#don't they realize the implications?? the things you could do in fic?

[ghirahimbo]

hey. hey Nintendo, let's talk. did you just kind of imply—just kind of throw in there—that Rito can maybe talk to birds?

did you really?

did you rea

[daistea]

Thank you for the food the fic was so nice! Your latest Mithrun fic made me think of the scenario more. Imagine Kabru, someone aware of elven culture, heard of us doing this the first time we did it from a friend who overheard it. He tries to find us to worn and educate just to find out it was too late and defeatedly explain to the other elves that tallman don't have that culture just to clear us. Aftermath of it is so hilarious. Also an alternative scenario for this setting I can think of is a random elf accepting our offer, or just someone who doesn't know about Mithrun feelings towards us, like Flamela and just exploit us and Mithrun later learning about it.

I love this prompt so much, thank u

2500 words!

tw mild nsfw implications

Mithrun x Tall-man reader

sequel to this

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Kabru scoffed at the notion that secrets and rumors were like feathers on the wind, uncatchable. He was great at catching feathers. He used them to stuff his pillow which he slept so soundly on at night. Rumors were wild dogs, but he had a leash and collar. He’d tamed beasts with bigger teeth. 

(That was, of course, a metaphor, as Kabru could not literally handle things with big teeth, as exemplified from his time in the dungeon.)

A particular sort of secret reached his ears in the empty hallway of the castle. It was the kind of secret that raised hairs and inspired mortification, which were the best kind. Usually. 

“Yeah, they asked to touch my ears,” Pattadol’s muffled voice was strained, tinged with embarrassment that Kabru could detect even through the door. 

“Mine too,” Flamela drawled. A pause followed her words, then she continued, “Pervert.”

The two elves then moved onto a different subject consisting of Pattadol’s worries for diplomacy and Flamela’s dismissals of such worries. Kabru listened for a moment more before silently moving away. He stalked down the hallway with dark clouds rolling in within his mind. 

You had asked Pattadol and Flamela if you could touch their ears. 

Kabru put his hand to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned against the wall, beneath a portrait of some old ruler from thousands of years ago. There was still so much dust in the castle, but the thickness in his chest wasn’t from allergies. You were his friend, and so innocent, so curious. You couldn’t have known the implications of touching an elf’s ear. 

He had to speak to you immediately. 

--

“Yeah, I figured that out.” 

Kabru forced a smile and tilted his head. He was aware of how wide his eyes were, how he probably wasn’t doing a good job at hiding his shock and horror. He couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment as he watched you casually take a sip of your tea. 

“You figured it out?” He asked. Kabru wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or proud. 

“Oh yeah,” you slowly nodded as a triumphant smile rolled across your lips. When you opened your eyes to return his gaze, there was a spark within them that did not bode well. “I figured a lot of things out, actually.”

He took a moment to study your expression. The half-lidded quality of your eyes, the slight pink upon your cheek, the tilt of your chin; realization hit him like one of Marcille’s explosion spells. 

“You got laid.”

You nodded proudly, “I got laid.”

“...Mithrun?���

“Yeah,” there was triumph in your voice.

Kabru tried his best to control his irritation. You were so casual about it, he could’ve throttled you. How unromantic, asking the man who was entirely too smitten with you: ‘can I touch one of the most sensitive parts of your body?’ And the audacity, the horror, of that actually working. 

It was personally offensive to Kabru. He’d spent years building up his talent for wordplay and charm. Then, here you are, harassing poor elves. And what are the consequences of your curiosity and ignorance? Hot sex and a beautiful elf boyfriend. 

Unfair. 

There were other consequences, though. The thought of Flamela referring to you as a pervert was enough to cool the boiling in his blood. 

“Okay, I’m going to help you,” he sent you a smile.

“I don’t think we need help,” you grimaced, “we both know what to do. But thanks.”

“I– I don’t mean with Mithrun. I mean in general. I’ll help you recover your reputation with the elves of Melini.”

You tilted your head, “My reputation? What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard Flamela call you a pervert earlier.”

“Oh,” taken aback, you sat up straight in your chair, hands tightening around your mug, “Honestly, I forgot I even asked Flamela.”

The feeling in Kabru’s chest could only be described as the slow decay of his soul. “Well, she remembers quite well.”

Another grimace, “Oops. It’s no big deal, though, I’m sure they all understand that I just didn’t know the implications of it.”

Your optimism was so cute. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he took your hand and smiled, “don’t you worry.”

--

Kabru was used to elves. He’d grown up in the Northern Central Continent where elves were the dominant percentage of the population. Even in Utaya, elven culture strongly influenced daily life, architecture, and manners. His own adoptive mother was an elf. 

Still, his experience did not negate the particular brand of nervousness that came from having nearly ten elves staring at him. 

There was the first squad of the Canaries, Flamela– who was only visiting for the week– Fionil, and Marcille. All of them were absurdly pretty, confused, and pinning him to the wall with their unsettling stares. Flamela and Mithrun, at least, had the decency to look irritated at the interruption to their day. 

Kabru forced his lead tongue to work, “Alright. You’re all probably wondering why I’ve called this meeting. First of all, let’s start with this: Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by [name]’s curiosity concerning your ears.”

Everybody besides Fionil and Marcille raised their hands. 

“Okay,” Kabru sent the two half elves a reassuring smile, “you two are free to go. Thanks for coming.”

“Are my ears not good enough?” Marcille muttered as she and Fionil left the empty noodle shop. 

Mithrun had very generously given Kabru permission to hold the meeting in his noodle shop before the dinner rush. It was of humble size, but clean and quiet with the smooth scent of broth clinging to the walls and chairs. Kabru had a feeling that Mithrun only lent him the space out of curiosity after he’d mentioned that the meeting had to do with you, his partner. 

Silent anticipation settled over the small group. Most of them were taut, seconds away from leaving if he said the wrong thing.

Kabru cleared his throat, “Alright. So, I just want to settle something. [Name] is not a pervert.”

There were those eyes again. They were like six lances ripping through his skin and affixing him to the wall. 

“What?” Otta asked. 

“They’re not a pervert,” he repeated as he raised his hands, “they’re just really curious and didn’t know any better. So, please, don’t judge them too harshly.”

Another beat of silence followed the plea. His gaze shifted to Mithrun, who was watching him carefully with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him. As their eyes met, Mithrun simply held the gaze, his face as blank as fresh parchment. 

Kabru set aside the building urge to dissect Mithrun’s brain and instead focused on the rest of the group. “They really didn’t know any better,” he continued despite the rising murmurs among the group, “please forgive them. Tall-man culture is a lot different from yours.”

That seemed to please the elves. Collective negativity was always far more satisfying, he knew.

“Savages,” Cithis huffed.

“Idiots,” Flamela agreed.

Otta had the decency to argue, “They’re just innocent and ignorant. And it’s not like elven society openly discusses those kinds of things.”

True. Elven culture was confusing. Wearing revealing clothes and showing a lot of skin was normal for them, nothing to give a second glance to, though the subject of sex and arousal was deemed inappropriate. One was expected to maintain their dignity, wear a mask depicting perfection, and bring honor to their family. The nobility were commonly quite repressed, though commoners had a tendency to loosen their tongues among friends. Still, sexual education was not taught well, or often, despite their dwindling population. It seemed a bit counterproductive to Kabru, but he understood their reasoning and how centuries of superiority complexes brought them to that point. 

“Did nobody actually tell them what it meant?” Pattadol asked. 

Lycion sent her a raised brow, “Did you?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I did,” Mithrun interrupted. Every eye went to him, though he kept his gaze straight ahead and his arms crossed. He let a moment of silence pass before he continued, “They won’t be asking to touch anybody’s ears again.”

Flamela made a face, “So, did they touch your ears?”

“Yeah.”

He said it so casually, unbothered by the surprise and amusement of the other Canaries. Fleki leaned forward to clap a hand on his shoulder, which earned a little frown from him. 

“Did you get laid, Captain?” Fleki asked, her grin toothy and stinking of mischief. 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t need to know that!” Pattadol screeched, “You don’t have to answer every question honestly, you know! You’re allowed to keep secrets!”

“I know,” Mithrun shrugged.

He just didn’t want to keep that particular secret, Kabru knew. Mithrun would much rather that everybody recognize his stake, his claim, his flag buried at the top of the mountain he’d just climbed. It was easier that way. 

Flamela, though, was Flamela. 

She stood up, her fists clenched. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t waste time with you guys anymore.”

The first squad ignored her departure and instead started asking Mithrun a myriad of invasive questions, much to Pattadol’s distress. Yet, Kabru kept his gaze on Flamela. There was a spark in her eyes, one he recognized. It betrayed her intentions. As one of Mithrun’s closest friends and certified nosy-guy, he couldn’t help but subtly follow her out and into the street. 

“Excuse me,” he said once the door shut behind him. A few feet away, Flamela stopped mid-step and whirled around with a glare. 

“What?” She hissed.

“You’re going to do something you’ll regret, aren’t you?” Kabru sent her a look he hoped she’d recognize as concern. It was definitely concern, because anybody that planned to mess with you deserved that. 

“I won’t regret it,” Flamela rolled her eyes, “I just… don’t understand why [name] would want to touch the Captain’s ears and not mine. Mine are longer and softer.”

“Are you really offended over this? Didn’t you tell them no already?”

“I’ve changed my mind!” She snapped. 

“Are you just trying to get back at Mithrun for charging you full price for a bowl of noodles?”

She froze. Her mouth was open, shaped in a scowl. Her shoulders rose like the hackles of a cat. Despite the flicker of satisfaction that Kabru felt at having hit the mark, the hair on his arms stood to attention. He was seconds away from being tackled. 

Fortunately, he side-stepped right as Flamela attacked. 

Now on all fours on the dirt street, Flamela glared at him over her shoulder, “He should’ve given me a discount!”

“He isn’t obliged to.”

“He is!” She stood up and dusted off her uniform, “[Name] should want to feel my ears, they’re better.”

Kabru put his hands on his hips, “You’re just being competitive.”

“Shut up,” she hissed before brushing past him and stomping down the street.

Kabru glanced to the left just in time to see a glimpse of dark eyes staring out through a crack in the blinds. Judging by their black color and uneven manner, it was obviously Mithrun peeking at his conversation with Flamela. He made eye contact with the captain for a second before Mithrun narrowed his gaze dangerously and let go of the blinds. They snapped back into place, but Kabru couldn’t quite return to his natural state like that, not with the black-eyed storm brewing. 

--

Flamela found you on the street. It wasn’t the best place for ear-rubbing, but her mind was on one track and she ardently refused to veer. 

“I’ve reconsidered,” she said. There was no greeting or smile or easing in of the conversation. 

You stopped mid-step and stared at her. “...Reconsidered what?”

“About you touching my ears.”

Did you ask to touch her ears? The memory wasn’t popping up for you. Yet, now that you knew what that actually meant to elves, you felt appropriately horrified by the statement. You were on a crowded street. If any passersby had a clue as to what Flamela said, they showed no indication. The elf population in Melini was small. The implications of ear touching most likely flew over their heads as it once did for you. 

You managed a smile that you hoped was polite, that you hoped didn’t betray your embarrassment. “That’s okay, thanks.”

Flamela narrowed her eyes, “Why not? My ears are softer and longer than Mithrun’s. If you’re going to touch an elf’s ears, I would think you’d want the full experience.”

“I, uh, I got a pretty full experience with Mithrun. But thanks,” you offered another smile. Something about the way Flamela frowned hinted at deeper motives. You just had to ask, “Is this because Mithrun didn’t give you a discount on a bowl of noodles?”

She scoffed, “No!”

It was definitely about that. 

As you prepared an explanation of your loyalties to Mithrun and his decision to not give her a discount, a flicker of mana filled the air, pricking at your skin. You knew that particular brand of magic. Your heart dropped into your stomach as the spot behind Flamela shifted like the surface of disturbed water. Half a second later, Mithrun appeared. 

You felt yourself tense. Flamela was on a rant about discounts. Mithrun’s gaze was calm, too calm, dangerously calm. The only sign of his anger was the feral look in his good eye. In the past, Mithrun wouldn’t have cared about Flamela offering her ears to random tall-men. He would have resisted any urges to teleport her into walls simply because it would get him kicked out of the Canaries. But the demon was gone, his purposes for living were different. You were one of those purposes, one of those desires, and he was so one track minded that he would do anything to hang onto that. 

He raised a hand. Flamela tensed as if sensing the danger. Nearby, Kabru pushed through the crowd, panicked. 

“No!” You lunged at your partner before he could teleport the Vice-Captain to a place where she’d never get noodles again, let alone discounted ones. 

Your body weight crashed onto him. His eye widened and Kabru gasped. Like a felled tree, you and Mithrun both fell to the ground. Flamela said something you didn’t quite comprehend, but it didn’t matter at the moment. 

You laid on Mithrun. He laid on the ground. He put one hand on your back and chose to stare at the blue sky above rather than fight your will. The passersby sent the scene curious glances but wisely stayed away, giving you and Mithrun a wide berth.

A shadow cast over your bodies and you looked up to see Flamela blocking the sun. She only glared, hands on her hips. 

“I want a discount,” she said.

You felt Mithrun grunt beneath you. Another beat of silence passed before he answered, “Fine. Just stay away from [name].”

“Deal.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Hide and Seek | Drabble

I just wanna...pinch his cheeks and give him a kiss and drag him away from his canvas so he has to pay attention to me...is that so much to ask?

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader Warning: None Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

You could hear shuffling around the room as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. Once again, Rafayel was on a hunt for something he had lost. You felt the couch you were on lifting up gently as he searched underneath, to no avail. 

"Rafayel, what are you even looking for?" You had the courage to ask. He had been painting one minute, and the next looking around the entire studio for something. With how messy the place was, it would be a miracle if he ever found it.

"I put one of my brushes next to my easel, and now it's gone," he huffed, his eyes never stopping their search. You could see the frustrated glint in them as he seemed abnormally confused at this new development. Rafayel occasionally lost things, but usually, in his chaotic mess, he knew where things were.

"Raf, you have like a million brushes," you remind him. He had at least twenty of every single kind of brush. Sadly, knowing who Rafayel was, you could also predict his following comment.

"I don't want those ones; I want this particular brush. It's why I got it out…help me?" he finally asked, trying to get you to put the phone down.

"I don't even know what it would look like; they all look similar," you groan. He was pouting now, getting onto the couch and trapping you with his arms as he pouted. His eyes were pleading, and you couldn't help but roll your own.

"Raaaaaaf" it was more of a warning that he didn't want to listen to. You finally let up, "Maybe we should get out of the studio and clear your mind. I bet when we come back, it'll be easier to find with a fresh pair of eyes. Besides, you've been working on that painting forever," you said. It was true; he had agreed to hang out with you today but had been so engrossed in his project that he had barely said anything to you.

He looked reluctant before his shoulders sagged, "I guess we could, "he murmured, "Besides, my inspiration is gone like my brush." 

"Alright, then let's go, pretty boy," you said, gently pushing his chest to get him to sit up. Rafayel leaned back, allowing you to sit up on the couch and get off. You went to the front, satisfied that he had agreed to leave the studio for a bit. You looked at the jackets on the wall, spotted one of his cardigans, and grabbed it for yourself.

"You know that's mine, right?" Rafayel said after getting close to you. He tugged at the edge of it, and you nodded.

"I know, I just like how it feels," You knew all you had to do was give him a look, and he'd let you wear it.  Besides, one thing you learned early on with Rafayel is that he seemed to like it when you wore his clothes.

"Alright, fine, you win," he said. Let me grab your bag; hold up." He began going over to where you had placed your belongings when you came over. You suddenly froze in your place, about to open your mouth as he leaned down. He picked it up and heard a clattering on the ground as something fell.

It's like time went in slow motion as his eyes landed on a paintbrush, in fact, the very one he had been searching for. He looked at the brush, then back at your defeated face. "Did you…" he didn't even need to finish the sentence.

"Shut up," you sighed, not wanting to hear his teasing. However, the giant smile on his face was making you realize you couldn't get out of this one. You cringed inwardly at the implications of this.

"So, did you hide my brush just so I couldn't paint because you wanted to go somewhere?" He said, walking over and grabbing you by the waist so he could drag you near. His free hand waved the brush he had picked up in your face, "Very naughty," he teasingly scolded.

You looked away with a flush on your face, "I was only worried about your eyes. I don't need you going blind again." you said, using the premade excuse you had come up with months ago for when this situation happened.

He laughed as he grabbed your chin and made you look at him, "So every time I had an item missing, it was you trying to get my attention?" the giant blush on your cheeks was enough of a tell to let him know he was spot on.

"Shut uuuuuup," you whined, almost like a little brat, and he tsked, dragging you in for a quick kiss. Your eyes widened for a moment, and he was pulling away from your mouth before you knew it.

"You're adorable," he finally sighed, "But next time, just let me know you want to do something else, okay?" he said, "I can make time for you,"

"You didn't make it earlier…" you muttered, your eyes glancing off to the side.

"You didn't say anything. I told you I wanted to finish up, and you just said that was fine," he shrugged. If it wasn't, you should've spoken up." Okay…he had a point.

"...shut up…"

"Make me," and with that, you were the one surging forward to kiss him.

Y'all this man childish, but we are more so, alright?

[sundrop-writes]

Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

If there were any more left of me - I'd give it to you.

Summary:

Hope. Not the fragile, delicate thing that everyone mistakes it to be.

Hope is stubborn, and grows inside of you long before you ever realize its purpose there.

Hope can't be crushed by a thousand pound tank or torn apart as easily as concrete walls can. Hope is balanced on the backs of songbirds, it whistles quietly in the wind, and it brings you right where you need to be (even if you don't know it).

Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5.

Word Count: 24,200

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: the reader character in this fic is completely gender neutral - there is no mentions of the reader's genitals, their clothing style, or their general appearance, and I did not use any gendered terms to refer to the reader whatsoever; a few times the term 'they' is used in conversation, but I tried to be clever and make it so that it could be referring to just the reader or the whole group, interpret it how you want; it is possibly implied that the reader is younger than Daryl, but it's never explicitly stated (when I was writing, this I had in mind that they do have an age gap but I didn't want to state so to leave it more open-ended) - the main focus is the reader being less experienced with survival skills and more 'citified', which is the case for a lot of the characters at the beginning of the apocalypse; there is a lot of TWD themes in the fic - death; canon typical violence, hunting and killing animals for food, killing other humans in order to survive, killing walkers, gun violence, mentions of food scarcity, the general emotional depression that comes with being surrounded by death and being on the brink of survival, mentions of Merle being racist and sexist (the fic does not contain him saying any slurs or performing any actions in alignment with this, it is a background element); there is mentions of canon plot points and this fic will spoil Seasons 2 through 5 if you are watching the show for the first time and haven't seen those episodes yet (I am looking at you, Star), mentions of 'fate' and 'good luck' as concepts; bird symbolism (that may not be accurate to the general recordings of these symbols and are just things I have learned from my personal life), mentions of religion - mentions of the reader praying to 'any god that will listen' (the reader is not religious to one specific religion, but believes in prayer) (yes all of the spiritual concepts in this fic come from my personal life lmao); mentions of canon injuries - Daryl being shot with his own crossbow and then being shot in the ear by Andrea; mentions of stitches for medical purposes; use of the term Y/N (I am nothing if not a traditionalist); mentions of alcohol/characters drinking (Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack) - implications of genetic alcoholism and how it plays into Beth and Daryl's interactions with alcohol; passing mentions of Daryl smoking cigarettes; mentions of Daryl's abusive past (non-detailed); Daryl describes the reader as 'beautiful' in his personal narration; mention of reader having an abusive father (a father who is 'similar to Ed') (this is not described in detail); mentions of suicide (performed by a non-named character not during the time of the story) (also mentions of Daryl having suicidal ideations due to hopelessness when the prison falls); mentions of taking things off of dead bodies because those things are useful for survival; I think that's it.

A/N: I re-wrote the summary like four times cause I actually have no clue how to summarize the essence of the fic. But I hope this fits well. This is way more about the emotions than it is about what's actually happening in the fic. I am really proud of this fic and I hope that you guys like it.

...

Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly. 

When that original group first made camp at the quarry around Dale’s old RV outside of Atlanta, trying to escape the epic traffic jam and the chilling after effects of the hellish bombs that had been dropped on the city, everyone thought that it would only be temporary. Everyone thought that it would last a few days, at most. Everyone held onto the comforting delusion that it wouldn’t be long until the world got back up on its feet again. 

You certainly never thought that all of the people within that camp would become a second family to you - people you would die for, kill for if needed. 

When you first saw Daryl, he was trying to hold back his drunken brother Merle from getting into a fight with Shane. You didn’t think much of him then - perhaps you wondered why he stood up for someone so sour and surly, but you knew that the loyalty of blood related family meant too much to some people. That he was likely willing to do far too much for someone who would never return the same favors for him. (And you turned out to be right.) 

These days, you thought of Daryl Dixon with increasing frequency and a mixed bag of emotions that you struggled to carry. Bitter nostalgia being at the top of that list. 

When you woke up on this particular morning, you thought of him as you gathered your hunting gear. You heard his quiet, gravelly voice in your ear telling you to travel light, but reminding you that the items you should take would each be important and serve a planned purpose. The knife on your belt was heavy with memories of him, ached with the ghost of his touch. 

You thought of him as you tracked a buck’s steps through the dirt. You thought of him as you crept through the woods, feeling equal parts peaceful and dangerously pensive. You thought of him that night as you sat beside a gently crackling fire, the flames warming you only beside he had taught you how to start one. You thought of him as you eventually took down the deer - as you skinned it, gutted it, and portioned  exactly how he had taught you. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood rinsing off your skin (from when you had cleaned the deer), and the general dirt you had gathered on you from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

But you missed Daryl so damn much. 

