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dilf-din · 3 months ago

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I Don’t Wanna Get Used to Not Having You Around

Frank Castle X f!reader for @xxdrixx

A gift for you my sweet friend!! Please enjoy a little fake dating Frank fic I cooked up!! Title is from In the Heights by Knox Hamilton

WC: 4100

Warnings: none, fake dating, slight sugar daddy vibes if you squint, no beta if you see a typo no you didn’t

Frank slipped into his usual haunt, black hood up and boot speckled with rain. Incessant drizzles like this one meant a thinner crowd than usual. Of course, he did a quick scan of the room from the wide window before he entered. A group of college aged guys gathered around the pool table, three middle aged men at the far end of the bar watching the giants play, and a girl at the opposite end hunched over a drink he couldn’t make out. Once he deduced there were no threats, he entered quietly, stamping his feet on the crooked mat to rid himself of any larger raindrops and pushing it straight with the toe of his boot before taking a seat on one of the barstools with frayed seams and stuffing spilling out.

Two stars on yelp meant cheap drinks and sparse evenings. Perfect for someone like him.

He flagged down the bartender for a beer and shrugged his hood down. A bruise on his cheek was fading to a sickly green, but he was otherwise free of wounds which was a rarity.

Frank fished a book from his inner jacket pocket and noticed the girl two seats down from him more clearly now. Watery eyes, a pile of disintegrating tissues in her pockets that she had been using to dry the stream of tears. Chipped nail polish that had clearly been picked at and a phone that she incessantly checked for a message that didn’t seem to be coming.

For some reason, he was overcome with pity for this stranger.

He cleared his throat, “If the drink’s that bad, I can buy ya another one.”

You tensed slightly at his voice and looked to see who he was talking to before realizing it was you.

“Oh,” you laughed, a small one but a real one. “No, this is the only thing that’s helping.”

Frank nodded and cracked his book open, unable to parse if he should further the conversation.

He closed his book just as quickly as he had opened it, “Shitty guy?”

“The shittiest,” you instantly responded, turning slightly on the stool to face him.

The bartender set Frank’s beer down and he gave a quiet, “Thank you,” accompanied by a nod.

“My ex is engaged, to a girl I hate,” you drew out the H sound incredulously. “We went to the same college and she was always weirdly competitive with me, going for the same opportunities, stealing my ideas and trying to outdo me. We even applied for the same job at the end, and she got it instead of me. And he fed me some bullshit about us being incompatible. I feel like I got traded in for the better model,” your voice wavered. You picked up your drink and drained the second half in one gulp.

“That’s,” Frank paused, “Profoundly shitty.”

“They invited me to their engagement party,” you scoffed, pushing your phone away from you.

“Yikes,” Frank scratched the back of his head.

“And I’m still at the same shitty job living in the same shitty apartment. No date. Nothing nice to wear, no way to pretend like I’m a fraction as okay as them,” you signaled to the bartender for a refill.

“You might want it straight from the bottle,” Frank whispered, making a slight gesture towards their kitchen and wordlessly grimacing.

“Gross,” you wrinkled your nose, “Thanks for the tip.”

“When’s the party?”

“Tomorrow,” you groaned and laid your head on the cool tile of the bar before quickly retracting from the sticky residue you were met with.

“How did I never notice how bad this place is?” you laughed.

“It’s easy to ignore when you’re trying to forget everything else.”

“Who are you trying to forget?” you asked softly, resting your chin against your hands and really taking him in for the first time.

A strong jaw and nose, broad shoulders, neat hair and square posture. You would’ve guessed ex-military even before you eyed the dog tags around his neck with what looked to be a wedding ring.

“I’m sorry. That was out of line”, you apologized quickly.

He shrugged it off, “Nah, you’re just making conversation with the jackass who hit you up at the bar. I’m the one who didn’t mind my business.”

“Well I don’t think you’re a jackass.”

“You’d be in the minority then,” he scoffed a laugh and took a swig of his beer.

A short silence hung in the air between you. The clack of pool balls, loud complaints from the men watching football, the roar of the heater in the corner. Your head swam a little under the low lights as you stared at the man beside you. Feeling bold, you slid over to another stool until only one sat between you.

“I’m Frank,” he smiled.

Fuck. He was tanked.

While the two of you made further conversation, Frank took in everything about you. The shine of your eyes, the lilt of your laugh, the way your hair fell across your face and how badly he wanted to brush it behind your ear so it no longer obscured his view of you.

For hours the two of you chatted and drank. At some point, Frank scooted to the stool next to yours until your shoulders were flush against each other.

He leaned in to whisper to you, observations and wisecracks about the other bar patrons. You could feel the stubble on his cheek against your earlobe and his breath falling on your cheek, clouding your senses and making you forget that you had chosen that bar to be alone and cry tonight.

“I have a stupid idea,” he said, angling his body towards yours and you missed the contact of his shoulder.

“I love stupid ideas,” you grinned.

“Let me take you to that party tomorrow. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend. We can show them what they’re missing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you laughed, then paused to contemplate.

Frank knew this was a bad idea. That if you said yes, he’d be in too deep. He was already under your spell and you weren’t even trying to be anything but an unguarded, unfiltered version of yourself.

“You don’t have to do that. Keeping me company tonight means I’m already in your debt. I don’t like when the score is that uneven.”

“On the contrary, you kept a lonely guy like me company tonight, so I actually owe you.”

You laughed and looked down, really starting to consider his offer.

“You would do that?”

“If there’s anything I love, it’s giving people hell. Having a beautiful girl on my arm is just a bonus.”

“Yeah. Okay,” you nodded.

The two of you exchanged contact info, when and where he should pick you up, and parted ways, but not before he insisted on walking you home. You could tell he wasn’t a creep, and that his insistence came from a place of concern and protection. You looked at the ring hanging from his neck, and allowed him to accompany you. Something told you he was carrying some regret about not being able to protect someone once. Plus he had already punched your address into the contact in his phone, so it’s not like seeing it in person put you at any greater risk. If anything, you did feel safe walking next to him. You noticed the way his eyes scanned every alley and intersection. Though you weren’t holding hands, you felt the urge to cling to him as he guided you through the rainy night.

“This is me,” you announced at the foot of a staircase leading to a well lit brick building. “I’m that one right there,” you pointed to the corner window on the third floor.

“I’ll uh, see you tomorrow,” he shifted on his heels and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Good night, Frank,” you smiled, casting one last look over your shoulder at the mysterious man before unlocking the door to let yourself in.

Frank lingered on the sidewalk, counting the seconds until he saw the light in your window flip on. He disappeared before you could check the pavement to see him still standing there.

———

You woke the morning to splitting headache and two texts from Frank.

“Good morning. Drink some water before you do anything.”

“Heard you mention you didn’t have anything to wear. Get yourself something nice.”

Attached to the second message was an apple payment for $300.

You responded immediately.

“Frank this is ridiculous. I can’t take this money from you.”

Three dots as he immediately started typing his response.

“Consider it a thank you. Been a long time since I had a night as nice as last night.”

“Well thank you back.”

“See you at 7”

You dropped your phone to your chest and stared at the ceiling. What have you gotten yourself into.

A gurgling growl from your stomach coaxed you out of bed to assemble any kind of breakfast to sop up this hangover, accompanied by a tall glass of water, doctor’s orders.

After breakfast, you showered to get the smell of last night out of your hair. When you gathered your laundry to toss in the washing machine, you caught of whiff of Frank’s cologne on your hoodie, and fished it out. For some reason, you wanted to save that little memory, and laid it across the foot of your bed while you dressed to get ready for your shopping excursion.

It was windy this week, and your eyes stung as you stepped into the brisk air. You drew your scarf a little higher up and trekked into town. There was a department store not too far from where you lived, so you decided to try there and hope for the best.

The store was almost empty, save for a few ladies holding up sweaters to their bodies to check the length of the sleeves before placing them back on the rack.

Nothing stood out to you until you found a black velvet mini dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves, and the fabric slightly sparkled in the right light. On the way to the dressing room, you spotted a pair of knee high boots cut from the same fabric. There was one pair left in your size that you grabbed to try on as well.

It fit like a glove. The expanse of your thigh that peeked out between the boots and the bottom of the dress made you look elongated and sexy.

“Not too bad,” you murmured, doing a spin to admire your figure from every angle. With a few accessories and your hair pulled back into a bun, this would do quite nicely.

On your way to the register, you stopped to pick a pair of dangly gold earrings.

There was still a good bit of daylight left before Frank was supposed to pick you up, and you found yourself feeling antsy.

“Found a dress. Want to see?”

“I’ll wait till tonight. Bet you look beautiful.”

Another wave of butterflies.

“Are you doing anything?”

“Negative.”

“Early dinner?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there at 5.”

Though it was still early afternoon, at least you shaved a few hours off until you could see him again. You found yourself strangely looking forward to the whole evening.

Popping in your headphones, you decided to clean your apartment. You danced from room to room mopping the floors and dusting the corners. You switched your laundry to the dryer and decided to toss in your sheets while you had the momentum.

At the end of your cleaning stint, it was nearing 3:30, and you decided you could start getting ready.

You brushed your teeth, applied simple makeup, and plucked a few stray hairs while an audiobook droned on in the background. Pulling on the dress once again, you were in love with the way it hugged your body, feeling a confidence you had been missing. A small jewelry box sat on your cluttered vanity holding not much besides a few pieces your mother had given you.

Carefully, you fished out the tennis bracelet and matching necklace that would perfectly complement the earrings you had picked up today. The last thing to do was pull your hair into a loose bun at the base of your neck. You pulled a few strands out to frame your face, and heard the buzzer to your apartment.

“You’re early,” you teased.

“Need me to walk around the block and come back?”

Without answering, you buzzed him in.

Suddenly, the butterflies were back. You did a once over in the mirror and sprayed on your perfume right when you heard a gentle knock at your door.

Without looking through the peephole, you unlatched the door to let Frank inside.

He smiled and presented a bouquet of flowers to you.

“Well hello,” you tried to conceal the heat that was rising to your face.

“My ma told me to always bring a lady flowers,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t an incredibly sweet gesture for two near strangers.

“And mine taught me to send thank you notes, so expect one this week,” you smiled turning to get them in a vase before the two of you left for the evening.

Angel, your small white cat mewled pitifully at Frank who bent down to scratch behind her ears.

You filled a vase with water and set the bouquet into it, carefully rearranging a few stems. It was a beautiful palette of whites and oranges.

“Do you still need a minute?”

“I just need my boots and coat,” you replied, rounding the corner out of the kitchen and skidding by him in mismatched ankle socks that he found incredibly endearing.

You sat on the edge of the overstuffed ottoman by the chair at the door and pulled the boots up your long legs, zipping them and brushing a bit of lint off of them. Frank looked away, turning to pretend to admire your wall art instead.

“What do you think?” You asked nervously fidgeting with the hem.

“I think you look like a million bucks,” he said quietly. He held his hand out for you to grab and do a little spin.

“Try three hundred,” you winked and he cracked a nervous laugh. Moving his hand up to run it over his chin and try to conceal his smitten smile.

“I think you look good enough to make that doofus see he’s missing out.”

“You clean up nice yourself,” you pulled your long black coat out of the closet and Frank wordlessly held it open for you to slip your arms into.

Frank was also in all black, sporting a button down and tie with jeans with some chelsea boots that looked new, or like something he only pulled out for special occasions. On top of it all he had a leather jacket that fit him like a glove.

“We’re so in sync we matched. We already have that couple telepathy,” you joked, grabbing your bag and dropping your phone in next to your keys. “Bye, Angel,” you cooed to your cat, leaning down to offer your nose that she gently pressed her own into.

Christ that was cute.

“I got us a table at a place close to the party,” he explained on the way down to his truck.

“You’re quite the planner,” you said sounding impressed.

“Something like that that,” he mumbled, closing your door behind you and making his way to the driver’s seat.

