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celtic-crossbow · 9 months

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Skin You With My Tongue

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written smut, p in v, fingering, oral (fem rec), brief hand job

Summary: What has gotten into Daryl? It doesn’t matter because you like it!

A/N: I haven’t been feeling great but I wanted to finish this before taking a break. Then I’ll work on my last request. Once again, I don’t think it’s great but ah well. I’m trying to just be thankful to be writing again. I hope some enjoyment comes from it!

You had no idea how you’d ended up in your current predicament: flat on your back, naked, with an equally naked Daryl Dixon devouring you like a man starved. You weren’t complaining by any stretch of the imagination. Though he had claimed to have little experience, the man deserved medals for the sounds he was wringing out of you with his tongue.

Anyway, back to the question of how did you end up here?

The day had started like any other. Your group was still new to Alexandria. While most had been given jobs, you and Daryl had not yet been set to work by Deanna. So, Rick had easily agreed to letting you both go hunt. Daryl had refused to give up his crossbow when you had first arrived in the community, but you had to sign out a weapon.

“Bullshit.” Daryl growled from where he leaned against the doorframe of the armory. You couldn’t say that you didn’t agree with him.

Regardless, you played by the rules, got your gun, strapped the weapons to the back, and climbed onto Daryl’s bike. He had decided the two of you could go further out today, not having much luck the past couple of days in the direct vicinity.

Daryl was your closest friend in your tight knit group and had been since you all had been forced to wander around in the cold before the prison. He was difficult to read and his emotional walls were high and thick. Somehow, you had been able to scale those walls, if not shatter them completely. You accepted him without question but you didn’t take any shit from him either. You weren’t afraid to call him out. In fact, the first time he had willingly come to sit next to you by the fire was just after you had asked him if he was “violating the Georgia sodomy law by having his head that far up his own ass.” You’d been close ever since.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his stomach and rested your chin on his shoulder, making kissy noises at him when he glanced back at you.

“Stop.” He grumbled before starting up the motorcycle. You simply gave his midsection a squeeze and could practically feel him roll his eyes as you headed through the gate.

The first part of the day was uneventful. Daryl stashed the bike before you walked and walked, finding nothing to track. About midday, the two of you came across a gorgeous lake. The water was clear and having only crossed two walkers on your trek there, you decided that a swim was an excellent idea after lunch. You didn’t ask Daryl, truly figuring he wouldn’t mind and that, hell, maybe he’d even join you.

You didn’t look at him as you stripped down to your bra and panties, mismatched as they were. If you had, you would have seen him comically fumble and drop the piece of dried meat in his hand.

“The blue hell ya doin’, girl?” He snapped after righting himself.

“Cooling off.” You gave him a smile over your shoulder before mimicking his frown with added exaggeration. “Maybe you should do the same, you old grump.”

He scoffed, keeping his eyes averted. “You’re bein’ careless. Careless gets ya dead.”

“I’m not going in unprotected!” You spun toward him, drawing his gaze toward you before pointing to the small knife tucked securely between your breasts. You couldn’t help but laugh when his face reddened and he looked away so quickly that you could swear you heard his neck crack. “I won’t be long.”

And you weren’t. Barely twenty minutes later, you were sitting down next to him, fully clothed albeit damp, but feeling much better.

“Ready to head out?” You asked cheerfully.

He did not share your enthusiasm, scowling as he stood and secured his crossbow to his back. “Been ready.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine?” He had already stalked off by the time you gathered up everything. You had to sprint to catch up.

After a couple of hours, Daryl finally caught the trail of a deer and began tracking it. You followed quietly, watching his methods and learning everything you could. You knew how to hunt, thanks to him, but you were always eager to sharpen your skills. When the animal was finally within sight, the archer kneeled after signaling for you to stand still just beside him. He was lining up the shot when something caught his eye to the right of where you stood.

“Get down!” He whispered sharply, grabbing your arm and pulling. The sudden jerk caught you off guard and you were thrown off balance, crashing into him. He fell flat on his back with you on top, your palms on either side of his head with your chest almost directly in his face. With half a dozen walkers shuffling into the area, you couldn’t move lest you be detected.

The deer sensed the danger and ran, the group of undead following mindlessly. As they passed where you and Daryl hid, you instinctively lowered, feeling his breath against your shirt. It took several minutes for the threat to move far enough away that you felt comfortable to lift yourself up and sit back, effectively placing your ass on his stomach.

“Well, that sucks. That was a big doe.” You complained. When he didn’t comment, you looked at him. He was propped up on his elbows, looking anywhere but at you. His face and neck were flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “You okay?” You queried with general concern.

“M’fine. Can ya get offa me?”

“Oh. Right.” You stood quickly, as did he. His back was quickly turned to you.

“We’re done. Let’s go.”

Your head tilted, brow creased in confusion. “We’ve got hours of daylight left. Shouldn’t we—”

“Said we’re done.” He was already walking away, leaving you staring at his back and wondering what you’d done wrong.

The ride back was tense and silent. You even chose to just lightly place your hands below his ribs and keep some space between your bodies instead of how you would usually have a tight hold on him.

When you entered Alexandria, Daryl parked the bike and got off, leaving you there, confused and more than a little upset. He passed Rick by without a word, the former sheriff turning to look at you with an eyebrow cocked. You gave him a shrug.

“I have no idea.” Shaking your head, you grabbed the gun from where it was secured to the back and went to sign it in before returning to the home you shared with Daryl and Carol. He was nowhere to be found on the first floor, leaving you to assume he had retreated to his room in the basement. With a heavy sigh, you went upstairs to shower.

Evening was upon you before you knew it, the sun having only set a few minutes before Carol invited you to walk to the other house for dinner with the group. You weren’t feeling all that hungry so you told her you’d be there in a few minutes. It was a lie. You had no intention of leaving your room.

Turning over onto your side, you closed your eyes. You had just drifted off when there came another knock. “Ugh.” You groaned and threw back the blankets, remaining in just your tank top and underwear since you didn’t plan on leaving with her. “Carol, I really don’t—” Once the door opened, you screeched to a halt, meeting the impossibly blue eyes of your favorite bowman. “Daryl.” You blinked at him blankly.

“Hi.” He nearly whispered. “Can I, uh—?” He gave a vague motion toward the inside of your room.

“Right. Uh, yeah, right, sure.” You stammered while stepping aside. He stepped in and you turned to push the door closed, a gasp leaving your mouth when you felt him press himself against your back. “D-Daryl?”

“First, the lake. Then your tits in my face when the walkers came. An’ now—this?” His finger was tracing the outline of your panties over your hip.

“What? I didn’t—”

He growled, a low sound in his throat, as he spun you around and pressed you back against the door with his body. He grabbed your chin to force your gaze on him.

“Didn’t what? G’on. Tell me.”

“Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by any of that.” You gulped, though you weren’t afraid. Exactly the opposite. Heat and wetness was pooling at your core, your skin feeling electrified where he was touching you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t lie to him. “I really wasn’t trying to fuck with you, I swear.”

There was an instant change in his eyes and it broke your heart. He released you with a muttered “shit,” his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. The dim light of your bedside lamp was enough for you to see his face reddening and the slight tremble to his frame.

“Y/N, I—fuck—m’sorry.” He quickly attempted to sidestep you and reached for the doorknob, but you were faster and blocked his path. His head shot up, eyes wide and panicked. He had absolutely misread the day’s happenings but he wasn’t wrong on one thing.

“I wasn’t intentionally fucking with you.” You repeated, your tongue snaking out to wet your lips before you continued. “But I would have if I had known it’d end with you here like this.” His arm dropped away from the knob and you entered into his space, pressing your chest against him to hover your lips over his. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Daryl Dixon.”

And now you were here.

“Fuuuuck!” You moaned, pressing the back of your head into the pillow before raising it to look down at the man between your thighs. Your fingers twisted and tugged his hair as your hips rolled, grinding your cunt against his tongue. Daryl growled against your clit, the sound vibrating against the swollen nub. His large hands pressed down on your inner thighs, holding you open while also effectively rendering you immobile.

A whine slipped past your lips when his tongue once again pressed tightly against you, sweeping up and down before he closed his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You tried to lift your hips but he pressed down harder, his nails biting into your skin. He removed his mouth from you, dark eyes glaring from just above your mound.

“Be still.”

His gravelly voice was even lower, darkened with lust and demand. You found you couldn’t help but obey. Breathing through your nose, you nodded eagerly. He kept his gaze locked on your face while his right hand lifted from your thigh, fingertips whispering over your flesh to dance down to your core. He ran a single digit through your slick once…twice, never breaking eye contact.

Your hands left his hair and fisted into the sheets of your bed, but otherwise, you remained frozen in place, panting through the pleasure of stretching around his middle finger breaching your opening. He slid in to the first knuckle, then the second, pausing only briefly before pushing in all the way. The sound that left your throat was positively sinful. You dropped your head back to the pillow and focused on not moving.

“Good girl.” He praised you, rewarding you by drawing his digit almost all the way out before sinking back inside, thus beginning a steady rhythm of which he continued. When you remained unmoving, he lowered his head once again to lavish attention onto your clit.

Who was this man? This was a completely new Daryl. In control, demanding, vocal, and positively panty-dropping. A new part of him for you to accept and adore. A part of him that, to your knowledge, only you had seen. One that you definitely hoped you would see again and again!

“Daryl, fuck!” You cried out when his index finger joined the first. You shivered almost violently when you felt him smile against your pussy.

“In a minute.” He purred, pumping into you faster.

Your hands moved from the sheets to the headboard, palms flat to keep the thrusts of his hand from pushing you upward. The moans and cries were constant, his mouth and fingers igniting a fire low in your belly. The knot was twisting tighter and tighter, and you grit your teeth when you felt the sparks of it begin to shoot down to your toes and up into your chest.

“Nngh, Daryl! I’m—” You panted, eyes screwed shut and legs trembling. He curled his fingers, driving them against that soft spot inside you mercilessly while his tongue and teeth tortured your clit. Just when you thought you might die from the pleasure of it all, that knot in your belly pulled taunt and snapped. Wave after wave of euphoria traveled through you, broken moans of his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra. You had grabbed his hair again at some point, holding him against your center with your thighs attempting to trap him there. He didn’t seem to mind, too busy eagerly lapping at the nectar you spilled while riding your high.

When you went limp against the mattress, he pulled his fingers from within you, leaving you to whine at the emptiness they left behind. You were still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm when he pressed one last kiss against your sensitive clit before sitting up on his knees. You blinked away the haze in your vision to watch him suck on those two fingers that had just fucked you senseless, your juices still glistening on his face.

You weren’t sure what came over you but you dove forward almost clumsily while he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He caught you easily with the other arm and pulled you against his chest, your arms encircling his neck to pull his lips to yours. The kiss was desperate, all tongues and teeth. The absolute need to be close to him in that moment was something you couldn’t explain. When you pulled back to look at him, your pupils blown wide and lips swollen, it was as if he understood before your sex-addled brain could form any words.

“I gotcha, girl.” Daryl said softly, a contradiction to how he had commanded you only moments prior. You nodded and let him kiss you again. It was tender this time, slow and deliberate. The archer began to lay you back. He caught himself with one arm while the other stayed behind your head to control your descent until you were once again on the pillows.

His mouth left yours and began to roam across your jaw. He nuzzled his cheek against yours in a way that you found absolutely adorable but then he was pressing open-mouthed kisses below your ear. Large hands traveled to your chest to cup both of your breasts, calloused fingers exploring the supple mounds before settling to roll your pebbled nipples between them. He kissed his way down, that sinful mouth eager to take over worshiping that part of you.

“Daryl,” you gasped, arching up into him when his mouth closed around your right nipple, “mmmm, Daryl, please!” You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and yet completely ignored. “Please—” you tried again, the plea coming out more like a pathetic whine.

“I know whatcha want.” He murmured against the skin between your breasts. He latched onto your left nipple with his teeth while his left hand took over stimulating the right. “Whatcha need.” You did the only thing you could and twisted your fingers into his hair, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth with a quiet whimper. His touch left you suddenly and you opened your eyes to find him directly above you and lowering down until his lips were just barely touching yours. “But I wantcha to say it anyway.” You felt every syllable against your mouth, the simple action enough to make your cunt clench around nothing. Goddamn, this man knew how to play your body like an instrument.

His fingers were ghosting down your left side only for his hand to maneuver between your bodies. Grasping his cock, he slid it through your folds, gathering your juices in agonizingly slow strokes. Each time the tip of him grazed your clit, your back arched from the mattress with a cry on your lips.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Daryl.” You whined, anchoring your legs around his hips. You dug your heels into the skin just below his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him into you. Too bad he was much stronger than you.

He hummed in response but only began to stroke himself, spreading your slick along his shaft. “Tell me whatcha want me to do, girl.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were going to literally combust if he wasn’t inside you at that moment. You weaved your arms underneath his and pulled at him. “Fuck me, Daryl. Please, please, fuck me!”

He chuckled. The asshole actually chuckled but you didn’t care because he then immediately entered you in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt. His arms nearly gave out as your wet heat welcomed him, stretching and molding to his cock as if your body was made just for him. He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder but you were too far gone to notice. The pleasurable burn of accommodating him brought you to new heights. You almost came right on the spot.

“Fuck.” He breathed against your neck, fighting to keep himself in check.

After you both had a moment, Daryl pushed himself up onto his forearms, drawing back his hips slowly before snapping forward and earning a broken moan from you. The feeling of him moving inside you was overwhelming, the push and pull driving every thought from your mind to leave only the ability to feel. And you wanted more.

You clawed at his back, each thrust forward tearing a cry from your throat. You barely registered that his mouth was on yours, but responded immediately, craving the taste of him. The smoke and pine mingled with the taste of your cunt on his tongue and you couldn’t get enough. You swallowed his delectable moan when your hips came up to meet this thrusts, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing off the walls of your room. Bringing a hand to his hair, you pulled his head back, pussy clenching when the action made him hiss between his teeth.

Teeth met his skin, biting down just above his collar bone. The salty taste brought a moan into your throat. You marked him there, sucking hard until you brought blood to the surface and then you released him. “You—feel so good.” You panted before your mouth was back on his. He pulled back suddenly and you whined at the loss of his weight but then he was sitting back on his knees, grabbing your hips and fucking into you so hard that you saw stars. It was just on the good side of painful, your cunt spasming around his cock as the familiar heat began to build in your belly.

Daryl didn’t stay that way way long. He released your hips and leaned forward to use the headboard as leverage, pounding you with such force that you again had to brace yourself with your palms. Your cries mixed with his moans and grunts and you prayed that Carol was still away. The angle was intense, each thrust had his tip pressing roughly against your sweet spot, building your pleasure at a pace you wished would slow.

“Daryl, I’m—I’m gonna—” you couldn’t get the words out between breaths and moans, but he knew from the way you tightened around him that you were nearing the precipice. And he was determined to throw you over the edge first.

He released the headboard and grabbed your arms, yanking you up while he sat back on his heels. You grabbed for his shoulders and then encircled his neck, resting one hand on the back of his head and the other on his shoulder blade. He moved his hands to your hips, helping you to bounce on him, spearing yourself on his cock and driving it deeper. Your moans became pleas and then a chant of his name, mouth hanging agape between words and breaths and eyes screwed shut.

