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felassan · 2 months

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Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) – Dragon Age: The Veilguard story

The rest of this post is under a cut for length.

Update: this issue of this magazine is now available to buy from UK retailers today. it can be purchased online at [this link]. [Tweet from Edge Online] also, Kala found that a digital version of the magazine can be read at [this link].

This post is a word-for-word transcription of the full article on DA:TV in this issue of this magazine. DA:TV is the cover story of this issue. When transcribing, I tried to preserve as much of the formatting from the magazine as possible. Edge talked to BioWare devs for the creation of this article, so the article contains new quotes from the devs. the article is written by Jeremy Peel. There were no new screenshots or images from the game in the article. I also think that it contains a few lil bits of information that are new, like the bits on companions' availability and stumbling across the companions out and about on their own in the world e.g. finding Neve investigating an abduction case in Docktown.

tysm to @simpforsolas and their friend for kindly telling me about the article!!

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[image source]

Article introduction segment:

"[anecdote about Edge] We were reminded of this minuscule episode in Edge's history during the creation of this issue's cover story, in which we discuss the inspiration behind Dragon Age: The Veilguard with its creators at BioWare. Notably, director John Epler remembers the studio experimenting with a number of approaches during the early phase of development before eventually locking in to what the game was supposed to be all along, above all else: 'a single-player, story-focused RPG'. As you'd expect from BioWare, though, that was really just a starting point, as we discovered on p54." BioWare draws back the Veil and ushers us into a new Dragon Age

"BEHIND THE CURTAIN BioWare's first true RPG in age age is as streamlined and pacey as a dragon in flight. By Jeremy Peel Game Dragon Age: The Veilguard Developer BioWare Publisher EA Format PC, PS5, Xbox Series Origin Canada Release Autumn

The Dragon Age universe wasn't born from a big bang or the palm of an ancient god. Instead, it was created to solve a problem. BioWare was tired of battling Hasbro during the making of Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights, and wanted a Dungeons & Dragons-like setting of its own. A small team was instructed to invent a new fantasy world in which the studio could continue its groundbreaking work in the field of western RPGs, free of constraints.

Well, almost free. BioWare's leaders mandated that the makers of this new world stick to Eurocentric fantasy, and include a fireball spell - since studio co-founder Ray Muzyka had a weakness for offensive magic.

Beyond that, BioWare’s storytellers were empowered to infuse Dragon Age with their own voices and influences, leaning away from D&D’s alignment chart and towards a moral grayness that left fans of A Song Of Ice And Fire feeling warm and cozy.

In the two decades since, the world of Thedas – rather infamously and amusingly, a shortening of ‘the Dragon Age setting’ that stuck – has taken on a distinct flavor. It’s something director John Epler believes is rooted in characters.

“There’s definitely some standard fantasy stuff in Dragon Age, but everything in the world, every force, is because of someone,” he says. “The idea is that every group and faction needs to be represented by a person – someone you can relate to. Big political forces are fine as background, but they don’t provide you with those interesting story moments.”

Dragon Age: The Veilguard bears out that philosophy. The long-awaited sequel was first announced with the subtitle Dreadwolf, in reference to its antagonist, Solas – an ancient elf who once stripped his people of immortality as punishment for betraying one of their own. In doing so, Solas created the Veil, the thin barrier through which wizards pull spirits and demons invade the waking world. In other words, many of Dragon Age’s defining features, from its downtrodden elves to the uneasy relationship between mages and a fearful church, can be traced right back to one character’s decision.

“The world exists as it does because of Solas,” Epler says. “He shaped the world because of the kind of character he was. That’s, to me, what makes Dragon Age so interesting. Everything can tie back to a person who to some degree thought they were doing the right thing.”

Perhaps BioWare’s greatest achievement in slowburn character development, Solas is a former companion, an unexploded bomb who sat in the starting party of Dragon Age: Inquisition, introverted and useful enough to get by without suspicion. Yet by the time credits rolled around on the Trespasser DLC, players were left in no doubt as to the threat he presented.

Determined to reverse the damage he once caused, the Dreadwolf intends to pull down the Veil, destroying Thedas as we know it in the process. The next Dragon Age game was always intended to be his story.

“We set that up at the end of Trespasser,” Epler says. “There was no world where we were ever going to say, ‘And now let’s go to something completely different.’ We wanted to pay off that promise.”

Yet almost everything else about the fourth Dragon Age appears to have been in flux at one time. In 2019, reporter Jason Schreier revealed that an early version, starring a group of spies pulling off heists in the Tevinter Imperium, had been cancelled two years prior. Most of its staff were apparently moved onto BioWare’s struggling Anthem, while a tiny team rebooted Dragon Age from scratch. That new game was said to experiment with live-service components.

“We tried a bunch of different ideas early on,” Epler says. “But the form The Veilguard has taken is, in a lot of ways, the form that we were always pushing towards. We were just trying different ways to get there. There was that moment where we really settled on, ‘This is a singleplayer, story-focused RPG – and that’s all it needs to be’”.

Epler imagines a block of marble, from which BioWare was attempting to carve an elephant – a character- and story-driven game. “We were chipping away, and sometimes it looked more like an elephant and sometimes it didn’t”, he says. “And then we eventually realized: ‘Just make an elephant’. When we got to that, it almost just took shape by itself.”

2014’s Dragon Age: Inquisition was an open-world game commonly criticized for a slow-paced starting area which distracted players from the thrust of the plot. The Veilguard, in contrast, is mission-based, constructed with tighter, bespoke environments designed around its main story and cast. “We wanted to build a crafted, curated experience for the player,” Epler says. “Pacing is important to us, and making sure that the story stays front and center.”

Epler is very proud of Inquisition, the game on which he graduated from cinematic designer to a lead role (for its DLC). “But one of the things that we ran into on that project was an absentee antagonist,” he says. “Corypheus showed up and then disappeared. You spent ten hours in the Hinterland doing sidequests, and there wasn’t that sense of urgency.”

This time, The Veilguard team wants you to constantly feel the sword of Damocles dangling above your head as you play – a sense that the end of the world is coming if you don’t act. “There’s still exploration – there’s still the ability to go into some of these larger spaces and go off the beaten path to do sidequests,” Epler says. “But there’s always something in the story propelling you and the action forward, and allowing you to make decisions with these characters where the stakes feel a lot more immediate and present. And also, honestly, more real.”

No sooner have you finished character creation than Dragon Age: The Veilguard thrusts you into a choice. As your protagonist, Rook, steps into focus on the doorstep of the seediest bar in town, you decide whether to threaten the owner for information or make a deal. Brawl or no, you’ll walk out minutes later with a lead: the location of a private investigator named Neve Gallus, who can help you track down Solas.

You proceed into Minrathous, the largest city in Thedas and capital of the Tevinter Imperium – a region only alluded to in other Dragon Age games. It’s a place built on the backs of slaves and great mages, resulting in tiered palaces and floating spires – a kind of architecture unimaginable to those in the southern nations.

“When your Dragon Age: Inquisition companion Dorian joins you in Orlais, in one of the biggest cities in Thedas, he mentions that it’s quaint and cute compared to Minrathous,” Corinne Busche, game director on The Veilguard, says. “That one bit of dialogue was our guiding principle on how to realize this city. It is sprawling. It is lived-in. Sometimes it’s grimy, sometimes it’s bougie. But it is expansive.”

Immediately, you can see the impact of BioWare’s decision to tighten its focus. Around every other corner in Minrathous is an exquisitely framed view, a level of spectacle you would never see in Inquisition, where resources were spread much more thinly. “When you know that you’re gonna be heading down a canyon or into this plaza where the buildings open up, you have those perfect spots to put a nice big temple of Andraste or a mage tower,” art director Matthew Rhodes says. “You get those opportunities to really hit that hard.”

BioWare’s intention is to make strong visual statements that deliver on decades of worldbuilding. “People who have a history with Dragon Age have thought about what Minrathous might be like,” Rhodes says. “We can never compete with their imagination, but we can aim for it like we’re shooting for the Moon.”

The people of Tevinter use magic as it if were electricity, as evidenced by the glowing sigils that adorn the dark buildings – street signs evoking Osaka’s riverfront or the LA of Blade Runner. They’re just one of the tricks BioWare’s art team uses to invite you to stop and take in the scene. “A lot of what you start to notice when you’re the artist who’s been working on these big, beautiful vistas and neat murals on the walls is how few players look up,” Rhodes says. “We design props and architecture that help lead the eyes.”

For the really dedicated shoegazers, BioWare has invested in ray-traced reflections, so that the neon signage can be appreciated in the puddles. There are also metal grates through which you can see the storm drains below. “The idea behind that is purely just to remind the player often of how stacked the city is,” Rhodes says. “Wherever you’re standing, there’s guaranteed to be more below you and above you.”

One of BioWare’s core creative principles for The Veilguard is to create a world that’s actually worth saving – somewhere you can imagine wanting to stick around in, once the crises of the main quest are over. To that end, the team has looked to ground its outlandish environments with elements of mundanity.

“A guy’s normal everyday life walking down the streets of this city is more spectacular than what the queen of Orlais is seeing, at least in terms of sheer scale," Rhodes says. “One of the things we’ve tried to strike a balance with is that this is actually still a place where people have to go to the market and buy bread, raise their kids, and try to make it. It’s a grand and magical city, but how do you get your horses from one place to the next? Where do you load the barrels for the tavern? It’s really fun to think of those things simultaneously.”

Normal life in Minrathous is not yours to behold for long, however. Within a couple of minutes of your arrival, the very air is ripped open like cheap drapes, and flaming demons clatter through the merchant carts that line the city streets. A terrible magical ritual, through which Solas intends to stitch together a new reality, has begun.

“We wanted the prologue to feel like the finale of any other game we’ve done,” Busche explains. “Where it puts you right into this media-res attack on a city and gets you really invested in the action and the story right away. When I think back to Inquisition, how the sky was literally tearing open – the impact of this ritual really makes that look like a minor inconvenience.”

Our hero is confronted by a Pride demon, imposing and armored as in previous games, yet accented by exposed, bright lines that seem to burst from its ribcage. “They are a creature of raw negative emotion,” Busche says. “So we wanted to actually incorporate that into their visual design with this glowing nervous system.”

When a pack of smaller demons blocks Rook’s route to the plaza where Neve was last seen, battle breaks out, and The Veilguard’s greatest divergence from previous Dragon Age games becomes apparent. Our rogue protagonist flits between targets up close and evades individual sword swings with precision. In the chaos, he swaps back and forth between blades and a bow. He blends light and heavy attacks, and takes advantage of any gap in the melee to charge up even bigger blows.

“Responsiveness was our first-and-foremost goal with this baseline layer of the combat system,” Busche says. Unless you’re activating a high-risk, high-reward ability such as a charged attack, any action can be animation-cancelled, allowing you to abort a sword swing and dive away if an enemy lunges too close. “We very much wanted you to feel like you exist in this space, as you’re going through these really crafted, hand-touched worlds,” Busche says. “That you’re on the ground in control of every action, every block, every dodge.” Anyone who’s ever bounced off a Soulslike needn’t worry: The Veilguard’s highly customizable difficulty settings enable you to loosen up parry windows if they prove too demanding.

Gone is the overhead tactical camera which, for some players, was a crucial point of connection between Dragon Age and the Baldur’s Gate games that came before, tapping into a lineage of thoughtful, tabletop-inspired combat. Epler points out that the camera’s prior inclusion had an enormous impact on where the game’s battles took place. “We actually had a mandate on Inquisition, which was, ‘Don’t fight inside,’” he says. “The amount of extra work on getting that tactical camera to work in a lot of those internal environments, it was very challenging.”

Gone, too, is the ability to steer your comrades directly. “On the experiential side, we wanted you to feel like you are Rook – you’re in this world, you’re really focused on your actions,” Busche says. “We very much wanted the companions to feel like they, as fully realized characters, are in control of their own actions. They make their own decisions. You, as the leader of this crew, can influence and direct and command them, but they are their own people.”

It's an idea with merit, albeit one that could be read as spin. “It’s not lost on me,” Busche says. “I will admit that, on paper, if you just read that you have no ability to control your companions, it might feel like something was taken away. But in our testing and validating with players, what we find is they’re more engaged than ever.”

There may be a couple of reasons for that. One is that Dragon Age’s newly dynamic action leaves little room for seconds spent swapping between perspectives. “This is a much higher actions-per-minute game,” Busche says. “It is more technically demanding on the player. So when we tried allowing you full control of your companions as well, what we’ve found is it wasn’t actually adding to the experience. In fact, in some ways it was detrimental, given the demanding nature of just controlling your own character.”

