#Stranger on Horseback | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 11 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

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rockingbytheseaside · 8 months ago

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✦ The Legend of a Faceless Harbinger

(Imagine Headless Horseman Capitano x reader. No, I won’t elaborate.)

�� In an unassuming village nestled by a quaint, insignificant hamlet, you lived in a humble farmhouse. A modest living, with but a few sheep and a tightly held community. Everyone knew each other in the village, for its residents were few, fostering familiarity among its inhabitants and their whereabouts.

The villagers liked tales of premonition and the paranormal – stories of vengeful Hilichurls, weeping Seelies, or berserk Witches who burn everything in their path. However, one of the legends was about a Faceless Knight, bloodstained and brooding, with a mighty steed supporting his towering frame. Legend has it that the Knight’s armor once shone silver and pristine, but after years of bloodshed and gruesome battles, the knight’s body shifted to that of a monster; the same ones he once swore to destroy. Now faceless, monstrous, and donning a void-like helmet - the Knight rides off into the night, galloping between the living and dead.

✧ You, on the other hand, disregarded such gossip. If the night was scary because a headless knight reigned dominion over it, then why did you always find solace in it, when the sky is clear and the stars are shining?

You lived by the outskirts and were content taking care of your small flock of chickens and sheep. You had your fresh bread, a small basket of eggs, and homemade dairy. In the early hours of dawn, you took care of your abode, small patches of vegetables sprouting by the sunlight. And in the late hours of dusk, you sat by the windowsill from your bedroom, gazing up at the stars above.

Yet as you silently watched the night, a hidden figure, merging with the shadows gazed back at you. His horse neighed softly until a clawed hand patted its head.

✧ One day, a couple of sheep wandered off from your farmhouse and went missing. The weather was cloudy and the gray clouds threatened a heavy pour if you didn't hurry and found your wandering flock. With your trusty shepherd's crook, you hurried off to run into the forest hoping you'd find them somewhere nearby.

Once you reached the wild forest, it didn't take long to spot your wandering sheep, running in the direction of their baaing. They huddled close by the bushes, grazing on the grass leisurely. You smiled in silent relief, reaching closer toward them until suddenly - you halted. Amidst the dense foliage, a figure emerged, and it dawned on you that your sheep were not simply loitering there by chance. They had been intentionally led here, and at the sight of the stranger, you tensed, clutching your trusty crook. A man on horseback drew nearer, his jet-black steed carefully moving. But the figure was even taller. Dark armor and clanking chains were not as imposing as the sight of his featureless, hollow helmet met you head-on.

It was the faceless Knight. He kept his distance, but his helmet directed straight at you, wordless and careful. With a slight incline of his head, he observed your sheep turning towards you, providing you the opportunity to safely guide your flock home. And as for you? You quivered like a lamb, petrified at the sight of a man of his stature, with only the murky depths of his helmet meeting your gaze.

Thus, you fled. Pushing your sheep hastily from the forest, you didn't look back at the mancing knight. Your heart hammered and you swiftly led your animals back to your farm, locking them in their barn and fearing for your own life.

✧ In the upcoming days, you didn’t dare to exit your house’s safety. You were convinced that you were living your last days, however, nothing amiss occurred. Instead, things got better in your farmhouse. You don’t know why, but The animals scarcely strayed, the howls of wolves seldom pierced the night, and neither hilichurls nor bothersome slimes encroached upon your land.

You felt an air of change in your quaint farmhouse, despite your sense of alarm remaining after meeting the brooding Harbinger.

Occasionally, at the earliest hours of dawn, when you get up, you are greeted with small flowers on the steps of the house. Sometimes it’s plucked lamp grass, and at other times it’s a wreath of valberry leaves. In a state of befuddlement, you’d blink, looking back and forth around your entrance.

You had a secret protector, and your heart yearned to thank whoever that was.

✧ If someone was leaving you small gifts of flora and guarding your house, it was only courteous to thank them. Therefore, you came up with a plan to leave a small assortment of items in a basket as a response. From time to time, by the footsteps of your house, you’d leave a basket with fresh apples. Sometimes, it would be a loaf of bread you baked. These signs of gratitude persisted, and in return, the gifts grew in magnitude. From small bouquets to rare artifacts and even warm pelts.

The routine of offerings and gifts became a way of silent communication with your generous benefactor.

Until one late afternoon, you heard screaming right outside your farmhouse. You dashed out of the house and noticed that the usual basket was gone. You just had it filled with homegrown fruits and baked goods, yet it was missing entirely. When you turned your attention towards the commotion, you gasped in surprise at the sight.

The same faceless Knight, in his clad black armor, dragging a kicking peasant with a firm grip. The man was kicking and screaming in horror, his wrist already marred by the Harbinger’s grip. However, what surprised you, was that the basket was in his arms.

“Please let me go-! I didn’t know! I didn’t know to whom it belonged,” - the peasant was thrown hard onto the ground right in front of your feet, the basket and its good rolling out.

“Lies are inexcusable. And stealing deserves its punishment.”

The Harbinger spoke firmly, marching straight at the man. Overcoming your shock, you understood - this person stole the basket of food you left, but then the receiver who protected your farmhouse all this time is…

You shook your head, and before the faceless entity could take a step closer to the thief, you stood with your arms out - “Wait!”

The Harbinger stopped in an instant, that faceless mask going silent as the armored hand tightly closed into a fist. The peasant was shaking behind you.

“It’s not worth it, just some homegrown food anyway. P-please, let this man go.”

“He stole what you worked hard for. That which is not meant to be his.”

“I know, but it is not a fair punishment to spill blood in return!”

The headless harbinger let out a low rumble, his massive form towering over you and the begging thief. After a prolonged moment of tense silence, he stated his verdict.

“You were lucky to be granted mercy. Heed my words, there won’t be a next time. Go.”

The words were short but decisive, spoken out of pure malevolence towards the one who took your offerings that were intended for him. Crawling on his knees, the man shook and thanked you both for mercy, scurrying off the ground of your farmhouse and running away.

✧ You kneeled by the fallen basket, picking up some of the flowers and fruits that rolled to the grassy ground. As you silently picked them up, you almost flinched when an armored hand appeared in front of you, offering you assistance to get up. When you raised your gaze - a hallow, pitch-black helmet looked back at you.

You placed your hand delicately onto his.

“Excuse me, Mr… uh, Knight. I thank you for catching the thief and my goods. But may I ask: was it you who brought those gifts by the entrance of my house?”

He remains silent for a moment, and you couldn’t tell whether he was contemplating his answer or studying every nuance of your face up close. After a long moment, he slowly nods his head "Yes."

A sigh of relief escaped you. Partly due to your fear of the frightening figure, but also because of your suspicion about who the unseen protector of your farmhouse was.

“Then it was you who kept my rural home safe from monsters or predators.” - you nodded, remembering how your flock of sheep was huddled close and safe even when they all got lost before. “You won’t hurt me…?”

“I could never. You have my vow.”

His voice no longer held that firm animosity it did when he spoke to the thief. Now it was low and deep. His form helped you pick up the dropped belongings and walked you back to the farm.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a tranquil stillness enveloped the surroundings as you dutifully trailed behind him. A novel sense of anticipation washed over you, distinct from the usual apprehension. For the Harbinger, it was not his first time remaining close to the soil of your modest abode. In fact, he always remained nearby. However, he felt immense guilt for giving you such fright.

“...I owe you an apology. I intruded on your ground when I caught the thief. But even less honorably so, I never revealed myself formally to you. I did not wish to see you scared.”

You listened closely, witnessing the sincerity in his movements. You stood close to the pastors, the grass rustling idly by the night breeze. His ominous figure is a stark contrast to you and your cozy dwelling.

“I understand… I do not blame you. I must also apologize for my startled demeanor. I never expected it would be you who actually helped me all this time.”

The knight tilts his head to the side, keeping a polite hand with yours as he lets you sit on the grass. Every movement he did for you was cautionary and gentle. The two of you sat on the ground, the night sky illuminating the first stars of the night.

“I just wish to know… Why such kindness?” - you asked at last, easing up the courage to look him straight into the hollowness of his helmet.

The anticipated question made the Harbinger go quiet. He couldn't deny it, but he found solace in watching you work. How diligently you took care of your animals, how you watered the vegetation, how you smiled joyously when you’d return with a basket full of fresh eggs. It was a tender sight, even as the harbinger maintained his distance on the forest's periphery, secretly yearning to draw nearer to you.

He wished to tell you so much. About how he finds you to be the loveliest person in all of these lands, the most sincere and hardworking. How he enjoys gazing at you the same way you gaze at the stars. Yet now, being in your proximity, the sight of your beauty up close had rendered his thoughts useless and all he could manage was:

"Perhaps I’m utterly infatuated by you."

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #capitano #il capitano #genshin impact fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #gender neutral reader #cottagecore #sfw #genshin fanfic #headless horseman #honestly this is purely crackfic that I had to let out of my system #please dont hate me

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loafysainz · 27 days ago

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the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5, chap 6, chap 7, chap 8, chap 9, chap 10

PART 9 MEET CRUELLA & SEEK HELP

The door swung open just as Carlos stood by the pool, his face lit up. “Matheo, you're finally here!”

Mattia approaches, he was wearing a loose tee and shorts for the pool where his father and the young woman were gathered, Carlos put his arm around his little one and looked ahead where the young woman was drinking lemonade.

“Matheo, meet Meredith,” Carlos announced with a smile, gesturing toward the woman lounging near the pool with a lemonade in hand. Meanwhile, Mattia took off his sunglasses, to see the young woman clearly.

Meredith stood up, her smile easy and confident. “Ah, so this is the famous Matheo I’ve been hearing about. Your father talks about you nonstop. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Mattia tilted his head, squinting slightly as if sizing Meredith up. “Really? Well, here I am.” He gave a polite, almost disinterested smile. “I’ll be 10 soon. How old are you?”

Meredith chuckled, glancing at Carlos for backup, but Carlos simply raised his brows. “I’m twenty-two.”

“Only thirteen years older than me,” Mattia replied smoothly, turning his attention back to his father. “And you, Dad? How old are you again?”

Carlos laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Wow, so curious all of a sudden, Chilie!" He said, "How about I go get some snacks and drinks to celebrate?” He pointed toward the house.

Mattia looked at him curiously "Celebrate what exactly, Dad?"

Meredith looked at his partner, as if he were scolding him or something similar, although it was a dissimulation, but for Mattia it was not at all discreet.

Carlos paused mid-step. “Your homecoming, of course!” He winked at Meredith and made his way inside.

The moment Carlos disappeared, Meredith’s phone buzzed. He glanced at Mattia, holding up a finger. “Give me a second, okay?”

Mattia watched him intently as he answered the call.

“Yes... Yes, Mr. Wolff, I’m listening... Oh, the charity event?” Meredith’s voice dropped to a professional tone. “I’m afraid Mr. Sainz will be unavailable. He’ll be out of the country for those dates, unfortunately. Mm-hmm. Yes, I’ll let him know.”

Mattia’s brows furrowed. “Dad’s leaving the country?”

Meredith looked up, startled, then let out a small laugh. “Oh no, that’s just a little white lie. You know, to get him out of something.”

Mattia gave a slow nod, clearly unconvinced, but he let it slide.

“So,” Meredith changed the subject, his tone lighter, “how was camp? Amazing?”

Mattia ignored the question entirely. “You said you’ve heard a lot about me. What exactly did my dad say?”

Meredith smiled, walking close to Mattia. “Oh, only good things! He’s so proud of you— equestrianism championships, top marks in school. It’s clear you two are very – very close.”

Mattia took off his loose tee and showed a half smile. "Well, it's just that we're very close , 'just him and me' We have each other."

Before Meredith could expect it, the boy jumped into the pool, splashing some water on him in the process. He stood up immediately because of this.

Mattia came out of the water and with feigned guilt said, "I'm so sorry! Did I get you very wet?"

Meredith gave him a smile, forced to look like Mattia's.

"No, sweetie, it was just a little. Nothing to worry about,” she said as she dried herself with a towel she had near her chair. She took off her black hat and walked a little closer to the edge of the pool to talk to the boy.

"Hey, the other day, your Dad took me horseback riding. I used your horse. I hope you don't mind."

"Don't worry, Pinon is used to strangers. Of all the others, you look the most normal."

Meredith made a face, Mattia tried not to laugh so that his acting would be more real.

"Others? What exactly do you mean?" The young woman asked, somewhat curious about it, Mattia could see how her smile turned into more of a grimace.

He was satisfied about it, Mattia showed a sly smile. “Shall I offer you the complete information?”

Meredith blinked and asked him. “Explaine it to me!”

“As usual. I’ve seen the routine a thousand times. Horse rides at sunset, romantic dinners under the stars, and always, always a bottle of wine to top it off. It’s predictable, really.”

As if on cue, Carlos returned, his voice breaking through the tension like a knife slicing through butter. “I’m back. Do you want some wine, Mer?”

Meredith couldn’t help it, Mattia gestured dramatically toward her, his face saying, See? Told you so.

His dad noticed the silence immediately and looked between the two of them, suspicion creeping into his expression. “Did you two talks about something interesting while I was gone?”

Mattia gave his dad the most innocent smile, but before he could answer, Mattia dove straight into the pool, creating a splash big enough to avoid the conversation entirely.

Meredith, give him a smile, shrugged. “Should I assume that’s a yes?” Carlos asked, his gaze darting to his girlfriend.

“You guessed right,” Meredith replied smoothly.

Mattia stood on the other side of the pool, observing the adults as they exchanged looks that were anything but subtle. If they kept this up, the entire plan would fall apart. He needed to call his brother right away!

*****

The phone rang, and Martin picked it up, his voice lighthearted. "Y/LN residence. Mattia?"

"Yes, Martin. It's me," Matheo replied, his voice slightly amused. "Sounds just like you on the phone."

Martin chuckled. "I'm sorry, to whom did you wish to speak?"

"Mattia? of course," he said, switching gears. "One moment, please."

He put the phone down, only to pick it up again a second later.

"A Sammy Sainz for you," he said, with a hint of playfulness. "Sounds just like your twin." Matheo rolled his eyes, amused. "My twin? Very funny, Martin. Good one."

He took the phone. "Hello?" he said, her tone shifting. "Oh, Sammy, my friend”

Matheo’s voice crackled through the line. “Hi, how are you?” while the other side Mattia biting his lips. "Hey, how's it going over there?"

"Oh, everything's quite lovely here," Matheo replied. "We're expecting a bit of rain today."

“Sam, can you hold on for a moment?"

"Okay, but hurry, Math. I've got to talk to you!" Mattia’s voice was urgent, like he had something big to share.

Matheo glanced at the room, he started to looked around and grabbed the phone and hid inside a storage room under the stairs, where they kept the coats, when he closed it he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Okay, now I can talk," Matheo said, his voice is quiet small but excited. Before Mattia could told what happen, Matheo already talking too fast about what he is doing with their mom. "Oh my God… Mom’s incredible. I can’t believe I’ve spent my entire life without knowing her. She’s beautiful, fun, smart, everything I imagined, but better. And the gown she designed? Absolutely amazing.” on the other hand, Mattia of the phone rolled his eyes and waited for his brother to finish.

"But... she told me how she and Dad first met, and if you ask me, there's a whole possibility here."

Mattia, from the other side of the phone, took a deep breath and groaned. "Matheo, stop! We’ve got a major problem here. You need to bring Mom out here. Like, immediately."

"Immediately?" Matheo balked. "Are you nuts? I’ve only had one day with her. I can’t just-"

"This is an emergency, THEO!" Mattia’s interjected, cutting him off. "Dad’s in love."

Matheo blinked and laugh a bit. "Get out of here. Dad doesn’t fall in love. At least, not seriously.”

"Trust me," Mattia said, his tone firm. "He's serious about this one. He’s always holding her hand, kissing her neck, waiting on her hand and foot."

Matheo’s stomach churned at the thought. "He is? That's... horrible."

"Well, you’ll have to break them up or something!" Matheo urged.

"I’m trying, the young woman has Dad hypnotized as if he were a dog. The only way will be for us to reunite our parents as soon as possible." Mattia sighed, the weight of it all sinking in.

"Matheo, you’ve got to get back here. I need your help."

"I can’t," Matheo said firmly, his voice tinged with longing. "I want more time with Mom. You don’t get it. I’m still getting to know her, and I don’t want to just leave."

“Matheo you know what we have to do. If not now, then when?” Mattia’s voice grew louder, tinged with frustration. “I can’t stand seeing that woman with Dad anymore. It’s annoying just hearing her talk. Matheo, we have to get Mom and Dad together now. It’s the only way,..”

Suddenly, Mattia froze mid-sentence, distracted by a strange crackling noise on the phone line.

“Mattia, I can barely hear you,” Matheo said innocently, even as he crumpled up a candy wrapper next to the receiver. His mischievous smile gave away his true intentions.

“What? Matheo, what do you mean…?” Mattia’s voice was laced with confusion.

“Operator, the signal is gone!” Matheo declared dramatically, pushing the phone away with a theatrical flair. He ended the call with a satisfied grin, knowing full well he had just sabotaged their conversation.

On the other end of the line, Mattia stared at the telephone in disbelief. “Big help, little bro,” he muttered sarcastically before slamming the phone down in frustration.

Meanwhile, back at home, Matheo carefully crawled out of the closet where he had been hiding. As he stood up and dusted himself off, he realized he was not alone. His mother, Y/N, his grandfather, and Martin were all staring at him as if he had just announced he was from another planet.

Matheo tried not to be panic, he forced himself to play it cool. “Oh, it’s, uh, a custom we have at camp,” he explained, keeping his tone casual. “You know, going into the lockers and talking on the phone. It’s kind of a tradition.” He smiled nervously, hoping they would buy his excuse.

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and confusion. “What a strange tradition, baby.” she remarked, her tone light but still questioning.

“It’s a bit strange, but I think it’s a nice tradition,” Matheo said, clearly trying to ease the tension.

“So,” he said quickly, changing the subject, “have you all had breakfast yet?” His voice was bright and chipper, like he hadn’t just been caught crawling out of a closet mid-scheme.

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fluff #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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yandere-romanticaa · 7 months ago

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Marriage was often used as a tool of convenience - be it to upgrade one's own social status, get some much needed silver and gold, or to just get one leg up over your enemies, it really did not matter in the end.

Like it or not, you were tied to that person till death did you part.

That was a chant that has been sung to you ever since you came out of your weeping mother's womb. As the daughter of the household, it was natural for you to wed one day. However, the family was one of average standing, it had no special titles tacked onto it nor did it have any grotesque reputation which could sully it to the darkness and back. In its own way, it was oddly blissful, being invisible like that. No one expected you to act like a stuck up lady who would be locked away deep in a tower and you were also safe from becoming a measley wench who would be forced to spend the rest of her miserable days stuck rolling around in the mud, selling her body to all sorts of horrific strangers just in order to eat for a day.

You had the privilege of being born into a happy life. Perhaps a slightly dull one sometimes but regardless, a good one at that. You were content with everything which was given to you, perhaps even happy.

However, all things come to an end, and your end came in the form of a man riding on horseback.

He was strong, capable, handsome... But you kept that thought to yourself as you helped the wounded stranger get back on his feet, his midnight black steed happily trotting away somewhere as it accidentally shook the rider off its back once it locked eyes on you, a stranger in the woods.

"And who might you be?" asked the dark haired man, his curly hair framing his pale face so wonderfully that it took the breath from your lungs away.

You held onto him tightly and pressed him close to your body, the odor of blood and sweat covering him from top to bottom but you couldn't be bothered to care. He wore simple clothing which made you think that he was in a similar position like yourself in terms of finance, which gave you a slight glimmer of hope.

It was embarrassing how much you were swooning over the stranger.

Taking him back to your hut took longer than expected but all was well in the end. The handsome stranger had a name, Robb he said it was, and you couldn't hide the adoration in your voice whenever he would speak to you. The night flew by like a summer breeze - too fast and too sweet. Come first daylight he had to leave, which you understood.

That didn't stop you from feeling a little blue.

