#here's to hope they never died and are just hanging out elsewhere

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

lesbian vampires in immortal love...

[leofiat-bunny]

After The Scene™

Then

Chen Yi woke up, stumbled through getting dressed, and - when he couldn't find Ai Di - checked his phone. Then he sees the text from the night before. He sends his guys out searching for Ai Di while he goes to hq to speak to Boss about BZY.

When Boss tells him what happened - a bit exasperated but not surprised that Ai Di didn't let him know - he doesn't yell at Boss mostly because he's frozen. He's stuck trying to process "Ai Di will be in prison for as long as BZY is, which will be some years".

Since then he's been more uptight than ever about never setting a foot wrong. When he messes up THIS is what happens. He's legit traumatised by it.

(As said elsewhere, it's no small miracle Chen Yi didn't give himself alcohol poisoning after losing Ai Di.)

If someone else went over his head to leave the gang he'd be annoyed but accept it.

But Ai Di can't go over his head because Ai Di doesn't belong to the gang, he belongs to Chen Yi.

Now

Chen Yi doesn't understand why he's being avoided because "Ai Di thinks I hate him" requires "Chen Yi hating Ai Di" to be a concept that computes and he'd have an easier time dividing by zero.

Chen Yi has long accepted that if Ai Di kills someone, that's on Chen Yi for not being there to stop him.

Of course "killing someone" and "betraying Chen Yi" are very different propects.

As for the betrayal of taking advantage of his drunken state, I don't think Chen Yi will process it like a normal person would. He was raised in a gang. It would be more strange if his moral compass wasn't a bit wonky.

Yes, he could process it by switching their places but I'm not sure he'd really allow it to rest with him?

Almost: if my pet bites me, that's bad; if I bite my pet, that's unforgivable?

(He doesn't think of Ai Di as sub-human or stupid, that was just the best simile that occured to me)

Even if he really allowed it to sit with him, by far the greatest betrayal was leaving.

Meanwhile

Ai Di will do anything to avoid hearing Chen Yi say "I hate you". He knows😒 it but he can't take hearing it.

Except Chen Yi came for him, brought him back, prepared his favourite foods. Ai Di doesn't know what's going on but he does know that hope has no place here.

He's unforgivable and maybe Chen Yi wants to hear Ai Di's excuses before passing judgement, maybe he's been telling himself that Ai Di would never have done that to him.

Ai Di can't stay for the realisation.

He has no place by Chen Yi's side and never will again and he deserves whatever Chen Yi does to him but he can't.

Ai Di is collarless and will remain that way until he's ready to stop running.

Soon

Are we recovered from ep 9? No? Shame, I wanted to break you again.

Well, I have (spoilery) ammunition, so I'll give it my best shot.

I trawled their youtube channels for clues and!!!

(Partially ninja'd because I am a slow bunny)

Next ep

Better pic of outfits for colour convo:

And then

Chen Yi has a tried and tested way of getting Ai Di to come back.

And it still works. Quelle surprise.

Until

Remember what I said about collars? I thought that before finding this and I just lost it.

Give the wardrobe department a raise. And a bonus. And shares. And a prize.

But what is he trying to pinky promise?

"Even if you die tomorrow, you must wait for me to die first. Only then can you die."

"One second. I will give you just one second, then I'll follow."

(I transcribed the subs: 就算你快掛 也要等我先掛 你才能掛

一秒 只讓你一秒 我隨後跟上

According to google translate:

Even if you die quickly You have to wait for me to hang up first Only then can you hang up

One second Just give you a second I followed later

Then I tidied it up a bit, hopefully without moving away from the meaning

I found an official sub where they translate it as

"Promise me that you won't die before I do" "One second, Then I'll follow up right away"

Bonus point? Guess which outfits are in the cover image:

They got to privacy but not home 😊)

[wanderer-six]

Across the Stars (for @loving-the-cambridges)

AN: this is my story for the CLONE FIC GIFT EXCHANGE @cloneficgiftexchange! I had so much fun participating in this and really hope another happens soon💖 this one got super long but nonetheless I hope you enjoy!! (also big shoutout to @starrylothcat for beta reading!!)

Relationships: Commander Cody x Royal Fem!Reader

Summary: Commander Cody had hoped that being assigned as security detail for a royal gala would be nothing more than a mundane distraction from the war. But when Separatists attempt to assassinate the you, the princess, he's forced to take you into hiding--and forced to reevaluate his priorities.

Prompts: "I didn't mean to throw you off your feet"; "Are you going to stay"

NSFW (MINORS DNI) WARNINGS: eventual smut (pretty vague, but includes oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex)

Word Count: 9.2k (SORRY)

Cody was rarely one to complain about assignments, but for gala detail, he would make an exception.

The night was young, and Cody grew older by the moment as every high society aristocrat passed him by on their way into the ballroom. Not one of them so much as acknowledged his presence, and frankly, he preferred it that way. Fox had told Cody his fair share of stories—tales of shepherding senators who’d no more faced the horrors of war than any hardship in life. On any other occasion, this should’ve been Fox’s jurisdiction in the first place: no world had the privilege of constant political parties more than Coruscant, after all.

But it seemed the fates had cruel intentions for Cody. This particular gathering was not to take place in the heart of the galaxy, but rather, a Mid-Rim planet he and his men were in near enough proximity to after their latest battle. Cody had tried to argue that their efforts were best spent elsewhere—fighting the war, for one. But high command in the Republic demanded the presence of the 212th at this event, and without General Kenobi there to argue on his behalf, Cody and his men were forced to comply with the order.