Though old, he kept his truck in perfect condition. There was an air freshener shaped like a tree hanging from the mirror, the windshield was spotless, and the floor mats even looked recently vacuumed. The radio played classic rock low through the speakers as you made light conversation on the way to the restaurant. You kept reminding yourself this wasn’t a real date. This was all just part of the act. You might not even see him after tonight, so why were you so nervous?

Frank turned on the charm over dinner, bantering with the waitstaff and ordering expensive wine for you to share. You started to wonder where he got this seemingly never ending supply of money and why he was spending it on you of all people. He was polite, paid cash, left generous tips. The thought of him being in the mob crossed your mind.

Frank checked the watch on his wrist, “It’s almost showtime. You need another minute?”

You finished off the glass of wine in front of you and exhaled, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Frank helped you into your jacket once more and offered you a firm hand to hold as you stepped over the threshold of the restaurant. His manners also never seemed to be in short supply. You bet to everyone else, you looked like a normal couple on a normal night out, not two strangers on a mission to scorn your ex. It was fun to pretend that this was for real.

You were quiet on the drive to the party, absentmindedly picking at what remained of your nail polish and wishing you had thought to repaint your nails.

Frank could sense your nerves.

“Just say the word and we can go.”

You looked over to meet his intense gaze.

“I can tell this is tearin’ ya up. So if you want to forget this whole thing, we can leave now. I’m sorry I even suggested it.”

“No, no I think this will be good for me. I need to face them. Thank you though,” you smiled sincerely.

Frank parked a few blocks down. He pulled the key from the ignition and exhaled.

“Ready when you are.”

“I’m ready to be done with them,” you sighed, reaching down for your purse.

Frank rushed out to open your door before you could even think about touching it.

“My lady,” he smiled charmingly as he offered you an arm down.

“Frankie, you’re too good to me,” you leaned against his arm, and he felt his throat tighten at your closeness.

“Their names are Beck and Dawn,” you whispered as you made your way to their stairs.

“Which is which?” He asked in earnest.

You tried to conceal a snicker as you let yourself in.

The halls were crowded with a number of faces you didn’t recognize and a few you did. Old classmates and colleagues, friends of Beck’s.

Less than a minute in and you already felt like you were suffocating.

You fished a card out of your purse and dropped it on a table that seemed to be collecting gifts and well wishes.

“I can’t stay here long,” you turned your head up to whisper to him.

Frank helped you out of your jacket and laid it next to his on a chair, then rested his hand on the small of your back. You tried to not think about the warmth of his skin and the width of his palm as you headed into the kitchen, exchanging a few polite greetings.

“They’re over there, but I want them to come to us,” you leaned up to whisper again.

Frank turned into you and nuzzled his nose against yours in a way that made you dizzy.

“She’s looking at us,” he whispered against your earlobe. His breath was hot on your neck, and for a second you thought about turning around and shoving your tongue down his throat to really sell it.

Frank’s hands lighted on your hips and he leaned in to whisper again, “You look sexy as hell. Don doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Dawn is the girl,” you hissed through a giggle.

“I told you I can’t tell the difference,” he laughed genuinely and both of your faces were lit up as Dawn and Beck made their way to you.

“Hey you!” Beck drew you into an awkward side hug.

“We didn’t think you would show,” Dawn said with a hint of true shock in her voice.

“Oh we were already in the neighborhood so we figured we might as well,” you shrugged. “This is Frank,” you smiled with a hand pressed to his side as the other was wrapped around his back.

Frank gave Beck a firm handshake, firmer than he should have but he couldn’t resist. When Beck drew his hand back and shook it out he asked, “Are you military, Frank?”

“Retired marine.”

“Oh hey, semper fi.”

Frank stared at him blankly. He could tell from everything about this goon that he had never served anything but overpriced coffee.

“Funny how life works out, huh?” Dawn forced a smile as she caressed Beck’s lacking bicep. Frank tried and failed to not feel incredibly superior to both of them.

“Yeah I’d say we both found people who deserve us,” you volleyed back.

Frank’s grip on your waist tightened in a possessive way that flooded you with heat as he and Beck seemed to be in a silent stare down.

Feeling bold you decided to say one more thing, “I hope you drive each other crazy. You truly deserve it.”

Beck started to say something, but you took long strides to the exit, leaving him behind once and for all. Frank shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if he had nothing else to add, following you back to the car.

Tomorrow they would open a card addressed to them congratulating Dawn on once again stealing something that belonged to you.

In your rush to leave, you left your jacket and were met with an unpleasant gust of wind.

Frank followed behind you a moment later, holding your jacket open to step into once again.

“My savior,” you murmured. Your heart was still pounding as nearly a decade of feeling looked over and plotted against settled in your throat. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks before you had a chance to convince them not to.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Frank said softly, swiping the tears away with rough knuckles.

You stood on the stoop trying to compose yourself, and buried your face in Frank’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation and settled his feet to become a wall against the biting wind.

“Not that I mind holding ya, but do you wanna go somewhere else away from these assholes?”

“Yes please,” you sniffed, following him back to his truck.

Once you had settled into the cab, Frank turned the heat on and adjusted the vents so you could warm your fingers beneath them.

“I’m sorry,” you started.

Frank scoffed as he prepared to chastise you.

“Not for crying, for bringing you here. I have too much baggage with both of them. It wasn’t fair to rope a stranger into all this.”

You met his gaze with a fresh wave of tears crowding your eyes.

“Couple things, sweetheart. One, you didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m not the kind of guy who does things I don’t want to do. And second, you don’t have to apologize. We’ve all got baggage. Some of us carry it with us everywhere,” he cleared his throat. “And third, I know it’s been a weird coupla days, but I’d love to not be strangers when this is all said and done.”

You searched his face and only saw things you had always longed for: patience, sincerity, adoration.

“I can tell you feel broken right now, but it won’t always feel that way. Forget those jokers. They don’t know what they’re missing. I think I walked out with the prize tonight.”

Frank licked his lips nervously and cast his eyes downward. It wasn’t like him to be so bold, but he had learned long ago that hesitating means you lose out on the best stuff life could give you.

You scooted closer to him, leaving a small space like you had in the bar. Frank scooted closer to you and closed the gap. His hands on your neck were rough and warm as he pulled you into a kiss.

He kissed like a man who had known both love and loss, passion and regret. It was tender, holy, all consuming.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that since yesterday,” he laughed against your mouth, stealing another quick kiss.

“I promise I’ll never make you wait 24 hours again,” you laughed back.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he drew his hands back and started pressing buttons on his watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Settin’ a timer,” he smiled, not meeting your eyes as he moved the small dials with his large fingers.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months ago

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Idia Shroud: The Daily Grind

Oooh, his limited-edition shirt (from a live performance, implying he actually may have attended a concert in-person??) has the Fates on it! Idia also talks about getting birthday messages from his mobile games… True Gamer rep... though I cannot forgive him using an all-in-one cream for his face don’t let Vil hear—

THAT GROOVY IS TAINTED 😭 The less I say about it, the better…

Rise and Shine!

Idia Shroud lived by numbers. Measurements, code, games. They were dependable things, easily controlled and predictable, unlike the fleshy meat sacks called humans. The most improbable creatures of all.

The luck of the draw had been unkind to him this year. A test ("In person attendance is required, Shroud," Trein had told him sternly), on his birthday! If a higher being existed out there, Idia was certain he was their least favorite child.

Touching grass? Tch, so annoying.

Idia drew out a ragged groan and rolled his neck, which still ached from having slept upright in his gaming chair. Clasped in his hands was a rectangle, its screen glowing as one of his many mobile games booted up. He had a list to run through, missions to complete--all a part of his routine.

Another day. Better do my dailies before heading out.

He sighed.

A familiar home screen unfolded before his eyes. It was a lounge, newly refurbished and dipped in a neon glow. Balloons clouded the ceiling, banners and streamers were strung up, confetti dusting the floors. Jewel-colored flowers in crystal vases and sumptuous dishes crowded the avaliable space on tables. On special occasions, the background was automatically decorated in honor of the holidays.

A grinning anime girl faded in. She was dressed in a fluffy cloak and hat, keeping her cozy for the winter season. This particular version of her was a SSR he had dumped money into to max out (no expense spared for the best girl).

"Happy birthday, Gloomurai!" she chirped, parroting the same phrase that she did to all players once a year. "Geez, did you sleep in again? Wakey, wakey! How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it? ... Wh-What? You're wondering if I prepared anything for you? Don't be stupid. I-It's not like... I... like you or anything..."

"Hihihihi... Aaaah, the way she runs hot and cold is so cute, just the best! This is peak content!" Idia chuckled to himself. Here, in the comfort of his private quarters.

Beep, beep, beep!

Idia yelped and leapt up in his seat, nearly dropped his phone. He squinted at the blinking envelope icon that had overtaken the screen.

"... What? A new message?"

Who's it from? I-I don't talk to any of my classmates enough for them to contact me out of the blue like this... C-Could it be Riddle-shi shouting at me to attend the next dorm leader meeting?

Idia cautiously opened the message. He winced as he braced himself for the redhead's shouting (all caps) from the other end.

A cheerful jingled played, followed by pixelated fireworks popping off. Ortho exploded forth from the envelope with a giggle, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY blinking on either side of him. The video message began to roll.

"Gooood morning, nii-san!" his little brother cried. "Did you get a good night's sleep? I hope so, because you'll need all that energy for your exam--and your birthday party afterwards!"

"B-Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?" Idia mumbled, running a hand through his fiery hair.

The prerecorded Ortho continued. "But I know you. You're probably thinking, 'Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?' ... Right?"

H-He got me nailed word for word!!

"We can't have you shut away in your bedroom as soon as you're done with that test! So to make sure you don't try and squirm out of socializing, I've recruited a guest character for an escort mission to your class and then to the birthday party afterwards. They'll be by to pick you up at 7:30 am. See you then, nii-san!"

Ortho waved farewell before he blipped out of existence. Idia sprung out of his gaming chair, slick with sweat from a freshly sprung, anxiety-induced leak. He stared at his phone in disbelief, his eyes wide and bugged out.

"D-Did I... Did I hear that message right?! S-Someone's coming to escort me to class?! But the time right now is…!!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“E-Eeeep!!”

This time, he did drop his phone. Its fall was cushioned by the mountain of cardboard boxes, opened chip bags, and volumes of manga loitering on the floor. The impact restarted the video message: “Gooood morning, nii-san! Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Idia-senpai?” a voice called out, joining Ortho’s. Your voice. “Are you there? I’m here to grab you for class.”

Th-Them?! He turned paler than Death, even as his cheeks and the tips of his hair burned bright pink. Why… wh-why did Ortho have to choose THEM for this?!

“H-Hold on a minute!” Idia called out.

He crumpled to his knees and gathered as much of his junk as he could, shoveling it into convenient hiding places to create the illusion of tidiness. His closet, under his bed, empty boxes and bookshelf space.

“How much longer?” you asked worriedly from the other side of the door. “You might be late at this rate—and you know how Professor Trein can be about tardiness.”

“A-Almost…!!”

Idia grabbed his phone and got back up, glancing at himself in the reflection of his monitor. His bangs had gone awry, covering one eye in cobalt bangs. He hurriedly brushed them away, trying to get his hair to behave as best he could, then attempted to straighten out the creases in his pajamas.

Screw the school uniform. There was no time left to make himself any more presentable than this. He’d have to deal with the disapproving shake of his teacher’s head when he slumped in. If was preferable to keeping you waiting.

His temperature spiked again. Pink became red. He waved frantic hands at his hair, urging them to cool off back to blue.

Calm down. C-Calm down, you’ve got this!! You’ve played so many dating sims, summon that main character charm!

But in real life, there were no clearly defined routes to head on. No dialogue options to choose or love flags to trip. No resets, should he fail miserably. He was left on his own to fumble through social interactions—and their consequences.

