Kunimi scoffs, the irritated tinge to his bored tone making you furrow your brows.

“Oh fuck you.” You start to rise on your elbows, only for Taichi’s hand to land between your shoulder blades, keeping you from moving any further. You let out a huff as Kunimi clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Sorry babe, it’s me who’s fucking you this time around, maybe Kunimi can get the next round.” Before you can even bother with a retort, Taichi drags the head of his cock against slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You let your head hang down, the click of a lighter grating on your nerves more than you would like to admit. 

“Please, fuck me, I want it so bad.” The whininess of your voice annoys even you, but if Kunimi wants to stick around and get on your nerves, then two could play that game. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Just like before he slides in slowly, carefully, as if to make you memorize what each inch of him feels like splitting you apart so sweetly.

“Shit.” You exhale shakily as you try to adjust to him, it had been months since you last fucked anyone, since you last fucked the asshole sitting passenger.

He sets a leisurely pace, steady and infuriating. There’s a hand clamped down on your hip, fingers digging in painfully to keep you in place, to establish that he’s the one calling all the shots. You huff, still trying to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. There’s something in his actions that makes you feel greedy, desperate for so much more than he’s offering.

There’s no way around it, you’re completely at his mercy, left taking the shallow, slow thrusts that only makes the desperate ache deep in your cunt grow.

“Hook a finger or two in her mouth.” There’s a pause in Taichi’s motions, letting you finally take a deep breath of the thick weed laced air. “Don’t look at me funny, do it and see what happens.”

You hear a non-committal hum as those devilishly nimble fingers skim past your jaw, a whimper preceding his index pushing past your lips with a harsh tug at the corner of your mouth, the painful stretch of your cheek causing you to clench down on his length.

“Oh? You were right.”

“She’s already broken in,” Kunimi takes a long drag of the joint hanging in his fingers, “no point in holding back.” 

It’s as if a flip is switched in Taichi, the statement becoming an immediate challenge as he hooks in another finger beside the other, yanking harshly as the snap of his hips becomes almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, swirling with the heady smoke defiling the air. 

“W-Wait Taichi.” The words are garbled around his fingers, and you’re quickly dismissed as he snakes around his other hand to hook his middle and index on the other corner of your mouth, the stretch in your lips burning as he shifts from the quick paced thrusts to deep, hard strokes.

His only reply is to tug harshly on your mouth as pathetic whines and distored words spill from you. 

You can feel yourself start to shake almost violently, still reeling from your earlier orgasm and suffering at the hands of Taichi’s now vicious pace. Each thrust pushing you into madness, each tug of his fingers bringing you back. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He curls over you again, sloppily running his tongue up your nape. “You wanna cum?” 

“Mhmm,” you yelp at a particularly rough slam of his hips, “please.”

He grunts, moving a hand to grip at the back of your head while keeping his other hand planted on your hip, fingers biting into your hip. There’s no warning as he grinds into you, the hold on your hip finally relenting as he slides his digits back down to pinch at your throbbing clit, the bit of pressure sending you careening over the edge.

“T-Taichi.” Pleasure wracks through your body, your legs tremble violently as you try to move your hand on the door, shoulder aching from holding yourself in place. The second your hand moves, you give into the force of Taichi’s hand on the back of your head, forcing you to slam face first into the door, the impact making your nose sting, blood immediately starting to gush, running down your face and chin. 

You’re not sure if he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he continues his assault, the once careful, methodical thrusts turning desperate and depraved as he moves with reckless abandon. His teeth drag across your shoulder, before pulling out completely.

“Don’t need this.” You grip at your nose, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping onto your fingers, looking over your shoulder again to see Taichi pull off the condom. You can’t even protest with the way you’re bleeding profusely, pinching at your bridge at a poor attempt of stopping the bleeding.

“Stay still.” In one swift movement he’s plunging back into you, bottoming out immediately, a muffled yell falls from your lips, arching your back as he drives into you with just a few more hard thrusts you feel his seed spill inside you. 

For a moment you two stay suspended, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix, making you groan in a twisted sense of pleasure of pain. He pulls out painfully slow, delivering another harsh slap your ass as he sits back.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout your nose.” He helps you flip onto your back, swiping his thumb over the blood trickling onto your lip before shucking off his t-shirt and handing it to you. “Don’t have any tissues.” 

“So who’d you like playing fuck toy for better?” For a split second, somewhere between the back breaking orgasm and your nose being slammed into the door, you had blissfully forgotten that Kunimi was still in the car, but now that perfect illusion just had to be shattered.

“Must you be such a dick all the time?” You manage to pull your jeans back up, hissing at the stinging pain in your hips and lower back, ignoring the lewd feeling of Taichi’s cum starting to leak from your abused cunt. 

Beside you Taichi manages to tuck himself back into his pants, reaching under the driver's seat to yank out a hoodie reeking of weed and cigarettes.

“Maybe you two should just get together already.” Taichi lets out a low chuckle as he pulls on the hoodie, getting out of the backseat, slamming the door hard before throwing the driver’s door open. You don’t even bother trying to hook your bra back on as you pull your shirt down, letting yourself slump back down and lay across the backseat as you reach up to check if your nose is still bleeding.

“Like hell.” Kunimi twists around in the passenger seat, looking down at you with an amused smirk, offering the freshly rolled joint to you. “You look like shit. I said she was broken in, not to break her more.” He only gets a wry laugh from Taichi as he starts the car.

“Thanks, right back at you.” You sit up just enough, looking at Kunimi expectantly. He shakes his head before twisting the joint in his fingers and placing it between your lips, producing the lighter. Just as he’s about to hand it to you he brings his hand back a bit, grabbing your jaw with his other as he lights the joint. He picks up Taichi’s bloodied shirt, pouring water from a twisted plastic bottle onto it before passing it back to you.

“Cute, blew her back out and you’re doting on her.” You watch as Kunimi moves to sit back in his seat, not even bothering to spare you a second glance as he shrugs. You dab away at the drying blood on your face, ignoring a few of the splotches that landed on the joint.

“Guess I play favorites, drop us off at my place.” 

“Us?” You exhale after a long drag, narrowing your eyes at the back of Kunimi’s head as Taichi pulls out of the parking spot.

“What do I even get out of doing that?” You can’t help but nod in agreement of Taichi’s statement, feeling yourself growing annoyed at the way they seem to ignore your entire presence.

“You can fuck her again.” Kunimi offers and you almost drop the joint as your jaw falls open at the absolute nerve of the man. 

“Excuse me? I’m right here?” The way that neither of them even flinch at your statement, let alone acknowledge it makes you slump back into the seat, begrudgingly accepting the fact whatever you say isn’t worth shit to either of them.

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound like he’s actually considering the offer, but the quick look over his shoulder as he turns out of the parking lot sends a chill down your spine and your stomach to twist.

“Believe it or not, her mouth’s her one redeeming quality.” The two of them snicker, like two old pals sharing an inside joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re brushed off once again as they toss back a few more comments before Taichi stops at a red light, looking over at Kunimi, then back at you and finally back towards the road.

“Yeah alright.”

[mustardyellowsunshine]

When the End Comes, II

(Chapter 1)

A/N: I was going to wait to post this until next weekend, but y'know what? Consider it a holiday special. Happy Labor Day.

_______________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Exeunt

The hell I am!