It was strange to think that things had been so different not that long ago. 

… 

The quarry was an oddly beautiful place to be during one of the darkest times in your life. 

It was the definition of breathtaking - crystal blue waters, bright green grass, nothing but open space to let the sun shine down on you. None of that city stink from the piled-up, rotting corpses. This far away from Atlanta, it was easy to forget why you were all gathered here, camping out night after night. It was easy to forget that this was about survival and it wasn’t a simple summer vacation. 

Well, it was easy to forget when you weren’t actively staring down that city full of corpses. Which is something that you tried your best to do - forget. You tried to focus on the task in front of you, tried not to let yourself get too bogged down with dread at the idea of the end of the world. 

You knew that the others likely would have called you foolish because of it. But you had to keep your head up in order to keep going. It was how you survived. 

Currently, you were playing a game with the kids - a makeshift game of kickball with an inflatable beach ball that you had gotten for them during your last trip into the city. You were one of the only people that Glenn trusted to go with him. Mainly because you had lived in the city before everything had ‘gone to shit’ - before the bombs. So you knew it well, and you could have his back. 

When Carl accidentally kicked the ball past you, you rushed to get it, and you became slightly hesitant when you saw that it had landed at the feet of Daryl Dixon. He was in deep concentration, gutting and cleaning one of the many squirrels that he had recently caught, his fingers stained red with blood. You had never seen animal butchery in person before, and it did make you slightly squeamish. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, most of those conversations less than four words each, and he was one of the only people in the camp that you were still slightly weary of. 

His generally stoic nature and his brother - his mouthy, racist, sexist asshole of a brother - didn’t exactly make him approachable or friendly. Though you weren’t exactly sure if Daryl agreed with everything that his brother did and said, or if he just stood by the man because he was family. You still took caution, approaching him like you would approach a supposedly tame bear. Very carefully. 

“Sorry,” You quickly apologized for possibly disturbing him as you rushed to grab the ball, and he spared you only a harsh sideways glance as you picked it up. 

“Ain’t nothin’.” He shrugged, his words coming out as they always did, in a quiet grunt. 

Feeling an awkward lull come over you as his intrusive gaze continued to stare you down, you felt more words form in your mouth and spew out your lips before you could stop them. 

“I was just playing kickball with the kids,” You quickly explained, gesturing to the small grassy area about ten feet behind you where Carl and Sophia were standing, waiting for you. 

Daryl’s eyes strayed curiously there, clearly listening, and you continued. 

“I got them this ball when I went on that run with Glenn. And some other things, too. Coloring books, stickers, fake tattoos. Sophia insisted that I needed one,” You chuckled awkwardly, sticking out your hand to show Daryl the glittery blue tattoo of a butterfly that Sophia had put on you. 

He grunted, nodding in reply. 

You weren’t expecting him to speak any further, and it surprised you when he did. 

“‘s good.” He mumbled. “Makes ‘em happy.” 

In the back of his mind, he considered adding on some sentiment about ‘kids being kids’, getting to have fun during such a dark time - but he stopped short. He didn’t want to annoy you with the conversation that you were clearly only partaking in out of social nicety. Politeness that a world falling apart no longer needed. 

You nodded, flashing him a smile. “Yeah.” 

“Come on! Bring the ball back!” Carl shouted, distracting you from the interaction, causing you to walk away without another word. 

Daryl watched you playing with the kids for a few moments - laughing and running around with them, somehow so carefree in a world that was determined to fall apart. He wondered if you had always been like this, or if being around kids just brought that out in you. He wasn’t sure which reason made you better in his eyes - and he certainly wasn’t sure why he thought about it for so long. 

Why he thought about you for so long. 

He had to shake himself back to reality and go back to cleaning his kills. 

…

“Daryl!” 

You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him. 

“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.” 

He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.” 

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia. 

The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Benning - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her. 

But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place. 

Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her. And though everyone else kept telling you it was deeply unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her. 

“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.” 

You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. You knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would give you the truth. 

“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere round it.” 

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered - 

“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans. 

Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers. 

“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.” 

You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird with a pointed head and a black pattern that resembled an eye mask - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of. 

“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly. 

“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark. 

In a sense, he thought it was… sweet. You were trying to share some of that brightness with him that the kids got every single day. But he didn’t need you marking up his crossbow with a dumb little sticker. Especially because once Sophia was found, you wouldn’t give a shit to talk to him or be around him any more. 

“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn. 

Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it. 

“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.” 

It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless. 

Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging into a sarcasm of your own. 

He resisted the urge to flip you off, believing that you were too sensitive to take it as a joke. 

You watched him off for a while, seeing him disappear into the stables before you left to do your own chores. As you scrubbed at laundry, you sent a prayer to every god you could think of that your new little sister would be found alive. 

… 

Daryl felt like a dumbass. 

When Daryl was laying on the harsh, rocky ground after the horse had thrown him, with one of his own arrows digging into his side - he wanted to laugh at the fact that you had supposedly ‘blessed’ his bow with ‘good luck’. He had owned and used the bow for years previous, and not once had he ever been injured by it. You had it in your hands for all five seconds, and now - he had been thrown off a horse and shot by the damn thing. It was the definition of irony. 

While he laid on the ground, struggling for breath, bleeding from his wound, drifting in and out of consciousness - he spotted a flash of bright red above him. 

He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to properly focus on it, and - 

It was your damn bird. 

A bright red cardinal had landed in one of the trees above him, staring down at him in a seemingly taunting manner. 

‘My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.’ 

“Good… good luck… my ass.” Daryl huffed out, still spiteful even if he was exhausted and losing blood. Even if no one else was around to hear this verbal jab. 

His head lulled to the side, and before his eyes could drift closed as he truly succumbed to the blood loss, he spotted something else - a bright floral fabric, and some strings of yarn that definitely didn’t belong in the muddy creek bed. Once again, he forced himself to focus on it, pushing through the heaviness that threatened to overtake him. He realized in a heart-jolting moment that he had seen the object before. 

It was Sophia’s doll. 

He turned back to where the bird was still sitting on that branch above him. 

“Any… any chance you can lead me to the girl?” 

Perhaps it was the dizziness of his injury talking, but he could have sworn that the bird tiled its head at him - as though quizzically asking: ‘what girl?’

It was the spite that kept him conscious, the idea that he would get to laugh in your face when he got back and tell you how unlucky your ‘blessing’ had been. But it was his desire to find Sophia and bring her home that truly got him up on his feet again. 

… 

Your bird didn’t lead him to Sophia, but it did get him back to the farm before he completely collapsed from his injury - even if he was greeted by a bullet from Andrea, believing he was a Walker. 

Because of that bullet sharply colliding with his head, he didn’t remember to tell you about that bird finding him laying in the creek bed until much later. It didn’t come back to mind until the group had truly settled into the prison, after welcoming in the people from Woodbury when the ‘war’ with the Governor was seemingly over. He only thought about it that night when the two of you were up late on watch because he had seen another cardinal on one of his runs that day, and he was telling you how much the damn bird had annoyed him. 

Daryl wasn’t someone who believed in luck, but he knew that the story would entertain you nonetheless. And it did. 

In fact, it entertained you so much that it caused you to plant a confident hand on his shoulder and lean in for a kiss - sealing your mouth against his, trapping any noises of surprise in his throat as he stood frozen, pinned against the guard rail. 

He only truly had time to take in what had happened - to process that sweet, perfect kiss after you had chirped a ‘goodnight’ to him and left. You mentioned something about going on a morning run with Glenn and Sasha to scope out a place with more supplies, but his ears were still beating with blood and he barely heard you. 

He had to get used to it then - being yours. But he found that even though the hand-holding and the hugging could be a bit embarrassing at times - he liked it. He liked having someone taking care of him as much as he tried to take care of others. And though it was something he had desperately tried to deny because of your stubbornness and your sharp tongue - he liked you. He was beginning to love you in that dangerous way that was going to get him hurt. 

But he would deny that. And he would do anything to stop that from happening. 

And that was one of the most dangerous parts about it. 

… 

It wasn’t just you that he was willing to die in order to protect. Daryl had gotten dangerously attached to life at the prison. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had a home. Family, friends. As soon as Hershel told them about the veterinary college, about a place where there might be medicine to combat this strange flu that had suddenly struck his home and the people in it - he knew he had to get a group together. 

Before he went outside to get the car ready, and make sure he had all the equipment inside it, he stopped by your cell. It would be rude not to say goodbye. 

His stomach dropped when he heard coughing. 

“Y/N-” He spoke your name in that alarming tone, concern so ripe in the single word as he pulled aside the curtain you had hung across your door for privacy. 

You cut him off before he could say anymore. 

“I know.” You said, your voice annoyed and slightly strained from the illness clearly running through your body. “I need to go into Cellblock A for quarantine. I’m - I’m on my way there now. I’m just gathering up some stuff. My sketchbook and some novels. I’m guessing it’ll be boring as shit in there,” 

Daryl nodded, and moved to step into your cell, wanting to place his hand on your forehead to check you for a fever. He wanted to know how bad it was - how much time he had to get back with the medicine. 

“Don’t come any closer.” You said abruptly, raising your hand to keep him back. “I don’t - don’t wanna get you sick too.” 

Hesitantly, he stayed where he was. 

He knew that you were right, and he knew that it was weak of him - but he found himself craving the affection that he previously found annoying. He had been hoping that you would hug him before he left. 

“‘m goin’ on a run.” He said. “Hershel told us ‘bout this old veterinary college - he said there’s medicine that could help.” 

“Medicine for dogs?” You heaved out a laugh, strained and full of crud in your lungs, collapsing to sit on the edge of your bunk. 

Daryl shrugged. 

“Apparently it’s the same as medicine for people.” Then, after a moment of you staring at him with uncertainty, he added on: “He gave us a list.” He assured you, patting his breast pocket, where that list was currently sitting. 

You nodded. Naturally, you trusted Daryl. You had to, after everything you had been through together. 

Then, you turned to the bag that you had been packing up and took out a sketchbook that looked familiar to Daryl - one that he often saw you doodling in. You flicked through a few of the pages and then ripped one out, presenting it to him with an extended arm. You covered your mouth and nose with your shirt, seemingly for the assurance that you wouldn’t breathe on him so that he could come and fetch this from you. 

He took one step closer and grabbed the paper, and you coughed into your shirt as he stepped back and inspected the drawing. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was a beautifully drawn sketch of a cardinal - shaded red with what he guessed were smudges of lipstick. He was almost sure that you had picked it up at one of the houses the group had stayed in during the long winter after they had to abandon the Greene farm. 

“For - for luck.” You told him between more coughs, letting your shirt down to smile at him. 

He knew by now not to attempt rejecting the symbol. He wouldn’t say that he believed in it - but he believed in you. And he wanted to have you with him. So he folded it up and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right next to the list that Hershel had given him. 

“You’re a fool.” He griped, half-winded, only half meaning it. 

You smiled brightly at him, your face clearly tired from feeling so ill. 

“You love me.” You replied with utter certainty. 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out that this was a growing problem. That it would pull his focus during the run for the medicine - that he would be distracted thinking about getting home and getting that medicine to you. 

“Now go on and get,” He told you, motioning toward Cellblock A. 

You gathered your things and got up, making a wide berth around Daryl as you walked down the stairs. 

“And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about you bein’ heroic neither.” He called after you, shouting at your back. “You’re gonna go in there n get your ass t’ bed, ya hear me?” 

You knew it was his way of caring - wanting you to rest when you were sick. 

You turned back and gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss - something he often remarked upon as being ‘childish’. He hated that it caused a flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his form of affection in return was to flip you off. You loved it just as much. 

… 

That was the last time you spoke to him before the prison fell. But it wasn’t the last time that he spoke to you. 

When he got back, you were unconscious - you had to be bagged by Hershel to help you breathe, and the medicine helped you survive. Just barely. Daryl held your hand and begged you to live, and eventually he had to be distracted away from your unconscious body by Maggie so that he wouldn’t simply sit there the whole time and mourn. She reminded him that they all had jobs to do, and he made a few rounds of the prison, busying himself with chores to help everyone else get by so that he wouldn’t drive himself insane at your bedside. 

And that’s what he had been doing when the Governor rolled up with a thousand pound tank and shot their walls down. 

He knew that his love for you would come back to bite him in the ass one day. 

…

Daryl got out with Beth. 

He almost couldn’t stand her bright, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’, telling him that they needed to go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done. 

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’. All too hopeful, all too damn certain. 

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning? 

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently. 

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism. 

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you. 

“Here.” He grunted at her. 

Beth smiled at him. 

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time. 

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he carefully looked them over to confirm it, and he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there. 

It was just a cold reminder that even if the others had gotten out of the prison, they could be dead. They likely were dead. 

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind. 

One hazy evening, as he and Beth both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it. 

For good luck. 

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead. 

He tossed the drawing into the fire, ready to burn it up along with anything he had ever felt for you. Only a moment later, when the corner of it had barely caught, just barely turning black, Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it. 

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him. 

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a harsh grunt, but refused to look at her. 

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed. 

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer. 

He didn’t give her one. 

Just because they had an unspoken agreement to help keep each other alive didn’t mean that he had to participate in stupid conversations with her. 

“You can’t burn up the past. You can’t burn your love for people just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed, tired and defiant. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone. We’re all gonna be together again.” 

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.” 

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject. 

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could. And then put it back into his breast pocket again. 

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories. He wished that Beth was wrong. 

He wished that you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. 

… 

When Daryl sat up in camp that night with his back to the trunk of a tree, he did not intend to fall asleep. He honestly did not think he was capable of doing so - even with the exhaustion so deep in his bones, he was used to going without sleep. He was used to trudging on much like the Walkers shambling around them - upright, puffing shallow breaths, but barely there, barely conscious. These days, he felt as though sleep was a luxury. 

As the fire died down, Beth turned over with her back to him, curling an elbow under her head, the only thing separating her from the dirt. She no longer bothered with the mockering of grunting out ‘night’ as an acknowledgement that she was trying to go to sleep (because she stopped saying ‘goodnight’, long ago, even at the prison, because those were few and far between). 

Daryl supposed that he was staying up to keep watch. They did have the cans and spare car parts scattered around on lines to make noise if any stray Walkers wandered near their camp. He knew that he slept light, and this would be more than enough noise to wake him if he did fall asleep. 

With his eyes locked on her back, he wondered if Beth slept at all these days, or if she simply laid down to fake it. Maybe so that she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, even for a few hours. Sometimes, he would notice the grip on her knife beside her head go a bit laxer, and believe that this was a true sign that she had actually managed to drift into unconsciousness. Still, even if she wasn’t sleeping, he should keep watch. 

Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

Daryl’s consciousness was jolted suddenly - his entire existence shaken by the feeling of someone - something grabbing his legs. When he looked down, he saw the blur of a snarling Walker crawling up his body. He panicked, his heart thudding hard inside his chest. Naturally, he reached for his crossbow beside him - grabbing, hands shaking, grasping at air. 

It was gone. It wasn’t there. What the hell? 

One of the cold hands grabbed his shirt, forcing him to look back down the length of his own body at the beast. When its head snapped up toward him, he was filled with a colder kind of shock. 

It was you. 

Though your once beautiful features had been tainted with rot, yellowing teeth, and your laughter filled eyes had turned sour and rotted like putrid eggs - he absolutely recognized that this was you. 

He sucked more gasping breaths, and reached for the knife on his belt, but - that was gone too. 

Then, somehow - you let out a dark, harrowing laugh. A laugh that shook everything he was, that somehow managed to echo through the trees and rattled the ground underneath him. An utter mockery of his entire existence. 

“This is all your fault, Daryl.” You spewed, your rotting mouth spilling out horrible, black blood. “You did this to me!” 

Then, in an utterly horrifying moment, you reached down and tore into him - your weak, dead hands easily ripping into his abdomen, and before his very eyes, you ripped out his guts so that you could consume him like a perfect, bloody feast. Just as you had in life, you dined on parts of him that he would never get back, stole his life force with no consideration as to how he would ever get it back. 

You didn’t care how he would survive without you. 

Daryl awoke with a start - the sound of the cans clanking at the edge of their small campsite forcing him back to reality with a harsh jolt. 

His fingers wrapped around his crossbow where it was seated between his knees within seconds. Before his sleep-sticky eyes were even fully open, he had the loaded end pointed at the source of the sound - a tired, messy-haired Beth, who was wandering back into camp with her hands full of something. 

“Told you not to go wonderin’ off.” Daryl barked at her easily, hating how his heart thumped in his chest with residual ‘fight or flight’ instincts, even though he knew that she was of no true threat to him - still partially spooked from the horrible dream that he would never tell anybody about, ever. 

He slumped back against the tree, keeping a careful eye on her as she came back to her place beside him, already spouting her surly argument against him. 

“I saw some berry bushes over there.” She whined quietly. “Daddy taught me what’s safe and-” 

“Don’t matter.” Daryl grunted in return, hating that he felt a sensitive pang inside of him at the mention of Hershel. “I told you: don’t go nowhere without me.” 

Beth let out a sharp sigh. “You’re such an asshole.” 

He was. 

Nonetheless, she silently slid some of the berries his way, carefully contained on the bandana that he had given her before for such berry-picking purposes - and nonetheless, he ate them. 

Later that day, when he was prowling the woods with Beth at his back, hoping to score something a bit more substantial for dinner - his eyes landed on the faded splotch of the cardinal sticker that you had put on his crossbow during his time spent looking for Sophia. His thumb traced it idly, and he knew that Beth was dying to ask about it, but held back. 

He knew then that he would never be able to escape your ghost. 

… 

Daryl wished that he could burn up the memories. He wished that you would get the hell out of his head. That if you were dead, every last trace of you would just die. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had seen you - back in A block, after he had brought back the medicine. 

… 

He thought it was a victory - getting the meds back to the prison. He thought that it was simple. If he got to the veterinary college, got the meds that they needed, got the run group back in one piece - he thought it would be a win. He knew you. You were a fighter. You would hold on long enough for him to get back. He had to do all the guesswork. He had to keep everyone going on the road. 

If anything, he knew that you would be doing the exact opposite of what he had told you - you would be up and about, shuffling through the makeshift ward, feeding the people the hope that you grew and doled out so well. That was your job. He just had to do his. 

Maybe it was that stupid, foolish hope infecting him like the illness had infected you - but he truly thought that getting the medication and getting back would be the only complicated part. 

“Hey, Doc, how we doin’ in here?” Daryl asked, stepping to lean against the mouth of the cell that you had taken up temporary residence in.  

Of course, he was calling Hershel ‘doc’ with a joking air. The man loved to tell everyone now that he wasn’t actually a doctor - but few actually listened. They trusted his experience and the way he spoke with wise authority more than anything. 

Hershel used a stethoscope to listen to your lungs, and then looked up at Daryl, his face firm and unreadable. Daryl didn’t like it - but he was still being strung along like a fish on a hook by that foolish, bitter hope. 

“Y/N is doing a lot better than before.” He said, placing a gentle hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “The meds have helped to take down the fever.” 

Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.” 

Hershel gave him a serious look. “I like you a lot, Daryl. So I don’t intend to lie to you.” 

Daryl’s stomach clenched up - grabbed by a fist of nerves. 

You were alive. You were breathing - Daryl confirmed this, locking his eyes on the gentle up and down puff of your chest. What else could possibly be wrong? 

“Our friend here is showing remarkable signs of improvement, as is everyone who received the medication that you brought back. You have done a mighty service to these people, Daryl.”

Daryl knew this wasn’t simple praise for the work he had done. This was the sunshine before the storm - it was an omen. He could feel the ‘but’ coming before Hershel spoke it. 

“But,” 

Of course. There it was. 

“-I have to warn you.” Hershel sighed. “We had to perform CPR on Y/N for an extended period of time.” 

Daryl’s eyes cast over your face, fixated on your peaceful, unconscious form. His ears became fuzzy, filled with blood, and he could hardly focus on more of the older man’s words as he explained your condition. Explained how you had been deprived of oxygen for a few minutes - how you were at risk of brain death, and Hershel had no way of knowing what the state of your brain activity was without the proper equipment. If your brain wasn’t active enough, you would never wake up again. 

All they could do now was to sit and wait for you to wake up. If you were going to wake up at all. 

Hershel left Daryl alone with you, and he perched himself on the edge of your bed, his ass shuffled in tightly by the edge of your hip, struggling to find purchase on the edge of the small bunk. It was much like you had done to him after he had been haphazardly shot by Andrea. He took your hand in his, his eyes still focused on your unconscious face - at least you looked peaceful. 

With a large knot forming in his throat, he attempted to speak. 

Even though he was unsure if you could hear him - he couldn’t contain what he had to say. 

“You’re an asshole.” He mumbled out. Part of him was expecting to get a reaction out of you. To mock you into waking up. “I went through all that damn trouble to get those meds, and you gone n croaked on me while I was gone?” 

Your face didn’t even flinch. 

You were so damn still. 

For the first time since he had met you - not laughing, not smiling, not loudly voicing your chirpy, hopeful sentiments. So still. 

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He growled out, his voice growing louder as his frustration grew inside of him - as he became more determined to wake you. “You’re gonna wake up. Wake up!” He shouted, his words echoing painfully off the walls. 

In the next cell over, Maggie heard this and became distracted from dabbing a wet cloth against Glenn’s forehead. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, still too sick to fully take this in. But it caused Maggie to strain her ears, listening in on what happened next. 