“Cum for me.” He grunted against your jaw and that was all it took. You were almost certain you screamed but you couldn’t hear it, vision blacking out as euphoria swallowed you. You came back to yourself as the waves began to ebb, Daryl continuing to fuck you through. Your body felt heavy and uncoordinated and you pulled back a bit to clumsily seek out his mouth, greedily drinking down each sound he offered as he chased his own release. His grip on your hips would leave bruises, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

His movements grew sloppy and you could feel him beginning to twitch and pulse inside you. You pulled your mouth from his and watched him until he pulled you from his lap. You moved quickly, aware of his actions, and wrapped your hand around him, pumping him fast and hard. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your thighs while he fought to breathe through the sensation. His teeth were clenched and his eyes tightly closed, sweat shining on his skin and you were sure it was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

Half a dozen more strokes before you twisted your hand and he cried out, muscles freezing and face contorting into a grimace of pure ecstasy. He breathed out your name, hips jerking and ropes of cum painting your hand and both of your thighs. No, that was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

You pulled his mouth to yours before he could come all the way down, relishing each twitch of his muscles. When you pulled away, he finally opened his eyes and swayed on the spot. He seemed dazed but when his gaze met yours, he leaned forward to kiss you. It was gentle, almost hesitant. As if he didn’t know whether or not you’d welcome it.

“That was amazing.” You whispered, finally catching your breath.

“Yeah.” He replied quietly.

You brought a hand to the side of his face, watching all the courage melt away. His already flushed face was growing impossibly redder. You couldn’t help but smile. He had been dominant and commanding only to morph right back into the Daryl you had fallen in love with.

Your eyes widened.

Shit.

You were in love with him.

You were actually in love with Daryl.

You didn’t move when he got up to grab a towel, slipping on his boxers while he was at it. You still didn’t move as he cleaned you up, his mouth moving once he was done but no sound registering. He snapped his fingers in front of your face and you flinched.

“What’d you say?”

“Ya okay?” His brow was drawn inward in concern. He looked so, so nervous and you just wanted to pull him onto the bed and hold him.

“Yeah, I’m great.” You beamed.

He nodded and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, glancing over at his clothes. “Guess I should go.”

Your face fell as he reached for his pants. “Why?” Daryl froze and looked at you, head tilted. “You could stay. Here. With me.” You offered, your own face reddening. He stayed in the awkward position of halfway reaching toward his shirt but was obviously considering your words.

“Ya want me to stay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.” You smiled sincerely. He nodded and straightened, coming back around to the other side of the bed. He sat stiffly against the headboard, chewing his lip again. You started to lean against him when there came a soft knock at the door. You both looked up and then at one another.

Busted.

You both scrambled to get dressed and it would have been comical had you not been thinking of who could be on the other side of the door. Carol. Rick. Michonne. Oh god, Carl! You looked back at him just as he pulled his shirt over his head, an apologetic expression on your face. Turning the knob and pulling the door open, you smiled innocently at—

No one.

“What the—” You leaned out and looked down each hall to find them empty. However, at your feet were two wrapped plates of food. One with a note addressed to Daryl and the other to you. In Carol’s handwriting.

You looked around for the woman once more while picking up the plates and stepped back into the room, kicking the door shut. Eyebrows raised, you crossed the space to hand Daryl his and then placed yours on the bed, removing the note and unfolding it.

“Good for you. Now tell him that you love him.”

You almost laughed but held it, simply folding your note and putting it in your bedside drawer. Daryl was looking at his own with a raised brow before he folded it and put it in his pocket.

“M’starvin’.” He announced, plopping onto your bed while unwrapping his food. He watched you smile and follow suit, gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His note?

“Don’t be stupid, Pookie. She loves you too.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #Spotify

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 months

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Girlfriend

Daryl Dixon x Reader | Some smut at the end

Daryl is in a sucky relationship but doesn't see it at first. Reader helps him see and later shows him how a good partnership works.

💘 💘 💘

With another invite turned down, you had set out on your own. Not that you enjoyed hunting without Daryl, but he seemed to be preoccupied with his girlfriend.

Again.

It was annoyingly quiet out there, nothing that indicated any animal being near..

Only ..rustling plants. Low, no wind in the trees. You followed the sound, staying low and undetected like Daryl taught you until-

Plap. Plap. Plap. "Hahh please~" Plap. Plap. "Quiet." Followed by a grunt and more skin on skin noise.

You recognized that barked command, having heard it a million times before during Daryl's hunting lessons. Was he really out here fucking his gross girlfriend? That preppy lady wouldn't even know how to function out here let alone be comfortable on the forest floor. Why the hell would he fuck that annoying bitch out here but not you during all those times spent together on your own?

But that's how it was these days. Your dear friend always being followed by that hag of a woman and you being sidelined.

On days it could get so bad you ended up in tears, begging Carol to explain why he was being so weird all of a sudden. She knew you cared deeply for him and didn't like Daryl's lady either and when you returned from your cut short hunting trip you told her about your findings. And of course about Daryl's clearly visible annoyance surrounding the act. You ended up being able to laugh about it all, laying back in a fit of giggles just as Daryl came back home and upon seeing him crying out laughter even harder.

"Ahw pookie, did a walker snag you?" She spoke through the snickering, pointing at her neck and back at him which had him look in the mirror and spot a dark red spot on his neck, immediately turning a deep shade of red in the face as he mumbled a response you couldn't make out.

As he stomped up the stairs, grumbling about a shower you gave each other a look and went back to laughing.

"Man, it's sad. Really." Your words brought some seriousness back into the conversation, seeing your friend was still being tortured on a daily basis but never seeming to be doing anything about it.

You all saw it. He was unhappy. But the majority of the community didn't see that. They didn't know him and only saw their happy friend with her quiet, grumbly boyfriend. The man you wanted to be your quiet, grumbly boyfriend.

Even Rick had tried to get his brother alone for even a short moment to make it clear she was bad for him but no matter where he found the archer, the woman was there too.

Everybody knew when Daryl was working in the garage you left him be, emergencies were fine, and leaving him some lunch with minimal interaction was appreciated but those were his moments to unwind. He needed those and you respected it. He'd make sure to let at least someone know so the word spread amongst his friends who all knew he'd come say hi when he was good to socialize again.

But these last weeks someone apparently didn't feel like those rules applied to her. The garage door was opened, allowing a view of Daryl sitting cross-legged on an old blanket and tinkering on his bike. And then behind him on the toolbox, the top cleared off for her to sit on and her legs resting on the bike's front wheel was the missus. You ever so slowly walked past, having Dog spot you and come up for some attention that he never got from the other one which you found more than sad.

You crouched down and lovingly cuddled up with the canine and ruffled his fur, smiling into his neck and listening in on the endless chattering that came from the woman currently disturbing Daryl's much needed alone time.

'Alright fuck this' you thought to yourself before standing up straight and calling out to her. "I heard you bake some amazing apple treats. Wanna show me how to make them?" Daryl gave you the most shocked look ever, but the feet touching the ground behind him made him smile ever so slightly. The one thing she was almost more fond of than Daryl was her baking. Clearly Carol must have told her.

But nothing beat the relief he felt when the two women walked off and Dog came to rest at his side again. He was gonna have to thank you for that later.

Back in the kitchen you suffered through the endless yapping beside you, barely telling you steps for baking and more bragging about her adventurous time in the woods. As you tried to follow her progress you tried your best to twist her words into your favor, and send away any snarky remarks on what you saw in reality.

All you had to do was survive this ordeal and think about Daryl having some time to clear his head.

And clearing his head he did. He felt refreshed after being left alone with his dog and bike for so long. He missed the quiet, started to hate the sound of his lady's voice almost.

But he couldn't tell her that. It was something he'd have to live with, something to get used to about relationships. Just like she had to live with him having Dog and dragging mud into the house.

That was all normal stuff, right? He had no clue so rolling with it until that warm, happy feeling Glenn and Maggie shared showed up. It was only a matter of time, it was gonna happen soon.

Except it didn't, and Daryl got worse so now it was Rick's turn.

He ran out to where Daryl was following around his woman like a lost puppy through the pantry, grabbing him by the shoulders in fake panic and dragging him along, something with trouble, and Carol, and hurry.

So he followed him into his house, where he stopped in the middle of the room and stared at you and Carol on the couch, and Rick behind him.

"Feeling those butterflies yet?" There was clear mockery in her tone, referring to their argument from a while ago about his lady. About how Carol felt he wasn't happy, and he called it none of her business and going on about how everyone had annoyances from time to time and they'd be fine soon. "Ya can't tell me ev'ryones got them butterflies all'a the time."

"Daryl, she doesn't even look at you." Well, she looked, but not in the way it mattered. Stared, gawked and drooled. He was nothing but a piece in her picture of a fake perfect life. And now was the time for truth. "I saw you with her in the woods." Eyes wide he stared at you, discomfort clear on his face. "You hated it, it was clear on your face, you barely even finished before you were up and away from her."

"Whuh-- why'd ya stay?" He stumbled over every word, his mind blank as he heard your reply. "Needed to know if you loved her for real. To move on, get you out of my mind."

He tried to place your words somewhere they made sense, but he got stuck again like he always did.

"Sideline that for a moment. We're talking about the other issue right now." Rick's order helped to get the conversation back on track, looking his dearest friend in the eyes before he spoke the harsh truth.

"Daryl, I know you don't want to hear this from us, but we're worried and you have to understand.." He needed a breath in preparation. "You're never going to be happy with her."

The front door had opened and closed during his sentence, a clearly angry girlfriend rounding the corner. One who had heard his words.

"What the hell are you saying? That's a lie and you know it!" She was face to face with Rick now, giving Daryl a stern look to help defend her. "Who do you think you are to make that assumption! Of course he's happy, he'd tell me if he wasn't!" She went from screaming to pointing aggressively as well. First at Carol. "She's probably just jealous that he likes my baked goods more!"

And then you. "And she.. She's just jealous of what me and Daryl have! You need to mind your own business, all of you!!" She huffed in annoyance.

"Wow." You spoke in the short moment of silence. "Can't believe you can fuck someone with a voice like that. Instant turn off for me."

Now there were four pairs of wide eyes staring at you. Two trying their hardest not to laugh, one in utter shock and one red-faced and ready to throw hands. Not that she'd win against someone who had trained to fight with a cop and a hunter.

She took one step towards you, hands balled into tight fists and brows furrowed in anger when a hand stopped her. "Touch 'er and yer walker bait."

Daryl had stopped her from approaching you. She'd ways obey her loving boyfriend, he loved her for that. "Daryl, honey she-" "Quiet!" He barked the order loud enough to startle everyone in the room, tears slowly forming in the offended woman's eyes. "Why would you let her say that?" She still continued. "You love my voice, my stories when we cuddle.." God, imagine loving your voice that goddamn much. "You said so when we visite--" "I said QUIET. Ya never fuckin' listen do ya?" The initial shock brought the tears to spill. Pressing her lips in a thin line as she sniffled.

You took the opportunity to speak up. "The only reason I asked you about those bland, boring pastries of yours was to give him-" You pointed at Daryl who kept his position in the middle of the group." "-some goddamn peace and quiet. You know, the only thing he actually wants when he's working in the garage." You scoffed at her ignorance. "Funny how everyone here knows, except for his Girlfriend. who loves him 'so, so much'." She went from angry glaring at you to staring at her boyfriend with her best sad eyes. "D.. Daryl? She's lying.. right? Y.. You love me."

No. No he didn't. He realized that now, he only thought he did when she showed him kindness and interest.

He opened his mouth to respond but no word came out. None that went through his head would end this conversation without conflict.

"She's.. I uh." He looked around as if words would appear is he searched hard enough but he quickly realized there was only one clear answer to be given.

The truth.

"Nah, I don'. M'sorry." He had turned back to face her but still hadn't found the courage to look her in the eye, the guilt eating him alive. He didn't want to hurt her. Hurt anyone, but in the process he was hurting himself.

"Liar." Her voice cracked, spirit broken and defeated. "Don't lie to me you love me!"

In her yelling she took a step forward, face now inches away from Daryl's.

"Nah." He repeated again. It stung but she needed to hear him and there it was again, right in front of him but not registering his words. She never truly saw him, heard him, loved him like his found family loved him.

"I don' love ya." Only now did he lift his gaze to meet hers, seeing the tears, the sadness and the anger.

"M'sorry."

She just stared, shaking her head, words lost for once as she cried.

The whole room felt heavy with emotion. It was never the plan to have this talk turn into what it was quickly becoming.

"A- are you.." her words barely came out between sniffs and hiccups. "Leaving me..? Y- you can't.."

"Look," Daryl had to dig deep for the right words, and begged they would work. "I never wanted ta hurtya, s'just.. We jus' ain't a match." He had kept his gaze on her, hoping his eyes would speak what his mouth couldn't. "This.. Us. It ain't workin' fer me." A sigh left him at her silence. He stepped past her, finding the large chair in the corner of the room and sitting down, needing a serious break with how his head was close to overflowing.

A loud sniff left her as she mumbled an okay and left. No further words, just an okay and out she went. Rick made a mental note then to send someone to check on her later. He suggested Daryl to go rest downstairs and take some time off jobs to clear his mind before wishing you and Carol a good day and heading off as well.

"Well, come on." You got a pat on the shoulder from Carol, who lead you off the couch. "You go take Dog for a nice long walk around the community while I go make some comfort food, alright?"

With a nod you retreated downstairs to find Dog napping on Daryl's bed, having to wake him to come with you to get some much needed fresh air for you, and some exercise for Dog.

The community was quiet around dinnertime, having everyone inside with their family, friends and housemates. It was perfect for thinking, commenting on stuff to Dog who padded alongside of you. You should have brought a ball to play with.

Back home Carol was busying herself in the kitchen, all her focus on cooking this meal to keep her from talking to Daryl. He needed the quiet so his head could do some serious sorting out.

You returned to Carol finishing up dinner and watched as Dog quickly made his way over to Daryl and rest his head in his lap.

You joined Carol in the kitchen and helped with plating the food and rinsing pans before leaving for the living room, handing Daryl a plate and eating in silence.

It was clear you weren't talking today and each went on with their lives.

It took a week for Daryl to be back in his usual routine, not avoiding people who could ask questions but just doing his jobs and runs like he normally would.

So now it was time for that talk.

Surprisingly he was the one that came yo you over dinner, having Carol as a buffer to fill in when he'd fall silent made it a bit easier to initiate the conversation.

Of course he had talked to Carol before alone, not knowing how to respond to your words in the first place he wanted some knowledge up front.

"Ya like me, in a boyfriend-girlfriend way?" Daryl's sudden words had you almost choke on your food, giving yourself a moment to breathe before nodding. "Yeah I do." It was no use denying it after what you said last time. And it probably took.him a lot to even start this conversation.

"Can ya tell me how tha' would work." He played around with the food on his plate, needing to keep his hands somehow busy. "If I said yes to it, I mean."

Now you gave him a sweet smile and happily told him. "I guess we'd share a bedroom, whenever you'd be ready for that. And I'd make sure to ask before I kiss you and all that."

"She'd also not kick Dog out and respect your alone time." Carol added with a fork pointed at you both, to which you agreed.

"I jus' ain't sure this is fer me, ya know. I'on wan' things ta get weird." Him admitting his fear was already an important part of any relationship, which you explained to him before adding, "we can give it a trial run, yeah? You can tap out whenever you feel like it's too much, yeah? We'll go at your pace." holding your hand out for him to take it.

Carol had snuck out while you talked and now busied herself in the kitchen to still listen and hop in when needed. She stared at your waiting hand, and Daryl's as he moved it ever so slow to rest it on top of yours. "I like ya too. Should've seen tha' earlier. An' m'sorry fer not seein' yer interest in me."