Then there’s The Veilguard’s own tactical layer, as described by BioWare. Though the fighting might be faster and lower, like a mana-fuelled sports scar, the studio is keen to stress that the pause button remains as important to the action as ever. This is, according to Busche, where the RPG depth shines through, as you evaluate the targets you’re facing and take their buffs into account: “Matching elemental types against weaknesses and resistances is a big key to success in this game.”

You pick between rogue, warrior and mage – each role later splitting again into deeper specialisms – and draw from a class-specific resource during fights. A rogue relies on Momentum, which is built up by avoiding damage and being highly aggressive, whereas a warrior is rewarded for blocking, parrying, and mitigating damage.

Those resources are then used on the ability wheel, which pauses the game and allows you to consider your options. The bottom quadrant of the wheel belongs to your character, and is where three primary abilities will be housed. “Rook will also have access to runes, which function as an ability, and a special ultimate ability,” Busche says. “So you’re bringing five distinct abilities with you into combat.”

The sections to the left and right of the wheel, meanwhile, are dedicated to your companions. Busche points to Lace Harding, the returning rogue from Inquisition, who is currently frozen mid-jump. “She is her own realized individual in this game. She’s got her own behaviors: how she prioritizes targets, whether she gets up close and draws aggro or stays farther back at range. But you’ll be able to direct her in combat by activating her abilities from the wheel.”

These abilities are complemented by positional options at the top of the wheel, where you can instruct your companions to focus their efforts on specific targets, either together or individually. Doing so will activate the various buffs, debuffs and damage enhancements inherent in their weapons and gear. “So,” Busche explains, “as you progress through the first two hours of the game, this full ability wheel is completely populated with a variety of options and different tactics that you can then string together.”

BioWare has leaned into combos. You might tell one companion to unleash a gravity-well effect that gathers enemies together, then have another slow time. Finally, you could drop an AOE attack on your clustered and slowed opponents, dealing maximum damage. The interface will let you know when an opportunity to blend two companion abilities emerges – moments BioWare has dubbed ‘combo detonations’.

“I like to think about this strategic layer to combat as a huddle,” Busche says, “where you’re figuring out how you want to handle the situation, based on the information you have on the encounter, and how you and your companions synergize together.”

Deeper into the game, as encounters get more challenging, Epler says we’ll be spending a lot of time making “very specific and very focused tactical decisions”. The proof will be in eating the Fereldan fluffy mackerel pudding, of course, but Busche insists this shift to fast action isn’t a simplification. “What really makes the combat system and indeed the extension into the progression system work is that pause-and-play tactical element that we know our players expect.”

The autonomy of The Veilguard’s companions doesn’t end with combat. BioWare’s data shows that in previous games players tended to stick with the same two or three beloved comrades during a playthrough. This time, however, you’ll be forced to mix your squad up at regular intervals.

“We do expect that players will have favorites they typically want to adventure with,” Busche says, “but sometimes certain companions will be mandatory.” Others may not always be available – part of the studio’s effort to convince with three-dimensional characters. “They do have a life outside of Rook, the main character,” Busche says.

"They'll fall in love with people in this world. They’ve had past experiences they’ll share with you if you allow them in and get close to them.”

Being separated from your companions, rather than collecting them all in a kind of stasis at camp, allows you to stumble across them unexpectedly. Busche describes an instance in which, while exploring the Docktown section of Minrathous, you might bump into Neve as she investigates an abduction case. “If I go and interact with her, I can actually stop what I’m doing, pick up her arc and adventure with her throughout her part of the story,” Busche says. “What’s interesting is that all of the companion arcs do ultimately tie back to the themes of the main critical path, but they also have their own unique challenges and villains, and take place over the course of many different intimate moments.”

Some parts of a companion’s quest arc involve combat, while others don’t. Some are made up of large and meaningful missions – as lavish and involved as those along the critical path. “While they are optional, I would be hesitant to call them side content in this game,” Busche says. If you choose not to engage with some of these companion-centered events, they’ll resolve on their own. “And it might have interesting implications.”

The Veilguard promises plenty of change, then, even as it picks up the threads of fan-favorite characters and deepens them, honoring the decades of worldbuilding that came before it. This is perhaps the enduring and alluring paradox of Dragon Age: a beloved series which has never had a direct and immediate sequel, nor a recurring protagonist. Instead, it’s been reinvented with each new entry.

“It’s a mixed blessing to some degree,” Epler says. “The upside is always that it gives us more room to experiment and to try new things. There are parts of the series that are common to every game: it’s always an RPG, it’s always about characters, and we always want to have that strategic tactical combat where you’re forced to make challenging decisions. But at the end of the day, I think what makes Dragon Age Dragon Age is that each one feels a little bit different.”"

Q&A Matthew Rhodes Art director

Q. Early BioWare RPGs were literary, with the emotions and detail mostly happening in dialogue boxes. How have you seen the studio's approach to visual storytelling evolve? A. This has been my entire career. When I first showed up at BioWare, it was at the tail end of Jade Empire, and then I was working on Dragon Age: Origins and early Mass Effect. The games had taken that next step out of sprites and 2D models, and it was like: 'How do we say more? How do we communicate more clearly?' During those early days, a lot of games depended on words to fix everything for you. As long as your character was talking bombastically, you could lend them everything that they needed. But as time went on it also became a visual medium, and it's been this long journey of trying to establish art's seat at the table. I've worked with some great writers over the years, and art is also an essential part of the storytelling. From Dragon Age: Inquisition on, I've been trying to stress with my teams that we are a story department.

Q. Is part of that also letting writers know that your storytelling assistance is available, to help them show rather than tell? A. On The Veilguard, that principle has been operating the best I've seen it. Where you would need a paragraph of dialogue in one of those exposition moments where a character just talks to you, we could sell that with a broken statue or a skeleton overgrown with vines. We've had more opportunities to do that on The Veilguard than most of the projects I've ever worked on combined.

To a hammer, every problem looks like a nail, and so in every department, writing will try to solve it with more words, and art will try to solve it with more art. I've bumped up against moments where it's like, 'As much as we could keep hammering on this design, I think this is actually an audio solution.' And then you take it to audio, and you don't get that overcooked feeling where each team is just trying to solve it in their silo. It's a really creatively charged kind of environment.

[main body of article ends here]

Additional from throughout the article --

Image caption: “Spotlights shine down from the city guards’ base as they pursue you through the streets of Minrathous.”

Image caption: “While most of your companions can be sorted into comfortingly familiar RPG classes, The Veilguard introduces two new varieties: a Veil Jumper and a private investigator.”"

Image caption [on this Solas ritual concept art specifically]: “The name previously given to the game – Dreadwolf – was a direct reference to Solas. Your former companion, now on his own destructive mission, still features, despite the name change.”

Text in a side box:

"RATIONAL ANTHEM The hard lesson BioWare drew from Anthem was to play to its strengths. “We’re a studio that has always been built around digging deep on storytelling and roleplaying,” Epler says. “I’m proud of a lot of things on Anthem – I was on that project for a year and a half. But at the end of the day we were building a game focused on something we were not necessarily as proficient at. For me and for the team, the biggest lesson was to know what you’re good at and then double down on it. Don’t spread yourselves too thin. Don’t try to do a bunch of different things you don’t have the expertise to do. A lot of the people on this team came here to build a story-focused, singleplayer RPG."

Image caption: “In combat you no longer control your companions directly – this is a faster-paced form of fighting – but you are able to direct them in combat, and can even blend their abilities in ‘combo detonations’.”

Image caption: “You’ll be exploring new regions across Tevinter and beyond – Rivain is a certainty, and that’s only accessible via Antiva travelling overland.”

Image caption: “There are three specializations per character class; on the way to unlocking them you’ll acquire a range of abilities.”

Text in a side box:

"MEET YOUR MAKER “Full disclosure: Dragon Age has traditionally not done skin tones well, especially for people of color,” Busche says. “We wanted to do a make-good here.” In The Veilguard’s character creator, you can adjust the amount of melanin that comes through in the skin, as well as test various lighting scenarios to ensure your protagonist looks exactly as you intend in cutscenes. “Speaking of our first creative principle – be who you want to be – we really feel these are the kinds of features that unlock that for our players,” Busche says. “We want everyone to be able to see themselves in this game.” For the first time in the series, your body type is fully customizable too, with animations, armor and even romantic scenes reflecting your choices."

Image caption: “Your companions are a mix of old and new – Lace Harding is a familiar face. Veil Jumper Bellara is new, with a new occupation, while Davrin is a new face with a familiar profession – he’s a Warden.”

Image caption: "Arlathan Forest is home to the ruined city of the elves, now a place of wild magic, Veil Jumpers and (allegedly) spirits".

Image caption: "Bellara is driven by a desire to learn more about the elves, rediscovering the shattered history and magic of her people."

[source: Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) - it can be purchased online at [this link].]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #solas #video games #longpost #long post #simpforsolas #anthem #jade empire #mass effect #obsessed with the idea of helping neve solve cases...

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bunnys-kisses · 3 months

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(✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡* bunny's fic/drabble rec's, summer 2024!

happy summer bunnies! i know as the weather heats up, it means it'll be more time to soak in those rays and that smut! while i am gettin' ready for my birthday fiasco (it's july 4th everyone), i thought i'd share some posts i've loved over the past little while!

call of duty

simon riley x housewife kink (rated: e) by @princessbrunette

fugitive!konig × naive!farmer!reader (rated: e) by @motomamita

simon shares - tf 141 x reader (rated: e) by @canyonmooncreations

barracks bunny!reader but price is extra possessive over her.. (rated: e) by @luvit

rugby player soap fucks you after a win.... (rated: e) by @vanderilnde

141 and each one of them have Bimbo girlfriends who have no idea what they do but just know they get treated well... (rated: e) by @dante-mightdie

in utero (john price) (rated: e) by @captainfern (i owe you my life for this one)

formula one

podium princess | ln + cs + cl (rated: e) by @thef1diary (major (//∀//))

rulebreaker | cs55 (rated: e) by @pedantic-poison

baldur's gate 3

midnight's embrace (halsin/reader/astarion) (rated: e) by @astarionancuntnin

beyond desperation (halsin) (rated: e) by @dragonsfictavern

mating season (halsin) (rating: e) by @dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd

no, my love. i'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia. (astarion) (rated: e) by @lendeah

May I please beg for tiefling tav with Wyll who can't get enough.... (rated: e) by @newtabfics

wishin' everyone a safe summer! <3 xoxo, bunny

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jjungkookislife · 6 months

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Love on the Rocks

pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

genre: established relationship, college au, 18+

summary: Thanks to Grandmother Jeon, your friends join you for Spring Break.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: alcohol use/mention, grumpy!koo, mention of a quickie, mention of condoms, food mention, implied smut

a/n: support banner made by @benkeibear

date: March 23, 2024

║part one║║part two║║series masterlist║

Jungkook groaned when you shook him awake. He tugged his pillow over his head, hoping that would let you know he was still exhausted.

Midterms had ended yesterday, on Friday in the morning. You had the rest of the day to pack your bags and head to his place for a sleepover.

Turns out, Grandmother Jeon had hit it big on the slots and purchased all your friends' plane tickets and rooms at the same resort you’d be at with Jungkook, her, and Grandmother Park.

You were excited to hit the poolside and relax. You had a large hat and huge sunglasses packed, bottles and bottles of sunblock, and a hot boyfriend at your side. You were beyond ready to relax after such an intense week of exams and stress.

Jimin and Hoseok were already up. You could hear them making coffee and breakfast in Jungkook’s kitchen. Hoseok had slept on the couch after helping you pick your outfits for the trip. He slept over to help Jungkook with his outfits and to get a ride to the airport.

Grandmother Jeon had arranged a limousine to pick up the eight of you and you had about an hour and a half to get your sleeping boyfriend up, have breakfast, and get Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Taehyung up.

“Baby,” Jungkook groans as you straddle him. Your hands are warm on his bare shoulders as you rub them. He moans when you knead a knot near his neck. “No fair.”

“Come on, Kook,” you whine.

“Don’t you want to sleep some more, baby?” Jungkook knows you normally sleep in. You’re often the grumpy one in the mornings.

Except for today, apparently.

“We have a schedule!” you remind him, kissing the spot between his shoulder blades. Jungkook turns, flipping on his back and ignoring the pillow that falls off his face and onto his bedroom floor.

“Do we have time for a quickie?” Jungkook wiggles his brows as he grabs your hips. You bite your bottom lip as he moves you onto his hard cock.

“I know you two aren’t fucking in there when the six of us are out here waiting on you!” Seokjin’s voice comes from the other side of Jungkook’s bedroom door.

“Go away!” Jungkook shouts in response, groaning when you climb off him.

“We’re going!” You shout back as you grab your phone charger, earbuds, and a kitty Squishmallow.