Kagome rammed her knee at the man’s groin. He blocked it by swiftly maneuvering his thigh. She swung her elbow up between their bodies, aiming for his face. His hand left her shoulder, darting sideways to seize her elbow midswing. His hand was so big his fingers circled all the way around her arm, squeezing in a painful grip.

She reared her head back, fully intending to bash her forehead into his nose—but he yanked hard on her elbow and she lost her footing, falling forward into his body. She felt the hand covering her mouth glide purposefully across her cheek, fingers sliding into her hair and cupping her skull just behind her ear. His thumb was poised at the side of her neck, sharp claw digging into the skin over her jugular vein.

To anyone else on the street it probably looked like a lover’s embrace: their chests pressed together, his hand around her arm as though drawing her closer, the side of his face resting against her temple, mouth near her ear.

They wouldn’t, of course, see his claw breaking the skin of her neck, a streak of blood trickling down past her shirt collar.

“Listen,” he growled, breath gusting over her ear as he pressed his claw that much harder into her skin. “How about you don’t make a scene, and I don’t slice your jugular where you stand. Sound fair?”

She froze against him.

He twitched his thumb, widening the cut. It stung like hell. She could feel the warmth of her own blood rolling sluggishly down her collar bone.

“You gonna be reasonable, or does this have to get messy?”

He sounded almost bored as he said it, as though he didn’t care one way or the other. It sent chills down Kagome’s spine.

She risked a tiny turn of her chin, just enough so she could sweep her gaze up and down the street. None of the people bustling by paid them any attention. In fact, it almost seemed as if people tried to avoid looking at them, turning their gazes away and hurrying past.

No one liked watching PDA, after all.

That’s why he’d done it, Kagome realized. Yanked her against him like that. He’d tried to make them as invisible as he could in the middle of a city street.

So he probably wasn’t an idiot. Dammit.

Kagome slowly exhaled. “And you think killing me here won’t make a scene?” she asked in an undertone.

He twitched his thumb again. She winced at the tearing sensation.

“Heh,” he husked against her ear, “I’d be blocks away before your body even hit the ground.”

He didn’t say the rest, but Kagome heard the subtext loud and clear: he was going to avoid a scene—it was up to her whether she was alive or dead to help him do it.

So much for the safety of being in public.

Her brain ran some rapidfire calculus. Setting aside whether he might be bluffing, Kagome was certain at least that he was capable of doing what he threatened. He clearly had yōkai speed and strength. As quickly as she could draw in the breath needed to shout for help, he could plunge that claw into her jugular, slit her throat wide open. She had no way of knowing if he would: all she knew was that he could.

Grinding her molars together until they hurt, Kagome hissed, “Fine. I’ll do as you say.”

The stinging pain in her neck eased away, sharp claw replaced by the pad of his thumb resting against her bloodied skin. “At least you’re not completely stupid.” The fingers in her hair squeezed against her scalp as he said gruffly, “Listen good. You and I are about to be a couple strolling the town. You’re gonna put your arm around me, nice and easy, and you’re going to smile and put that pretty face to good use. Make a nice show for the people, understand?” She felt the barest prick of claws against her scalp as he added, “You even think about screaming, or running, and it won’t go well for you.”

She couldn’t manage to push words out of her throat, so she just nodded once.

“Good. Now—start acting the part.”

Keeping his grip around her elbow, he took a step back. Gold eyes glinted at her in the afternoon light, hard and unyielding.

Taking in a shaky breath, Kagome forced her lips up into a wooden smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

His arm snaked around her waist, tugging her against his side. Then he forced her into an about-face and practically frogmarched her down the street.

She felt the tips of those yōkai nails through her shirt, just above and to the side of her navel. Someone passing by would have thought he was caressing her, perhaps. But Kagome couldn’t help thinking about the vital internal organs in that area of the body, and gulped.

She was staring straight ahead of her, neck and shoulders rigid as cement, her steps jerky and fumbling as his arm forced her forward. She tried to think. What could she use, what distraction or blind spot could she exploit? He wasn’t the first of Naraku’s hunters to find her. She’d gotten away from them before. She just needed to capitalize on the right opportunity.

Suddenly he growled under his breath, “This how you think couples act, sweetheart?” He injected an acerbic bite into the last word. “Get your shoulders down from around your ears and act fucking normal.”

She glared at him from the corner of her eye. His jaw was clenched, his mouth twisted in irritation, revealing an inhumanly sharp canine. “Maybe,” she said, “acting normal would be easier for me if I wasn’t being abducted.”

Suddenly his nails were digging into her stomach, slicing through the fabric of her shirt to scratch at the skin beneath. They didn’t cut — yet.

“Dammit,” she hissed, trying to jerk away from his fingers, which only brought her into closer contact with his body, “don’t—”

“I already told you how this was going down,” he replied, lip lifting in a snarl, “so get with the program or I can end you right here.”

His tone was so biting, edged with a genuine fury—yet there was an undertone of something else in it, too. Something Kagome couldn’t place.

“Now fucking smile and act like you’re having a good time,” he said, arm heavy around her waist.

Even while Kagome did as she was told—stiffly sliding her hand across his back as she’d seen couples do before, slinging her arm loosely around his hips—something in the back of her mind clicked into place.

That undertone in his voice. It was fear. Thoroughly buried beneath anger and volatility, maybe, but fear nonetheless. She should know: she’d heard it in her own voice for years.

He didn’t actually care about convincing random strangers that they were a happy couple. Why should he? It didn’t make sense. Most people weren’t paying attention to them, anyway. He didn’t have to work this hard to fly under their radar. And though she hated to admit it, he’d said it himself: he could have either slaughtered her or made off with her in a heartbeat if he’d wanted, and likely no one on the street would’ve been the wiser. So if he wasn’t avoiding a scene for the sake of fooling bystanders, why was he?

Maybe he was worried about avoiding someone else. A specific someone.

A chill rippled through her body at the thought, but in the same moment, Kagome knew she had her opportunity. Time to make hay with it.

Kagome casually angled her head towards him, so he could get a good view of her face. She directed her gaze over his shoulder, as though she was observing the storefronts across the street. After a few moments of this, she deliberately widened her eyes, dropping her jaw open in a quiet gasp.

He took the bait. His head whipped around in the direction she was looking.

She dropped down, twisted her body, and slammed her fist into his kidney.

His body flinched hard, and she heard him groan, but by then she’d already spun out of his hold.

Turning in the direction of her car, she ran like her life depended on it.

[mizunetzu]

Mr Mizunetzu’s secret Santa! Kita x reader - cold, cold observations (he loves me so it’s okay)

( @luv-hqs hi HAHA!! I was ur secret Santa >:) Funny story, I accidentally deleted the ask you gave me that had your preferences, but I vaguely remember there being a “Kita” and “angst” LMAO SO I ROLLED WITH THAT TELL ME IF I GOT IT WRONG BUT HEY YALL GET UR FIRST INARIZAKI FIC FROM ME )

⚠️warnings - ANGST? Unintentionally cold Kita baby doesn’t mean it I swear, sad ending

Pronouns - male, he/him

you can find part two here!

——————

“I like you, Kita-kun! Please, please go out with me!”

(Y/n) thrusted himself into a sharp, 90 degree bow, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his hands up into fists, planted firmly against his sides. Kita looked down at him.

“Sure.”

“Wh-“ (Y/n’s) head tossed up, his (h/c)-colored hair whipping back as he did so. “Really?”