He mounted his horse like a knight in shining armor, its mane tussling proudly in the bitter north wind as Robb looked down at you, his warm blue eyes desperate to tell you many stories and secrets, but time was cruel and scarce.

He would come back to you, he promised.

And you gave him a smile sweeter than any juicy fruit, telling him that you would gladly wait for him.

He rode away all the while looking back at you, sending you a heart stopping smile which could make anyone weak in the knees. The horse left large hoofprints in the snow and you focused your attention on that, rather than the bitter stabs of pain in your heart.

There would never be a day when you'd see Robb ever again.

You were due to leave for the South in a few weeks time, in order to finally be wed off. The fantasy of Robb was saccharine and enchanting, many hours of sleep were lost due to him. Even if you barely knew him, the matters of the heart were reckless and stupid.

The heart wants what it wants and your heart ached for Robb.

All the while, you hadn't a clue of him and his plans. The men in Winterfell grew tired of his constant ramblings of this lovely woman he met, this sweet little thing which made his heart sing like no one else. He would walk in the corridors with a pep in his step as he thought of all the ways he could take you back to his home and give you the life you deserved.

His candied tirade quickly came to an abrupt halt once his mother had informed him of the grave news, that you had been promised to another man.

Robb was furious.

Who was this man?! Who did he think he is?! Ever the meticulous man, he got to work immediately. In less than a few days he had managed to gather all the information he could on this mystery fiance of yours, all the papers sprawled across his massive table. The candles in his chambers glimmered gently, the shimmering light a stark contrast to the raging flames in his heart.

If he could have his way, he'd be out for blood. Robb was too much of a jealous man for his own good but he needed to think, he needed to prepare if he wanted to do this right.

In less than a day, he had everything set up. If the man wasn't willing to take the gold he was offering him, he was not above using any scare tactics. His anger ended up getting the better of him though, so a bizarre combination of both was used.

The way in which your fiance left you made your heart sink. How were you going to break the news to your parents? Whatever could you have done so wrong to earn the ire of this lord whom you haven't even met yet...

You weep in your room, staining the mattress with your salty tears, completely oblivious to the small cavalry with House Stark banners raging on your front door.

Robb Stark had come for his bride. And she had no idea what sort of future awaited her...

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fayes-fics · 3 months ago

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Lessons In Roleplay

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: The boys roleplay dastardly highwayman and rescuer.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, d/s dynamics, roleplay, CNC play, gunplay, slightly rough vaginal sex, dirty talk, cuckolding play, mention of breeding, oral sex (f to m), blow job, spitroast, orgasms, aftercare.

Word Count: 4.8k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the amazing @colettebronte, asking for some roleplay in the Lessons universe. How could I say no to that? She chose which role the boys would play. Beta read by the amazing @sorryallonsy. Gif by @captainbucky-yt. The image is not particularly relevant to the story, but they both look delicious. Enjoy! <3

“Do you really think a highwayman might have seen us?” you query, your head resting on Anthony’s chest as he strokes your hair idly. “Yesterday, in the carriage,” you clarify as Benedict lifts his head from your belly and shoots you a querying eyebrow.

You are all lying together, entwined in post-coital bliss, under a large oak on their country estate on a beautiful summer day. The day after your eventful carriage ride here with them.

Anthony’s responding chuckle vibrates under you. “Tis possible, my sweet girl,” he opines lazily, using his other hand to shield his eyes from the sun cutting through the leaves above.

Your thoughtful mien has Benedict pushing up onto his hands and hovering over you, his hazy eyes observing you with a knowing quirk on his lips.

“I think our girl likes that idea,” he intuits, always correct in his ability to read you.

“I would prefer one of you be my robber, not a stranger,” you confess, smiling when they grab one of your hands each.

“If that is what the lady wishes….perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” Benedict opines silkily, lacing your fingers with his. “Can it not, brother?”

“What are you thinking?” Anthony hums, bringing your hand to his face.

“Perhaps the old phaeton in the stable can be put to good use?” Benedict suggests, lowering himself to kiss down your ribs. “I do not see why we could not steal away somewhere within the grounds and make our sweet girl's wish come true. One of us can play the dastardly highwayman lurking by the roadside as she rides by…” he trails off, getting distracted by the softness of your skin, dropping kisses onto your belly now.

“...And one of you could play my rescuer who draws up upon horseback?” you supply, a little breathless at the images already tumbling through your mind as their lips trace over your skin.

They both chuckle at that, Anthony dropping a kiss on your forehead and Benedict onto your hipbone.

“I am more than certain that could be arranged,” Anthony confirms, an admiring twinkle in his eye as you twist to look up at him. “This evening, in fact…”

“But which would you be, my lord?”

“What do you want of me, my girl? Do you want me to be the gallant hero?” he questions, his fingers tracing your cupid’s bow before sliding between your lips; his fingers still tart with your arousal as he presses upon your tongue. “Or the man who will hold you up? Whose demands you will need to submit to? To plead to spare your life?”

“The latter,” your reply muffled around his questing fingers, a frisson low in your belly that he may fuck you by the roadside in the dead of night.

“Then I shall ride in to rescue you,” Benedict affirms, his fingers flexing between yours as you now look down at him, his chin resting low upon your stomach.

“But not too soon…” you appeal with a wink, “and I think my rescuer should help me with my pleasure too, no?”

They both laugh knowingly at that.

“Your wish is my command….” Benedict offers, nudging this nose into your belly, which now fizzes with excitement about the night ahead.

—

You dress in a delicate cerulean blue silk gown that clings like liquid satin to your bare skin, foregoing any underwear, as is so often your preference when playing with your boys. Your outfit is topped off with sparkling sapphires and diamonds draped around your neck and wrists, no doubt priceless heirlooms from the vault Anthony holds on the property.

The hallway clock softly chimes midnight just as you steal out of the servant's entrance, meeting Benedict in the courtyard by the stables, already standing ready with a horse and a small, buggy-type carriage.

“You look beautiful,” he remarks, flattery just falling from him as ever. “I assume you know how to steer a phaeton?” he checks as you draw up to him, the moonlight throwing his face into handsome relief.

You nod, and he moves aside to assist you in climbing into the simple open-top carriage with an exchange of smiles.

“You remember where to go, correct?” His voice is soft as he hands you the reins.

“Down past the lake, take the left fork, follow the hedgerow until the thicket of trees,” you parrot the agreed directions from earlier. You can only assume Anthony is already lying in wait for you there.

Benedict nods, and then his demeanour changes, leaning in, a hand curling around your neck.

“Be careful out there, my sweet. Highwaymen may lurk,” he warns, slipping effortlessly into his heroic character.

“Perhaps a kiss for good luck upon my journey…. ?” you coquette, enjoying the way his pupils dilate.

He sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss that makes your heart pound and your body tingle, his tongue warm and insistent over yours.

“Good luck, my fair lady,” he exhales as you part, taking a step back to bow with a flourish.

You giggle and shake the reins to take off, elated your evening adventure has begun.

—

It is less than five minutes later when you arrive at a copse of trees, the bright new moon illuminating the fields around you as you slip under the shadows of the mighty oaks on either side of the track.

“STAND AND DELIVER!!”

A loud, clear voice rings out as you slow your horse to a stop, belly aflutter with anticipation. Emerging from behind a tree is a tall figure dressed in a black shirt and trousers, and as he draws nearer, you see a familiar, handsome face disguised behind a simple black mask.

Anthony.

You gasp as his leather-gloved hand draws a gun from his waistband and points it at you, blood running hot at his complete commitment to the roleplay.

“I have nothing to offer you, thief!”

Your protest is exaggerated but triumphant as his gaze falls to your decolletage, swelling with each exaggerated breath, your neckline scooped intentionally low.

“Get down at once, and perhaps I will spare your life, for I know you lie,” he counters, “those jewels around your neck, I wager, are worth more than my entire house….”

In your eagerness, you stumble slightly as you climb down from the carriage, and strong hands grasp your waist and right your stance on the ground.

“Unhand me, ruffian!”

Your theatrics are met with a flicker of tacit approval across his face.

“Not until those jewels are mine, fair lady!” highwayman Anthony contends, a predatory smile that has his teeth glowing in the low light, his firm grip upon you flexing.

“Please… I'm sure you are a reasonable man,” you change tack, still heaving breaths. “I simply cannot give you these jewels. They are too precious to me. They are a gift from my love.”

Framed by the mask, his dark eyes flash possessively, and there is a slip of softness in his expression as you say such words, knowing the truth behind them.

But then his tongue pokes out, licking his incisor almost menacingly. One of his hands bands behind your back, yanking you flush against his firm body.

“Do you really think you are in any position to negotiate, my fair lady?” he withers.

Your heart quickens as he places the cold barrel of the gun to your temple.

“It is not loaded,” he whispers, a warmth behind your ribs as he breaks character for a split second of reassurance before his expression is back to flinty.

“Please….” you implore.

He ignores you, crowding you backwards into the side of the carriage, the shiny lacquered wood of the wheel spokes digging into your spine. Once trapped, the hand around your waist moves to grasp your necklace, his leather glove cold on your breastbone.

“Take this off, or I will,” he orders; it’s a resonant threat that vibrates right into your body.

“Then you shall have to, for I will not!” you spit out, struggling against him for good measure, wanting nothing more than for him to rip the jewels from your body. And then your dress.

Just as promised, he is a little rough as he manhandles you, spinning you around so your breasts are pressed into the side of the phaeton, the unmistakable heat of his arousal on your tailbone as he leans into you.

He yanks off his gloves with his teeth and brushes your hair aside, unclasping the necklace and slowly tugging one end so it falls off behind you. A frisson runs the length of your spine as his bare fingers trail down slowly over both of your arms to your wrists and flick open the hinges on the bangles there, removing them too.

“These jewels are beautiful, my lady,” he concedes, pocketing them, “but I demand more…”

“Please, brute, you have taken all I can give you!”

“Oh, but that is not true…” he rumbles hotly into the nape of your neck.

You gasp as a hand cups between your legs through your thin dress.

“Your greatest treasure is the only one I cannot take with me….”

He ruts himself into you, intent unmistakable, as his fingers curl into the fabric. The softness of the silk over your already throbbing clit has you biting your lip.

“No, please, let me go…”

You amp up your performance, pushing back into him, looking over your shoulder with a fiery challenge that belies your words.

“I demand satisfaction!”

With that, he kicks your feet apart, rucking up your dress until you feel the cool night air swirling around your buttocks and between your legs. Then there is a pause as his hand travels up your naked flesh, a hungry noise escaping his lips as he buries his nose into your hair,

“Perhaps I misjudged…” he rasps, words huffing warm over your scalp. “No stockings. Nor underwear. You are far from a lady….”

“How dare you!”

You struggle again in his grip, loving the way his hold gets more insistent, moaning loudly as his fingers curl into your folds, already leaking profusely from the moment he emerged from the trees.

“Shut up,” he gruffs, dropping the gun into the carriage in front of you. “The more you struggle, the more I will take.”

This play already has you desperate for him, blood boiling with pure want as his fingers tease your clit.

“No, you beast, I shall not give in…”

Your objection sharpens his resolve, the wool of his trousers chafing the back of your thighs as he rapidly yanks open his britches one-handed.

Your cry echoes around the tree canopy as his rigid cock roughly ploughs into your pussy from behind, the force rocking you up onto your tiptoes. The sheer stretching invasion has you grabbing the carriage for leverage, wanting to voice your approval but too committed to the role you inhabit to allow yourself.

“Please, mister, no!”

You twist to meet his eye, silently begging for him to go fast and hard, take you mercilessly as you pretend this is not every wish you had for this night. Loving the feel of his fingertips curling around the crest of your hips, readying to take you hard.

And then he does—pulling out almost entirely, then ploughing back into you harshly. Immediately setting a nearly punishing rhythm, the dirt beneath your silk shoes crunching under your foot as you rock with his motions, you calling out loudly with each jolt.

“Quiet, or I will spank you,” he warns, his face wild, even obscured behind his mask.

That’s an open invitation you are not going to refuse.

“Stop!” you yell, goadingly.

There is a stinging slap across your buttock that has you lurching, your head lolling down, a huge, unseen smile claiming your lips, little sparks of fire radiating from the point of contact, a beeline right for your clit.

“No more!” you pant, staring at the ground and rocking back into his snapped thrusts, wrenching a moan from you with every move, his cock a delicious heavy weight cleaving you open, as it always is. You could never tire of this feeling, when he takes you so hard you can only cling on for dear life.

“All I heard is more, fair lady,” he laughs darkly and spanks again, your other cheek this time, a matching handprint you feel glowing.

You pitch forward and teeth the carriage as he fucks you. His moves are harsh, grunting with each thrust. You bite down, knowing the dental imprint you leave will be a great source of pride for him, a lasting memento of just how untamed he can make you.

“Tell me you want this!” He demands, grabbing your throat and yanking you backwards, your spine flush to his front, speared deep onto his cock as he stills.

“Never!”

His hand spanks you again so forcefully your eyes roll back. He withdraws slowly, then thrusts up so deep your toes leave the ground, him supporting all of your weight. It’s always so wonderful to feel like a rag doll in his arms when he is like this, speared open, utterly malleable to his onslaught.

Suddenly, movement catches the corner of your vision, and you look askance to see Benedict approaching, shirt billowing in the wind as he rides his galloping horse majestically across the moonlit field toward you. His horse whinnies as he dismounts in an athletic leap, bounding towards you.

“UNHAND HER AT ONCE!”

His voice is a bellow the likes of which you have never heard from his before. It makes you clench reflexively around his brother’s cock, and you wonder how much jealousy is behind the following line that Anthony sneers.

“It appears you have a rescuer, my lady. How entertaining. Who is he?” Anthony demands, spinning you around to face Benedict while still buried inside you.

“My husband,” you improvise provocatively, pushing back into Anthony.

It’s not something you had discussed with them for the roleplay, merely that Benedict would be your rescuer. But the look of unbridled desire that engulfs his face as you bestow him as such for this scene makes your lungs catch, his whole body puffing out with pride.

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wife.”

Each word is its own sentence, his voice dripping with possession and intent, inhabiting outrage so perfectly.

“Too late,” Anthony snarls back. “I am already inside her, and she is thoroughly enjoying it. Her smart mouth may protest, but she is positively flooding over me.”

That triumphant verbal swipe makes you stutter. Evidently, Anthony has been taking notes from his poetic, dirty-talking younger brother, who stands before you now, a quake in his being that could be a husband’s rage, but you know to be pent-up desire—his gaze trained on your exposed lower half.

“Wrong…” Benedict growls, taking a large step forward, pressing into your front so you are sandwiched between them. Your very favourite place to be. “She may be drenched, but you are not the cause, merely the beneficiary.”

Benedict’s sizeable right hand curls into the hair at the nape of your neck as he stakes his claim on you with his words and deeds: drawing you into a plundering kiss, the outline of his cock growing harder, pressing hot into your belly, before he breaks away to continue speaking.

“She is my obedient little one,” he proclaims, cupping your jaw to make you stare up at him, even as Anthony’s cock rocks deeper into your pussy, challenging his claim. “As soon as she so much as scents me in her periphery, she is dripping down to her dainty ankles. And that is why she is mine. My wife.”

Benedict’s resonant cadence vibrates your chest and has you swaying, desperate for him as well. You feel Anthony twist a fraction to grab something from the carriage behind him, still rock hard inside you.

“Do you forget, Sir, who has the true weapon here? Anthony challenges.

The cold barrel of the gun is pressed to your temple again.

You mouth the words not loaded to Benedict, and he responds in kind, I know, before stepping back and holding his hands up in faux capitulation.

“Please,” Benedict changes tack, “take our jewels, but please do not harm my wife…”

You are enthralled by this—the planning they must have done together to execute this and how effortlessly they both inhabit their characters. A collaboration that speaks to their growing acceptance of each other as equals in this dynamic. Even though you can see the lines blurring as they goad each other within the roleplay, spectres of their past power dynamic, where Anthony would taunt Benedict with you, setting rules that always gave him the upper hand.

“I have already ruined her,” Anthony smirks, thrusting once for good measure and making you moan before stilling again. “But I shall offer you a deal…”

“Anything…” Benedict pleads, utterly convincing now as the distressed, cuckolded husband.

“You may watch me fuck her, plant my seed in her, and I will be happy to leave empty-handed.”

“Or…?” Benedict prompts, sensing an alternative.

“You may join me in taking her. I will not seed her, but I will depart with every single one of your jewels,” Anthony declares, nodding to Benedict’s ring on his little finger.

“Wife…. I shall let you choose.” Benedict's eyes scoot to you, still embodying his role, but his gaze pleading to let him in on the fun.

Silently, you hold out your hand to him, inviting him in. He takes it, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles briefly in reassurance.

“You have a deal, highwayman,” Benedict concedes to Anthony, pointedly removing his signet ring and handing it over your shoulder.

Anthony pulls out of you, making you whine at the loss, a droplet of wetness trickling down your thigh as he spins you around to face him.

“I think your wife should be naked, would you not agree?” Anthony posits, his fingers trailing your scooped neckline to the swell of your breast as he gives an order: “Undress her for me.”

Wordlessly, you feel Benedict plucking at the buttons over your spine. As they relent, he moves to tug the slackened fabric down off your torso, and the blue silk flutters to the ground, a shiver running over your skin as a cool breeze swirls around your naked body.

Anthony sucks in a breath, taking a half-step back, his eyes raking covetously over your naked skin.

“You permit your wife to parade in public without any undergarments?” he chides, his tone dripping with judgment.

“Permit her?” Benedict chuckles, bemused.

You inhale sharply as he wraps an arm around you, hauling you snugly backwards into his frame, his long fingers then spidering down your lower belly, right into your damp slit.

“I veritably insist upon it,” he gloats. “And she is more than keen…”

His teeth catch your earlobe as you whimper and writhe on his touch, little sparks of pleasure pinging around your body.

“Always so ready for me, are you not, my darling wife?”

You twist to meet his gaze as you nod obediently, and he rewards you with a crooked smile and a light pinch to your engorged clit that makes you cry out for him, punctuating his point. You yearn for him to take you roughly, needing this husband version he plays so well to claim you as his.

“You are a lucky man, betrothed to such an eager little vixen,” Anthony concedes, staring you down, provocatively wiping his lip with his thumb, hunger barely contained as he watches you ride his brother's fingers. “Perhaps she can lick clean the mess she made of me while you take your pleasure?” he adds casually.

“I will do it,” you volunteer brightly, almost preemptively, and far too enthusiastically for being held ‘hostage’.

“Come now, sweet girl, at least try to act as if you are mildly perturbed by our predicament…” Benedict deadpans genially, his fingers stilling as he breaks character, and Anthony chuckles, looking equally entertained by your outburst.

“Sorry…” you whisper over a giggle, and it earns you a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them, their eyes glittering with amusement. “Please continue…”

Benedict slides his fingers out from between your legs, you whining from the loss. But you soon quieten as you realise he is unbuttoning his trousers, knuckles brushing your bottom as he peels them open just enough to free himself, veritably pulsing for the promise of his cock too.

“Bend over and suckle him, wife,” he orders, back in his role, knowing how much you adore detailed filthy instruction from him.

“Yes, husband,” you demure, lowering yourself as requested, widening your stance as you do so—a blatant invitation for him to take you.

“What an excellent, obedient thing,” Anthony observes, his hand gliding into your hair as you peel his trousers open further, pressing your face into his crotch before sucking his tip between your lips, glazed with your arousal.

“She’s a wonder,” Benedict concurs.

Anthony’s fingers flex on your scalp, and his thumb rounds your jaw to pull down your chin, opening you wider. He thrusts into your mouth; your hands cling to his muscular thighs as his tip nudges the roof of your mouth, tongue pressed into his underside.

He groans loudly, your tastebuds flooded with your tart juices and a bead of his salty precum. He withdraws then drives back in, nudging deeper this time, knowing it always makes you mindless, his grip solid on your head as he starts to fuck into your mouth. It has you squirming with supplicant need, begging Benedict silently for his cock, too, as he teases your slit, grinding his head over your clit.