You gave his hand a little squeeze and so a relationship was started.

Very, very slowly.

Daryl now hovered around when you busied yourself in the kitchen, offered to help more just for the sake of being near you. He slowly worked up the courage to rest his hands on you as he stood around and realized quickly he loved to have his arms around you while you cooked, moving along with you across the counter.

"Daryl," His hands left you immediately, feeling like he overstepped. "Oh, no please, keep your hands on me I don't mind." You let out a laugh as you took his hands and placed them on the side of your ribs. "I just wanted to know if you enjoyed me returning the favor." You gave him a look over your shoulder and watched him as he faked deep thoughts. "I think I'd like yer hands on me, yeah."

You brought over some lunch in a basket. At Daryl's garage you whistled for Dog and gave the basket to him. He happily carried it over to Daryl, handle in his mouth and tail wagging.

Just as you wanted to walk off you were called back over. "Wanna share lunch?" His question shocked you, knowing he never liked people bothering him in the garage so being asked to stay was ..weird. But you stayed anyways and shared a peaceful lunch with Daryl.

You weren't sharing a bed yet. Taking things slow was your tactic, so you'd wait for Daryl to ask, or for him to mention it in conversation when the topic allowed it to be slipped in.

He hadn't yet so you were in bed alone, almost asleep when a knock woke you up. "Yeah?" You called out to whoever it was. The door opened to reveal Daryl in a pair of sweats and an old tee. "M'sorry fer wakin' ya. I wanna try'n sleep 'ere tonight."

His words were like a dream come true, almost literally with you so close to dozing off and scooted over to let him into the bed. The warmth that surrounded him felt good, and hearing your voice whisper a soft good night to him felt right. He returned the words and carefully took a hand to rest it on your side.

He slept through the entire night after years of waking at every creak or caw. When he woke up the first thing he saw was your sleeping form and he knew he wanted that every day. "G'morning, Dee." Your voice sounded like heaven, even in its groggy morning state. "Hmm mornin'." Hw grumbled with a smile. You loved that smile. You wanted to kiss that smile over and over again, but before you got the chance to finish that thought he had made the first move. He moved closer to you, face an inch away as he took a second to steady himself and ever so softly press his lips against yours.

The next night he only went downstairs to bring his pillow with him and moved to your room again, this time letting you settle against him as you got comfortable and again slept through the whole night.

Slowly your cabinet got rearranged to hold Daryl's clothes as well, he'd pull you against him as you both slept.

But maybe tonight he'd try something more than sleeping.

Daryl wasn't a stranger to sex these days, he just wasn't a big fan of it. Sure, it felt nice and he'd get the job done but it never felt like he thought it'd feel.

He hoped it would feel different with you.

You were already in bed when he came out of the shower, wanting to be clean if you were going to be intimate tonight. His arms snaked around yours and pulled your body against his under the covers, pressing the effects of his shower thoughts against your backside as he softly kissed the back of your neck.

"Dee?" You let out a content sigh at his eagerness all of a sudden. "Hmhm. Wanna touch ya." You responded by pressing your ass harder against his cock, grinding against him in slow but steady motions. "I'd love that, please." Words were important to Daryl, he needed his yes's and no's to make sense of these type of situations. Now that he had his yes he slowly made progress by slipping one leg out of his boxers and pulling down your underwear as well.

His cock was back against your ass as his hand snuck down your front and found his way between your folds. His rough fingers felt so good, having you let out a soft gasp as he slipped two fingers into you. You moaned along with his movements, loving the feeling of his thick digits pumping in and out of you. Your hand made its way between the two of you to touch him, moving the hem of his shirt out of the way to take him into your hand properly. Your fingers curled around his cock and pump slowly, soft rhythmic squeezes and pumps had his breathing pick up, almost whining at the touch. After a bit of more lazy touches you started to want more, positioning his length between your legs. He removed his fingers to assist positioning himself at your entrance and carefully moving his his to push into you.

You moaned at the initial stretch, having missed the feeling of being with someone so long. Your hips moved back to meet his on their own and Daryl noticed, enjoying the welcome feeling of his partner joining in the movements. His hand slid underneath your hip as the other trailed up to your chest, lingering just off your breast. With a soft giggle you took his hand and moved it to where he wanted it to be and squeezed softly. Behind you Daryl let out a delicious sound, making you turn just enough so you could watch him. One of your hands reached to scratch at his chin fluff as the other went to cup his balls between your legs, softly kneading them with every thrust of his hips.

His pace picked up and his groans deepened. "This okay for you?" Your voice came out in huffs, watching his face contort in pleasure. "Yeah. Keep touchin', s'good."

You were more than happy to oblige and keep up your gently pawing at his balls and moved your other hand to tangle in his hair, softly scratching his scalp and moving in closer for a kiss. His lips slotted perfectly against yours now after nights of figuring each other out before sleep.

Daryl was enjoying himself. And if your sounds were anything to go by, you were too. Your moans were slowly turning into whines of 'more' and 'please'. The hand that held your breast before now slid further up to your throat as he angled your head by the jaw to deepen the kiss as the hand on your hips helped to roughen his pace. Your sounds, now muffled by his lips were music to his ears and the squeeze of your walls spurred him on more than anything.

"M'close.." You almost whined against his lips, having him double his efforts to make you finish. His hand moved away from your hip in search for your clit, not daring to admit he needed guidance. Your hand moved from between his legs atop of his for a short moment to press the pad of his fingers at the right spot before going back to squeezing at him. It took only a couple more thrusts, rubs and squeezes before you both finished, your walls tightening around his length as he spilled inside of you.

He slumped onto his back, pulling out and putting his underwear back on.

"You good?" You turned to fully face him, "hmhm, yeah tha' was way more fun than I thought." He gave you a soft smile as you wormed your underwear back on too. "S'nice when the lady touches me too." You took his words as an invite and rested your hand on his hip and squeezed. His body was just so perfect for squeezing in any and all places, you loved it. "I'll always happily touch you, just lemme know when you don't like something." He gave a grunt in agreement and suggested sleep for now, continuing the talk in the morning.

So sleep you did, even better now being all tired out.

Breakfast tasted better after that, the air was fresher and the residents were less annoying.

That was of course until the one they didn't want to run into saw them holding hands on the way to the pantry.

"I hope you like sloppy seconds." One voice commented from behind you. "Yeah, sloppy for sure. Horrible lay, that guy." The women giggled among themselves, staring you down. Where Daryl tried to ignore his ex's stupid remarks, you weren't going to leave without snapping back. "Sloppy? Maybe when the chick he fucks squeals like a dying hog! Fucked me so good I could barely walk last night." You sent them a smug look, the women in the background giggling softly as she colored beet red and crossed her arms with a huff, turning away from the two of you in shame. "Ya done makin' a scene now? We gotta grab food." You proudly nodded, a wide smile on your face on your way into the pantry to pick out dinner food.

Daryl might not have shown it on the outside, but he was damn proud of his lady. And hearing you defend him like that made him live you even more.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: loosely inspired by the Avril Lavigne song. Because I'll forever be a little emo kid by heart.

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead

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phantoms-world-and-more · 8 months

Note

I like the feral Casper High students trope. So Danny is a senior in High School and his job as a hero is not really needed any more. Amity Park is much more at peace with ghost now. Something happens to Vlad (maybe he fades, decides to go on a very extended vacation to find himself outside his obsession with Maddie, gets locked up by Walker, etc). Danny inherits Vlad's billion dollar company. At first he doesn't want it but then he starts thinking about starting a space program. He can't be a NASA astronaut due to his ghost side not passing normal health levels. But if its his company then he can make the rules and get to go to space. He doesn't want to run the company just focus on his space stuff so he gets his classmates in on running the company. Paulina and Star become the CEO and COO. Valarie is Chief of security with Kwan and Dash as her right and left hand. Tucker is head of R&D, with Sam in charge of charity work. He even gets some ghost to work for him, Lunch Lady is in charge of the staff cafeteria, Techinus is in charge of cyber security and Box ghost is head of shipping. So you have a bunch of 17-18 years olds running a billion dollar company and they are bulldozing the completion with how competent they are.

I love this

#danny phantom #fic prompt #daily prompt #danny fenton #funny #Dannys english class are.already set for life

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the-darklings · 1 year

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well.

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly.

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome.

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead.

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right.

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.”

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context.

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines.

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in.

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.”

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking.

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch.

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope.

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face.

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds.

It’s answer enough.

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat.

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock.

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing.

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?”

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it.

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently.

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow.

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look.

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns.

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean.

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them.

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest.

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction.

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you.

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable.

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread.

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades.

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this.

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones.

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you.

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves.

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now.

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green.

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds.

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up.

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm.

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now.

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach.

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it.

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition.

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns.

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop.

“Oh, don��t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either.

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood.

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny.

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye.

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close.

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed.

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire.

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now.

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing.

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been.

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement.

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both.

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need.

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice.

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun.

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence.

“Fun.”

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired.

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto.

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing.

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of.

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching.

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.”

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia.

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first.

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned.

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another.

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body.

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there.

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing.

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak.

“No.”

You turn to go.

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw.

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood.

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly.

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you.

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice.

Fine. You’ll find another way.

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach.

And then, impossibly, you see him.

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you.

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion.

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief.

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course.

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you.

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last.

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you.

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly.

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents.

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk.

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you.

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there.

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you.

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence.

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood.

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey.

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his.

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension.

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.”

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe.

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction.

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her.

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase.

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm. Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest.

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable.

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step.

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed.

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light.

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from.

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life.

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also.

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear.

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything.

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle.

“What are you doing?”

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely.

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone.

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening.

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again.

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep.

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now.

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him.

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad.

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you.

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass.

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere.

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life.

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless.

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream.

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse.

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.”

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth:

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light.

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need.

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests.

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils.

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream.

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?”

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply.

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions.

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away.

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent.

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase.

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm.

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept.

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.”

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched.

But not this time.

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words.

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out.

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair.

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to.

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is.

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.”

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway.

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another.

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits.

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show.

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet.

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here.

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word.

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor.

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused.

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true.

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin.

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes.

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly.

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps.

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point.

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it.

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity.

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping.

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths.

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier.

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact.

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you.

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation.

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness.

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed.

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand.

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you.

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand.

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile.

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you.

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure.

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare.

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke.

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze.

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment.

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly.

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger.

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous.

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely.

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly.

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it.

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it.

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it.

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you.

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him.

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment.

“Yes,” Dream replies.

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him.

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety.

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse.

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you.

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference.

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face.

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman fic #fanfiction #sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #morpheus fic #dream fic #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year

Text

An Offer · part 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

You nearly winced at how patronizing Michael addressed Bucky. It was almost insulting, meant to put Bucky back in his place. He, however, looked composed, but you got to know him well enough to be aware that he would rip Michael's head off if the opportunity arose.

At first you saw it as a nightmare, the meeting with John Walker. No matter how many times you told yourself you were fulfilling your duty to the Family, fear, uncertainty and stress were the only things that duty brought you. Yet, given the darkest scenarios swirling in your mind, and memories of the meeting with Brock Rumlow, John seemed like a really decent type.

He invited you to dinner to one of the most expensive, top rated restaurants in the city. To get in, it was usually necessary to make a reservation several weeks in advance. Suspecting that his highly influential uncle had a hand in the whole venture, you appreciated the effort anyway. You were surprised, however, that John didn't give up, didn’t take the path of least resistance, despite the fact that you hadn't shown any interest so far.

Without being gross or intrusive, he complimented the red dress you wore; asked about your work and hobbies, didn't mention business. You felt like you were on a real date, moreover, a nice one. Seeing that jumping from Brock to John wasn't going from bad to worse let you feel at ease. For the first time in, it seemed, an eternity.

Despite everything, there was something missing. You had no desire to throw yourself at John, no curiosity about what his lips tasted like. Essentially, you didn't need that in an arranged marriage, but guessed there will be time for everything. With Bucky, though, time was necessary – all you needed was a single look. But he wasn’t an option.

“Wow, that was… beautiful,” John claimed after you laughed at the joke he told. In reality, you were amused by how unfunny and stupid the joke was. Perhaps the consumed alcohol and the pleasant atmosphere also played a part.

“Well… Thank you,” you said, lifting a glass of wine to your lips. When you emptied it, John immediately came with a refill. “Don't you think we should talk about business?”

“What exactly do you want to talk about?”

“How would that work,” you suggested with a casual shrug. “You haven't mentioned an agreement yet, so I suspect you haven't prepared one. That's a bit…” You hesitated, wondering briefly if you would offend him with your choice of words. “Strange, considering, you know, the nature of our profession.”

John smiled, then hung his head and shook it. “I guess we'll just have to trust each other. Not to sound like an asshole, but I've heard that Rumlows have backed out. At least for now. If not them, your father's business will be ruined, leaving your Family with nothing. I also know that Stark has started to turn his nose at your partnership. You’re in a bind, Y/N. And I want to do this the easy way. No complex agreement, just some basic arrangements.” He raised his hands up in surrender.

You were struck by how honest and straightforward he was. Fair to both of you.

“But… Why?” You asked quietly. “Why are you so nice about it?”

“You don’t know?” He pretended to be surprised. “I've always wanted you, and now I have my chance. I don't want to do it through a system of rules and punishments. Not too bad, right? And taking charge of what your father created will help me strengthen my position.”

There was a moment of silence as John gave you time to process what he just said. Soon, however, he grabbed his glass and raised it for a small toast.

“So, what'll it be? Can I keep trying or are you giving up on me?”

It was clear that he wasn't really offering you a choice – you could only decide how to play it; keep John at a distance, or make it easier for him to approach you, let him court you.

Having clinked glasses, you both drank the wine, but you could barely taste it. Only the bitterness that the future was to bring. At this point you thought you were prepared for a marriage without love or at least friendship, but the closer you got to one, the more panic you felt. Being aware that the whole situation was difficult, you still didn't expect such a burden.

“Don’t worry,” John added, seeing the concern on your face. “Maybe one day you'll love me. Maybe when kids come along.” He shrugged. Your eyes widened, but John didn't mind it. “What? Someone will have to take care of your father's legacy in case we're gone, don't you think?” He smiled sincerely. You wondered if he was already fantasizing about the future with you.

Destroying the atmosphere with the shock you experienced wasn’t part of your intentions. The only right idea was to kill the negative feelings with a little more alcohol, so you asked John to refill your glass again, and he did so with pleasure. While dipping your lips in the wine, your eyes wandered mindlessly around the room until they landed on a familiar face – the last person you expected to be here.

You choked, and the sticky drink dripped down your chin. A momentary, barely noticeable panic crossed Bucky's face as he watched you carefully from his table – as if he was concerned that you might have choked to death. However, he stayed in place; rushing to help you would have exposed him.

“Oh God, are you all right?” John handed you a napkin right away, which you accepted and wiped your chin with a few delicate taps to avoid washing off your makeup.

“I’m sorry. Gone down the wrong way,” you struggled for breath.

“It’s fine. Are you sure you're all right?”

“I’m okay,” you said, still feeling the aftertaste of wine deep in your throat. “Excuse me for a moment.” Grabbing your purse, you got up from the table.