Kita nodded. “I like you too, so I don’t see why you’re so surprised. People date people who they like, right?”

A wide smile stretched across (Y/n’s) face, illuminating it just enough to catch the pretty cherry blossom petals fluttering around him. His face shone like the sun, even daring to put the big ball of light to shame. He stood back up, his smile still noticeably big and happy.

“Please take care of me then, Kita-kun.” (Y/n) stepped forward and sheepishly brushed his fingers against Kita’s shoulder.

‘He loves me...’

——

Please take care of me.

It was a simple request. A simple phrase. “Please take care of me,” not in a babied, maternal way, but in the way that (Y/n) hoped him and Kita would be as a lovey-dovey couple you see in romance manga. The kind you see and can’t help but coo at.

“You need to stop flailing your arms around. You’re weakening your spike, (L/n)-kun.”

Kita called out so suddenly, (Y/n) mid-spike, making him sputter and land awkwardly. The ball hit the net with a thud, before landing on the same side of the court it came from. Kita looked at (Y/n) skeptically. It was his normal, straight-laced face, but everyone in the gym could sense the intimidating aura Kita was projecting.

No one wanted to be on the receiving end of that aura, to be cornered by Kita’s judgementful gaze. Yet here (Y/n) was. How unlucky.

“I’m...I’ll do it better next time, Shicchan.”

“Shicchan?”

“W-well...you don’t mind it when I call you that in private, Sh-“

“This isn’t private, (L/n)-kun. We’re in practice.” Kita bore holes into (Y/n’s) skull, who was desperately trying to look anywhere but Kita. Aran scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh-it’s just a nickname dude, plus, you guys are dating, right? So it’s natural that (L/n)-san would call you that.”

“That doesn’t distract from the fact you need to get your spikes over the net, (L/n)-kun. Not on it.” Kita paid Aran no mind, and continued staring down (Y/n) with a heavy, emotionless gaze.

“S-sorry...” (Y/n) shrank back into himself. Everyone who was staring immediately scrambled to look away once Kita looked back. Kita wordlessly walked away.

“Damn, I’m sorry man.” Aran’s eyebrows contorted into a look of pity, while (Y/n) awkwardly chuckled.

“S’fine. He was...probably just having a bad day s’all.” (Y/n) brushed off Kita’s cold judgment faster than Aran expected. He smiled.

“He loves me, so it’s okay.”

——

Today is a good day. (Y/n) hummed as he strolled down the path to practice. In fact, today is a great day. (Y/n) didn’t know why, but it was a great day.

(Y/n) strut into the gym, carrying bag of steamed pork buns he’d bought at the convenience store a few minutes ago. The gyms inhabitants stopped one by one, their focuses shifting from their individual practice to (Y/n) and his bag of food.

Hungry players, especially Atsumu and Osamu, flocked towards (Y/n) with hungry stomachs or a sense of curiousness. Kita caught the ball he was tossing in the air and looked at (Y/n) with blank eyes.

“You’re disrupting practice.” Kita said, not moving an inch from where he was standing. (Y/n’s) smile faltered a bit.

“W-well I just felt like buying the team some food-I feel like we’ve been working hard and we deserve it-“

“You came to practice late to buy food that you could’ve bought after practice?” Kita’s question felt more like a jab at (Y/n’s) chest. Everyone crowding around (Y/n) froze up, a sudden icy-cold shooting down their spines. Kita’s unwanted, scary aura was back.

“I...”

“Why would you do that?” Kita cocked his head to the side. “You’re late to practice-you don’t even have your gym clothes on-and since you have food it’s either we eat it now and can’t practice-because we might get stomachaches-or we eat it after and it gets cold and you waste your money.”

The once bright smile caused by (Y/n’s) ‘good day’ finally cracked. He looked at Kita with embarrassment, trying to play it off with a less cheery, forced smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat closed up and no words came out.

Kita sighed. “Well I don’t want you to waste your money. I guess we’re eating (L/n)-sans steamed buns now.” He turned to the coach. “Is it ok if we take a break from practice? (L/n)-kun brought steamed buns. If we’re lucky we can practice at the end of our practice time once we digest.”

Coach nodded awkwardly. Kita walked up to (Y/n), whose bag of food was being shared and distributed amongst Inarizaki. (Y/n) pressed his lips into a fine line.

“I’m...I’m sorry Shinsuke-kun.” (Y/n’s) happy day was weathered down and left with empty sadness in seconds. He felt so proud and courteous for buying his team a treat purely out of impulse, but now he just felt guilty for disturbing practice.

“It’s alright, I guess.” Kita’s words held no value, as he pecked (Y/n) on the cheek lovelessly. (Y/n) shot him a weak smile, cupping the cheek whom he had kissed gently.

‘He...loves me...so it’s okay.’

‘So it’s okay...’

——

It was such a small gesture. The small act of Kita drawing his hand away when (Y/n) reached out to hold it, him bringing his hand up to lock away in his pocket as they walked through the schools hallways. It was such a small, infinitesimal detail that (Y/n) should’ve brushed off with ease. Y’know, maybe his hand was just cold.

But he couldn’t.

He hesitantly slowed to a stop. “Shin...Kita-kun.”

Kita looked back, a blank look laced with the tiniest amount of confusion weaved inside. “Did something happen?”

“Do you love me?”

Kita dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Of course I do.” It came out his mouth no more than an automated machine would, as he dragged (Y/n) gently to the side of the hallway. “Be careful next time. We’re lucky not much people were around. Someone could’ve heard you.”

‘Heard you?’ (Y/n) furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t angry. No, no he wasn’t angry. He just felt like someone hollowed out his insides.

“Is it so bad if people heard me? That I love you and wanna know if you love me too?”

“Yes.”

Kita had no filter. He announced it like saying ‘The sky is blue’, stating it like a fact he expected (Y/n) to know. And he wasn’t even adorning a stern or intentionally harsh face while he said it. Though, it was the way Kita said it so bluntly and emotionlessly that made it hurt the most.

But now that (Y/n) thought about it, when was the last time Kita smiled because of him?

Has he ever even seen him smile?

Has he ever seen, touched, or heard any sort of proof of his love?

Of Kita Shinsuke’s love?

(Y/n) downcast his face. “I just wanted to hold your hand.”

“You know how people feel about gay relationships. Not even my baa-san knows yet. So what if one of our classmates see-“

“-but the whole team knows-!”

“-and I trust the team. They won’t say a word until we’re sure and ready to tell everyone.”

(Y/n) stayed silent after that. Then, he opened his mouth.

“...Then do you trust me?”

It came out like a cracked, hoarse whisper. Kita, for once, look stunned. His eyebrows raised slightly and his eyes widened, even if it were just a little bit.

“Of course I do.”

Another automated response.

(Y/n) nodded, letting Kita lead them back to the middle of the hallway to walk to practice. (Y/n) gave up on trying to hold Kita’s cold, cold hands, and instead thought solemnly to himself.

‘He...he loves...’

He paused. He looked over at Kita, who was looking straight ahead. He looked back down to his walking feet.

‘Does he love me?’

——

Kita looked around the gym. He saw Atsumu and Osamu yelling at each other about something he couldn’t quite make out, Suna fishing out his phone from his pocket, and Ginjima chatting and peppering a volleyball back and forth with Aran.

But no (Y/n).