“You’re gonna wake up. You’re gonna-” 

Daryl was startled when he found himself choking on his own words. He sucked in a sharp breath, and despite his best efforts, a sob rattled his chest, and a hot tear rolled down his face. 

“Why do I gotta to everythin’ around here? You set me off into the woods lookin’ for Sophia like it was my damn job. Make everythin’ my damn responsibility. I had to teach you everythin’. I had to teach you how to start a damn fire - what kind of simple asshole doesn’t know that?” 

He swallowed thickly. 

Truly, he wasn’t angry at you. 

It all came down to one thing. 

“Come on. Come - o-on. You know I can’t do this on my own.” He choked out, his face shrinking into a sob. “I can’t do this on my own.” 

He turned more toward you, laying himself down gently so that his face was pressed into your chest. He turned his head - laying his ear against your chest, listening carefully for your heart beat. It was there - thumping along steadily. 

Hershel had warned him that your breathing wasn’t the problem. Brain damage would keep you from waking up because your nervous system wouldn’t be active again. 

If you didn’t wake up, would you still turn into one of them? 

According to what Jenner had told them at the CDC, maybe not. 

Maybe you just be like this forever - stuck somewhere in the middle. Some hollow thing for Daryl to scream at that would never answer back. 

“You gotta wake up.” Daryl choked out. Knowing that only you would hear, he gathered up the bravery to speak out his next words. “I - I love you.” 

In the next cell over - Maggie heard all of it. She was holding Glenn’s hand, wondering what she would do if she were in Daryl’s shoes. She now had muddy tears in her eyes, listening to Daryl plead to you to wake up. Hearing Daryl - someone who had been so stony and tough in her eyes before - cry for the first time - it hit her hard. 

So it got her up; she kissed Glenn’s hand and told him that she would be back later, and he mumbled something incoherent back. 

“Daryl.” 

Maggie felt guilty when he jumped up - clearly alarmed by her presence at the opening of the cell, breaking his bubble of alone time with you. He began to frantically wipe at his face, obviously afraid to be vulnerable in front of her by showing his tears. After all that they had been through together - he still wasn’t willing to show this weakness in front of her. 

He only grunted in acknowledgment of her, staring hard at the floor instead of looking up at her. 

“These people need water. And they could probably use a good meal after all this.�� Maggie told him. “I know you wanna stay with Y/N right now, but - come on, we all got jobs to do.” 

Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.” 

They did have jobs to do. But of course, the main reason she reminded him of the chores was to distract him. To keep him from going insane at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up. 

And that was the last he had seen of you before the Governor blasted a hole in A Block with the tank. 

…

When Daryl and Beth got to the moonshine shack, it truly came to a head. 

Daryl didn’t want to play the stupid game - he just wanted to drink in peace. He wanted to get shitfaced and hopefully pass out, actually. He wanted to have a good, booze-induced heavy sleep so that he could spend one night not plagued with spotty sleep and nightmares of your death - seeing your face painted in his mind as a nightmarish, growling dead thing. One night where he didn’t stay awake and stare at the back of Beth’s sleeping head because he couldn’t bear to close his own eyes. 

He didn’t want to play the game, but he did anyway. 

It got out of hand. 

Instead of trying to calm down, he rode the wave, leaning into the only existence he thought he knew - he turned back into the sputtering, bitter asshole that had once protected him so well. The hard shell that had kept him from getting his feelings hurt when the world had been cruel to him before. When Beth stabbed the Walker in the head, ending his game, he grew all too worried that she had figured him out - that she would try to get him to talk about his feelings. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Daryl howled. “We was havin’ fun!” 

He knew it wasn’t true. Nothing about this was fun. 

“No, you were being a jackass!” Beth easily corrected him. 

She was far too much like you. Too direct. Never one to dance around the point instead of saying exactly what she meant. 

“If anyone found my dad-” 

Daryl was eager to cut off her additional reasoning, not wanting to think about it - he couldn’t add the mental image of a turned, dead-alive Hershel to his nightmare rotation as well. 

“Don’t!” He barked back, making her swallow up her words. “That ain’t remotely the same!” 

He had to convince himself of that fact. This random Walker pinned to a tree wasn’t family. At least - it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t his family. 

Beth gave him a tight-jawed look, staring him down with those large, knowing eyes. In that moment, he could hear your voice in his head, telling him exactly what she wanted to say. 

‘It’s someone’s family, Daryl. That Walker used to be someone. He used to belong to someone - he used to be important to someone. You need to consider that.’ 

Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad. 

“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.” 

She scolded him like a child, and he felt intensely small in that moment. He hated it. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” He warbled out, barely able to find his voice. 

He barely had anything left to give. 

He was a shit protector - as he had proven, unable to stop the prison walls from collapsing on top of you. Unable to hunt down the Governor - unable to keep him from rolling up to the gates with a fucking tank and blowing your house down. 

He was a terrible tracker - unable to find any of the people they had lost from the prison. He couldn’t provide anything for Beth that she couldn’t get for herself. She was more than capable. She was likely only with him now to stop him from going off into the woods and laying down to die. It was likely out of some mental obligation towards you, because she fully believed that you were still alive. 

He didn’t have anything left to give. 

After a moment of Daryl waiting with baited breath, she gave an answer. 

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anythin’.” She announced firmly. 

That would be difficult for him. Because currently, that was the only way he was surviving. He gave way too much of a crap about everything - and turning it all off was the only way he got through. 

“Like nothing we went through matters.” She added on. “Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It’s bullshit!” 

It was bullshit. 

“Is that what you think?” Daryl countered sourly. 

He cared too much about all of them. It all mattered too much. 

If he turned that switch back on - if he let himself care again - it would break him. 

“That’s what I know.” She whispered tightly near his face, all hot drunken breath. 

“You don’t know nothin’.” He spat back bitterly, absolutely assured of this fact. 

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead person.” Beth dueled on, determined to make her own point. “I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carl, I’m not Maggie, I’m not Glenn…. I’m not Y/N.” 

She knew that mentioning your name was sensitive, but she did it anyway, as if hoping to evoke some positive emotion out of Daryl. As if hoping to wake him from his dreary hopelessness. She hoped that mentioning you among the list of people that she still concretely believed to be alive would shake him, make him believe it too. 

She noticed that Daryl refused to make eye contact when she said it. 

When he didn’t say anything about it, she continued on. 

“I survived, and you don’t get it, cause I’m not like you or them - but, I made it.” 

She spoke passionately, determined about the point. If she had made it - someone who used to be so soft, someone who still needed to be protected - then why hadn’t everyone else made it? 

“And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.” 

Somehow, among all that, one singular point stood out to Daryl. 

“I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He grumbled back. 

To him, it was a horrid accusation. 

He had already lost everything that was important to him - what could fear possibly do to him now? 

Fear was the stupid, idiotic thing that had held him back in the first place. It had kept him from going after the Governor alongside Michonne. It had kept him tethered to the prison, stuck to your side watching you to make sure that you were safe. And look what it had gotten him. 

Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes. 

Beth looked contemplative for a moment, and Daryl hoped that she would finally just shut up. But then, like an unstoppable, sickly bile - the words came spilling from her lips. 

“I remember.” She announced. Before he could wonder what she was talking about, she continued on. “Back when you first came to the farm. The way you were - out combing the woods like a madman, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. You never gave up hope, not once.” 

Daryl swallowed down his own words. 

He wasn’t some damn fool. He wouldn’t even begin to call it hope. He called it the truth - a little girl lost in the woods shouldn’t be hard to find. Like he had told Andrea at the time - it was the backwoods of Georgia, not the mountains of Tibet. It wasn’t the way that everyone else made it out to be. 

“Maggie told me that you cried when Y/N wouldn’t wake up.” 

Beth added on - to Daryl it felt like a mockery, a clever prodding at his vulnerability. But to her, it was just another observation. 

“That’s why you’re not out there, followin’ the trail. That’s why you’re not even botherin’ to look. You would spend months out there tryna find Y/N if you actually thought-” 

“Shut it.” Daryl grunted, cutting off her words. 

“You are afraid, Daryl.” Beth told him - and chills went through him as he realized that she had seen right through him. But like a prey animal staring down a predator, he kept stiff eye contact, trying his hardest not to let her know that he was weak. “You’re afraid of findin’ nothin’. And now you’re actin’ like it’s my damn fault.” 

When he didn’t speak up to make any apologies for this, she snidely added on:

“God forbid you ever let anybody get too close, right?” 

“Too close, huh?” Daryl reared back dully, gearing up for another fierce charge in the argument as things got all too personal. “You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends - you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!” 

He knew that he was being unjustly cruel to her - that on some level, he was taking it out on her just because he could. 

But he couldn’t let her talk anymore about him and his fucking feelings. Especially not about how he acted around you. God forbid that big precious four letter word came up. He needed to pull the knife out of himself and turn it around onto her. 

“Screw you! You don’t get it.” She easily snapped back. 

“No, you don’t get it!” He roared out, quickly growing tired of the seemingly pointless back and forth. “Everyone we know’s dead!” 

Beth looked icy shocked by the statement, but quickly argued against it. 

“You don’t know that!” She screeched bitterly at him. 

“Might as well be!” He yelled back. “Cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” 

Finally, they had come around to his entire reasoning - the whole fact as to why he had so faithfully given up. Even if they weren’t dead, he believed that he might as well operate on the assumption that they were. 

Of course - Beth was operating on the opposite mindset. Killing time, getting by, surviving until she believed that she would inevitably be reunited with her sister, and the other members of their newfound family. 

Beth let out a whimper as the truth of it hit her - as she fought past it. Battling internally as a small voice in the back of her mind said: ‘he might be right’. 

“Rick…” Daryl hesitated to list more people. Even now, he hesitated to say your name. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!” 

It was a bitter personal attack, but he was putting on that hard outer shell - hoping to get Beth to become just as cold as he was. If she gave up, then she would leave him alone. She would stop trying to inject that stupid, putrid ‘hope’ into him. 

But of course, that infallible hope could not be stomped out of her. No matter what. 

“Daryl, just stop!” She begged quietly, and then - she reached out for him. Attempting to give him some comforting touch. 

The last time he had been touched by someone was when he had held your hand without you even knowing, staring at your unconscious face, waiting for you to wake up. Aside from that - a gentle pat on the shoulder from Hershel, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

But both you and Hershel were dead now. 

Daryl’s touch was a disease that he would not let Beth catch. 

He whipped away from her quickly, and turned to face the dead Walker that was still pinned to the tree. 

He used to belong to someone. 

That was how Daryl felt now. Used up and dead. Nothing but a past tense in someone else’s life. 

“The Governor rolled right up to our gates.” Daryl’s throat clenched tightly around the words. He could barely speak about it, but it was true. “Maybe if I… I wouldn’t’ve stopped lookin’. Maybe it’s cause I gave up? That’s on me!” 

He was supposed to keep you safe. He was supposed to keep everyone safe. 

He had failed. 

“Daryl-” Beth choked out, trying again - but she didn’t have anything to follow up. She couldn’t find anything to combat this particular chasm of self blame. 

“Your dad… maybe I coulda done somethin’.” He choked on a sob, and tears clouded his eyes now. 

It was his attempt at an apology. But he hadn’t even begun to forgive himself yet - so why the hell would Beth forgive him? 

Hershel’s death had been his fault. Your death had been his fault. 

The others… even if they were alive, their home was destroyed and now they were vulnerable to a cruel world. And it was all Daryl’s fault. 

Daryl finally broke down in sobs, and he didn’t have enough energy to fight off the touch when Beth leaned into him, hugging him from behind. 

He couldn’t muster up any more breath to better apologize to her for all he had done, but he hoped that it was implied. 

… 

Things were a bit more smoothed over later that night, when Beth was drunker and Daryl had sobered up some. 

“Is it always like this?” Beth sighed, staring out at the grass with a delighted smile. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant. She was clutching a half-filled jar of the moonshine like it was precious, her eyes glassy - obviously no longer fearful of going blind because of the stuff. 

“You’re lucky.” Daryl remarked. “You’re a happy drunk.” 

Beth let out another contented sigh, and then after a moment, and another sip of the moonshine (which she was taking down without hesitation now), she spoke up again. 

“You’re wrong.” She told him calmly, seeming very confident in this fact. 

Daryl was tired of talking, but too curious not to reply. 

“Bout what?” He asked. 

“They’re not dead.” She told him. “They’re out there somewhere. All of them. And we’re gonna find them.” 

Daryl wanted to believe her. Some tiny part of him wanted to embrace this as truth. But at this point - it felt too much like fiction. Without his family standing in front of him, pure proof that they were alive and well - he couldn’t let himself partake in that paper thin hope. He couldn’t let himself get high on the hope only to come crashing down from that high in the worst way. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again. 

He only grunted in reply, staring at the worn floorboards of the porch, hoping the conversation would naturally frazzle out. 

Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen. 

“Come on,” She said in a nagging tone. “You don’t really believe that Y/N is dead, do you?” 

Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed. 

Before this, before the dead had risen up and walked the earth, he had spent his whole life focusing on truth. Concrete truth. 

For as long as he had been alive, that truth had been hopeless. His father had beaten him, his brother was an asshole, what little he knew of his mother was a drunken slur ultimately engulfed in flames. He had fended for himself most of his life. He never knew hope or optimism. He never spoke of luck or brightness or tipping the odds in his favor. 

Not until he met you. 

You laughed so genuinely; you sang the praises of looking on the bright side and blessing people with good luck. And he found that at times - he started to believe you. 

But having the Governor roll right up to their gates and blow apart their home wasn’t exactly conducive with everything you had been preaching. Having you sick and likely dead under a pile of concrete, unconscious and crushed without even knowing it wasn’t exactly in line with the ‘good luck’ that you supposedly had. 

Even if you didn’t know it, you had been feeding Daryl lies the whole time. And those lies had ruined him. 

Daryl couldn’t hold out hope that you or anybody else that he had known and loved from the prison were alive. 

“Don’t know.” Daryl grunted in reply. He kept his answer vague, not wanting to stir up another argument with Beth. 

“Yes, you do know.” Beth chuckled lightly in reply. 

Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain. 

Daryl grunted again. Even if he didn’t agree with her, he wanted the day to end calmly, at the very least. 

“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject. 

Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind. 

“What?” Daryl replied. 

“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.” 

Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories. He was still glad to have a token of you with him, even if he would never get to see you again. 

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly. She lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t her chaperone - she was an adult, and if she wanted to get drunk enough to have a nasty hangover, then that was her choice to make. 

Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it. She stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details. 

“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.” 

Daryl found this to be a nice thought. He could imagine Hershel’s voice in his head, saying something like this while pointing to the bird among the trees. 

“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied. 

It was the first time in a long time that he had gathered the courage to actually speak about you aloud, and he found a painful tugging in his chest because of it. 

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.” 

It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided. 

You would make sure that he was lucky. 

That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C. 

It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course. 

Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the Turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot. 

It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside. 

Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe. 

When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia. 

Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching his precious weapon on top of the fully loaded cart before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away. 

Rick was still weary of this new place after everything that had happened at Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird. Even if he was feeling such foolish things, he knew that he couldn’t speak them aloud. 

(He couldn’t speak them aloud to anybody but you. And well…) 

But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them. 

So Daryl entered the strangely clean suburban home that Aaron had picked out for them and tried to imagine himself truly living there. He tried to think of Alexandria as his new home now. Because he knew that it’s what you would have wanted for him.  

… 

You were tired.  

You had just gotten back from a three day long hunting trip - three whole days out in the woods, killing small game while tracking a deer in order to shoot it and haul it home. 

For a while now, home had been a town called Alexandria. 

Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘home’. 

Alexandria was a great place to live, sure - but to you, home was a certain redneck bowman who often stank of cigarettes and dirt and had to be reminded to wash his hands before eating a meal. Home was the gentle grunt he gave you in response to a variety of questions, the scratch of his beard on your skin as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t think about him for too long - because you would get homesick. 

Since the prison had fallen, since you had escaped nothing more than debris and a crowd of Walkers - you had been moving from place to place, drifting. A lot of the time, you used the skills that Daryl had taught you during your time together in order to survive. 

When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream. 

At first, you questioned why a shiny gee-golly boy in a blue rain jacket was trying so hard to ‘recruit’ you. You had to feel naturally suspicious of him and his stack of polaroids. But then you remembered what Daryl had said about bringing people back to the prison - bringing new people in wasn’t just about pity. There was strength in numbers. It became very clear to you very quickly that Alexandria needed fighters - they were bringing people as a tactic. 

You leaned into it. You proved to them what a good asset you were. You doubled down on using everything that Daryl had taught you in order to earn your place in the closed off community. 

You hunted and brought back game for the people there to eat, you used the skills Daryl had taught you to maintain the cars for runs and even fix-up ones that had been previously out of commission. You were widely liked by the members of the community, and Deanna often called on you for advice about dealing with Walkers. You had been on a few runs with their crews, but you preferred to stay close to town, to keep an eye on things. 

The hunt you had recently taken - three long days out in the woods. That had been for you. Something you had learned with Daryl was that hunting could be intensely peaceful. Maybe it was because it was time you spent with him - time when the two of you didn’t need words, just soaked in each other’s presence. Maybe you missed that too dearly. But you needed it to be just you and the trees, the focus on the craft that he had taught you. 

No closed-off bottle town politics. No smiling and nodding and pretending to care when the others complained about asinine things like the water from their showers going cold too quickly. Complained about being bored. To you, boredom was a blessing these days. 

No men sniffing around you, firing off increasingly poor attempts at flirting, believing that you were single even though you couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was difficult to explain to anyone in town that your heart belonged to someone that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone that you didn’t have the room to believe was dead. 

So after spending a few days in the woods, enjoying the peace alone, and bagging a deer and a few rabbits in the process, you came home. And currently you were in the shower, cleaning up - it was a blessing to even have a shower, to have perfectly functioning running water. A three day hunt could create a hell of a stink. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood from where you had cleaned the deer, and the general dirt you had gathered on your skin from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

When you got out of the shower, you felt wonderfully refreshed. You were still bone tired, and part of you did want to rush home and crash right into bed. But you had other things to do first. You had to check-in with Deanna, and go by the school before you could even think about going to bed. 

Olivia - ever kind and thinking ahead - had set out a change of clothes for you. She had seen you run upstairs to the bathroom covered up to your elbows in blood after you had asked her to stash the deer meat in the pantry’s freezer. 

You got dressed, and then went down to the pantry looking to make sure that she had taken the deer meat out of the plastic container that you had stored it in and put it into some plastic freezer bags to store it properly. She was squeamish around blood or raw meat - she had thrown up the one time that you had tried to teach her how to gut a rabbit, but you were hoping to wean her off those fears. 

Olivia was a nice girl. You knew that eventually, she would need to get her hands dirty in order to survive. It was a miracle that she had gone this long without doing so. When she told you that she still carried around a cellphone in her pocket - one that had long been dead and useless - you got stuck somewhere between paralytic shock and maniacal laughter. 

But it was just a mark of how untouched Alexandria was. How much they needed someone like you. 

“Olivia?” You called out gently when you hit the bottom stair. 

“In here!” She called back. She was in the armory rather than in the pantry - likely counting bullets to redo her inventory in order to avoid touching the bloody deer meat. 

You rolled your eyes at the thought of it and walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with guns, the entire town’s supply. You were also casually pushing back against Deanna’s rule that nobody should be allowed to carry within town, but she had yet to truly hear you out on it. Your eyes fell upon a large cart that Olivia had parked in the middle, one that wasn’t usually there. It was filled to the brim with a variety of weapons. 

“What’s this?” You asked. 

“A new group came in yesterday, while you were gone.” She informed you, staring at the notebook she had in her hands - the one containing her inventory. “Deanna wanted me to make a list of their weapons. Well - the weapons they surrendered. I wouldn’t doubt if one of them is still hiding a knife in their shoe or something. They seem uber shifty and paranoid.” 

She said this with a dreary chuckle - the kind of nervous laughter that told you she was feeling weary of these people. 

A strange feeling came over you. A haze - tingling, from your head to your toes. A feeling almost as if you were about to faint - while at the same time, intense adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. You took a more careful look at the weapons gathered on the cart. 

A sword. One with the distinctive white leather sheath. A gun that you easily recognized as a Colt Python. A military knife with a knuckle guard… and perched right on top - a crossbow. The sight of which almost made your heart stop. 

“Maybe you could help me with this?” Olivia asked, motioning her pen toward the cart. “You know I don’t know the names of guns and stuff.” 

Clearly, she was trying to get out of bagging the deer meat - but that dropped off your priority list as you tried harder and harder to keep your hopes from swallowing you alive. 

“Sure.” You replied, knowing that it sounded terribly strained in your throat - joy and tears battling terribly inside of you. 

You gathered your breath, and forced your concrete legs to move. You stepped toward the cart, and timidly stroked a finger across one of the bolts that was strapped to the top of the crossbow. 

After a moment, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question. 

“So - can you tell me more about the group?” You asked, your throat clenching around the words, so damn dry all of a sudden. “Did you happen to catch any of their names?” 

“Come on,” Olivia sighed. “You know I’m no good with names.” 

Of course. 

The one time when you needed her to be paying attention, she hadn’t been. Where the hell was Aaron when you needed him? 

You could have been wrong. This could be nothing. It could be a coincidence. 

You wouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up - not until you knew. 

“Well - what were they like?” You asked. 

Olivia picked up one of the guns, inspecting it before she wrote down something in her notebook. It took her a moment too long to answer. You became dizzy with agitation, unconsciously holding your breath while you waited for something. Some proof. Something. 

“They were… strange.” She shrugged. “They reminded me of you when you first came here. But… you can tell they’ve been outside for longer.” 