“Of course.” John also stood up from his seat, watching you walk away towards the toilets.

You put your bag next to the sink and focused on your reflection in the mirror. Tears, which filled your eyes as a result of choking, smudged your mascara, and the wine – just as you suspected – ruined the foundation on your chin. Yet, you weren't bothered by the poor condition of your makeup. Your thoughts revolved solely around the fact that you just saw Bucky. You would’ve been tempted to treat it as a mere coincidence, if not for him staring directly at you. It was probably his intense gaze that drew you in that direction.

The door opened, and at this point you were ready to see anyone; you wouldn't be surprised if your father decided to come back from the dead and show up here. But it was just Bucky. Again.

“What are you doing here?” You grated, crumpling a used piece of paper towel in your hand, with which you had wiped the remnants of mascara from under your eyes.

“Are you kidding me? The wine almost came shooting out of your nose, I had to check on you.” His forehead furrowed.

“I’m not talking about the toilet! What are you doing in this restaurant?”

Squinting, Bucky thrust his hands in his pockets, and sized you up.

“So?” You pressed, the tone of your voice impatient.

“You really think I'd let you come out here alone?” He finally let out. Your battle ready attitude had eased somewhat, but Bucky was surveying you sternly. “You gave me your permission to protect you, remember? So I’m trying to do that.”

“But John wanted this meeting to be more... private.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. “And nobody found that unusual?” He sneered. “You shouldn't drink that much,” he added after a moment, slightly changing the subject.

Your brows snapped together. “I drink exactly as much as John.”

“Yeah, except John is three times your size,” he said unmoved. “Look, I'm not stopping you from anything. Drink yourself unconscious if you want. I'm just saying you should be careful around guys like John Walker.”

The urge to ask him to elaborate on the thought crossed your mind, but you didn't really have the time. You didn't want to arouse suspicion by spending too long in the toilet.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised with a sigh. “See you later..?”

Bucky's face softened with surprise, his eyebrows rose slightly. There was no trace of the earlier toughness. “Sure.”

The corners of your mouth turned up with all the tenderness you had for him. You grabbed your purse, then left.

When you returned to your table, John greeted you back with a smile – but it wasn't a smile that melted your heart, or one that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go wild. It wasn't Bucky's smile.

When the black SUV pulled over near the Barnes' mansion, you thanked the driver and dismissed him, assuring that you would be fine if you needed to get home. You left the car, reached for your high heels, which you had taken off immediately after being picked up from your date with John, and closed the door behind you. Having spotted Winnifred right away, you made your way to her. She must have been tending the flowers in front of the house up to now, as you could conclude from her gloves and knees, dirty with soil.

“Y/N, how lovely to see you again.” The warm tone of her voice and the friendly look on her face didn't allow you to even consider that she might be insincere. And although you didn't get to know George Barnes personally, you presumed that Bucky and Josephine inherited their gloomy, ironic, a bit dark and sassy way of being from him. “What brings you here, sweetheart?”

“I came to see Bucky.”

Winnifred grinned even wider. “He is at the back of the house. In the garage,” she said after a brief quietness, which she spent observing you. That's probably why you didn’t move a step. “Oh, your fathers would absolutely love it.”

Smiling tentatively, you gave her a questioning, slightly confused look. “They would..?”

“Our oldest was a boy, your parents’...” She motioned at you. “a girl. So when you and Jamie were younger, your dad and my George used to joke all the time about pairing you two so that everything could stay in the family. But it was just a joke,” Winnifred emphasized.

Was it, though? Given the world your fathers came from, the environment you and Bucky grew up in, and the situation you were currently in, was it just a joke? Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but you began to wonder what would have happened if your father was still alive – would he have let you settle down on your own, without Brock or John's presence, or would he have married you to Bucky?

He wouldn’t. Because Bucky didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want you.

There was something else bothering you. You already knew that your families were close, yet you had no memories that would prove it. “Why did you stop being friends? If I may ask…”

“It's no mystery,” Winnifred said lightly, smiling. “You know how your mom is,” she began. You guessed that politeness prevented her from saying directly that your mother tended to be paranoid, but regardless of her choice of words, you nodded. “I think she got scared that our husbands would actually turn words into action. She made it clear that she wanted a lawyer, a doctor or an estate agent for you. But it seems that, despite all the odds, you and Jamie found your way to each other anyway.”

You felt your face turning red along with the heat spreading in your stomach. So you weren’t wrong; it was in your blood – the affection you had for Bucky. No wonder you two clicked the moment your eyes met. However, in this situation, it was like a curse.

“You have a beautiful garden,” you admitted to break the silence and, above all, your own thoughts. In fact, Mrs. Barnes’ garden looked a little bare, incomplete. The flowers were just beginning to bloom.

“It is promising,” she agreed. “But I’m done for the day, it’s getting late. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make us some tea.”

“Oh, thank you.” You shook your head. “I was supposed to see Bucky, so… I should go.”

“In this case, I’m not keeping you.” Winnifred beamed at you.

Keeping in mind the place where you expected to find Bucky, you headed to the back of the mansion. Evening dew had collected on the freshly trimmed lawn; not the most pleasant experience to your bare feet, but you preferred it to uncomfortable high heels, which probably wouldn't have handled this soft ground anyway. There was a peace and solitude that was lacking where you lived – there were no cars, no lights of street lamps, no noise of the city.

The garage was not difficult to locate; especially as there were quiet sounds indicating someone's presence.

Bucky stood in front of a lifted hood of another vintage car. But instead of focusing on the vehicle, your thoughts wandered uncontrollably to Bucky's broad back as he was leaning forward, probably working on the car’s engine. His muscles were clearly visible under the tight fabric of his t-shirt. You felt your mouth watering.

He raised his head slightly, as if listening for something, then looked over his shoulder. He didn't say a word, but returned the favor by fixing his gaze on you – his eyes darkened with the same rawness as when he saw you in your house that night. Beginning from your bare feet and slowly moving up, he scrutinized your whole body, studying the curves of your thighs, hips and breasts. And you couldn’t blame him since your red dress was even tighter than his t-shirt.

Letting out a shaky breath, you got rid of the excess air churning in your lungs. “So, you like old cars.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on you. After a while, however, he focused on the vehicle. “That one belonged to my old man. I don't want it to rot here.”

Based on how Bucky responded to Brock's mention of his father, you presumed that George Barnes was a sore subject. So you were surprised, maybe even a little touched, that he was now bringing it up himself. You did ask him, but he could brush you off or say nothing.

Driven by some subconscious need to be closer, you took a few mindless steps and stood not far from the vehicle. It was colder inside the garage than outside, so you instinctively folded your arms, trying to keep as much of your own warmth as possible.

“What car is that, exactly?” You asked genuinely curious, eyeing the cream body.

“Chrysler. From 1970.”

“What about your Mustang?”

Bucky squinted suspiciously, smiling. “The Mustang is a year older…” He answered hesitantly. “You’re into cars, too?”

“Not, but-” You let out a quiet laugh, knowing how you were about to sound. “This era was the sexiest for cars. And it suits you.”

His eyebrows rose with astonishment. He shook his head, then got back to the uncovered engine. “This was the most twisted compliment I've ever heard.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned, fluttering your lashes.

Having checked out your surroundings, you concluded that the inside of the garage wasn’t interesting enough for you to keep your eyes somewhere. So you dropped them to Bucky's hands. Stained with grease, they appeared to be the hands of a professional; they knew exactly what to do. No accidental, hesitant movements.

“How was it?” He asked. You immediately looked up at his face. “With John.”

“I made a pretty good impression on him, I think. He wants to have babies with me,” you said casually.

Stopping everything he was doing, Bucky tensed at your words, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “And you? Do you want to have babies with him?”

“Looks like a baby-free deal doesn’t exist, so if I have to…” You shrugged. The alcohol in your system kept you from panicking at the very thought. Or was it Bucky's presence that had that effect on you? After all, you felt safe around him, so no prospect seemed so frightening. “Why don't you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?” The question suddenly left your mouth, because since it popped into your head, you decided to satisfy your own curiosity right away. “You are attractive. Very attractive. Protective, maybe too protective…” You squinted. “But people, especially girls, like it. You can be really funny if you want to, you have money and position. And some pretty cool cars.”

“What’s with all these compliments?” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“I get flirty after wine.” You waved your hand dismissively, not intending to continue with this particular topic. “I remember you were, well, a ladies’ man.” You pressed your lips together; you wondered if you should have used that term. It's not that you didn't think it was accurate - you just didn't want to offend Bucky, or upset him.

But he looked at you, smiling with a softness that in no way matched the whole situation. “You remember me?” He repeated. As if it was the most obvious thing, you nodded in response, your forehead furrowed. “I didn’t know you were aware of me.”

“Don't change the subject.”

Bucky sighed heavily, but did not answer straight away. “I liked being around women. Still do. But in a different way. I’ve changed, I guess. Matured, realized a few things. I had a lot of time to think over the last two years.”

You listened to everything he had just shared and, despite your drunken boldness, you didn't have the courage to bring up his father's death again or to find out more about the lessons he had learned over the mentioned two-year period. You decided to grab onto something else. “In a different way? What do you-”

“That I don’t try to sweep them off their feet, or wrap them around my finger,” he said calmly, but there was something in the way he was talking to you and, for a second, you felt like a scolded child. “I don't hit on them, I don't flirt, I don't try to be charming or funny. If they want to fuck, we fuck. But I'm not looking for an opportunity to take someone to bed.”

Overwhelmed by the information you wanted yourself to hear, you didn't know where to look. “Mhm…” You murmured, trying to appear completely relaxed, maybe even indifferent. On the other hand, you presumed your cheeks that turned pink gave you away. “And you…” You began, partly to talk about something else, partly out of pure curiosity. “Do you remember me? From back then?”

Bucky loosened up a bit, a smirk crept across his lips. He reached for a piece of cloth slung over his shoulder, and got rid of the grease off his hands by wiping them thoroughly. “Maybe,” he answered, shrugging. It was clear he was teasing you, and you wondered if it was some kind of punishment for bothering him with personal questions. “Watch your fingers,” Bucky warned gently, so you took a step away from the car, then he closed the Chrysler’s hood. “I’ll drive you home, huh?”

When the car finally stopped near the familiar building, you breathed a sigh of relief – you were only a few steps away from a warm shower and a comfy bed.

Before you could touch the handle, Bucky's hand wrapped hastily around your forearm. You turned your gaze to him to see what had come over him, and saw a completely controlled unease painted on his face.

“You know that car?”

Having followed his gaze, you spotted a vehicle; you did not recall it belonging to Michael or anyone in the Family. “Not really.”

Bucky reached into the glove compartment above your lap and pulled out a gun. It was only then that you felt a sprouting anxiety; not out of fear for your life, but at the thought that something might happen to Bucky because he'd decided to get you home.

“Come on,” he said, and there was nothing but calmness in his voice.

You got out of the Mustang and joined Bucky on the other side of the car.

“Stay behind me, okay?” he instructed, and you didn't protest only because you didn't want to sabotage the possible plan he had formed in his mind. You nodded, and just as he asked you to, you kept two steps behind his back.

You cautiously entered the house, Bucky keeping his gun low but unlocking it earlier, his finger close to the trigger. It was dark inside, except for the warm light pouring out of the living room. It was also where the quiet conversation was coming from; you recognised Michael's voice, and it put you a little bit at ease – you didn't think he was in danger, or that you two were the ones who were threatened. You touched Bucky's arm gently to prevent a potential reaction.

As you approached the living room, that’s when Bucky really tensed up. Seeing Michael in the company of John Walker wasn't exactly a delight for you either. No one needed to speak; it only took a few glances for the atmosphere to thicken in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N,” Michael’s displeased tone pierced the heavy silence. “What is he doing here?”

“Making sure she gets home safely,” Bucky asserted before you had a chance to think about who Michael actually had in mind.

“From where?” John interjected; he sounded casual, amused even, but his edgy smile said otherwise. “Should I feel threatened?” His question, thrown around as if playfully, only confirmed your assumption that John was unsure of his position.

“No, of course not,” you protested right away.

Michael could have drilled down. However, you could see that he didn't want to do that – he didn't want to raise doubts about what you were doing with Bucky; to give John a reason to back off. All he cared about was putting an end to the subject as soon as possible and not returning to it – making it seem forgotten at least. “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

“Correct,” Bucky agreed. He held his gaze on Michael for a while longer, then, a brief glance was everything he got for you, and it felt cold – like when he left you in that pub. You watched him walk away, but Michael's grunt brought your attention back.

You didn’t stay with Michael and John. Hiding behind a long, tough day and pouring honey in their ears by telling them you didn't want to disturb an obviously important discussion that your feminine mind wouldn't comprehend, you got away. Still, there was something bothering you. So, not long after the desired refreshment and making sure Michael was alone, you went down to the living room.

Michael peeked at you, looking up from his newspaper, waiting patiently for you to raise the matter on which you had come here.

You sat down in the armchair next to his, and for some reason, nervousness led you to occupy your hands with the belt of a soft, fluffy robe you wore after the shower. “Why was John here?”

“To speak about business,” he said immediately, still focusing on the paper.

“Right, let me put that differently…” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Why do you think John was here?”

This time Michael did not answer straight away. Nor did he appear to be thinking about the answer; his eyes roamed over the next lines of text. “I believe he wants to control you. Keep an eye on his investment.” He closed and put the newspaper down on the end table between the chairs, then looked straight at you. “Do you want my advice? You'd better let him,” he said. It wasn’t the content of his words that caused your forehead to crease, but the determination with which he said them. “At least two candidates backed out after Bucky beat Brock. Men are afraid to approach you because you got yourself a guard dog.”

At least two candidates, and you had no idea about that.

“He didn’t beat Brock because of me,” you protested.

��But he did it. They don't know the details, they don't need them. All they need is that it happened at a meeting that should have ended with marriage. Instead, it ended with Brock Rumlow's broken nose. Of course,” Michael continued. “There were those who were encouraged by it. Who thought it must be a game worth playing. But I turned them down right away, because only a fool would think he stood any chance with Bucky Barnes,” he almost spat. Then, he took a deep breath to release the tension. “He would be a perfect candidate, you know?”

Although you had lowered your head somewhere during Michael’s monologue, you now raised your eyes to him. Your heart was racing, gaining a familiar, nearly furious rhythm.

“The friendship of your families, the power and reputation that the name Barnes holds… And it turns out that Bucky Barnes is the only man in New York who doesn't fight for your hand in marriage.” Michael smiled bitterly.

You looked away to avoid having to face Michael. You crushed under the weight of the awareness that his words had aroused in you. Experiencing far too many emotions at once – you felt angry, sad, disappointed and even a little betrayed – you were hopeless as never before.

“I know that this is difficult,” Michael spoke again. “However, we can't lose John. We can't be sure there will be more better candidates, and even if there will be, we don't have enough time. I don't know what you got yourself into with Bucky, but he can't protect you until he becomes your husband, which he has no desire to do. So whatever is going on between you two has to stop. Now.”

“What does that mean? I can’t see him anymore?” You asked, your voice weak.

“You don’t have to run for the hills each time you accidentally meet him,” he clarified. “But whether you continue to be friends will depend entirely on your husband.”

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x y/n

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quirkwizard · 2 months

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So recently I have been on a huge tabletop RPG kick so I thought it would be fun to talk about Class 1-A playing their own tabletop game, both the characters they'd play and how they'd be as players. For the sake of this, I will be writing in the context of Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition since that's the system myself and others would be the most familiar with.