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, cursing.

Of all days to get cockblocked.

Once breakfast is over and done with, you gather all your friends in the living room. You have a list in your hand that you made for yourself in your notebook with the little rabbit on the cover.

“Phone chargers?” you start, making all your friends and your adorable sleepy boyfriend, show you their phone chargers and pack them. “Earbuds? Underwear? Swimsuits? Sunblock? Sunglasses? Condoms?”

The men freeze and stare at you.

You roll your eyes. “Come on, condoms?”

Taehyung smirks as he opens one of his carry-on bags. You peek inside and gasp as Tae cackles and shuts the backpack.

“Uh, looks like Taehyung’s got everyone covered,” you whisper, ignoring the rush of heat to your face.

Taehyung grins proudly.

“First aid kit? Toiletries? Snacks? Earplugs?” you continue reading down your list, making sure you check everyone has their plane tickets, bags, and passports by the time the limousine pulls up.

Your luggage has to go in a separate car provided by Grandmother Jeon and you’re grateful you can sit back and relax on your way to the airport.

Once you arrive at your gate (to confirm it exists), your friends run wild as they split up, heading in different directions for snacks and souvenirs.

Your boyfriend starts to head toward the snack shop with Yoongi and Namjoon but stops when he realizes he’s left you standing looking at the screen for your flight.

“Love?” Jungkook asks as he approaches you.

“Go on, Kook,” you encourage him. “I’m gonna find a bathroom and do my makeup.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. “See you in a few?”

You nod, kissing his cheek before heading in opposite directions.

By the time you meet up, Jungkook and your friends have taken up two sections of seats while boarding begins. After a quick headcount, you relax when you have all your friends in one place.

Yoongi is on his phone, one earbud in his ear and the other Namjoon has as he sleeps on his shoulder. Seokjin and Taehyung share snacks, while Jimin sips his coffee and scrolls through his timeline. Hoseok eats a bag of gummy bears while waiting for the flight to start boarding, smiling when the first group is called.

You rise, dragging Jungkook with you as Yoongi wakes Namjoon.

Smiling, you greet the woman at the counter. You take out your plane tickets, standing beside her as Yoongi and Namjoon get their tickets scanned, then Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Seokjin, and finally you and Jungkook.

“Thank you so much,” you say as you follow Seokjin with Jungkook behind you. You wanted to make this trip as effortless as possible and you may have a little anxiety of making things difficult for workers when you didn’t have to. You didn’t want any of your friends to have their phones die and not have access to their tickets, nor did you want them to have their data fail or lose service or anything that could make this trip unfavorable.

The eight of you take up three rows of seats. There’s an empty aisle seat beside Jungkook as you take your window seat.

In front of you, Namjoon looks out the window, while Hoseok and Yoongi watch a video. Across the aisle from them, Jimin, Taehyung, and Seokjin are eating snacks, and deciding who gets what.

The fight will be a few hours long, but you’re hoping to nap for most of it. Namjoon is already half asleep as the plane continues to board.

Jungkook laces his fingers with yours. “Our first flight together.”

You smile, kissing his cheek as he takes his phone and earbuds from his hoodie pockets. He hands you an earbud, “I made us a playlist.”

“You’re so sweet,” you grin, taking the earbud from him.

Jungkook holds your hand, smiling when you scroll through the playlist to see all your favorites. Any time you’d hear a song on the radio, you’d smile at him and say “This is our song,” so he made it so.

The people finish boarding, and the flight attendants shut the door. You yawn as you rest your head on Jungkook, nearly asleep when the lights dim after the safety instructions.

Before you know it, Jungkook is shaking you awake gently. The plane is about to land, and your eyes adjust to the lights.

“Make sure you have all your stuff,” Jungkook reminds you gently as he puts his belongings away as the plane begins its descent.

Thankfully, the landing is smoother than you could ever imagine and after a few more minutes, you’re off the plane and inside the airport.

“Bathroom break and snacks?” You ask your friends as you head toward baggage claim. You know the closest bathroom will be less busy as the rest of the passengers wait to get off the aircraft so you rush toward it leaving your boyfriend and his friends behind.

Soon, you’re heading to the baggage claim area with everyone in tow. You almost feel like a tour guide, leading them to the correct carousel to wait for your luggage.

A man is holding a sign that reads, Jeons.

“Um, is that for you?” You ask Jungkook as you point to the man.

Jungkook shrugs but is distracted by a loud commotion at the carousel behind you.

“My baby!” A familiar voice fills the space as Minji rushes toward you.

Luna barks from her bag, not a fan of the sudden bustling.

“Minji!” You exclaim as you’re wrapped up in a tight hug by Jungkook’s grandmother.

“I’m so glad we arrived at the same time. You know I really do hate flying with Luna on board. It gives me the nerves and all that knowing she doesn’t like it. Oh, here’s one of the drivers. He’ll get the bags with his partner once you get them off the carousel.”

“Grandmother,” Jungkook says, brow raised. “Not gonna say hi?”

“Oh!” Minji releases you to hug her grandson as another squeal sounds behind you. Only this time it’s directed at Jimin before he’s wrapped up in a hug so tight, he struggles to breathe.

Yoongi chuckles with Hoseok as Namjoon and Seokjin grab the bags, pushing them to the side as Taehyung counts them to confirm they’ve all arrived.

“Can’t breathe,” Jimin finally whines as his grandmother eases up on her hold.

“I’m sorry, Minnie. I missed you so much,” Grandmother Park says.

“Come on, let’s get going. I’m hungry and Luna could use a nap,” Minji says as she directs you toward the waiting cars. Your luggage gets packed in one and the group splits up in two to get to the resort.

It takes a while to check in and pass out key cards.

Minji and Grandmother Park, Sujin, as she’d asked you to call her, were excited to check out their room.

“We are on the first floor,” Minji informs your boyfriend as she holds Luna’s carrier close to her chest. Though the two grandmothers had a place nearby, it was going through renovations and the two decided to stay in the same resort as the grandchildren.

“Wouldn’t you rather be on the same floor as us?” Jimin asks the grandmothers.

The two women exchange a look before they burst out laughing.

“No offense kids,” Sujin giggles. “But you’ll cramp our style.”

Taehyung chuckles as he helps with their luggage; Jimin guffaws.

“How?!” He pouts as he follows his grandmother into the room.

“I can’t be cruising for men when my cherubic grandson is hovering around, now can I?” Sujin sighs as she sits on the corner of her bed.

“Same,” Minji comments as she opens the drawer to put her clothes up.

“Gee, I didn’t know we were so uncool,” Jungkook whispers.

Seokjin laughs as he heads back into the hall. “We’ll keep our distance.”

“Call if you get into trouble,” Minji states with a firm look, eyeing every one of you.

“We will,” Jimin promises before he leads everyone out of the room.

The eight of you split into groups with your luggage as you hit the button for the seventh floor.

You and Jungkook are sharing a room. Across the hall, Jimin and Taehyung will share a room. Further down the hall near the elevator, Hoseok and Yoongi will share a room, and across from them will be Seokjin and Namjoon.

“Let’s rest and settle in before we grab lunch,” Hoseok suggests as he drags Yoongi toward their room.

Jungkook takes your hand as he drags his large suitcase in one hand and his bag hangs off his right shoulder.

You drag your suitcase behind you while your bag collides with your hip at every step. You’re still tired from the early morning and flight but you want to check out the resort and have a good meal.

Forty-five minutes later, you’re sitting poolside with a fruit bowl on your lap.

Jungkook lies behind you with his legs spread while you rest your back on his chest. He’s shirtless, enjoying the sun for a little longer before you make him put the umbrella up. As much as you loved the weather, it was too toasty.

Besides, you had wanted to eat before your hands got smeared with sunblock.

On the chair next to yours and Jungkook’s, Jimin and Hoseok have thrown their towels, snacks, lotions, sunglasses and who knows what else. They were already rambunctious with Namjoon, Hoseok, and Taehyung in the pool.

To your right, Yoongi read a book while tucked under an umbrella. You knew it wouldn’t be long until he dozed off and you had to save his place with his kitten bookmark and dab some sunblock on his nose.

“Open,” you instruct Jungkook as you press a strawberry to his lips. He obeys easily, biting down before moving his head back to chew. You giggle when you finish the strawberry and offer him a cube of watermelon next.

“If I knew the two of you would be this disgusting, I would have gone with everyone else,” Yoongi huffs but his gaze holds no malice just teasing.

“Aw, want me to feed you, little kitty?” You tease in your best high-pitched voice reserved for talking to babies and cute little things, including one Min Yoongi with his kitten bookmark.

“Yeah, I’m out of here,” Yoongi shuts his book and heads for the bar.

Jungkook chuckles before he kisses your shoulder, his arms wrap around your waist.

“Mm, glad you’re here,” He whispers into your skin. He trails a few kisses across your shoulders as his hands squeeze your hips. “Though I wish we could sneak upstairs for a bit.”

You giggle, “We just got out of the shower in time to meet everyone.”

“They won’t even notice if we’re gone for a few,” Jungkook jokes as he takes the grape from your fingers with a tiny roar.

Fuck, he’s adorable.

“Let’s just put the umbrella up and finish our fruit,” You say as you pat his thigh and he scrambles out of the chair to do as you’ve asked.

“Already got him working?” Minji asks as she walks toward you with Sujin in tow. Both wear large floppy sun hats, oversized leopard print sunglasses, and bright one-piece bathing suits (teal for Minji and yellow for Sujin) with matching coverups.

“You know it,” you grin as the umbrella goes up and Jungkook rushes to open the one for Minji and Sujin.

“What a good boy,” Sujin coos at Jungkook, who blushes and murmurs thanks before sitting beside you.

Sujin looks at the pool to see Jimin splashing Taehyung with a water gun and cackling as he swims away. “Unlike my grandson! Who hasn’t stopped by to say hello!”

Jimin’s eyes widen as his friends chuckle behind him. He gets out of the pool with a sheepish grin.

“Grandma,” Jimin pouts. Sujin smiles and hands him a bottle of sunblock. “Get my shoulders.”

Jimin nods as he opens the sunblock and moves behind Sujin. Seokjin smirks from the pool as he picks up Jimin’s water gun and chases Taehyung.

Namjoon does a lap on the opposite end, racing Hoseok before Taehyung interrupts with his screaming.

Jungkook takes the sunblock and puts some on Minji as you grab a drink of water from the table beside you.

“How’s it going?” You ask as you put your sunglasses on. It’s definitely getting hotter.

Jungkook hums as he races Jimin, wanting to be the first to finish so he can get back to you.

“Pretty good,” Sujin answers as she swats Jimin’s hand. “Easy, I’m fragile.”

“Sorry,” Jimin whispers.

“Oh, hot grandpa alert!” Minji chirps, swatting Jungkook’s hands off her. “Go find something to do, kids! You’re cramping our style!”

“We’re cramping your style?” Jimin guffaws as he drops the sunblock at the same time as Jungkook.

“Ooh, he’s got a friend,” Sujin smiles as she gets up from her seat, taking Minji with her.

“I guess we’re on our own for dinner,” Jungkook chuckles as he watches his grandmother introduce herself to the two men Sujin spotted.

“Looks like Minji is the life of the party wherever she goes,” you giggle as you take Jungkook’s hand to lead him to the pool. He goes easily, kissing you once you’re both in.

“Hey! None of that couple stuff on vacation!” Taehyung shouts from across the pool.

“Yeah,” Seokjin agrees as he sprays you two with the water gun. “You did that on our last vacation!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “The last vacation is why you’re on this vacation!”

Namjoon smiles. “Fair enough.”

Sleep clings to your eyes as you feel warmth on your chest. You’ve tried your best to wake up early but after dinner the eight of you went to bed early and slept, the day’s travel and afternoon being too much on your bodies.

Now, you could decipher it was your boyfriend making you warm as his arm draped around your middle and his fluffy hair splayed on your bare chest.

After a shower and a lazy nighttime routine; the two of you had gone to bed naked, too tired to dig through your suitcases for clothes.

The clock on the wall showed it was just after 12:30 pm and you stifled a yawn.

“No wake,” Jungkook grumbles in his sleepy voice and you smile. You run your fingers through his hair, singing to him softly.

“We can stay in bed all day,” you promise him but he rouses, pouting.

“But then our friends will come barging in,” he frowns because yes, that is what usually ends up happening.

“We can ignore them,” you grin as you continue to play with his hair. He hums as he closes his eyes once again.

The next time you wake up, it’s an hour later and Jungkook is kissing you awake.

He’s in a much brighter mood now that he's gotten enough sleep.

“Jungkook!” You laugh when he kisses your lips messily. “I haven’t brushed.”