Your call is entirely muffled around Anthony as Benedict finally takes pity on you, thrusting deep into your pussy, in one rapid, forceful move. Both ends of your body are utterly invaded, one of your favourite places to be, a carnal loop of pleasure that only they can provide. Anthony’s hands are heavy on your scalp as Benedict's grasp your hips almost punishingly tight—something so thrilling about you being bent over entirely naked between their clothed bodies. They work together to ensure maximum pleasure for you, intuiting your needs, Anthony withdrawing just as you need to draw breath but always keeping you singing with need, his cock something to muffle your noises, to suckle upon as they both drive you higher.

You sag into their hold, relying on them to keep you balanced, pliant to the push and pull of your being between these men as they use you just as you want them to. Entirely possessed by them, played expertly by both as if an instrument for all of your mutual pleasure. Always intuiting your needs, Benedict reaches down, pulling your arms backwards flush with the sides of your body, twining his fingers in yours, a possessive hold that means you have no purchase to prevent Anthony’s thrusts into your mouth.

Benedict’s pace builds slowly, his cock grinding all those places deep inside only they can reach. His thrusts that cleave you open timed perfectly, his fingers curled over the pulse point on your wrist, syncopating his movements with each beat of your heart.

Anthony groans, causing his cock to vibrate as it passes through the tight ring of your lips. The tingle has you moaning too, a call and response that notches things higher.

“I will not last,” Anthony grits out, teeth clenched, his fingernails digging into your scalp, his thrusts into your mouth urgent now, barely allowing you any reprieve.

“Do as you will…” Benedict grunts, his noises guttural as you clench around him, a vice that has him dropping your wrists, sensing how close you are, too. One of his hands grabs your hip roughly as the other ploughs into your slit, catching your swollen, throbbing clit.

He changes angle to spear deeper, harsher, and you scream around Anthony’s cock, which fills your mouth now, breathing harshly through your nose as he uses you mercilessly.

“Look at me,” Anthony commands, grabbing your head to tilt your face upwards, his cock tip grinding the roof of your mouth, your hands again on his wool trousers for leverage as you stare wide-eyed up at his handsome face, angular and determined.

“So fucking beautiful,” he croaks, his thumb rounding to blot the tear forming in the corner of your eye from not wanting to blink.

“Better and more priceless than any jewel,” Benedict taunts, still impressively embodying his role, each word heaved over a breath, “and all mine.”

The possession with which he growls that last word, plunging harder than he ever has, is the catalyst for all of you. The vibration of your scream around Anthony’s cock as Benedict glances at your hilt is what tips him over. A heavy pulse travels up the length of his cock, and his fingernails cirls into your scalp as he comes, a salty rope splashing into your throat that you swallow reflexively as Benedict's fingers and cock send you over the edge, your vision whiting out, as your whole body convulses, strong hands bandying around you to hold you upright as your knees almost give out, everything in your snapping taut as you come so hard you swear stars dance before your eyes. With an almost howl, Benedict roughly pulls out of your convulsing pussy, a warmth splashing over your lumbar spine as you all pant loudly.

Before you are fully cognisant, strong arms pull you into an embrace. You recover, caged by Benedict, his chest warm against your spine as he murmurs sweet words in your ear. In front of you, Anthony refastens his trousers, pulling the gems from his coat pocket, still impressively in character.

“I shall greatly enjoy the spoils of this evening,” he taunts, holding them up so they sparkle in the moonlight. “But, if you should ever wish to share your wife again, you know where to find me…”

“How do you know I will not tell others of your location? Force you to move your despicable, criminal activities elsewhere?” Benedict counters as you drowsily enjoy their little theatrical, continuing purely for your amusement.

“Because of the way your wife is looking at me…” Anthony crows, stepping forward again to run a finger over your chin and swollen, darkened lips as he repockets the loot. “As if she wishes to ride away with me as much as she wishes to remain with you.”

He draws you in for a fierce, possessive kiss, you gasping heavily, pliant under his invasion, still dazed from your orgasm.

“Perhaps one day, if you are a good little thing for me, you could even earn your jewels back…” Anthony contends. “Until then, I bid you adieu…” he signs off, bowing, then turning heel and disappearing into the night.

—

A few minutes later, Anthony saunters back from bridling the additional horse onto the phaeton. Himself again, the roleplay scene over.

“Our poor girl cannot wear this; 'tis too caked in dirt and mud now,” he rues, no trace of the menacing highwayman to be found in his tone as he scoops your trampled dress up from the dirt track.

“We will just have to keep her warm for the ride back, brother,” Benedict advocates.

Anthony hums in agreement, chivalrously whipping off his shirt and helping you into it with affectionate kisses. After a quiet spell in their joint embrace - always your favourite place to recover from such vigorous adventures - they both tenderly assist you up into the carriage, arranging you snugly between them upon the simple bench seat. Both wrap their free arm around you as they grab a horse rein each. You burrow into their comforting presence as the carriage trundles away at a leisurely pace.

“Did you enjoy our roleplay, my girl?” Anthony checks, tone laden with affection, as Benedict turns to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Yes, you were both so wonderful, exactly as I had hoped and more. Thank you,” you sigh contentedly, nuzzling into them both in turn.

“I cannot wait to hear of your other fantasies, sweet girl. I assume you have many more,” Benedict guesses, accurate as always.

“I am rather taken by the idea of adventure on the high seas with two swashbuckling buccaneers…” you confess, even as you have to stifle a yawn, the sway of the carriage and their warmth soporific.

“Well, after you have had some good rest, my darling girl, perhaps I will seek out our grandfather’s cutlass…” Anthony offers as he laughs genially.

You perk up, and your head pings between them. “Is that a promise?”

“Most definitely,” they answer in unison, two pairs of amused, sparkling eyes meeting yours as the beauty of Aubrey Hall hones into view in your periphery.

You cannot wait.

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

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dreamdolldiary · 1 year ago

Text

life will not stop until it stops.

so go out. wear those “special occasion” outfits since everyday is a special occasion because you’re alive. get your passport and travel. quit the job you’ve been dreading and go for the one you’ve been eyeing. compliment strangers. make new friends. visit museums and local coffee shops. move out of your hometown. learn new languages. go to a ballet. read books. ask a classmate to hang out. go to the theater by yourself. stop doom scrolling. stop wishing and start doing. stop saying no to yourself. if you don’t try, the answer will always be no. learn how to drive manual. take drifting classes. go back to school. start a business. learn how to make coffee. take lessons, doesn’t matter on what. keep learning! do pottery. get cool certifications. take horseback riding lessons. go skydiving. go to a paint or pottery class. be grateful. get a bartending license. go to a concert and let loose. book an airbnb. practice calligraphy. go snowboarding. try out new recipes. be well rounded. rearrange your room. watch documentaries. write stories! work out. take a dance class! many different styles of dance classes. learn ballet, no it’s never too late. never. explore high end gyms, go to a spa!!! learn how to code, video editing, photoshop, take photos! buy a film or disposable camera! vlog! upload carelessly on youtube or instagram! who cares about a nice feed. posting is for you. visit a car show. take motorcycle classes. learn how to draw. learn how to crochet and make cute things to use and sell. make candles. try out different styles of clothing, try something new and funky. dye your hair. cut your hair! model! apply for agencies, jobs, new opportunities. attend workshops and seminars for thousands of different topics.

it is never too late when the world is yours!! live!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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ak319 · 4 months ago

Note

I absolutely love your yandere Arthur stuff- though I really have the curiosity to see him suffer. I was wondering how he'd go about if the reader, in a desperate attempt to escape, ended up getting really really hurt (if she survived or not, up to you.. but make it real heart shattering please)

Thank you and keep being awesome!!

(AN: So, I got two asks (TW) relating to suicide and the other two I added cuz I thought they lined perfectly with the plot that came to my mind. So saddle up as this is going to be a tough one, do read the warnings, and also thank you to all the anons for reading and sending the asks!)

Warnings/MDNI: Suicide, angst, forced prostitution, the reader is underage. (15-16), not incest, strictly platonic, abuse// I don't condone such behaviour

It had been almost a week since you’d run, from everything that had suffocated you. An older woman in her 50s, a widow with two married daughters, had found you and decided to give you shelter. You couldn’t have been more grateful to Linda, and you even felt for her, living alone in a small house with only her animals for company. What you hadn’t expected, perhaps in your own naivety and desperation, was that choices made in haste often became someone else’s chance to shape their own life for the better.

You were dusting off a vase when you noticed two men approaching the fence on horseback. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach. Even the faint sound of hooves and the sight of those hats stirred reminders of your brother, of the camp, memories Linda knew well by now.

“Linda, there are people outside,” you said, voice tight with unease. She looked up from her book, her expression unreadable as she rose. With an air of certainty, as if she’d anticipated this, she opened the door without even glancing to see who they were.

“Good mornin’, Miss Linda.”

The men stepped inside, their eyes sweeping over the small room before landing on you, a young girl, untouched as they were told, standing tensely in the corner, cloth in hand.

“Is she the one?”

“Yes. Her name’s (Y/N),” Linda replied without hesitation, her tone strangely casual.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Um, Miss Linda?” you murmured, hoping for some explanation. But when you looked at her, the warmth she’d shown when she’d found you, empty-handed and alone, was nowhere to be found.

As their conversation continued, realization dawned painfully fast. This wasn’t an innocent meeting. She had sold you, to men who clearly had no good intentions.

“NO!” you shouted, thrashing as one of them seized you, his grip iron-tight. Panic surged through you as you struggled, tears stinging your eyes.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? LINDA!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “You have daughters of your own!” But the other man quickly moved to hold you down, binding your wrists as dread washed over you. No, this can’t be real, you thought, desperately praying for a miracle, for anything.

“I don’t have daughters,” Linda replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the money roll they handed her. “I live alone. You fell right into my trap, girly, this is what I do for a living.” She didn’t even look up as they gagged you, ignoring your cries and pleas as they dragged you from her house, indifferent to your terror.

⋆⋆⋆

It had been three months since they’d dragged you into this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers with cold eyes and colder hearts.It was useless no matter how much you begged or how hard you fought. The punishments, the beatings, the days locked away in dank cellars, became too much to bear.

"It's always a fun challenge to tame young ones like you,"

Eventually, the fight drained out of you. Bit by bit, you surrendered. You gave up on freedom, on dignity, on every cherished memory. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t giving up, that they had taken it from you. But deep down, you knew the people around you would laugh at that. A woman, giving in? As if you’d ever had a choice.

Even if... even if your brother somehow found you, what would he say? If he saw you here, saw all that had happened, would he forgive you for running away? He will, he will because you're the only one he has left. It was a lie you whispered to yourself just to make it through the endless nights.

But still, despite everything, you prayed. Prayed that somehow he’d find you, that he’d come and take you back. That he’d see past the shame, past the bruises and broken pieces, and remember the sister you used to be. You clung to that thin thread of hope, fragile as it was, because it was the only thing left that still felt like yours.

⋆⋆⋆

Arthur hadn’t had a moment’s peace since you disappeared. The guilt and fury festered into a dark cloud over him, filling every waking moment. Every step, every job he took on, only seemed to twist the knife deeper, because how could he even think about anything else while you were out there alone?

He lashed out at everyone. Every misstep or delay was another reminder that they’d failed to keep you safe, to keep you close. It stung him that no one had been there, that Dutch’s assurances and promises meant so little when it came down to it. The camp members bore the brunt of his fury, his paranoia that they might’ve even helped you leave simmering just beneath the surface. And though they knew better than to push back, they held their patience, trying to calm him, even if it was like talking to a wall. How could these people not take care of you? It was the only thing he had asked Dutch for in exchange for giving his all, his best with his every breath.

Still, he couldn’t rest. Every day he pushed himself, scanning faces in crowded towns, following trails that led nowhere. He’d never admit it, but he was scared, scared of what might’ve happened to you. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw you for himself, safe and within the bounds of camp again.

⋆⋆⋆

It was one of those days where Chief, the man who forced you to call him that, as if it somehow dignified his cruelty, had you paraded through saloons to attract new customers. The older, more experienced girls absorbed most of the men’s attention, giving you brief respites where you could linger near the corners, gaze averted, trying not to see or be seen. This was your coping mechanism: be present but remain hidden, fading into the shadows, preserving the last shreds of yourself.

Chief rarely paid attention to your position; he was usually too engrossed in gambling or drinking with his cronies to notice. So long as you didn’t step out of line or attempt an escape, an impossible feat with his guards stationed outside, he didn’t care where you lingered. For these few stolen moments, you could almost feel invisible, protected by the wall at your back and the murmur of unfamiliar voices.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Charles. Right there, across the room. Your heart thundered, your breath catching in your throat. He was here, and the realization struck you like a blow. You must’ve stared too long because his eyes landed on you, recognition dawning in his gaze. You could see his shock twist into something harder, his face darkening as he took in your presence here.

His eyes were locked onto you, and he rose from his seat, his gaze sharp and unyielding, scanning every inch of you with a dawning recognition. Each step he took made your heart pound harder, a mix of disbelief and terror twisting in your chest. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, as you pressed yourself further against the wall, as though it might somehow swallow you up.

“(Y/N)...?”

His voice was low, laced with disbelief and something that almost sounded like relief, but there was no mistaking the tremor in it. Your throat tightened, and a thousand unspoken words tangled there, as if your body itself was rejecting the reality of being found.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your tongue felt heavy, paralyzed by shame and fear. The silence was broken by Chief, who was now at your side oblivious to the storm brewing, chuckled and tightened his hand on your shoulder. "This is Cherry, my newest one. One of the youngest, too," he taunted, a sick grin spreading across his face. "Would you like a taste, sir?"

Charles didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he was on Chief, his fists swinging. You watched as Charles’s rage took over, each blow landing harder than the last, rendering Chief into a bloody, unrecognizable heap. The noise and chaos around you faded, replaced by a surreal, dreamlike silence.

You wanted to move, to say something, anything, but shock held you frozen. The reality was hitting you all at once, Charles had found you. After all this time, your prayers have finally been answered. But along with the relief, dread crept in. Charles was here, yes, but what about Arthur?

Arthur. The thought of facing him filled you with a hollow, bone-deep fear. What would he say? What would he do when he saw you like this?

“Arthur’s been looking for you. Day and night, he’s been looking. And he’s… well, you know how he is.” He paused, his gaze turning serious. “But he needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe.”

"I--can't....Charles," he was the second after Arthur whom you called a brother, if this was your condition in front of him, you dreaded facing your real one.

"He...will --no, please." No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be, you should have been happy to go.

"The hell I am leaving you here!"

"Charles, no, you don’t understand!" you protested, your voice trembling as you recoiled slightly from his touch. “Arthur… he’ll be furious! He’ll-”

“He’ll be furious if he finds out you’re here, too,” Charles interjected, his tone sharp yet laced with concern. “But I can’t leave you here. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded slowly, still numb, letting him lead you outside, where the guards who usually kept watch were already scattered, backing off after seeing Charles’s wrath. He didn’t let you go, staying close as he guided you through the quiet streets.

With a final glance back at the saloon, you took his hand, feeling a mix of fear and gratitude surge through you. As you climbed onto the horse behind him, the reality of what lay ahead crashed over you like a wave.

⋆⋆⋆

All the guilt and frustration that Arthur had felt at himself and the others had now morphed into a seething fury. He could barely contain the storm brewing inside him as he stood there, fists clenched, watching Charles bring you back to camp. You stood behind him, your head bowed, and he could feel the weight of your shame even from a distance.

When Charles, with his broken and hesitant words, explained where you had been and what you had endured , Arthur felt a rush of bile rise in his throat. Hearing that you had been forced into such a degrading life, turning into a whore, no less in front of the whole camp, set off a wildfire of rage within him. It felt as if every cell in his body was screaming, torn between the desire to protect you and the urge to just shoot you and then himself.

“Why…?” he managed to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity of his gaze was like fire. You could only let out a whimper, too overwhelmed by shame and fear to answer.

“Arthur... it's not (Y/N)'s fault-” Charles began, trying to explain the circumstances, but Arthur cut him off sharply, the anger bubbling over.

“I AM ASKING HER, CHARLES, SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I ASKED YOU SOMETHING!” His voice thundered across the camp, startling the others who had gathered to witness the confrontation.

Silence fell over the clearing, all eyes on you as Arthur took a step forward, his expression a mix of pain and fury. You flinched, feeling the heat of his anger radiating off him like a tangible force.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a rabbit caught in the glare of a predator. You could see the way his fists trembled, the way his jaw clenched, and it terrified you. “I---I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, "I am s-sorry...please."

Annabelle, having enough interjected. "Let the child breathe Arthur! You are scaring her for no fucking reason! You should be happy she's been found you dumbass!"

“Stay out of this, Annabelle!” Arthur snapped, the violence in his tone making everyone around him tense. “You don’t know what she’s done. You don’t know how she’s made me suffer!”

Hosea, who had been observing quietly, spoke up as well, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “Arthur, we need to think this through. She’s back now, that’s what matters-”

But before Hosea could finish, Dutch stepped in, his voice commanding. “Enough! This isn’t helping anyone. Arthur, take a breath. We’ll sort this out, but you need to calm down.”

Arthur’s fury seemed to intensify, the frustration boiling over. “Calm down!?” he spat, eyes dark with rage. “She thinks she can run away from me, become a whore and come back like nothing happened? I’m not letting her off that easy!”

With a sudden, swift movement, he seized your arm, dragging you towards a nearby tent. You stumbled, panic rising within you as you felt the grip of his hand, the anger radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“Arthur, please!” you cried, but he didn’t respond, his jaw set in a hard line as he pulled you along, ignoring the protests from Annabelle and Hosea.

"If anyone comes near me, I am gonna gut em' alive!"

“Arthur, think about what you’re doing!” Annabelle called after you, her voice strained with concern. “You can’t just take her away like this-” Dutch silenced her with holding her shoulders. "Don't you dare go near him! He's not in his senses-"

"SO GO AND STOP HIM!"

But he was already inside the tent, and the flap fell shut behind you with a heavy finality. The moment you were alone, he released you, stepping back with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why would you do this to me? To us?” he demanded, his voice low and intense.

You backed away and fell onto the cot. "Just...just listen and I'll explain-

"Oh really? Did you enjoy your adventures? See, I was right. This is what they fuckin' taught you , what that bitch Anne, taught you. That fuckin' school!" He grabbed you by your jaw to make you face him. That's when you saw the tint of hurt in his eyes.

“You think this is a joke? I’m a joke? You fuckin’ ran our family’s name, my name, into the mud. I can’t even--” He threw you back onto the bed, the impact rattling through your bones. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Arthur, I’m still me,” you whispered, through sobs. “I’m still.... your sister."

"IF YOU WERE YOU WOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME AND STAYED HERE!"

He was right, you should have listened and stayed here, chasing your dreams only led you to more nightmares and even now, it seems there are more to face.

You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you scrambled to find words that might bridge the chasm between you. Taking a shaky breath, you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"You should be lucky I haven't shot you yet. If I was the one who found you, God knows what I would have done. Stay in this fucking tent until I say so, and don’t show me your face." His voice was low and dangerous, a growl that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap.

You flinched at his words, the truth of them hitting you like a slap. You had been trying to convince yourself that you were still worthy, still, the same person who had left the camp. But standing in front of him, the reality crashed down. You were not that person anymore, and you didn’t know how to return to her.

⋆⋆⋆

Annabelle and the others came to check on you, their voices a distant murmur as if they were speaking through water. You barely registered their presence, lost in a maze of your thoughts, every path leading back to Arthur’s harsh words. What had you expected from him? A comforting embrace? A gentle reminder that you were still his sister, despite everything?

You couldn't help but wonder if you were truly as heinous as he implied. Were you still his blood even? The questions tormented you, each one sharper than the last. You knew the truth of his overprotectiveness, it stemmed from love, from a desire to shield you from the dangers of the world. Yet here you were, the very thing he had feared, tainted by your stubborn quest for freedom and adventure.