He shambled over to his door and, swallowing hard, cracked it open. A sliver of light poured in from the outside, along with your smiling face. He was a monster crammed into a gap, and you were his savior.

“There you are!”

Idia tried to picture a brazen male lead. The sort of guy that leaned against doorframes with a cocky smirk and casually went, “Hey, you.”

Nope, nope, nope!!! WAY too cringe! I-I can’t say that like I'm a confident alpha dudebro…! I can’t…!!

Idia froze, his mind defaulting to a 404 error. Even his heart seemed to stop, seized by clawing panic.

“H-Hey,” he said meekly.

"Happy birthday, Idia-senpai.” You blinked, slowly taking him in. "Did you sleep in again?"

E-Eh…? What is this weird sense of deja vu? They sound almost exactly like the birthday login lines from earlier... e-except it's a real person this time, not a fictional character...

The pace of his heartbeat quickened.

S-Something’s wrong with me. Th-This reaction’s definitely not normal!!

He flushed again, fervid as a flame. Short circuiting, overheating.

“Er… Idia-senpai? Are you feeling okay? Your hair, it’s going haywire, shifting colors like a lava lamp,” you vaguely gestured. “And you’re still in your pajamas. You hardly look ready to leave your room."

“I-I’m fine!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting a guest, s-so… I didn’t prepare to receive… any... one…” Idia trailed off.

"Hehe. How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it?" You extended a hand to him. "Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Just like the greeting from the mobile game.

Idia shyly ducked behind his door, hiding his burning face.

Is this a dream? If it is, I don't know if I want to wake up from it.

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wanda-widow · 1 year ago

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Post-Mission

Grumpy!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 832

Summary: Bucky has always been one to try and pull away from people who care about him. However, you're always one to be insistent and care for him anyways, no matter what he says.

18+ MDNI

Warnings: slight angst, implied smut if you squint your eyes, fluff

Like and reblog if you wish 💗

Hearing footsteps shuffle down the hall along with the sound of a dragging duffle was all you needed to know that Bucky was back from his week long mission. Hopping off the bed and peeking your head out of your shared bedroom, you saw Bucky scrub a weary hand down his face. You instantly frowned, worried as you hurried over to him, taking the duffle out of his hands.

“How was the mission? Are you hurt anywhere? We should get you some food, you look exhausted” you said while rushing back to the room to unpack his gear as he let out a sigh, silently chucking off his boots before face planting on the bed.

“Bucky?” came your worried voice after you put his boots into the closet, sitting on the bed next to him and poking his shoulder. “Bucky, get up. Shower, eat, and then rest.” you urged, poking him again when his vibranium hand shot out to grip your wrist.

“Let me sleep” he said gruffly before shifting on the bed so that his back was turned to you, leaving you rubbing your wrist softly. You knew he wasn’t too responsive after missions since it took so much out of him, not that he was one for words or self care anyways. Still, you took it upon yourself to make sure he was cared for.

“Please? I’ll make you plum croissants tomorrow if you just shower and eat” you tried again, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder as you felt him sigh again before sitting up.

“Eat and then shower” he said, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to one of the compound communal kitchens, sitting down on one of the stools as he waited for you expectantly.

“Grilled cheese?” you offered, slotting yourself in the opening between his thighs, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he nodded, fingers trailing down your arm as you pulled away. You could feel his gaze follow you as you bustled around the kitchen to make his food. “Go shower and then you can eat after” you said softly, turning around to look at him as he frowned, reaching out to tug you by the wrist back into his proximity.

“Thought you would shower with me” he said softly, letting his walls down while no one else was around. You felt his hands come to rest on your waist, forehead between your breasts as he pressed a kiss through your clothes.

“Another time, I promise” you laughed softly, letting your hands run through his hand before stopping at his shoulders, letting one hand trail down his vibranium arm. He let out a quiet whine before getting off the stool, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. You watched as he went back to the room to shower before turning back to the sandwich, humming softly.

20 minutes later, Bucky was freshly showered and seated at the counter once more, gaze still fixed on you as you plated his sandwich and sat next to him. He ate in silence for a while as you observed the new wounds on his back. Finding some gauze and neosporin, you began to bandage them gently.

“They’re shallow but-”

“They’re nothing” Bucky cut you off but made no move to stop you from patching him up. After placing the last piece of medical tape, he turned in his stool to face you, the both of you exchanging silent conversation before he got up to wash his plate.

“If you keep going on long missions, you’re just gonna keep destroying yourself, Buck” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. It became more apparent that the past couple months, he just drew further into himself with each mission, determined to block out the pain with endless fighting.

“I’m just helping the team” he said tersely, putting his dish in the drying rack before he walked back to the room, expecting you to follow behind him. You stood there for a moment, willing for the emotions to fade, to appreciate that he was here.

Your legs moved in habit, walking to your shared bedroom and flicking off the light before sliding under the covers with him. You could still hear his breaths, short and controlled. He wasn’t asleep.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke up again. “I don’t mean it, doll. The rudeness, the violence. I’m trying.”

“Bucky…” you started quietly but stopped when you felt the bed shift, a heavy weight now resting across your waist, shallow puffs of breath ghosting across your collarbone.

“I’ll take a month break, spend time with you?” he half offered, half begged, the grip on your waist tightening.

“James…”

“Only time with you. No one else unless really needed” he whispered, his leg shifting to now rest over yours, lips gently sucking at the base of your neck, smirking when he felt you cave.

“How does Bali sound?”

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pandapetals · 3 months ago

Text

Freckles

Logan kisses your freckles.

logan howlett x fem!reader - pure fluff, logan kisses reader’s freckles, reader is insecure about freckles, think that’s it…

a/n: This is very self indulgent…i have freckles…like a fucking lot so this is just something i needed because i was on my period.

You sat perched on the windowsill, knees tucked beneath you, the fading sunlight painting soft golden streaks across your skin. The amber glow caught every curve and hollow, bathing you in a kind of light that Logan swore was reserved for celestial beings. But you weren’t paying attention to that; your gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the sky blushed in shades of peach and lavender.

Logan sat at the edge of the windowsill, one booted foot braced against the floor, the other swinging idly. He watched you—had been watching you for a while. His expression was a curious mix of softness and intensity, his lips pulled into that familiar smirk that always made your stomach flutter.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the look. “What?” you asked, your voice tinged with suspicion but softened by the faint blush already blooming across your cheeks.

Logan shook his head and leaned forward, resting his forearm on his knee. His rough fingers toyed absently with the seam of his jeans. “Nothin’, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Just… lookin’ at you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, turning your head fully to face him. “Well, stop it. You’re making it weird.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. His eyes traveled across your face, lingering on the delicate constellation of freckles scattered over your nose and cheeks, then down to where they dusted your collarbones and arms like splashes of sun. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up into something softer. “You ever notice how the sun loves you?”

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden poetic shift in his tone. “The sun… loves me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, leaning back slightly to get a better view of you. “It paints you gold every time it touches you like it’s tryin’ to show the world just how damn gorgeous you are.” His voice was quieter now, but it held an edge of conviction that made your stomach twist.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a dry laugh, trying to play it off. “Oh, please. The freckles…are ugly. People have told me my whole life how they make me look like I’ve been splattered with mud or something.”

Logan’s brows drew together, and his smirk faded into something sterner, almost disbelieving. “Mud?” he repeated, like the word itself offended him. “Sweetheart, whoever told you that’s a damn fool. Freckles are… hell, they’re like a map of all the places the universe kissed you.”

You stared at him, your mouth parting slightly. For once, you had no clever retort. He grinned at your silence, the look in his eyes turning playful but still achingly tender.

“I’m serious,” he added, leaning closer. His hand reached out, rough fingertips brushing along your forearm, tracing a patch of freckles there like he was committing their placement to memory. “And if you can’t see it yet, well…” He met your gaze, his grin tilting into something mischievous. “Guess I’ll just have to kiss every single one of ‘em till you believe me.”

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in just a second too late. “You wouldn’t—”

Your protest was cut off by the gentle press of his lips against your cheek, right beside your nose where the freckles were darkest. You froze, heat rushing to your face as he pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed stare. He grinned, boyish and smug, then leaned in again, this time brushing a kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“Logan,” you murmured, half-laughing, half-protesting, though your heart was racing in a way that betrayed your words.

“Shh, gorgeous,” he said, his lips quirking against your skin as he kissed the corner of your jaw, then another freckle just beneath your ear. “Told you. Every. Single. One.”

Your laughter bubbled up despite yourself, a sweet sound that only encouraged him. He took his time, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your freckles like they were precious things that deserved to be worshipped.

You tried to protest again, your lips parting to say anything, but the words faltered before they could form. Logan’s lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. Slowly, like a tide pulling back from the shore, the tension in your body began to melt away, leaving you pliant and helpless against the quiet reverence of his touch.

“Told you I’m not stoppin’ till I’ve kissed ‘em all. You’ll just have to sit there and take it,” he whispered, his voice low and tender as his lips trailed to the curve of your neck, brushing against another freckle as if it were his life’s purpose.

You tried to scoff, tried to summon some shred of your usual wit, but all that came out was a soft laugh. Your hand drifted to his shoulder, not to push him away but to anchor yourself against the dizzying wave of emotion threatening to pull you under. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though it sounded more like a fond confession than a complaint.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a crooked grin, his lips curving against your collarbone. “But you’re the one who’s worth it.”

His words made your chest tighten in that sweet, aching way that left you feeling like your heart was too big for your ribcage. You could barely breathe as he continued his slow pilgrimage across your skin, his kisses impossibly gentle.

“Okay, okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling with laughter as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I believe you. The freckles are… beautiful, or whatever. You win.”

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, one brow arching in a way that was both smug and impossibly charming. “Or whatever?” he repeated, clearly unimpressed with your halfhearted concession.

You rolled your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “Fine. They’re beautiful. I’m beautiful. Happy now?”

He studied you for a moment, his hazel eyes warm and searching, and for a second you thought he might finally relent. But then, just as quickly, that mischievous glint returned to his gaze. “Not yet,” he said, his voice rich with affection as he leaned back in. “I’ve still got a few more to go.”

Before you could protest, his lips were on your shoulder, kissing the freckles scattered there, one after another, slow and deliberate. His hands, warm and calloused, skimmed along your arms as if the intensity of what he was doing wasn’t already enough to make your head spin.

“You don’t have to keep going,” you said softly, though your body betrayed you by leaning into him, the warmth of his presence chasing away every doubt that had ever lingered in your mind about the way you looked.

“Yeah, I do,” Logan replied, his voice rough but filled with a tenderness that made your throat tighten. He shifted slightly, his lips finding a patch of freckles near your shoulder blade. “Been wantin’ to do this for a long time, darlin’. You just gave me an excuse.”

Your laugh came out shaky, almost disbelieving. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That I am,” he said with a low chuckle, his lips curving against your skin. “But so are you. And if I’ve gotta kiss every last freckle to make you see that, well…” His lips brushed along your arm now, following the path of freckles that led to your wrist. “Guess I’m not stoppin’ anytime soon.”

You felt your cheeks heat again, but this time you didn’t try to fight it. Instead, you let your eyes drift closed, letting his love wash over you. It wasn’t just the way he kissed you, slow and patient, or the way his touch felt like home—it was the way he saw you. All of you. Every little thing you’d ever hated about yourself, he adored like it was some kind of treasure.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching on the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

“I know, darlin’,” he murmured against your wrist, pressing one last kiss to the freckles scattered there before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His grin was soft now, edged with something deeper. “But I ain’t done yet.”

Before you could argue, his lips found yours, stealing the last of your protests and replacing them with a warmth that spread through your entire body, from the freckles on your skin to the deepest corners of your soul.