Kita tapped Suna on the shoulder, who was zooming in and taking pictures of Osamu’s disgusted face. He hummed in acknowledgement, now trying to zoom in on Atsumu on the ground.

“Have you seen (L/n)-kun today?”

“In class, yeah. At practice, no.” Suna murmured. Kita nodded and thanked him for the info. That meant he was at school today, at least.

Excusing himself from practice, Kita stepped out of the gym. I mean, why wouldn’t he be worried about the whereabouts of his boyfriend? Especially with how odd he’s been acting, Kita couldn’t help but worry just a smidge.

After what seemed like hours of pointless searching, he eventually found a mop of (h/c)-hair sitting on a stone bench under the same cherry tree (Y/n) had confessed to him to. Kita had checked the place on impulse, not actually expecting to see someone there, but it was better than nothing. Kita walked up to the boy sitting with his back faced to him, and without even saying anything, (Y/n) gave a small hum.

“Mm.” Was all he said. His back was slouched, and he was still in his school uniform. His school bag laid pathetically strewn on the grass next to him, and if Kita could see his expression, it was probably unreadable.

“Practice is going on.”

“Mhm.”

“You should be at practice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why aren’t you going to practice?”

“Is everything about practice with you?” (Y/n) lifted his head. His voice was still calm, but it raised in volume ever so slightly. “Practice, practice, practice. What about how I feel?”

Kita opened his mouth to say something, but for the first time, nothing came out. He didn’t know what to do. Was he mad at him? Did he do something wrong?

“I...” (Y/n) choked back his words, letting out a sigh and slumping down on the stone bench once more. He flicked a fallen cherry blossom petal off his shoulder. “Never mind. I don’t feel like going to practice, tell coach th-“

“Is there something wrong?”

Kita question had come out of nowhere. (Y/n) bunched his hands into fists. “...now you notice?” He turned around, red in the face and tears falling freely in unison with the bittersweet cherry blossoms falling mockingly around them. “Tell me, Kita,”

“Do you love me?”

Kita furrowed his eyebrows. “...of course I-“

“”of course I do.” That’s what you always say..! Say something else, dammit! Say you love me!”

(Y/n) abruptly rose from his seat, stepping over the bench and grabbing Kita by the collar. He pulled him closer to his face, shaking him by the shirt with knuckles that almost turned white.

“M-Make me believe that you love me!” (Y/n’s) tears cascaded down his face, flinging in the air as he whipped his head down so suddenly. Small, choked sobs ripped through (Y/n), yet all Kita could do was stare. Stare with his blank, emotionless face. (Y/n) took his silence as his answer. The silence was so loud.

“...I think we should break up.” Kita’s eyes widened.

“Why?”

(Y/n’s) iron clad grip on Kita’s shirt loosened, he stepped back, face feeling raw after crying. “I don’t want to be with someone who can’t tell me they love me. Once you can tell me you love me, and mean it, I’m all ears.”

“(L/n)-kun-“

(Y/n) reached over the bench and pulled his school bag up, dusting off the stupid pink petals that littered around his bag. He slung it over his shoulder numbly, and shot a curt “See you tomorrow.” At Kita.

All Kita could do was stare. With the emotionless face he now wished held more vibrancy.

“...I love you, (Y/n).”

It came out foreign on his lips. It was the first time he’d said those words, hadn’t it? I love you. A cracked whisper, and even then it sounded like it held no value. Kita took one last linger at the now-empty schoolyard, and walked back to practice.

——

When Kita came back to the gym, everyone was sitting in a semi-circle surrounding a whiteboard. Various lineups and positions were drawn hastily on the board, and everyone looked towards the gym door which Kita had come in through. He silently dragged his feet over to the circle of players, and took a seat behind Aran.

“Where were you?” Aran whispered. Kita ignored him, the lump in his throat stinging and bloating his vocal cords up to the point he couldn’t talk.

Every moment, every interaction, every cold, cold observation Kita ever had with (Y/n) flashed before his eyes. The coach’s voice and the squeak of the whiteboard marker melded together as memories of how kind (Y/n) had been played like a dvd in his mind. He’s been so warm. So, so fucking warm. Every piece of warmth (Y/n) shared with him, he took for granted when he told himself he wouldn’t. He wasn’t normally like that. But he’s been so, so cold.

Silent, hot tears blurred Kita’s vision. They fell slowly, and dripped onto the hardwood floor with no meaning whatsoever. He was so cold. He clasped his hands together, shaking, and trying to hush his ragged breathing and sniffles. He felt so cold. Eventually, the coach stopped talking, and one by one players started turning around, asking if Kita was ok.

But he wasn’t. He was so cold.

——————

Kokoro is brokoro in Mr Mizunetzu’s Christmas event

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

WAHAHAHAHAHAHA hello bb!!! can i get p*acock vil trying his best to woo a gender neutral reader? whatever formats work best for u!!!!!! love yaaaaaa 🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘

Hohoh. Did someone say p*acock Vil?

Imagine this...

With the number of Alchemy-related mishaps at Night Raven College, the school should be served with a safety audit, Vil snorted.

As he tromped through the courtyard, he felt the not-too-unfamiliar weight of a long train of feathers shifting behind him, the bobbing of a crest nestled in his golden hair. They were reminders of his own little Alchemy incident--no thanks to his bumbling lab partner, too preoccupied with waxing poetic to pay attention to the precise amount of Peafowl Ash being added to their cauldron.

Vil set his jaw and bristled at the memory--but not too much, lest he encourage premature wrinkles, or conjure up an otherwise unseemly expression.

A sudden tug at his tail feathers, and Vil yelped.

“Rook,” he snapped, throwing a dagger-like glare at his huntsman, “if you are going to volunteer to keep my train from dirtying on the ground, then do it properly instead of taking this as an opportunity to harass me.”

“Pardon, Roi du Poison!” Rook chirped, his hands still tightly gripped around his sovereign’s plumage. “You see, I was so taken with your new look. Why, you sport all the grace of a merman, all the wild beauty of a beastman!! I simply could not contain myself!”

He gave a loving stroke while he rambled, sending an unpleasant shudder up Vil’s spine.

The queen’s gaze hardened, sharpened--like executioner running his axe along a stone. A thought emerged from the back of his mind: Kick him, and kick him hard, with your spurs. Vil had no idea what spurs even were--the word itself sounded so hideous--so he squashed the notion.

“Spare me your flattery, and get out of my sight.”

“Ah, but your feathers, my liege--”

“Forget the feathers if you wish to keep your heart beating,” Vil cut him off, his voice stern and icy. “Begone.”

“Oui--as you wish.” He released Vil’s feathers, whisked his hat off, and, holding it tightly against his chest, dipped into a bow. The angle hid his mouth--but Vil swore that he could sense the shit-eating grin radiating from him.

Vil sauntered off, not even bothering to cast Rook a pitiful glance over his shoulder. Without the huntsman’s support, his train felt heavier than ever, like a drenched blanket hanging off of his waist--but Vil kept his head high and his posture impeccable. Paid no mind to the stares and the whispers of his peers as he passed.

This is nothing a model cannot handle.

In the distance, an apple tree came into view--as well as the familiar face that rested in its shade.

Ah, it was you, he realized--you, the one he longed for.

Vil found himself drawing to a halt. Heat began to pool in his stomach, forming a well of warmth. His violet eyes are fixated on you, practically bulging out of his skull and shimmering like amethysts.

Wrong--something is wrong.