Rikido Sato: Half Orc Life Cleric Doesn't really get the game too much. Tends to forget the rules a lot and his own abilities. Just kind of picked a class at random. Is the king of bringing snacks and the like, all of which are homemade.

Mashirao Ojiro: Wood Elf Open Hand Monk Pretty average in all respects as a player. Not too remarkable in all respects. Doesn't realized how bad the monk is until they started playing, but is too attached to the character and their concept.

Koji Koda: Firbolg Shepard Druid Is only really here to hang out with his friends. Too shy to really do any roleplay with the rest of the gang, mostly doing small moments with his animals friends. Accidently made an overpowered build.

Minoru Mineta: Dhampir Phantom Rogue Knows the rules, but is a power gamer. Uses the game more as a power fantasy to look as cool as possible at all times, even if it is dumb, though will quickly panic if anything goes slightly wrong.

Hanta Sero: Gith Horizon Walker Ranger Really interested in all the lore and history of whatever the dungeon master came up with. The kind that dungeon masters either love or dread. Is the one constantly asking question and cracking the odd joke about it.

Toru Hagakure: Changeling Arcane Trickster Rogue Super big into the roleplay of it all and is always excited. Mostly took Changeling so she'd have the excess to play as many roles as possible. Probably makes little masks to remind people who she currently is.

Yuga Aoyama: Aasimar Glory Paladin Is insanely devoted to the role of the noble paladin, much to the detriment of everyone else. Likely says the line "But it's what my character would do more then any other player. Constantly hints at a backstory that nobody is biting on.

Mezo Shoji: Hobgoblin Gloomstalker Ranger Not the biggest into roleplay, does fairly well with the actual gameplay. Plays the typically reserved ranged. Tried to tie his and Koda's backstory together to try and take some of the stress off of him in terms of roleplaying.

Kyoka Jiro: Half Elf Whispers Bard Wasn't really sure about all of this before play and went with a bard because she liked the idea of playing music. It was a rocky start, but quickly got into it and started having fun. Will make custom songs and playlists for the party, as well ambient tracks and battle music.

Denki Kaminari: Air Genesi Storm Sorcerer Wanted to try it out because it was popular. Went with something he thought was cool and did not expect it to be so complicated. Needs to be constantly handed the book and remined of the rules in order to make sure he gets it. The amount of math hurts his head. Eijiro Kirishima: Goliath Giant Barbarian Like Denki, wanted to get into because it was popular. Bakugou helped a lot with building the character. Has a lot of fun smashing stuff. Plays his role pretty well, even if his character doesn't go beyond the nice brute whose name is very close to Kirishima's own.

Mina Ashido: Satyr Glamour Bard One of the students the most into the roleplaying. Is very light hearted and goofy about the whole thing. Can play a lot in bard stereotypes because she thinks it's funny. Another instigator, though mostly from her getting too into character at the worst of times. Fumikage Tokoyami: Tiefling Fiend Warlock Has been playing the game the longest and super familiar with all of it. Always makes characters he thinks are "cool", which means are super gothic and depress, both in class and in race. Does occasionally have Dark Shadow dress up and roleplay as his patron. Ochako Uraraka: Fairy Zealot Barbarian Ochako just wants to smash stuff. She has a lot of fun rolling dice and doing cool stuff with her friends, both good and bad. Likes playing the typically pixie before going nuts. Can be an instigator, but tends to backtrack when she realizes just how badly it goes wrong. Tsuyu Asui: Halfling Moon Druid Like Koda, is mostly here to have fun with friends. Often plays mediator both in and out of character. Does a good job with roleplaying thanks to how much she had to play pretend with her simplies. Always causes a riot whenever she becomes a dinosaur. Shoto Todoroki: Hill Dwarf Fighter Champion One of the worst players both in game and in roleplay. Played a character Izuku basically made for him. Is somehow still one of the best because he is constantly getting amazing rolls at the most critical moments, much to the frustration of Bakugou.

Katsuki Bakugo: Custom Lineage Chronurgy Wizard Powergamer, no question. He knows the rules back and forth to make the most broken build possible. Acts like D&D is a game you can win, even when it comes to roleplaying. Not a full on murder hobo, but by far the biggest instigator in the group.

Tenya Iida: Warforged Devotion Paladin Very much devoted to the rules, both in and out of the game. Gets confused when people say that he's doing a good job at playing a robot. Collects a lot of dice. One of the best Dungeon Masters of any of the students, though can be rather controlling at times. Momo Yaoyorozu: High Elf Forge Cleric A really good player with the rules though can be pretty awkward with the roleplay with how much she tries to get into it. One of the best DMs in the class. Makes custom miniatures for everyone in the party. Puts a lot of money to make the ultimate game room. Izuku Midoriya: Variant Human Bladesinging Wizard The perfect player. Knows the roles, but focuses more on making characters. Takes the most notes, pay attention, and makes sure everyone is having fun and feels included. Likely gets roped into the role of dungeon master more then anyone else because of these reasons.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Blind Offer 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Lloyd Hansen, and August Walker

Note: Another rough one. Also, here's the wish that inspired this one: "i wish STEVE/BUCKY/LLOYD/AUGUST(any of them) would stalk and harass and manhandle and manipulate reader into their little housewife"

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

Your appetite is nonexistent. You poke at the dinner but can’t stomach it. You watch Steve as he heartily devours your hard work. How can he just act like this? As if you’re not trapped in this place. As if he’s not your warden.

“Mm, delicious,” he says, “maybe a little less garlic next time, sweetheart.”

You bristle. Less garlic? That’s all he has to say? After all this, he can’t even give you a real compliment. Why do you care? You don’t care if he likes the food, you want out.

“Steve,” you clear your throat, setting your fork down carefully, “please, you can’t–”

“First of all, ‘sir’; you call me sir,” he points at you with the silver tines, “second, you don’t tell me what to do.”

You blink. His tone is unlike you’ve ever heard. Steely and demanding. His gaze is almost a glare, as if you’ve committed some unforgivable offense.

“Let me out of here–”

“I just told you. You don’t make the rules–”

“What the fuck,” you hiss, “Steve, this is insane. You’re insane–”

He sighs and drops his fork. He cranes around, searching for something unseen. You realise he’s looking at the camera. Why?

You heard the chime of the echo and glance over. Three red Xs flash. What the hell?

“No swearing,” he stands slowly. You stay as you are, stunned in your seat. “Three strikes.”

“What does that– Steve, what are you doing?” You whine as he rounds the table and you swat at his hands. He grabs you and hauls you off the chair, “Steve.”

You swipe at him and your nails scrape across his neck. You feel the slice of his skin, enough to break it. He growls and latches onto your wrist. He spins you and bends your arm behind your back, pushing you down until your chest is on the table, your plate right in front of your nose.

“Steve–”

“Sir,” he snarls, squeezing your wrist until you whimper. “You misbehave and you get punished.”

“What– no–”

“That’s another strike. You don’t say ‘no’, sweetheart.”

You’re dizzy, completely thrown by the suddenness of his shift. Why is he doing this? How did this happen? A day ago, you were working your dead-eyed shift at the box store and now, you’re trapped in this deranged remake of I Love Lucy.

“Please–”

“Stop while you're ahead,” he warns, keeping your arm twisted as his other hand crawls over your lower back and spreads across your ass. You squeak as your feet slip dangerously in the heels. “You’re lucky it’s me.”

“What does that me–”

He lifts his hand and swings it down. The impact of his hand across your ass permeates through the layers of your dress and panties. You cry out and pull your head up. He puts more weight on your elbow and you squeal. He spanks you again, harder. You let out another pathetic babble.

“Please…” you gulp, partly stunned, partly agonized,

“Shhh,” he hushes you and strikes you again, “you earned this.”

You wriggle, unable to escape his grasp. What is he doing? You kick out, the shoes falling off your feet in your struggle. He keeps on, your voice rising as your ass stings hotly with each smack. He pauses and digs his fingers into you, kneading before he pulls back again. You shriek as his next slap radiates through your thighs and spine.

You hear a chuckle, sinister and rumbling like thunder. You drop your head as that same voice sounds from the ceiling. That faceless man who taunted you earlier.

“Louder, baby,” he teases.

Your eyes wet and you hold your breath. The table jerks each time Steve’s hand descends, your legs dangle, toes barely on the floor as you let your body go slack. The plates move around you, a glass rolling onto its side, cutlery clattering to the floor. You surrender, helpless. He doesn’t stop until you're trembling and weak.

He lets you go and you slip slowly off the table. Your legs crumple and you hit the floor with a squeal. You hold yourself up on one arm, your ass aching as it rests on the tile. You refuse to look up at Steve as he towers over you. You can’t.

“Look at me,” Steve barks.

You flinch and swallow, closing your eyes as you will away the sheen of tears. You take a deep breath and raise your chin, flick back your lashes as you peer up at him. He scowls down his nose.

“Clean up,” he kicks a fork towards you. “That’s your job. To keep this place in order.” He raises a foot and toes your shoulder, making you sit back, “to serve your man.” He pulls his foot back and bends over you, “keep him happy.”

You search his stony face. This isn’t Steve. This isn’t the helpful landlord, the friendly man who rambled a bit too much. This is a monster you could never imagine. In your hesitation, he stands straight and his right hand balls. You feel a thrum in your backside.

“Y-yes…” you croak out, struggling to get to your knees, “yes, sir.”

You grab the fork and a butter knife. You gather up the errant napkin and you focus on setting your feet. You stand shakily as Steve crosses his arms, looming menacingly, unmoving. You place the silverware on your plate and carry it to the counter. You come back for his as he remains, like a statue, only watching.

That shakes you more than anything. That placid calm. Only moments ago he accosted you, assaulted you, and now he’s just there, stoic and unreadable. You limp back and forth between the table and counter. All you can do is let the task distract you from the reality of your existence.

🏠

The kitchen is spotless. You’re exhausted but there is no clock to check the time. Not on the Echo, not on the stove. You never noticed before. You look around, aimless, as Steve remains as he’s been for almost forty minutes.

“Dinner is over,” he says tersely, “so…”

You look at him and shrug helplessly. You don’t know what comes next. You turn your hands out in a gesture that says as much.

He huffs and bends down, retrieving your heels and marching towards you. You cower as he holds them out. You take them reluctantly and bend to set them straight, stepping into them with a wobble.

“Now, I unwind. I’ve had a very long day,” he says.

You stare at him blankly. That’s great of him to check in but that gives you zero hint as to what you do next. You rub your lips together and gather your voice.

“What do I do, sir?”

You nearly choke on that last word. You’re afraid, you’re stupid, you’re weak. Your ass throbs in a reminder to just do and say what he wants. For now, until you can figure a way out of this place. There has to be a way out.

“I like to take a hot bath and relax,” he smiles, an eerie expression that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, “so… I’ll run you a bath?”

“That would be wonderful, sweetheart.”

He reaches for you and you recoil. He catches the back of your head and pulls you close, bending to kiss your forehead. You let him as you clutch your hands around the sides of your skirt.

“I knew you could be good for me,” he draws back, his tone silky as his hand brushes over the front of his pants before returning to his side, “I’ve been dreaming of it.”

You have no response. You put your head down and cautiously take a step, then another, and another. You leave the kitchen and follow the banister to the front of the staircase. You glance around it before you ascend but don’t see Steve.

You go to the primary bathroom and pull back the curtain around the large tub. You bend over and turn the faucets on. You test the water with your hand and push the stopper down. As you stand, you give a start as a new voice floats in thin air. You can sense the speaker must be mounted somewhere along the ceiling.

“When running a bath for your beloved, make sure the temperature is just right. Steamy but not scalding,” the put-upon cadence makes you cringe. It sounds like the same woman from the videos. “You must have everything ready. The bath desk is kept in the linen closet, and don’t forget a fresh towel, his book, and a nice drink. You don’t want to make your man–” the track skips, and her voice returns, shaky in a sob, “angry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please–”

The audio cuts and you’re left in silence. This is a fucking game. Some mind game. It’s like Saw on acid. Not quite deadly but mentally torturous.

You enter the hall and open the slender door of the linen closet. You take out a fluffy white towel and find the bath desk. You bring those into the bathroom and as you approach the doorway again, Steve appears, blocking you in. You step back and let him enter.

He steps inside and you turn to watch him. He stands staring at the tub as it fills. You don’t know what to do. He’s just there like a drone.

“Undress me,” he orders, his voice rippling in the tension.

You twiddle your fingers. Oh god. You brace yourself as you come forward. Your body feels detached from your mind. You can’t think right now, you just have to get through.

You near him and circle to stand in front of him. You stare at his chest. You reach out shakily and touch his shirt. You pull the tail free of his pants and unbutton it bottom to top. You feel him flex, feel how he almost vibrates. He lets you push it off his shoulders and down his arms, exhaling loudly, like a growl.

You ignore it and set the shirt aside. He sits promptly on the toilet seat and puts a foot out. You hide your discomfort as you follow to untie his leather shoes. You tug at the laces and wiggle each off, placing them neatly on the tile. You roll down his socks quickly and ball them up with his shoes.

You stand and he pinches the ribbed fabric of his undershirt. You peel that off of him as he lifts his arm. This is weird. This is very fucking weird but you can’t dwell on that right now.

He rises and you lean on your heel hard, bending your ankle. You stifle a yelp at the way it twinges in your achilles and keep going. You unbuckle his belt. You tremor as you see the twitch under the fabric. He’s a freak!

You want to scream but you hold it in. The panic and horror burns in your chest and swirls in your skull. You undo his fly and push his pants down. Your eyes wander to the vee of his stomach just above his briefs, the hard muscle that leads beneath the taut cotton. His thighs corded just as thickly. He steps out of his pants and you fold them once, laying them on the corner of the counter.

You look at him, in a stalemate. Only his underwear left. You don’t know if you can do that. The bulge under the pure white cotton is more than obvious.

He clears his throat. Right. Just do it.

You grab the elastic and strip down the briefs, nearly catching on his unrestrained arousal. You shudder as you guide them down his legs and he untangles his feet. You step away and drop his underwear on his pants.

He turns and you catch a thoughtless glimpse of his ass before he steps into the tub. You never really considered how Steve looked… sans everything but you never expected this. You feel rotten for even acknowledging that he looks damn good.

He lowers himself into the water and it rises around him. You swiftly near the tub and bend to turn off the faucet before it can get too high. He sighs as he reclines against the back.

“I like to read…” he dangles the curt reminder.

“Sir,” you whisper and pull back.

You grab the bath desk and place it over the tub to rest against the sides. You retreat and go to the door, pausing. You don’t want to look at him again.

“Book is on the bedside table. I’ll have a beer too.”

You frown. Huh? You limp down the hall and peer into the open door of the bedroom you’ve been occupying. Sure enough, there’s a book on the square table. Fuck, how– Don’t. Doesn’t matter.

You grab it and return to the bathroom, handing it over with your eyes on the wall. You retreat again, no thank you, nothing as he opens the pages.

You go downstairs and find a six pack of Guinness that wasn’t there before. Right there on the counter. You tamp down the thoughts fighting to flow over and grab one. Before you can leave the kitchen, the television clicks. You turn as the screen lights up.

It’s that woman. Her eye is swollen shut but she smiles till.

“Don’t forget a glass,” she raises a tall pint glass, “and be sure to get that perfect pour. You want to keep the head from foaming but you don’t want too much.”