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men logan #x men wolverine #fluff #james logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #marvel #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fic #wolverine x reader #logan x you

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crushpunky · 7 months ago

Text

drew and actress!reader attend a fashion show

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off of the loewe show from this past weekend <3

Y/n adjusted the belt of her outfit as she walked out into the hotel lobby. Once she glanced up, her gaze immediately met an unmistakable pair of blue eyes, crinkled slightly in the corners and paired with a wide grin. Drew stood near a large window, the tint allowing for privacy from the busy street outside. He wore a black and white gingham button down, tucked into a pair of loose black pants and paired with a brown leather jacket. His hair was tousled tastefully, showing off the highness of cheekbones and the pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.

Y/n almost felt envious, he made it look so effortlessly handsome, his charm and confidence radiating from him. She had been to fashion events before, but never front row at an event as big as this one or alongside such a gorgeous individual as Drew…

“You look stunning, baby.” Drew said, pulling her into a hug before pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she put her hand into Drew’s, squeezing it lightly.

“Are you kidding me? Look at yourself, Starkey.” Y/n whispered into Drew’s ear, her hot breath bringing a soft pink to his cheeks.

“You guys ready?” Drew’s assistant asked, gesturing out towards the black car parked on the curb. The two of them reluctantly tore their gazes away from each other, walking out towards the car. Luckily, only a few fans had gathered outside the hotel, the couple greeting them briefly before ducking into the car.

“Alright so the camera is set up here,” Drew’s assistant gestured to the camera sat up across from them, “so, have fun.”

“Thank you!” Y/n waved to Drew’s assistant as he shut the door, leaving the two of them alone with the camera as they began to drive towards the event. The two of them eased into their seats, Drew’s hand coming to rest on the sliver of skin between the end of y/n’s skirt and the top of her boot. He gazed at her softly, his eyes transfixed on the soft green fabric of her outfit and the way her skin glowed in the bit of sunlight that seeped through the windows of the car. He reached out to brush a hair away from her ear, leaning in closely.

“I wish this camera wasn’t here because you look so fucking sexy.” Drew whispered into y/n’s ear, close enough to avoid the gaze of the camera, causing a tingle to run down her spine. She elbowed him playfully, the two of them laughing before easing into relaxed, camera-friendly banter.

Waves of fans, flashes of cameras, and shouts signaled the arrival to the venue. Once the door opened, Drew climbed out the car before turning to offer his hand to y/n. She took it with a grin, following Drew out towards the sea of people. The two of them chatted with fans and interviewers, taking photos and signing pieces in the clamor of the crowd. After a couple of minutes, one of the event coordinators led them towards the runway, pointing them to their seats.

“Are you nervous?” Drew asked, brushing his hand along the curve of y/n’s back as they settled into their seats.

“A bit intimidated.” Y/n said with a light laugh. Drew grinned gently before pressing a kiss to y/n’s temple.

“Don’t be. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room.” Drew said, hugging her into his side as the lights begin to dim. Despite all the time they’ve spent together, Drew still managed to make her dizzy in the head with his gracious words and soft touches, making her feel like a teenager falling in love for the first time all over again.

The show began, models strutting down the runway in various spring colors, florals, and fabrics. Y/n eyes followed each step, admiring the stunning combinations and how they fit each and every model beautifully, naturally highlighting their features whilst also allowing the pieces to stun on their own. She glanced over at Drew, looking to share her fascination quietly with someone. However, Drew’s eyes weren’t on the outfits, they weren’t even on models walking in front of them. They were locked solely on her, a content grin and soft pink on his face.

“What?” Y/n whispered, quickly checking over her outfit and running her fingers through her hair, hoping to fix whatever Drew seemed to be distracted by.

“Nothing. Just looking.” Drew shrugged, a cheeky smirk on his lips as he gently traced his thumb along the curve of her hip. Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing quietly to herself before turning back to the show. Once the final model exited the runway, everyone jumped to their feet and erupted into applause.

“Wow. Jonathan has outdone himself.” Y/n said to the attendees around them, gushing about fabrics, cuts, accessories, and whatever else she had fallen in love with during the show. Once they made it out into the garden that surrounded the venue, the two of them found themselves sitting on an ivy-coated bench, Drew’s arm wrapped firmly around her midsection. Drew was always a touchy person, making sure to find some way to be holding onto her whenever they were out and about, but now it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Drew what has gotten into you?” Y/n laughed, looking over at Drew, the same blushed grin he had plastered on his face still present.

“You. You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy, darling.” Drew whispered, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips before pulling away, running her fingers through his hair as she looked back at him.

“You’re crazy, Starkey.” Y/n grinned.

“Only for you, baby. Only for you.” Drew grinned, pressing another kiss to her temple.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader

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xwritingdixonx · 7 months ago

Text

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever.

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through.

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now.

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape.

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home."

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart.

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing.

Why couldn't you just get on the bike?

Why couldn't you breathe?

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up?

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine."

"Daryl, it's getting dark."

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it.

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you.

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast.

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied.

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl.

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker.

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness.

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?"

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before.

"Maggie's talked about him briefly."

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically.

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah.

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued.

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings."

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second.

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle.

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood.

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long?

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance.

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed."

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n."

You didn't know why you expected anything different.

"Goodnight Daryl."

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face.

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you.

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?"

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy. Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances.

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen."

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him.

Patrick began to walk with you.

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second. "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults.

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy.

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy.

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return.

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that."

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to.

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours."

The river.

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him.

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him.

"Y/n no!"

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything."

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you.

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar.

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost.

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be.

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen.

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now.

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run?

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl."

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!"

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me."

"I don't need you."

"You fucking need me." You repeated.

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. He was mere inches from your face, your foreheads almost touching. “Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He watched as you continued on, your body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and tears. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days. You’d denied yourself the comfort of his company. You urned for him to be gentle to you once again. To speak to you so deeply and sincerely as he had before. To comfort you amidst your grief. All the draining nights of crying yourself to dehydration, you desired for him to be there.

You’d never been hugged by Daryl but in your mind, his touch would’ve healed a thousand gaping wounds.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, [or so you thought], you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden snap of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. Daryl wanted to reach out to you but the looming fear of rejection didn’t allow him. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in, almost a whisper.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace. “You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt; now wet with tears. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be, to make up for all the nights he hadn’t.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...”

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy. “I love you.” Your words mumbled against his lips.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon series #daryl x you #twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon / reader #daryl dixon angst

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thesecondhandwoman · 3 months ago

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Ooohhhh, domestic caitvi where the both of them are arguing and reader hears all of it… and she began overthinking in her child mind that maybe her moms might breakup or leave her, when the fight was over, reader created a plan or something for them to love each other again and apologize to each other. In the end its all fluffy and they cuddled to watch a movie together🥰

A LOVE THAT STAYS

Vi x Caitlyn x kid f!reader

Synopsis: Being a little kid, you got scared when you heard your mothers arguing, worried that maybe they might leave you too. So, you came up with a little plan to try and change that.

Request: Anon 🤍

A/N: Part four of Motherly Love.

The house was usually filled with warmth and laughter, a place where you felt safest in the world. But tonight, the air felt different. The warmth was gone, replaced by tension that made your little heart ache.

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, Bunny tucked securely in your lap, as the muffled sounds of your moms’ voices carried from the kitchen. At first, you didn’t think much of it. Sometimes adults talked loud when they were excited. But the voices kept rising, sharp and clipped, like thunder rolling through the house.

You hugged Bunny tighter, your small hands gripping his soft fur.

“I can’t believe you’re being so stubborn about this, Vi!” Caitlyn’s voice rang out, clear even through the closed door.

“Oh, I’m stubborn? That’s rich coming from you, Cupcake!” Vi shot back, her tone edged with frustration.

“Why can’t you ever just listen to me for once?”

“Maybe because you think you’re always right!”

You flinched at the sound of something clattering—a dish, maybe—followed by the heavy thud of boots stomping across the floor.

Your heart raced. Your moms never yelled like this. Sure, they had little disagreements sometimes, everyone did, but this was different. This was louder. Scarier.

Your mind began to spin, filling with terrible, confusing thoughts.

What if they’re really mad at each other?

What if they don’t love each other anymore?

What if they leave me?

Tears pricked at your eyes as the fear grew stronger. You didn’t want your moms to be mad. You didn’t want them to stop loving each other. And you definitely didn’t want them to leave.

You sat in your room, Bunny resting beside you as your mind raced. You couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. You had to fix it. You had to make them love each other again, just like they always did.

Grabbing your crayons and a stack of paper, you got to work.

Your plan was simple: You would remind them how much they loved each other and how happy they were together. You drew pictures of your family—one of all three of you hugging, one of your moms holding hands, and one of you holding Bunny while they laughed together.

Next, you wrote little notes in your best handwriting, with words like:

“Don’t fight. I love you both so much.”

“You are the best moms in the whole world.”

“Please love each other forever.”

Satisfied with your work, you stacked everything neatly and carried it to the living room. The house was quiet now, but it didn’t feel like the happy kind of quiet. It felt like the heavy quiet after a storm.

You carefully set your drawings and notes on the coffee table where your moms would see them, then climbed onto the couch with Bunny, waiting for them to come back.

Caitlyn was the first to enter the living room, her expression tired and drawn. She spotted you on the couch and immediately softened, her shoulders sagging as she knelt down beside you.

“Darling,” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What are you doing up so late?”

Before you could answer, Vi walked in, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. Her usual playful smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her face was etched with guilt.

“Hey, squirt,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, clutching Bunny tightly. “You were yelling,” you said softly, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Are you… are you mad at each other?”

Caitlyn’s face crumpled, and Vi immediately crossed the room, sitting on the couch beside you. “Aw, kiddo,” Vi said, pulling you into her lap. “We didn’t mean for you to hear that. Sometimes grown-ups get upset, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

“But you were so mad,” you said, your voice wobbling. “I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t love each other anymore. Or me.”

Caitlyn gasped softly, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh, my darling, no. Never. Vi and I love each other very much, and we love you more than anything in the world.”

Vi nodded, holding you close. “Yeah, squirt. We’re sorry we scared you. That was our bad.”

You sniffled, leaning into Vi’s chest as Caitlyn sat beside you, her arms wrapping around both of you. “I don’t want you to fight anymore,” you said quietly.

“We’ll do better,” Caitlyn promised, her voice firm. “You’re more important to us than anything else.”

Vi kissed the top of your head. “You’re stuck with us, kiddo. No matter what.”

You finally smiled, small but genuine. “I made you something,” you said, pointing to the coffee table.

Both moms turned to see your carefully arranged drawings and notes. Caitlyn picked up the first one, her eyes softening as she read the words. Vi reached for a picture of all three of you, a crooked smile tugging at her lips.

“Did you make these for us?” Caitlyn asked, her voice thick with emotion.

You nodded. “I wanted to remind you how much we love each other.”

Vi pulled you into another hug, her grin wide now. “Kid, you’re the smartest person in this house, hands down.”

Caitlyn laughed softly, her eyes shining as she kissed your cheek. “You have the biggest heart, darling. Thank you for reminding us of what matters most.”

The rest of the night was spent cuddled up on the couch, the tension from earlier completely gone. You sat between your moms, Bunny safely in your lap, as they put on your favorite movie.

Caitlyn wrapped an arm around you, her other hand resting on Vi’s shoulder. Vi leaned back, her arm draped across the back of the couch, her hand brushing Caitlyn’s hair affectionately.

“Popcorn, squirt?” Vi asked, holding out a bowl.

You nodded eagerly, grabbing a handful. “Thank you, Mama.”

Caitlyn smiled down at you. “Comfortable, darling?”

“Yeah,” you said, snuggling closer. “I love you, Mommy. I love you, Mama.”

“We love you too,” Caitlyn said, kissing your forehead.

“And we love each other,” Vi added, giving Caitlyn a playful nudge.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes fondly. “Yes, Vi. We love each other.”