You caught him staring and waved. “Oh, good afternoon, senpai! What’s u--”

“(Y/N),” Vil breathed. “I--”

His feet began to move on their own.

He shuffled forward, feathers fanning out behind him. A lesser man would have stumbled from the change in weight distribution--but Vil was no such lesser man. One foot in front, he stopped from hurtling over himself.

You blink, bewildered at his act.

Vil offered a weary smile, but his feet were set into motion again. Step, step, step. He strutted back and forth, back and forth, never breaking eye contact all the while.

His iridescent feathers shone in the sunlight, sailing in the air with each pace, each little movement, each shake of his behind. Blue, green, gold--all colors glittered on full display. Eyes bouncing, twinkling.

“A-Are you okay, senpai!?” you asked, concern smeared across your features.

No, please don’t much such a face, Vil pleaded silently.

“Never better, potato,” he insisted. “Forgive me. I do not seem to be in the right state of mind at the moment--”

Vil barely got to finish his sentence before another wave of warmth roiled up from his stomach. Passion pooling in the core, flowing to every part of his lithe body. He launched forward in a short dash, his feathers swaying with him.

Ungodly sounds erupted from his mouth. The same trills and crowing as that of a wild fowl.

Unrefined, unabashed. Feral, yet free--feathers flying. As proud as a peacock, driven by pure, raw, righteous primal instinct.

His dance became more fervent, frenzied. Feathers merging as a colorful blur, rattling against the wind. His intention and intuition melded into one.

In a flash, Vil was right before you, his face hovering a few centimetres above yours. He expelled a breath--tickling your cheeks.

“...Well? Did you enjoy that display?” Vil inquired, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

“Ahahah, it was really interesting!” You clapped, your entire face glowing with joy. “Was that a new dance you put together for your next performance?”

“Perhaps.” Vil straightened, putting on a confident smirk. “...And if I said it wasn’t?”

You stared up, drinking in the sight of him. All lean muscle and long limbs, pale skin and clear complexion. Golden and violet locks framing a handsome, painted face. Eyes a shade of poison, lips so plump and kissable.

And the feathers.

They towered over Vil, casting wispy shadows. Rich cerulean and emerald, flecked with tawny gold, fanned out behind him--forming a colorful backdrop for his beauty. The feathers almost seemed to swallow the world up, drowning everything out of your field of vision.

Everything except Vil.

“I would still give you a standing ovation,” you said at long last.

“A standing ovation, you say? But you are clearly still seated, potato.” Vil sighed and extended a hand. “Allow me to help you up.”

You accepted.

...And, from a safe distance away, a certain young man chuckled to himself.

“C'était magnifique...Roi du Poison’s dance of courtship...! Ah, how marvelous...!! To think the Great Seven has blessed me with the honor of witnessing such a performance...! Truly, I am most fortunate.”

[wreckofawriter]

Attention

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual jokes

Request: @souhmhey Hello! I really like your blaise au and was wondering if you could do a hogwarts ver of 97 with bill weasley/cedric diggory since your requests is open. The reader is a slytherin btw. Thank you and take care!

#97: You are famous and we keep bumping into eachother so the media thinks we're dating

A/n: sorry for inactivity, I have no concept of time. This is a tiny bit off the prompt but oh well. (There is so much dialogue in this fic, I'm sorry.)

You hated attention. You had hated it since the second you had been birthed into the world. The world which robbed you of your privacy. The world which had dug its grimy hands into your life and tugged and pulled until it looked pretty enough to be on display. A world which everyone claimed to wish for, to envy. 

It made you sick. 

You had no right to complain. You knew that you were privileged, your parents had more money than they could spend even if they tried, you had grown up in a mansion which simply could not be called a house. You had the tutors, the vacations, the clothes. You had it all, well all except privacy. 

Your birth was on the front page of a dozen magazines, your face tacked onto newspapers before you could even read. You were so used to the flash of lights that you stopped registering them as strange. 

When you left for some faraway school in the hills of Scottland you had assumed that all of that would go away. That you wouldn’t have to fake smiles anymore or refrain from making the smallest mistake for fear of ruining your parent’s reputation. 

Your father’s status as a quidditch player kept you form that unattainable dream. Whenever he spoke of the sport he told it like some fantasy, something he had done so he could soar into the sky not bring it down onto his daughter. 

You snapped your eyes shut the bright flash of light only worsening your headache. As the faint burn you were all too used to faded you gathered the image of the young boy in front of you.  His mouth was dropped displaying two rows of crooked teeth, his brown eyes wide with amazement. 

Your jaw tightened, “Do you need something?” the tone you used was clearly threatening, hoping to break him from the trance you had unintentionally put him under. The conformity of the boy’s features lead you to believe he was either deaf or stupid. 

“Well?!” You snapped and it seemed to do the trick. 

He blinked a few times, his open mouth giving way for a dopey grin, “You’re y/n y/l/n.” 

You scoffed considering shoving the large camera he was holding down his throat, “I don’t know who you are talking about.” 

“But-”

“Move before I move you myself.” You snarled and before the kid could answer you shoved him aside and continued for your class which you were now surly to be late for. Vector wouldn’t be happy. 

You entered the room already spewing apologies you should have to give. 

The teacher cut you off with a pointed look and you snapped your mouth shut. There were a couple snickers from the class and your head hammered on the front of your skull. 

“You have been late almost every day this week Ms. y/l/n. Is this going to continue all year or should I cut you from my class now?” Her glare was stiff. 

You tried to swallow your mouth suddenly feeling too dry, “I’m very sorry professor it’s just I have to come all the way from potions, and getting through the halls can be difficult.”

Her eyebrows raised, “I don’t see any of my other students struggling to get here on time.” 

“Well, I-” 

“Or do you simply believe the rules of this school don’t apply to you?”  She sneered and giggles erupted around you.

Your cheeks burned and you hung your head, “That’s not what I was saying professor.” you mumbled know your words fell onto emptiness. 

“Ten points from Slytherin. Go take a seat next to Diggory.” 

You let your mouth fall shut nodding obediently as your blood boiled beneath your skin. Eyes followed you to your seat and didn’t leave until the lesson began. Your cheeks hurt, you pushed your hands upon them attempting to cool the burn of embarrassment. You didn’t even spare a glance to the boy seated next o you, his presence barely registering as you tried to convince the earth to swallow you whole. 

You really hated attention. 

Cedric Diggory didn’t quite understand why so many looked his way as he passed in the halls. He was good at making friends, his words always seemed to flow so seamlessly from his mouth, he never stumbled over syllables or tripped on his tongue. He was good with people, they liked him, he never gave them a reason to do otherwise. 

Students envied him, he knew that. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that girls and boys found him attractive, he wasn’t stupid. People often treated him like he was anyway, as if his popularity had drained his common sense. It was aggravating to try and prove that his worth went past his reputation again and again. 

He always paid mind to you. He was aware of your fame, well your parent’s fame. His eyes like may others had frequently wandered towards you, he had a feeling you hated when they did. Your own were always narrowed into a glare as you did everything in your power to avoid the popularity you had been gifted. 

As you sat beside him, your head buried in your hands, teacher continuing with a lesson he should be listening to he felt sorry for you. Sorry that you were so often painted as a self-entitled brat, sorry for the prying eyes and the whispers behind hands. 

“I could walk you from potions if you wanted.” The words had spilled from his mouth like an overflowing sink.