Pushing the flap of his tent aside just enough to peek in, you caught sight of him, his back turned to you, oblivious to your presence. Just like he turned his back today on you. Funny.

With a deep breath, you stepped inside and placed the note in his satchel, the fabric brushing against your fingertips feeling heavier than it should.

You took one last glance at your brother, the weight of your choices pressing down on your heart, then slipped out of the tent, moving stealthily toward the supply wagon

When you retrieved what you needed, you returned to the privacy of your tent, the familiar space feeling more suffocating than ever. You sank onto the cot, the cold metal of the weapon glimmering in the bits of moonlight that managed to seep through the fabric.

Taking your time, you pondered everything that had brought you to this moment. You searched desperately for a glimmer of hope, but all you found were dead ends. Before returning with Charles, you had imagined a future where your brother might forgive you, where he could overlook the darkness of the past and allow you both to move on, forgetting the pain that had laced your life. You were even ready to let go of the past, but that hope had shattered just as quickly as it had formed.

With a final breath, you cocked the revolver, the click echoing in the silence of the night. The weight of it pressed against your skin as you brought it to the side of your forehead. At that moment, the tumult of emotions surged, fear, regret, and an aching desire for peace, threatening to consume you whole, and it did.

⋆⋆⋆

3 hours.

It had been three hours and the camp was thick with an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on everyone. The men came and went into the tent, each trying to mask their sorrow with bravado, yet their eyes betrayed them, glassy, haunted. Annabelle’s wailing filled the air outside, her cries echoing like a banshee’s lament, punctuated by shouts of blame that pierced the quiet. Yet through it all, Arthur couldn’t hear anything; he couldn’t see anything except your limp form cradled in his arms, and the world faded to grey around him.

He was convinced it was just a nightmare, an illusion crafted by his mind to torment him.

“Arthur...” Charles’s voice broke through the haze as he placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, his grip steady yet heavy with gravity.

“We...gotta bury her. Please.” The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, an inevitability that Arthur couldn’t bear to face.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head vehemently as if denying the truth would somehow alter the reality before him. “Only dead people are buried. She’s...she's just sleeping.” The fervour in his voice rose, desperation threading through his tone. “Mum had to always snatch the covers from her because she refused to wake up...she'll wake up soon...I know."

His memory of those mornings washed over him, a bittersweet recollection that clashed violently with the present. The warmth of your laughter, the way you would bury your head deeper into your blankets, evading the morning sun, flared in his mind. Arthur’s grip tightened around you, as if holding you closer could somehow anchor him in this cruel moment, could make you open your eyes.

“Arthur, please.” Charles’s voice trembled with a mixture of compassion and urgency. “We have to let her go. We can’t keep holding on.

“No, I said fucking no. Don't you come near, fuck off!" Arthur growled, the denial thick in his throat.

But all Arthur could think was how cruel it felt, how unbearable it was to even entertain the idea of accepting it. You were his baby sister, his blood, the only family he had left, the one he had been given responsibility by his mother, and the thought of your absence left a hollow pit in his stomach, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He pressed his face against your hair, clutching you close to his chest, inhaling the scent of you, soft, sweet, and achingly familiar. He murmured incoherently, swaying back and forth like a child himself.

“No,” he repeated choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I won’t lose her, not like this. Not ever. GO AWAY!”

It had taken every man in the camp to separate Arthur from cradling your body. His grip was ironclad, his anguish palpable as he held you against him, as if the sheer force of his will could resurrect you from the depths of despair. They had to pry his fingers from your lifeless form, his cries piercing the stillness of the evening like a gunshot.

As they prepared the grave, the earth was turned and the makeshift coffin formed from an old wooden crate. Each shovel of dirt that fell felt like another piece of Arthur’s soul being buried alongside you. The men worked in silence, their hearts heavy with grief, knowing they could do nothing to ease the torment radiating from him. Charles stood to the side, his own heart breaking.

Even Hosea wasn't able to comfort anyone at this moment. He couldn't fathom that a girl like you, who had so much to live for, for whom he silently had promised to be a guardian of at this camp, was gone. Just like that. He will never forget how you cared for him as a daughter would for her father. Making sure he ate his meals, assisting him with chores and sipping morning (coffee/tea) with him as he read the local news alongside you.

Finally, the moment came. Arthur stumbled forward, the weight of your absence pulling him down as he lowered you into the ground. The first clod of dirt landed with a finality that echoed in the silence of the camp. Tears streamed down his cheek, cutting a path through the grime and dust of the world around him. It felt like a betrayal like they were burying not just you but every memory, every dream he had cherished.

The men finished covering you and when it was done, they stepped back, leaving Arthur alone with his sorrow. He sank to his knees, a hollow shell, fingers digging into the earth as he pressed his forehead against the freshly turned soil. It was all he had left of you.

Dutch approached cautiously, his heart heavy as he watched Arthur, the man he had come to rely on, the strongest in his camp, unravelling before him. “Arthur, my son.." he said softly, “we need to get back to camp. You can’t stay here like this.”

Arthur didn’t budge, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the grave. “I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered, voice low and filled with pain.

“Please,” Dutch urged softly, “it’s time to go. You can honor her memory at camp. We’ll make sure she’s remembered.”

But Arthur only tightened his grip on the soil. “I don’t care. I’m staying here. I won’t leave her. I can’t…she's alone here.” The darkness of the night and you being alone made his body tremble. With that, he lowered his forehead to the cool earth, the pain a constant pulse in his heart, echoing with every breath he took. At that moment, he felt as though he had buried a part of himself alongside you.

"Just...be sure to come back, son."

With a heavy heart, Dutch turned away, leaving Arthur to mourn. And as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Arthur remained there, kneeling by the grave. For God knows how long.

That was the last time since Dutch saw him. Arthur went away from the camp, at least for the whole 4 months. Wandering and coping. Even after he came back, nothing was the same anymore. Pearson's stew tasted worse than ever, its blandness a stark reminder of the joy you used to bring to their meals.

Annabelle had left shortly after your passing, her heart broken beyond repair. She broke things off with Dutch, her fury spilling over. Blaming him, blaming Arthur. This time, Arthur didn’t disagree with her. There were moments when he caught glimpses of hate and blame in Hosea’s eyes too due to that night, moments that cut deeper than any bullet.

That night he had shrouded his fear with his rage because he didn't have the heart to hear any further, anything of what you had endured because he knew he couldn't bear it. Due to this utter selfishness of his, he forgot about your pain, denied to offer his shoulder to you.

Hey Arthur,

I know I’m leaving, and I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay, but I need you to understand something important, none of this is your fault. Please don’t let yourself carry that burden. You’ve always tried to protect me, and it breaks my heart to think that you might blame yourself for my choices. I don’t want you to live with regret, feeling like you didn’t fulfil some promise to Mum. That’s not what she would have wanted for either of us. Neither Dad.

As I write this, I want you to remember the better, more joyful moments we shared when we were young. The laughter that rang through our home, the endless promises of going on adventures we dreamed of as we rode in town with Dad.

You always looked out for me, and always kept me safe, and I will forever be grateful for your protection. You did more than any brother could. But you must know that the path I chose was mine alone. I was foolish to step outside when you even said not to and I got lost along the way. It’s not a reflection of you or your love for me. I don’t want you to carry the weight of my choices as if they were yours to bear.

I want you to live your life without the chains of guilt holding you down. Don’t let this tragedy rob you of your future. Pursue your dreams, even in this hard life of an outlaw and embrace the adventure that awaits you because I have seen how much you enjoy doing what you do even if I was not in favour of it. Find joy in the little things, just as we did when we were young and remember that we are forever connected by the love we share as siblings.

If you find it within you, forgive yourself. I hope that one day, you can look back on our memories with a smile instead of sorrow. I’ll always be a part of you, a part that encourages you to keep going, to live fiercely and fully.

Take care of yourself, okay?

With love,

(Y/N)

Arthur’s fingers lingered over the page of the letter, the ink slightly smudged from his own tears. Each word felt like a dagger in his chest, a reminder of the weight he carried, the weight of his past actions, of his failures as your guardian. He carefully placed the letter beside the photo of you both, sitting together, a snapshot of somewhat happier times, a month after he and you arrived in camp. The Morgans, written at the bottom, as Dutch had called you both. Your eyes were not smiling, they were empty of the mischief and the liveliness which you always held. It clearly showed how unhappy you were being separated from the home you held dear to your heart. He dragged you into this life when you barely had the chance to enjoy your childhood. And he failed to see this at the time, blinded by only his promise to keep you at his side.

I’m still.... your sister.

That plea of yours haunts him to this very day. With a heavy heart, Arthur rose from where he sat, the sun casting long shadows over the camp. He made his way to your grave, each step a reminder of the distance between them now, a chasm he had never imagined would grow so vast.

He knelt down, pulling a few wildflowers from the ground nearby, bright yellow blooms that reminded him of your bubbly laughter. They were vibrant, like the memories he held close to his heart. As he laid them gently atop the grave, a swell of guilt washed over him, choking him with the realization that you had taken the blame upon yourself.

You had written about not wanting him to live with regret, but how could he not? The dark and violent tendencies that had seeped into his life had cast a shadow over everything, over the once innocent and wholesome relationship, filled with just laughter, jokes, care and bickering, and now they had taken you away from him. Arthur thought of the times he had let his anger consume him, the threats he’d made in fits of rage, the moments he failed to protect you in the way a brother should.

"This is on me," he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "You didn’t deserve this... none of it."

He brushed his fingers over the grave, feeling the cool earth beneath, as if trying to connect with you one last time. He wished he could tell you that he’d change, that he’d find a way to channel his fury into something constructive rather than destructive. But the truth was, that change seemed too far away, and the regret felt too real.

The flowers seemed to wilt under the weight of his sorrow, and he fought the urge to crumble right there beside you like he did every day when he visited you. Maybe, just maybe a simple word of sympathy from him that night could have prevented this, "I’m so sorry, (Y/N)," he choked out, his heart heavy with guilt. "I’m so damn sorry, m-my little Chumchum."

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the camp, but for Arthur. He stayed there, kneeling at your grave, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could have been the brother you needed, wishing he could have saved you from the darkness that ultimately claimed your light. Even after killing and gutting alive the ones involved, from Linda to those men, nothing could calm his heart.

It might take a lifetime to heal from your death, but it would take a thousand more to forgive himself.

(AN: Did you cry? I sure did. PS. This was the first time I wrote on this topic so just wanted to say that if you know someone who is going thru smth or even if not, just be kind to others around you and value each other's presence. And if you are goin thru smth be sure to know that this life is a gift and also a test and there is always someone out there who is waiting for you and loves you with all their might, every cell in ur body works for YOU. Thanks for reading, stay hydrated and peace ‎♡‧₊˚)

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averycutesalamander · 3 months ago

Text

Brighter than the Sun, Bigger than the Moon

wc: 8k. hurt/comfort, angst with a happy (kinda bittersweet?) ending, warning for vague mentions of sex. also up on ao3 if that's your preference

One of the greatest mysteries in the universe is that of soulmates.

They’ve existed for as long as history itself – perhaps even longer. No one knows if it’s the influence of an Aeon, or if it’s something stranger; the most recent theory is that Aha is behind it all, but it’s a joke to even think about getting a straight answer from THEM. Not every soul bond is the same, and they don’t even have to be romantic or sexual; plenty of them start and remain as entirely platonic, but either way, you have a partner for life. The details differ person-by-person as well; some have matching marks, some have a red string, some can't see color until they meet.

Shared dreams are on the uncommon end of the spectrum - even more so when they live on different planets. Such is the case for you and the boy who will later be known as Boothill.

When he first sees you in his dream, he thinks little of it; you’re another unknown face among a sea of strangers. He’s busy climbing a seemingly endless mountain, chasing a spectacularly evasive lizard that’s as large as a cow; Nick has just started talking about teaching him how to ride horses, and damn it all, he just can’t wait. Just when he manages to climb on its back, the earth shakes underneath him, and he starts to slide off – then, out of nowhere, you appear on the beast’s back, grabbing his hand and pulling him back on.

When he really sees you for the first time, he thinks your smile is brighter than the sun.

Even as a kid, he's deeply charmed by you. When he mentions the friend he made in his dream one night during dinner, Nick and Graey are so overjoyed that they light up the whole room with their grins. You're his soulmate – but, really, all he cares about is that you're very funny and nice and are a lot of fun to play with. Every night, you talk and play games and run around in elaborate environments that the two of you create together. The dream can be static, if you want it to be – so the two of you make a giant oak tree in the middle of a field to mark your names on, and mutually decide to meet there every night. Eventually, you start to mark your heights on it; the notches get higher and higher every year, and you joke that you'll need to start climbing branches if he gets much taller.

As a teen, he tries to teach you horseback riding, but it turns out that trying to do things that only one of you understands is a lot harder in the dream, especially when that task involves an animal that neither of you can quite control; eventually, you promise him that one day, you'll visit his home, and he can teach you in person.

That's the thing, though. Neither of you have a damn clue where his planet is. You searched for it when he told you the name, the syllables clear and crisp on his tongue – but you can't find any matches, which leaves you with little to go on. And he certainly won't be able to find you, but…

Both of you try not to worry about it. You'll find some way to meet, eventually. You're soulmates, after all.

You're with him as he grows into an adult, from a sweet boy to an equally sweet man, though he now reserves most of the sugar for you. You're with him the night after he makes his first kill, after the first bloody drops of justice stain his hands. You're with him the night after he claims his first bounty; when you ask how much he got for it, the two of you spend an embarrassing length of time trying to figure out the value of each other's currencies. You're with him the night after he takes his first bullet wound; though he's put on a strong face for Nick and Graey, he lets himself whine dramatically into your neck, bemoaning how fussy Graey has been and how he'll have to obey his order for bed rest, lest he invoke his wrath.

And every step of the way, he's with you, too - comforting you on bad days and celebrating with you on good ones, hugging you through friend breakups and laughing with you over inane drama. When one of your close friends dies, he holds you while you sob, gently rocking you; when you recover, he quietly asks if there's anything you want to do in the dream to remember them by – a memorial. With your voice raw and your lips trembling, you tell him about a tradition on your planet – one where you plant something in memory of the lost; you are obligated to care for it, naturally, and as the plant grows, you will heal with it as well. You decide to plant a cypress, not too far from the oak; he helps you pat down the dirt around it, the dust on your skin washing away with your tears.

There are good times, too. On one of your birthdays, he tries to figure out how to conjure some malt juice for you to try – but the whiskey is awfully hard to get right, and the flavor never quite matches reality. You try to let him taste some bizarre fruity drink from your home, only to have the exact same problem. “Why is it sour?” you grouch, a cute little pout on your lips. “It should be sweet, and just a little tart!” He watches you speak with fond, dreamy eyes, soaking in your warmth like the sun. No, he thinks, the sun doesn't even compare.

You're still fledgling adults when you first tell him you love him.

You say it so simply, so easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world; your head rests on your hands as you lounge in the pleasantly fuzzy grass, your eyes soft and tender in a way he never knows how to handle. “I love you,” you tell him, right in the middle of a fifteen-minute ramble about his latest bounty.

He stops dead, every function in his brain going on pause. After a beat too long, he stutters, “I– Really?”

Your smile widens. “Yeah. Bigger than the moon.”

He throws up his brows dramatically, just in the way that always makes you laugh. “Really?” he drawls, faking skepticism. “The moon’s pretty fuckin’ big, sunshine.”

Your snicker makes his whole body light up with warmth. “Yeah, that's the point.”

As the two of you mature, you get closer - a lot closer, as soulmates often do. The night he chooses to kiss you isn't because of some other special event; perhaps the stars in your dream make you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps he just wants to do it for no reason in particular. Either way, he kisses you, clumsy and wanton and embarrassingly lovestruck, and you reciprocate with just as much passion, making sweet little noises into his mouth as he nibbles at your tongue with blunt teeth.

It becomes routine, then. When he first leaves the waking world and enters your shared dream, he kisses you sweetly in greeting before asking about your day. When it's time to wake, he gives you another as a parting gift - deep and passionate and longing, some nights more than others. And with every night that passes, your touches get a little bolder, a little needier, a little hungrier; he licks into your mouth with enough fervor to steal your breath away, and you moan so prettily under him that he feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest.

The topic of sex comes up eventually, if a bit hesitantly. Somehow, he's more shy about talking about it than you, but after some back-and-forth, both of you agree that you'd like to save it for the real thing. When he sinks into you for the first time, he wants to really feel you, wants to hold you in his arms, wants to nibble at your skin without an inch of distance between the two of you – because as wonderful as it is to kiss you in the dream, he just knows that it won't compare to the real thing.

Eventually, he finds that little girl in the snow; as he tells you about her, about her cheeks rounded with baby fat, about her sweet brown eyes, about the way she tugs on his hair every chance she gets, you smile brilliantly enough to put the sun to shame. You ask what her name is, and he just shrugs. “Never been good at naming things,” he says; he named his first horse Blackjack because he won it in a game of blackjack - simple as that. You laugh – that sweet laugh that always makes his heart skip – and think about it for a time, staring at the impossible stars as you ponder. You rattle off a few names that you think would be cute, mostly just as an idle exercise - but when he hears "Clementine," his eyes light up.

"That's the one," he tells you, staring at you with a love warm enough to melt ice. "That's her name. It's a cute one, ain't it, sunshine?”

He loves you. He's known for years, for his whole life, from the moment you reached down and offered him your hand; he loves you more than the sunlight, more than the shimmering stars in the sky, more than a fresh breeze on a hot summer day. He's always loved you, and not a damn thing will change that.

He'll have to marry you, once the two of you finally meet in person; he thinks he wouldn't be able to look at your hands without imagining a pretty ring on your finger.

And then the men in black arrive.

He's immediately wary, he tells you – but when he describes them in more detail, about the strange device they gave him that granted impossible knowledge, your expression darkens like the sky before a storm. He wishes he felt anything other than dread when you confirm his suspicions.

“That's the IPC,” you mumble, your eyes distant and quietly resentful – he's never seen such a severe look on your face. “You should be careful, honey. They're always bad news, no matter where they go.”

Neither of you could anticipate just how right you were.

Once the fighting begins, your worry increases with every day that passes. “I know it's awful, sweetheart, but… You should try to find somewhere for your folks to escape to.” Your eyes are dull with terror – fear for him, for his family, for his home, for his life. “And you should go with them. No one wins against the IPC.”

He scoffs, prickling subtly. “You're tellin' me to just run? That I should just let ‘em do whatever the fuck they please?”

There's a gravity to your sorrow – like you're grieving a tragedy that hasn't happened yet. “Maybe you'll hate me for saying this, but… yeah, I think you should run.” You turn away from him, wiping your freshly budding tears away. He doesn't move to comfort you. “It's better to lose and survive than to lose and die. At least there would be something left.”

“We ain't gonna lose,” he spits, glowering at your back. He doesn't feel ready to wake up, but he doesn't want to be here anymore. “You'll see.”

It's the first fight you've ever had.

Neither of you know that it will be the last.

They lose.

They're crushed beneath the cruel boot of absolute power, of weaponry that they can barely comprehend. One by one, his siblings, his friends – all of them die, their lives stolen in squabbles that they never win.

For weeks, he doesn't meet you by the oak tree. For weeks, he takes refuge in the dark forest you once played in, the pine needles beginning to crumble from the withering trees. He thinks, and plans, and plots – but he does so alone, still fuming over his hurt pride.

But his pride does nothing for him when the world is aflame, when his home has crumbled into charred wood, when his family has been reduced to ash, when his entire life has gone up in smoke.

When he finally returns to the oak tree, you're already waiting there, your shoulders hunched and the air deathly still. The leaves on the oak are beginning to yellow at the edges; the grass in the field around you has begun to shrivel; the sky has been muddled with clouds so dark that they look like ink.

For a long, long moment, he stands and stares, suddenly feeling as if he's been hollowed out. Then, as if you hear his heart crying out for you, you look up at him and his tear-smeared face and his red-rimmed eyes–

And you know.