That didn’t answer your question. So you moved on to another one. 

“How many of them was there?” You asked. 

“Maybe a dozen, I guess.” She answered easily. “It’s the biggest group Deanna has ever allowed in. I don’t know why, though. Aaron seems to really like them, but I didn’t get to talk to him much before he went home.” 

She wrote down something else, and then she continued - seemingly not noticing the way you were staring at her with an intense glare, hanging on her every word. 

You needed to know. 

“There was kids with them. A baby, and a young boy. A teenager, maybe? He was wearing this brown cowboy hat, that looked like a sheriff’s hat, kind of? I guess he got it off some cop.” 

‘My dad says that I get to wear the hat because I’m in the club.’ Carl’s small voice excitedly announced to you, pushing the too-big hat up over his eyes as it sagged down from how fast he had run toward you. 

‘What club?’ You countered curiously. 

‘People who have been shot and survived.’ 

‘Woah… okay. You probably shouldn’t go around saying that to people.’ You chuckled in return, trying to play off the casual morbidity. Knowing that ‘and survived’ was the important part. ‘Cool hat, though, kid.’ 

‘Thanks!’ 

As the memory from Hershel’s farm played over again in your mind - you remained frozen. Your voice was caught in your throat, seized by tears and shock - but all you could do was stand there as Olivia continued talking. 

“And their leader is this really grumpy guy. He kept… staring at me. His eyes were so cold… it was almost creepy. I could hardly see his face past his beard.” 

‘And, uh, I got this for you.’ Michonne chuckled, extending her arm out toward Rick, trying her hardest to gift him the electric shaver. ‘Your face is losing the war.’ 

The words evoked another memory from you - Michonne making jokes about Rick’s beard being overgrown, trying to get him to trim it down. Now, you couldn’t picture him without one when you tried to remember him. 

“Here, take this.” Olivia picked up the crossbow and put it in your hands. “Can you help me with the rest of these guns? I don’t know how to unload them. I need to take inventory of the ammo.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the crossbow in your hands - you ran your thumb over it. 

You had almost forgotten about it. 

Trying so hard to push down the memories, to forget - it had almost slipped your mind. The marking you had left on Daryl’s crossbow that made it so uniquely yours. The blessing of good luck you had marked him with when you had sent him to look for Sophia. 

The cardinal sticker that you had put on his bow. It was faded now, but it sure as hell was the one you had put there. 

In the back of your mind, you could still hear Daryl’s snarky voice snarling about how he didn’t need luck - but it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it? 

All at once, your nervous system shook, your body prickling up fiercely with goosebumps as the realization truly hit you. 

Daryl was here. 

Daryl was right here in Alexandria. 

He was alive. He was within arm’s reach. 

He was home. 

“Daryl.” You mumbled quietly, your voice still choking on it - it was a name you hadn’t spoken in so long. 

“What?” Olivia asked, turning around to look at you, clearly confused. 

“Daryl.” You spoke it louder. 

You looked to the door, and before you could take a moment to explain or even put down the bow - your legs were carrying you with a great urgency. 

He was close by - you were going to find him. 

“Daryl!” 

You screamed out this time, your voice echoing through the streets of Alexandria. Random people going about their day stared at you, but you didn’t care. You continued sprinting down the street, looking for that familiar face that you knew had to be close by. 

“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!” 

You screamed out the names of the people you knew would be with thim, and then your mind became fixated on him - on seeing his face again, on hearing him call you an asshole with a smile. Fueled only by joy, you pushed past your previous tiredness, determined to find him. Your cheeks began to hurt before you knew you were smiling and your legs pumped harder as you ran. 

“Daryl! Daryl!” 

You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you knew he would come to you - he would be there soon. 

You ended up at one of the last houses on the lot, rounding the corner when you finally spotted him. 

It was something you had pictured in your mind a thousand times. 

One of the quaint porches of Alexandria - so clean, so white, so picturesque - finally dirtied up by his presence. Olivia made you gut your kills in the back because she didn’t want it to disturb people, but Daryl didn’t know the rules, or just didn’t care. His hands were already covered in the blood of the possum that he was skinning - careful, meticulous, doing it right. His gaze focused downward in pure concentration - much like he had been on the day you had first properly spoken to him. 

Dressed in all black and still dirtied from the road - he was a sight for sore eyes. 

And he caused you to pull in a sharp, shattered breath as you began to cry outright now. Hot tears of relief, joy, love streaming down your face as you laid eyes on him for the first time in so long. 

His head snapped up at the sound of it, and his eyes widened beyond the splintering bangs that hung beyond his brows - hair longer than the last time you had seen him. His hands froze their movements, still hanging onto the half-skinned possum. You gripped tightly onto the crossbow, holding onto it tightly like an anchor, drifting at sea. 

You knew that look - his jaw gaped, his eyes swimming with intense emotion - shock, most of all. He was frozen. 

He was looking at you as though you were a ghost. 

In Daryl’s eyes, you might as well be. 

The last time he had seen you - you were dead. Or dying. 

It was all the same to him. 

He genuinely couldn’t believe that you were standing right there in front of him - alive, clean, beautiful as ever, holding his crossbow. It was like a dream. 

“I think I have something that belongs to you.” 

Hearing your voice again - it was oddly startlingly. You motioned toward the crossbow - his crossbow, that you were holding for some reason. 

His entire body was filled with concrete - he was frozen. 

“Daryl, is that possum so much more interesting than me, or are you gonna come on over here and give me a damn hug?” 

Yes.

That was what finally got him up - he tossed the possum aside because it would never be more important than you, and he rushed off the porch, rushing toward you. You dropped his crossbow in the grass and when he pounced on you, his arms encircling you for the first time in such a long time - you finally felt like you were home. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing way, and you squeezed him right back - feeling a strange kind of comfort from the smell of sweat and dirt and cigarette smoke coming off him. 

It was so Daryl. It was so real. 

You heard gentle sobs in your ear and you realized that he was crying too, so overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing you again and not too proud to hide his tears now. You didn’t notice and didn’t care that he was getting blood all over your clean shirt, gripping you so tightly with his possum-skinning hands. It was just another assurance that all of this was real and not another stupid daydream. 

“Goddammit.” He croaked out, his face shoved so tightly in the crook of your neck, soaking your skin with his tears. “I thought - I thought I lost you.” 

Pressed so close to his chest, you saw the yellowing corner of the paper sticking out of his breast pocket. You couldn’t help but to raise your fingers to fish it out of his pocket. 

“Why would you ever think that?” You sniffled weakly in return. “You had this for good luck.” You teased him lightly, pulling away slightly to wave the folded piece of paper in front of his face - both of you knowing exactly what it was. 

He let out a weak laugh in response. 

“You’re still a damn fool.” 

That was all he managed to reply before he put both hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. It was unlike any other time he had kissed you before. This wasn’t chaste - it wasn’t a simple kiss signifying that he cared about you, that he was trying, but affection simply wasn’t his thing. 

This was gravity. 

This was passion, this was love. This was this kiss of a man who had nearly ended himself because he had realized in horror that his entire world had hinged on you. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to waste a single second treading around feelings, hung up on simple things like the fear of affection. This was a kiss from someone who needed to show you that you were his whole world, and now that he had you back, he would move mountains just to see you smile. 

It was a kiss that easily had you moaning into his mouth, made you dizzier than you already were, stole breath from your already weak lungs. 

He held you tight to his lips and he poured every single ounce of emotion into that kiss - telling you how sorry he was for all the time he had wasted, telling you how much he had missed you, and most importantly - telling you how much he loved you. 

“Daryl, please tell me that you’ve showered by-” 

The stunning moment was sorely interrupted by another voice, one you distinctly recognized as Carol. She opened the front door behind you and stuck her head out, ready to scold Daryl - but she promptly cut off her own words when she saw you. You pulled away from his lips at the sound of her voice and whipped around toward her, and instantly a smile cracked your face, broad and unbroken. 

She was staring at you with utter shock. 

“Carol.” You said her name warmly, greeting her as an old friend. 

You couldn’t help it - you jumped forward and embraced her in a hug. It was only then that she loosened from the shock and let her own arms fall around you, hugging you back, and she was able to speak again. 

“Y/N.” She said your name quietly in return. “What - what are you doing here?” 

“Um… returning Daryl’s crossbow.” You chuckled, motioning to the bow that you had dropped with numb arms before you had ascended the steps, rushing toward him. “But you know… I think I have something for you too.” 

Naturally, Carol looked confused - and you chose to show her what you meant rather than to explain. 

… 

You brought Carol and Daryl to a house in the complex that functioned as the school. They didn’t know that yet - and you asked them to wait outside as you rushed inside and boisterously disrupted the beginning of the afternoon class. 

The teacher began telling you off, but you didn’t care. 

Daryl and Carol were theorizing about what you were doing, half ready to go in after you when you stepped out the door with someone in tow. 

“What’s so important? We’re supposed to start reading King Lear today and I can’t miss-” 

Both of them looked up at the mousy voice and instantly recognized the streak of sandy blonde hair - a bit lighter now from exposure to the sun, topped on someone a bit taller than they remembered. 

“Sophia?” Carol gaped. 

A daughter she had said goodbye to in her mind, someone that she couldn’t keep hoping was alive. Somehow once again, standing right there in front of her, fully alive and well. Once again - all thanks to you. 

“Mom?” 

Sophia broke out of your grasp and ran from the door into her mother’s arms, and Carol quickly embraced the girl who was almost as tall as her now. Carol was unable to hold back her tears and you knew that it was a swelling of perfect emotion as they hugged each other so tightly. Daryl petted a gentle hand over Sophia’s hair as he looked at you fondly. 

You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. 

Carol used a hand behind Sophia’s back to wipe some of her own tears from her cheeks, still not letting the girl go as she looked at you with a wet smile forming tightly across her face. 

“I should have known she’d be with you.” Carol choked out - her way of thanking you for taking care of her daughter. Clearly scolding herself for not keeping the faith alive that Sophia would be okay. 

“We’re BFFs.” You said, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course we’re gonna stick together.” 

… 

You thought back to the day you had first taken on the title of Sophia’s BFF. 

The two of you had been close since the group at the quarry had first formed. It was unfortunate, but Ed reminded you of your own father, and you found yourself gravitating toward Sophia because of that. A natural instinct kicking in that made you want to take care of her because you understood what she was going through. You knew that Carol had to take care of herself, had to keep her own head above water, and she said that she was always appreciative of your help. 

You knew that Sophia appreciated having you around, being treated with gentle caring and a certain kind of maturity that she needed from an older sibling that she didn’t have. You didn’t always treat her like a child - you talked to her like a person who needed to be listened to, who had her own feelings that needed to be heard. 

Especially after Ed’s death - when she was feeling conflicted about the partial relief of being freed from her father’s abuse but oddly missing him at that same time. You were more than happy to listen to her and give her honest advice. 

When she fled into the woods off the highway that day, Daryl had to physically hold you back to keep you from running into the tail end of the herd yourself. It would have been stupid for you to blindly run after her, especially considering that, at that point, you didn’t carry a knife or any other weapons on you regularly. You would have been running after Sophia with nothing but your bare hands and your best intentions. 

It would have ended up with you both dead, and in the end, you thanked Daryl for holding you back. 

Which was why you trusted Daryl greatly to find her. You trusted his skills and his abilities, and especially his judgment. And you silently cursed Andrea for almost shooting his head off and putting him out of commission in that search. Especially considering the fact that Shane and even Rick were clearly losing hope in ever finding Sophia alive, and it was clear that they were ready to call off any search efforts. They were ready to abandon the Greene farm and leave her out there to die. 

So after Daryl’s wounds had been treated, when he was resting in his tent, you decided that it was high time to get the search back on. Of course, you had to wait for Andrea to leave, after she had apologized to him and left him with one of Dale’s crappy books as entertainment - something you knew wouldn’t help him much, because he was far too much of a hands-on busy body to sit around and read. 

But you didn’t dwell too much on thinking about that. Instead, you stepped into the tent next without being invited, determined to get his advice so that you could pick up the search for Sophia where he had left off. 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open where he had been lightly dozing off and he glared at you - it wasn’t malice or true anger, instead, simply light annoyance. 

“Can’t get five minutes of damn peace ‘round here.” He grumbled out as you invited yourself fully into the tent and without speaking a word to him, came right in and sat down on the edge of his cot. 

He instinctively scooted away from you. He could have said that it was because you had aggravated soreness in his injured side where he was still stitched up. But truthfully, it was because he wasn’t used to having you (or anyone) this close. Though he also couldn’t deny that the simple warmth of your body - the gentle heat of your ass pressed up against his thigh from you having to sit so close on the small cot - it was nice. 

But he couldn’t think too much about that right now. 

You obviously weren’t as caught up on the simple act of closeness. You weren’t as mindful of being this close to another person. You were someone who thought nothing of hugs and other simple forms of affection - something that you did regularly with people you considered friends, like Glenn and Lori and Dale. 

Instead of thinking at all about how close you were sitting to Daryl, you dropped your bag at your feet and began rooting around inside of it, looking for something. A moment later, you pulled out a map, which you held in one hand and shoved tightly in Daryl’s face. 

“Show me where you found Sophia’s doll.” You ordered stiffly. 

Daryl grunted at you, chewing on one of his nails for a moment before he replied. 

“What good is that gon do?” He asked. 

You didn’t know how to track or follow a trail. You weren’t the outdoors type. If he sent you off looking for her, he’d probably have to go off into the woods looking for you next. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. 

“Maggie is saddling one of the horses for me right now.” You explained. “You know that Shane has already given up, and Rick is about to.” 

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the quiver of potential tears. 

Daryl knew it wasn’t the kind of grief that everyone else held when talking about Sophia - you weren’t afraid that she was already dead and you would be combing the woods looking for a Walker to put down. You weren’t looking for closure. You were more terrified at the aspect of Shane and Rick giving up when someone you viewed as a little sister was still out there. You were afraid that she might be abandoned when she was still alive and had a chance to be rescued. 

“You’re not goin’ out there by yourself.” Daryl declared firmly. 

Predictably, he then tried to sit up - as if he would somehow accompany you in his severely injured state. But he didn’t make it very far off the cot before he let out a sharp wince of pain. Something he tried his hardest to conceal out of an ingrained toughness, so you knew that his pain had to be a lot worse than he was leading on. He fell back down instinctively and gripped a hand to his side, taking in sharp breaths as he tried to ignore the pain. 

“Well, you’re not going with me.” You griped sarcastically, motioning toward his injury. 

“Screw you.” Daryl replied, tossing up a middle finger - frustrated by his circumstances more than anything else. 

“Look, I’m gonna go whether you tell me where to pick up the trail or not.” You announced, firm and finite in your conviction. 

Of course. Stubborn. 

Daryl glared at you again. 

“And I’m not gonna drag your ass around with me,” You added on. “I just wanna know where you would search because before you got hurt, you were the best man for the job.” 

Daryl wanted to hate the snide, back-handed compliment - he wanted to hate your stubbornness and your inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. But he knew that you were going to keep to your word. You were going to do this with or without his help, and his help would be invaluable to someone like you. 

So, for some stupid reason, he folded to your will. 

(It would become a pattern so utterly predictable throughout your relationship. You were so direct and so stubborn that you learned how to play him like a fiddle.) 

“Gimme that damn map.” He grumbled out, finally folding to your infallible will. 

“Here, I have a pen. You can mark it down for me.” You announced brightly, giving him a chirpy smile as you got your own way. 

You reached back down to your bag, looking for the aforementioned pen, and Daryl bit his tongue. The fact that you even needed a marking on the map to remember what he was going to point out to you was a huge red flag for him - a sign of just how naive you were when it came to the woods, tracking, finding someone lost out there. 

He was already mentally preparing himself to go looking for you later. (He just hoped that this would be a good thing - that even if you got lost yourself, you would take some supplies to Sophia and help her survive a bit longer until he could get both of you back home.) 

He took the red pen that you handed to him and stiffly held the map, trying to ignore the gentle waft of floral soap coming off you as you leaned more into his personal space. More and more into his personal space, clearly trying to better pay attention to what he was showing you as he pointed to the landmarks on the piece of paper. 

“Found the doll down ‘round here.” He said, marking a small red X on the map. “I figured that she mighta dropped it when she was crossing the creek up somewhere here, and it washed downstream.” 

“Oh, okay.” You said. “So you think she’s on this side of the water?” You asked, pointing to a heading of your own. 

“Prolly.” Daryl nodded. “She gotta be close by the water cause it’s her only real landmark. You better stay close by the creek, got it? I don’t need to go in those damn woods lookin’ for your ass too if ya get lost.” 

“I’m not gonna get lost.” You sighed, snatching the map from him. 

“Make sure you don’t spend the whole time on the horse.” 

He added on, determined to give you good advice if you were determined to go out there. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that you knew how to ride a horse, but he didn’t bother to bring it up. Instead, he continued speaking about the topic at hand. 

“She’s little. It means she could be hidin’ somewhere down low. Caves, ditches, even down in the bushes. She could be passed out somewhere from the heat and you might not see her if you’re perched up high on that damn horse the whole time.” 

You nodded, soaking up all the information, determined to take advice from someone you knew was better versed in things like this than you were. 

“Anything else?” 

Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment. 

Then he reached off to the side for his own bag, holding in another pained wince as he stretched out his injured flesh. He batted away your hands as you went to help him, and his hands came back with a large knife - his hunting knife, sheathed in the cover that he often wore on his belt. You had never seen him without it, and you were surprised when he extended it out toward you - clearly wanting you to take the knife, even if only temporarily. 

“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-” 

“Shut up and take it.” He growled quietly. “This is gonna be better to you out there than any gun. And not just cause you’re a piss poor shot.” 

You rolled your eyes at the paper thin insult, but still hesitated to reach for the knife. 

“The woods are damn quiet, and if you run into a Walker, you gon need somethin’ quiet to take ‘em down.” He explained. And then, with a fair amount of cheek, he added on: “Come on. It’s for good luck.” 

You let out a sharp nasal sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, and then you reached out and grabbed the knife, tucking the holster onto your belt. 

“Maybe I don’t need luck.” You stated, getting up and making your way toward the mouth of the tent. “If I run into a bunch of Walkers, I could just make a necklace out of ears. That would be very fashionable.” 

You winked at Daryl, and he flipped you off - though you knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, seeing as it was paired with a small smile that he was unable to hold back at your comment. 

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“I heard that!” 

(For some reason, this made him smile harder.) 

… 

Despite what Daryl believed, you were comfortable in the woods. 

You had spent a lot of your childhood camping - he likely would have called it ‘glamping’ (if he knew what that word was). Your family spent a lot of weekends in an RV, driving off to remote areas to go fishing or so that your father could go hunting. You spent a lot of time off in some cabin deep in the woods with no TV reception, playing around in the trees with a stick, making mud pies for fun. 

You knew the reason that you seemed so naive in Daryl’s eyes was because you spent all those childhood experiences very hands-off. Your father was a wicked control freak of a man who never let you touch anything, despite how many times you voiced wanting to learn. 

He insisted that your family have ‘happy’ family outings - he insisted that you get your ass in the boat while he was fishing, he insisted that you eat the game that he shot while out hunting, he insisted that you get out in nature because it was what he had done as a child. But he would never let you touch a fishing rod, he would never let you hold a gun to hunt or set a snare. He always told you it was because you were ‘too stupid’ and you would inevitably mess things up. 

So before Daryl had started teaching you the basics, you didn’t know how to read a map, you didn’t know how to start a fire, and you had been learning how to fix vehicles only because of Dale. Your mother was the one who insisted that you learn how to ride a horse because it was something she had learned during her childhood. (It had spawned a wicked argument between your parents that you didn’t want to think about.) 

But nonetheless, you felt comfortable by yourself in the quiet of the woods. It was a quiet you had come to enjoy throughout your childhood. 

It was why your ears immediately picked up on something - a particular noise - standing out from that quiet. The gentle thrashing of cicadas, the quiet bustle of leaves in the breeze, but then, something else. Crying. Distinctly - the sound of someone crying. 

You hopped off the horse that Maggie had given you and tied the saddle to a nearby tree, taking Daryl’s advice to get off and having a look on foot. 

And sure enough - you soon came to a small cliff, at the base of which there was a small rocky indenture that could have been considered a small cave. It was something that you might have passed by when perched so high on the horse. 

When you crouched down and got even lower on your hands and knees- 

“Sophia?” 

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had been riding for less than an hour, and fuck - there she was. 

She was curled up with her back to you, likely crying out of upset from being separated from her mother for so long, being scared and alone. Even covered in dirt - you recognized that blue tee shirt that she had been wearing when she had run off. And it’s not like there would be some other little girl hiding out in these woods. 

“Sophia.” You called her name a little firmer, in case she hadn’t heard you, or she was fatigued from the whole ordeal and needed a little extra jolt to awaken her attention toward you. It was then that her head turned and she gazed at you with two large teary eyes. 

“Y/N?” She hiccuped sorrowfully. “Wh-where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom is waiting for you,” You grinned at her, extending your arms out to invite her toward you - and she began crawling out to meet you. “Everybody set up camp at a farm just off the highway so we could look for you.” 

“I thought you were gonna leave me.” She sobbed, sitting upright and jumping into your arms - you couldn’t help but embrace her in a tight hug. 

Relief flooded your system, and though you knew that she was scared, hungry, and definitely dehydrated by now, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your arms - alive. To know that Carol would feel the same relief in such a short time. 

“Nobody was gonna leave you.” You assured her. 