“I don’t care,” he giggles as he kisses you again, this time deeper as his hand cups your cheek. “Just want you.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of lovemaking, hanging out with the guys at the pool, group dinner, and trying not to cramp the Grandmother’s style.

You’ve spent most of the afternoon in the pool with your friends and Minji.

A romantic dinner with your boyfriend has just ended with dessert and flutes of champagne.

Minji, Sujin, and their dates for the night are at a table as far away from you as possible.

When you had first set foot at the restaurant, Minji had made a point to hide behind her menu. It’s not like you and Jimin had helped them get ready or anything but Minji admitted she was a little shy when it came to dating with Jungkook close by.

Minji wasn’t looking for commitment. She wanted fun and adventure, and nobody could ever replace Jungkook’s grandfather, so she didn’t even want to try. She was happy with her life, with Luna, her grandkids, and her best friend. She had it all (according to her), so you'd stay out of her business.

Slow music plays from the stage. The singer is crooning as couples get up to dance.

You spot Minji and her dinner date dancing across the dance floor, smiling at each other.

“Want to dance?” Jungkook asks after watching you for a moment. He knew you were admiring the couples on the floor.

“Oh, I don’t know how,” you say sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook assures you as he rises from his seat. He pulls your chair out and takes your hand to help you up.

“I’m not so sure about this,” you whisper as he guides you to the dance floor. He takes your hand in his and the other rests on your waist.

You place your hand on his shoulder and the two of you gently sway to the music.

“You’re doing great,” he encourages you as he pulls you closer.

“I love you,” you tell him as you look into his eyes. A small smile appears on his lips as he kisses you. His lip rings are cold when they press against your lips, a soft moan escaping him.

“I love you,” Jungkook said once you parted. The two of you continue to sway as the song ends.

“Walk with me?” Jungkook suggests and you agree easily.

The two of you head out the door, smiling at each other as you make your way through the resort until you reach the beach.

Jungkook holds your hand in his as you walk along the shore. The sky is filled with sparkling stars but they have nothing against the ones in Jungkook’s eyes.

The waves crash loudly as you approach the shore. Your bare feet sink into the wet sand and you’re glad Hoseok picked out a shorter dress for this.

“I don’t want to go back home,” you pout as you come to a stop. The waves lick at your feet as Jungkook wraps his arms around you. He places his head on your shoulder as he looks at the water.

“Me either,” he admits. He takes a second to kiss your shoulder and then your cheek. “It’s been nice having you to myself.”

You giggle, turning your head to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re greedy, Jeon!”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs before he faces you. “But it’s only because I love you so much.”

Your heart melts into a puddle of ooey gooey love for the man with the cute bunny nose.

“I love you too, Jungkook. More than you can ever imagine,” you whisper as he cups your face gently in his hands. You grip his shirt tight as he kisses you, slowly deepening the kiss until you moan.

With a soft smile, Jungkook presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you speaks as you gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You’re the only one for me,” Jungkook swears as he leans in to kiss you again.

The waves continue crashing as you fall deeper in love with him, wishing this moment never had to end.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook x y/n #hfth!jungkook #fic: hfth #home for the holidays drabble #hfth drabble

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 6 months

Text

Series Masterlist

©celtic-crossbow 2024. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or placed on any other platform without my consent.

Chapter 20

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; gunshot wound; injuries; blood; allusions to child abuse; allusions to SA; poorly written smut; oral (fem rec); fingering; p in v; panic attacks

A/N: Dear gods, this one is long and full of a million feels! This will be the last chapter for a long while. It will be on hold in favor of finishing Blood Ties but then, it will be finished before any other endeavors. The song I chose for the later part of this chapter is one I recommend listening to while reading it. The lyrics and soft music helped shape this and I hope you like the end result.

Daryl was dizzy. Beyond relieved to have you latched to him like a koala but mostly just physically dizzy. Still, he couldn’t seem to summon the desire to let go. You were whimpering against his good shoulder, trembling something fierce. “We gotta go. S’not safe here.” It took another moment for your legs to begin their descent, your body sliding against his in a way that forced a grunt out of him while his face flushed. Not the time for that particular part of his anatomy to wake up. Clearing his throat, he loosened his hold and shifted his hips away from you. “Place’ll be full’a the dead soon. Gotta go while ev’ryone’s distracted.”

You nodded, nearly glancing back to where Todd had fallen, just for one more fragment of affirmation that he was gone, truly gone.

“He ain’t gonna hurtcha no more.” Daryl pressed a palm against the small of your back, and you responded, moving with him toward the door. He stuck his head out first, internally mapping a way to safety before he even thought of letting you follow. Offering his hand, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation.

You could hardly believe you were really outside. With Daryl. There was no time to revel in the victory, however. It was instant walker-dodging, trying to make it into the forest and out of sight before the living threats realized you had escaped. There would be hell to pay once they had gathered their bearings. You could only hope that you were all back behind the prison gates before that happened.

Daryl weaved through the forest with a skillful ease that you envied, though you noticed he was beginning to flag after only a few moments. His focus seemed to dwindle, nearly leading you headlong into a cluster of walkers before you tugged him to a stop behind a tree.

Pressed tightly together, chest to chest, you got your first good look at the archer. He was gasping and slick with sweat, perhaps from the run but you were hardly even winded. There was a pallor to his skin that had worry slithering around in your gut like a constrictor, weaving its way into your chest the more you scrutinized his state.

“Y’okay?” He lifted his chin toward you and gestured toward his own face. You hadn’t really thought of how horrible you must look, beaten bloody in a revealing set of lingerie. Hopefully he couldn’t see your blush around the bruising.

It wouldn’t have bothered you before his introduction into your life. Hell, it didn’t bother you. It had been your job, your sole purpose. You were molded to believe that you only existed for men to touch and ogle and use. Your time at the prison with kind people you had thought extinct had shown you otherwise,

“Where are we meeting up with everyone?” You leaned around the tree, the shuffling of leaves and snapping of twigs growing further away along with the symphony of groans and snarls. Three stragglers were still too close for the two of you to safely move without alerting the majority. While Daryl could traipse the landscape like a ghost, you may as well set off fireworks with each step. The hunter remained quiet. You only assumed he saw something you didn’t and tucked yourself back against the tree. He was gnawing on the side of his thumb, seemingly avoiding your quizzical stare. “Daryl?”

“Need to find a place for the night.” He was deflecting.

“Where’s Rick? Carol?” Your eyes narrowed, suspicious. He leaned out much as you had moments before and gave you a nod.

“Let’s go this way.” He took a step to pass you, but you caught him around his middle. The archer heaved a sigh and dropped his head. “They ain’t with me.” You blanched.

“You came alone?” It came out higher than you’d intended, prompting a stern shushing from Daryl. Lowering your voice to an aggressive whisper, you continued. “Why would you do that? You were—oh god, Daryl, you were hurt!”

“M’fine. Let’s get—”

“You shouldn’t be here. Not alone. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth your life. I thought I made that clear.”

“Stop that shit! Ya are worth it!” Daryl clapped back, stepping back into your space. You flinched. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, so he held up his hands and put some space between the two of you. “You’re worth it, Y/N. Anyone that tells ya diff’rent can come talk to me.” He added softly, shifting his gaze with a nervous tapping of fingers against his hip.

You swallowed hard around the sudden lump in your throat. Without the ability to speak at that moment, he would need to accept the jerky movement of your head as agreement.

“Let’s go. Need to put some distance between us an’ them ‘fore nightfall.”

You were crouched behind the bush, not moving a single muscle. If you could possibly stop breathing, you would have. Daryl was in his element, crossbow leveled, eyes laser focused. You never got the chance to hunt with him. You were certain that, after this, you would never let him go without you again.

There was so much to learn. The way he followed trails, the slightest disturbances on the forest floor you weren’t able to see. He knew what he was following, knew that it had an injury. All from something on the ground that looked like nothing more than a thin layer of leaves and sticks to you.

The click swoosh of the crossbow still startled you but was easily brushed off. Shouldering his crossbow gingerly, Daryl retrieved the rabbit by the ears and returned to you, holding it up slightly as if seeking your approval.

“Ain’t the turkey I was trackin’ but it’ll feed us.”

You beamed at him. “Bird or bunny, I don’t care. I’m just hungry.” You had eaten a little with the Governor but hardly enough to satiate the hunger that caused your stomach to cramp. Daryl hummed with a nod and looked around somewhat aimlessly.

“Need to find someplace to hole up for the night. Gonna hafta go outta the way a lil’. They’ll be searchin’ the routes back to the prison.”

“Do we even know the way back?” You asked without thinking. The look he shot you was almost comical. “Right. Stupid question.”

“C’mon.”

The two of you walked for what felt like hours, your feet scratched and aching, the stockings catching and tearing on almost everything. The irony wasn’t lost on you, the first time he’d rescued you and where you were at that moment. Both times found you in skimpy attire and ending up without shoes. At least now, you weren’t afraid that he was set on raping or beating you.

“Hang on.” You couldn’t take the discomfort for another second. Daryl stopped immediately and looked back with concern that was quick to shift into something else, his cheeks reddening. You were shimmying off the garter belt entirely and discarding it along with the stockings, leaving only the bustier and thong. “Much better.”

“Didn’t, uh—didn’t grab anythin’ extra this time. Sorry.”

“You could always give me your underwear again.” You teased, watching the blush deepen and spread to his neck and ears.

“Stop.” He grumbled. Turning on his heel, he took a step and paused, without looking back. “Do ya—if ya really need—”

“No.” You laughed, not at him but the situation. “Keep your drawers. I’m good.” The man grunted and continued on in front of you. If someone had told you all those weeks ago that you’d be goading a handsome man about his underwear, you would have laughed at them. Well, you probably wouldn’t have since at that point, you’d forgotten how to laugh. You would have been shocked to say the least.

Everything was so vastly different now. New challenges and emotions to navigate your way through. The more profound of each of those being Daryl. Your feelings for him were strong and mostly unfamiliar. Desire, you’d felt that before, once upon a time. You could recall it from your life before. But you wanted him. In every way.

Every way.

Not just physically. And oh, did you want that part of him. This was heavier than that, so much deeper. A vast ocean that’s depths were terrifying but held beauty that called to you. Daryl was complex but beautiful. He was the first breath of spring as winter melted away, the scent of reawakenings and new life. He was that moment when the ominous darkness of a storm parted just enough for the blue sky to peer through. Dangerous, lethal but offering tenderness and safety behind his minaciousness.

You wanted to know his heart, hold it and keep it safe. You wanted to see his soul, wanted him to bare it to you willingly and tell you his secrets, his inner wars that he had battled alone. You wanted to fight them for him and let him rest. You wanted to touch his scars, show him gentleness where someone had marked him with cruelty.

But you would want forever.

You weren’t what Daryl deserved. He was worthy of the world and you could only offer him a chasm, dark and damaged and unrepairable.

You could want until the end of time.

You were dismally prepared to do just that.

God, he was exhausted. If walking for hours wasn’t enough reason, carrying himself as if he wasn’t suffering was wearing him down quickly. Hunger and thirst were turning his stomach inside out, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get you somewhere safe. Then he would rest. Actually rest. He still had water from the river and preparing the rabbit would be easy enough, allowing him to sit and give his tired, aching body a break.

“Daryl?”

He loved how his name rolled off your tongue. Focus, Dixon! “Hmm?”

“You, uh—are you okay? Really?”

He hesitated. He didn’t want you to worry. Causing you more stress after what you’d been through would be selfish. He just needed to find shelter. Anything would do at this point as long he could barricade it and there could be a fire, either inside or out. The weather was mild, the changing of seasons from summer to autumn. He would only need the fire to cook the rabbit.

“Daryl?”

Oh. You had asked him a question. “M’fine. Just tired.” You made a noncommittal sound, making it obvious that you knew something was off. Damnit. “Shoulder’s buggin’ me. Ain’t no big deal.”

“Maybe we should stop for a while.”

He had to admit, it was tempting. The problem was that if he stopped, he wasn’t sure he could get back up. “Nah, m’good.” As Dixon luck would have it, his body chose that moment to betray him. Daryl stumbled, the dizziness overwhelming him. He tried to lower to a knee, but as the ground shifted and drew closer, he tilted and his injured shoulder took the brunt of the fall. The desperate noise he heard was dampened beneath the onslaught of pain, the only indication that it was coming from him being the burn in his throat.

“Daryl! Goddamnit, you’re bleeding.”

Your face hovered over him, blurring in and out of focus like a camera steadying for the perfect shot. The canopy above you served as a stunning background for an image he would try his damndest to commit to memory. The trees acted as umbrellas, issuing the perfect amount of the bluest sky and filtering the light to a flawless dapple. It presented an ethereal halo to your already faultless beauty.