He falls to pieces in your arms. You don't breathe a word of anger to him – only quiet, futile comforts and gentle apologies. He cries so hard that he feels like he’s been gutted, like he’s been dissected, like he’s been bled out and left to dry. His anguish and regret and anger bleed from his eyes, staining your dream with grief.

He's an idiot. He was such a fucking idiot, thinking it was a good idea to abandon you after that spat. It seems so goddamn stupid now that he's looking at your tired, worried face, now that he sees the evidence of your pain all around him, in the fields and in the sky.

In that moment, he makes two promises to himself:

One: he'll never leave you alone like that again, no matter what. Even if he's angry, even if he's annoyed, even if he has to go out of his way, even if fate itself tries to keep you apart – he will never leave you.

Two: he's going to slaughter that man.

“I'm gonna fuckin’ butcher him,” he rasps, his voice ragged from sobbing. “The one that gave the order. I'm gonna find that son of a bitch, and I'm gonna make him wish he weren't ever born.”

“Okay,” you respond quietly, like a wisp of smoke. “You'll… It'll be really difficult. If he's an executive…”

“I've got a plan.” His voice sounds more somber than he'd like, but the anger sank beneath the surface the moment he laid eyes on you again, the moment he saw the leaves withering on the oak tree.

He tells you about the half-baked plan he's got brewing. He's going to commandeer a ship and find someone that can make him invincible. While he bears the weakness and complications of flesh and blood, while he's weighed down by his mortality, he'll never be able to slaughter his way to the top.

So he'll cast aside his mortality, his morality, the sanctity of his body.

He has to admit that he's grateful that you don't protest. You don't try to stop him, don't waste your time failing to convince him; you only listen, your eyes sad and dark. And in the following days, you earn his gratitude a thousand times over; when you search for his planet now, you get a match – and with your guidance in this new, terrifying world, he finds a mechanic that will help him begin his hunt in earnest.

(You don't tell him about the official records that the IPC put down for his planet – how his people “died in a mysterious disaster.” His cup is already overflowing with rage; you worry that if it fills any further, he'll collapse.)

The night before he meets with the mechanic is a somber one.

“Please be safe,” you whisper, as fragile as a breath of wind. “Please. Promise you'll come back to me.”

“I promise,” he tells you, firm and earnest. He reaches up, cupping your face in both hands, thick and rough with callouses. “I'll come back, sweetheart. I promise.” Almost hesitantly, tentative to bridge the gap, he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, sunshine.”

The smile you give him is tired and weary – dimmer than the stars.

“I love you too,” you answer, your throat tight, “bigger than the moon.”

You'll be brighter than the sun again, one day – he'll be sure of it. Even if he has to strangle the light from the sky with his bare hands, he'll be sure of it.

He's not quite prepared for the long, aching hours he spends in limbo, while his humanity is surgically removed and replaced with cold, unmoving steel.

The darkness has seeped into every seam of his body, creeping into the cracks of his spirit like an invasive weed, the roots disturbing the fractured pieces of his heart.

He wonders, for a time, if any of this is worth it at all; if his family would even want him to strive for vengeance like this; if Nick and Graey would be happier if he settled down with you and forgot the bitter past, letting the wounds heal, letting the ash turn to dirt until it blooms with new growth. He can almost hear Graey’s voice in his ear. “Nothing can change the past, sweetpea. When something breaks and can’t be fixed, you have to let it go.”

He thinks of you – of your sad, tired eyes, of how desperately you held him when he last dreamed.

The heavy chains of grief bind him, sinking him deeper into the black.

But then he thinks of little Clementine, of her bright laughter, of her wobbling steps – and the doubt is incinerated in a fire hotter than the sun, the chains melting and reforming into an armor that cuts inside and out.

He claws his way out of the dark, his heart burning with rage, his chest aching with sadness.

“Congrats. You’re pretty hard to kill.”

He wants to laugh, bitter and acidic.

Yeah. Yeah, he sure is.

When he prepares to go into rest mode for the first time, a faint note of dread rings in his chest, sharp and inexplicable. Ever since he woke in this new body, he’s felt off – which is to be expected, of course, but…

This feeling – this disconnect, this vertigo, this tension – he can’t quite put his finger on it. And as he drifts into sleep, it nags at him, clinging like a tick.

Except–

It's like he only blinks. One moment, his systems are going into sleep mode, his heart pounding with anticipation; in the next, he's awake again. He checks the time, and it's four hours later.

No.

This can't be happening. This has to be a fluke. He has to be able to fix this.

He can't lose you.

The next day, he slams open the door to the surgeon's dingy back office, his steel fists clenched and his eyes burning. When he demands answers, she merely shrugs with far too much nonchalance.

“Soulmates are pretty tricky. When I removed part of your brain to sync the rest to the neurochip, it probably screwed something up.” She watches him fume with an idle gaze, then shrugs again. “Sorry. It's not like you mentioned it or anything.”

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw groans. “Fix it.”

She sighs, openly exhausted. “I can’t undo what’s already been done – just like I can’t restore your body. You’re out of luck.”

(He’s been out of luck for months.)

For a long, long moment, he considers riddling her full of bullets. But a sense of emptiness begins to sink into him, taking root in his chest, hollowing him out. He feels like he's going to be sick.

He's lost his home, his family, his little Clementine, his life, his body, his dream–

And now he's lost you, too. Because how could he ever find you in a cosmos as vast and infinite as this, when he's not even sure you ever told him the name of your planet?

Just like that, he has another person to grieve.

And one of the worst things about it all?

The IPC doesn't even have all of the blame.

He spends the following years in a sort of daze, clinging to his hatred as an anchor – because it's all he has, now. He loses himself in violence – lets it seep into his core until it's fully saturated his soul. He fills the cracks with IPC blood until he's nearly unrecognizable, until he feels nothing but the visceral excitement that comes with bloodshed. He suffocates the grief under a thousand corpses, and piles on a thousand more for good measure.

Whenever he dreams, now, it's always nightmares – something he's never had to deal with before, blessed as he was with your shared dream. The first is full of flames and ash. He scrambles desperately through miles of burning rubble, his fingers bleeding and broken; thousands of screams echo in his ears, but loudest of all is yours, ragged and broken as you beg him to find you, to come back to you, to join him in the fire – doesn't he want to rest? Doesn't he want to be with you? Doesn't he love you?

“You promised,” you cry, so pained that he feels his heart shatter like glass. “You promised to come back to me.”

He wakes with a heaving breath, feeling very distinctly like he's about to hurl his guts out, his eyes burning with tears that will never spill again.

The nightmares only get worse with time. He sleeps less and less, pushing his systems to the limit, getting upgrades that let him stay awake for longer and longer.

And then, one night, after years of silence, he dreams that he's beneath the oak tree.

The leaves have fallen off, the branches clawing at the black, starless sky. The plains around him are empty and dead, the grass blackened like a fire had raged through. In the far distance, he can see the forest the two of you once ran through; the trunks are bare and charred, and the ground below is coated with lifeless ash.

Your dream is dead.

But there, by the oak tree, just beneath the faded carvings of your names and the notches marking your heights…

A collection of plants, most of which take him some time to identify: the muted red leaves of a sapling spindle tree, tattered and worn; the tall stalks of an asphodel, its flowers dry and browning; bunches of primrose, whose blooms are paler than bone; stout meadow saffrons, whose petals are dusted with frost.

For a long moment, he wonders why they’re there–

And then he remembers what you did when your friend died, all those years ago – and his heart shatters into a thousand pieces, never to be repaired.

He finds himself there a few more times over the years, and it feels like a punishment every time. Most nights, the dream is more of a blur than anything, smeared and warping like he can't focus his eyes. He can't interact with it anymore; it feels more like he's a passing viewer, on the outside looking in through a window blurring with the pouring rain. Always just out of reach.

Always missing you – if it’s even real at all.

On a few occasions, he swears he can hear you talking, your voice indecipherable, but clearly anguished. He mostly convinces himself that these are just delusions – mere wishful thinking.

Once, all he hears is the heartwrenching sound of you sobbing. Maybe not wishful thinking, then.

Every single time, he wonders what he did to earn a fate like this – to earn this kind of torment, this kind of pain, this kind of loss.

No god ever answers.

And then, one day while he's chasing a bounty into a busy marketplace–

He sees you.

He stops dead in the middle of shoving his way through the crowd, deaf to the protests of the people around him. From this angle, from between the moving bodies, the most he can see is a sliver of your face – but he could never forget the swell of your cheeks, the arch of your nose, the shape of your ears, the texture of your hair. It's only a little, but it's enough.

He abandons his bounty without a single thought in his head – now, he's weaving through the crowd with a different target in mind. He's getting closer, only a few bodies separating him from you. His eyes never leave you, his vision tunneling–

When you turn to walk away, you turn toward him – and it's like your gaze is magnetized toward him, like you could sense something was amiss. And when your eyes lock onto his, the entire world grinds to a halt.

You've aged somewhat; the laugh lines on your cheeks are just a little more prominent, but the crease in your brow is new, and your eyes are duller than he remembers. There’s a weariness to you – a sort of permanent exhaustion that he’s never seen on your face.

He doesn't even register that you're rushing toward him, too absorbed in savoring the sight of you after so many years apart. It's only when you're just a few feet away that he murmurs your name, so soft that he's certain the noise of the market has swallowed it, but your eyes widen like you heard him anyway.

He doesn't realize that he's reaching for you until you grasp his hand in yours, cold metal against warm skin; his hands are no longer the shape they used to be – the shape that molded perfectly against your palm. Without a moment of hesitation, you begin to tug him through the crowd, guiding him into a tiny alleyway between two crowded buildings.

The moment you turn to look at him again, you drop your shopping bag to the ground without a second thought. With trembling hands, you reach up and cup his cheeks – cheeks that are too smooth, too cold; cheeks that lack the smatter of freckles he always had, lost and forgotten when his skin was replaced; cheeks that are missing the scars he gathered over the years, like the one he earned falling off a horse for the first time.

You whisper that name – the name of a dead man, of the man he once was, of the man he can never be again – and he's never heard you sound so broken, so desperate; his heart aches like it's been crushed.

“I'm… I'm not him anymore, sunshine,” he rasps, his throat so dry that it feels like his tongue is clogged with ash. “I can't be him anymore.”

“It's still you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Even if you're different, it's still you.”

His eyes burn so horribly that he wonders if he's actually going to cry, if the weight of his anguish will break the rules of his new body.

Suddenly, you surge forward, wrapping your arms so tightly around him that, if he were still human, you would’ve crushed the air straight out of his lungs. “I thought… I thought you were dead,” you sob, clutching him even tighter, like you're trying to dent his body. “I thought you died during your surgery, or didn't recover, or– or–”

He presses his lips against your temple, his steel arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders. When he breathes in, your smell hits him all at once; he never could smell you in the dream – only a strange void of scent, like something was removed from his brain before he could process it.

Somehow, you smell familiar. Somehow, you smell like home.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one hand slowly petting the back of your head. “I’m right here.”

He lets you cry into his hold just as you did for him, so many years ago, his chest aching like something inside him shattered to pieces; when your knees begin to fold out from under you, he carefully picks you up with one arm beneath your thighs, bearing your weight with inhuman ease. You take the opportunity to cling your legs around him, gripping him like your life depends on it – like his life depends on it.

He doesn't have a clue how long he holds you like that, rubbing circles into your back as you cry and cry and cry. You calm slowly, your breath hitching and your nose sniffling while you recover. Finally, you ask him to take you home; he carries you in one arm and your groceries in the other, following your guidance down the streets as you cling to him like he's going to disappear from under your grip. When he reaches your apartment, your hands are shaking too hard to unlock the door, so he gently pries the keys from your shivering fingers and carries you inside. You direct him to your bedroom, your groceries abandoned in the entryway.

He settles you into the sheets like you're made of glass, but neither of you want a single millimeter of distance; he cradles you in his arms and curls around you, murmuring quiet reassurances when you begin to shake and cry again.

Finally, when your breathing is calm and even once more, he tentatively asks, “Did… Did you plant flowers in the dream? Under the oak tree?”

You blink up at him with red-rimmed eyes, a little astonished. “How did you… know that?”

“I ended up there, a few times,” he says quietly, thumbing away the remnants of tears from your cheeks. “Thought I was making the whole thing up.”

You stare at him like you can't believe he's real. “...It was for you,” you confess, so quietly that he probably wouldn’t have heard it if he were still human.

His chest aches with a grief that isn't his. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to comfort you; he fears that part of him died like everything else. “I love you,” he rasps, stupid and earnest.

A little smile graces your lips – a little quirk in the corner of your mouth; he feels his heart sing in response. “...Bigger than the moon.”

Your exhaustion catches up to you, sooner or later, and he lets himself rest shortly after you fall into an uneasy sleep, a tiny sliver of hope in his broken heart.

He wakes up under the oak tree.

The dream is clearer than it has been since his rebirth – so sharp and vivid that he can taste the ash from the forest on his tongue. For a fraction of a second, he wonders if he'll be flesh and bone again, if his hands will mold perfectly to yours – but he looks down and finds them to be just as hard and cold as usual.

You don't seem to mind. In fact, you barely seem to think about his new body at all. You still hold his hand the same, still kiss his cheek the same, still hug him the same. He can't bend for you, not anymore – but you bend around him without a breath of complaint.

The two of you talk, eventually, about everything and nothing. You update him on the direction your life has taken, the things that have changed. He doesn’t miss the ways you talk around the worst parts, about the years you spent depressed, about the veil of darkness that overtook your life; you don’t miss how he does the exact same thing. Neither of you press about it.

He stays with you for days, into the indeterminate future. He keeps every thought of his hunt out of sight, out of mind; he's been burning the candle on both ends for years, and now that he's in your arms, the exhaustion has sank its teeth into him.

So he stays. He takes care of you, spoils you rotten, desperate to make up for all of the lost time. You’re absolutely inseparable. Everything goes on pause to integrate him into every second of your life; perhaps that’s not the healthiest course of action, but neither of you are willing to acknowledge it, let alone change it. You talk during the day and while you sleep, and when you aren’t talking, you’re savoring each other’s company in silence.

He relearns you, and you relearn him. He notes all of the ways you’ve changed, all the new scars, the ways your face has shifted with age, the ways your speech has changed. You note all of the subtleties of his new body, his new eyes, his sharpened teeth, the way his feet have themselves been turned into boots. He shows you the cannon built into his left arm, all of the dozens of little utilities and tools built into him, all of the scuffs and bumps and scrapes that he hasn’t repaired yet.

It takes time to settle into something resembling familiarity. There’s a caution between both of you, at first; it’s hard to pin down, but it’s like both of you are terrified that the other is going to disappear, like you can’t let your guard down in case it’s all ripped away.

But he stays, and so do you.

When you first ask him if he wants to make a memorial in the dream for the ones he lost, he thinks his brain functions completely halt.

He never did get the chance to make graves for them – any of them.

After a long, long silence, he swallows, his throat thick with grief, and manages to nod.

After the grave markers are down, it takes him a great deal of time to decide what would be best – what they would like the most. You help him form a rocky hill in the plains, within viewing distance of the old oak, but far enough to be inconspicuous. You grow a small grove of trees to coat the whole area in dappled shade, granting him privacy to work on his own as you busy yourself; growing things in the dream has become a momentous task in the time you’ve been apart, and it’ll take some time to get everything right.

He tries not to think too hard about what to put down. His heart will know best, after all – not his head.

A well-crafted wooden swing, just like the one Nick and Graey had on their porch; a small garden plot, dense with lettuce and artichoke and tomatoes; an eagle’s nest, at the peak of the tallest tree you made; a herd of roaming horses, their spotted coats gleaming in the sunlight; a thin creek with tiny waterfalls and even tinier fish; a thousand other tiny details, one for each of his siblings and friends.

When he makes the clementine tree, he stares at it for several long, aching minutes. He's silent and still for so long that you come to check on him, a furrow in your brow. (He doesn't like that he's becoming familiar with such an expression on your face. Contentment fits you so much better.)

He speaks before you can ask. “I'm alright,” he lies, his voice thick with grief. “I just…”

You approach him slowly, a bit like the way he would with a spooked horse. When you gently reach up to cup his cheeks, it’s only when you smear wetness across his face that he realizes that…

He’s… crying.

He barks out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving.

Of course. Of course he can.

When he manages to compose himself, he turns back to the memorials with blurry eyes.

There's only one thing missing, now.

He could just make it out of thin air, he knows – but that feels… cheap, too simple, too… cold.

It takes hours of effort, as it did the first time, but you sit by him all the while, trying to coax flowers to bloom from the dry, barren earth. The scrape of his knife and the tap of his chisel and the rasp of sandpaper fill the too-silent air. When he finishes his work, his hands ache with phantom pain and his fingers have a few new scrapes – but it's all worth it.

He wills the limbs of the clementine tree to bend into a cradle, sheltered by soft leaves and plump fruit. With a trembling grip, he settles the tiny guitar into the gentle hold of the branches, watching them curl protectively around it, ensuring that it will never fall.

It looks comfortable there, somehow. He can almost picture her in his arms, trying to scramble up the tree with her pudgy little fists, reaching for the strings with clumsy fingers.

She never got to taste the fruit she was named after.

When he bursts into tears again, you stand by his side in an instant, holding him silently in your arms. When he sinks to his knees, brought down by the weight of his anguish, you cradle him against your chest, slowly stroking his hair.

For years, he thought he’d run through this seemingly endless wellspring of grief, that he’d truly hollowed himself out, that he’d manage to excise everything that wasn’t fuel for the raging fire.

For a long while, he stares at the scene he's created – at the swing rocking in the wind, at the eagles flying overhead, at the horses prancing in the field, at the babbling creek, at the tiny blooms on the clementine tree.

He decides there's something else he'd like to add.

Slowly, tentatively, he shifts to look at you. You must see some hesitation in his gaze, because without missing a beat, you cup his cheeks and ask, “Is there anything I can do for you, sweetheart? Ask and it's yours.”

He swallows, working his jaw. “...Y'know that tradition ya taught me about, when we were young? About the plants?"

Your eyes widen into saucers. “You want to…”

“I want you to… help me,” he chokes, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “To… To help me figure out what to plant for who, and to help me keep everything alive.”

You stare at him with a quiet sort of awe, an immense but tender kind of love that feels like the warm swaddle of a blanket. Then, finally, you nod. “Of course,” you croak. “Of course I’ll help you.”

He tells you about all of them – all of the friends he made and lost, all of the siblings he grew up with. One by one, you work through them all, telling him the meanings of the plants you choose for each person.

He tells you about Simon – a smug little bastard he grew up with, who kept his arrogance until the day he died. He'd challenge him to bizarre, impromptu contests at every opportunity, racing him back to the house for dinner and proposing that he'd never be able to catch as many fireflies as him. “Loyal to a fault and dumb as a bag a’ rocks,” Boothill huffs, staring at the jar of softly glowing fireflies he'd set beneath a tree. “Sorry bastard couldn't lasso to save his life.”

You laugh quietly. “Mm… Something to represent loyalty, for sure. Maybe… perseverance? Ambition?”

He hums in agreement. Ambition. Simon really was ambitious, wasn’t he?

Before long, his grave is blooming with tall spikes of red and violet gladiolus, intermingled with white hollyhock, framed by the fuzzy petals of edelweiss.

He tells you about Jess – the snarkiest woman he ever met, and clever to boot. They met early into his bounty hunting days; she approached him in a bar and flirted with him so relentlessly that he almost didn't notice her trying to filch his wallet. Turns out that she'd mistaken him for a target she was hunting, and had a habit of robbing her bounties blind before turning them in and doubling her money – and sometimes she'd even make a bet with them before a game of pool, just to add insult to injury. “Sharp as a nail and wily as a fox, that one,” he laughs, eyeing the pool cue he'd set up against the rocks by the creek.

You nod in contemplation. “Intellect, ingenuity…”

His lip quirks a little, fond and wistful. “Anything to represent a wicked lil’ liar like her?”

You laugh. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

For her grave, you grow brilliant scarlet hyacinths, pencilled cranesbill geranium, and dark red snapdragons.