You giggled, feeling warm and safe as the movie played on. In that moment, all your worries melted away, replaced by the certainty that your family’s love would always stay strong.

A/N: Honestly, I know that this might hit home for some people, and I hope that you guys are okay now and doing well or at least better (and I’m sorry you ever had to go through that). The next fanfic should be a lot fluffier to help with this one.

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wriothesleysgf · 2 years ago

Text

THRONE. ryomen sukuna.

cws: [ex]plicit content - mdni . monsterfucking (true form sukuna), overstimulation, dacryphilia, degradation, pet names (mostly gn except two uses of princess), ds dynamics, possessivenes, sadomasochism, double penetration, cunnilingus, finger sucking, subspace, creampies, some aftercare.

notes: this is gonna get t*gg3d since it's pure filth, so reblogs are rly appreciated lol.

wc: 1.7k

"𝐒𝐔'- '𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇! 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓- 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓!" you squealed, writhing in sukuna's hold.

you were sitting on his lap on the throne of his domain, facing him. though your clothes had been long since discarded, sukuna's trousers were only pulled down enough for him to be fisting both of his cocks simultaneously. the fortunate thing about being a cursed being with four arms was that he could continue to restrain you as he prepared himself for you.

"fucking brat," he spat, "you aren't going back on your word now. i despise liars and weaklings, and what was it you said, hmm? what got you into this situation, slut?"

he cocked an eyebrow at you, and you looked into his many eyes before replying in a hushed whisper. although sukuna had heard you perfectly fine the time before, he wanted to play with his food before absolutely devouring it. "speak up, pet. do what you're told."

"i-" you stuttered, shaking in fear at the curse's predatory gaze. you then cleared your throat, mustering every ounce of strength necessary for you to speak up. "i said i could take both of your cocks at once, sir..."

"and?" oh, he was truly cruel.

"i don' wanna say,"

"and why's that, brat?" despite maintaining his callous demeanour, sukuna became focused on scanning your expression and body language for any true signs of discomfort - he didn't wish to take things too far with such a precious thing such as yourself.

"'s embarrassing."

he scoffed at your meek response, amused that he'd thought you were uncomfortable when you were merely embarrassed. how human of you.

one of sukuna's hands let go of his cock, not bothering to wipe off the drops of precum mixed with spit that stained his fingers. he drew it back, before landing a harsh slap against your cheek. "you speak when spoken to, bitch. do you understand?"

his thumb moved to rest on your chin, angling your gaze to face him. he waited for you to state a clear "yes, sir," before slipping his thumb between your lips. instinctively, you began to suck on the tip of the digit, eyes remaining on sukuna's face.

"good pet. . . that will be your only warning. any further infractions will be met with ample punishment. now," he removed his wet thumb from your mouth, shifting it to rest on your swollen clit. he chuckled darkly as his long, thick fingers inspected your sloppy folds. "i was going to make you ride my boot, yet you're already dripping like a bitch in heat." sukuna then leaned back, loosening his grip both on you and allowing his cocks to lazily bounce against his toned stomach. "come on, princess. claim your throne."

for a moment, you questioned the cursed being. typically he enjoyed bullying his girth into you, so surely this had to be some kind of trap, right? regardless, the urge to satiate the emptiness that you felt between your legs was so immense that, without further questioning, you shifted to hover over both of sukuna's cocks.

you began with just the one on top, gripping its base and rubbing the tip through your folds before aligning it with your entrance. this action earned you a warning glare, a promise that you'd be punished if you made another movement that could be interpreted as teasing sukuna. though that hadn’t been your sole intention, you took it on the nose and continued the feat of getting his inhumane cock into yourself.

sukuna’s head lolled back, clearly enjoying himself as you managed to push the tip of him into your warm walls. his cockhead dragged across your sweet spot, causing your cunt to flutter around him. it took each little bit of self control for the curse not to grip your hips and force you to take the rest, then begin to bounce you around like a human fleshlight, though he managed to keep it together… mostly. occasionally, he would thrust his hips upwards very slightly, masking his own desperation with a gruff “hurry up”.

slowly but surely, you managed to work your way down his thick length, with your legs trembling by the time he was bottomed out inside of you. no matter how many times he’d fucked you before, it still burned ever so slightly. the out of character benevolence once again showed itself in the form of a thumb on your clit, a hand on the small of your back, and another nonchalantly dabbing at the odd stray tear that you’d shed as you grew accustomed to the stretch. soon enough, the pain dulled and was replaced by pure euphoria. you gave him the signal that you were fine to continue, and thus the barbarity returned.

“tight fuckin’ cunt,” sukuna growled, “i’m practically splitting you in half, pet, and we haven’t even made it to the main event.” he punctuated his mockery by conjuring a mouth on the palm of his hand, its hot tongue darting out to lick the remainder of tears from your wet cheeks. the salty taste was akin to ambrosia to the curse, the fact that he’d been the one to make you cry only turning him on moreso.

he wasn’t going to make you take his other cock yourself; instead, he let you haphazardly bounce on his length while he fisted the other a few times. you were too distracted to notice him spread a generous amount of lube over your tighter hole. he slid a finger past the taut ring of muscle, cooing over you in order to prevent you getting too antsy whilst he prepped your ass. sukuna didn’t reprimand you when you buried your face in the crook of his neck, rather he used it as further opportunity to get your pretty hole ready for his cock.

being with him in such a manner often resulted in you being subject to pain, though sukuna had trained his whore to crave the pleasure that shortly followed. therefore, you opted for biting on your lip and made no motion to tell him to stop when he progressed from scissoring your asshole open to gently working the tip of his secondary cock inside.

you whimpered at the sensation, another painful stretch that was slowly replaced with the feeling of being as full as you can be. two of sukuna’s strong arms tilted you backwards, easing more of himself into you. this was the last time that he would be tender, for you were beginning to exhibit a couple of a signs that you were nearing a point of overstimulation - the wide and teary eyes, the way that your bottom lip began to quiver, and the soft, sweet little cries that you tried and subsequently failed to muffle (much to sukuna’s delight).

“what a perfect whore,” he mused, “do you like both of my cocks in your little holes? no human could ever fuck you this good, you’re mine. my pet,”

he continued to spit a mixture of degrading and possessive phrases as two of his hands aided your hips, rocking you on his dual cocks. when you tilted yourself forward, it was a struggle not to collapse into sukuna’s arms. he picked up on this quickly, noticing you relying on his hold more with each passing moment. he then resorted to the sole method that he used with you: pain. once again, you received a harsh slap across the face, only this time, it was followed with another hand delivering a similarly mean spank to your ass. this caused you to clench around his cocks, earning a smirk from him.

“good bitch,” his words were laced with mischief and malice, “listen to my voice, don’t worry about anything else. just keep taking me like the worthless thing you are,”

countless names followed, with sukuna successfully distracting you from his current antics. it wasn’t until you felt his warm tongue against your clit that you noticed what he had done.

the curse had conjured a mouth on his lower stomach, positioned perfectly to lap at your drooling cunt while you fucked yourself on him. such feeling was the final nail in the coffin, and your movements grew sloppy, a sign that you were nearing you high. not bothered about chiding you and instead appreciating that dumb little look on your pretty face, sukuna placed his upper two hands under your arms, with the lower ones remaining on your hips. he lifted you up and down, forcing you to take all of him with each rotation.

“my fucking slut, my cockwhore, my sweet toy,”

repetitive rambles fell from sukuna’s lips as he continued to toy with your body like you were nothing. the both of you were nearing your respective high, and sukuna, knowing your body expertly at this point, nipped at your clit, then proceeded to suck the puffy bud - something that always drove you insane. your own words were reduced to incoherent babbles, brain turned to mush and legs to jelly as he continued to pump his cocks into you.

before you knew it, you were clenching around him, cumming with a loud cry as sukuna helped you ride it out. your body’s reactions drove him over the edge, cunt spasming around his cocks as he shot his loads into both of your holes. as much as he wanted to watch his seed dribble out of you, he knew that it was best to help you off of him, not caring about the mess on his lap.

he never really knew what to say during times like this, despite typically being a man with a sizeable vocabulary. so, he settled with holding you while you clung to him, your arms loosely wrapped around his torso and head buried in the crook of his neck. simply knowing that he let you hug him so tenderly was enough for you, because it showed that he cared about you even despite whatever harsh things he would say in the moment. the way that his arms awkwardly moved to return the embrace warmed your heart, and what more could a princess ask for?

#sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #♡｡ now tracking: kfairy ☆.ᐟ

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little-diable · 10 months ago

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A Broken Down Bike and Racing Hearts – Benny Cross (smut)

Well, I watched The Bikeriders yesterday, and I did warn y'all. I simply have to write for Benny (maybe also Johnny?). I haven't read any Benny fics yet, so this may have been done before. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Benny's bike breaks down right in front of the reader's house, who invites him in to stay the night while a thunderstorm rages outside.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, choking, slight possessiveness

Pairings: Benny Cross x fem!reader (2k words)

Contains no spoilers!

Her eyes followed his every movement. It had only been a handful of minutes since he had broken down with his bike right in front of her house. No words had been shared between them so far. While he kept fumbling with different parts of his bike, she kept smoking her cigarettes, studying the handsome man with piercing eyes.

She didn’t look away once, not as he seemed to give up on fixing his bike with a sigh, not as he placed a cigarette between his plush lips with his gaze set on (y/n). Something about him drew her in. Perhaps it was the cut that told a story of brotherhood, of family united by something thicker than blood. Perhaps it was simply the handsome face she wouldn’t mind seeing every now and then. Whatever it was, it urged her on to finally part her lips.

“I doubt you’ll manage to leave this place tonight.” Her gaze flickered up to the dark sky, knowing that it’d start raining any minute now. The guy wordlessly followed her gaze while blowing out a thick blue cloud of smoke matching hers.

“Is that an invitation to stay at your place for the night?” His voice was raspy, perfectly matching the growing smirk finding its way to his lips.

“Well, if there’s one thing I know about you bikers, it is that it’s better to have you as a friend than as an enemy. And who knows, maybe I’ll need your help one of these days too.” (Y/n) rose to her feet. She allowed herself to study him for a second or two before turning on her heel to make it back inside her house. The second she crossed the threshold, it began raining as if God himself were urging the stranger to follow her, knowing that this very match would endure all following obstacles.

The sound of his boots meeting her wooden stairs left her smiling, forcing her to turn back to him as he softly closed the door behind himself. He stepped out of his boots, ran a hand through his golden locks, and let his eyes wander.

“I’m (y/n).” She softly spoke her name while her feet carried her towards her open kitchen, reaching for two bottles of beer.

“Benny.” It was a simple reply–just his name–nothing more, and yet she didn’t need anything else. She reached the bottle out for him to take, trying to bite down the sharp intake of air wanting to leave her as their hands met. He was a stranger, nothing more than a pretty face, but the excitement his closeness pushed through her, left (y/n) wondering how this night may play out, knowing that she wasn’t one to shy away from an opportunity like this.

“Are you hungry, Benny? You must have been on the road for a while.” Benny only nodded his head as he took another sip of his beer. He was unusually cautious for a biker–at least in comparison to those she had met before–but (y/n) didn’t mind his calm demeanour, grateful for the comforting feeling he emanated.

“Do you live here alone?” He plopped down on her kitchen island, letting his feet dangle in the air while he watched her cook. The moment had something homey to it, a domestic atmosphere she hadn’t ever experienced before, torn from a broken home at an early age. Sometimes she had imagined a life like this, with a husband close to love her, to appreciate her like she had always craved.

“I do. It’s just me around here.” The hum leaving him forced her gaze towards him, unable to bite down her smile at the way he studied her. He seemed to be just as fascinated with her, drawn to the woman who had invited a stranger into her house solemnly because she knew saying no to a biker could end badly for her. But Benny was different–that much she knew already.