“Daryl. I need you to get up.”

There was an urgency to your tone that he couldn’t seem to react to, his brow knitting. When he tried to question, he wasn’t sure his mouth was even moving. Then you were gone. There was an overwhelming impulse to panic with your sudden absence. Daryl grabbed at that feeling and held on tight, using its influence to force his body to cooperate. He rolled onto his uninjured side, back protesting. A rucksack and crossbow do not perform adequately as a pillow. With a grunt, he lifted his head.

You were fending off four walkers on your own with his knife. No, you were driving them back. Daryl kept his eyes on you as he endeavored to make it to at least a sitting position. You kicked one back, unable to take it down before you cut off another that was getting too close to him. They could smell the blood, thick and coppery in the air. Jesus, how badly had he torn the wound?

He couldn’t fire the gun, even if it would be more effective. It would alert both the living and more of the dead. Maneuvering the crossbow from his back was painstakingly complicated, but soon enough, he was using his legs to hold it in place while he pulled the string back. He was only briefly ashamed of the whines and whimpers he couldn’t manage to stifle, his shoulder throbbing something awful. With the string captured by the latch, he was quick to load a bolt, trusting his ability enough to lift and fire with minimal aim.

The walker you were grappling dropped in a heap, your wide eyes seeking out Daryl. Before he could blink, you had thrown yourself at the next closest corpse, leaving the two that brought up the rear. By the time he had managed to load another bolt, you had pulled the knife from one skull and were stabbing the next. You were angling yourself towards the last one when a bolt zipped past your face and impaled itself through the walker’s eye.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Daryl let the crossbow fall from his grasp and fell onto his back, grimacing when the lumpy rucksack reminded him of its presence. A jolt of pain in his shoulder brought on a gasp, his hand instinctively going to rest on the throbbing area and coming away red.

“Are you okay?” You appeared over him again with those big, worried eyes. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt annoyed. Angry, even.

“M’peachy.” He answered flatly. Against every instinct, he sat up again, swatting away your hands when you silently offered to help. He avoided looking at you. The naked concern in your expression would only serve to bring on guilt that he couldn’t process on top of physical pain.

Finally on his feet, he shouldered his crossbow and scooped up the rabbit with a grunt, walking without speaking. You followed behind but at a distance, your untrained footfalls loud.

He wasn’t truly angry, not at you. It was his own selfishness behind his irritability. How badly he wanted to let you fuss over him and touch him. The way he wanted to touch you. He knew very little about your life before Jazz and the club. Hell, you didn’t know much, couldn’t recall many things before the trauma that had taken so much of who you were. Would you ever reclaim anything from your past, despite the hell you had lived through? How many pieces were missing? Could he help you find those parts of yourself?

The answer was no.

He couldn’t even piece himself back together.

Still, he knew what he wanted. And that scared him. He wanted you, broken or whole mattered little if at all. The unfamiliar territory he was treading drove him into retreat, battling to keep the bricks from reassembling into the walls you had torn down with such a small amount of effort.

Love wasn’t a word he tossed around carelessly. It had taken months to admit he felt any sort of affection toward the group he had allied himself with, despite what he had been willing to endure for them. What he felt toward you was so much different, reaching significantly farther than the responsibility he had claimed to be the justification. He knew what his useless, battered heart was trying to tell him but he had never followed it before, relying on experience and self preservation to guide him through a life he felt was sometimes meaningless.

You deserved so much more than what he could ever offer you. You, with your damnable kindness that should have been, by every right, snuffed out by the unspeakable cruelty you had endured. All things considered, you still worked tirelessly to find yourself or some semblance of who you were meant to be. It was admirable and only made him want you more.

That just wasn’t him. It was so far away from what he knew of himself, or thought he knew. But being around you brought out a sense of comfort and acceptance he was too scared to embrace or appreciate. Getting comfortable, feeling safe, would only lead to disappointment. He had learned that with his mother and even more so with his father. Just when he thought Will Dixon could change and be the parent he had needed, Daryl would only receive another wound, another scar, another reason to never trust anyone.

Then you challenged all of that.

You were a breath of fresh air amidst the decay he was accustomed to even before the turn. The calm of the forest after a hard rain, when things were still and he could immerse himself in the tranquility before the life that dwelled there ventured out to return to normal. You radiated the warmth the sun gifted during the bite of winter’s cold. You were everything that gave him solace when he had run scared as a child, convinced that there was no goodness in the world.

You were everything he was not.

And because of that, he couldn’t reach out to you in the way he wanted. He would only break you down when you deserved to be lifted onto the highest pedestal.

You had been broken enough.

And you could shine without him.

You watched Daryl wear himself down to the point you thought his stubbornness would have him crawling rather than accepting your help. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since the walkers, even when the two of you needed to hide from another group of the dead. He refused to meet your eyes, pressing himself so hard against the tree that shielded you both that he would hiss in discomfort just to keep from touching you.

What had changed so drastically since you had left with Jazz? Why did he even come find you if he didn’t want you near him?

You were just about to attempt to talk to him when the small shack came into view. It wasn’t exactly a cabin but someone had lived there. A garden, long dead, was surrounded by short, broken fencing. An old generator was on the rickety porch-like structure with parts and rusted tools scattered around it. It was a dilapidated building but would serve the purpose.

Some of the visible tension melted out of Daryl’s shoulders. He was quite clearly exhausted and in pain. Before he could even begin to engage in anything strenuous, you jogged to catch up, holding up his knife where he could see that you still had it.

“I’ll check out the inside while you start a fire and take care of the rabbit.” You were trying for authoritative but it, of course, came out as a question. The hunter stopped halfway to the rotted wooden steps and angled his head toward you. Tired, blue eyes narrowed, studying as if solving a puzzle.

“Fine.” He huffed, dropping his bag but keeping his crossbow. He carried at his side, a silent reassurance that he was ready should you need him. Careful to avoid the weak spots, you were slow to make your way to the door. It was barely shut, hanging at an angle but maybe there would be something inside to push against it. With your hand flat on the wood, you started to open it. “Tap on it.” Daryl called quietly but loud enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“Tap on the door. The window. Just make a lil’ noise ‘fore ya go in.” He sounded exasperated but continued with his task. He probably thought you didn’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, finger hovering beside the trigger of his weapon.

“I doubt there’s anyone home.” You mumbled. He still likely heard you. Inwardly sighing, you tapped the blade of the knife against the doorframe. At first nothing happened. Just as you rolled your eyes and pushed against the door, something fell into it from the other side, the snarls and scratching making it obvious. When you looked back at Daryl, eyes wide, he was smirking at the circle of rocks he’d be using as a firepit.

When you sighed this time, it was one of determination. You could hear only one walker. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the only one, but if things went the way you planned, it would be simple to take out however many were inside. You were mindful of how you held the knife when you threw yourself against the door. It took two times to push the door open enough for the walker to come around it.

“The hell ya doin’?!”

“I got it.” Careful once again, you backed down the steps. “Come on.” The walker fell over the top step and tumbled, giving you an opportunity to glance at Daryl. He was aiming the crossbow, but the fact that he hadn’t fired when you both knew he could easily take it down meant that he was giving you a chance to do what you were attempting.

On its feet again, the dead woman followed you clumsily. You led her away from the structure, past the old garden, and then stopped to allow her closer.

“Y/N.” A clear warning.

“I got it, Daryl.” He should know. It was he and Carol who taught you. He had also told you that everyone fucks up sometimes. For you, this would not be one of those times. You lunged for it just before it could reach you and too quickly for it to grab you, plunging the knife into the walker’s eye. You pulled as the body fell, making the retrieval of the weapon a piece of cake. “Told you I had it.”

Daryl tried for a scowl but the twitch of his lips was evident even from a distance. So you grinned at him, prideful of what you had done. It probably wouldn’t have been a big deal to Carol or Michonne, but you were new to it all. You’d take a win where you could.

“You couldn’t drag it and neither could I.” You said in passing on your way back to the door. He grumbled something close to yeah, I could’a but you ignored him. The left shoulder of his shirt was saturated. You needed to sit him down and take a look. You weren’t very knowledgeable but you could at least put pressure on it until it clotted. Maybe? Did it work like that?

The little shack was clear of the dead now, the woman apparently living alone. You gave no thought to how she had died or how long she had been there. Inside was a simple set up. One room, a bed in one corner. Full size with some sort of furs as blankets. It was large enough for you both to sleep as you had before but given his change in demeanor, he was likely to want the floor.

There were iron kettles and pots stacked on a corner, along with an open med kit. Crossing to investigate, you glanced out to see Daryl crouched down and skinning the rabbit. The kit had a few bandaids, some Tylenol, and an opened square of gauze. Never knowing when you would need even the smallest of things, you removed the gauze and kept the rest, placing the small box on the bed.

A dresser sat in the other corner, two of the drawers broken and partly open. The woman had been just about your size. Maybe there was something you could use so parading around in front of Daryl with your ass out was no longer an issue.

“Bingo.” You smiled. The sweats were at least clean. They were a little baggy. Maybe she had looted them from somewhere else. It didn’t matter, really. A long sleeved flannel with most of the buttons missing was in the same drawer. There weren’t any other shirts, to your dismay. Pursing your lips, you decided to see how you could make it work.

The bustier had left red indents in your skin. You nearly moaned with relief while removing it. The flannel was actually missing all the buttons but you could work with it. You rolled up the bottom and tied the two ends together beneath your breasts. It was an odd crop top that made some of your lesser scars visible but nothing was hanging out, so winner winner chicken dinner. You grabbed the most comfortable looking of all the mismatched socks and walked toward the door.

You could smell the fire, your mouth watering at the thought of rabbit. No seasoning but beggars could not be choosers. First, however, you wanted to check the walker for shoes. The clothes somewhat fit so maybe shoes would too. “I’m gonna check to see if the—”

The socks fell to the porch, forgotten. Daryl’s forearm was red and blistered, the skin practically melted away from being too close to the fire. You grabbed his uninjured shoulder, thankful that was the side closest to the flames so you could simply roll him away. He had landed face down, unmoving when you spotted him.

Now lying on his back, you could clearly see his chest rising and falling. He was alive. “Daryl? Can you hear me?” Your hands cupped his face, the skin cool and clammy. That was good in one sense: no fever. It could, however, mean he’d lost too much blood. His shirt was sticky with it. You carefully peeled the fabric away from the wound, finding it open and still bleeding sluggishly. There were loose butterfly sutures with most of Hershel’s stitching popped or missing. “Idiot.” You sniffled.

Lifting his shoulder as high off the ground as you could manage, you let him come back to balance on your thigh and leaned to see the exit wound on his back. It was mostly fine, just one end where the skin was torn and puckered. You could work with that.

The medical kit inside was useless. You could only pray he had the sense to bring something with him. You dumped the contents of his bag in the ground, nearly sobbing at the sight of a kit from back home. You could at least pack the wound and dress it. Grabbing the small red bag and the canteen, you scurried back to his side. You’d have to fetch more water from somewhere after cooling the burn and cleaning his shoulder but you’d cross that bridge later.

At that moment, Daryl was priority one.

The first thing he heard was the cracking and popping of a fire, the smell of smoke and meat wafting into his nostrils. It simultaneously made his mouth water and his stomach turn. There was a groan, deep and drawn out. A walker? No. That was coming from him. Where the hell was he? His damn brain was foggy, clouded over from pain. Exhaustion threatened to pull him back under but the shuffle of leaves gave him just enough adrenaline to flinch away when someone touched his face.

“Easy. It’s just me.”

“Y/N.” He croaked, curling his lip at the sound of his voice. His mind began to fill in the blanks, memories sliding into place to form a timeline that ended where he was now, by the fire with right arm and left shoulder bandaged. The sky was a watercolor painting of purples and oranges, the sun long out of sight. “How long I been out?”

“Here.” You pressed the canteen to his lips and while he drank, he used his right hand to take over holding it. “A few hours.” He watched, head tilted, as you reached behind you to turn the rabbit on a spit. “I had to, uh—I had to leave you once to get water. I’m sorry.”

“Still here, ain’t I? Don’t gotta apologize.”

You took the canteen and replaced the lid. “I’m sorry that I covered you with leaves and put a dead walker on top of you.” You weren’t meeting his eyes. Shit. Had he been such an ass that you were afraid of him again? “I didn’t know what else to do. When you fell, you burned your arm. Between that and your shoulder, I used it all. I had—”

“I ain’t mad, Y/N. Jesus. Calm down.”

Your shoulders dropped. “If you’re not mad, then why are you acting different around me?”

“Let’s talk—let’s talk inside. After.” He gestured to the fire. “You’re gonna burn that.” He was glad he had at least finished prepping the rabbit before face-planting, made things a little easier for you while you were stuck watching over his dumb ass. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth. You wanted to say something but swallowed it down with a tight-lipped smile and went back to the fire.