She precisely angles the cup and slowly moves it with the pour of the dark beer. You frown and take a deep breath. You put the can down and go to the cupboard. You take out the curved glass and glance at the screen again. Her technique replays, over and over without sound.

You do your best to follow before rinsing out the can and dropping it in the blue bin. You take the beer and set off back to the second floor. You enter the bathroom and set the bear on the bath desk as Steve reads quietly. As you back up, he reaches for the glass, examining it.

“Not bad, little too much head,” he remarks.

“Sir,” you utter as you still, peeking over your shoulder at the door.

“Stay,” he says as he tastes the beer, “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to wash.”

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tofuxtea · 2 years

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𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 | 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱 + 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — negan smith x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — age gap (around 15 yrs), authority kink, ‘sir’ is used in joking context, choking, aggressive negan, flirty reader, light humiliation, reader is pushed against a wall unsexily, very light dub-con if you squint (no precise ‘yes’ from either parties), just negan saying negan shit tbh

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — i am barely on season 2 of walking dead i really hope i captured at least SOME of canon negan’s essence, otherwise i’m going off of what i think he’d be like in this situation. also this is a tad late. shhh. ALSO NOT PROOFREAD SHHHHHH I HAVE HOMEWORK DUE TN — 2.9k words.

the night was still fairly young, the last orange streaks of sunset against the sanctuary’s high walls slowly deepening to a rusty red. a majority of the saviors had already begun retiring to their rooms on negan’s accord — do not leave after sunset. it was a rule, sure, but it was also common sense in a world run by walkers.

you had common sense. sometimes. you knew it was an awful idea to venture out to town for medicine at a time like this, especially when you knew a group would likely be sent out the next morning to one of the trade groups, but the infirmary was running dangerously low on painkillers and first aid supplies.

while you never considered yourself to be the hero without a cape type, you needed the hike to clear your mind. negan seemed to be paying extra close attention to you over the past couple of weeks and it made you feel like you were a blood sample under a microscope.

you had no issue with negan but something about him breathing down your neck like his life depended on it made you feel odd. he was well older than you — possibly fifteen or so years older — but there was something about his sadistically arrogant dimpled smile whenever you pointed his closeness out that had your cheeks dusted pink. which was the last thing you wanted.

negan was no romantic nor was he one to easily take likings to people. he gutted people like it was breathing. sure, he had a close eye on you whenever you were within sight but you figured it was more of a cautious motive he had; like making sure you wouldn’t steal or conspire against the saviors. he would probably smear your brains on the cement you stood on without a second thought if you gave him even a hint of a reason to believe you were.

in simpler terms, he was an attractive douchebag. a dangerous attractive douchebag—

“the hell do you think you’re going?” the sharp, gruff voice that had been looped in your wandering mind seemed to summon the devil himself, his presence popping the bubble of tension that surrounded you. your spine stiffened, but you didn’t dare turn around to face him. you didn’t need to to know he was staring daggers into your back. there was a soft shuffle — he crossed his arms over his chest — and he blew a wry chuckle out of his nose. “you runnin’ away?”

any trace of accusation from his first question had vanished and he actually sounded amused. you stuffed a switchblade into the side pocket of your backpack with a scoff of your own. “‘course not.” you prayed that the firmness in your tone compensated for your shaky hands. it was all you could do to hope negan wouldn’t bash you in from behind with lucille.

“well, care to enlighten me, sweetheart?” he taunted and you could hear the smirk in his voice. unfazed, you zipped your backpack up and went to sling it over your shoulder when you finally came to terms with the fact that negan wouldn’t let you out. and you couldn’t lie your way out of it.

you met his empty, gently lidded eyes, thick dark eyebrows set in a stern line just above them. “i’m making a quick stop into town. we’re running low on meds and i’m not sure if they’re gonna last til morning.” negan’s expression hardly shifted, only his lips turning downwards with the slightest interest in your brave plan. for a sliver of a second you thought he just might be in support of it.

“alright, i’ll play along. how are you gonna get there with just that little knife of yours?” his finger jutted towards your side pocket. a jolt of distaste shifted your features and you knew negan noticed. at least, if he did, he didn’t care.

“you offering to come with? or do you just wanna protect me?” the way his eyebrows shot up made you think your playfulness didn’t make it across to him. but then the corner of his mouth slowly tugged into an impressed smirk.

“that’s all you’re going for? meds?” he reiterated, not a hint of confusion laced in his words. it sounded like he was pushing for a second answer you had yet to give.

you eyed him warily, ignoring the few steps he took into the room, shutting the door in the process. your brows pinched together for a second of suspicion. “why? you need me to get you something?” your gaze wandered off to the side while you pursed your lips with thought and hummed. when you met negan’s eyes again, he had gotten a decent amount closer to you and he actually winced at the mischievous look in your own. “condoms? viagra?”

he let out a breathy laugh, pearly white teeth showing from under a curled lip. “oh, don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.” the genuine lightheartedness coming from negan scared you more than the dangerous proximity. “put the bag down. i’ll send a group in the morning.”

there was no challenge in his features and you knew he expected you to listen like an obedient little dog. when your fingers wrapped securely around the straps of the backpack and hiked it further up your shoulder, his little smirk faltered. “i’m going into town, negan. it won’t be too long.” you pushed lightly. praying to whatever god there was left, you hoped negan would simply shrug his shoulders and allow you to leave. he took a step forward.

“did i ask you?” an unsettling grin set his lips straight and it made you feel tiny. he definitely had the ambiance of a respected leader — if you could even call what people felt for him respect. his expression twinged with a mocking expectancy like he actually wanted a reply. “did i?”

your tongue swiped over your molars and your jaw jutted to the side. “no, sir.” the honorific held no sincerity. negan seemed satisfied with your answer nonetheless but he didn’t let the sarcasm slip by so easily. in the brief moment of tense silence you shared, a curiosity that hurt your brain begged to be debunked. “why do you care?”

negan’s eyes went scarily blank but the beginning sparks of a fire could be seen in the pits of his pupils. “excuse me?” there was hardly any venom on his tongue but it was enough to make you wince.

you flung the backpack onto the barely clothed mattress with a soft rustle and met negan’s stare with one that screamed really? “you think i don’t see you staring me down every time i’m doing my job? at first i thought it might’ve been because you were waiting for me to screw up but if that were the case we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” negan’s tightly pressed lips gave you no direction towards the truth. he had a knack for that. “would we, negan? so what is it? are you scared of me runnin’ away or do you actually care enough to not let me go?” the scrutiny behind your tone made him veer his gaze off to the side. he returned it moments later, possibly wanting to regain his composure.

“you done?” he asked flatly. for a moment you were glad he wasn’t lashing out at you for even assuming he’d care about somebody but it quickly bubbled over into exasperation.

“the hell i am!” you snapped, daring to bare claws at him. they were clipped down in a second, his palm catching your throat and viciously hurling you backwards until the backs of your thighs dug into the tiny bedside table behind you. negan still pushed, the back of your head meeting the wall with a gentle thunk.

it shut you up. eyes wide and fingertips scrambling to find footing on the table you were awkwardly hovering over, you feared negan. his eyes were scarily void of any readable emotions. he was completely cool, even with his leg nudged between your thighs and his wrist being softly clawed at by your nails.

“i said you done?” the heat of his breath hit your face and you gulped hard. his palm pushed against the center of your throat and there was no sign of letting up. not until you forced yourself to nod did he grant you a sliver of freedom by taking the pressure off of your windpipe. the calloused pads of his fingers still held your jaw firmly in place but at least you could breathe.

“you want me to add a ‘sir’ to that?” even while pinned to the wall you managed to adorn an arrogant smirk in between labored breaths. “who told you i was into this? arat? swear i can’t tell her shit—”

“that fucking mouth of yours.” negan cut in sharply. you would have assumed it was because he was genuinely disgusted until his tongue darted out and wet his lips. then the deep pits of his pupils finally became eligible and your brows leveled with shock. “do you remember who you’re talking to?”

you nudged against his hand, challenging the very man who could take your life with a clean swipe of his fist. unless he wanted to take the extra minute to grab his barbed baseball bat. “‘course i do, negan.” voice dropping an octave, you could see the strain it put on his hardened demeanor. he blinked quickly and shifted on his feet, the crease in his forehead showing his inward debate whether to give in or beat the shit out of you. it was decided for him when one of your hands that had stiffly held onto the table experimentally prodded at his side. negan’s breath went sharp but he made no attempt to get away. “you do care.”

“i could fuckin’ kill you.” the man seethed. his fingers grasped your jaw with ferocity and you choked on a gasp as he pressed you into the wall once more. his other hand hooked underneath your thigh and hoisted you onto the table, its contents rattling and tumbling onto the ground with alarmingly loud crashes. “i’m old enough to be your damn father and you wanna fuck me?”

negan had your cheek almost flush with the wall, his nose brushing against your tensed jawline. you could sense the taunting narrowing of his eyes and smirk on his lips without even seeing them. he had slipped between your legs, the hand that had aggressively lifted you now gently feathering over the front of your thigh.

“that’s what you want?” he held your mouth shut like a muzzle. your nostrils flared with anger and you shot him a dangerous glare out of the corner of your eye. “oh, you’re fucked up.” he barked out a laugh when pathetic surrender flooded your dilated pupils.

he whipped your head forward and released you. your first instinct was to slap him across the face, hierarchy be damned. you had your palm raised, ready to be brought down when negan caught your wrist into his large hand and pinned it to the wall along with you. his lips crashed onto yours with malicious fervor, the tickling sensation of his salt and pepper beard on your skin drawing a shudder from you.

your free hand curled a finger into his belt loop and pulled him impossibly closer. you wrapped your legs around his hips, gently grinding into his significantly hardened cock in his black jeans. “shit, don’t get too hasty, sweetheart.” he warned, tearing your wandering arm away from him and yanking it behind your back. you chuckled wryly, gently wincing at the roughness, but it crumbled as soon as his lips found your neck. your back instinctively arched and you kicked your head back a little to allow him access, though the tug he gave the hair at the nape of your neck did that for you. he was greedy yet smooth, carefully working down to the low neck of your tank top.

“negan,” you whispered shakily as his large hands slid up underneath your top, the sudden contrast in temperature bringing goosebumps to your skin. he groaned softly, the hum of his voice vibrating against your chest. in a second he had it pulled over your head and threw it mindlessly to the side. his eyes dragged down your torso, fueling the fire in his pupils. “oh, and you call me fucked up?” you teased as you swiftly unclipped your bra and theatrically slid the straps down your arms, noting the way negan’s eyelids went scarily low.

“shut up.” he shot back, hands molding to your hips, slowly slipping down to the waistband of your tiny shorts that he wanted gone. the needy glint returned to your eyes and your lips curled up.

“make me, sir.” it was a corny line that asked for a hell of a time, and negan bought right into it when he stole a long, sloppy kiss. while he skillfully worked the clasp on your shorts, you peeled his grey shirt over his head like your life depended on it. next was his belt buckle, then the button on his pants.

you let him shimmy your bottoms down your hips, his satisfied smirk growing when your black panties came into view. they were a little treat you snagged for yourself when you found a decently stocked department store a while back. it was just your luck that you decided to wear them today.

the thick pad of his finger found your clit through the thin fabric, slowly circling it. your hips softly bucked in response as a cry ripped from your throat. negan took the opportunity to latch onto your chest, teeth nipping at a mark he’d already planted. “fuck, you’re already so damn wet.” he panted, not wasting another second to slide your panties to the side and run his middle finger teasingly up your soaked cunt. he dipped his fingertip in, watching how you writhed at the sensation.

a broken cry met his ears and he smiled sadistically, continuing until he was knuckle deep. “ne—negan, fuck,” you couldn’t form a single sentence when he began thrusting his finger inside of you mercilessly.

“what happened to ‘make me’, hm?” what he said refused to process yet you still managed to land a soft slap to his shoulder. he quickly pulled out, with an irritated whine from you, and popped it into his mouth, holding your eyes until he took it right back out. your lips parted, calming breaths beginning to pick up at the sight.

your nimble fingers found the waist of his boxers first, clumsily nudging them down his sides until his cock was freed. negan watched through sex-doped lids as you wrapped your hand around him and began pumping him. his head lolled back and his eyes screwed shut with an open-mouthed groan.

“fuck me, negan, please,” you whined, shoving your pride down your throat for the first time all night. you teased your folds with the tip of his dick, your heels nudging the back of his legs greedily.

he snaked his hand around to the back of your neck, pulling you into a deep messy kiss. the feeling of his tongue on yours and his beard softly scratching your face made you whimper. his other went between your thighs, keeping them wide as he slowly pushed his dick inside of you. you moaned against his mouth, steadying yourself on his shoulders. “negan,” your knuckles turned paper white from how tightly you were holding onto his arms, grip getting impossibly tighter when he started moving.

“fuck,” negan cursed when he felt how tight you were, practically squeezing around his cock. both of you knew you wouldn’t last long and if you kept knocking the table against the wall and the volume, you had about that long until someone walked in.

he hooked the backs of your legs underneath his arms and pounded into you, the angle hitting a spot that made your body go completely slack. your head slid on the wall behind you, kicking back out of pleasure as pornographic moans tumbled past your lips. “shit, negan, don’t stop.” you managed in between heaving gasps, needily pulling at his neck until he leaned down to meet your lips with an animalistic passion. he pressed one hand to the wall next to your head, the other holding your thigh almost flush with your chest.

his thrusts went deep and slowed down so subtly you almost didn’t notice, abusing the sensitive spot that had you seeing white. “that’s it, let go.” negan’s voice rumbled in your ears, nearing a low growl.

strings of curses left your mouth as your high crashed into you. hard. it rocked your body all over, momentarily numbing you. negan’s thumb roughly circled your clit once more, intensifying the electricity that shot through your body. you spasmed around his cock and your back gently curved, hips meeting his thrusts.

he didn’t last longer than you did, barely pulling out in time to cum on the insides of your thighs and lower stomach. his chest heaved as he came back down. neither of you moved, except for your palm as it slid down to the tattoo on the right side of his chest, the tips of your fingers brushing over the navy ink.

“next time you’re in town, get some condoms.”

the first half was better imo BUT ANYWAYS ENJOY negan lovers pls follow me ♥️ —rin

#the walking dead smut #the walking dead #the walking dead kinktober #negan smut #negan smith #negan smith smut #negan fic #negan x you #daddy negan #negan imagine #twd smut #tw dubcon #twd negan #twd kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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noroi1000 · 8 months

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Honored One Shot no.17 - @weebnk-popper

„Arcade Competition”

Summary: A little bet from your boyfriend? If you win, he eats your pussy. If he wins, you give him a blowjob. Who won?

Warnings: Oral sex, dirty talk

A/n: This is the last one.

"Let's have a little contest." Your boyfriend said as he walked past you with his bubble tea.

"Hmm?" You muttered, pulling the straw in your mouth.

"You wanted a little competition, didn't you?" He laughed and paused for a moment.

Luckily the sidewalk was completely empty. Because what you were about to hear was totally not what you expected.

He pulled you aside to the wall that separated the beach from the sidewalk.

It was evening, so you were very glad that there were not many walkers that day to hear it.

"I have an idea for the icing on the cake for our date. We were supposed to go play the arcade, right? Let's go. But let's have a little competition." He said with a strange smile.

That smile could only mean one thing. That he's up to something. And that something will be a very bad thing...

"What is this?" you asked uncertainly, seeing how his smile dangerously widened.

"We haven't spent any time other than dating, cuddling and kissing in a while. And yet we are together."