“Must get lonely.” Her tongue kissed her teeth at his comment, trying to hold back from dumping the confusing emotions she had always felt on him. It did get lonely from time to time. But there was no escaping this situation, at least not for now, and she had made her peace with it, grateful that she could live however she wanted to.

“You get used to it. What about you? Who are you running away from?” The silence that followed her question grew thicker with every passing moment. She was patient, waiting for him to find the strength to speak while she finished cooking their food. The past years had taught her enough about trauma, stress, and fear to understand how much people struggled with whatever it was they were running away from.

Whatever it was that Benny couldn’t speak of, she wouldn’t force him to let her in, not when she could offer him a safe space for a few hours at least.

……

“I could take you on a ride as soon as it’s fixed.” Benny was sitting on her couch, feet placed on the small table, as he was nursing another beer. She was sitting close, feet placed in his lap, breaking through the layers that had turned them from strangers to somewhat friends already.

It had taken Benny almost an hour to let her in, to tell her of the struggles he had faced, the people he was running from, and the fear he couldn’t shake, no matter how fast he was driving, close to bidding this life goodbye. She had listened to his every thought, keeping quiet while he rambled on, finding safety in her closeness.

“Careful, Benny, you’d have to keep me around for that.” The grin she shot him left him laughing, head rolling back to give the raspy sound enough room to break through him. It was a beautiful sight, leaving her buzzing with heat flushing through her that begged her to move closer.

Something was lingering between the two, binding them closer together while both waited for the right moment to cross the last line between them.

“Would that be so bad?” It was close to a whisper, rolling off his tongue while he turned his head back towards her. (Y/n) felt heat rise up her spine, whispering to her to give her darkest and deepest longings enough room as if she was drunk off her face, unable to hold back. Benny held a special kind of magic over her, an unfamiliar sensation she couldn’t pinpoint just yet.

“I don’t think you’re one for keeping women around. And I don’t want to leave this place.” He shuffled around, placed his bottle down before leaning closer towards her. His bright eyes danced over her face while his ringed hand found her cheek, cupping it softly. Benny’s thumb ran over her parted lips, unable to hold back his groan as she sucked his digit into her mouth.

And then everything happened all too quickly. One second he was staring down at her, and the next she was sitting on his lap, lips locked with his. It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was rough, urged on by their need to be touched, to feel some form of love they hadn’t experienced in months, perhaps even years.

Trembling fingers worked on one another’s clothes, letting the fabrics drop on the ground while their mouths explored the places that hadn’t been touched in a while. Moans rumbled through them, filling her living room as the last piece of clothing found its way to the ground.

(Y/n)’s heart was racing, pounding in her chest while Benny couldn’t help but marvel at her body; at every inch he was now fortunate enough to touch. His fingers felt cold against her heat as he pressed her back down on the couch, brushing through her folds to spread her arousal on her pulsing bundle. All while (y/n) tugged on his golden curls with her back arched off the couch and her toes curled in anticipation.

“You’re fucking beautiful, doll.” She barely picked up on his words, too far gone to focus on the praises Benny spoke. His fingers moved fast enough to make black dots appear in her vision, leaving her eyes to flutter while her orgasm crept closer and closer. He dipped his head down to suck marks into the soft skin of her chest, letting his teeth graze her skin to make her feel as if she was burning, set ablaze by his touch.

“Benny,” she choked on his name. Her thighs were trembling, body aching for the relief he was about to push through her. She wanted to speak more words, wanted to tell him how good he was making her feel, but she didn’t manage to, interrupted by the loud moan clawing through her.

She came with his name rolling off her tongue, spoken like a mantra she had learned by heart years ago. He kept moving his fingers, circling her pulsing bundle for a few more seconds before letting go. They held eye contact, staring at one another with growing smiles that were glued to their lips. The sound of thunder rang in their ears, followed by the heavily falling rain that rushed down her windows, adding even more intensity to the atmosphere lingering in the room.

Benny didn’t speak a warning before he flipped her around, only to press her chest against the armrest of her couch. She heard him spit into his palm and heard the soft groan rumbling through him as he pumped his cock a few times before finally pushing into her from behind. Both groaned in unison at the way he pushed into her, spreading her walls around his twitching cock.

“Feels so good, Benny, move, please.” He instantly gave in to her begging, pulling out of her only to push back in with more force. It didn’t take him long to find a comfortable rhythm, fast enough to leave her choking on gasps, slow enough to give the two enough time to savour every passing second.

“You belong to me now, doll. I can’t let you go again.” (Y/n) didn’t properly understand what he meant by these words, too focused on the feeling of his hand finding her throat, pulling her into his chest. He tightened his grasp on her throat to hold on to her while he fucked them closer towards their high, knowing that they’d give in soon.

“Tell me that you’re mine.” He murmured the words against the back of her neck, while he left yet another mark that wouldn’t fade for a while. She was trembling in his grasp, struggling to reply while he softly choked her, heightening her senses. “Speak, (y/n).”

“I’m yours, fuck, Benny, I’ll always be yours.” A satisfied hum left him at her words–a hum that gave her the final push to throw herself over the edge. She came again with a moan, with squeezed-together eyes and her teeth buried in her lower lip. Benny kept snapping his hips against her behind, chasing his own high with his moans vibrating on her skin.

A deep “Fuck” left him as he came, pulling out of her just in time to paint her behind with his cum. Both were panting, holding onto the couch while they came down from their highs, unable to see through the hazy fog just yet.

“I mean it, doll, we belong together now.” He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before he rose to his feet to disappear from her sight. Her mind was racing, her heart was pounding, but no matter how confused she was, deep down she knew that she wouldn’t want to let go of him, following Benny wherever he’d take her.

#Benny Cross smut #Benny Cross imagine #Benny the bikeriders #Austin Butler smut #the bikeriders #Austin butler #the bikeriders imagine #Austin butler imagine

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fr0stf4ll · 3 months ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 9

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6.5k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Hello everyone I hope that you are doing well because I am sooooo tired lol. I just started work and pffiu. Whatever with my life, this chapter as a good background drop on y/n maybe some of you expected it some not. Either way I hope that you will enjoy it because it was so much fun writting it. Well see you soon, don't hesitate to comment and bye bye !

previous ✧ next

The days since your last encounter with Azriel passed in a blur of activity. The clinic had demanded all your attention, leaving little room for personal thoughts or reflection. But in the quiet moments—when your hands stilled for just a second or your gaze wandered—it crept back.

You sighed heavily, glancing down at the travel bag you were packing for the trip to the Dawn Court. The preparations were nearly done, though your nerves remained. Traveling with Azriel added a layer of tension you weren’t ready to face, but the anticipation of reuniting with the healers of the other courts eased some of that discomfort.

You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering them—your friends, your mentors, the peers who had shaped your path in ways large and small. Each had left a mark on your journey, offering guidance, laughter, or challenges that helped mold you into the healer you had become. Many of them were like family, and the thought of seeing their familiar faces again brought warmth to your chest.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, breaking you out of your reverie. A group of the clinic’s healers had gathered to see you off, their expressions a mix of fondness and determination.

“You’ve got everything under control, right?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with concern.

One of them, Elira, rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Y/N. For the hundredth time, we’ve got it. The clinic won’t fall apart while you’re gone.”

Another healer chimed in with a grin. “We’ll follow your instructions to the letter. You deserve a few days to focus on something else for once.”

Their reassurances made you smile, though the lingering worry didn’t completely fade. Still, you trusted them. They were skilled, dedicated, and fully capable of handling whatever came their way.

“Alright,” you said, shouldering your bag. “I’m counting on you all. If anything major comes up, send a message immediately.”

Elira gave a mock salute. “Understood, Commander.”

You laughed softly, exchanging a few more words before stepping outside. The crisp air hit your face, clearing your mind as you took a moment to steady yourself. The trip ahead wasn’t just about the meeting—it was about proving that you could handle the weight of this new role. And, perhaps, figuring out how to navigate the bond with Azriel without letting it overshadow everything else.

Standing at the entrance of Velaris, you adjusted the strap of your travel bag on your shoulder, your gaze scanning the skies. The morning air was crisp, with the faintest warmth of sunlight creeping over the horizon. You were early, as always, but waiting in anticipation left you feeling restless.

A flurry of wings caught your attention, and there he was—Azriel, descending gracefully from the sky. His shadows swirled faintly around him, dispersing as his boots touched the ground. He straightened, meeting your gaze with a polite nod.

“Good morning,” you greeted him, your voice steady despite the awkwardness that lingered between you.

“Morning,” he replied, his tone measured, though there was something in his expression—hesitation, maybe? “We should leave as soon as possible if we don’t want to arrive late.”

You nodded quickly. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Azriel stepped closer, his face calm but all business. “First, we’ll winnow to the border of the Dawn Court. Once we cross it, we’ll fly to the capital.”

The mention of flying made your heart skip a beat. You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before voicing your concern. “Flying... Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want it to be too much for you, carrying me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his hazel eyes calm but insistent. “It won’t be. Trust me, Y/N.”

His reassurance didn’t completely settle your nerves, but you nodded regardless. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Ready?”

You placed your hand in his, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. His grip was firm yet careful, and before you could dwell on the flutter in your chest, shadows enveloped you. The world spun for a moment, and when it stilled, you were standing at the border of the Dawn Court.

The air here was warmer, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and dew-soaked grass. It was a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air of Velaris. The scenery stretched wide and golden, with rolling hills and distant, gleaming spires that marked the capital’s direction.

Azriel turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Ready for the next part?”

You nodded, but your breath caught slightly when he stepped closer. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, one arm beneath your knees and the other across your back, lifting you effortlessly.

The proximity was overwhelming. You could feel the warmth of his chest through his clothing, the steady strength in his arms. Every rational thought seemed to vanish, replaced by the hammering of your heart.

“Hold on,” he instructed, his voice calm but with an undertone of something softer. You looped your arms around his neck hesitantly, trying not to focus on how close you were.

With a powerful beat of his wings, you were airborne. The wind rushed past, cool and invigorating, as the ground fell away beneath you. The sky stretched wide and endless, painted with hues of orange and gold from the rising sun. The land below was breathtaking—patches of farmland, rivers winding like silver ribbons, and forests blanketed in mist.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Azriel glanced down at you briefly, a flicker of something—perhaps a smile—crossing his lips. “It is.”

Despite the tension in your chest, you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty around you. For a moment, the awkwardness and your internal conflict faded, replaced by the simple awe of the journey. The world seemed peaceful from up here, a far cry from the responsibilities and burdens that waited below.

The journey to the Dawn Court felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment. As Azriel’s arms held you securely, you tried to focus on the scenery—the rolling hills, dense forests, and shimmering rivers below. But no matter how hard you concentrated, you couldn’t fully tune out the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your ear.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been carried like this. Cassian and others had flown you on various occasions, but this time felt different. Perhaps it was because Azriel’s hold was firm yet careful, or because the bond you were trying so hard to ignore pulsed faintly, reminding you of its existence with every beat of his heart. You clenched your jaw and willed yourself to stay focused. This was a professional trip, nothing more.

Azriel didn’t speak, his silence a double-edged sword. It meant you didn’t have to engage in awkward conversation, but it also left you alone with your thoughts—a dangerous thing when you were trying not to acknowledge how close you were. The wind rushed around you, cool and biting, and you leaned slightly into his warmth despite yourself.

Hours passed in that silence, the scenery changing gradually as the Dawn Court came into view. The closer you got, the more the tension in your body grew, not from nerves about the meeting, but from the sheer effort it took to keep your mind from wandering.

Finally, the grand spires of the Dawn Court’s palace appeared on the horizon, their pale stone glowing softly in the golden light of the setting sun. Relief flooded you at the sight, and the moment Azriel landed and released you, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe after holding it in for far too long.

You stepped away from him, smoothing down your clothes and casting a quick glance at the palace ahead. It was every bit as grand as you remembered, and the familiar sight brought a small smile to your lips. For a moment, the tension from the journey eased, replaced by nostalgia for the times you’d spent here in years past.