To be honest, he had pushed back the conversation because he wasn’t sure what he was going to say to you. He could blame his physical state, the blood loss and exhaustion. Then he’d be lying to you more than he already had. To tell you the truth would be to admit that he was no better than the men who had tortured you. Sure, there were feelings involved, something you appeared to have as little experience with as he did.

Nothing good could come from this. Maybe he needed to come clean just so you could understand why he needed to distance himself, if only until it all passed. Feelings were fleeting, nothing was forever.

“Here.” You were offering him a skewered portion of meat. “Try to eat. If we need more water, I know where to go.”

Daryl nodded his thanks and lifted the food to his mouth, stopping short to watch you seat yourself near the fire, drawing up your knees. The soft glow of firelight burned warm against your skin, flickering flames casting shadows that made the bruises and lacerations appear that much darker. You had cleaned yourself up while he was unconscious, changed into fresh clothes and shoes that had likely been inside the home. Even riddled with injuries and in oversized clothes, you were fucking beautiful.

Finally forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you, food was eaten in silence, the fire extinguished shortly afterwards to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. The hunter was impressed with how you were handling yourself with such minimal instruction from him.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He cleared his throat, continuing as you went about gathering everything to move inside with only the moonlight guiding you. “Just—holdin’ your own out here. Don’t need me ‘round no more.” The statement was both fond and bitter, just another confirmation that he’d be doing the right thing by stepping away once you were safe.

You had stilled, but then carried on, leaving him for a heartbeat to deposit everything inside. Then you were crouching in front of him, reaching out, ready to help him inside. Your hand lifted at the last second, warm palm coming to rest gently against his cheek. He was leaning into the touch before he could stop himself, allowing that brief comfort even if it was entirely self-serving.

“I think I’ll always need you.” You smiled, gentle and sad, like you were reading his mind. “I’m okay with that.” Maybe you were, but he wasn’t.

His entire commitment to you from the beginning was to make you self reliant, let Carol help you figure out how to be a person again, and while training you hadn’t gone exactly how he’d planned,—he was never supposed to be involved—he was proud to say that you stood more of a chance now than when he had met you. He could step back and let Carol take over. Daryl never had a problem disappearing, he’d been doing it all his life. Hiding from his father, jumping from town to town with Merle. He could do it again. Even if it meant he’d have to leave the prison, the people he cared about, to keep you safe and give you a chance, he was willing.

You reached for him again and he swatted at your hands, using his right arm to balance while he got his feet beneath him. The burn ached beneath the bandage and Carol was likely to throttle him the moment they got back for how messed up his shoulder was, but it had been worth it. They would likely see the smoke from the factory, investigate from a distance, and return to the prison, either convinced that you and he were among the dead or they would keep a sharp eye out for your return.

He was ready to be back, if he was honest with himself. Take a few days to heal properly and then head out for a while on an extended hunt. Maybe he wouldn’t need to leave permanently. Maybe this would all fade as he hoped.

When he felt your hand between his shoulder blades and caught your eye, the myriad of emotions visible there even in the dim light reminded him that hope in that world was futile.

You indicated the weak points in the steps and followed him inside, closing the sad little door before shooing him away from the dresser.

“No way. You’re not pushing this with your bad shoulder. Go lie down.” When he remained there with a incredulous expression of you’re kiddin’, you squared your shoulders and looked every bit as scary as a wet kitten. “Go on, get.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose and pressed his good hand to the top of the dresser only for it to be popped like a kid reaching for the cookies before supper. He found he was a cross between offended and impressed. “Listen, pipsqueak, I—”

“No, you listen, you stubborn mule.” Daryl’s mouth snapped shut, eyebrows shooting upward. Impressed, indeed. “You damn near killed yourself to get me out of there. I fixed it all up the best I could but I bet Hershel and Carol are gonna lock you in a cell regardless when we get back. So the more you rest, the less time you spend in solitary confinement, capiche?” You leaned your weight against the piece of furniture but stood up again with an angry pout. “And don’t call me pipsqueak!” He filed away that nickname for later. Would there be a later? No, he couldn’t think about that right now.

“Fine.” He huffed and let his hand fall away. He didn’t move just then though, quite frankly enjoying watching you struggle with the task on your own while he unlaced and removed his boots. You grumbled and cursed but finally succeeded, turning to him with a victorious, high-pitched hmmph. Daryl shook his head and turned toward the bed in the corner, a small half-smile gracing his features.

The mattress had two blackbear furs on it. No pillows but it was unlikely that you gave any more fucks about it than he did. Utilizing his good arm, he snatched the edge of one fur and dragged it off onto the floor, toeing at it to spread it out.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?” When you didn’t say anything, he turned, finding you in the middle of the room, wringing your hands with one of the saddest expressions of trepidation he’d ever seen you wear. Fuck. He knew what was coming.

“Why are things different now?” You were staring at the bear skin as if it were still a living creature that was driving a wedge between the two of you. “Are you mad at me for leaving? I just wanted to protect you like you protect me. I couldn’t stand the thought of—”

“Told ya I ain’t mad.” Daryl interjected when the words just kept tumbling out. “Weren’t happy ‘bout it, but I get why ya did it.” I would’a done the same. The hunter kicked at the edge of the fur even though it was already laying flat. You sniffled and his head snapped up. “Nah, Y/N, don’t cry.”

“We slept in the same bed before. Why can’t we now?”

He inwardly groaned. Why was this a big deal? Did you just need comfort? Stupid. Of course you did. You’d been through the wringer. He was so emotionally ignorant. Selfish. “Ain’t a big deal. I’ll sleep on the bed.” He bent to retrieve the fur.

“Why don’t you want to? Are you—I know you know what they did to me. I’m—disgusting.”

Oh, fuck no. “Don’t say that. Ain’t your fault what they did.” He was crossing the distance before he realized his feet were moving, stumbling to a halt in front of you, just barely restraining from dragging you into him. “Things are—just diff’rent.” Your big eyes were shining, wet and full of questions.

“Different how then?” You reached for him. He wanted to retreat but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to cooperate. “How can I fix it?”

His face twisted into a grimace, turning away from you and then back in the same movement. “Ya can’t cause ya didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” You were hugging him around his torso before he could stop you, your warmth seeping through his shirt for his chilled skin to soak up. “Y/N, I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Goddamnit. Why was this so hard?

“Ain’t it obvious? I need to let ya go.” And his damn voice cracked. He still hadn’t made a move to hold you. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. He felt you shift, now looking up at him again with your arms still firmly wrapped around his sides. And though he scrambled to grasp a single sliver, the anguish in your gaze shattered the last of his resolve.

The back of his knuckles stroked your cheek before he hooked a finger beneath your chin to hold you as you were.

“Daryl?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “Wanna—can I kiss ya?” Your face crumbled, the tears you had been controlling finally wetting your cheeks. His hand fell away. “M’sorry. That was stupid. Don’t know what I was thinkin’.” He tried to step back and give you space but your hold kept him immobile, your head shaking back and forth.

“It isn’t that. It’s just—” Your breaths were shallow spasms, chin wobbling. “No one’s ever asked me before.”

His heart didn’t just ache, it broke. The idea of doing anything you hadn’t consented to was nauseating. For all the hell he’d been through and cruelty he’d seen, he still couldn’t fathom hurting someone like you purposefully. No one had asked before kissing you? Did you mean before the turn? God, the urge to just hold you was dizzying, to protect you without ever letting you leave his arms.

You worked hard to get yourself under control, straightening to look at him as steadily as you probably could manage. “Ask me again. Please.”

His heart was hammering. He knew you could hear it. Tongue sliding across his bottom lip, he leaned down until your noses were almost touching. “Can I kiss ya?”

“Yes.” Your eyes flitted to his lips and back to his eyes.

This was what he wanted but now he couldn’t seem to remember how. Still, he’d rather it be a clumsy disaster than leave you questioning. He leaned in closer, parting his lips slightly to make his intentions clear even though you had consented. His lips pressed into yours, mirroring the way you opened in invitation. There was a tentative sweep of his tongue, grazing your own. You relaxed with a contented sigh that traveled down his throat, rattled his spine, and cradled his heart. He wasn’t just taking what you were willingly giving, he was learning.

You wanted this.

He had never been so wrong but he wasn’t exactly built for picking up any cues you had given him, intentionally or not. He felt himself begin to tremble, suddenly void of any semblance of confidence.

When your fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck, pressing gently to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, he shivered involuntarily. It was a slow dance of pent up emotion, gradually charging the air around where the pair of you stood. His own hand lifted to the side of your neck where his thumb brushed back and forth over your jaw. It was only when his lungs began to burn that he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours while you both panted.

“Is this what you want too?” You shrank into yourself timidly and awaited his answer. He chuckled breathily and ignored the pain so his other hand could cradle your face as well, using both of his thumbs to sweep away your tears that still fell uninhibitedly.

“Yeah, pipsqueak. S’what I want.”

“Don’t call me pipsqueak.” Your tone was breathless, eyes hooded, your arms winding around his neck.

He kissed you again. Hands moving to your waist and then around to your back, bending you slightly to curve over you. Your hands slid to his chest and curled into his shirt as best they could while being wedged between your bodies. The second kiss was no less gentle but held no reluctance. He’d laid all the cards on the table, against his better judgment, never expecting to be rewarded.

The fear of hurting you in some way was still very much present, a lingering warning in the back of his mind that he chose to ignore in favor of licking into your mouth, stealing another taste. And then another. And another. You were intoxicating, one indulgence would never be enough.

There were no objections from you when he maneuvered your bodies to turn, never parting during the journey to the bed. He didn’t allow the back of your knees to meet the mattress, but instead used the hold he maintained around your middle to lift you up and lay you back. He was leaning over you, mouths still moving together only to part for you to crawl backward and further onto the soft surface.

There was the smallest flicker of panic that he had taken it too far, that you were trying to escape, but then you were reaching for him. Your fingers pressed gently into his ribs as soon as he was within reach and allowed you to guide him over you, opening your legs to allow room for him. Daryl hesitated, noticing the fine tremors in your hands.

He leaned in for a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth and then sat back on his knees to grant you a bit of space. “Ain’t gotta do anythin’ ya ain’t ready for.” His pants were already tight, the strain on his groin nearing an unbearable yet delicious pressure that might have been just enough to both give him relief and cause him embarrassment.

He was far past the point of no return, prepared to give you everything or nothing at all. Whatever you needed or didn’t. His hand was resting just above your hip, thumb brushing back and forth in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Just tell me what ya need.”

You were scared to the point of panic, waiting for the inevitable pain that would accompany his baser instincts to take what he wanted. But this was Daryl. Training aside, he’d only ever shown you gentle touches that were fleeting and reluctant, to just as much appease his own anxiety as well as yours.

The reasonable part of you knew he’d never intentionally hurt you. The part of you that had been traumatized so purposefully had been conditioned to submit and bear the burden of agony to ensure he was satisfied. It was almost enough to send you spiraling into that dark place where you could hide. Maybe it already was. Your chest felt tight, breathing was becoming difficult. You felt like you would shake into pieces, each fragment bearing witness to the disappointment he’d certainly let show.

“Hey.” His raspy voice was just as gentle as the whisper of his fingertips that were now caressing your jaw. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Nothin’s gotta happen. We can just lay here.”

You swallowed hard enough to hurt. “But you want this.”

A deep red began to rise on his cheeks, spreading down his chest and up to his ears. “Yeah, I do. Don’t mean m’gonna take it from ya.” His voice was strained, uncertainty working its way in even as he tried to maintain control. His tender touches carried on, fingers carving a soft path down your neck and over your collarbone but skipping your breasts entirely. Then he was rubbing his palm up and down your bare side, below where you had secured the flannel. His skin was still chilled from blood loss. “Can I—will ya let me try somethin’?”

What could he possibly want to try? The act itself was simple for him: undress you, enter you, chase his pleasure. He’d be gentle, you knew that, even if you needed to constantly remind yourself. You found that even suffocating under the weight of your fear, you ached to feel him inside of you, wanted to make him feel good. He deserved to feel good. So if there was something he wanted to try, you’d allow it. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nodded.

He returned the gesture and slid his palm over your abdomen, bringing it to rest on the front of your sweatpants. “Just say the word an’ I’ll stop.” The need to fight back the dampness in your eyes presented itself once more. Your exhale shook but you nodded again.

Bringing his injured arm into the movement, he dipped his fingers below the elastic waistband and paused, glancing at you for what you assumed was an opportunity to stop him. You said nothing, curiosity intertwined with apprehension while you watched him.