Your head snapped towards him, eyes hard as steel as you bored into him. “What?” 

Cedric suddenly felt like a fool, something that didn’t happen all that often. He stuttered for a sentence, “I, uhh..” What had he just said to you? It was like his thoughts had been replaced with cotton.”I have the same potions as you, and um you said that you were having a hard time getting through the halls. I could walk with you.” 

“Whatever.” you ignored the part of you that thought it might be a half-decent idea and scoffed, “You would only draw more attention.” 

The Hufflepuff chuckled, “I suppose you’re not wrong.” 

You didn’t answer, eyes now zoned to the front of the room. He let the conversation drop. 

If there was one thing that you hated more than attention it was exercise. You disliked exhausting yourself, the grime, and sweat making you feel incredibly dirty as you jogged the edge of the grounds. Your breaths were labored and you felt awkward as your thighs bummed together. Despite all of the discomfort, your head felt clear. Thoughts weren’t plagued but crisp as you listened to the chirp of birds and your own pants. Finally, you gave out, your legs groaning as you halted bending over. Lacing your hands on your knees, you tried to calm your racing heart. 

“Oh, hey y/n!” 

And your peace was ruined. 

You stood up, stuffing your hands in your pockets and trying not to look as fatigued as you felt. 

Cedric looked so good it hurt. The sweat on his brow giving him the polished look of a deity. His hair was untamed yet adorable, cheeks stained apple red from the exertion. The sun which was peeking above the horizon framed him, making the boys edge hazy and warm. He smiled down at you, his breaths steady as ever. 

You cussed at him not even bothering to lower your voice. You watched his face falter with confusion. “Fuck you.” You repeated, “How do you look so good after running?” 

His grin jumped back, “I just stared, I’m only two miles in.”

You were tempted to slap him, “Only.” you cursed him again for good measure.

“Are you heading back towards the school? I could go with you.” 

You considered his offer for a brief moment, “Whatever you monster.” 

Apparently he took that as a yes because the second you began to jog again he was beside you his pace obviously slowed to fit yours. 

“I was actually happy to run into you.” He hummed.

You frowned, “Why?” it was more of a pant than a question.

He shrugged, “You seem nice.”

There were a lot of things you ‘seemed’ nice was not one of them. The side glance you gave him was question enough and you heard him chuckle a bit.

“I know you think you’re all scary and everything but you’re not that bad.” 

You scowled, “You don’t. Know. Me.” heavy breaths broke what was supposed to be an intimidating sentence. 

He nodded, “I think I’d like to.” 

You didn’t respond and instead tried to focus back into your safe world of exhaustion and exhilaration. You managed to reach the front of the school and practically collapsed.

“Are you okay?” Cedric asked his hand landing lightly on your shoulder. 

Shoving it off you nodded, “I’m going to get water before I pass out.” you heaved, “Feel free to continue your workout, Diggory.”

“Alright, I’ll see you-” the door shut in his face, “-later.”

Your exhaustion kept you from ripping off the heads a group of first-years who wanted your father’s autograph on your way to class. It faded as you made your way through transfiguration and potions. When dismissed you scrambled from the classroom at a quick pace, the last thing you wanted was to be late to Arithmancy again. Being publicly ridiculed once this week was plenty for you. 

You didn’t stop as your name was called behind you, shouldering through a group of students who shot you glares. You heard it again the same voice, closer now and you picked up the pace. 

Your shoulder was grabbed and you spun around with such force your bag fell from your shoulder. Quills and ink crashed to the ground and you swore loudly dropping to your knees to pick up the scattered supplies.

Cedric descended beside you helping gather your things. You snatched them from his hands before he offered and continuted down the hall without even a glance in his direction. His long strides brought him to your side. 

“You don’t have to worry about being late you know.” He offered you stayed unresponsive. “You’ve still got 6 minutes till class.”

You let out a bothered sigh, “Well if I’m stopped then those minutes go fast.” 

Cedric frowned, “Stopped?”

“Yep. It’s always like this at the beginning of the year. The first-years slowly find out who my parents are and want autographs or pictures as if it’s somehow my responsibility to serve them.” Your voice slowly filled with annoyance like a balloon expanding with air, “It’s irritating.”

The boy beside you furrowed his brows, “I can imagine.”

As if on queue a young girl trotted up to you stopping you in your tracks.

“You’re y/n y/l/n right?” Before you could answer she continued, “I was wondering if I could have an autograph from your mother, I saw her in a movie when I was six and I-”

“I’m really sorry but we have to get to class,” Cedric spoke, cutting off the bob child. 

Her eyes widened a bit, “Oh sorry, um bye then.” 

You gave a half-hearted wave before glancing at the boy beside you, “Thanks.”

He grinned, “It’s no problem.” 

Neither of you noticed the eyes which followed you down the hall. 

The Weasley twins had a special talent when it came to being bothersome. And they were sure to use it to their full potential, making a point to leave no one out of their troubles. You included. You didn’t know them all too well but after their offer to buy autographs from you and them sell them for a profit they had always stuck in your head. 

“Ah, but if it isn’t my favorite celebrity.” Fred grinned his arm draping around your shoulder before being quickly shoved off. 

“Well if it isn’t my least favorite red-head.” You respond attempting to return to the open textbook in front of you. 

“It’s only natural that you like me more than him.” George grinned sitting beside you.

“Nah, you’re tied for last.” You mumbled scribbling down notes on a messy roll of parchment. 

The younger twin frowned, “Are you sure I’m not beating him?” 

You looked up at him amusement etched into your features, “Positive.”

Fred popped some of the jelly slugs sitting beside you into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously loud. “So you and Diggory huh?”

You stiffened, glancing up at him. 

“I didn’t think he was your type.” George grinned catching one of the candies in his mouth as his twin tossed it over your head. 

You scrunched your nose, “What?” 

“Oh come on y/l/n, don’t be coy.” 

“No reason to be shy, we all know you and the Hufflepuff prince are boning.” the younger giggled. 

Your mouth went dry, “What did you just say?” 

Fred hummed, “Wow you’re better at acting than I thought, I guess you take after your mother.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” You sputtered.

“Wait really?” 

You nodded.

“So you and Cedric aren’t dating?” 

You scoffed, “God no, where in hell did you get that idea?”

The reflections shot glances at each other. 

“The whole school thinks you are,” George stated plainly.

You slammed your textbook shut in a vicious snap, eyes from around the library drawing towards you. “That fucker.” You hissed and in a second you were on your feet.

You didn’t have to look very long to find the brunette. He was only a few corridors form the library a small group of people huddled with him. 

“Diggory!” Your voice cut the pleasant atmosphere in two.

“Oh hey y/n, I was just looking fo-” Before his sentence could be finished you had snatched him by the tie and began dragging him behind you. 

A series of whistles and calls followed you around the corner where you slammed open a door and shoved him into a small closet. 

“Y/n whats are you doing?” He asked loosening his tie which you had unintentionally sinched around his neck. 

Your hands met his shoulders pushing him back as hard as you could manage. Cedric stumbled, his back hitting the door with a thunk.

“You asshole!” You spat leaning over him, “How dare you?”

Cedric was bewildered, the anger clear on your face in the dull lighting. Your breaths were heavy, the sharp scent of mint hitting him, “I’m sorry what?”

You sneered, “Don’t you dare lie to me Diggory. I know what you did.” You had grabbed his tie again, forcing him to lower his head to meet your eyes. 