On and on and on you work, going through every gravestone, the air rich with memories. He laughs when he tells you about Micah – the funniest man he’s ever known, and too damn whimsical for his own good; the first time he took a bullet was after he'd literally shot himself in the foot while mucking around with his gun. He tells you about a man he only ever knew as Bark – a mute gunslinger with wicked aim, who loved to chew on pine bark. He tells you about Beau, a sweet girl that loved her horse more than anything else in the world – but when it came to shooting, there was no one as bloodthirsty as her.

For Nick and Graey, you plant asters – a symbol of love, you say, and of happiness in old age. For Nick, black-eyed susans, coltsfoot, and elderflower; for Graey, magnolias and purple irises.

For Clementine… baby's breath and cinquefoil.

It takes three nights of work to finish everything. By the end of it all, you’ve both made a brilliant garden, rich with splendor and greenery in a dream that’s only just recovering, still brown and dead and barren. But the memorials stay healthy, with his maintenance and your own.

He doesn’t have the words to express his gratitude.

…But as he hugs you tightly to his chest in the dream, fresh tears spilling from his eyes and wetting your skin, he thinks you understand.

He’ll need to leave again, eventually. He knows this. You know this. It’s an unspoken dread – one that neither of you are willing to acknowledge yet. (What if he stops dreaming when he leaves? What if he never comes back? What if you disappear while he’s gone? What if, what if, what if?)

He spends weeks with you, and in that time, the two of you manage to defrost. The light returns to your eyes, and the constant tension in his jaw fades away; you stop clinging to him like a bear trap, letting your body rest; his endless paranoia about you being found by the IPC melts away into something gentler, something more reasonable; your wounds begin to heal, and the wicked sting of grief and loneliness fades to an ache.

The night you first make love is hardly different from any other; perhaps the tender affection in your eyes makes you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps it’s for no reason in particular.

And it really is making love, not simple sex. It takes hours – not because of his limitless stamina, but because both of you refuse to do anything but savor each other. He maps your body in full for the first time, pressing tender kisses to every inch of your skin, making note of the marks he's never gotten the chance to see and keeping track of which spots make you squirm the hardest. You explore his new body with a touch so tender that it makes his heart ache, following every ridge and divot in his plating, tracing the seams, learning all of the markings and vents and ports with a reverence that leaves him dizzy.

The pace is slow and sweet as honey; you worship each other for hours in a melting pot of pleasure and satisfaction, and when he finally enters you, it feels like a missing piece of his soul has clicked into place. He kisses you so gently that your eyes well up with tears, and he presses them away with his lips as he rocks slowly into you. You cling to each other desperately, longingly, passionately, your hands hot on his metal and his fingers strong on your hips.

He makes you come with your name on his tongue. You beg for him so, so sweetly – but you never needed to beg. He would tear the stars from the sky if you asked; he would gift you the universe if you wanted it. When the exhaustion catches up to you both, you fall into the dream together, still unable to keep your hands off each other. He was right – the sensation really is different in the dream.

It’s still wonderful, because it’s you.

He’s surprised that you’re the one to bring up his departure first. You seem… more relaxed about the idea than he expected, too. He himself has been agonizing over it for weeks, the thought nagging in the back of his mind in the limbo between the waking world and the dream. But you bring it up with a sort of resignation in your face, a quiet, sad kind of acceptance that makes him want to hold you and never, ever let go.

(You don’t beg him to stay. You know that he’d cave in an instant, but you also know that he’d be restless for the rest of his life. You know he loves you, but you also know that he’s etched the memories of hatred and grief so deeply into his soul that he could never be happy without resolution.)

You love him more than life itself.

…So you let him go, no matter how reluctant both of you are.

He kisses you with every ounce of passion and love and care in his shell of a body, and he looks you in the eye, and he tells you, “I’ll come back.”

You nod, and though there are tears in your eyes, you are lacking that dim, bitter grief that you once held in a moment just like this, all those years ago. “I know.”

He leans toward you, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll come back. I promise,” he breathes, his voice tense with tears that he can only shed in dreams. “I swear it. I’ll come back. I’ll visit.”

You smile, a fragile little thing. “I know.” You press a kiss to his lips, your tears spilling over. “I know you will.” You cradle his face in your hands, and he feels like his chest caves in at what he sees on your face.

Your eyes are gleaming with love, with trust, with affection. The sun has returned to your gaze.

“I love you,” you murmur, quiet and earnest.

His lips twitch, his eyes burning. “...Bigger than the moon.”

And so he leaves, the salt of your tears stinging bitterly on his tongue.

But he dreams.

It seems like the proximity changed something in him – reignited a piece of himself that died when he did – because when he next sleeps, thousands of light years away from you, he finds himself under that oak tree.

Words can’t express his relief when he sees you sitting beneath its barren canopy, staring at the plants you’d tended to for years in his name. Their growth is wild, untamable – but they’re alive.

You’re both alive, and that’s all that matters.

The dream gradually recovers as both of you do. The dark clouds begin to fade in the twilight of the rising sun; fresh sprigs of grass sprout in the fields; pine trees begin to poke out from the ash; the bitter wind begins to warm. But, perhaps most importantly of all–

There are tiny, fresh buds growing on the jagged branches of the oak tree.

Winter has begun to reach its end, and spring is blossoming beneath the ash.

He'll learn how to love again, how to dream again, even if it isn't the same; even if you've both changed. Because if there's one thing he's always known…

…it's that his love for you is brighter than the sun, and bigger than the moon.

#sal.txt #sal.bttsbttm #boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #gn reader #x reader #reader insert #this was meant to be a 100 word drabble. oops lol #if you saw this when the formatting was fucked up no you didnt #angst #hurt/comfort

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svtcrus · 2 years ago

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Broken Walls || rezef hill x fem!reader

a/n : found this in my notes and really liked how this turned out. a little change of pace, gotta put out sum fluff💀 but I hope yall like this !

synopsis : rezef hill finds himself falling in love with his sister's dear friend.

rezef never once expected himself to find a woman he'd fall in love with if he was completely honest. he'd expected to find himself at the altar marrying a stranger, just days after being told he would have a arranged marriage.

he never expected to find true love due to the fact every woman would come flaunting to him with their "oh so high" status, and preposterous personalities. or perverted nobles trying to seduce him for the fact he is the only crown prince of the empire. a handsome, ambitious crown prince where every lady believed they could tear down his walls. a stupid fairytale dream, others thought. a fairytale dream he thought would remain a mere dream.

this feeling, love, was something he believed he didn't need. he didn't deserve. as him being the future emperor, such boastful feelings were deemed unnecessary to him. especially with the heavy influence of his father and the late empress's torn relationship.

but then you came along. your small visits to the castle to visit your dear friend cayena, his beloved sister. would soon enough catch the lapis eyes of the tyrannical prince.

once he saw you as just his sisters close friend. then after a social background check, he thought of you as either a pawn for his ascension, or a nuisance to his precious elder sister. oh how much he regrets at such rude ideas now.

your smile that lit up around the castle, you seemed to always appear in his sight right after he's had another raging outburst or when he simply had a bad day. were those moments a sign?

he'd always notice you from high up in the castle hallways, looking down at the garden where your laughter erupted whenever you and cayena talked.

he'd soon find himself smiling at how graceful you danced, as your dress followed with your elegant movements during parties you both attended to. you radiated so much warmth wherever you went.

he remembers when he first asked you for a dance on his birthday. you didn't act like how those other ladies would. ladies who'd flaunt their "beauty" as they beg on their knees for him to dance with them. or ladies who would weirdly accept when he's forced to set foot on the ballroom floor. instead you accepted his request with much respect and eloquent joy. you were just, different.

"oh your highness the crown prince, I would love to dance with you," you said so sweetly. your gentle voice echoed in his head that very night.

he remembers how his hands held your beautiful body, your precious hands. how his eyes couldn't help but stare into your crystal orbs, and painted lips. you were a treasure, he so desperately wanted to keep.

the way you smiled at him with so much honesty when you danced with him. despite the glares of other noble ladies who were completely outraged and envious of your spotlight, you had paid no mind.

soon after that ball, he'd invite you for a day of tea. trying to embrace the moments his sister had enjoyed whenever you had tea with her.

tea time soon turned to walks around his own garden, then horseback riding, to him spoiling you with gifts when you two snuck out into the capital in disguise.

he reminisces to the time you had giddily told him to sneak out the palace one night. to go see the lake you loved since you were a child. together, alone.

that was when he had fully let himself sink into this love he realized he had for you. and if it wasn't love, he didn't know what this butterfly fleeting emotion would be.

you let him grasp the missed times of his youth, experience the fun things a child would normally do. you let out his inner child, you became the first person to fully see his vulnerability. you became the first and only person to break down those wall's everyone else wanted to break.

then one day on one your escapades. he confessed.

"Y/n.. I have something to say. for quite some time I have found this liking towards you. everything i do with you has always given me happiness, a happiness I didn't know I deserved. hah.. your sweet meaningful nothings, your beautiful smile. who knew I'd be so dumb in love...

what I'm trying to say is.. I love you."

he was only in a white blouse shirt and a hooded cape that day. never expecting to be professing his love in such inappropriate clothing. to ask you to be his, his future crown princess. yet here he was.

oh the way the way your eyes sparkled, despite the clear tears that were ready to fall. he hadn't expected you to cry, his eyes widened with panic, hands on your cheeks holding you with worry.

you softly chuckled at his reaction, you placed your smaller hand atop of his. leaning into his hold as you looked at him so blissfully. the moment where you had answered the question he dreaded for you to respond to.

"I love you too your highness, Rezef"

soon enough rezef proposed to you at that same place. when you swung around as he held you with his strong arms. tears streaming your face, while he kissed the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. you both couldn't have been more happier.

━━━┅━━━━*✧·̩͙♧︎🛩️♧︎·̩͙✧*━━━━┅━━

©️ @svtcrus || 08.07.2023

#cowon.writings #rezef hill #rezef x reader #rezef #rezef hill x reader #the villainess is a marionette #manhwa #manhwa x reader #manhwaxreader #the villainess is a marionette x reader

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cultofdixon · 1 year ago

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“I love you” told in a silent way

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Eldest Greene!Daughter • The archer and eldest Greene daughter grew close when they met and even turned into a few things. Little did they know that they were expecting • ANGST/SFW/NSFW - Implied Sex / Quickies / Hickeys / Biting • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Self Harm Scars / Nausea / Talks of Abortion / Amputation / Pregnancy & Birth

Requested by: Anon

Daryl tried to be sneaky when it came to getting one of Hershel’s horses. He thought it be easier to maneuver through the woods on horseback instead of his bike. Wouldn’t be as loud either.

The man didn’t know anything about horses. Especially with putting the saddle and reins on. But he was trying to be quick so that none of the Greenes would notice.

Little did he know he was being watched.

“You forgot the saddle pad. Protects their back from the saddle…the friction and all”

The youngest Dixon quickly dropped the saddle and didn’t think of aiming his crossbow given the woman he turned toward didn’t seem to be armed.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The owner of the horse you be takin’. Don’t care if you do just thought you might need a hand before you take off”

“I’ve got more questions first—-“

“You want a name or somethin’? Or like why didn’t I show my face when your group stumbled into the ranch with a half dead boy?” She tilted her head after saying all that, watching the man’s body relaxed when she said all that. “I’m Y/N Greene. The eldest Greene daughter and I didn’t show my face because I’m not all too friendly with strangers and my old man isn’t all too proud of me”

Now Daryl was completely relaxed for some strange feeling growing in his chest. This total stranger didn’t leave out anything in the initial meeting…he didn’t feel like he had to pull it out of her.

“Can I at least get your name?”

“Daryl. Uh Daryl Dixon”

“Well nice to meet yea. Let me help you get the saddle on and you can take’em wherever you need to go”

“Ain’t gonna like…question why I’d be takin’ your horse?”

“The best thing about being invisible…is I already know why you’re doing it so I’m gonna help in my smallest way” Y/N got the saddle pad from the open cabinet in the stable approaching her horse to get him set up. “You’re trying to find that Carol woman’s daughter? I’d be careful when riding. Nelly is skittish sometimes”

“That’s understandable when a sicko comes by”

“I’m saying…be more careful with anything as small as a mouse when ridin’” Y/N warns as she tightens the saddle on carefully before taking the reins and handing them to Daryl. “If you don’t come back before nightfall, I’ll come and get yea”

“Not gonna need it” Daryl frowns gripping the reins keeping his gaze to the floor until she started to walk away when he brought his eyes back on her.

When Daryl left the farm, Y/N made her existence known to the others from his group given only Lori and Daryl knew of her. Lori only knowing because she accidentally stumbled across her when she needed air after learning what happened to Carl.

The eldest Greene still kept to herself but started to be help to these new people whenever it was asked. She even understood what Maggie was talking to her about when it came to how strange some of them were with one another. But also being mainly an observer, she told her sister more details.

“Have you seen that Dixon guy recently?” Y/N asks her sister Beth watching her shake her head, leading her to leave the house heading toward the stables.

To her surprise, Hershel stood in a bit of a mood when noticing their horse was gone.

“You know who took her?”

“Yeah and I gave the okay. Now I gotta—“ Y/N went toward one of the stalls when Hershel grabbed her upper arm. “Seriously old man. What now?”

“I don’t trust these people” Hershel sung the same tune ever since this group joined. Y/N quickly pulls her arm out of his grasp avoiding eye contact as she pinches the bridge of her nose to contain herself from exploding. “First we lose another of our people because they were left alone with this guy”

“To save the sheriff’s son—-“

“Then the Glenn fella is hitting on my precious Maggie—-“

“She’s a grown ass woman who can make decisions for herself—-“

“Then your stupid decision to let one of them use one of our horses led them to ask for—-“

“SHUT IT” Y/N hissed. “I ain’t bein’ blamed for stupid shit, dad. You’re a sweet old guy that wouldn’t turn away good people but of course it’s driving yea nuts how high maintenance it is. Now get out of my way”

Her father didn’t leave the stables and watched her go into one of the stalls to push over some hay to reveal her hunting rifle strapping it on her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Going out to save one of them from whatever bullshit he got himself in”

“Seriously?! How can you easily let someone in? How can yea risk your life—-“

“I have given too much to this world that I’m not about to let it take from me. Yeah…I may not know much of this guy but some cosmic whatever is telling me he’s worth it” and with that Y/N left for the woods.

Y/N didn’t walk aimlessly like the Dixon fella might have because she grew up in these woods. She’s seen his crossbow and knows he’s a hunter but unless you know your surroundings, you’re learning as you go. Which meant the fall that Daryl took when Nelly bucked him off, Y/N knew the spot he’d fall into. Daryl had just pulled the arrow out of his side to take out the walker trying to get him but when the sounds of another undead came, he knew he was done for.

Until the sound of gunfire rung through followed by a thud. Daryl in his exhausted state looked up from where he fell finding a blurry blob that was Y/N with her rifle still in a readied position. He scoffs slightly out of annoyance toward himself mainly but a bit toward her that he directed to her when she slid the side of the slope reaching him.

“You’re an idiot…”

“Says the one bleeding” Y/N frowns setting her rifle down beside her, helping Daryl sit up with some resistance. “Gotta close that better or you’ll bleed out before we get back”

“Why do you care? If Merle were here he’d make jokes about a girl touchin’ me”

Y/N sort of ignored his words. Merle? Must be family or at least someone close he’s thinking of because of the blood loss. Least she didn’t have to worry about hallucinations…at least when she’s there.

“I just do. Is that a good enough answer for yea?”

“For now”

“Good” Y/N shrugged off her flannel leaving her in a tank top making the heat rise to Daryl’s face as he turned away when she brought her shirt around his torso to apply pressure to the wound. “When we get back, the old man will patch you up”

“How’d yea even know I’d end up here?”

“I know these woods a bit too well, Dixon”

“So…yea could’ve warned me?”

“Nah. Then that would be doubting your abilities now wouldn’t it?” Y/N frowns bringing his arm around her shoulders hearing him groan when getting back on his feet.

Getting back to where they were was a struggle and resulted in Y/N carrying Daryl on her back to the best of her ability. A few bumps along the way but they made it. Now it was a slow walk back to the farm.

Though neither of them could’ve calculated what’s about to happen, to happen.

Once the two were in the clearing, Y/N heard muffled shouting while Daryl clung onto her really feeling the blood loss get to him. His feeling instantly changed when he felt her tense beside him when the group of men came running over. Daryl scoffs straightening up the best he could, glaring at Rick who held his colt in his face once again.

“That’s the third time you pointed that thing at my head” Daryl scoffs. “Gonna pull the trigger or what?”

Then the ring of a shot powered through and nicked Daryl in the head. The force caused him to fall over and Y/N to instantly approach his side to get him on his back making sure he was still breathing.

“I was kidding” Daryl groans, squinting his eyes from the pain in his head as Rick and Shayne quickly came over to help the guy onto his feet while Y/N got up continuing to carry his gear and grow an unsettling taste in her mouth when Andrea came running over admitting to her firing.

Dale noticed the look in the Greene’s eyes and felt the need to step in front of Andrea when she made her way over to them.

“Next time, if you’re ever unsure about the shot you’re about to take? Don’t take it” Y/N kept her cool and even shot the girl a temporary smile that faded into the resting neutral while she caught up with the others.

The poor guy laid uncomfortably in the bed while Hershel got to work on his stitches. Once the info about Sophia’s possible whereabouts, Hershel couldn’t help but speak his mind.

“If you didn’t go out in the first place, my daughter wouldn’t have felt obligated to save your ass”

“No one told her to come and save me. I would’ve come back somehow”

“Given your injuries, Dixon. Be a little more thankful that Y/N girl went and saved yea” Rick scoffs picking up the map from the bed and leaving to give the man some time to rest without people bothering. Hershel followed behind Rick watching him bother Y/N to get her input on their whereabouts regarding Sophia.

Night came and everyone was having dinner in the dining room while Daryl stuck in the room he was in. Carol came and went, gave him food and thanked him for not stopping his search for Sophia. He didn’t wait to leave until the house fell quiet indicating everyone was asleep. But right as Daryl was about to sit up, Y/N quietly pushed the door open resulting in the archer scrambling to cover his back.

She’s seen them but before his sake, she wasn’t going to say anything. Y/N tossed a bottle of Tylenol in Daryl’s lap making him relax and the sheets fall from covering him. “The old man is gonna want to check your bandages later. Change them and check for infection. Yknow, the good stuff”

“At this hour?”

“Man was a vet. Overnight shifts to check on the more critical asked for late night checks. Yeah you’re a person but it’s just how he does things”

“Can’t…You like check them for me? I hate being in here”

The pondering look on Y/N’s face took a minute before falling into a neutral expression with a hint of a smile followed by a shrug.

“Your tent is the furthest from the group yeah? By the bike?”

“Wild guess”

“But I’m right, right?” Y/N smiles warmly. “I’ll have to get some stuff then meet yea there. But go out the back, that door doesn’t squeak when opening it” she tells him back on her way out of the room.

It took him a bit to get out of the house given he was stitched up and sore from the incident still. But he didn’t think he took that long when finding Y/N leaning against the tree closest to his tent smoking.

“How long—-“

“I just got here. I am faster than you given the circumstances”

“I wasn’t the one that fell on their ass after carrying me up that slope” Daryl scoffs approaching his tent to unzip it but bending slightly caused a whole lot of pain that he stopped. Y/N tapped his shoulder indicating for him to move as he did with a groan followed.

The Greene tossed her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out before opening the tent letting him in first obviously then entering herself.

“You’re gonna have to take your shirt off again, or at least unbutton enough just for me to get to your bandages”

Daryl sat on his cot with a huff and a bit of an annoyed look infused with self-hatred. “You saw’em”

“I only saw what you’re willing to show” Y/N brought herself to her knees setting her first aid box next to him on the cot watching him from the corner of her eye take off his shirt dropping it on the floor next to her. “You’re not the only one riddled with a past, or…scars that explain it. Alright, may I?” She reached to touch the bandage waiting for his approval which was a nod from his end.