Daryl was slow to drag the article of clothing down your legs, taking the time to delicately pull each foot from the ribbed cuffs before dropping them to the floor just beside the bed. Easy to grab in case you changed your mind maybe? The cool air against your skin—your scars—was more than a little jarring but you forced yourself to keep still.

He was careful when he finally touched you, just above your right knee where a faint, raised imperfection resided. The permanent reminder of James, a regular client with a malicious enjoyment of knife play. There was no pity in the way he looked at your skin, just a reverent understanding. You had seen his scars. He was comprehensive of the callousness that one human could show another.

Now that he was touching you so intimately while you were spread open before him, you remembered that neither of you had anything to make penetration any less uncomfortable. You were used to it, you supposed. Some men just used your blood and some used lubricant provided by the club. Others just drove in dry. There was also the lack of condoms, dental dams.

Daryl’s other hand came to rest on the inside of the opposite thigh, his rough palms kneading the flesh of each, while he looked back and forth between them. Ever so slowly, he slid his hands below to rest centimeters away from where your ass curved into your leg. He simply left them there and bowed over you, pressing his mouth just above the waistband of your panties.

You gasped. His lips were chapped but soft and warm, in direct contrast to the coolness gripping the backs of your thighs. Regardless, it wasn’t the feeling of his touches that surprised you, it was the result of those touches.

There was a rush of heat at your center that seemed to whittle its way back and forth to your stomach, the muscles of your abdomen twitching against Daryl’s mouth. Your clit was beginning to pulse. You were no stranger to arousal, or so you had thought. Maybe that was another part of you that had been chipped away because nothing that you could remember felt like this.

“This okay?”

With a sharp inhale, you looked at him, only then realizing your breathing had picked up. Daryl was completely still, waiting with a patience you had only seen a few times since you’d known him.

“Y-yeah.”

Eyes on you, he lowered his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to a scar parallel to your navel, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs. Looking at him, watching him watch you felt too intimate. The back of your head pressed into the pillow, your own hands coming to rest on either side of your head.

Daryl was already doing more for you than any man while you were at the club. What he seemed to be doing was comforting you, showing reposeful attention to each mar littered across your skin. Once he had completed that particular endeavor, he switched to doing the same to the smooth areas in between.

You bit back a whine when he relinquished his hold on your thighs and slid his hands to your hips, slipping a finger beneath each strip of fabric across your hips. Before he could ask permission, you shot upright, forcing him back.

“Wait!”

“Yeah, okay!” His hands came up next to his head, palms out. “M’sorry, was gonna ask.”

“No, I know. It’s not—it’s just—” you had started shaking your head as you sat up and hugged yourself tightly, a whimper escaping unchecked. “Todd, he would cut me if I didn’t behave or didn’t perform. He was so angry over his brother but Jazz wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let Todd kill me. So, he cut me instead.”

Daryl muttered a quiet Jesus and raked his fingers through his hair. You knew he was working it out, flaming fury burning in his blue eyes when it all clicked.

“I’m sorry.” You ducked your head away from his anger. Nothing was directed toward you, but the actual heaviness of his rage was frightening.

“Nah, ya don’t say sorry for that. Ever. Ya hear me?” His left hand was squeezing the bandage-covered burn on his right forearm, using pain to ground himself. You knew the method well. “Wanna bring his ass back so I can kill ‘im again. Slower.”

You weren’t sure there was anything you could say. It was done, the moment was over. You gave him a nod and began to draw up your knees but his hands were quick to stop you. With a quizzical stare, you said his name.

“Got scars too. Sure ya saw ‘em when ya patched up my shoulder.” His hands remained on your partially bent knees, grip firm but trembling. Maybe it was a terrible time, probably the worst, but you felt compelled to be truthful.

“I saw—I, uh, saw them before that, Daryl.”

“Shower. I know.”

Saucer-sized eyes snapped over to him, your body going rigid, cheeks burning with shame. “You—knew?” Daryl hummed an affirmation. “Do you wanna talk about them? Your scars.”

He shook his head slowly, no. “Not yet. This ain’t ‘bout me.” The archer sat back on his heels. “Just, ya know, wanted ya to know that I get it. We got scars. Seein’ ‘em ain’t gonna change anythin’.” Maybe bringing up what else you had seen that night wasn’t such a great idea. “Ya good?” You gave a quick nod. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” Not where you thought things were headed. You weren’t ready to stop just yet. Shaken, but not beaten.

You moved quickly, pulling your legs beneath you to rise up on your knees where he still sat on his. Your hands bracketed his neck and your mouth was slotted over his, relieved he didn’t freeze. Quite the opposite, he pulled you flush against him with an arm around your waist and the opposite hand on the back of your head. Your chest was heaving when you angled your chin to pull away your mouth, leaving your face close, your nose nuzzling his. His eyes were still closed.

“Please don’t stop.” If he wanted to—really wanted to— end things there, you wouldn’t try to persuade him otherwise. You held onto hope that the hard bulge pressed against your stomach meant you wouldn’t even need to try. When his eyes opened, the blue that was always giving a glimpse of the kindness he tried to hide was a mere thin line around lust-blown pupils.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice your deep, steadying breath but even if he did, he was possibly just too enamored with watching you lie back, your nimble fingers untying the front of the flannel. With one last glance at Daryl, unmoving and patient with his hands balled into fists on his thighs, you spread open the shirt. More scars adorned your breasts, but while Jazz’s clients would curl their lips and scoff, the archer's eyes raked over your flesh with what you could only be described as unabashed wonder and appreciation.

Clinging dramatically to your sudden burst of bravery, you straightened your legs on either side of his hips and hooked your fingers into the straps of the thong to drag the fabric down, keeping your thighs pressed as tightly together as you could manage while lifting one leg and then the other. The white material hung from your left ankle, your knees bent and closed just above where Daryl remained sitting on his own.

“Y/N.”

“Please don’t try to talk me out of this.” Hands resting on your thighs, you dug in your nails, the slight burn providing an anchor against your fear. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain composure, but that didn’t matter. Whether that night or a year into the future, you would need to battle these demons. “I just want to feel something—real.”

His eyes flashed up to yours, an understanding there that needn’t be spoken. Your wounds and his had been inflicted so differently but your scars were the same; a map of your lifetime, of bravery and endurance among such suffering.

“Alright.” He rasped after another moment of silence. His hands lifted from his lap to hover just above your knees. There was a twitch in his clenched jaw, a spasm of pain from his shoulder but nothing more. The pressure he applied to urge your legs flat was barely there, a slight encouragement that lacked any demand. It was awkward but you somehow succeeded in keeping your thighs together.

Daryl’s fingertips began easing into the space just above your knees to urge your legs to part, not making it far before he stopped. His jaw worked back and forth, teeth gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip. While you wanted to spread yourself open, you couldn’t seem to find the nerve.

Not until his next move.

His gaze remained on your thighs while he worked slowly to pop open the buttons of his shirt, one by one. There was a shadow of a moment where you considered stopping him; telling him it wasn’t necessary. He seemed to think it was. Quid pro quo, maybe; ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel more at ease.

The archer shrugged the shirt from his right shoulder, then gingerly slid it off the left. You avoided staring after the initial glance. It wouldn’t do to make him feel more exposed than he was. You couldn’t, however, erase the image of his naked torso. His skin was dirty, caked with dried blood from the wound, but he was beautiful, ruggedly handsome with tanned skin pulled over whipcord lean muscle. You had always found jealousy in the ogling stares of the prison women but you understood. To be the one he was sharing this much of himself with was dizzying.

He didn’t make a move for his belt, crawling toward you instead, the press of his knee where your legs were sealed together was gentle in its attempt at prying you open. You parted them, a little more confident without him staring down at your mutilated flesh.

Daryl held his weight above you on his right arm with the slightest tremble of exertion. He must have seen you glance over, worry etched in your eyes, because then he was shaking his head with a quiet s’fine.

You tried to recall when you had lost your virginity, but couldn't seem to pull up a face or name or even a clear memory, but you wondered if it’d been something like that. Two hesitant individuals with the knowledge of the other’s desire for them but completely clueless when it came to implementing that into some sort of action. Like horny, inexperienced teenagers. You would have chuckled if the dark reality of justification wasn’t hovering over your bodies like a dense, suffocating fog.

You flinched minutely when Daryl dipped his head, hot breath wafting over your exposed nipple. He made no further attempt, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, seeking consent and it made your eyes sting. Your fingertips grazed over a scar on his temple with the slightest curiosity of where it came from, but dismissed it in order to splay open your fingers against the back of his head and pull him toward your chest.

You gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the touch so foreign that your body didn’t seem to understand how to react. Gooseflesh prickled across your chest and down your arms, your other hand jolting upward to join the first, unintentionally holding Daryl in place, silently pleading for an encore.

He didn’t disappoint. Shifting over, he briefly pressed his lips to your sternum before his tongue circled your other nipple, drawing the pebbled nub into his mouth. The slow, tenderly executed motions had your lower belly burning with a feeling your traitorous body had experienced while a stranger fucked into you despite your unwillingness.

The archer didn’t remain where he was for long, moving to drag his tongue down your torso and dip it into your navel. There was a full bodied shiver, your legs instinctively spreading wider. You didn’t even realize it until his open mouth was against the skin just above the tuft of hair at the apex of your thighs.

You felt the familiar stirring of panic and you tilted your chin toward your chest to look at him, finding him staring right back. His lips remained stagnant against that spot, his dark gaze searching your face for permission. It took two deep, calming breaths, both worryingly difficult to achieve before you nodded. His mouth was against the beginning of the scars that he would soon find on the ruins of your cunt. But then he did something unexpected.

He closed his eyes.

At first you thought he was avoiding a disgust that would dampen his desire for you. Then he was touching you, mapping out each jagged line with the tips of his fingers, neglecting not a single one.

He was allowing you to acclimate to the new experience.

You couldn’t remember ever being touched so tenderly, or a man ever willingly exploring your most sensitive area beyond driving their dick into your dry entrance. Daryl had yet to even delve between your folds, his attention solely on conveying acceptance of your imperfections. The fear of rejection and anticipation gave way in a rush of wetness you hadn’t realized your body was capable of, a physical indication that you appreciated what he was doing.

Your hands were still loose on the back of his head, making it possible to speak your consent and insistence without words. Your nails scraped lightly over his scalp for your fingers to tangle in his hair, urging him onward and asking him to open his eyes and see you. Despite his valiant actions to bring you comfort, you needed to witness his reaction.

He was slow to peel open those pretty eyes, still dark with desire. You laughed around tears when there was the flash of arousal in the pools of blue. He was seeing the whole of you and not just the desolate ruins. He was appreciating what you were offering him. There wasn’t a single scrap of hesitation or disinterest. His tongue was parting your folds to taste you, but then his eyes widened and he reeled back just enough to put a couple of inches between your hot, slick slit and his mouth.

“M’sorry.” He was apologizing for his naked desire that had propelled him to touch you without seeking permission. But you weren’t even remotely upset, hadn’t even considered anything beyond the scorching trail his tongue had left in its wake. You could do nothing but whimper and card your fingers through his hair, canting your hips upward in silent pleading for him to continue.

And continue he did.

Daryl dove in like a man starved and you were the finest meal he’d ever had, his tongue lapping at you while his large hands pressed against your inner thighs to spread you wider. He had only just begun and there was pleasure like you had never before felt, that you didn’t even know was possible.

When he gave a satisfied hum against you and latched his mouth over your clit, the wanton noise that left you was positively pornographic. Your hips jerked and your grip on his hair tightened. No wonder the clientele had never made this a priority. What would they get from this beyond perhaps the enjoyment of the mewls and breathy moans that you couldn’t seem to stifle? None of them wanted that.

But Daryl was drinking it up, his tongue working your sensitive bud harder and faster with each sound you offered him.

When you felt the tip of his index finger circle your opening, there was a jolt of fear; an anticipation of pain but he wasn’t moving. Once again he waited patiently for your approval, but all the while, his tongue continued its assault. Your mind warred with the desire to be filled by him in any and every way and the terrifying inevitability of the pain you had been led to believe was the norm.

In the end, your undeniable hunger for him prevailed. “Please.” You panted, grinding your hips against his face. The feel of stretching around his thick digit wasn’t anything like you were accustomed to, the gentlest of burning, molding until he was fully inside. Your inner walls fluttered around the intrusion with a stuttering of your hips. It felt so good that you began to question if it was really happening at all.

When Daryl moved his finger, pulling it back to drag over your insides, you watched his eyes roll with a deep groan against your clit. There was a tightening within your belly that held a promise of something delicious but Daryl seemed to be enjoying what he was doing just as much—if not more— than you were.