“Let's go?” Azriel asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of curiosity as he watched you take in the view.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. “Let’s go. We’re already late as it is.”

The spires of the Dawn Court’s palace gleamed in the evening light, their pale stone catching the last golden rays of the sun. The grandeur of the palace was undeniable, with its wide marble steps leading to intricately carved doors and lush gardens brimming with fragrant blooms. As you and Azriel approached, a familiar figure emerged to greet you.

Your old teacher, Healer Talyen, stood at the top of the steps, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before softening into a smile. “Y/N,” she called, her voice carrying a warmth you hadn’t realized you missed. “And I presume this is your escort?” Her gaze flicked to Azriel, who inclined his head politely.

“Talyen,” you greeted, your voice light despite the lingering tension from the long journey. “It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry we’re arriving so late—there were some... delays.”

“No need for apologies,” Talyen assured you, gesturing for you both to ascend the steps. “The important thing is that you’ve arrived safely. Though next time, perhaps a bit more haste.” She gave you a pointed look that was softened by the faint twitch of amusement at her lips.

Two servants stepped forward, bowing slightly before offering to take your belongings. You handed them your travel bag, murmuring a quick thanks, while Azriel only released his pack after a moment of hesitation, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings.

“We’ve prepared everything for your stay,” Talyen continued as you reached her. “The High Lord sends his regrets for not greeting you personally, but he’ll see you in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll ensure you’re settled.”

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, glancing at Azriel, who remained quiet but vigilant. “This is Azriel, by the way. He’s here to ensure I don’t get into too much trouble.”

“An impossible task, I’m sure,” Talyen quipped, her tone dry but affectionate. Azriel’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, though his usual stoic demeanor didn’t falter.

She led you both into the palace, where the grandeur continued—polished floors, high ceilings adorned with delicate murals, and soft lighting that bathed everything in a warm glow. The servants trailed behind, their footsteps barely audible as they carried your things.

Eventually, Talyen paused at a hallway branching off into a quieter wing. She gestured to one of the doors. “Y/N, this will be your room. I hope you find it comfortable.”

You stepped forward, nodding your thanks before turning to Azriel. To your surprise, he moved to follow you inside, but one of the servants stepped forward, her expression polite but firm.

“Sir,” she said, bowing slightly, “your quarters are in the guest wing. Allow me to escort you.”

Azriel’s brows drew together in a brief frown, his confusion clear. “I’d prefer to stay close to the person I’m escorting.”

You touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention. “It’s alright,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “We’ll see each other tomorrow. There’s no need to worry.”

His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, as though weighing the validity of your reassurance. Finally, he nodded, though the furrow in his brow didn’t completely smooth. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, your tone firm but kind. “Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment longer before allowing the servant to lead him away. You watched him go, his wings shifting slightly as he walked, before turning back to Talyen, who was watching the exchange with a curious gleam in her eyes.

“Still as protective as ever, I see,” she remarked dryly, before pushing open the door to your room. “Come. Let’s get you settled.”

The morning sun poured through the tall windows of your room, bathing the grand space in a warm, golden light. You were seated on one of the cushioned chairs by the small reading nook, going over your notes for the meeting. The room itself was a masterpiece of elegance and comfort. A canopy bed with silken drapes dominated one side, while intricately carved furniture in soft pastels and gold accents filled the rest of the space. The walls were painted in delicate shades of cream and blush, adorned with murals depicting serene landscapes. A fireplace in the corner crackled softly, adding a gentle warmth to the crisp morning air.

The balcony doors stood ajar, letting in a faint breeze that carried the floral scent of the palace gardens. Potted plants lined the corners of the room, their leaves vibrant and full of life, making the space feel alive, almost as if it breathed with you. The familiarity of it all brought a quiet comfort—you had lived here for years during your time at the Dawn Court, and every corner of the room held a memory.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your focus. Setting your notes aside, you stood and opened it to find Azriel standing there, his expression neutral but his gaze curious as he glanced past you into the room.

“You have time?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. His sharp eyes scanned the room as he walked in, taking in the sheer grandeur of it all. He turned to you, his brow raising slightly. “Even my room at the House of Wind isn’t this good.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This was the room I stayed in when I worked here. They always keep it for me when I visit.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on the fireplace, the plush seating, and the gilded detailing on the walls. “It’s... impressive. Feels lived in.”

“It probably does,” you admitted, sitting back down and motioning for him to take a seat. “I spent years here. It’s strange how easily it feels like stepping back into an old life.”

Azriel hummed in response, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as he sat in one of the chairs. “So,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “you said each head healer will be here. I assume you’ve worked with all of them before?”

You nodded, rifling through your notes. “Yes. Some trained me, some I’ve trained. Others, I’ve collaborated with on projects. Each court has its unique challenges, but we’ve built a good network over the years.” You went on to explain the specifics—who the healers were, their areas of expertise, and the dynamics between them. Azriel asked a few pointed questions, his sharp mind clearly piecing together the broader implications of what you shared.

When the conversation wrapped up, the two of you left the room and made your way to the meeting hall. The corridors of the palace were grand yet serene, the marble floors reflecting the soft light streaming in from the high arched windows. Your steps echoed faintly as you approached the double doors of the meeting room.

The meeting room was already abuzz with quiet conversation as you and Azriel stepped through the tall doors. The moment your presence was noticed, the chatter paused, and heads turned toward you. A wide smile broke across the face of Veras, the healer from the Winter Court, his imposing figure softened by the warmth in his icy-blue eyes. He stood and crossed the room to greet you, his snow-white braids swinging slightly as he moved.

"Y/N! You haven’t changed a bit," he said, his voice booming with delight. He clasped your hand in both of his, the chill of his skin familiar but oddly comforting. "It’s been far too long."

“Veras,” you replied with a smile, squeezing his hand. “Still as loud as ever, I see. And just as punctual.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I couldn’t miss the chance to see you try to herd this lot again.”

Behind him, a slender figure with sun-kissed skin and a radiant smile approached. Farah, the healer of the Day Court, held out her hands to you. “Y/N, my dear. It’s been years,” she said warmly, her golden hair shimmering like spun sunlight.

“Farah,” you greeted, embracing her briefly. “I’ve missed our talks. I hope you’ve brought more stories to share.”

Farah’s laughter was as bright as her court’s eternal sunshine. “Always.”

Azriel lingered near the doorway, his sharp gaze taking in the room’s dynamics as you moved from one familiar face to the next.

From the Autumn Court, Rordan stood, his fiery-red hair and piercing amber eyes as striking as ever. He was more reserved than the others, but his nod of acknowledgment carried a quiet respect. “Y/N,” he said, his deep voice measured. “Your presence here is a relief. The state of things has been... precarious.”

“It’s good to see you, Rordan,” you replied, your tone equally steady. “We’ll address everything soon.”

As you moved to greet the last person present, Azriel’s attention sharpened. A graceful woman with rich brown skin and hazel eyes that gleamed with intelligence stepped forward. Dressed in elegant light blue robes adorned with intricate ocean patterns, she radiated a quiet strength.

“Amara,” you said with a warm smile, reaching for her hands. “It’s been far too long.”

“It truly has,” Amara, the healer from the Summer Court, replied. Her voice was calm and soothing, carrying an authority that matched yours. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t sure you’d want to speak to anyone from Summer after all this time.”

You chuckled softly. “That was a lifetime ago. And besides, it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who’s such a dedicated healer.”

Amara’s lips twitched in amusement. “Dedicated, yes. Though some might say stubborn.”

Azriel lingered by the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. Then, a cheerful voice cut through the pleasant hum of conversation.

“Y/N!”

The exuberant call startled Azriel, and his hand instinctively went to Truth-Teller’s hilt, his shadows coiling protectively.

Azriel, observing from the doorway, was struck by her resemblance to what could only be described as a blend of Tamlin, a dwarf, and an overly excited child.

“Y/N!” she called again, weaving her way through the gathered healers with surprising speed. Her voice was bright, but not overly dramatic. When she reached you, she threw her arms around you in a firm, friendly hug.

“You’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?” she asked, pulling back to fix you with a mock-stern look.

You laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t say avoiding. Just… busy Lila.”

“Busy, huh? That’s what they all say,” she replied with a knowing grin. “Well, you’re here now, so we’ll take it.”

Her attention flicked briefly to Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his shadows swirling faintly around him. “And who’s this?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“This is Azriel,” you introduced, gesturing toward him. “Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Lila’s eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. “A spymaster? That’s certainly a first for one of our meetings. Welcome,” she said to Azriel, her tone warm and sincere.

Azriel inclined his head politely, his expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Lila turned back to you, her grin returning. “Well, you’ve brought interesting company this time, Y/N. I hope he’s ready for all the endless discussions.”

“He’s here for the diplomatic part,” you replied with a smirk. “Not the gossips.”

Amara, from the Summer Court, who had been standing nearby, chimed in with a soft laugh. “Lila, don’t scare the poor man off before we even start.”

“Who, me?” Lila said, feigning innocence before rolling her eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. For now.”

Amara studied him for a moment before offering a small smile. “I hope the Night Court knows how lucky they are to have her.”

“We do,” Azriel replied smoothly, his shadows curling faintly around him.

As you exchanged pleasantries, Azriel’s sharp ears caught snippets of your conversation. He noted how each healer seemed genuinely pleased to see you, their respect for you clear in their words and body language. It was a side of you he hadn’t fully seen before—a leader among peers, effortlessly commanding attention and admiration.

With that, you moved to your seat at the head of the table, the others following suit. The atmosphere shifted as everyone settled in, their expressions turning serious. The warmth of reunions gave way to the gravity of the matters at hand.

The meeting had officially begun.

The long, oval table in the center of the room surrounded by Prythian’s head healers. Scrolls, notebooks, and maps were spread across its surface, a testament to the immense preparation that had gone into this gathering. You stood at the head of the table, your presence commanding yet approachable, as you guided the room with a steady hand.

“We all know why we’re here,” you began, your tone firm but inviting. “The rising tensions across Prythian demand that we not only adapt but collaborate more closely than ever. This meeting isn’t just about exchanging updates—it’s about finding solutions together.”

Azriel, leaning against the wall near the door, observed the scene intently. Unlike the high lords’ meetings, where every word was a potential weapon, this room felt alive with trust and purpose.

You scanned the faces around the table, meeting each pair of eyes with quiet assurance. “Let’s start with updates from each court,” you said, your quill poised to take notes. “Veras, if you don’t mind going first.”

The Winter Court healer, Veras, nodded and began. “This winter has been particularly harsh, unusually harsh. Hard to say why but we have never in the history of the court been confronted to this type of intense weather. Frostbite cases have increased dramatically, and our healers are stretched thin. Supplies, particularly warming salves, are running low.”

“Veras,” interjected Taylen the dawn healer, his tone thoughtful, “We have been working with Y/N on a modified salve recipe that combines herbs from the Day and Spring Courts. It’s more potent and lasts longer. We’ll ensure the instructions are sent to you, and if you need additional supplies, Y/N should be able to arrange a shipment from the Night Court’s stores.”

Veras smiled warmly, his icy-blue eyes glinting with gratitude. “That would make a world of difference. Thank you.”

You turned your attention to Rordan from the Autumn Court. “Rordan, what’s the situation at the borders?”

Rordan leaned forward, his amber eyes sharp. “Refugees continue to flood into Autumn’s territory, and the strain on our resources is significant. Infections are becoming more common in overcrowded areas. Beron’s influence and desisions are making things hard to deal with, we are short staffed since the war and the epidemic of the last century still lingers on us.”

“I’ve anticipated this,” you said, nodding. “I’ve set up a preliminary exchange network to direct supplies where they’re most needed. Amara from the Summer Court has agreed to prioritize shipments for border regions.”