You hated that it was a partial lie. But of course you weren’t going to tell her about Shane’s pessimism and Rick’s liability to fall for the ramblings of his best friend. They would all feel foolish when you rode back with her on the horse. And you would be happy to prove them wrong. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“Are you hurt?” You asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect her. A secondary terror spiked your system. If she had been bitten - you didn’t know that you would be up to the task of ‘doing what needed to be done’ as Daryl had put it. 

“My ankle.” She said, motioning to her foot. Upon further examination, it was swollen so tightly that it looked more than painful, cartoonishly bulged over the edge of her shoe. The sight of it made you wince. “I fell down.” 

“Okay, well - one of the people at the farm is a doctor. So he’ll be able to fix you right up.” You smiled at her. “But you didn’t get scratched or - you didn’t get touched by any of the Walkers?” You asked, wanting to be sure. 

“I hid from them.” She assured you. “I was running away, and - and I got lost, and I couldn’t find my way back, and that’s when it got dark, and-” She broke into more sobs, and you reached out to hug her again. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take you to your mom now.” 

“Look out!” Sophia screamed this in your ear suddenly, pointing a finger to something behind your back. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, panicked, and then, with an instinct you didn’t even know you had, you reached to the handle of the knife - Daryl’s knife on your belt. You pushed Sophia away, whipping around in order to jab the knife toward the danger. 

The first time you hit the Walker somewhere in the middle of its torso, and the second time you locked onto two disgusting yellow eyes - and you jabbed the knife right between them. Within seconds, all the movement in the Walker went limp, and it fell to the ground - and you let out a huff (not even fully knowing that you had been holding your breath) as you pulled the bloody knife out of its skull. 

“I got it.” You said, feeling victorious as you looked over your shoulder toward Sophia - who was shell-shocked and very tearful once again. “Let’s just… get on the horse and go back to the house, okay?” 

“There’s a horse?” 

You gave Sophia your canteen and she drank the entirety of the water during the ride back, and by the time the sun was setting, you were emerging from the trees with her sitting on the front of the saddle. 

On top of the RV, Dale and Andrea were having a dispute about who was supposed to be on watch. One especially heated after the debacle of Andrea accidentally shooting Daryl in the head. 

“Just give me - give me those! Give me those!” Andrea snapped, taking the binoculars from Dale. 

The man acquiesced to her fierce will, and he nodded, putting his hands up in surrender as he walked toward the edge of the RV to descend the ladder. 

Andrea put the binoculars to her face and looked out upon the fields, and what she saw shocked her more than the bloodied Daryl that she had mistaken as a lone Walker. 

“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped. 

“What?” Dale whipped back around, obviously thinking that something was wrong. “What? What?!” 

Andrea took down the binoculars and turned to Dale with a look of pure shock. 

“It’s Sophia.” 

… 

A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. 

It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news. 

“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?” 

“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.” 

Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene. 

The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place. 

You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick. 

You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up. 

He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke. 

“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him. 

“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.” 

If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group. 

“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.  

Daryl shook his head. “Nah.” 

“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” 

You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it. 

“I am.” You grinned at him. 

He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive. 

“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back. 

“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly. 

Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug. 

“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.” 

“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.” 

Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due. 

“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl. 

He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs. 

“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way. 

“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.” 

…

Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him. 

And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own. 

And he needed to make sure that you got one. 

Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to. 

If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry. 

So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course. 

You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own. 

It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt. 

So far, the trip had been pretty successful. 

After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in. 

Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas. 

You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt. 

Some things really do withstand the test of time. 

He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse. 

You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities. 

He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you. 

“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.” 

You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse. 

“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it. 

Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat. 

He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants. 

His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours. 

“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off. 

“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.” 

Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike. 

That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment. 

…

It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now. 

Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well. 

Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group. 

Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese. 

And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you. 

Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this. 

“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you. 

“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face. 

“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.” 

“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.” 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return. 

Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal. 

“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin. 

“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile. 

“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.” 

Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice. 

Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together. 

This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table. 

“Well, it’s true.” You replied. 

… 

You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with. 

So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you. 

“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.” 

You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him. 

But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all. 

You had to take care of Sophia. 

A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised. 

He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile. 

“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness. 

A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end. 

“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded. 

“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made. 

“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.” 

He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust. 

“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.” 

He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move. 

You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things. 

Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed. 

After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner. 

…

“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.” 

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time. 

It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you. 

“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group. 

And it worked. 

“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder. 

But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time. 

This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time. 

Fuck, you really loved him. 

“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented. 

“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you. 

Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could. 

“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.” 

“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply. 

Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced. 

“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-” 

“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.” 

“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said. 

�� 

Chaos. Noise. 

Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor. 

“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill. 

You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody. 

The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong. 

You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually. 

It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside. 

Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out. 

When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire. 

The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see. 

Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

You quickly recognized who it was. 

“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you. 

You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you. 

“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?” 

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?” 

“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.” 

Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so. 

“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded. 

“I think I have an idea.” 

You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it. 

“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.” 

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said. 

… 

Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn. 

“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.” 

Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?” 

Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question. 

“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol. 

“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused. 

You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late. 

“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair. 

“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk. 

“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack. 

“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked. 

“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.” 

“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.” 

“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied. 

And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place. 

When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out: 

“This ‘ur place?” 

“Yeah.” 

You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all. 

“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Asshole.” He gently scoffed. 

Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch. 

This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had. 

It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here. 

There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived. 

“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked. 

“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.” 

It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive. 

“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?” 

You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” 

Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow. 

“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.” 

Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes. 

He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again. 

This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his. 

After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison. 

“I love you too.” 

Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his. 

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope. 

That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed. 

For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap. 

As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.  

He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself. 

The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it. 

A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck. 

He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.

...

A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!

[goldenstring6123]

Xavier: Residence for a day

Warning: 16+, Suggestive content, almost nudity, f!reader, reader is mc

Author's notes: This was supposed to be a crack-fic but I realized it'd be unfair if only Sylus gets the spicy scenes.

"My toilet exploded." Xavier chimed the moment you opened the door to your apartment. He was partially drenched, with pajamas sticking to his ankles and splotches of dark color around his gray shirt. He looked beyond miserable.

How does a toilet explode, exactly?

"Not a good morning to you, it seems." Despite just waking up yourself, you made way for him to enter, glancing at the state of your apartment. While he made his way inside, you handed him a towel and a spare set of clothes he left 3 days ago. "Did you call the landlord?"

"Yes. They said my apartment would be fixed tomorrow, but in the meantime, I need a place to stay," Xavier sighed, his voice low and grumbly. You weren't sure, but his tone was undoubtedly laced with implications. You aren't that thick-headed, and you can see the slight glimmer of his eyes.

"You're welcome to stay here, Xavier." You said with a small smile.

"Thanks. I'll stay out of your way and keep myself scarce."

"Hey! You make it sound like I don't want you here—"You pinched his cheeks, noting how squishy they were. "You can do what you want except cook in the kitchen. That's my only rule."

"Understood."

"Well then, I'll be taking a bath first. I've got errands to run."

The day went by quickly, nearly making you forget that you have someone waiting for you at home. With a handful of groceries on your left hand and some takeout on your right, you entered the premises of your own home. The first thing you noticed was the eerie quiet in the house and your bedroom door left ajar.

A slither of golden light escaped, yet you dare not attempt to disturb the peace.

Xavier must be sleeping.

In the best attempt you can, you unpacked the groceries with only one lamp light to use as your guide. It was peaceful that evening, that is, until—

"Good evening," the voice croaked.

You placed the last bag of meat in the freezer, "Good evening—"

You turned your front and saw him standing there.

Standing in his full naked glory— well, almost.

Holy shit. "There's food at the table." You turn your head to your front and shut your eyes, but the image still lingers.

Well-toned body, yet soft skin. Tiny waist and defined collar bone and…

Navy blue boxers. tight. packed.

"Do you need help—"

"No! I'm…I'm good. I just finished unloading!" You turned to your left and crumpled the eco-bag, pulling every inch of your being to not sneak a glance his way and down there.

—but you still did it.

Oh, it's packing alright.

You shake your head to ward off the evil thoughts and astute observations. You twisted your heel and came face to face with his chest. "You're red." He stared down at your horribly, horribly red face.

"Put something on, please. It's…" You averted eye contact too hurriedly. "It's cold out tonight."

Your lover hummed in amusement, the gentle glint of waking up fading like the sun during the evenings. A shift in the air made you shiver, and before you could process everything, a firm limb grabbed your waist, quickly hoisting you up and settling you on the counter. You gagged at the swift motion, fingers digging into his shoulders to find stability.

"Xavier, Wha—" You gather your thoughts on his actions, yet he barely gives you leeway to speak. His nose pressed against yours, his usual gentle eyes coated with a sheen of lasciviousness. You could only press your head back against your neck; otherwise, you're about to be kissing each other.

"Why are you red?" He asked, innocent.

"I…uh…" Why were you red? He's your lover, for Pete's sake!

"This isn't the first time you've seen me like this, right honey?" Xavier stretched his neck forward a bit further, kissing the corners of your lips. "You've seen me naked as well…"

"Those times are different!"

"Really? You better get used to this sight then," Against your own wishes, he wrapped his big, cold hands around your wrist and placed it on his chest. You can feel his slow heartbeat underneath that cold skin beating slower. Still, the slight tint of pink under the yellow light implied something different. He lifted your hand, which no longer offered resistance, nudging it lower and lower until a finger felt the ridges of his flexed Abdominis.

"It's too early, Xavier," You whispered under your breath.

"It's already evening, honey."

"What about dinner?"

He nudges you to lie on the cold marble countertop, and you do. With the ceiling as your view and the same light dimly illuminating the space, you hear him say:

"I'd rather eat something else."

Author footnotes: Xavier probably made it up that his toilet exploded. Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

The Morning After Sexy-Times with HSR/Nikke Gals of your choice?

(H:SR/GOV: NIKKE) The morning after with Bronya, Seele, Natasha, Rapi, Anis, and Neon

Mild NSF-W Implications below the cut!

Over my vacation I've been reading a lot of NIKKE fics and I am happy to write for them more

Bronya's eyes flutter open once the lights come in through the window, feeling a familiar warmth at her side.

She smiles before cuddling closer into her S/O, not wanting to get up just yet.

(Bronya) "S/O, are you awake?"

(S/O) "...Mhm. Morning."

Bronya giggles before fondly gazing into their eyes.

(Bronya) "I must get ready soon but...I think I'll indulge myself a for at least a little longer."

(S/O) "Indulge all you want, Lady Bronya.~"

Both of them chuckle before relaxing back into the bed and enjoying the silence together.

It wasn't often the two of them could share an intimate moment like this, or like last night for that matter.

But it was times like these that Bronya wish time could stop.

Seele yawns loudly before her hands freeze at a presence in her bed.

And promptly lowering her guard, remembering what happened.

Seele feels S/O stir awake, but she doesn't move.

Instead, she tilts her head slightly and gives a smile.

(Seele) "...Hey."

(S/O) "Sleep well?"

(Seele) "Thanks to you, pretty good."

Seele teased before shifting the blanket aside to get dressed.

She simply tossed S/O their clothes from the ground before stretching and getting dressed herself.

(Seele) "Come on, up and at 'em."

(S/O) "Easy for you to say, I felt like I was drained for everything I had-"

Seele chuckled, already standing by the door and leaning against the wall.

(Seele) "Jeez, we really need to get your endurance up."

S/O's vision is blurred as they open, being awoken from a soft warm sensation on their forehead.

After a few seconds, they could see Natasha's face a few inches away, with a smile.

(Natasha) "Rise and shine, S/O."

Her hand gently rubbed their head, Natasha's thumb brushing the spot where she kissed them before sitting upright.

(S/O) "Morning, Nat."

With S/O finally getting up, Natasha leans onto them and inhales deeply for a moment, her chest lowering once she let a sigh of satisfaction out.

(Natasha) "You're cute when you're sleeping."

(S/O) "Only when I'm sleeping?"

Laughing at their response, Natasha kisses their shoulder.

(Natasha) "Maybe a little more when you're underneath me."

Rapi is rather stiff (HA) in the bed. As a NIKKE, she doesn't need to breathe, but she feels content hearing her S/O.

And sensing that they're about to be awake, Rapi makes sure the first thing they see is her smile.

(Rapi) "Good morning, S/O."

And her core starts to warm up faster once S/O's hand rests underneath her cheek, letting more of her face weigh into them.

(S/O) "Hey, Rapi. What time is it?"

(Rapi) "10:24 in the morning. We do have tasks to complete today but..."

Her hands fidget for a moment before relaxing and closing her eyes.

(Rapi) "...But we can afford a little more time for us right now."

(S/O) "Sounds perfect."

The first thing Anis wakes up to is her S/O using her boobs as a pillow.

Her eyes widened and jaw dropped, ready to scream: "WHAT THE HELL?!"

Before promptly remembering what happened last night.

Instead, Anis clicks her tongue and sighs, failing to contain a smile.

(Anis) "Psh, pervert."

Her hand rustles their hair before grabbing their shoulders and back onto the actual pillow.

She couldn't deny that it was cute though.

(S/O) "Hm...Anis?"

(Anis) "What's up?"

She flashes a toothy smile at them before rolling to her side, facing them.

(Anis) "Next time, warn me before you use me as a pillow, by the way. I was totally not expecting that."

(S/O) "...After last night?-"

(Anis) "-Listen, it's just super early in the morning right now, don't give me that!"

Neon's head is on S/O's chest, she yawns obnoxiously before leaping back in surprise, realizing both of them were naked.

(Neon) "OH MY GOSH, WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO OUR CLOTHES?!"

Her screaming makes S/O almost shoot up.

(S/O) "Wha-?! Are we under attack?!"

Both of them look at each other before turning a scarlet hue, clearing their throats.

(Neon) "A-AHEM! A...A good morning to you...!"

(S/O) "Ah...y-you too, Neon."

An awkward moment of silence passes before Neon's hand goes under the blanket, covering her mouth as she averted her gaze.

(Neon) "Um...w-want to cook breakfast together before we go to the firing range?"

S/O smiles at her, grabbing her glasses from the nearby desk before gently putting it around her ears.

(S/O) "Sounds lovely."

Another voice from the other side of the wall made the couple freeze up again.

(Anis's Voice) "And speaking of sounds, keep it down! Some of us were trying to sleep you know!"

(Neon) "HEY! Don't listen in on us! That's SUPER private!"

(Anis's Voice) "Then put a gag on or something!"

...

(Anis's Voice) "...That sounded a lot better in my head."

(Commander's Voice) "Stop shouting through the walls, just talk normally outside!"

(S/O & Neon) "S-Sorry, Commander!" "Sorry, Master!"

All three of them couldn't hear the Commander sigh on the opposite side of the wall.

[deafsignifcantother]

my husband and I

♥ summary: alastor is an amazing husband, but the tone in the house starts to shift when you learn that he is the serial killer you feared. ♥ relationships: human alastor x deaf gender neutral reader ♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: big power dynamic issue, reactive abuse, murder, visualization of deafness and dependency, but they still have cute moments bc they're married and love each other ♥ a/n: A VERY SHAMELESS REPOST OF A YEARS OLD FIC THAT'S NOWHERE NEAR HAZBIN RELATED LMFAO

There are so many things running through your mind. You think about the smiles and how they always appear like a cocky smirk. Then, there's the way he laughs, even if it's a short chuckle, he bares his teeth. So many things could have alerted you to his danger. Are you stupid for not detecting it before?

When you think back, you are sure he had tried confessing his hobby (hobby, what a simplistic way to describe it) to you. He had made past comments about how he'd kill people, but you thought it was dramatics, and you had brushed it off.

He knows that you know now. The energy in the house had shifted—from both parties—and became hostile. The hospitality within your home had dissipated alongside the innocent eyes he would give you in the morning.

That night, before he undresses himself to slip into bed, he holds a threatening hand to your neck. He doesn't grab it or tighten his grip, but the implication is there. He signs with one hand,

"Without me, you have nothing, so don't you ever forget that, darling."

It's true. Your job, friends, the chance of a future being single, the idea of making money without him—it's all gone. It has been for a while. Your time in the house is all day, every day, and even if you wanted to leave, you had no car to drive. He keeps you here. It has kept you sane and safe up until now.

"I won't tell anyone." You sign with an empty facial expression. It feels pointless. With him, you feel like a walking corpse, somebody who is already dead.

His hand moves up to your cheek, where he pats you, tilting his head with a smile. "I know."

And after that, he stopped treating you differently. He returned to kissing your face every morning, leaving the house after cooking you breakfast, and doing all the husband-y things he was doing before. The days went on and on, and you were beginning to get used to the dial-back.

But you jump whenever he walks up behind you and places his hands on your hips. He has gotten quieter, sneakier. Is he planning something?

When you're alone in the house, you eye the phone, wondering if, in another life, you could pick it up, call someone, and leave the house without having to worry about what would happen. In a perfect reality, you could talk to the police about everything.

You can't even imagine Alastor in jail.

It would be your fault if anything happened to him. Would you be able to deal with that?

How could he even hurt someone? You try to imagine yourself doing it, standing in the forest and torturing someone.

It has been you and him for the last couple of years. He was all you needed and all you cared for. You didn't notice that he was stripping you of all your relations, your friends and family, stripping you of your independence and the things that made you human. He gave you enough in return. Your social life is spent with his coworkers while he interprets for you. You go to dinners, ones that his job hosted. You are always flashed as if you are a prized possession.

Maybe that's all you are.

You read his facial expressions even closer now. The furrow of his brow or the dropping of his eyelids always makes your whole body tighten. What will he do if he's mad at you? Will he hurt you?

You try to search in your memory: has he hurt you before? No, you realize. He hasn't. A sadistic twitch in his eye only appears in your romantic life. His hands have a consistent way of touching your body as if he is examining it.

You think about these things while you do the housework, while waiting for him to come home from work. Throughout everything: the fear, the sorrow, the guilt, you continue sticking by him. What else is there to do?

When he comes home from work, he puts his jacket around the shoulders of a chair, stepping close to you. You can feel his body—his warmth and his touch. He rolls up his sleeves and helps you with dinner without saying a thing. When you look up to him, he doesn't allow his eyes to look at you. A part of that makes your cheeks warm.

That night, he signs, "It's your turn."

You are too busy gazing into his eyes to realize he has taken his turn.

It was when you first moved in with him that you brought, in boxes, your board games. Whenever Alastor would bring company, he would force you to bring them out and be friendly as he played with them. Now, alone with you, he is being competitive. It's cute. And it's the Alastor you have known.

When you move your piece, he eyes it, tilting his head. Your breath stops. There it is again: he's examining you.

"What's work like?" You ask.

"Same as it has been."

You nod your head, glancing at his hands, trying to think of how many lives they must have taken. Does he shoot people? You can imagine that. The thought of him using his bare hands is beyond you; you've never seen him be violent like that. What about knives? His cooking - skilled, far off from clumsy… he may use knives.

He lifts his chin. His eyes ask the question: what are you thinking about?

There's a vacant space and a lack of words between you. You are chewing the inside of your mouth, grinding your teeth before you raise your hands.

"Do you use knives?"

He straightens his shoulders.

"When?"

"In the forest."

He smiles. The one that looks like a smirk.

"Yes."

You just nod, your cheeks warming. He's a killer. It's true; he admits it and doesn't shy away from the fact. But still, in your head, you can't seem to force yourself to be too worried about it. He hasn't hurt you, not unconsentually, and this thought taunts you like a loaded gun.

What do you have to be scared of?

A lot, you remind yourself. He's the danger: the stranger in your house that you need to be cautious of. Yet, ever since he had been revealed to you, he has done little to further the narrative of psycho-serial danger. He's still your husband. He's still the one you belong to.

That's why, when he comes home bloody, you shower with him before helping him bandage himself. You're the one who ruffles the towel through his hair and against his shoulders, catching the spare droplets. The two of you hardly even talk to each other as you press bandaids against his skin. You kiss each one.

Your lips touch the skin of his bicep, and then you peck upward, continuing to his neck, where you linger in the space between his cheek and his ear. His hand falls to your thigh, cupping the side of it, and he rubs the skin up and down. He doesn't move it from there, doing nothing salacious, not without your direct intention stated to him. It makes your heart race. At that moment, you forget about everything violent about him. But with those kisses, with the way his lips suck on your skin, you wonder if it is contagious. The violence, the wrath, and the war seeped into your skin like poison. You felt it corrupting you: the innocent front you had began to melt away, and suddenly, you were exposed.

Because when one of his victims enters through the backdoor: your home, your safety net, you do what you know Alastor would do if he made it in time. You grab a knife, hiding behind a wall, feeling their footsteps as they step closer. And when they round the corner, you strike them in the face with the back, knocking them down before holding the blade above your head.

You get a good look at their weak body, imagining your kitchen tiles as dirt, a leaf-covered ground, and the walls around you as arrays of trees.

You think about the times Alastor had held you behind him when people tried to talk to you. You think about the times he would protect you from the outside world, the ways he would drive himself insane to make sure you were safe.

He did so much for you, and what have you given him in return? A home filled with paranoia and unnecessary caution? It is unfair to him. You have been lashing out for nothing. So, you decide to gift him this: a new sense of ego—a pride that cannot be hidden, developed from a realization.

In this lifetime, you have one beam of hope: him. With those vows, you both swore to stick together. Through sickness and health, through life and death.

He is your husband; this is the house where you will spend the rest of your life.

When Alastor stands in front of the dead body, he places both hands on his hips, tapping his fingers before signing.

"Is the mess for me?"

You are still breathing heavily. He can see it in your eyes, the way they are wide and craved, the way the person's blood still stained your hair and the skin of your cheek. Your serenity is in the dark gloom yonder.