He kept the action slow and deliberate, allowing you to adjust not only physically but mentally as well. You had been denied pleasure, something you were sure he deduced from your tears over his request to kiss you. It wasn’t until you moaned his name and rolled your hips against his hand that he doubled down in his efforts to bring you to your high.

He worked at your clit with wanton abandon, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the swollen, stiff bundle of nerves, all the while pumping his finger in and out of you with a gentle, deep push and pull that directly contradicted his vigorous onslaught with his mouth.

God, you had never felt so good.

“Daryl.” You whined, writhing and tugging on his hair. He chuckled against your slick cunt. Goddamn him, he actually chuckled. “I don’t—it feels—hhhnnngg—”

“Easy, pipsqueak.”

“Don’t call me th—oh.” He had slowed down, languidly brushing his nose over your clit while thrusting his finger deep and curling it against a spot inside you that made your toes curl. You couldn’t remember the last time you came or if you had at all. Daryl pulled almost all the way out of you before pressing his middle finger against your drenched hole, requesting to join the other but not advancing it further.

God, you appreciated his need for consent but at the same time you wanted to shake him and demand he keep going.

Instead of responding verbally, you angled your hips and pushed down against him, taking both fingers inside you, your velvety walls pulling at his digits to suck them in deeper. You weren’t cognizant of anything anymore, only the rush of urgent need to feel that knot in your belly twist tighter.

“Fuck.” Daryl whispered before circling his tongue around where his fingers disappeared inside of you. When he began thrusting into you after your desperate whining, it was still at an agonizingly slow pace. You understood why he was being so gentle.

Because no one ever had.

And, though your body begged for the alternative, you needed to feel it that way, feel valued and cherished and worth pleasing.

Daryl made you feel that. He ignored his own needs. You had definitely noticed the way he continued to shift his hips, holding himself carefully away from the mattress. Was he truly that aroused by pleasuring you?

The train of thought derailed when he sucked hard on your clit, flicking the end of his tongue over it while it was drawn from beneath the thin hood of flesh by the suction of his mouth. His left hand shot up to your hip with a pained grunt to keep you immobile for the moment, your whines and whimpers morphing into shouts and moans. Daryl released the small bud and pressed his tongue against it, and when you looked down, you found his gaze on you with an intensity that drew that coiled knot inside you even tighter, threatening to snap it loose.

“Please, Daryl—I don’t—I need—”

“S’okay, pip. Just let go.” His tongue pressed against you again, a firm stimulation that when combined with the twist and curl of his fingers inside you brought a sudden heat from deep in your lower abdomen. It engulfed you, centering on the now vehement circling of Daryl’s tongue on your clit. Your body vibrated, your hips rolling now that he had removed his hand in favor of keeping one shaking thigh pressed down while the other sought it out to squeeze and hold him in place.

You were mumbling, then shouting, random words in incoherent sentences. His name and a plea and a call to a god you didn’t believe in, desperate and overwhelmed. You had never felt pleasure like this, never been allowed to drown in an ecstasy that another person could draw from you.

You had definitely never orgasmed before; regardless of your trauma, that feeling would be something you would surely remember.

You were clueless as to how long you were under the spell of complete and total bliss, falling limp with your bare chest heaving. You didn’t even feel the tears until Daryl was hovering over you, his thumb catching the moisture before it could run across your temple.

“Y’alright?” You hummed, still weightless and floating in the space between reality and wherever it was the archer had sent you. He smirked, his hand still against your neck with his thumb sweeping back and forth over your cheekbone. “Think ya need to sleep some now.” Just like that, you were completely lucid, sitting up to pull him into a feverish kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a profound sense of intimacy but you felt another pulse run through your cunt, centering at your clit.

“Please.” You whispered against his mouth, feeling how his breath trembled. As you met his eyes, they were rising away from your lips and looking back at you. He studied you, seemed to be peering into your very soul. He urged you back down when next his mouth slotted over yours. Your hands slid from his shoulders and down to his hips, pulling and guiding him until he was nestled between your thighs. He still wore his pants but his erection was undeniable and likely painful by that point. He wanted you and not in the same way all the men before him did. Daryl wanted you as more than just a hole to be fucked. He wanted you and all your splintered parts and defects. He wanted you but was willing to wait to have you. It only made your desire for him increase tenfold.

“You’re sure ya want this?”

“Yes.” You replied without thought or hesitation. “I want this and I want it with you.” Deft fingers were already sliding from his hips to his belt buckle, working it open while he peppered sloppy kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“Won’t last long.” He mumbled against your collarbone. There was a sadness to his tone. Did he really think he could disappoint you?

“You just made me feel so good, Daryl, and you did it without hurting me. You made me feel—” Loved. The word never made it off your tongue, but you shifted his focus with a nibble against his throat. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.” Button open and zipper down, you caressed your way around him and pushed the denim, along with his boxer briefs, down over his ass. Kneading your fingers across each buttock, the muscles twitching. With the combined use of your hands and feet, you managed to get his pants down to his ankles, leaving him to kick them off.

You didn’t look, but you could feel. His cock slid back and forth in your nectar with his hips lazily rocking, his mouth on your breasts. You couldn’t suppress the whine that climbed up to press against your teeth. You needed him inside you. It was never like this before. You were terrified of any man being near you in such a way, but there was little more than residual fear there. Nothing of Dary’s doing. You struggled to slide your hand between your bodies but the archer caught your wrist and brought it toward his mouth to kiss your palm before he guided you to rest it beside your head. He did the same with the other hand.

Sex like this was different to say the least. He wasn’t rushing to penetrate you, or rutting into you like you were a bitch in heat. Even with the heated weight of him nestled against your labia, he didn’t go into a frenzy. It went against everything you had been taught was normal. But that was just Daryl, wasn’t it?

Always showing you that the truth had never fit into Jazz’s narrative.

“Hey.” The archer brushed his nose against yours. “Thinkin’ so loud, you’re makin’ my head hurt.” When you had taken too long to articulate a response, his lips descended onto yours once again, moving with such care while you followed his lead. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling with yours. If you weren’t careful, you’d get drunk on the taste of him. Maybe it was too late and you already were.

He balanced on his right forearm to ease his hand to your breast, cupping and weighing it, rolling your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a firm squeeze. You arched into him as far as you could beneath his weight, mewling his name with a whisper of more, please into his mouth. You wanted so badly to touch him, to spur him onward. Each time you lifted a hand, he was catching it and lowering it back down.

By the time he decided to reach down, line himself up, you were a panting, squirming mess, caught somewhere between anxious anticipation and lingering doubt. A whimper shook just behind your lips as his tip nudged your slick entrance. He was hesitating, staring at what he could see of you and himself from where he balanced atop you.

“It’s okay.” You soothed, hand trembling while he allowed the comfort of your fingers gliding through his hair. “I want this.”

“Don’t, uh—” he began, his throat working to swallow around the words that were trapped there. “Don’t want ya to do anythin’ ya might regret.”

“Who in their right mind could ever regret the chance to be with you?”

The look he fixed on you was nearly devastating, wide, shining eyes that were radiating disbelief. Carol and the others had worked so hard to help you realize your worth. You wondered, dimly, why they hadn’t spent as much time convincing him of his own. There was sudden disappointment that you didn’t know him from before, that the two of you didn’t find one another before things went to shit. You would have gladly spent every single minute of every single day showing him how amazing he was.

Daryl had dropped his head, any view of his face hidden behind his fringe. Was there anything you could do for him? You wanted this—needed it, craved it—but that all consuming desire was easily pushed aside and replaced with the want to show him gentleness. You’d pull him down to rest with his head over your heart. Maybe you could even find the words to explain why he’d hear it galloping behind your ribs, how it was more than a baser need, how it wasn’t sexual in the least. It was simply the effect of having him that close to you, offering you a part of him that none of the women at the prison had ever even been considered to receive.

You gasped, nails biting into his bicep as he began to breach you. It burned, and with that sensation came the shock of knowing that a stranger had been fucking you only hours before, but this was still pushing your body to its limit to accept Daryl. He stopped once the tip rested inside, for both your benefit as well as his own. He was already twitching, possibly not physically able to go further without spilling inside of you. Would he? You could almost feel the cum leaking around him to spill out of your cunt, wanted to experience how it would make your body soar. However, there were very valid concerns that would make that unlikely.

“Y’okay?” His voice was strained, gravelly, and unfortunately for Daryl, your body reacted by involuntary squeezing him. He keened, a low noise in the back of his throat. In lieu of a reply, you dragged up your legs and pressed your heels against the curve of his ass, pushing him deeper. His head fell onto your shoulder with a grunt. “Goddamn—”

Your cunt wrapped around him in a perfect mold, so tightly that you could feel the vein that ran underneath his cock. Gasping and moaning, you let your knees fall outward and pushed against him with your heels until he was fully sheathed within your warm, fluttering walls. And then you were lost in him. The first thrust was more a roll of his hips, driving so deeply inside of you that you could feel him nudging your limit yet still carving his way further. It was amazing to immerse yourself in the chasm between pain and pleasure, without a sense of foreboding weighing heavily to suffocate you. Daryl was your safe place, and now that you couldn’t seem to tell where you ended and he began, you could draw upon that ardor and submit to him completely.

Submission was something you knew well, but this was different. It was a conscious choice made out of desire and not fear. You were ready to willingly drown in him and let him decide when to pull you up for air. Another roll of his hips saw you breathing his name, your hands roaming over the broad expanse of his back, over the raised and uneven skin. The archer growled next to your ear, sucking on the lobe before progressing with intentionally wet kisses and nibbles over your jaw before claiming your lips.

He was so gentle in his movements, allowing both of you what you needed while still reminding you that sex could be enjoyable. No one had ever made love to you that you could remember. Maybe before the end of the world, but that no longer mattered. The memories could stay buried for all you cared. You wanted this, there in that moment. With Daryl.

“Need ya to tell me you’re okay.” He murmured with his lips brushing over yours. His sporadic presses into your body became a rhythm, continuous and deep, but just as slow and steady. The heat in your belly was already simmering just from the drag of him inside of you, feeling him twitch and swell.

“I’m okay, yeah. I’m okay.” You managed, encouraging him to bare his neck to you with a gentle nudge of your cheek against his jaw. His moan cut off, hips stuttering when you bit down on skin over his pulse. There was the slight taste of copper on your tongue. He groaned and grabbed at your hands, one at a time, to push them back down on either side of your head, lacing his fingers through yours. His grip tightened with every languid thrust, only to loosen when he pulled back his hips. His face was buried against your shoulder again, choking off moans and failing in the attempts to hold back the whimpers, he was throwing gasoline onto the fire inside of you. “I’m—I think I’m—” Your chest arched and pressed against him, his left hand releasing yours to move down and cradle your lower back, angling your hips to allow him to carve his way impossibly deeper. You could feel him moving in your lower belly, each push back into you prodding a spot that had your toes curling.

You began to orgasm before you could even warn him, so lost in the colors and shapes of a different reality while your cunt clenched around him so forcefully that he grunted your name and squeezed your hand. You knew you were shouting but could do nothing to stop it. It just felt so sublime, so right. Dary was still at your ear, panting and grunting through clenched teeth. He was hanging on by a thread.

“Y/N, m’gonna—fuck, m’gonna cum.”

He slipped out of you so suddenly that you whined, twisting your other hand free to encircle both arms beneath his, holding him close and steady as he spilled onto your throbbing pussy. His chest was heaving, the frequent puffs of air so warm against your skin. His muscles were taut beneath your palms, rippling while he rode out his high with lazy thrusts, his cock brushing against your groin. Then he was still, collapsing on top of you but cognizant enough to shift his weight so as to not crush you.

The room was quiet then, save for the heavy breaths. It was damn near eerie but entirely forgotten when the archer pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes tired and glazed over.

“Did I hurtcha?” It was almost a whisper, as if he was trying to avoid someone overhearing and catching you both naked and sweating.

“No.” You smiled and pulled him back against your shoulder. “Not at all.” It took several more minutes before your own breaths had slowed to an even cadence. Daryl had all but melted into you, sated and sleepy and vulnerable. It felt like an honor to hold him in such a way, coaxing out the stress and despair so that his muscles relaxed and he felt safe enough to close his eyes. One hand rubbed across his back, pausing with each twitch or sharp inhale. Your other hand was busy cradling the back of his head and combing your fingers through his hair.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?’’ When you angled your head to look down at him, you found yourself smiling. His eyes were losing the battle to stave off the call of sleep.

“Thank you.”

But he was already out, the exhaustion from the last few days pulling him under with relative ease. As you held him close, you felt your own eyes grow heavy. One of you should really have stayed awake and kept watch, but sleep was relentlessly dragging you down.

With one last kiss into Daryl’s hair, you closed your eyes, feeling the tears sting but you were too tired to fight them off.

“Thank you.”

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