“What did I do?” He asked, his cheeks feeling unbearably hot from the close proximity. 

You scoffed, “I don’t know, how about telling the entire school we’re fucking dating?” 

Cedric frowned, “I didn’t tell anyone we were dating.” 

Now it was your turn to look baffled, “Then who did?” 

Before your question could be answered you were falling forward, the door opening the two of you tumbling out into the sudden overwhelming brightness. You screwed your eyes shut in response, your ears catching the sound of laughter and whistles. You were brought your senses abruptly, the crowd gathered around you giggling behind their hands. 

“Damn Cedric, I thought you were classier than a quickie in a closet.” Someone snickered.

You lept off the boy you had been straddling moments before your cheeks burning from embarrassment. Cedric sat up, his own face tinged red as he glared at the Hufflepuff which had spoken. 

You shoved your way through the crowd wishing the earth would open up and let you fall into its core. Or at least those gathered around you. 

“Wait y/n!” 

You didn’t turn instead holding your middle finger in the air, making sure the entirety of the group could see it before you disappeared from sight. By the time Cedric was able to push his way through the crowd to where you had turned you were gone. He cussed letting his head fall into his hands. 

Cedric didn’t see you the entirety of the weekend. You weren’t in the hall for meals or out in the cooling September air where many students were finding refuge. Your absence was annoying, the thoughts of your breath fanning over the bridge of his nose, chest pressed into his only worsening the harbored feelings he had buried. Rumors of your relationship continuted to circulate, the scene caused a few days before morphing into lewd stories which made his cheeks bloom with roses. He felt partially responsible for the trouble caused for you, his friends were some of the most active in the gossip. 

Cedric knew it was only a matter of time before you would be forced to converse with him. You would never skip a class.

You appeared in potions Monday and managed to convince Snape to let you leave five minutes earlier than the rest of the class. There was no escaping assigned seats in Arithmancy. Or so Cedric thought. You had used your extra time to swap seats with another student now all he could do was bore holes into the back of your styled hair from four seats back. You didn’t even give him a chance during meals, eating quickly or simply never appearing, a girl you were with frequently taking a plate with her as she left instead. 

It was aggravating. He knew that both of you barley qualified as acquaintances but having the small amount of progress he had made in your relationship ripped from him less than a week in was cruel. 

Cedric was more persistent than you intended him to be. You didn’t quite understand why, you hardly knew each other. Yet he tried to corner you in hallways and stop you in classes. You supposed he probably felt guilty. You almost felt bad for avoiding him. 

When he wasn’t present in potions you assumed him sick or skipping. So you didn’t find the need to leave early or rush from the room. You should have known it was a trick. The second you left the room you were trapped, Cedric stood directly in front of you his gaze almost daring you to run. 

You sighed rolling your eyes, “Ok fine. You got me.”

“Can we talk?” He asked his hands stuffed into his robe pockets.

“Aren’t we all ready?” You challenged.

He shook his head softly, “Please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You huffed. 

“It will take thirty seconds.” 

Your eyes narrowed, you knew it would take longer but your curiosity was killing you, what could he possibly have to say? Your money was on some useless apology.

“Fine.” 

You were lead deeper into the dungeons beginning to suspect he was going to murder you where your screams couldn’t be heard until he came to a stop in some far away corridor. 

You crossed your arms tapping your foot impatiently, “Well?”

Cedric felt that unfamiliar twist in his stomach as he looked down at you, his hand scratching at the back of his neck, “Well I wanted to say sorry.” 

You sneered at this, “Are you serious? If this what you dragged me here for then you can just tell your friends that they are dumbasses with no life of their own so they have to stick their nose in other peoples to stay entertained and leave.” 

The Hufflepuff was taken aback, “Oh no that’s not it, umm, you, I mean I have-”

“Spit it out Diggory,” you demanded. 

He nodded, “Right, uh I like you y/n.”

Your eyes shot wide.

“And I was just wondering if you would let me take you out.” He finished feeling better now that the words had been spoken. The moment was ruined quickly. 

“No.” Your answer was plain.

“Oh.” Cedric wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

You sighed, the boy’s face now deflated like a sad puppy. The odd feeling of guilt settled in your stomach, “It’s not because of you.” You assured him, “I mean your talented and hot and nice and everything, it’s just I don’t want to deal with all the shit.” 

His cheeks flushed at the complaint but his lips twitched into a frown, “What shit?”

“Ya know.” You spoke gesturing around you, “Your friends and the rumors and everything. I’ve already got enough on my plate, I don’t need anymore.”

Cedric nodded, understanding, “Then give me a chance.” 

You hummed a question.

“The astronomy tower tomorrow night, meet me there after curfew and let me prove I’m worth it,” he explained.

You blinked owlishly at him, head tilted slightly to the side, “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. One date, no commitment, if you don’t like it can go back to ignoring me and no one will know.” 

His offer was tempting. The way his eyes glimmered with hope only making it more enticing. So you gave in, “Alright.” 

A smile stretched his lips, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “Why not?” 

“You won’t regret it.” 

Part of you already knew that. 

Taglist:

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Masterlist

[unstoppableforcce]

 when the dust settles

—CHAPTER ONE: in which we meet our sheriff

pairing: Din Djarin x f reader

art | next part | masterlist

a/n: a short little intro chapter before we get into the dark depth of the series, I hope you enjoy, I know my writing inspiration isn’t always consistent but I’m kinda hooked on what I have in the works for this !!

There was a storm coming. 

A dry, desert storm. The worst kind of storm. It was the kind of storm that settled in his battle-worn joints, weighing heavy in his thick, scarred muscles as he clambered down off his steady steed. 

The wind was slowly picking up around him as he busied his leather-covered hands with the dusty rope knotted together beside his knapsack, each gust swooping and swirling around him, whipping the dry desert sand into his side and threatening to pull his hat away from his head with each and every pass. He couldn’t stand it. The wind, the early dregs of the storm, the town, all of it. 

Arvala wasn’t much of a town, but from what he could see of it as he glanced around back over his shoulder, holding his hat in place atop his head, he knew he didn’t like it. 

He wanted to get his directions and be on his way before the storm had the chance to settle overhead. 

Fighting through the last restraining knot from the loop of rope, he made quick work of retying a few knots to keep the towering grey horse where he stood beside the dilapidated railing of the seemingly empty building. That was yet another thing that irked him about the surrounding dusty, one-street township. 

It was empty. 

Spare the vague hints of movement that caught his eye through the second story surrounding windows and the occasional body he saw crossing the empty street, the town seemed nearly devoid of souls. It settled a chill in the base of his spine, a chill he couldn’t escape. Unnerving was putting it gently, disturbing was a far more accurate descriptor. 

Arvala wasn’t much of a town, but he wanted out of it. 

Razor bucked gently at his side, knocking his heavy head into his shoulder to drag his attention back from the desolate town around them, but all he could offer the dark steel grey steed was a soft brush against his dusty mane in response. 

“I just need directions,” he mused almost silently, realizing he was speaking to the horse as much as he was reminding himself. “Just directions.”

The saloon was the only real building with any sign of life, the dull hum of vigorous conversation from inside vibrating out the chipped red painted doors and meeting his ears as he stalked further into the town. There was something comforting about that, it did little to damper the tormenting chill still haunting him at the base of his spine, but at least it was something. 

Something that only got better as he got closer to the building and the noise echoing out of it. 