Amara, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. “That’s correct. We’ll ensure the process runs smoothly.”

Rordan inclined his head. “Thank you. That will help.”

You shifted the focus to Farah of the Day Court. “Farah, any updates on the research you mentioned during our last correspondence?”

Farah smiled brightly, her sun-kissed skin glowing. “We’ve developed a new stamina-boosting salve that’s been highly effective in our soldiers. I’d like to propose expanding our research exchange.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” you replied. “If you could share your findings with the group, we’ll incorporate them into training programs across the courts.”

Farah’s smile widened. “Consider it done.”

You continued to guide the discussion, ensuring that each healer had the opportunity to share their concerns and contribute to the solutions being crafted. When Lila from the Spring Court enthusiastically interjected with an offer to assist with refugee care, you smoothly incorporated her suggestion into the larger plan, balancing her energy with the room’s more reserved members.

Azriel watched as you moved seamlessly through the conversation, posing pointed questions, weighing options, and ensuring that every voice was heard. There was a rhythm to your leadership—a balance of authority and collaboration that drew the best out of everyone at the table.

He sat quietly at the edge of the room, observing the meeting unfold with a mix of fascination and quiet disbelief. The contrast between this gathering of healers and the high lords' meetings was staggering. Where the high lords were often burdened by tension, suspicion, and ego, here, there was trust, cooperation, and a sense of mutual respect that seemed almost surreal.

You led the conversation with ease, seamlessly guiding the flow of ideas and ensuring that everyone had a chance to contribute. Questions were posed with precision, decisions discussed openly, and even disagreements were handled with an air of professionalism and care. Azriel noted the dynamic—it wasn’t that you commanded the room with dominance; rather, you drew the best out of everyone present. It was deeply impressive.

One of the guards from the Winter Court caught Azriel’s eye. The male had also been present at the last high lord meeting, and his expression mirrored Azriel’s thoughts: surprise and admiration at how smoothly everything was running.

Amidst the deliberations, Azriel felt the familiar tug of Rhysand’s presence in his mind. The High Lord’s voice, calm but probing, reached him. How are things going? Are you both all right? How’s the meeting?

Azriel’s eyes flicked briefly toward you before answering. We’re fine. The meeting is... He hesitated, glancing again at the harmony in the room. It’s going better than expected. Almost too well.

Rhysand chuckled in response. Maybe I should have Y/N lead the next high lords’ meeting. Might go smoother.

A faint smile tugged at Azriel’s lips, but it was fleeting. He could feel Rhysand trying to bridge the tension between them again, a faint note of apology threading through their mental link.

Azriel, Rhysand began, his tone softer now. I—

Not now, Azriel cut him off, his tone firm as he closed his mind once more. This isn’t the moment.

The tension lingered, but Azriel pushed it aside, refocusing on the room before him. After a while, you called for a much-needed break, allowing the healers to step away and recharge. Azriel followed you as you moved toward the refreshments, the quiet clinking of glasses punctuating the subdued conversations around the room.

As you poured yourself a drink, he approached, his curiosity finally breaking through his usual restraint. “You seem to know all of them well,” he said, his voice low but tinged with genuine interest. “How did that come about?”

You glanced at him, a small smile forming as you gestured for him to take a drink as well. “It’s a long story,” you replied, leaning lightly against the counter. “But I’ve been in this role for a long time, even if not officially. I kind of always knew that at some point in my life I would take Madja’s place in the night court and I’ve been helping her for centuries with this.”

Azriel waited patiently, sensing that you were gathering your thoughts. Finally, you began to explain.

“The healers from the Dawn Court, Winter Court, and Summer Court trained me when I was younger,” you said. “They were the first courts I visited when I left the Night Court. I was still learning, eager to take in everything I could. They saw potential in me, but they also taught me discipline and perspective.”

Your gaze drifted across the room to the healer from the Spring Court, who was animatedly discussing something with her counterparts. “The healers from the Autumn, Day, and Spring Courts, on the other hand, were trained by me at some point. Lila is the youngest here, but I’ve never seen someone as motivated and talented as her. She’s incredible, really.”

Azriel took a sip of his drink, processing your words. “And the difference between this group and the High Lords?”

You met his gaze, your expression thoughtful. “The difference,” you began slowly, “is that while the High Lords and we both aim to take care of our courts, we’ve accepted that sometimes, you need help from others. And we didn’t inherit these positions. None of us are here because we were ‘meant’ to be. We fought for our places, proved we deserved them.”

Your eyes scanned the room, a quiet pride evident in your voice as you continued. “We come from different backgrounds. Some of us started with nothing; others faced challenges you couldn’t imagine. But we earned our roles. That shared struggle builds trust. It creates a foundation that the high lords—despite their power—sometimes lack.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling over him. There was no arrogance in your tone, no superiority—only honesty and conviction. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in what you’d said.

The meeting had resumed with renewed energy after the break, and the hours slipped by as plans were solidified, discussions wrapped up, and solutions were agreed upon. Azriel, still leaning near the doorway, noted the seamless way you handled even the most challenging topics, your leadership shining through in every word and gesture.

As the meeting reached its conclusion, the grand doors to the hall opened, and a new presence filled the room. All eyes turned toward the High Lord of the Dawn Court himself, Thesan, who entered with a graceful stride and a warm smile.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Thesan said, his golden robes shimmering under the light. “I thought I might take a moment to greet everyone.”

The room murmured its welcome, but Thesan’s attention quickly shifted to you. His smile widened, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to greet you with a hug, his hand lingering briefly on your back as he stepped away.

“Y/N,” he said warmly. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled, the ease and familiarity in your expression matching his. “It has, Thesan. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to drop in.”

“For you? Always,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with a genuine affection that felt... intimate.

Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. He couldn’t name the sensation curling in his chest—it wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the sight of Thesan’s hand resting on your back, his tone so effortlessly warm, made something in Azriel tighten. He gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller at his side, though he didn’t draw it, the cool leather grounding him.

Thesan turned to Azriel then, his expression polite but curious. “Spymaster of the Night Court,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s an honor.”

Azriel shook his hand, his grip firm. “High Lord,” he acknowledged, his voice neutral, though his shadows betrayed the flicker of unease still swirling within him.

Thesan’s attention returned to you. “We’ll talk more later, Y/N. But for now, I’ll leave you all to your work.”

He gave you one last smile before departing, leaving a faint hum of energy in his wake. As Thesan left, his golden robes sweeping elegantly behind him, Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow darker around him. He couldn’t explain the irritation bubbling beneath the surface, but watching Thesan’s easy rapport with you—his hand lingering on your back, the casual way he spoke to you—left an uncomfortable knot in Azriel’s chest.

The day continued with a final wrap-up of the meeting, logistics being finalized, and farewells exchanged among the healers. Azriel stayed close by, observing quietly as you navigated the post-meeting conversations with ease.

The group began to disperse, each healer carrying their scrolls and notes with an air of purpose. You turned to Azriel, who had been watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and curiosity. The weight of the day’s discussions lingered, but there was a certain calm in the room now, a sense of accomplishment.

Before stepping toward your room, you paused and glanced at Azriel. “You’ve never been to the Dawn Court capital, have you?”

Azriel shook his head, his shadows curling faintly around him. “No. My work rarely brings me here.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Well, you’re in for a treat. The last rays of the sun are about to set over the city, and the view is stunning. Afterward, we could take a stroll through the streets. The city comes alive at night, and there are some places worth seeing.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, considering your offer. “Are you sure you have the energy for this? You’ve been running the meeting all day.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Besides, a little fresh air will do us both some good. Meet me at the entrance of the palace in fifteen minutes?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving into a subtle smile. “I’ll be there.”

With that, you headed toward your quarters to freshen up, your mind already wandering to the peaceful streets and glowing lanterns that awaited. The thought of seeing the city you once knew so well, with someone new by your side, felt oddly comforting.

Azriel leaned against the marble column near the entrance of the palace, his shadows swirling faintly around him as he waited for you. The last rays of the sun cast a warm glow over the gilded tiles and intricate carvings of the Dawn Court palace, a serene contrast to the conversation he couldn’t help but overhear.

Two healers, young and seemingly unaware of his presence, were chatting in hushed voices that carried just enough for him to hear.

“Yes, she’s the head healer of the Night Court now,” one of them said with a sly laugh. “Do you think she’s going to screw this High Lord too? Maybe Thesan wasn’t enough.”

The other snickered, lowering her voice but not enough. “I heard she even turned him down when he proposed. Can you believe that? The audacity.”

“Right?” the first added. “I mean, she was a total mess when she arrived here. Thesan’s generosity only goes so far, but it seems like she took full advantage of him.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. The male you had spoken about in your story—that had been Thesan. But it wasn’t just that revelation that struck him; it was the way they spoke about you, as though your strength and success were something to diminish.

And then, the second one dropped her voice further, but not enough to escape his sharp hearing. “Do you know why she was a mess? She’s half Illyrian, you know. Heard her wings were clipped before she came here. Left for dead in the snow after... It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

Azriel’s shadows recoiled and then tightened around him like a second skin as he processed what he had just heard. His jaw clenched, and his hand twitched toward Truth-Teller’s hilt, his instincts screaming at him to intervene, to protect, even though the situation had already spiraled into a storm of its own. His eyes flicked to you as you approached, your posture radiating calm authority, though the smirk tugging at your lips told him you were about to unleash a verbal strike that would cut deeper than any blade.

“Was it a miracle?” you asked, your voice carrying an icy undertone that made even Azriel’s shadows still.

The two healers turned toward you, their faces draining of color as recognition hit them. Azriel noticed the way your eyes glinted, not with fury, but with something far more dangerous—control. You weren’t reacting; you were calculating.

The healers exchanged panicked glances, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. One of them, a slender female with auburn hair, mustered what little defiance she could and stammered, “We’re not under your command.”

Your smirk widened ever so slightly, a calculated tilt of your head accentuating the sharpness in your gaze. “No,” you said, your voice smooth as silk but no less lethal, “but you are under the command of Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court. A High Lord who values discretion, professionalism, and respect—qualities you seem to lack.”

Azriel noticed the faint twitch in the corner of your mouth as you paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. The two healers visibly shrank under your gaze, their earlier bravado crumbling.

You took a deliberate step closer, your voice dropping into something quieter but far more menacing. “Gossiping about a patient’s private life in the palace, of all places, is not only unprofessional but also disgraceful.”

The auburn-haired healer looked like she might collapse under the weight of your words, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. The other, a taller male, attempted to speak, but his voice cracked before he could form a coherent response.

Without giving them a chance to recover, you added, your smirk returning, “And while you’re correct that you don’t answer to me, I’d be very curious to hear how Thesan might respond if I were to inform him of this little... lapse in judgment.”

Azriel almost laughed at the way the two healers stiffened, their defiance extinguished. Instead, he stepped slightly closer to you, his shadows curling protectively at his feet, silently reinforcing your authority.

Then, with the same sardonic ease, you added, “Considering I fucked Thesan so well, I’m fairly certain he’d follow my orders without hesitation.”

Azriel blinked, taken aback by your brazenness. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face neutral, though his shadows flickered as if sharing in his surprise. The two healers were stunned into silence, their wide-eyed expressions frozen as though they’d been caught in a trap.

You turned sharply on your heel, leaving no room for rebuttal, and said firmly, “Let’s go, Azriel.”

He followed immediately, his steps measured, but his mind raced as he replayed the scene. The ease with which you had dismantled the situation, the confidence laced with just the right amount of menace—it left him both impressed and slightly awed. Yet, beneath it all, he couldn’t shake the ache of what he’d overheard.

As you walked, he caught your profile in the fading light. The smirk had softened into something quieter, almost reflective. Azriel’s own emotions churned, a tangled mix of anger on your behalf and admiration for how you had handled yourself. He didn’t speak, not yet, but the urge to say something—to acknowledge your strength or offer some form of comfort—gnawed at him.

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