Her touch is so…light Daryl thought watching her work with taking the bandage off with wetting the adhesive so it wouldn’t tug at his skin. Gentle… he held the new bandage for her watching her double check her dad’s handy work. The slightest concern graced her features but immediately dissolved.

“My stitches would’ve been neater. But it’ll do the job” Y/N comments as she took the bandage from his hand and started applying it.

“You also some form of doctor in this family?”

“Fuck no” Y/N laughs lightly. “I’ve lived in the city for so long that I’ve encountered my fill of chaos probably within the first year. But ten years later is when I decided to sell my soul back to this fucking farm”

“You hate it here?” Daryl questions instantly, watching Y/N clean up her stuff before leaning back on her hands on the ground. “This shit is a luxury. Even before the apocalypse”

“Mm. I don’t know you well enough to go into grand detail about why this place is really just a burden. But you’ve seen how the old man is. Imagine being his kid on the receiving end to his bs”

“I guess that’s fair” Daryl slipped his shirt on when listening to her speak. “Some parents aren’t fit to be parents”

“As much as that is true, maybe even speaking from your own experience. Most situations involving multiple children, there’s always a favorite. But in this case, there’s the disappointment and the two perfect daughters”

“Why are you sharing this with me?”

Y/N shrugs reaching into her back pocket taking out her pack. “You’re relaxed aren’t you?”

She got that right. She got him to stop thinking about his injury, and a little bit about how his search was pretty much a failure.

Once Y/N put her lighter away after lighting her cigarette, she only took two puffs before Daryl carefully leaned over taking it from her mouth to give it to himself.

“I’m taking that as my leave” She laughs lightly as she brought herself to uncomfortably stand in the tent, hunching over just a bit.

But as Y/N reached to take her kit, Daryl took a hold of her wrist tugging her into his lap catching a bit of a confused look from her. Making his anxiety rise slightly that he read her kindness wrong and part of her didn’t expect much.

“Do what you plan on doing, Dixon” Y/N brought her arm around his shoulders as her other hand gently made sure his bandage was secure but also place itself on his cheek.

It took him a second longer to think about his action before pressing his lips against hers. The softness of her lips against his made his heart start racing and her hand moved from his cheek to his chest to confirm such.

When the morning came, Daryl woke with a groan sitting up in his coat to find beside him being empty but Y/N still remained in the tent getting her jeans back on. He admired the work he done on her neck but his eyes fixated on the burn scars he caught a glimpse of resting on her thighs. She could sense the staring and tensed only for a moment until her pants were back on.

“There’s not enough make up in the world to cover your attack on my neck and chest. But I don’t give a fuck who notices”

“Don’t know about your family, but these folk don’t know when not to include themselves in other’s business. They are def gonna ask where mine came from” Daryl chuckles lightly bringing himself to completely sit on the cot referring to his own hickeys that were more on the neck and shoulder. Including a bite mark that Y/N couldn’t help herself last night, it was either that or wake the whole tent city. “It’s still early”

“Yeah but just like your folks, my family is nosey. Especially my sisters.” She sighs while buttoning up her flannel even if she does prefer it open, just needs a minute to get inside and in her room before the interrogation starts.

“Y/N.”

Y/N turned to Daryl once she sat on the ground to get her shoes on as she could sense the hint of worry coming from the man and she could only assume was toward what he saw.

“We’re not so different” Y/N states finishing tying her shoes. “Mine were just. Self inflicted”

He couldn’t contain his concern even if in his own special way it was only noticed through his eyes and body language. Y/N could read him and part of Daryl worried about that.

“You stop?”

“Don’t be—-“

“I ain’t gonna be one of those nut jobs that tell yea “please stop for me”. Only you can really make that decision”

“Well, I did. When I moved back”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Three months before the world ended” and with that Y/N took her leave, leaving the first aid kit with Daryl giving her a reason to come back.

Even if a part of him wanted to go after her.

The two had their alone time a few times before news of “walkers in the barn” spread to the group. Daryl felt a sense of betrayal since Y/N cares so much about their safety in the past few days that she didn’t tell him anything about it. But when he went to the back door where he’d usually meet her, he heard shouting from inside coming from her.

“Walkers in the goddamn barn, old man?!”

“People are in that barn. Good people. I’m protecting the—-“

“They’re already gone! They stopped being themselves the second the infection spread from the bite”

“You don’t know that”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Y/N scoffed pinching the bridge of her nose trying to contain her anger and failing. “I swear to god if I open it—-“

“—You wouldn’t—-“

“—-and find mom in there after you said she just “disappeared”. I’m going to prove you she’s not mom anymore”

Daryl couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the ring from the slap that came from Hershel’s hand meeting Y/N’s cheek. Normally one would cry but instead she kept her composure and decided to reframe from saying another word or she would’ve acted instead. He quickly stepped away when the door flung open seeing the anger in her eyes and body language. The single tear that rolled off her cheek made him act without realizing and gently brushed it away watching her relax but not enough to fall into his arms and stay there. She pulled herself away shooting him a temporary smile before walking into the woods behind the house to clear her head.

The eldest Greene only returned to the shouting happening and then sudden gun fire which led her to grabbing hers on the way over to the commotion happening by the barn. Y/N froze beside her father watching Maggie comfort him while the others started shooting down the walkers that flooded out. She heard quick footsteps coming as she stopped whoever, Beth, from going any further as she held onto her. She held her as she sobbed watching the dust settle and one walker left started stumbling out.

Sophia.

Daryl quickly latched himself onto Carol before she could even get close to her daughter. Her sobs grew louder the more she was restrained from seeing her little girl that was soon ended by the sheriff that left her all alone in the first place. Rick will forever take that as his fault and won’t ever forget it.

It took them all a second to adjust to what happened as Daryl helped Carol on her feet only for her to thrash out so his grasp from anger and loss. Y/N did her best to keep Beth away from the carnage but she slipped from her grasp causing her to follow her little sister to the pile of walkers.

“Beth, no that’s not—“

“That’s our mom!” She cried as she brought herself to her knees beside the corpse pushing the one on top of it off her. “Ma…”

Her screaming caused everyone to act. The men quickly grabbed at her pulling her away from the reanimated corpse as Y/N quickly came through and slammed her foot into the skull of the sicko. There was a pause in the chaos of Beth screaming, Carol sobbing, and a few of them bickering. Just a pause to let what happened sink in.

“Y/N…” Maggie exhaled watching her fixated gaze to her foot coated in the aged blood as she slowly lifts her foot and stepped away. “Y/N, wait!” She quickly followed her as Y/N made her way past their father.

“I never should’ve come back” Y/N frowns continuing on her way to who knows, and on her route she took the pack of cigarettes out from her back pocket tossing them to the ground which only those who knew would understand.

But she kept her lighter.

After taking care of a few things, Daryl was finally left to take care of himself. Even if he wasn’t going to. His anger feasted mainly on himself compared to being toward others, granted he doesn’t have any reason to be mad toward anybody except for maybe Rick or Hershel for that barn bullshit. Or Shane. Hell he was frustrating himself. He wasn’t going to do anything with her in that sense but needed to find her.

It didn’t take much searching because as much as she hated the place, Y/N stuck close for a lot of reasons. Daryl only found her when she tossed an acorn at his head from above where she sat on one of the branches.

“Obviously looking for me”

“Not for that though.”

“I didn’t do anything if you’re thinking—-“

“No. Well, not entirely” Daryl shrugs watching her climb down the tree to be level with him. “You stalled. Stayed in…the corpse”

“If your mother turned, and you had to end her the way I did…you wouldn’t move right away.”

“Thankfully my mom died in a fire she caused”

“Thankfully?” Y/N scoffs watching him shrug again which made an ill laugh escape her lips. “I wish she didn’t die that way.”

“I wish you didn’t have to be the one to end it. Entirely. I’m sorry”

“Daryl…” Y/N frowns looking him dead in the eye waiting for it. Waiting for him to say it even if his anger started to get the best of him in the moment. “It’s not your fault”

“Stop”

“It’s not”

“But it is!” Daryl snapped in her face realizing she flinched and given all the feelings in the air that day, she couldn’t keep her guard up in that moment. “She wasn’t even mine. Not my daughter. How could I blindly care so much?”

“I was like that in the beginning of whatever we are”

“What?”

“Caring so blindly. I didn’t know you and I came and saved you. Well until that annoying blond put a bullet in you…almost. Then I saved you. In my own way.” Y/N crosses her arms bringing herself close enough to lean against the tree she was just in. “Sometimes, you just care and don’t need a reason. Then the more you know a person all the reasons come to light”

“I care about yea, yknow. Even when I didn’t know a thing”

“You cared about her, without knowing a single thing. From what I heard, there is a person at fault but even then? Rick shouldn’t bully himself for a child running from danger. Kids don’t listen. That’s why they have parents to care for them. Or siblings. It’s harder when the kid has to care for themself. But that’s beside the point…” She turned her head in the direction of the house. “It’s all a shitshow. The end of the world. But we make do with it. Care about those we’ve just met or learned more about in such a little time”

“We need all the people in our lives for as long as we can” Daryl frowns bringing himself closer as Y/N moved her arms to her sides watching him get close enough that she could feel his breath on her. But he brought his forehead to rest against hers, feeling her hands find purchase on his neck. “You’re allowed to fall apart”

And she did. In the comforts of his presence then his arms…and his warm embrace. Things continued to escalate at the farm that eventually, it was set ablaze. All the commotion caused everyone to scramble, lose a few, and meet up on the highway. Daryl’s anxiety shot up when he couldn’t find the eldest Greene sister with her other sisters that were driven to “safety” by Glenn and Hershel.

Then the rustling of the woods were heard and few thought it was more of the walkers. But suddenly, Y/N stumbled out falling against the slope that led to the freeway and before any of her remaining family could rush to her…Daryl was already at her side helping her stand and she was met with a tearful gaze coming from the man that she didn’t care about keeping it a secret anymore…Y/N pressed her lips firmly against his for a short lived kiss before he brought her entirely in his arms holding her.

“Oh you so owe me” Maggie made the comment toward Beth as she glares at her sister. A bet was made. If that wasn’t clear.

“How long have—-“

“No time to act like a father right now. We need to find shelter for the night.” Rick cut off Hershel and gave Daryl a look to start the ride with his bike since he can maneuver and find a path easier. But instead of Carol being on his bike, Y/N took that spot rightfully and not like Carol was complaining.

It was a short ride but long enough for Daryl to realize Y/N’s trembling from the shock of watching her home burn and the struggle of getting out of there alive. She didn’t go unscathed but the cuts were small and not so deep. Daryl still took care of them.

After Rick’s whole speech, it was time to call it a night and stick close to everyone. Daryl took first watch which meant Y/N sticking with him.

“Your old man didn’t look too happy about us”

“He’ll have to get used to it.” Y/N whispered to him feeling his arm snake around her shoulders keeping her close. “Cant believe it’s gone”

“I’m sorry”

Y/N shrugged a little before bringing herself closer to him enjoying the warmth he emitted. “Least I got these on my way out” she pulled out her pack of cigarettes which made a laugh escape Daryl’s lips.

It took some time to get used to the idea that they were going to be moving a lot until something more permanent came along. But they also needed something permanent to come by the end of nine months because Lori was pregnant.

Everyone noticed how stressed Rick would get when Lori would shut him out for his decision making that lead them here so a few did their best to keep that level low.

“Daryl and I are gonna go hunt for dinner while my old man and Carol set up camp for the night” Y/N informs Rick on her way out. “Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog should be back soon with whatever they scavenged from the few houses around”

“Thanks Y/N, be back before nightfall” Rick stated watching her nod before following Daryl out of the house they decided to make their shelter for the night.

As much as they did what they told Rick what they were going to do. They planned on other things.

“Fuck—-“ Y/N cursed adjusting herself against the counter even with Daryl pinning her against such. “Maybe we do this on the floor next time” her hands slipped resulting in Daryl picking her up still deep inside her velvety walls and forcing her against the wall.

“Better?” He huffed watching her arms move to find purchase around his neck.

“Yes, please continue” Y/N begged as Daryl instantly latched his lips against hers picking up the pace thrusting inside of her using the wall to his advantage so he could bring one of his hands to her clit helping her reach her release.

Her toes curled and heels dug into his back when she reached her high and felt Daryl remove his hand from her clit to have a better grasp on her while he quickened his pace and thrusted harder reaching his own release, spilling inside her warmth. They held onto each other catching their breaths.

“Holy shit…” Y/N gasps softly when Daryl adjusted his stance still inside of her. “So…”

“Round two?” He smirks followed by one appearing on her features pressing her lips against his. Before the two suddenly flinched to the sound of a spring lock. “Shit”

“Mm. Maybe later?”

“Imma hold yea to that, sunshine” Daryl kisses her once more before pulling out of her helping her gain her balance using himself as her steady.

After helping clean up, Daryl checked the trap they set pulling out a raccoon that unfortunately met its end. Y/N stepped out carrying a few finds that would help a few with keeping warm during the colder nights. Blankets, sweaters, etc.

“Think we should set up a few more traps before we head back”

“Sounds good” Y/N extended her hand for Daryl to hand off the raccoon so he could set them up. “I’m gonna put some of these things by your bike so I can sweep around”

“Be careful yeah? I’ll join yea when I’m done”

Y/N kept the catch attached to her backpack on her while the blankets and clothes were left on his bike. She went through a few houses near the one they both were in and stopped in one of the few two stories finding a few more canned goods and took note of how secure the building was. Maybe they could move there for a few weeks? She thought while stepping through the place some more, stopping at the fireplace finding the photos coated in dust. She extended a hand toward one deciding to dust it off and find an old married couple behind the glass. They looked happy. In love. Y/N didn’t quite understand the feeling she was feeling in her chest when staring at the picture of a random couple.

“Anything good?” Daryl’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts as she sets the picture back where it was.

“Nothing I haven’t already put in my bag. I’m ready when you are”

Heading back was quiet and that didn’t concern Daryl much given it was getting late. But Y/N started to act off that it even concerned her. She was more exhausted than usual, finding herself sleeping more in her spot of the house wherever they moved, she ate less, took more of the first night watch shift, and went out less with Daryl. Every time she did, Daryl mainly kept an eye on her and their conversation was smaller than usual. This has been going on for a month, and they’ve been house hoping for three so far. It was about to become winter.

Y/N was taking a longer night watch given Rick, Daryl, and Glenn decided to head out for a small hunting trip to bring back enough game to last them through winter. Even if Daryl said he was going to hunt through the cold months just not as frequently. She was once again lost in her thoughts while looking out into the darkness staring occasionally at the trigger line. Worrying about the group, missing Daryl, fearing what could happen—

“Sweetheart?” Hershel whispered for those sleeping inside but was loud enough to get Y/N’s attention. “How are you feeling?”

Ever since the fire, Hershel has been trying to rekindle the father daughter relationship with his oldest. Even if in her head, he’s always going to be her dad and it wouldn’t take much to repair it. He’s already apologized enough. But she expected it again tonight.

“I’m tired”

“I’ve noticed. Are you falling ill with somethin’? I can go out with Maggie to go look for—-“

“No, no. I’m not sick” Y/N frowns watching her dad take a seat with her. “I don’t feel good. Yeah…but the other thing is just. I love him but I’m afraid to tell him”

Hershel couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him which only brought a glare and a huff out of his daughter. “I told your mother that I loved her, first. She didn’t say it back and honestly? I didn’t expect her to. I just want her to know that I loved her. Then a few months later she tells me she loves me too. For some they say it immediately back, or they take a while. But that doesn’t mean what they do for you, has zero trace of love toward you.”

Y/N couldn’t help the little tears that spilled from her eyes when her dad said such. Hershel gently brought his arm around her shoulder bringing her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder continuing to cry if she needed.

A couple more days passed and the sick feeling turned into vomiting and migraines every other day. Y/N couldn’t shake a feeling and decided to act on it.

“Y/N…” Beth shook her older sister awake as Y/N slowly sits up looking to the other side of her seeing Daryl still fast asleep then she turned to the window finding it still dark out.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers tucking the loose hair in Beth’s face behind her ear.

“I started my period…and I don’t have anything…”

Y/N nodded knowing exactly what she was asking as she tugs her pack over to them rummaging through it. She then realizes she missed her period.

“Uhm. I don’t have anything, love. Maybe ask Mags in the morning? I’ll ask Carol if she’s stumbled across any”

“Okay…” Beth frowns watching her sister go into her bag knowing she at least had pain meds and gave it her to see a small smile form for a moment before she shuffled back.

Her anxiety started to eat at her and she knew the only way to know for sure is to get a test. But that will wait for the morning.

“Hey I’m gonna take a car into the nearby town. Sweep the place one last time before we move again before the weather goes from just cold to snow”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Rick stood up grabbing his coat. “I’ll tag along with you and Daryl”

“If Daryl wants to tag along. I was gonna ask Mags” Y/N states receiving a confused and concerned look from Daryl while her sister lights up with a smile. “Maybe you and Glenn can do one last hunt and check the traps before we move?”

“Alright. But he’s gotta keep up with me like yea do”

“He will” Y/N laughs softly smiling as Daryl snuck in a kiss on the cheek when no one was looking. “We’ll be back before nightfall”

“Yeah I’ll make sure to get some baby stuff if we come across it” Rick tells Lori only to be met with an avoidance in her gaze as her hand stayed on her already showing belly. Y/N couldn’t help the staring toward the two before squeezing her eyes shut and quickly stepping out once she got her backpack and a coat.

Maggie took care of driving and Rick took the passengers, leaving Y/N alone in the backseat scribbling in this journal Maggie found for her on a run with Glenn. She mainly wrote her concerns and the obvious one plaguing her mind was

Is she pregnant?

They were reckless, now he’s going to leave her.

Does he even like kids? He doesn’t talk much to Carl…

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong” Rick frowns looking out the window as Maggie turned to him for a second with a confused look. “She’s mad about it all. What happened with Shane and being pregnant in the apocalypse. She thinks because she had a c-section she’s more likely to have another and we don’t have the tools for it. So it stresses me out…thinking I’m gonna lose my wife. But I can’t voice those concerns because she’s mad at me. Pregnant and mad”

“Pregnancy makes women feel all their emotions times 100, Rick. It’s going to be rough for a while” Maggie pats his shoulder glancing back to find Y/N looking a bit more pale than before. “Sis, you alright?”

Without another word, the second she felt the car stop…Y/N quickly ran out ditching her things and going to vomit into the near by bushes. Maggie frowns unbuckling her seatbelt and about to check on her when she noticed her journal in the backseat. Her hesitation made Rick get out to check on her older sister while she picked up the book to read it.

Maggie wasn’t going to tell Y/N she read it. But then read those entries and felt the same anxiety her sister felt for a moment.

Maggie gave Y/N some time to recollect herself after bolting out of the car. But she didn’t mean to corner her in the pharmacy section of the mini grocery store.

“Mags what’s up with that look on your face?”

“I uhm. I’m sorry”

The apology caught Y/N off guard until Maggie just let it out.

“You’re pregnant?” Maggie frowns and the negative look on her face only made Y/N feel so much worse on the matter. But instead of tears, it was anger.

“AND?! So what if I might be pregnant? Like that isn’t going to be a fucking issue when we already have a pregnant woman in the group and look how she and her man are doing. I haven’t even said I love you yet to Daryl and I don’t even know if he wants kids” then the tears suddenly broke out as she stared at the pregnancy test box she had in her hand. “I can’t get rid of it. I don’t want to lose him. The universe took too much from me already, I can’t lose anymore” she sobbed, Maggie didn’t wait another second bringing her sister into her embrace holding her protectively.

“Y’all are gonna try and see if that car works? Just the two of you?”

“It’s not the first time I hot-wired a car by myself” Y/N stated with Maggie nodding to confirm such.

It’s not that Rick didn’t trust the two, it was going to be night soon and that was his concern. But he also needed to get all their findings back.

“Fine. But you have to camp out if it gets too late”

“We’ve got this. If the lights work, we’ll drive back” Maggie smiles as Rick sighs letting them rock and leaving.