The doors were thrown open as a lone figure emerged, gifting him a brief second to look inside, just enough to see a few tables packed with men, cards, and drinks, a combination he was certainly not looking forward to as he continued up the dusty wooden steps. He stole a glance back to his side as well, to the shrouded figure who had emerged just a second before, now knelt down beside the rickety bench with a hammer in hand, but didn’t direct any more thought that way. He just needed directions. 

Directions and he’d be gone. 

The voices became less like a hum and much more like a rancorous chaos the second he pushed through the dilapidated doors. He hated men that drank like this, spilling themselves out across the card-covered tables, downing drinks as fast as they could be poured. They filled towns like this, he couldn’t stand towns like this. 

Moving to the counter, he did his best to pay them as much mind as he had paid the figure out front. He just needed directions. He needed directions and then he’d be gone--

“Can I help you with something, sweetheart?”

His head snapped to the friendly tone as it cut through the disgusting chuckles and belching happening behind him, finding the friendly face the words belonged to easily as she wiped down a mess from the bar top beside him. Sweet, kind eyes, an effortless drawl to her tone. How she could tolerate being stuffed in a saloon with the likes of the men behind him, he truly didn’t understand. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting the black bandana to keep it taut over his nose and face. “I’m looking for direct--”

“Bull shit, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” A man shouted from behind him, the vulgar tone accompanied by a brutal slap to the hardwood table top and a clattering of glasses against each other. It was violent and aggressive and his gloved fist clenched as the cacophony of sounds interrupted him. He couldn’t stand-- no, he hated towns like this. 

“Honey?” The gentle drawl drew him back. “You’re looking for what?”

“I’m looking for--”

“It is NOT bull shit, Taro, you need to shut your goddamn mouth and put your money on the table.” A second man countered, as disgusting in his aggression as the first had been, if not more so. 

Against the countertop, his tight fist clenched further, his blunt nails digging deep into the worn leather around his grip. “I’m looking for--”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my money.”

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

His stubborn temper had a mind of it’s own, forcing his practiced hand to the familiar grip of his pistol and drawing it in a split second, faster than any of the men at the table behind him. The cool metal of the tip found a comfortable resting point at the back of the closest man’s head, buried in the thick head of dark hair and the men surrounding him all quickly jumped to attention even in their drunken haze, drawing their own weapons and leveling them back his way. 

Four to one. There were worse odds. 

“What in the stars above is your problem, man?” The words escaped the targeted man’s mouth laced with fear and confusion as his hands lifted in surrender at his side. 

Glancing at all the surrounding drunken men, they wore a look similar to that tone. Frightened, disoriented, and too drunk to truly comprehend what they were witnessing in their typically mundane saloon. Good, he thought callously, it was what they deserved.

“I’m trying to ask a question.” His level voice explained as the man at the other end of his pistol began to tremble gently against the metal pressed into his skull. 

The tallest of the men stood across from him, gun drawn, shrugged his shoulders in a confused aggression, “four against one and he’s trying to ask a question?”

The masked man merely pushed the pistol further into the skull of the trembling man, nodding his head forward with the forceful pressure. 

“Well, go on, ask it, lord knows we ain’t gonna stop ya now.” The shaking man scrambled desperately, unable to stop his surrendered hands from shaking even as he raised them to ensure the men standing in his defense didn’t do anything stupid on his behalf. 

“I need directions to the Arvala seventh, which way from here--”

This time, it wasn’t the chaos within which cut him off before he could finish a singular thought, but the sound of the doors as they opened with a careless slam. With a hammer twirling mindlessly in your hand as he turned to see you saunter in, he quickly recognized you as the figure he had paid such little attention to as he entered. But the men at the table recognized you in a different way, their shoulders falling in on themselves with a relaxed sigh of relief slipping through their lips. 

He saw the shoulder holsters first. Then the badge. 

“Fixed the bench out front…” An almost unnatural mixture of disappointment and exhausted cradled your tone as each of lazy words fell from your lips, dripping with both an air of confidence and layer of hesitance as you carefully eyed the scene before you. Even as you passed the hammer off to the kind barkeep, your stare stayed trained on the lone intruder in the bar, “What’s going on in here, boys?” 

“Brown eyes over here is looking for the seventh.” 

Disappointment and exhaustion, your entire form exuded it effortlessly as the immediate scoff tumbled from your lips. “The seventh, huh?... Guild?”

He didn’t know what to do with himself. As abrupt as his sudden draw had been, there had been a careful purpose to it, one he threw his whole heart behind in the moment, but now, with your careful stare holding on him, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His pistol was still leveled with the man’s skull, but even as the entire tone of the room shifted, you made no move to draw, no physical threat of any kind. The only movement in the whole establishment was that of the men across from him, lowering their weapons as they watched you and your trusted presence. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

Stealing a careful glance of his own around the room before his shrouded stare found it’s way back to you, he felt as though he had no choice left but to lower his pistol. He didn’t holster it, not yet, but he lowered it as his rough answer escaped his masked mouth. 

“Yes.”

“Well…” your shoulders lifted and fell in an exhausted excuse for a shrug as you took another step closer. “This ain’t it.”

The men across the table relaxed the rest of the way as you encroached, holstering their weapons and even reaching their filthy hands towards their abandoned, unfinished drinks, again, leaving him no choice but to do the same. As he placed the cool metal back into his worn leather holster, he lifted his hands in a brief show of surrender, still incapable of gauging whether or not it was the right move. 

But he had nothing else to go off of. 

“Can you tell me how to get there?” He tried again, hesitant with his words as every stare in the building stayed trained on him. 

Again, a rough scoff burst from your lips without any move to muffle it. “Ride, for the most part.”

“I mean--”

The kind-eyed bartender reappeared at your side, effortlessly drawing your careful attention away from him by placing a dark glass bottle into your hand before the second word of his defense could even fully slip from his lips. It looked like a transaction, the repair work for the drink, and you graciously accepted it with a nod, tipping your hat respectfully towards her before turning back to him. 

Yet, even with your attention directed back towards him, as he opened his mouth again, you quickly shut it for him. 

“I mean where--”

“I’m well aware of what you meant.”

The men at the table had resumed a gentle hum of conversation once guns were removed from the situation, but your words were a gavel, slamming down hard and returning the stale and dusty silence to the saloon. The dark grey clouds just outside and the violent wind knocking into the worn door were enough to signal a storm was brewing, but for a second, he convinced himself it was already there. 

Staring him dead in the eye. Unwavering. 

“Buy the boys a drink, apologize, and get the hell out of town.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, plain and simple. 

He froze in his boots where he stood, your harsh tone alone enough to freeze his form in a way that neither the blustering chill of the stormy wind or the darkening sky ever could. He had met plenty of sheriffs, he had passed through hundreds of towns just like this one, yet as he held your stare, he felt tense, every muscle in his body screaming, caught directly between fight and flight.  

But you moved as if your words were nothing to you, as if you hadn’t just shaken him to his core with your stare alone. 

Lifting the bottle in a kind salute back towards the sweet bartender, you turned towards the table and offered another careful nod their way. “Have a nice night, boys.”

“You too, sheriff.”

Effortless and exhausted, you moved for the door, nudging it open with your hip as he found just enough strength to step up and follow you. It didn’t matter though, you were already through before he made it a foot away from the table, two words falling from your tired lips as your heavy boots carried you away. 

“Fucking guild...”

—

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