But you argue against him and his assumptions. When he asks if you are okay, you just smile and nod. "It feels good."

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Gojo satoru x F!reader fic in which you and Megumi interact after his "adoption"

You guys I know Gojo's more like a mentor to Megumi in cannon, but pls pls pls just let me have this, I'll give you good vibes for a week if you do 😭 Also, Satoru is more like a side character in this one, sorry babes.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, some cursing, good feels

The walk home with Gojo was...interesting. No, scratch that. Annoying. Megumi could do nothing but listen to him talk and talk and talk, to the point that he wished he was getting sold to the Zenin clan.

"Man, you're boring for a 1st grader, huh? What are you, like 8?"

"I'm 6."

"Rightttt....most serious 6-year old I've ever met."

coming from him? Megumi liked that. Whoever Gojo found entertaining had to be crazy.

"You know, my usagi-chan is gonna looove to meet you,"

"Usagi-chan?" He stretched out the pet name, a confused and judgmental tone in his voice. What kind of parent names their kid "little bunny"?

Gojo beamed, holding his hand out and counting on his fingers all the things he liked about you. "Oh yeah, She's great! She's smart, and funny, and she's a great cook, and a really strong sorcerer, and..."

Megumi tuned him out. It was bad enough, dealing with this guy, now there were going to be two of you? He dreaded what the rest of his life would look like.

Gojo was still talking as they walked up the final steps to Jujitsu tech, making their way to the dormitories, only shutting up for a moment when he opened the door to Megumi's new room.

You were there, setting a bouquet of carnations in a vase and angling it perfectly on Megumi's new night stand. The second you realized they arrived, you nervously turned around and smiled sweetly. "Hi! You must be Toj- uh, Megumi Fushiguro!"

"Toji's son" sounded a little demeaning to you.

Megumi nodded, seeming to be examining your face, trying to get a read on you. "I'm (y/n), It's great to meet you...I was going to make lunch, but then I realized I don't even know what you like...so how about when you're settled you can tell me what you like and I'll make it for dinner?" So Usagi-chan wasn't your real name...

"Can you even cook," Megumi asked, the first thing he's ever said to you, his little voice mature sounding for a kid his age.

You giggled, his bluntness making you relax a little at how amusing it was. "Well, he thinks I can," you laughed, pointing at Gojo, who has now made his way over to be next to you, "But he thinks I'm good at everything, so how about you try it and find out?"

Megumi hesitantly nodded, satisfied with your answer, and plops his backpack on the ground. He's decided he likes you.

You made pork gyoza for him that night, some of the best gyoza he's ever had, yet to be matched in his mind. As time went on, Megumi came to realize that you and Gojo filled entirely different roles. While Satoru lived in the dorm right next to Megumi's, Megumi saw a lot more of you than him, even though you worked at the Kyoto sister school.

You came over every day, eating dinner with him and shoveling big portions on his plate because he was "a growing boy", helping him with his homework, listening to his problems, attending his elementary and middle school graduations. At first, Gojo really only interacted with him to train every weekend, to bring him up to his level, but as you took a more parental role, so did he.

Of course, neither of you wanted to be called mom or dad, and Megumi didn't want that either, so he just called you by either your names or "sensei" when being educated. That said, you and Satoru always joked with each other about being teen parents, lamenting the fact that you "got the kid without any of the fun." The very implication of you two doing that always made Megumi gag.

Speaking of that, having the talk with him was surprisingly easy for you and Satoru, disgustingly easy in Megumi's 12 year old eyes, and although at the time he never intended on putting the information to use, it was still good to have.

You were always patient with him, staying gentle during his angsty middle school years, and eventually helping him train even more once he entered high school. You even insisted he danced with you at your wedding, stating that you needed "at least one dance with a gentleman."

All of this said, none of the other first years in the Tokyo school even knew of your existence until the good will event. You showed up with your students, The first person you greeted being Maki. Despite being Mai's teacher, Maki loved you. You were just so...bubbly.

"Maki! Ugh, it's been forever since I've seen you," you squeal, bringing her into a tight hug. You greet Toge and Panda respectively, Before rushing over to your now husband and dramatically swooning into his arms. "Oh, Satoru," You sigh, the back of your hand resting delicately on your forehead. "Ah, Usagi-chan, How I've missed you in the time we've been apart," he sighed, holding you by your waist and the nape of your neck. The sight was completely cringe-worthy, but it was funny to you two and that was all that mattered.

The two of you kissed, much to the confusion of Nobara and Yuji. You opened your eyes, peaking at their faces, and quickly sprung out of the arms of your beloved husband.

"You never told me how adorable your first years are," You giggled, taking Itadori's face in your hand and examining it. You didn't release him as you turned back to Gojo, calling out, "This is the vessel, right?" Satoru nodded, saying, "That's him," proudly. Yuji finally spoke up while Nobara laughed at the sight, asking, "Uhhhh...who are you?"

You pulled back, posing a little and responding with, "I'm (Y/n) (L/n), Satoru's wife!" You never took his last name, seeing as just being connected to the Gojo clan made you a bigger target than you already were. Nobara and Itadori's eyes lit up, both of them shouting, "Tell us everything!"

You would have been happy to, but you saw Megumi out of the corner of your eye. "Ah, Megumi!" You zoomed over, hugging him so tightly his bones might crack. "I've been meaning to ask, what do you want for dinners this week?"

Nobara and itadori got even more excited, you being the best source of information on their closed off friend and surprisingly mysterious teacher.

"I don't care..." Megumi sighed, blushing a little at how open you were about all this. "Maybe Gyoza," he muttered.

Ok, you could be a little annoying sometimes, but that's how all mothers caregivers were. He wasn't mad, even when you invited Itadori and Nobara over for dinner after the event, or spilled all of the details (except for the ones not even Megumi knows) about your life with Megumi and Satoru. He was ok with this, albeit a little peeved, because at the end of the day you cared for him in a way he never would have imagined being cared for.

Life didn't turn out to be so bad after all.

I absolutely loved writing this, it's been on my mind for a while now! As always, let me know what you think :)

[inlovewithpandora]

- Unaware -

Pairing: Neytiri x Fem!Oblivious!reader

Request: [ 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anon ] hi hi hi! so i’ve had this idea in my head for ages now😭 could you maybe do neytiri x fem!reader where reader was good friends with slywanin before her death (so she’s like 1-2 years older than neytiri) and she’s always been kind of oblivious to neytiri’s BIG crush on her, and then when jake comes and neytiri starts spending more time with him and stuff the reader realises she likes neytiri way more than friends, andddd when reader and neytiri are talking one night reader is kinda jealous saying things like “jake is a good guy i’m happy you’ve found him” and neytiri just gets frustrated and confesses that she’s been in love with reader ever since they were kids and that jake could never even compare to her and then it ends with a kiss or two 🤭 IDK I JUST LOVE THIS IDEA

Synopsis: Over the years you’ve been oblivious to Neytiri advances toward you and it takes you seeing her with another to realize how much you love her.

Content/Warnings: Reader being oblivious, Neytiri being a lover girl, Jake flirting with Neytiri which makes reader jealous, love realization, love confession, first kiss, implied experienced!Neytiri, implied innocent/virgin!reader, suggestive ending/implication of sexual activity!

Author’s Note: Hi Anon, Thank you for requesting! I hope this fic meets your expectations. I kind of got carried away with the ending so…yeah😭.

- My first Neytiri x reader fic!

- please excuse any mistakes!

Word Count: 1.8k

Glossary: tsakarem - Tsahìk in training || skxawng - idiot, moron

Extra: Requests are open! Please read rules prior to requesting!

Links: Navigation || Masterlist || Taglist

"Don't you see how she looks at you?! She clearly likes you!" your friend Samä has been trying to open your eyes, trying to make you see how much Neytiri liked you but you were completely oblivious to the matter.

"Samä...Neytiri does not like me" You shake your head as you continue gathering fruits in the forest.

You and Neytiri have grown closer over the years, especially after the death of Sylwanin and the closer you both became her fondness for you grew as well. She was completely in love with you but you were wholly unaware, too busy caught up with the image of her being your friend's little sister.

"Yes, she does! How can you not see it? the whole clan can see her love for you, EXCEPT YOU!"

"Oh, my Eywa Samä please stop okay?" You roll your eyes as you begin to grow annoyed with the conversation, "I'm not in the mood to hear you shove your ideas down my throat" Samä has been bringing this topic up for months now, trying to make you realize how much the tsakarem adored you.

"Whatever, but if you don't get it together and stop acting dense someone else is going to swoop in and catch Neytiri's eye and it'll be too late"

You just ignore her and continue putting varieties of fruits in your basket for communal dinner tonight. After a while you completed the task so you began to head back to the village. As you walked into the communal hall, giving your fruits to the head gatherer Neytiri spotted you from afar.

The way you bent over slightly, giving a good view of your backside made Neytiri's tail swish behind her. She loved you, everything about you made her feel as if she was floating on a cloud. She felt like Eywa planted you on Pandora just for her, every time her eyes met yours she felt as if time was frozen.

She's been trying to get your attention, to make you see the love she has for you which is spewing out of her pores but you're blind to the fact that she wants you. She has blatantly flirted with you on numerous occasions but you never reacted or flirted back, you would just respond casually and most of all platonically.

She couldn't understand why you were acting unknowingly. She was almost bluntly showing you her feelings, telling you how much she liked you and you were just completely unaware of it. Sometimes she felt as if this was a case of unrequited love, that her feelings were just one-sided but deep down she knew that one day you would come to your senses and realize you were fond of her too.

—

Over the last few weeks, you've watched Neytiri and a new member of the clan named Jake become close. The way she smiled at him as her golden eyes glistened under the sunlight, watching Jake touch her flirtatiously which causes a purple hue on her cheeks, everything about it just rubbed you the wrong way.

As of this moment, you were helping some warriors in the healing pod when you saw Jake and Neytiri walk in. You watched Jake sit down on the mat next to you and saw Neytiri bringing a basket of supplies over with her. As you heard them engage with each other your ears perked up, openly trying to hear their conversation.

"You need to be more careful Jake" Neytiri tells him as she begins to tend to the few scratches and cuts on his arms.

Neytiri was giving Jake a lesson on having balance and agility and it didn't go as planned. Jake was very uncoordinated and heavy-footed which caused him to fall flat on his face multiple times and get scraped by tree branches.

"I know, I know, but I'm just not as graceful and light on my feet as you." he chuckles while looking up at Neytiri, his lips curling into a small smile.

As you watch them interact with each other it makes your lips curve into a small frown, watching her fingertips dance across his skin made a feeling bubble up inside you that you haven't felt before towards someone... Jealousy.

You were jealous that they had this connection, it just made you feel angry for reasons you couldn't fully understand. Once you finished healing the warrior you walked out of the healing pod and tried to clear your head so you could try to find some clarity as to why you felt this way.

As you walked around the village, playing moments with you and Neytiri in your mind you began to focus on her beauty. Her small frame, her amber eyes, her beautiful smile, the way your name majestically rolls off her tongue every time you have a conversation.

Thinking of all the ways she ever touched you, either with a simple hug or just an unintentional touch made a swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach. You've never felt this way about anyone before, especially Neytiri. You always saw her as Sylwanin's sister but now you're beginning to see her differently.

'Maybe I do like Neytiri' you thought to yourself as you walked along the forest floor. Now you were beginning to feel stupid. Stupid that you didn't realize Neytiri's affection for you sooner because now it was too late, she was now falling for Jake.

—

It's been almost a week since you realized you had feelings for Neytiri and watching her be with Jake has been gnawing at your core. You wanted to express your newfound love for her but since she looked so happy with Jake you didn't want to ruin what they had.

Tonight Neytiri decided to come by your marui so both of could create some new jewelry together and hang out, "Your anklet looks great y/n" Neytiri praises your work as you begin to adorn your anklet with wooden beads and pebbles.

"Thanks, yours look good too" When you looked at her all you could think about was her spending majority of her time with Jake and it made you envious. It flowed so deep within you that at the moment you had to say something in an attempt to dig up information about how close they were.

"it seems like you and Jake are getting close..."

Neytiri looks up from her weaving and shrugs her shoulders, "Yes... I guess you could say that" Neytiri liked Jake. he was sweet, funny, and a troublemaker but she only saw him as a friend, she never even gave it a second thought as to him being a potential love interest.

"Well Jake is a good guy he'll be lucky to have a strong woman like you by his side. I'm happy you've found him" you speak in the most sincere manner possible. Trying to show your friend that you're happy for her even though it's slaughtering you on the inside that she's interested in him.

"Happy I found him?"

"Yes I mean it's clear both of you like each other"

Neytiri's face scrunched up in confusion, she didn't understand where you got this idea from when she's bluntly been flirtatious with you.

This was the last straw for Neytiri.

She was sick of you being oblivious to her feelings. It was making her frustrated, so frustrated that she decided to just flat out confess her love for you.

"I don't want Jake nor do I like him, I want you. I've been in love with you since we were children" 

"R-Really? You have?"

"Yes you skxawng!" she chuckles while shoving your shoulder lightly "I can't believe you've been so oblivious to it all this time"

Neytiri places her hand on your thigh and begins to glide her fingertips against your smooth skin "I have yearned for you so long that my body aches whenever my eyes wander to you. Jake could never make me feel the way you do, he doesn't compare to you in the slightest way"

Your body immediately rises in its temperature and you become so flustered that your breath began to hitch. Neytiri's hand rested on your thigh and the sweetness of her words made a fire burn deep within your core, it was as if a switch inside you flipped.

"I-I don't know what to say" A nervous giggle erupts from your throat, the way you felt at this moment was unexplainable.

"Say that you like me too, tell me that you see me..." she pierces her eyes into yours, looking at you with dilated pupils that were blown with pure love, desire, and most of all lust.

"I know I acted like a skxawng all this time but now I've realized how much I love you... I see you 'Tiri"

A bright smile tugs at Neytiri's lips. This was the moment she has been waiting for ever since her heart made room for you. Neytiri moves her hand from your thigh and places it nape of your neck which makes the hairs on your neck stand at attention. You glance at her plump lips, silently begging her to kiss you... so she does.

She pulls you into the most passionate, loving kiss.

Her lips on yours were hot, and every inch of your body felt feverish as Neytiri's hands began to roam parts of your body that no one ever has. The way Neytiri kissed you was magical. She was more experienced and you could tell by the way she was nibbling your lips just enough to make you moan into the kiss, sending vibrations through both of your bodies.

Even though this kiss lasted a few moments it felt as if it lasted for eternity. Both of you pull apart from each other and all that could be heard was the echos of the two of you heavily breathing. The aura gleaming off both of you was hunger, you both were craving each other.

"Can we do that again?" you asked shyly as you glimpse at her beautiful, breathtaking frame. Your head tilted down slightly as your eyes slightly widened, almost gulping as you take in her physique, particularly eyeing the perkiness of her breasts.

Neytiri chuckles at the sound of innocence in your voice. She takes her hand and tilts your chin upward, forcing you to look into her hypnotizing eyes, "We can do that and more..." She pulls you in for another kiss, moving her hands down your frame until she reached the strings of your loincloth and starts untying them slowly, "I can't wait to taste you on my lips" she whispers in your ear, her cool breath grazing against your skin which causes goosebumps to rise.

You could barely wrap your mind around what was about to occur but you were ready for all of it as long as it was with her, with Neytiri, the woman you love.

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[ro-is-struggling]

Could I request prompt number 16 with Peter Maximoff (the X-men one), where the reader is the owner of the handcuffs. She’s kind of a nerdy tomboyish type, who’s not suspected because everyone knows she’s got net zero experience when it comes to dating. I think she’d probably have them because what if the opportunity to have sex finally arrived and she didn’t have all of the gear? What sort of fool would she look like then? Maybe not as much of a fool as… say a woman who was explaining her stock pile handcuffs to the guy she still hasn’t confessed to… If possible I’d like it smutty please!

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for participating in the celeration (and sorry it took me so long to get to your request). I had a lot of fun writing this one! I tried to make it smutty but for some reason I couldn't :( It's more funny and fluffy than smutty, but there are a few suggestive okes here and there, I hope you don't mind and that you like it anyways!!

The one with the embarrassing secret || Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: A mysterious pair of black handcuffs is found which leads to a search for their owner and some embarrassing confessions

Warnings: fem!reader, my attempt at humor, suggestive tones, fluff

Word count: 4500

This fic is part of my 600 followers celeration

When Charles asked you to fix up the room down the hall on the second floor you didn't think much of it. You were excited to meet the new occupant of the abandoned room and although cleaning wasn't your favorite thing to do, at least you knew you wouldn't be doing it alone. Jean, Scott and Peter were with you and you were optimistic that you could get the job done if you put in a little effort —especially if Peter dropped the jokes and used his powers to help you. 

That room had been unoccupied for so long that sometimes you forgot it even existed. It was a dump where things that no one used anymore were stored, so it was a total mess. You were so overwhelmed by the amount of things there were to do that you didn't think about the fact that you also used that room as your personal junk stash a couple of times. So you set to work without thinking about the embarrassing things you had hidden there from your former roommate, certain that you had retrieved them all the moment she left school.

That was until you heard Jean let out a gasp of pure surprise, emerging from the closet with a pair of black leather handcuffs in her hand. The world around you stopped for a moment as panic spread throughout you. The blood all over your body rushed to your face, the shame evident in your expression as you realized the horrible mistake you had made. You knew you should never have bought that stupid being. You didn't need it. You didn't even have a partner! You should never have listened to that stupid magazine article. It didn't make sense, to fuel the flames of passion in a relationship you first had to get one, something you felt would never happen. Not with your shy and awkward attitude at least. 

"Who do you think these belong to?" Jean's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You let out a sigh as you looked at their expression of confusion and curiosity, realizing there was no way they could know the handcuffs belonged to you. You just had to keep your cool so as not to arouse suspicion and they would eventually grow tired of the subject, wouldn't they?

"Well, I hate to be the one to say it but this is Charles' house..." Scott said and everyone winced —yourself included— at the implications of his words.

"Eww, Scott, gross!" Jean punched him in the arm to shut him up. "I don't want to think about the professor like that!"

"You asked!" The boy defended himself, stroking his arm where Jean's fist had impacted against his skin. Although he recognized that the mental image of Professor X's private life, someone he respected and loved like a father, was not a pretty one.

"Maybe these belong to Raven," she suggested as she inspected the handcuffs in her hands. You remained silent, returning to your chores as your friends talked. It was better for them to think they were Raven's than to find out they were yours. "I mean, she lived here too and she kinda looks like she'd be into this stuff."

"I don't know," Scott hesitated. Realistically they could belong to anyone, even people they didn't know. Many mutants had passed through the school for gifted youngsters and many others had sought refuge there. It wasn't exactly easy to deduce who owned such a scandalous object.

"Whose else could they be?" said Jean, though she was interrupted before she could continue her speculation. 

Peter, who had remained silent playing with junk he was finding while moving a couple of boxes, interrupted his friends' conversation when an idea formed in his mind. Using his abilities, he snatched the handcuffs from Jean's hands before she could do anything to stop him. "I know who can help solve this little mystery!" he stated with a smile, dangling the handcuffs on his fingers playfully.

"Who?" you asked him, fearing that he somehow knew the handcuffs were yours. Instead of answering you he disappeared from the room for a split second and when he returned he had on a dark leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses in his hand.

"This is a case for Detective Brad Steel, FBI," he said, speaking in a deeper tone of voice than usual as he put on his sunglasses. He looked at you with an exaggeratedly dramatic look in his eyes, acting like he was on a detective show and this was the most important case of his career.

No one could contain the laughter, not even you. You were amazed at Peter's ability to come up with stupid things that made you laugh. He had a great imagination and got bored easily, a combination that was the perfect recipe for disaster 90% of the time. Oh, but that remaining 10% where things didn't go terribly wrong was usually hilarious for everyone involved. Peter was a fun guy to have around and always knew just what to do or say to make you laugh. That was one of the things you liked most about him.

"Why doesn't Brad Steel stay to clean up like he's supposed to be doing?" you said looking at him with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed. You knew full well he was using that as an excuse so he wouldn't have to stay and tidy up. He was like a little kid who got bored easily, especially when it came to tasks like cleaning and organizing. His world moved too fast to make sense of such things. "We could really use your talents to help out with this mess, Peter."

"I'm sorry, but Brad Steel has more important things to do. His talents can't be wasted with such trivial chores when there's so many mysteries out there that need to be solved!" Peter explained in his exaggerated FBI detective voice. You opened your mouth to complain, ready to argue with him to make him stay, but he vanished from the room before any of the three of you could say anything about it.

"Let him go," Jean said, resuming her chores. "He probably would have slowed us down more than helped us anyway."

You thought you were safe. After Peter left, you all focused on cleaning and tidying up the room as quickly as you could so you could get out of there. The conversation did not return to the subject of the handcuffs, the object easily forgotten now that you no longer had it lying around. You really thought that for once the universe had sided with you, quickly releasing you from the embarrassing moment and allowing you to have a second chance. All you had to do now was wait for the buzz to die —something you didn't think would be very difficult as Peter got bored easily with everything—, and then you could retrieve the handcuffs and make them disappear forever.

However, your hopes that this disaster would die quickly were crushed when you saw Peter talking to Professor Xavier. He still had his sunglasses on, so you didn't have to be very close to them to guess what they were talking about.

"Who used to stay in that bedroom?" you heard Peter ask a very confused Charles. "Or perhaps it was always a storage room?"

"I... I don't know, I don't remember." The professor muttered, looking at the boy with a frown. "Why the sudden interest in the room? How is any of it relevant to cleaning and organizing?"