The two gave each other a look and Maggie went into her bag taking out the few pregnancy tests handing them to Y/N. She went back inside one of the buildings to do her business while Maggie got started with hot-wiring the car.

“Y/N I don’t feel good…”

“Yeah I know, bug. I’m sorry I’m working as fast as I can” The sixteen year old Y/N tugged on the wires from under the dash to get the car started while her baby sister Maggie continued to groan in the backseat. Being left to babysit while the folks went into town was killer. Especially when no one expected Maggie to have a skyrocketing fever.

“Sis…” She cried the entire drive as Y/N did her best to be a smooth driver into town and to the nearest ER.

“I’ve gotchu, bug. Everything’s gonna be alright”

“Everything’s gonna be alright” Maggie frowns rubbing Y/N’s back as she did her best to contain her tears while they drove back.

“It won’t…it just won’t” Y/N wiped away her tears taking the remaining time back to collect herself. She took out the cartoon of cigarettes from her bag staring at the thing knowing her sister’s gaze to burning a hole into the side of her head. “I’m not going to do them, bug” she frowns rolling the window down and tossing the box out hearing the sigh of relief.

“Good…I need to keep you safe. So it keeps my niece or nephew safe”

The smallest joy brought a temporary smile to grace Y/N’s features even if the uncomfortable anxious feeling clawed at her back over how Daryl will react.

When they arrived back, both Glenn and Daryl were waiting outside the house that was lit from the fire T-Dog got started in the fireplace to keep everybody warm. Glenn instantly went to Maggie’s side checking her in his anxious way that was immediately reassured. But Y/N remained in the car with her head down, driving Daryl nuts internally until he noticed Maggie give him a look to join her and that only made his anxiety worse.

“What’s wrong with—-“

“Just let them be. Cmon, gotta give Beth something” Maggie smiles tugging Glenn along back inside until it was just Daryl and Y/N.

The archer shut the door once he entered and before he even said a word, the eldest Greene daughter exhaled.

“I’m pregnant”

Daryl expected more from her but was met with her silence and honestly, that made him worry for her instead of thinking of his feelings about the news. This explains why she hasn’t been feeling well—-but she could’ve let him in. Makes sense why she wanted to go on a run with her sister—-but he could’ve been there for her. Y/N found out alone for a moment—-yet Daryl could’ve help her the second she did.

“You thought I would leave yea”

Y/N instantly shot her head up turning to him as if he read her mind. Daryl gave her a bit of a disappointed look that was met with brimming tears.

“I’m not gonna leave yea. Never.” Daryl stated as fact which led the tears to spill. “I just wish I help you through it. Yeah you had your sister. But you mean so much to me and this is our future. I wasn’t gonna go anywhere before, I definitely ain’t now” he finished his thought as he stepped out of the car rounding to Y/N’s side and gently pulling her into his arms letting her sob into him as he protectively held onto her.

The winter started to present itself and the news stayed within the three (four if you count Maggie blabbing to Glenn, which was only a matter of time before they all knew). Which led to once they found their home to hold off the winter, Daryl brought himself inside after checking the one trap he placed sitting down beside Y/N.

“There’s something we’ve got to say to you all” Y/N started and felt anxious with everybody staring. Guess the fire took away more than just their safety, but her confidence.

“She’s pregnant” Daryl finished resting a hand on her thigh gently rubbing his thumb in a soothing motion for her to relax.

Before any positive thing said can be thrown up in the air. The shocked expressions turned instantly to confusion and toward Lori when she scoffed toward the news.

“Seriously?” Lori beckoned Y/N to confirm it herself as she did with a nod even if her expression fell when the woman started laughing. “Great that’s just great”

“Lori—-“

“No, shut it Rick. It was already trouble taking care of my pregnant self. What makes y’all think we can take care of two? You two should’ve been more careful and found abortion pills”

“Woah! You don’t get to get to be a bitch just because you’re pregnant” Carol hissed drawing a shocked expression out of the Grimes who quickly turned to her husband for a defense. “No you started this on your own and you will finish it”

“None of us asked for you to be pregnant.” T-Dog adds abruptly. “That shit just happens sometimes. No timing is ever perfect”

“But still—-“

“No you don’t get to talk to my——“

“girl like that” Daryl snapped cutting Hershel off. “Don’t take a good thing and fucking stomp on it just because you’re miserable. You have to remember a few of us have some bullets against yea and I ain’t afraid to fire every single one of them if you come at her again” he frowns bringing his arm entirely around Y/N keeping her close, ignoring the tense look on Lori’s face as Rick’s disappointment turned to a bit of sadness when hearing such. But it was quickly shifted to a smile when his son turned to him then toward the two.

“Congratulations?” Carl laughs the tension away resulting in Beth quickly moving over to hug her sister as Hershel made his way patting Daryl on the back before kissing the top of Y/N’s head.

They were going to be okay. Their village will make sure of it.

The winter months were brutal and miserable for everybody. They had to move once through the cold because the roof collapsed in a section of the old house that made it dangerous for everybody. The group ditched their cars and stayed in the neighborhood just for the winter because of the snow. They’ll go back to the cars later, T-Dog and Beth took care of carrying their extra items that weren’t apart of everybody’s individual packs. Carol and Hershel took care of getting the fire going and getting food for the day ready, Hershel also took care of checking both Lori and Y/N every now and then to make sure they are alright. Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl were the ones in the watch rotation and as much as he protested, Y/N would tag along with Daryl.

“No”

“I’m not that pregnant yet, Daryl. I can go out with you.”

“It’s snowing”

“So?”

“I go huntin’ by myself all the time and I’d rather yea stay warm than suffer with me”

“And you think it’s going to sit well with me having you suffer the colder conditions?” Y/N glared at the man getting frustrated with the back and forth, Daryl was going to argue again when he noticed both of her sisters shaking their heads not to try. Pregnant or not, she will continue to argue until she’s blue in the face.

“Fine. But layer up” Daryl states letting her get ready as he goes into his pack taking out his poncho to put it on over his layers.

The two went through the center of the neighborhood, Daryl hating the snow and Y/N enjoying it. He only hated it because it made tracking animals difficult and before he could tell her about heading back…

“I love you” Y/N tells him watching him freeze in his place as she anxiously adjusts the rifle on her back gripping the strap. “I don’t expect you to say it back now or in a few months or years. I just needed you to know that I love you and you mean so much to me”

Daryl brought himself close pressing his lips firmly against hers bringing his arms around her. They enjoyed themselves for the moment until Y/N heard shuffling and expected a walker but when she looked behind him. There were deer. But when Daryl got a look, he stopped her from readying her rifle which brought out a confused look from her until she noticed a buck making its appearance along with two babies.

Now they were watching the family just be, making Daryl look over to Y/N watching her smile at the display as he brought his hand to rest on her small bump. She glance to his hand for a second before smiling more and resting her hand over his before continuing to look at the deer family. Thankfully on their way back they got a bunny and a few squirrels that made themselves known in the winter.

It wasn’t long before the warmer months came back and Y/N couldn’t ride on Daryl’s bike anymore. She stuck with Glenn and Maggie and with the moving from house to house increasing. T-Dog and Rick took lead with sweeping the houses they come across before the group resided but Daryl followed behind after checking on Y/N. But when herds came through, they didn’t wait and went straight back into the car and only the road.

“Let’s go hunt” Daryl tells Rick watching him nod as Hershel held him back to talk about Lori’s condition given she’s in her ninth month compared to Y/N in her seventh.

Daryl picked up his canteen from his bike going to Y/N and making sure she kept hydrated when the weather got dangerously hot.

“Gonna go hunt with Rick. We’ll be back soon”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

“You too” Daryl quickly kissed her cheek before going with Rick.

The two stumbled across the prison, which then led to the group taking out walkers in the field to give them shelter for the night before heading inside. The group huddled by the fire talking about Rick, what the prison could do for them, and a few miscellaneous things. Maggie happily let her older sister use her lap as a pillow as she laid on her side using her blanket to cushion her belly from the ground.

“Lot of movement today?”

“Yeah…fucking think this baby loves kicking my ribs” Y/N huffed out a laugh as Maggie brushes back her hair smiling at her watching Daryl return to the group with Carol. He knelt behind her resting his poncho over her before getting comfortable. “Done with watch?”

“We’ve got a gate. Besides, if shit happens it’ll alert all of us and Rick hasn’t left the gate”

“You check on him?” Y/N whispers to Daryl when she moved onto her back for a moment to look at him.

“Do I have to?”

“No, but he shouldn’t have to burden what’s going on with him alone. Even if you don’t quite understand it”

Her words rung in his head especially when they dealt with the prisoners, then the Walker outbreak, losing Lori, almost losing Hershel and Carol…it was a lot. Things seem to only escalate and it didn’t help that all the commotion rendered Y/N speechless and she hasn’t spoken a word the moment Lori died.

She could die too

He will raise this baby alone

What will happen to her family?

She can’t die

She won’t die

Y/N stayed by the gate when they left and she knew her dad and Carol were watching her every move that when the cars pulled in she stepped away after opening one of the doors herself even when Carol came with her protests.

The car pulled in and Y/N waited for Daryl to come out but when everybody except him, she gave Rick a confused look while he hung his head.

“Daryl’s not coming back” Glenn ripped the bandaid off watching his partner shoot him a glare for not taking easy. But in Y/N’s head he did the right thing by just going for it.

“We ran into his brother and he’s not a great guy” Rick started. “But blood is blood from what Daryl told us…we just. Can’t let someone like Merle in the prison with us. He’s not a good guy and I’m sorry but Daryl’s not—-“ when he reached to lay a hand on her shoulder, she immediately smacked it away.

“You touch me and I cut your goddamn fucking hand off” Y/N glares at the retired sheriff watching him nod and step away. She glances down to her belly shutting her eyes tight turning away from everybody and started walking back to the prison.

This baby is half her and half him.

If the roles were reversed, she would’ve left with her sisters.

But that doesn’t make it okay for him to go.

“Has she spoken to anyone? Was snapping at Rick the only thing she said?” Carol asks Maggie as she nods while the concern grew on her face.

“Our daddy went to check on her and the baby. Heartbeats good. But going from a lot of movement to it being still…He thinks we should only worry if it stops for the remainder of her pregnancy.”

“Someone should get her to move. Walk around the prison or somethin’. Sitting there will make it worse for her” Hershel shared his concern as the three looked at Y/N sitting on the mattress Daryl pulled out for him originally on the catwalk.

“Nah. Get in an actual bed” Daryl protested Y/N sitting on the mattress but she did anyway.

“Last I checked a mattress is an actual bed”

“Don’t be smart with me, woman” Daryl sat up leaning into her space watching her stern look fall when he started showering her in kisses. “Least lay down with me”

“I wasn’t gonna stay sat up this entire time” Y/N playfully shoves him.

Y/N brought her attention to the young grimes bringing himself up with stairs with two bowls of food. Carl sat down beside her handing her the second one but she refused.

“Please?” Carl frowns watching her gaze turn to him with a look of ‘why?’ as in why would he be doing this for her. “We’ve…uh. We’ve lost enough people”

A sigh escapes her lips as she gently caresses the young one’s cheek giving him a small thoughtful smile before taking the bowl from him and eating.

“Y/N whisperer” Maggie whispers to Beth as the two were the ones to have Carl send up the bowl because Y/N wouldn’t snap at somebody who recently lost their mom.

They both froze when her gaze turned onto them when she finished the bowl of stew. Y/N handed the bowl to Carl as he stacked the empty bowls getting up but noticed her get up with him. She struggled at first and gestured toward one of her sisters to help as Beth quickly made her way up the steps helping her.

“Take a walk with me?” Y/N asks her youngest sister as she smiles nodding. Once the two met the end of the steps. “You too?” She asks Maggie watching her smile warmly.

Soon the three sisters were on the other side of the prison walking in silence and staring at the occasional walker but kept their focus on what’s in front of them.

“If something happens to me. The two of you will take care of them yeah?”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, sis. Nothing” Maggie’s smile instantly faded when her sister said such.

“I know, bug. But please”

“This is your first. Nothing like what happened to Lori will happen to you…” Beth frowns trying not to cry at the thought of losing her older sister. “Can’t lose you…I won’t have it”

“Beth, sweetheart, I know everybody is going to do everything they can to not let the worst case scenario happen…I just. Need the reassurance”

“They will be loved and cared for…if worst comes to worst.” Maggie brought her arm around her sister as Beth did the same, both on either side of Y/N. “We all will be okay”

The moment they got close to the main entrance, the gates were being opened to let in Daryl with his brother Merle shortly behind him. Y/N watched Maggie retract at the sight of the older brother as she brought herself over watching Daryl light up slightly but avoid her gaze.

“So you’re Merle”

“And you’re the woman my brother knocked up. Boy would not shut up about you being the reason he needs to come back. Who woulda thought someone softened my baby brother” Merle smirks and before another word came out of Y/N, everyone around watched her sock the man hard enough in the face that the force knocked him on his ass.

“Your brother is amazing to me even if I want that punch to also be at him for leaving” Y/N frowns looking down at Merle as she held her belly a moment followed by a sigh. “But that was a hundred percent meant for you”

“You just fucking met me”

“You kidnapped my sister and her partner. Beat him to a pulp and let that disgusting man touch my bug.” Y/N stared blankly at the man as it held so much anger that made him nervous. “Just be glad Daryl is your brother. Or I would’ve put a bullet in yea” she stepped away with Beth and Maggie following her while Daryl helped his brother to his feet.

“I like her” Merle smirks and was immediately manhandled by Rick to be put in their makeshift cell since they’re living in the actual ones. The same cell Michonne was in until she got on their good side.

Daryl hesitantly went to the catwalk finding Y/N there as he brought himself to sit with her. The silence was killing him but the way she soften when he returned to her. She couldn’t help but take his hand into hers while the other continued to rub circles on her belly.

“Are you—-“

“Oh I’m mad. But I have to keep calm or the baby won’t move” Y/N frowns feeling him let go of her hand to bring his on her belly thinking it will work…and it did. It was the smallest kick but it got tears to form in Y/N’s eyes making Daryl wipe them away and try to contain his own for his actions. “Are you okay? You ain’t going to leave again right?”

“Right. I ain’t leaving…I promise. I really promise this time” Daryl brought his arms around her holding her as she adjusted to lay comfortably in his embrace.

The plan about the governor escalated and succeeded. He was no longer a threat, but they lost so much in the process. Y/N found herself in the field where they buried their own, holding a flashlight for Daryl as he was burying another body. But it was his brother. The others wouldn’t approve but Y/N knew how much Merle sacrificed and thought he should be honored in a way. Daryl appreciated it. Even if he couldn’t control the tears that fell when he finished burying him. Y/N the best she could, wrapped her arms around him resting her cheek against his back.

“He did good”

“He did good…”

About a month went by and the Woodbury infusion went smoothly, and those started helping making the prison more of a function home. The one finished thing was the water plan that T-Dog brought up, thankful for him.

“You’re hovering”

“Okay?” Daryl scoffs leaning against the cell door to their room. “It either me or your old man”

“As if he’s not already there” Y/N turned to him with an annoyed look listening to Daryl sigh before Hershel made himself known. “I’m not going to fucking pop”

“That’s a creative way of putting it. You’re close to your due date. We want you to be safe”

“Yeah whatever.” Y/N pushed herself up and off the bed as they both were quick to her sides. “Okay I will kick that fake leg and make you fall and kick him in the balls if you both don’t stop hovering”

“Okay I will listen but I ain’t stopping him” Hershel pats Daryl’s shoulder. “Call me or Dr. S for any change”

Daryl nods watching him go as he gave a blank look to his girl crossing his arms. Y/N instantly glared at him but he kept his stance.

“I want to take a walk”

“I’ll go with yea.”

“Fine. But I’ll punch you over if you pick me up when I’m too tired” Y/N waddled past as he crossed his heart before following behind her.

There was a lot of commotion outside. Rick started working on the farm with Maggie, Glenn and a few Woodbury folk were clearing walkers, Tyreese was helping Carol build the outdoor grill along with Sasha helping with getting tables in, Beth was taking care of Judith as Carl rambled on about some comics that Michonne found for him, and Michonne was out on her weekly runs. Daryl helped around but mainly took the morning and night shifts when Y/N was asleep so that he would be there for her the rest of the time.

“Alex?”

“Nah, we ain’t having a boy anyway”

“I get it. But if it happens we still need a name”

“Robin goes both ways”

“God you’re so fucking lucky I like that name. And Fallon. But not for a boy name”

“Mmm…” Daryl glanced around thinking about a name for her sake. “Mark”

“Do you like Mark?”

“No”

“Then why did you—-“ Y/N scoffed. “Hunter’s mark?”

“You wanted boy names” Daryl shrugs. “Mark is a name. Hunter is also a name”

“Next thing you’re gonna say is Striker and that’s because of a brand of crossbows” Y/N continued to walk leaving Daryl a bit surprised that she knew that before catching up with her.

They were walking for two hours and Daryl was confused for half of the walk wondering why she even decided to walk for that long. Until she went back inside grabbing onto his shirt giving him a pain filled look.

“I thought it was nothing”

“What was nothing?”

“The fucking pain, Dixon. It’s too much”

It clicked a little late for Daryl but he instantly picked up Y/N only for her to start punching his chest in protest. “HERSHEL!” He shouted for the man while bringing his girl to the infirmary of the prison.

“Stop” Y/N whines hunched over in the bed as the contractions were awful for her. She smacked away Hershel’s hand when he tried to get a blood pressure cuff they found on her. “It’s too much. I’m not ready” she sobbed.

“I know sweetheart but the baby is. I’m gonna—-“

“Hell fucking no. I’m not having my dad check down there” Y/N covered her lower half with the blanket as Daryl felt her squeeze the crap out of his hand. He can take it.

“Beth. Get Caleb right now” Hershel shouted watching her exit the room as a small group formed at the entrance. “Unless you’re helping. Keep that area open”

When the other doctor arrived, Y/N was already reaching an uncomfortable amount of pain as she leans into Daryl feeling him rub circles on her back not like it did much. The words the doctor was saying weren’t registering but when he gestured for the blanket to look making her nod quickly.

“Yeah baby ain’t waiting. She’s crowning. We have anything for gloves?” Caleb asks as Hershel shakes his head before handing him a towel to catch the baby in. “Well alright.” He set the towel down for a moment and dunk his hands into the bucket Glenn got once he was asked earlier so it would be a bit more sterile. “You have to push on the next contraction”

“No…” She whined gripping Daryl’s hand tightly again. “It hurts I don’t want to”

“You have to sunshine. You have to push”

“But I’m tired” She whined followed by sobs as Daryl brushes the hair out of her face pressing his forehead against hers.

“Cmon sunshine. We gotta meet our little one” He whispers to her looking her in the eye as her voice started to tremble. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N. You’re being so strong right now and gotta continue to be alright? You gotta push now”

Y/N started to sob even more from the pain, the anxiety, the deceleration. She nodded listening to her partner as she waited for the next contraction to push resulting in her screaming which had a bit of an echo through the parts of the prison close to the infirmary.

“Good almost there” Caleb reassures. “One more big push”

“One more sunshine. One more and our little one is here”

One more push…led to the room filled with sobs. Tears from Y/N continued, tears broke out from Daryl, and the loud sobs that erupted from their baby girl being handed to the mother. Soft congratulations left the doctor’s mouth but nothing registered as the two’s attentions were glued to this little girl. A healthy little girl.

“You did good, mama” Daryl choked up wiping his tears looking at their little girl in her arms finally calming down. “She’s perfect, yeah?”

“So perfect” Y/N sobbed through a smile turning to him as he instantly kissed her. “I love you…”

“I love you” Daryl smiles keeping his family close.

When night fell, they moved back into their cellblock once everything was cleaned up and Y/N was well enough to walk. She was fast asleep in their bed as Daryl was wide awake sat up in the bed beside her holding their little girl that looked up at him with the same blue eyes he had.

“You are…so perfect, Robin”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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