And? After all, dating, hugging and kissing are normal things couples do!

What did he mean?

"If I win at the slots, you'll do something for me. If you win, I'll do something for you."

"I guess that was obvious. If I win you buy me my favorite things." You said smugly.

You had a great chance to win against him, so you could already think about what you want as a prize.

"Oh no. The prizes are already set." He chuckled and leaned into your ear. "When I win, you give me a blowjob. When you win, I eat your pussy."

Feeling you warm slightly at his dirty words against your ears, you swallowed.

Does this mean you haven't had sex in a while? You remember that was last week! How many times does he need to be calm?!

"It's not fair!" you said, moving away from him.

"What's not fair?"

"That no matter if you win or lose, you're in a winning position!"

"Uhh~ that's true. I always enjoy your pussy~."

"Shut up! Don't say that or someone will hear!" You put your hand over his mouth to stop him from saying more.

He grabbed your fingers to free his mouth.

"They might think I'm a perverted teenager. Don't worry, at our age everyone says that."

"No! Not at all! I don't want to be caught talking dirty on the sidewalk!"

"Aww, why? So let's make a deal. If you agree, I'll only say dirty things when you're in my room, kneeling in front of me with my dick in your mouth."

"Be quiet!"

"I will if you agree."

"Fine!"

What if you didn't want sex for the win?

But I guess you have no choice...

You'll get pleasure for winning huh...

You have to agree.

But you thought about one thing.

"What if it's a tie?" You asked as you started walking and you were sure he'd follow you soon.

"Well, if I win you give me a blowjob, if you win I eat you... So if it's a tie it's 69?"

"You're crazy..."

"I'm not crazy. I just play by the rules I make."

"So first we play Mario. Then a Pokemon duel. Then racing games and a sparring fight on that new machine. Do you agree?"

"Yeah." You replied looking at the colorful names of the games on the machines.

Did you know that he played with Suguru like that. However, they weren't playing for sex... They often played so that whoever loses pays for the food.

And you're playing for sex...

His mind went bad...

"We will record our scores, wins and losses. We will necessarily count the points we scored and it will turn out who won." He sent you a wild smile.

You were the first to sit on the chair to start playing the first round of Mario.

Your whole game took a while and you managed to collect 4500 points. All because you didn't manage to catch the mushroom in time and you lost.

When Satoru played, he scored 4450 points. And you laughed at him for losing in the first round.

The two rounds of random pokemon duels you got won by...

You won the third round.

You have agreed that one loss equals -1000 points. And a round won is +1000.

You probably had less than him.

You started counting while holding a piece of paper with your scores on it.

Your points: 4500 - 1000 - 1000 for losses. So it was only 2500 points. +1000 for one round won, so 3500.

Satoru Points: 4450 + 1000 + 1000 for wins in Pokemon. So 6450 points... -1000, so 5450.

You were divided by two thousand...

To win, all you have to do now is win.

Your score in the obstacle avoidance racer game is 6740.

He had 7310.

You lost again... Just because his eyesight reacts faster than yours!

It's not fair!

Damn Six Eyes!

"Hehe ~ I won!"

"You haven't won yet! I still have a chance!"

Let's see.... 3500 + 6740 = 10240 of your points.

His is: 5450 + 7310 = 12760

Your difference is even bigger...

How is this possible...

You have added the game to your list.

Track racing.

Out of three rounds, you've won two now.

So now your points are 12240. And his is 10760.

You've taken the lead!

Eating a candy bar, you watched as he waited in line for two new sparring machines.

"Three rounds. Each is 1000 points." He smiled.

"I don't want to make you sad, but I can lose one round and still win against you! Because I will win the other two!

"It will be soon. Because I never mentioned to you that I used to play it before, and I won six burgers from Suguru!"

Your eyes widened.

"It's not fair! You said it was new!"

"This is new. But this is my second time at these slots!"

"You–."

Before you could hit him, it was your turn to play.

You sat on the other side and prepared your fingers.

You have to win twice to win completely.

The game has started.

You won one round and he won the other.

This was the deciding round.

When you lose, he will win. When you win, his gaming mastery is over.

You and he both had half your lives.

And suddenly he said something.

"Prepare your throat baby. I don't want to hold back later."

Your basket briefly becomes foggy as you imagine its long length entering your throat. You were cooking inside. And you lost your attention.

When you looked at the screen, he had already taken the half of your HP you have now. And that's when you started playing again to win.

But unfortunately... He was left with a tiny HP bar that wasn't even an inch long. And the words GAME OVER appeared on your screen.

He stood up cheering and walked over to you, pulling you out of your chair to count your points.

Your 12240 + 1000 - 1000 - 1000 = 11240 points

His 10760 - 1000 + 1000 + 1000 = 11760 points

If you calculate the difference between your scores, because he distracted you, he beat you by 520 points...

You came back to his room as a loser.

And with a soulless face, you knelt in front of him, unzipping his pants to release his erection that had already formed.

"Did you believe you would win?" he laughed, tapping his wet tip against your lips.

"It was only 520 points! But a bet is a bet..." you sighed, feeling the heat on your face and between your legs, taking his dripping head into your mouth.

Rubbing his shaft with your hands was better now that he was so warm and your hands were trembling.

His hands held your head as he pulled you down slightly to feel more of your smaller lips along his length.

"If you swallow my cum and nothing comes out, you'll get a reward."

Fuck your competition! You were getting wetter and you wanted him. That's why it's best if you just give him the best blowjob he's ever had and maybe he'll fuck your brain up for the rest of the day as a reward.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you #honored ones event

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scoutswritingcorner · 15 days

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The TV Made Me Do It

Vox x GN!Reader

TW:HORROR AND DARK FIC!! Talks about murder, hypnosis, alcoholism, mentioned abuse, nothing too detailed. MENTIONS OF SEWERSLIDE. DO NOT READ IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

A/N: First time writing for Vox! So please don’t hate me! Also if anyone has any ideas for any horror related fics don’t be afraid to drop them in my Ask Box, just read my rules first please! Based on the song, ‘The TV made me do it’ By Moon Walker. SOMETHING ON THE SHORT SIDE SORRY-

Flashing blue and red lights filled your dark house, bringing the bottle to your lips. You took a long sip watching as the TV in front of you flashed with static and loud buzzing as a flash of a light blue grin was burned into its screen. Why wouldn’t he talk to you anymore? Did he get bored?

You didn’t blame him. You got bored too.

The banging on your front door was louder now and the bloodied knife that sat on your lap felt heavier than normal. Your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen as the door was kicked in allowing the bright lights to invade your home. You wanted to forget how you got in this position.

The day you got home from work was a normal one. Normal in the fact that the second you walked through the door you were being yelled at and a bottle was thrown at your head but missed significantly. Then they stormed up the stairs and started to yell at you as you cleaned up the pigsty that was your house, then it had hit you. You were being watched. Was someone else in the house? Was it your imagination?

You looked around once more and found nothing which made you frown, why was your tv on? You turned it off right before you started to clean. You walked over to the couch and grabbed the remote to turn it off but stopped seeing red eyes stare back at you. Was this just a sick prank? Why did it unnerve you? Walking back the eyes followed you unblinking. Then the tv flashed from different shows and channels spelling out the words, ‘turn..around…I’m…behind..you.’ Your heart dropped to your stomach as you watched the tv turn to static before you. You closed your eyes and turned around, only to be met by darkness and an empty wall.

Then..a laugh track sounded, the TV was laughing at you. It was mocking you, ‘Silly…human….such…a…fool.’ Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment as you stared back at the glowing red eyes and the now prominent blue sharp teeth that formed into a smile.

~~~

It’s been like this for weeks. No sleep, just going to work, getting something thrown at your head or slapped across the face and then staying up at night to watch the tv mock you and your existence. It made you want to cry- you did cry some nights, it was too much. But then the mocking changed as you sat on the couch one night, drinking your spirits away. ‘..stop..drinking….you damn fool.’ You rolled your eyes but put the bottle down onto the coffee table, you wished to close your eyes and sleep forever. “Just leave me the fuck alone. All you’ve done is mock me every night, all night long. What the fuck do you want me to do?!” You yelled out tears collecting in your eyes as you looked down at the carpeted floor.

‘..pathetic.’ the tv mocked once more causing you to glare at it. “Oh yeah you wise fucker? Tell me what the hell am I supposed to do then?!” You snarled out standing up before going quiet as the phone in your kitchen rang, you sent one more glare towards the TV which was playing some old cowboy movie. Storming into the kitchen you grabbed the phone putting it to your ear.

“You’re losing yourself, Human..” The voice was rough but was so cheery that it reminded you of a celebrity. You could definitely hear the smirk plastered on the person's face or..was it a person? “Who is this?” You asked quietly, hearing footsteps upstairs, “..You’ve been talking to me through the tv for weeks…I think you should know by now.” The voice responded before chuckling as the footsteps ceased, “Such a sad sack of shit the world has become huh? Don’t you wish you could do something about it?” You paled at the words, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t? Please I’ve watched your ass sit on that couch drinking away your sorrows and sobbing out after every little fight. Telling me how you wish you could just fucking end that piece of shits life.” The voice on the other line called out and you sighed, staying silent. “I say do it. Kill the bastard.” That caught you off guard, “Wait no- I can’t-” You hissed, “You can. You just have to throw away your morals.” You look behind you and then out of the kitchen windows, the night looked so inviting the voice was right. You could do it but then what? You’d have to be on the run forever. Right?

“What do I do after?” You asked your hands clutching the phone like it was a life line. “Be on the run forever?” There was a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. “That’s up to you..but..if you decide to just..end it..I’ll be down here waiting for you. Besides..I always needed a co host.” Was..Was this mysterious voice flirting with you? Co-Host? Down there? What the fuck was it talking about??

“Down where exactly?” You asked, glancing at the knife drawer and there was a loud laugh from the other end of the line. “Oh you’ll find out shortly..just think about it. Remember..I’m watching.” Then at that the line went dead and you groaned, that didn’t answer any of your fucking questions.

~~~

It was only a day later when you were staring into the dead eyes of your abuser, knife sticking out of their chest and a bruise forming on their neck. Your body covered in blood as you tore the knife out, slowly making your way downstairs and to the tv that was showing static, your tv friend had left. Your phone sat on the couch, screen showing texts from your closest friends. The friends that mocked you, told you that you were off your fucking rocker. ‘The tv can’t make you do anything.’

You walked to the kitchen to grab your favorite bottle of your poison, the phone rang once..twice..three times before it stopped and you made your way back to the couch. “I did it. If you care.” You called out to the tv, “Don’t think you do. You got what you wanted, no?” You brushed a bloodied hand through your hair and groaned, “Of course you don’t..you never did. I was a fool to think that you did.” You called out taking a sip from the bottle, sirens and bright lights flashing outside.

Looks like you were finally caught. “You’re a fucking bastard.” You hissed out, playing with the knife laying on your lap.

But he did care. He cared too much and he wanted you to be next to him so badly. He’d just have to wait a little longer.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox the tv demon #vox x you #vox x y/n

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cultofdixon · 1 year

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I love you, please don’t push me away

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • “Can I see it…” “since when did you start to care about me again?” “I’ve lost too much. I ain’t gonna lose yea now” • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence [Mentioned] / Injuries / Messy Confessions / Anxiety Attacks / Nightmares / PTSD

Requested by: Anon

Nothing tears these two apart, well. Except that time with the Governor but every fiber of their being magnetized toward the other.

Y/N and Daryl, inseparable. But never an item even if there is a running bet between Rick and Carol over how long it’ll take.

The run down?

Daryl never saw himself relate with any of the other members in the quarry. Except for this other lone wolf type that would wander out of bounds to hunt, like him. And ignore Shane’s stupid rule, like him and Merle. And also have a short fuse just like him.

He stumbled across this person during his own hunt finding the woman bashing in the skull of a walker. She turned around when she noticed she was stumbled upon by a living being, her body relaxed when realizing who it was. Which was a new feeling to Daryl.

“Shane sent yea out or what”

“Nah fuck that pig. Was tracking a deer”

“You mean that deer” The woman pointed to the hanging animal from the tree as Daryl gave the whole scene a concerned look. “Camping tips can help in the end of the world”

“Bear tactics”

“Exactly. Tie up your shit so bears don’t get it. But hell you’ve got sickos. Might as well apply those tactics to these fucks” She kicked the dead creature while pulling out her knife. “I’m uh. Y/N. By the way…you ain’t very talkative in the camp”

“Neither are yea.” He scoffs. “‘M Daryl”

“Welp. Now you’ve got a friend.” Y/N untied the deer letting it hit the ground by Daryl’s feet. “And if we’re gonna be friends. You can carry that for me, to avoid the Walker guts getting on everybody’s dinner”

“What do I get for doing this?”

“Mmm…I’m pretty good at making arrows” Y/N shrugs watching the pondering look grow on Daryl’s face before he knelt down and picked up the deer heading back to the camp while she happily follows behind.

That first moment brought an instant connection that Daryl didn’t realize. Until he got shitty news.

“You left my brother? On a fucking roof?” Daryl snaps and right before the archer got close to hitting the stranger, Y/N stepped between the two along with Shane’s help. Not that she needed it.

“Who do you think you are to make that decision?”

“Rick Grimes, deputy—-“

“Nah. I ain’t dealing with another pig thinking he can boss everybody around” Y/N cuts him off as she stood her ground even if it didn’t entirely involve her. “How would you feel if you were left behind? Left for dead” She knew her words struck a few in the crowd, specifically Shane and Lori.

“I was left behind” Rick suddenly got up in Y/N’s face not liking her attitude but right as he did, Daryl didn’t hesitate to loom from behind her making him back up.

“And how the fuck did that make you feel?”

That brought a lot of her character out to Daryl and everyone else. She was defensive and it was clear, when she gets close to someone…she has to protect them in some way.

When the invasion happened on the camp, Daryl never been more driven by his anxiety and his fear until he thought he’d lose the closest person he’s liked in the longest time. He took out a walker coming up behind Y/N when she wasn’t paying attention. The thankful look in her eyes spoke enough even if after taking care of the walkers, Daryl subtly scanned her person as he helped the others pile up the dead.

The plan to head to the CDC was a gamble, but the ride there brought more out of the two. Given Y/N loaded up in Daryl’s truck not wanting to be stuck in the RV.

“Why’d yea defend me back when we found out they left Merle?”

“Honest?”

“Mhm”

“He’s your family, whether he annoys you or not…you’d still want him in your life” Y/N leaned her head against the window fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. “And hell. I’m done letting others walk all over people. Just cuz they haven’t been in their shoes before”

Daryl felt himself grip the steering wheel wanting to ask a question but given the lighthearted feel going on between the two, he didn’t want to taint it full of uncomfortable tension.

“Who did yea lose”

“My baby brother” Y/N frowns reaching into her backpack taking out a journal that held a Polaroid of the two on a camping trip with their parents. “I…I don’t think he’s dead but, haven’t found him since outbreak day and Glenn took me back to that camp even when every fiber of my being didn’t want to stop looking”

“Do yea entirely trust these people?”

“I trust you. But that’s cuz you’re not keeping bullshit. Yea state yer mind if you have to. Hopefully the new world doesn’t beat that out of yea”

The CDC was a weird experience. A time to feel like they were in the old world once more. Just under a different roof and drowning out reality with alcohol.