"It's not, he's just joking!" You intervened in the conversation before Peter said something stupid. "We were bored while we cleaned up and we started a game, but it's all done now so the new guy can move in!"

You didn't give Charles time to answer you, you just gave him a smile and pushed Peter away from him. "What are you doing?" you asked him in a whispered shout. You couldn't believe he had dared to go up to the professor to ask him questions about the room. You had to stop his stupid game before things blew up in your face.

"I'm working the case," he said as if it were obvious, shrugging his shoulders.

"He can't know about this!"

"I wasn't going to tell him! I was just asking around to see what he could remember." Peter defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air at your accusing look. 

"No, you were avoiding work just like you always do." You complained, crossing your arms over your chest. "Besides, do you really think he wouldn't figure it out? He's a mind reader!"

Peter rolled his eyes, annoyed at your persistence. He didn't understand why you seemed so concerned about the matter. It wasn't like you knew who owned the handcuffs, so why did you seem so concerned that Charles wouldn't find out. Unless... you were hiding something. 

It didn't make sense in Peter's mind that you were the owner of the handcuffs. You weren't the kind of person anyone pictured when thinking of someone who used those kinds of sex toys. You were too innocent and indifferent to the world of love and sex for that. In fact, Peter wasn't even sure you had any experience with it. But that didn't mean you were completely ignorant of the subject. Maybe you knew who the real owner was. Maybe it was a friend you were trying to cover for. Maybe he knew the owner himself and didn't know it. 

That idea piqued Peter's curiosity and unfortunately for you, that meant he wouldn't let go until he got to the bottom of it.

"Why do you care so much about people finding out about it?" 

His question threw you off as you didn't expect him to pick up on your discomfort so quickly. Your brain froze for a moment, your mouth hanging open as it struggled to come up with a good lie that would get you out from under the spotlight. However, when you saw the look in his eyes you knew it was too late.

"I-I don't care." You lied, shrugging your shoulders in a desperate attempt to look relaxed. "I just think it's dumb and it could be embarrassing for whoever owns these to have the whole school spreading rumors about it." Peter squinted at you, inspecting your expression for signs that would confirm his suspicions. 

"I think you're lying." He said after a few seconds of silence. "I think you know something about this whole thing and you don't want to tell me."

"I do not!" You exclaimed in a high-pitched tone that immediately gave you away.

"Are you sure about that? Because my detective instincts are telling me otherwise." He teased you, looking at you with an amused smile plastered on his face.

"Well, your detective instincts suck then cause I don't know anything." You were starting to get nervous, speaking at a rapid pace and in a high-pitched tone that was unusual for you. Peter knew you well enough to know when you were lying, but even if he didn't, it was pretty obvious.

"Why are you so nervous then?" he stepped closer to you, invading your personal space with his presence. His eyes never left yours, staring at you with a paralyzing intensity. It was hard to focus when he was so close to you. It was like he knew the effect he had on you and was using it to his advantage. Your poor brain that was already having trouble functioning properly lost all hope of recovering. You needed to get out of there, get away from him before you ended up saying something you would regret. 

"You're making me nervous with your stare!" You said without thinking about how he might interpret that phrase.

"I make you nervous?" Peter repeated, looking at you with an arched eyebrow. You felt the blood in your entire body travel to your face from embarrassment at his implication. He was right to assume that, but it wasn't what you had meant. 

"Not like that!" you were quick to correct. "I mean you make me nervous with youe accusatory looks."

"Why? Are you hiding something?"

"No! You know what? Forget it! Do whatever you want, I don't care." You did care, you cared a lot, but you knew that this conversation with Peter would get you nowhere. He seemed more interested in teasing you than anything else and you were dangerously close to saying something stupid, so you decided it would be best to walk away. You headed back to your room, climbing the stairs to the second floor as fast as you could. However, when you reached the last door in the corridor you discovered that Peter was waiting for you there, leaning against the wood. 

"You can't escape from me, you know that, right?" he said arrogantly, giving you a cheeky grin. 

"Ugh, I hate when you do that!" 

"No you don't."

No, you didn't. But you still rolled your eyes, faking annoyance. 

"Go away, I need to do stuff."

"What stuff?"

"It's none of your business. Let me pass."

"Not until you tell me what you know."

You let out a frustrated sigh at his persistence. It was clear that Peter wasn't going to drop the subject anytime soon and you weren't sure how much longer you could put up with his questions. He was going to learn the truth eventually, of that you were sure. His curiosity and persistence would not allow him to drop the subject. It was a matter of how and when he would find out what was at stake.

And then it occurred to you that maybe if you told him the truth, if you controlled the way he found out everything, it would be less embarrassing for you. You knew that if you told him and asked him to drop the subject he would because you were friends and Peter wasn't a complete jerk. He would playfully tease you from time to time, sure, but he wouldn't seek to really hurt you. 

"If I tell you, will you let it go?"

Peter's eyes lit up at your words, like those of a child getting his way. "I pinky promise!" he nodded, raising his hand and stretching out his pinky finger for you to shake. You shook your head, unable to believe what you were about to do, but shook his finger, sealing the promise. 

You pushed Peter into your room, closing the door behind you to make sure no one heard you. The last thing you wanted was for the rumor to spread around the school, that was a kind of humiliation you weren't prepared to face. He watched you intently as you paced around the room, waiting for you to speak. It was clear you were having trouble finding the right words —or the courage to utter them— which made Peter even more confused. Why was this subject affecting you so much?

"Spill it out already!" Peter exclaimed when he couldn't stand the silence any longer. His voice brought you back to reality, stopping you on your feet as your eyes locked on him. There was no easy or non embarrassing way to say what you had to say, and you knew that dragging it out would only make everything worse. Just like removing a band-aid, sometimes it was better to be quick and precise to get things over with as quickly as possible. So you took a deep breath and blurted out your excuses as fast as you could, barely breathing between words as you tried to explain your reasoning to a very confused Peter.

"You have to understand it was an impulse buy, I don't even know why I did it... in fact I was going to throw them away, but I forgot where I put them and I-"

"Wow, wow, wow, slow down a minute!" Peter interrupted you, surprise written all over his face. "Are you saying these are yours?" You felt the blood travel to your face once again, igniting your skin from the embarrassment you felt under Peter's curious gaze. You didn't trust your voice to answer him, so you just nodded your head slightly, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole so you wouldn't have to face him anymore.

"How? I mean, no offense, but you don't seem like the kind of girl who would even know about these, let alone own a pair."

"Cause I'm not!" you said honestly, trying to defend what little was left of your dignity. "I haven't even had-" You stopped abruptly before finishing the sentence, realizing that confessing to the guy you liked that you were a virgin was as embarrassing as admitting that you had bought a pair of handcuffs for no apparent reason.

"You've never had sex?" He asked you after a few seconds of silence. Your gaze dropped to the floor, too embarrassed to look at him as you shook your head. If he didn't think you were pathetic before, you were sure he did now. "Then why did you buy these?"

You shrugged, unsure how to answer. Honestly you didn't even know why you did it, you just blindly followed the advice of a women's magazine —a mistake you weren't going to make again. "I don't know... I thought I might need them. There's this guy I like and I've been building up the courage to ask him out and I was scared he might think I'm lame or something if I don't have all this stuff."

Peter could tell that all this was a sensitive subject for you, so he tried to be as serious and understanding as possible. He approached you, taking a few steps until he could touch your face with his hand. He lifted your chin carefully, forcing you to look at him as he spoke. "You're not lame for not having experience in this stuff." He said in a soft voice. "And if anyone ever makes you feel that way then they're a dick and don't deserve your attention."

Hearing Peter say that put a smile on your face. His reassurance made you feel a little less pathetic, it wasn't enough to repair your bruised ego, but it did make you feel better to know that he didn't see you as a loser. You knew everyone else did, even if they didn't say it to your face. You were the weird girl who didn't fit in and had never been on a date. How could you when you acted like that? No guy would find you attractive! You weren't very feminine, always opting to hide in baggy clothes. You also didn't pay as much attention to your appearance as other girls your age seemed to do, and you weren't even interested in the world of dating and romance. It all seemed so complicated to you that just thinking about it overwhelmed you, so you were pretty sure you would die alone.

"So, who is it?" Peter's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. 

"Huh?"

"Who's the guy that you like, the one that you bought these for?" Peter twirled the handcuffs in his fingers, fiddling with them as he gave you an amused smile. He was back to his usual goofy self, trying to lighten the mood with his jokes.

"It doesn't matter!" you were quick to say, trying hard to control your imagination and not let it picture Peter doing something more than teasing you with the handcuffs in his hand. 

"That makes me think that it does matter," he remarked with amusement. "C'mon, who is it? I wanna know, please tell me." Peter spoke, stretching every syllable to the point that it was annoying —just like a child who wants to convince an adult to listen to them. He always did that and you usually found it amusing and adorable, but this time it was different because you just couldn't give in to his demands.

"That wasn't part of our deal."

"Yeah, cause I didn't know there was a special someone. Tell me who it is! I deserve to know."

"No you don't!"

"You're right, but I want to know so tell me, pleaseee."

"No!"

"Is it someone I know?" You tried to control your expressions, to remain serious so as not to expose your feelings, but it was pointless. Somehow he knew, you saw it in his eyes and in the smirk he was giving you.

"No. Actually, you don't know him." You lied, struggling to control your micro-expressions. You spoke casually, faking disinterest to see if it would get him off your back. But you sounded too casual, too disinterested, and Peter knew you were lying. 

"I do know him!" he gasped at the realization. "Who is it? Is it Scott? You know he's in love with Jean, right?"

"It's not Scott!"

"Then who? Kurt?" Peter made a funny face, finding the image that had formed in his head of you and Kurt together weird. You were friends, but he didn't picture you as anything more. You weren't compatible. Even though you were both innocent, your personality was too intense for him. That would never work. 

"No, ew, he's my friend!" It was your turn to cringe this time. "He's nice, but I don't like him like that. He's not my type."

"And who is your type?" 

You fell silent, admiring Peter's warm eyes. 

'You are my type,' you thought, feeling your heart race under his intense gaze. He was the one guy you wanted to see you in a special way, the one you sighed for when he passed you by. He owned your heart, but you couldn't tell him. Especially not now after he found out one of your most embarrassing secrets. 

"It's none of your business." You said simply after a few seconds of silence, turning your back to him to escape the vigilance of his beautiful eyes. 

But Peter could tell something was wrong, his instincts giving him an answer to the questions you refused to answer. It was the sparkle in your eyes and the strange tension in the air that gave him the hint. You looked at him as if you wanted to tell him something, as if you were biting your tongue to keep your heart from leading you to make a mistake. He couldn't think of a single reason why you'd try so hard to keep your mouth shut, unless....

"Is it me?" Peter asked you, appearing in front of you in a flash. His sudden movements would have surprised you if it weren't for the fact that you were used to being around him already. Being friends with Peter came with his weird behaviors and silly jokes. No, what surprised you were his words. How had he noticed? Were you so obvious?

You didn't know how to answer so you didn't say anything, you just looked at him, letting your eyes speak for you. You couldn't have formed a coherent sentence even if you wanted to, you were too mortified to do so. Your brain was spending all its resources preparing you for the worst, screaming at you not to cry the moment Peter rejected you. You knew he would try to be nice about it —there wasn't a single ounce of malice in that boy's heart—, but it would still hurt, and the last thing you needed at that moment was to humiliate yourself any further.

However, the rejection never came. Not even a look of awkwardness on his part. He only moved closer to you, invading your personal space as he reached out to caress your cheek. 

"I need to hear you say it." He spoke, his voice almost a deep whisper. It took you a few seconds to process his words, brow furrowing in confusion at the gentleness of his touch. You were expecting to be rejected, even mocked for the stupid secret Peter had just discovered about you. But instead he looked at you with a special shine in his eyes, admiring you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him at that moment. That threw you off, your brain too stunned to stop your lips before uttering the most sincere response you could at that moment.

"it has always been you."

There wasn't much more you could say because Peter's lips silenced you as they crashed against yours in the most anticipated kiss of your life. You didn't have much experience in the area, but you knew that was the best kiss you'd ever had so far. Butterflies flew in your stomach and colorful fireworks exploded behind your eyes as you let him guide you, taking control of the kiss. His lips tasted sweet, like candy, something that didn't help you want to pull away from him. But eventually your lungs betrayed you, forcing you to break the kiss so you could breathe.

"I'm flattered you bought these thinking of me," Peter spoke, twirling the handcuffs in his fingers. He had a mischievous smile plastered on his lips, but there wasn't a trace of malice in his eyes. He wasn't trying to mock you, he was just trying to make you feel good about yourself. "But we don't need to use them. We can take things slow, go at your pace."

You appreciated his thoughtfulness. It was a sensitive subject and Peter wasn't precisely known for being the most serious person. But he was really going out of his way to make you feel comfortable, from the gentleness in his eyes to the calmness in his voice. He wanted to be counted as much as you wanted to be with him, and he was going to do everything he could to make his work.

"I'd like that." you smiled at him and he gave you a quick kiss on the lips as a way of sealing your commitment to each other.

"But I'm keeping these! You never know when they might come in handy." Peter put the handcuffs in his pocket, giving you a suggestive wink that did nothing but earn him a slap on the shoulder from you.

"Gross!" you grumbled, though you ended up laughing at the exaggerated scowl Peter gave you.

"Excuse me? I wasn't the one that brought them. You're the gross one for putting weird ideas in my head. I was actually as pure as a dove before you presented me with such a filthy object!"

"I'm already regretting this." you said, rolling your eyes. But Peter didn't care, he knew you weren't serious. He knew you well enough to know when you were joking and when you were really upset with him. He could always tell in your eyes, something changed in them when he crossed a line. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was obvious when it happened, so he always knew when to stop joking. 

And at that moment, despite your crossed arms and your look of annoyance, he could see nothing but love in your eyes.

[shortnotsweet]

APPLES IN THE SKY (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [1] [2] [3] [4]

[ Henry’s face is unreadable. In the background, desert mountains and vegetation rush past. Smoke rises in the distance, backlighting ambiguous red shapes that could be plant life, flaming crosses, or even ominous figures. The camera cuts to the back of the car with the invalid license plate reading “HERO”, speeding towards a red horizon. Ray twists back in his seat with a smile, reflected in the lens of Henry’s sunglasses. In the review mirror, Henry’s expression is contemplative. The shot pans to a bird’s eye view of the car eating up highway miles. ]

Charli XCX’s “Apple” from BRAT (2024): “I guess the apple could turn yellow or green. I know there's lots of different nuances to you and to me—I wanna grow the apple, keep all the seeds, but I can't help but get so angry you don't listen to me. To the airport—the airport.”

PANEL NOTES:

The smoke is an implication of wildfires in the surrounding area, which Henry and Ray simply drive past because there’s nothing else to do. Maybe those days are behind them. Maybe they’re just not adept in the art of firefighting, and the bigness of a wildfire is too rural or too raw for them to even adress. I think there’s a sort of irony to it, and it’s either heroes ignoring a disaster past their prime or simple not caring; they’re speeding off into an undefined future and therefore no longer grappling with apathy, but sliding into it. Thus, the road is interpreted as a junction between natural conflict running its course and urban obligation.

This was vaguely inspired, albeit not lifted directly, from my millionth or so reread of “Cuticle Tear” by atbash on AO3. Granted, it takes place in a broken-down truck and is not needlessly melodramatic, but AO3 user atbash does more with obligatory dialogue and omitted assumptions than I could do in 20 panels or so.

Specifically, the lyric “‘cause I’ve been looking at you so long now I only see me. I wanna throw the apple into the sky, feels like you never understand me, so I just wanna drive…” struck me as somewhat in line with the feeling—and example—I got from the fic.

Of course, neither yellow or green are used in the actual color palette, but the song carries themes of intertwined identity and generational effects passed down. I think Ray has imparted a lot of the best and worst things about himself to Henry, through the means of their friendship, professional, and mentor relationship. He’s not his dad. It’s worse, almost, that he’s not, because then it would at least be hereditary.

“Apple” is my favorite BRAT (2024) song right now, so of course it’s stuck in my head; I think there’s a flippant, escapist quality to it and can imagine two friends listening to it on the highway, checking out, but also—there’s not quite a realization, more like an unspoken feeling that what you are is a product. And it’s someone else’s fault. And when you look at each other, you’re seeing something else, or maybe you’re trying to. There’s something distantly escapist and obviously upbeat about the song, but there’s a disdain there, too.

It’s hardly visible, but the license plate on the car reads “HERO” singular, which is invalid but implies they have either a fake plate or Swellview is just so strange that their town itself has exceptions as to how they’re issued, again violating the laws and conventional physics of surrounding territory. They’re a weird exception, as always, and they’re getting away with it.

Their identities are so intertwined at this point that theyre conflated, so there’s an obligatory ego flattening going on as well as an erasure of both or one of them—most likely Henry’s—to accommodate. You might call it being a teammate, although how Henry feels about it after all this time is unsure.

Ray did this to him, the good and the bad doesn’t matter; it’s the fact that he did it.

[sicknessbysalem]

Day One: “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” | Sicktember 2024

i am so excited to be doing sicktember! This is my first time doing this event and i cannot wait to write more this month. i hope you guys enjoy my fics!

@sicktember (i don’t know if we are supposed to tag you… also i couldn’t find a tagging post so if i’m missing a tag please let me know!)

disclaimer: characters originally belonged to @simplysickness but were passed on to me to continue their stories

if you have any requests, questions, comments, concerns, etc., send them my way!

tw for implications of past alcohol abuse, overworking, nausea, fevers, vomiting, slightly overprotective partner behavior as a side effect of second hand trauma

Lex pushed open the door to their apartment, the cool night air clinging to his clothes as he stepped inside. The hallway was dimly lit, the soft glow from the living room spilling over the floor, casting long shadows.

He was exhausted, every muscle in his body aching from the relentless pace of the day. Back-to-back calls had kept him out far longer than he’d expected, and it was only now, as he was finally home, that he realized he hadn’t called or texted Soren to let him know he’d be late.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, his stomach twisting with guilt. Soren would be worried—no, more than worried. He knew how much his silence would unsettle Soren, especially given their history. The memory of those dark days, when Lex had turned to alcohol as an escape, still hung between them, a silent shadow that neither of them liked to acknowledge but both were always aware of.

Lex dropped his bag by the door, his movements slow and heavy as he peeled off his jacket, hanging it on the hook with a sigh. He was mentally preparing himself for the conversation that was about to unfold when he heard the soft padding of footsteps coming from the living room.

Soren appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of relief and something else—something tighter, edged with worry and a hint of anger. His arms were crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed, and the tension in his stance was unmistakable.

“You’re late,” Soren said, his voice steady, but there was an underlying edge to it that Lex couldn’t ignore.

Lex winced, running a hand through his hair, which was still slightly damp from the sweat of the day’s work. “I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up at work—calls just kept coming in, and I lost track of time.”

Soren didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning Lex’s face, searching for something. “You didn’t call,” he finally said, the hurt in his voice more evident now.

Lex sighed, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him even more heavily. “I know. I should have. I just… I was so caught up in everything, and by the time I thought about it, I was already on my way home.”

Soren’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze settling on a spot on the floor. “Do you know how worried I was? Not a single word from you, not even a text. I didn’t know if you were okay, if something had happened, or if…” His voice faltered, but he pushed through. “Or if you were out doing something else.”

Lex’s heart sank at the implication, knowing exactly what Soren was referring to. He stepped closer, trying to close the distance between them, but Soren held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, Soren,” Lex said quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I should have called. Or texted. Honestly, doing either of those things were the last thing on my mind. I usually do text you because they don't let me drive the ambulance. I didn’t mean to make you worry, especially not like that.”

Soren’s eyes finally met Lex’s, and Lex could see the worry there, mingling with the anger. “You can’t just disappear on me like that, Lex. Not after everything we’ve been through. I need to know that you’re okay, that you’re safe. When you don’t call, my mind goes to the worst places.”

Lex swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him. He hated that he had caused Soren to doubt him, to fear that he might have slipped back into old habits. Lex also worried that someday he might slip up and go back, but he loved his job now and knew that if he did that, alcohol or otherwise, he'd lose it. And unlike before, this was a job Lex didn't want to lose.

“I know,” he whispered, taking another step forward, this time reaching out to place a hand on Soren’s arm. “I promise, it wasn’t like that. I’ve been clean, you know that. I would never do that to you, to us. Not again.”

Soren’s expression softened slightly, but the tension didn’t fully leave his body. “I want to believe that, Lex. I do. But you need to meet me halfway. You need to tell me when things like this happen so I’m not left here, wondering if… if you’re going to walk through that door or not.”

Lex nodded, his thumb rubbing small circles on Soren’s arm, trying to offer some comfort. “You’re right. I’ll do better. I don’t want you to ever feel like that again. I’m sorry, Soren. I really am.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of the day and the conversation hanging between them. Then, Soren let out a long breath, his posture relaxing just a bit as he uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Lex, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

“I just need you to be honest with me,” Soren murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when things get crazy, just let me know you’re okay.”

“I will,” Lex promised, closing his eyes and savoring the closeness, the reassurance of Soren’s presence. “I will.”

Soren nodded slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into Lex’s touch. “Good. Now, let’s get you out of those work clothes and into something comfortable. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Lex managed a small, tired smile. “You’re not wrong.”

As they moved together towards the bedroom, Lex felt a flicker of relief. The conversation had been hard, but necessary, and he knew that they were stronger for it. And as he changed into something more comfortable, Soren by his side, he was reminded that no matter how tough things got, they had each other to lean on.