Daryl was the last to shower even if it took him some time to get there given the man had drank a bit too much. But as he entered the room he was sharing with the other single in their group, which obviously was Y/N. She lifted her head to the sound of stumbling and saw the exhaustion rise in his expression as he stumbles onto the couch she sat on. She tossed her book on her bag giving Daryl an opportunity to use her lap as a pillow turning toward her and laying there in silence for a moment. Closing his eyes and doing the best he could to fall asleep even when a part of him fought to stay awake to spend this time with Y/N. Y/N on the other hand, pulled the blanket from her shoulders and covered the man laying on her…resting a hand on his side feeling him shift to get comfortable mumbling a bit to himself.

“Don’t ever wanna lose yea…”

Those words struck a bit to Y/N and even if he didn’t remember saying that last night, she knew by the way he covered her when Rick tossed the grenade to escape the CDC…

That he meant it.

Their bond was growing to others in a beautiful way but to the pair it was weird…confusing…and a bit beautiful in its own way. But it brought certain anxiety that the other never wanted to feel in a world like this.

The farm became a temporary safe haven, and the word temporary was definitely engraved in few’s minds because of how Hershel felt toward them. At first it was to save Carl’s life and thankfully he did…next was to fix what Andrea did.

“Oh my god. Is he alive—-“

“Step the fuck back” Y/N snaps at the poor girl who kept her distance from the situation. And Y/N. The bitch scared her.

“At least we have some idea of where Sophia can be. Now we can retrace Daryl’s steps”

“Nah, I’m comin’ with yea”

“You won’t be doing much activity at least for a few days.” Hershel reminds him of his injuries only for the archer to grow annoyed but his frustration grew slightly when he noticed Y/N glaring at him.

Once he was left alone after Carol gave him his dinner and a thanks for never giving up on her daughter, Y/N came in about an hour later with clothes for him and before she even made it to the door…Daryl grabbed her wrist.

“What’s up yours? Yea been quiet since I came back or well until after yea scared the shit out of Andrea. Yeah fucking Rick told me what happened the—-“ Daryl stopped speaking when he saw the tears in her eyes making him let go and her freeze like a deer in headlights.

“You shouldn’t have gone out by yourself”

“Y/N, I did what I had to. Others given up”

“Don’t. Go. By. Yourself.” Y/N hissed wiping away the tears that started to burn. “Yea ain’t alone anymore. Ain’t needing to do this shit by yourself and get yourself killed. Yea may think nobody would care if you were gone but somebody does. So watch it.” She frowns leaving on that note.

Daryl didn’t know that she felt that way toward him and there were plenty of other moments like that. For either of them.

The reunion on the freeway after the farm went up in flames. Daryl got Carol out of there on his bike, feeling his anxiety get the best of him when he didn’t find Y/N until she came running through the woods and he didn’t hesitate for a second to run at her. Bringing the tired girl into his embrace thankful she didn’t die in the flames or in the mouths of the undead.

The time the group raided Woodbury to save their own and Daryl was shoved out of the way of a bullet that embedded into Y/N’s shoulder. Thank god Hershel got it out. When he came back after leaving the first time with his brother, he couldn’t get that mental image of the disappointment written all over her face. But that was all forgiven, given she would’ve left too if it was her problematic brother.

Once the fight of Woodbury was done and people were flooding into the prison, making itself its own community…Daryl felt a sense of jealousy when watching others outside of their original group talk to Y/N who seem to be expanding their social circle. He was brewing and it was obvious to Carol.

“You’re gonna blow a fuse”

“What?” Daryl brought his attention back to reality and noticed Carol joining him beside him. “Shit.”

“What? Got spotted? We all know how much you like’er. Why didn’t yea do anything sooner?”

“It’s the end of the world.”

“Okay. Stating the obvious. So?” Carol elbows him to be told more as Daryl kept his eyes on Y/N watching her turn to him shooting him a smile.

“If I act on my feelings, and worry about another…on that level, I’ll lose her”

Carol knew Daryl felt a bit at fault for Sophia dying, including his own brother. But Y/N is a strong person. Hell she’s the one that saved them back at the outbreak in the quarry, she knows that girl can hold her ground…and she knows, how much he means to her.

“You won’t lose her…Don’t push her away”

Those words rang through his head as he found himself smoking outside the prison walls and Y/N joining him after her shift in the watchtower. The silence grew between the two even if they spent most of their time together in comfortable silence. But this was different and Y/N knew this.

“Did I do somethin’?”

“Nah” Daryl tosses the cigarette on the floor putting it out with his foot. “This ain’t worth it”

“What’s not?” She furrowed her brows confused at first as Daryl got up from his spot. “Daryl—“

“This!” He gestures to the two of them with a growing frown on his face. “It ain’t fucking worth worrying about. I can’t live like this for the rest of my life. Stressin’ over what might happen” and it clicked to Y/N as her eyes met his only for him to turn away. “Don’t. I can’t.”

“Daryl but—-“

“No. We can’t”

Another word was said because Daryl went back inside leaving Y/N outside to think about what the hell just happened. But more importantly…just…break.

The two haven’t really talked since then. Or hung around the other. The only time they would interact is when Rick asked them to go on a run, or for the council meetings for their small community. Daryl expanded and got close with other people while Y/N found herself back in the same mindset at the quarry before she extended herself to Daryl.

In the end you’re on your own.

But that never lasted because of the connection she had with him and with the others. The sickness, her angry feelings were pushed aside so that she could work with him on getting the medicine. Then when it got to their people, Y/N distanced herself from Daryl once more. This time his regret settled in in its entirety and wasn’t expressed until after the attack.

“Aren’t you and Y/N supposed to be close?”

“Why’re you bringing that up…”

“Getting to know you I guess” Beth frowns sitting across from the archer fiddling with some thread around his wrist.

“She was my best friend, that I love…and pushed away”

Beth watched as the pain when saying such brought its expression in his frown and the tears that he tried desperately not to fall.

…

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get him back” Y/N frowns sitting with Michonne in front of the fire she made for them.

“Daryl’s strong. He’ll come back to you. Even if…you two aren’t anything but friends. You two just. Gravitate toward each other naturally”

Y/N shot Michonne a smile when she said such, but during her watch while the swordsman slept, she couldn’t help the tears that fell off her face.

Michonne was right about the two gravitating toward each other. They always found the other in whatever situation they were in. Even if the most recent was the incident with the claimers, then the other with the general hospital, and finally reaching Alexandria.

And Y/N needed a minute.

“Y/N. Deanna only agreed to yea going out if it’s—-“

“I’m just sticking close. Won’t even need a goddamn car. I just. I need a minute. And I can’t get that in another confined area” Y/N frowns already geared up to head out of Alexandria. “I’ll be back before it’s too late in the day, and if I’m not. Then you can come and get me…”

Rick gave the girl a worried look, but agreed to let her go. He didn’t trust it there either and was surprised by how others are settling in.

When the sherif headed back to his group’s houses, he found Daryl standing outside of the one Carol took up with Y/N. He looked anxious from what he got first spotting the archer.

“Hey”

Daryl quickly turned toward his brother seeing the confused look. “What”

“What are you waitin’ for?”

“Courage. Fuck if I know”

“Courage for what?” Rick brought himself closer as Daryl stepped away from the door to sit on the steps.

“To talk to Y/N again. Repair what I fucking tore apart back at the prison…Before Beth and I got separated, she told me not to let a good thing go. And Carol snapped at me one of the first nights here about the same thing”

“Well. I hate to break it to yea. But she ain’t home” Rick watches the archer shot up from his spot with a you serious? look on his face. “Yeah. She needed some air. Stepped out of Alexandria”

“And yea think she’s gonna come back? After all the shit I fuckin’ said”

“You said back at the prison. Some part of her wouldn’t leave from something that happened some time ago. And there will always be a part of her, connected to yea at all times.” Rick put his hands on his hips. “She doesn’t like it here just like you. So she needed a breather.”

“If she doesn’t come back before night fall—-“

“We’ll go get’er. Alright?” He reassures the man before going back on his patrol.

She made it before nightfall.

Emphasize on the “made it” part.

“Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to help in the infirmary” Spencer, one of Deanna’s sons, got up in Y/N’s face when she first stepped back in. More so caring about the fact that she wasn’t at her job compared to the amount of blood on her. “What the fuck did you do?”

Few residence, more so her group coming close to listen to someone they didn’t know go off on one of their own.

“Why did you ignore Dean—-“

“Your mother’s.”

“Fine. My mother’s orders. You had a job to do and instead you went out doing who knows what outside the walls. Don’t you like it here? Don’t you like being safe here for once? Clearly yea—-“

“Step away from her now.” Michonne cuts in once she noticed the fists Y/N formed and the shaking her body was undergoing. “Some of us are still adjusting. You need to understand that and if you don’t, talk to your mother or I’ll let her hurt you” she states watching him stand his ground one last time.

“Turn in the weapons you took out, then I’ll—“ Spencer stops to the sound of Y/N’s bag dropping to the ground and watching her unclip the magazine of her gun and unloaded the one in the chamber before handing it to Michonne and walking past.

Y/N avoided everyone’s looks and focused on getting back to Carol’s. Even if every fiber of her being wanted to collapse in the middle of Alexandria and let the darkness settle in. But none of them knew what was happening. She just continued on her way.

“Where the hell have you been?” Carol asks when she heard the door open ignoring the rest of what Daryl was saying. Granted it was about the girl that entered.

“Needed air. Got too much of it” Y/N chokes up a bit gripping onto the stairs’ railing with one hand as the other went straight for her side taking her hand off to see the blood soaking through. “I’m gonna shower. Too much Walker blood…but uh. Is the first aid kit in the bathroom?”

Carol pulled herself away from the kitchen counter heading toward Y/N who had her back turned to her on the steps. While Daryl slide off the bar stool bringing himself within earshot.

“What happened?”

“I just cut my hand…”

“You’re covered in blood. Is it—-“

“It’s not mine. Just walkers I got stuck dealing with”

“Are you bit?”

“I wouldn’t have come back if I was” She felt a lot of the pain return to her body in that moment as she continued on the way to the bathroom leaving both confused.

You’ve always been a disappointment Y/N.

Hell. Look at me. Finally proving to this world that I’m worth something

Y/N couldn’t stand and found herself sitting in the shower letting the water wash off the dried blood but also the running. She held onto the edge of the tub feeling everything as she tried her best not to stream in pain.

Her body flinched to the sound of knocking and that resulted in the pain induced tears to finally shed.

“What.”

“Got you clothes” Daryl states from the other side of the door with clothes in hand but he couldn’t help his eyes from wandering around the room to see the blood soaked clothes and the hand print on the door. “Y/N. What happened?”

“Please…go away, Daryl”

“Nah…not this time” Daryl pressed his forehead against the door. “I ain’t leaving and I know you’re hurt…”

“I-I…” Y/N sobbed gripping harder onto the ceramic trying not to focus on the pain in her side.

“Can I see it…” He felt his heart clench hearing her wince from the other side of the door followed by choked off sobs.

“since when did you start to care about me again?”

Daryl sighs tossing the clothes on the dresser by the door and resting his hands on it. “I’ve lost too much. I ain’t gonna lose yea now” he frowns not hearing any sound come out from the other side. “Y/N?”

Something’s wrong…

There’s always been something wrong and he knew there was more to it. She just wanted to take care of it without anyone realizing. But of course she couldn’t get past the person who holds her heart.

The door was suddenly kicked open and Y/N had no strength to react except for bringing her eyes to follow his movements. Daryl gently took a hold of her face seeing the damage there along with what was happening to the rest of her body. He quickly turns off the water and as his lips moved, she didn’t register a single thing. All she did was close her eyes.

“You…were always their favorite” The youngest L/N shook in his sister’s embrace feeling the end draw near as Y/N couldn’t help the tears that spilled. “I never…got to show’em up…”

“I should have never stopped looking…I shouldn’t have left home…left you”

“Mm…” He coughs a bit as the blood splattered on Y/N’s face. “It don’t matter anymore…T-This is what I d-deserve…”

“No…no you didn’t. I should’ve found you…you would’ve loved the people I’m with…this is my fault” Y/N sobbed holding her brother tighter as he gave her one last smile.

“Yea survived…just keep doing so”

As the breath faded from his lungs and more of his group surrounded the house they were held up in. Y/N had to pull it together long enough to take care of the rest, even on her last legs. Because she would’ve found a way to bring her brother in, but as for the others?

No one is following her back to her family.

A soft groan escapes her lips, alerting the archer sitting beside her bed. He brought his chair closer carefully taking her hand into his thinking she would reject it, but instead she gave it a firm squeeze indicating some of her strength is back and that she didn’t want him to go.

“Yea lost a lot of blood…and I got mad at the surgeon here”

“Mm. Typical Daryl behavior” Y/N sighs gently grazing her thumb against his knuckles. “Last I remember…was being in the shower”

“You were in the bath as the shower ran. I don’t know how Imma explain the blood bath, literally, to Carol. But she did help me get yea here” Daryl frowns seeing the exhaustion in her expression but more focused on the black eye and bruised cheek on her left side when she turned to him. “Carried yea out in a blanket. Got bitchy when he lingered too close”

“Please tell me I got dressed after…that someone helped me. And the strange man that stared at me when we first met didn’t see my goods long”

“Imma kill him next time he does, but nah. Maggie came in with clothes”

“Everybody knows?”

“Doesn’t know why. But yeah…I…I did come running out, Y/N. Yelling for somebody. Felt…lost.” He frowns, straightening up when Y/N started to sit up. The grimace growing on her face made Daryl feel as if an ice pick went straight for his heart.

Y/N watches as Daryl got up from his seat he went to grab another blanket when he felt her grip tighten and a wince escape her lips from him pulling.

“Sorry—-I’m sorry. Fuck. I just—-“

“I can do without another…please just sit with me” She begged and she had the same look on her face like she did at the time of their fight in the prison. Something he’ll never forget. “I don’t…I can’t stand another second without you. Even if it’s just a few feet away…”

Instead of sitting in the chair, Daryl brought himself to sit on the edge of the bed holding her hand seeing the bruises on her knuckles. He kept finding more of what happened…and it upset him not knowing.

“Daryl…”

“Yeah?”

“Just ask”

Daryl didn’t want to. He didn’t want to know the pain she endured and how it happened. But he wanted to know who he had to fuck up.

“I got ambushed…by raiders in masks. I took out like…four of them…got the shiner and knocked down by the fifth…only to shoot him right in the ribs and as he dropped..” She squeezed her eyes shut biting the inside of her cheek trying to stop the tears. “I found out…it was my brother…” the tears fell stating such as Daryl soften squeezing her hand with the one she held while the other carefully wiped them away. “Then when he died…I couldn’t risk the others following…and took them out…even if it almost killed me”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s…well, it’s not fine. But that’s keeping me going. Just saying it is…that he’s not in this hell of a world anymore…”

“never looked at it like that…when Merle died. Took the blame and ran with it”

“You carry too much of the blame for things…when a good chunk of it was never your fault” Y/N frowns tugging him forward enough for her to lean comfortably forward pressing her forehead against his. “This is one of’em. You blame yourself. I break your knee caps. This wasn’t your fault…”

“I should’ve never hurt yea back at the prison…I missed you. I miss you and you’re right here”

“Daryl…” Y/N brought her soft, tiny hands to hold the archer’s face feeling him relax in her touch. “I love you…so please, don’t push me away”

The tears that fell between the two was found in comfortable silence. Only a comfort the two share with each other. Daryl moved her hands so that he could gently bring her into his embrace holding her.

“I won’t…I promise”

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