The hours passed in a heavy, dreamless sleep, the kind that comes only after sheer exhaustion has wrung every ounce of energy from the body. Lex had fallen asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow, Soren’s steady breathing beside him a comforting reminder that he wasn’t alone. But as the night wore on, the deep sleep that had initially claimed him began to fragment, broken by the creeping discomfort that slowly gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

Lex stirred, his body feeling unusually warm, a heat that seemed to radiate from his very core. His head throbbed dully, the remnants of a headache that had never fully left him, and as he shifted under the covers, a wave of dizziness rolled over him, making the room spin in the darkness. He swallowed, his throat dry, and noticed the unsettling heaviness in his stomach, a nausea that was steadily building, threatening to push him over the edge.

For a moment, he tried to ignore it, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself back to sleep. But the discomfort only grew, the heat pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, the dizziness making it hard to find a position that didn’t make his head swim. Lex groaned softly, trying to adjust the covers, hoping that loosening them would cool him down, but the movement only made the nausea surge, a sickening lurch that sent his stomach twisting.

He felt the bed shift slightly, and in the quiet of the room, Soren’s voice came, soft and laced with concern. “Lex? You okay?”

Lex froze, his breath catching as he realized he must have woken Soren with his restless movements. He hadn’t meant to, but the heat and dizziness were overwhelming, and he couldn’t quite mask the discomfort in his voice as he responded. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though it was far from convincing.

Soren was already sitting up, the soft rustle of sheets filling the silence as he leaned closer to Lex. “You don’t sound fine. What’s wrong?”

Lex hesitated, his exhaustion making it hard to keep up the usual pretense. The truth was, he felt awful—hot, nauseous, and dizzy, with a headache that was starting to pulse more insistently behind his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way after being overworked, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. He ran a hand over his face.

“I just… I don’t feel well,” Lex finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before he could think of a better response.

Soren’s concern deepened, and Lex could feel the shift in his boyfriend’s demeanor, a tenseness that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“What do you mean, ‘not well’? Are you dizzy? Do you have a headache? Nausea?” Soren’s questions came quickly, each one probing for a clearer picture of what was going on, but Lex could hear the underlying worry in his tone, the fear that something more was at play.

Lex sighed, his hand coming up to rub at his temple, the dull ache there flaring under his touch. “All of it,” he confessed, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m dizzy, and my head’s killing me, and I feel like I’m gonna be sick. How... wait, what day is it? Or, was it?”

There was a moment of silence, and Lex didn’t have to look to know that Soren was processing what he’d just said, likely running through all the possible reasons for Lex to be feeling this way. But Lex’s heart sank when he felt Soren’s hand tighten slightly on his arm, his next words tinged with suspicion.

“It's Thursday," Soren said, his voice holding a tone that made Lex anxious. He feared he knew where this was going. "Lex… you didn’t drink tonight, did you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded, and Lex felt a cold stab of dread in his chest. He knew where Soren’s mind had gone, knew that the symptoms he was describing could easily be mistaken for the aftermath of a night of drinking. But he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol—he hadn’t in a long time, not since he’d fought his way out of that dark place. Not since he barely saved any fragments of their relationship three years ago. Yet, here was Soren, his concern now tinged with doubt, and it hurt more than Lex wanted to admit.

“Soren, I didn’t—” Lex started, his voice strained, but he couldn’t get the words out before his stomach twisted violently, the nausea that had been simmering finally boiling over. He felt his mouth water, his body giving him no choice but to move, and he scrambled out of bed, the room spinning around him as he staggered towards the bathroom.

The world tilted as he stumbled down the hallway, his vision blurring at the edges as the dizziness hit him full force. Each step felt like wading through thick, unsteady water, his legs shaky beneath him. His skin was clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead as the nausea surged, threatening to overwhelm him completely.

Lex barely made it to the bathroom before he fell to his knees in front of the toilet, the motion too much for his already overwhelmed senses. He gagged, his body convulsing as he tried to hold back, but it was no use. His stomach heaved, and he vomited, the force of it sending pain shooting through his head and leaving him trembling and breathless.

The retching seemed to go on forever, each wave of nausea more intense than the last, his body rebelling against the exhaustion and stress he’d been pushing through. By the time the worst of it passed, Lex was left slumped against the cold porcelain, his body spent and shaking, his head still pounding with every beat of his heart.

He heard the soft padding of feet behind him and felt Soren’s presence as he knelt beside him, the suspicion in his earlier question replaced with concern. Soren’s hand was gentle as it came to rest on the back of Lex’s neck, fingers brushing through the loose strands of his hair, holding it back and away from his face.

“Lex…” Soren’s voice was quiet, filled with worry and regret, and Lex could feel the tension between them shifting again, the doubt melting away as Soren took in the state Lex was in.

“I didn’t drink,” Lex whispered hoarsely, his voice rough from the effort of being sick. “I swear, Soren… I didn’t. I swear I'm not hungover or drunk, I'm just... sick?”

He retched again, his body convulsing with the effort, each wave of sickness leaving him more drained and disoriented. The pounding in his head was relentless, a brutal rhythm that matched the churning of his stomach. He clutched the edge of the toilet, knuckles white, as he struggled to catch his breath between bouts of vomiting.

Soren was there in an instant, kneeling beside him, his hand moving to Lex’s hair, pulling the loose braid away from his face with practiced ease. “Easy, Lex,” Soren murmured, his voice a quiet comfort in the chaos. “I’ve got you.”

As Soren held Lex’s hair back, his fingers brushed against the nape of Lex’s neck, and he stilled, noticing the heat radiating from his boyfriend’s skin. Soren’s brow furrowed in concern, and he pressed the back of his hand gently to Lex’s forehead, feeling the fever that had clearly set in. The warmth wasn’t just from the exertion of being sick—Lex was running a fever, and it was high.

Lex slumped against the toilet, panting for breath, his skin slick with sweat. The fever had sapped what little strength he had left, leaving him dazed and disoriented. Soren could see it in the way Lex’s eyes struggled to focus, the way his head lolled slightly as if he couldn’t quite keep it up.

“Lex,” Soren said gently, still holding his hair back, “you’re burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?”

Lex blinked slowly, his thoughts sluggish and muddled, as if they were trying to swim through a thick fog. “I… I don’t know,” he mumbled, his voice faint and shaky.

Soren’s concern deepened at Lex’s confusion. “Do you remember how many hours you worked?”

Lex frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to piece together the last few days. “I… I lost track,” he admitted, sounding more bewildered than anything else. “I just kept going… Didn’t want to leave anyone hanging.”

Soren’s heart ached at Lex’s words, the exhaustion and confusion in his voice making it clear that this wasn’t just a typical case of overwork. Lex was genuinely sick, and it was more than just the stress of his job catching up to him. The fever, the dizziness, the fact that Lex couldn’t even remember how long he’d been working—it all pointed to something more serious.

Soren gently released Lex’s hair, letting it fall back as he placed a cool hand on Lex’s flushed cheek. "You really have to stop doing this to yourself."

Lex’s eyes flickered with a mix of relief and confusion, his body trembling from the fever and the effort of being sick. “I’m sorry, Soren… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shh,” Soren soothed, his thumb brushing gently across Lex’s cheek. “You don’t need to apologize. I do, actually. And I'm sorry."

Lex shook his head, "No, I know. You have every right to-"

"But I didn't," Soren said, pushing some hair behind Lex's ear again after the strand fell forward. "Let’s just get you back to bed, okay?”

Lex nodded weakly, too worn out to protest, and Soren helped him to his feet, guiding him back towards their bedroom. Each step was slow, deliberate, Soren’s arm wrapped securely around Lex’s waist to keep him steady. Lex leaned heavily on him, his body drained of energy, his mind still struggling to make sense of everything.

When they reached the bed, Soren helped Lex lie down, adjusting the pillows and blankets to make him as comfortable as possible. Lex’s skin was still feverishly warm, and his eyes had a glazed, unfocused look that worried Soren even more. But despite it all, Soren could see the trust in Lex’s eyes, the way he relaxed just a fraction now that he knew Soren believed him.

“Just rest, Lex,” Soren murmured, sitting beside him. Lex felt the way Soren’s hands started gently detangling the knots that formed in his hair, something Soren always did to keep his hands busy when this happened. It was calming. “I’m right here.”

Lex’s eyelids fluttered, and he nodded faintly, the tension in his body easing slightly as he allowed himself to relax into the bed. He was exhausted, his body and mind worn thin, but with Soren by his side, he knew he could finally let go, let the sleep take him, knowing he wasn’t alone in this.

As Lex drifted off, Soren remained by his side, watching over him with a mix of worry and determination. He’d make sure Lex got through this, no matter what. And as the night wore on, Soren’s steady presence became the anchor that kept Lex grounded, the one constant in the storm of sickness that had overtaken him.

[bunny-j3st3r]

The situation revolving around Frost-can-bite

I'm not the type of person to make a call out but the actions taken by this indvidual and just how far they went to keep up this facade can not be looked over.

This is more of a warning for anyone who may ever have the pleasure of interacting with them in the future.

Under cut is the explanation

EDIT: I don't want to bring attention to this situation by reblogging this and adding on things to it, so it feels easier to edit with additional info that has come to light.

I do not want them chased offline, do not harass them either this is to only bring awareness so people, adults specifically can block them.

They did things to me and my friends that was fucked up and it is only recently we have realized things they did was uncalled for.

Please just approach them with caution, they still are allowed to have a space here but not within adult spaces.

I was told by someone that they had remade these two accounts are what we know off, I have blocked both of these accounts as well as ppl who were affected by him.

If you are in the smile for me fandom and see them trying to engage with adult content just block them and move on.

around three months ago I made a TADC server for adults only, it was a public server made by me and a friend as a space for adults as many current discord servers cater to minors and adults, I was aware of lot of adults felt like they didn't have a space for themselves.

In enters Frost.

Frost at the time had told us they were 19, even providing ID evidence so of course we weren't going to question it, we trusted them.

Over the past few months many of me and my friends became inceadbly close to Frost, we discussed parts of ourselves to them that we've never really shared.

Frost was even the first person I opened up about just how bad my mental illnesses are, we dicussed nsfw topics with them, we had drawn nsfw with them and even provided them nsfw art and fics.

In those few months we all cared for Frost so much that we considered them a close friend to everyone, I had even had plans to ask them to mod the TADC server with me as I had just had that much trust and faith in them.

And then a few days ago the news all came stumbling out.

A situation arose and out of nowhere Frost told me they were in fact not 19, that they had gone far enough to photoshop there own ID just so they could gain our trust. They were 15.

They were 15 pretending to be 19 in an adult server so they could see nsfw content.

Not only that but many other adults had jokingly sexually flirted with Frost and they had flirted back, as we assumed of course they were 19.

I didn't know how to respond, I just didn't believe it at first and I was dissocitating as I began to inform my friends. It felt like I wasn't even there, that I was looking at someone in a dream and that I was going to wake up and tell Frost about the very silly dream I had, and I kinda still feel like that now.

Not only did they lie about there age but they also tried to implicate two people that I will not name in there actions. Only when I caught them in that lie did they admit to not telling the truth and that these two people had nothing to do with it.

I'm not sure what there thought process for that was, I don't know if they were trying to drag them down with them or what?

Many of us still feel very numb and I can't speak for everyone but I know my trust has been completely and utterly shattered that I don't know if I will be willing to accept people outside of my social circle for a very long time.

I'm making this post because Frost decided to delete all of there socials, including discord informing me and only me they were deleting.

So after I tore through them I made sure everyone else got there say in before Frost tried to run away with there tail between there legs.

They don't seem to be fully aware what there actions have done, all they get away with is running away and knowing people are angry at him, while the rest of us have to deal with these lingering and disgusting feelings we've been left with.

For three months, he could of at any time admitted the truth, but he continued to engage in nsfw content, even engaging in conversation about why minors should not be in adult spaces.

The disgust and the hurt I feel over this is just... I don't even know, I've never felt so angry and violated before and that's saying something.

Although they have deleted I'm making this post as awareness.

We think that Frost may decided to try and come back once they think the heat has died down under a new account and I am posting this as a warning to any adults with adult fandom servers to PLEASE be aware of this person in case they decide once again to lie to worm there way into spaces they don't belong.

We have been violated and our trust broken and we've been made to feel like groomers because Frost wanted to see porn.

I will be posting this as a link in my pinned post.

So Frost if you are seeing this, I don't care how sorry you are, what you fucking did was unforgivable and I refuse to let you do that to another group of people.

We think Frost may reappear under any username with either the word Frost or Berry in it.

Frost also does not like to reblog a lot but they do like to mass like posts (not sure how helpful it is but you know.)

Frost also has a very distinct style that can be caught out easily if you think they are trying to get into an adult space.

I will post an example below.

Frost's white board style.

As you can see they have a very distinct art style and the same for there regular art

PLEASE

PLEASE be aware of these styles or names they might be under, please do not allow yourself to build up a close connection like we did.

Frost I don't think I can ever forgive you, I wish I had never met you and the only good thing that fucking came out of you was that I made friends with someone amazing and you absolutely do not deserve them.

I hope for your fucking sake we never see you again.

Edit: I am still mad at them, I still don't want them near me or my friends.

They can have there space online still, they can do whatever the fuck they want but they need to leave adult spaces alone.

Frost if your poking around on another account, seek help, please get acutal help.

I am not saying this in a mean way I am saying this in a hopes you realize how you treat all of us was fucked up and you can learn and maybe not treat your friends the same way you did to us.

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Reworking Requiem and Mulder's Return (Part IV)

More Requiem AUs!

Loose chronological order below~

Katherinexx1's Miracle

He didn't notice it right away, but she had created this heart-shaped figure on her belly placing her hand next to his.

Pre-Requiem: Scully finds out the big news before Mulder leaves for Oregon again.

JET's (mulderscreek, tumblr, freeservers) Snippet Fic

She conceded, "So our track record has been iffy at best during the most recent Decembers. But last year wasn't too bad."

"Yeah, I think the highlight of the month was when I was attacked by zombies."

Pre-Requiem: There is no baby, and no abduction-- only Scully picking up Mulder during the holidays.

XPhileChai's Life is like a new case - you never know what you're gonna get.

She opened her eyes and met his. He saw the change in her eyes go from "calm and happy" to "oh, yeah, I'm in a car on a stakeout".

Pre-Requiem: Mulder rushes Scully to the hospital, where they discover she miscarried one of two babies.

@alsoablankslate/tabulaxrasa 's (LJ, tripod) Things Outside

The sun was setting, and the sky was a wide swath of indigo out the kitchen window. Sometimes it was very beautiful here. Summer here was like springtime in DC, maybe. How you were always conscious of it, of the rightness of the season, the perfect fit of area and temperature and color and the smell of the air.

They couldn't find out about the baby.

Pre-Requiem: Mulder is never abducted-- instead, he and Scully are put under house arrest.

@myownsuperintendent (Ao3)

“Marry Me” (Ao3)

He hadn’t expected her to say that soon, but he knows she means it.  Her practicality makes him smile.

Pre-Requiem: Mulder recalls how he and Scully discovered her pregnancy before he left for Oregon; and decides to seal their partnership with a proposal. 

Fic: “No Secrets” (Ao3)

“You could have died if I hadn’t gone back and looked at your medical records from last year.  If I hadn’t figured out what was happening and how to reverse it.  And you…you weren’t going to tell me?”  Her voice is no longer even now, but she’s not yelling either; it sounds like all the air has gone out of her.

“I didn’t think there was anything we could do about it,” he says, but he realizes how stupid that is even as he’s saying it. 

Post Requiem: Scully not only finds Mulder after his return but also heals his brain disease. 

@drbedeliadumaurier/heartsfilthylesson's scully finds out she's pregnant before mulder leaves/isolated systems - Chapter 2

Beside her in a near-stranger’s living room, Mulder seems both somber and hopeful. He reaches for her hand and Scully knows his thoughts are filled with stolen ova and failed IVF and the child she lost and the one he’s not aware she’ll have. She needs to tell him.

Pre-Requiem: Scully knows, and decides to tell Mulder the news after her chills in Bellefleur.

Donna/donnah’s (Gossamer, mulderscreek) Alternatives

"I just, I just . . . I just hit the ground."

"Just lie still."

"Why is this happening to me?" He brushed a tear that escaped her eye and trailed down her cheek.

Requiem: Mulder drags Scully to the hospital.

Pattie’s Erlenmeyer Injustice

Not a day goes by that I don't think of the implications of this job, and especially this partnership. The knowledge that one or both of us might be killed or permanently injured in the line of duty hides in the backdrop, waiting to be cast and played out, by directors unknown.

Requiem: Mulder chooses to leave with the alien ship.

@tatooedlaura-blog/tatooedlaura/Laura Sprys's Oregon

The pull to go to them overwhelmed …

The need to join, to stand in the light, defied nature …

But he remained rooted in place.

Requiem: Mulder doesn't leave with the ship, and is panicked after receiving a panicked phone call from TLG.

xphilernj’s (Ao3, Two Close for Comfort) Find the Future - Chapter 1

Upon their arrival at Dulles International Airport in D.C., Mulder was fit to be tied and Skinner was ready to clamp the handcuffs on him and throw Mulder in the trunk of his car.

Requiem: Mulder rushes back to Scully’s side.

Maidenjedi's Would That I Could Travel Both

She held her breath as his arms wrapped around her, and felt his reluctance to leave her as much as his eagerness to go, to discover, to find the all-encompassing Truth.

Requiem: Amidst a selection of AUs, Mulder didn't get his answers but did have a happy ending.

Erin M. Blair’s The Blessing

He stood in the doorway of her hospital room and walked toward the chair by the bed. Pulling it as close to the bed as possible, he sat gingerly on the chair's edge, then gently held her hand in his.

Requiem: Scully floors Mulder with her pregnancy news.

bellefleur’s "Arms Wide Open"

I look over to see my partner's mother standing a few feet away from me, stock still and drained of color, with her hand covering her mouth. It's takes me a minute, but as I register the fact that her first sight was of me sitting in the hallway with my head in my hands, and then with obvious tear tracks on my face, I begin to comprehend her reaction. She must have immediately thought the worst.

Requiem: Mulder hears the news from Scully; and panics, fleeing the room. Maggie helps him get his head in the game. 

dmwones's Anagrams

"We can attempt to stabilize Dana for as long as possible. Give her blood transfusions, and corticosteroids. One to treat the low platelets, the other to help the fetus' lungs mature. But it's not a cure. Her body is under duress and HELLP syndrome is life-threatening. We can maybe buy a few extra days. But you're going to have to make a decision."

Requiem: In one of many AUs, Mulder is never abducted; but Scully and their baby still suffer complications.

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[kyliafanfiction]

Amy's crush on Vicky and her self-loathing over it is such an interesting thing.

Because like, if Vicky had also natively developed a crush on Amy and at some point realized Amy had feelings for her, and then Vicky actually like, went and talked to Amy about it, etc -

Amy's first instinct (under anything resembling her pre-Bonesaw mental state) would of course be a panic attack, right? She'd assume she changed Vicky's brain at some point without anyone realizing it. She might even try to 'fix' Vicky before anyone finds out (especially Vicky or Carol). Assuming she doesn't do that, I'm still not sure she actually like... jumps into this prospect headfirst.

Like, eventually, sure, if Vicky convinces Amy this was genuine and not Amy accidentally mastering her, Amy's probably still convinced she somehow tainted or ruined Vicky, and she's probably still not going to want to act on anything, though I think Vicky could probably soothe her fears and convince her (not in like, an undue pressure way, I'm not saying Vicky would do that) eventually.

But though I've read fics where Amy acts like Vicky being straight or even just 'Vicky sees me as just a sister and wouldn't return my feelings because of that' are the primary obstacles to her and Vicky flying off into the sunset together (though they're obstacles she still doesn't want to use her powers to bypass), I think the biggest obstacle is her own self-loathing, shame and disgust for her feelings.

Which of course, is honestly a bit silly. Like, crushing on your sister isn't necessarily normal, but incest is a very popular porn category. And Vicky is her adopted sister, so that's slight less abnormal - slightly. And like, as far as ill-advised desires and crushes go, crushing on your maybe a few months older sister is like, one of the least bad option. Of course, the fact that Amy has the ability to force the issue thanks to her powers is what makes this abnormal and then that ties in all her power-related issues.

I mean, there's a lot worse things Amy could desire. It's not uncommon in smutty fics for Amy to have like, really off-the-hook body horror kinks and stuff too, which - I can see, but we don't know if she's into that in canon... unless you think the Wretch was a manifestation of Amy having a Shoggoth kink or whatever (I don't, and Ward's implications she does can be safely put away, tyvm). Amy could have a vore kink, or be one of those people who have a lot of crossed wires between sex and violence (to dangerous extents) or whatever.

Of course, telling Amy that 'you could have more unnatural desires, your crush on your sister is pretty milquetoast as far as 'deviant' desires go, just check the dark corners of the internet (or, you know, any random ao3 fic)' doesn't really work. It would be nice if it would, because Amy badly needs some perspective (as I noted during my live reaction to 11h, while Marquis was unquestionably a criminal and a killer, given all the other villains active at the time in the Bay that could have been her mysterious villain parent, Marquis is probably one of the better options. I read one fic where Carol accidentally gave Amy the impression one of the Butchers was her father, for instance), but she's got such a dense and interlocking network of issues that she wouldn't be able to accept that perspective on it's own.

If something else managed to crack the outer layers of her issues, then maybe some perspective could help her at that point, but Amy is so convinced that she is uniquely monstrous and terrible (Thank you, Carol) that pointing out that 'on balance, you're almost normal, relatively speaking' wouldn't get through the armor of her self-loathing and shame.