But it was just for the night, he reminded himself. He winced beneath his helmet as yet another couple entered the ballroom, dressed in robes so costly they could fund a whole battalion of his brothers.

Just for the night.

Cody activated the communicator in his helmet.

“Status report,” he spoke. 

He’d called for a status report not even thirty minutes prior, but he felt compelled to do so again. Not out of any concern of attack—just so he could be certain the men were still awake.

He was struggling, as it was.

“All clear from the northern balcony,” came a reply.

“No trouble in the shipyard.”

“The gardens are still as boring as they were when we got here.”

The slightest smirk found Cody’s lips.

“Affirmative. Keep your eyes peeled. And open,” he asserted. “We’re just here for the night. You’ll be back to blasting clankers before you know it.”

An unenthused “sir, yes sir” followed in a chorus over his comms, and Cody sighed. He glanced up at the stained glass ceiling hanging over the ballroom, seeing the moon rise ever higher beyond it.

Just for the night.

The active chatter of the crowd in the ballroom fell all at once to a murmur, and Cody hadn’t the slightest idea why. He stood taller than his already perfect posture, trying not to appear out of sorts as he sought out what had drawn the room’s attention.

The briefing for this assignment had mentioned precious little about the purpose of this gala, and it had certainly neglected any note of the princess hosting it. But when you emerged through the massive ballroom doors, Cody grew transfixed just as everyone had.

From atop the grand staircase, you possessed the eyes of every noble in attendance. Your long gown flowed with every step of your descent, its simple design never once distracting from the perfect poise with which you carried yourself. A crystalline tiara glittered atop your head, earning glances of envy from the crowd, but Cody hardly noticed it; he was much too distracted by the radiant eyes beneath it.

In the midst of your angelic descent to the ballroom floor, Cody overheard a pair of nobles whispering somewhere on his flank.

“The princess is here?” one of them asked in hushed tones.

“Of course she is,” replied another, “it’s her gala.”

“I know that! It’s just… is it truly safe for her to be here? If the Separatists knew—”

“—then what? They’d be foolish to try something.”

As you landed on the final step, you did something no one else had dared to do the entire evening. You glanced at the clone commander standing guard by the bannister, meeting him with a shy smile he would remember for the rest of his life.

As quickly as the moment had begun, the night returned to normal. The regular commotion resumed as you were swept into the awaiting crowd, greeted by politicians and royals alike, all while Cody remained frozen in time. Admittedly, Cody was not the most sociable man, even by the standard of the clones. Never in his life, in all the planets he had visited, had he seen a woman as remarkable as you. He honestly wasn’t even sure how to respond to it all—the fluttering in his stomach and the burning beneath his cheeks.

A quiet sigh passed his lips. As if there was anything to do besides remain in place. He could be the most charismatic man in the galaxy, and it wouldn’t matter. There was more that stood between him and you than his own gracelessness. A soldier speaking to a princess would be shut down well before he began fumbling the conversation.

So, he stayed in place, perfectly unassuming, trying to stifle the wish to get one more glance at you. Waiting.

Just for the night.

“Commander… we might have a problem.”

The chirp of Cody’s commlink brought him out of his silent moping. He pressed his fingers to his helmet.

“What is it?” he asked.

A pause. No reply. Cody nearly called in again, when another soldier called in.

“Commander! We have hostiles approaching from the northern ridge!”

“Close ranks! We’re being overrun!”

Cody opened his mouth to give orders, when suddenly, the stained glass dome above the ballroom shattered. In the glow of the moon, a fleet of droids crashed through the ceiling, landing among the nobles below. The ballroom erupted into chaos, nobles running and screaming as the droids readied their weapons.

“This planet is under Separatist control!” cried a battle droid as it paced among the crowd. “We demand that the princess be brought to us for immediate execution!”

Execution?

Cody sprung to action, scanning through the crowd, hoping to find you before the droids could. At last, his eyes spotted the sparkling tiara in the sea of panicked nobles. Try as you might to move to safety, too many shoving partygoers kept you locked in place.

And what was worse was the imposing shadow of a B2 battle droid stalking up behind you, growing closer by the second.

Barging through the crowd, Cody sprinted to your position. The B2 stopped in place a few paces from you, slowly lifting its arm into firing position. Cody’s eyes shot wide.

“Princess!” he shouted.

He barely managed to catch your attention before breaking through the mob, collapsing upon you just as the B2 fired its wrist rocket.

The two of you crashed to the ground, Cody doing his best to keep you in his arms and shield you from the heat of the explosion. When the blast faded, he pulled away, quickly getting to his feet and helping you do the same.

“Princess, it’s not safe here,” Cody called over the commotion. “We need to go!”

The frazzled, frightened face that looked back at him made his heart ache. But the small, half-lucid nod you gave him was enough for him. He kept your hand in his as he began guiding you to safety.

The two of you ran, Cody steering you away from any possible threat. As he pulled you up the grand staircase you’d entered from, he triggered his commlink.

“This is Commander Cody; I have the princess,” he spoke. “We are moving for evacuation. Hold out as long as you can!”

As he burst through the ballroom doors, he turned sharply down an adjacent hallway, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Princess, what’s the fastest way to the landing platform?” he called. For a moment, you were too dazed to answer, and Cody’s brow furrowed. “Stay with me, Princess. The landing platform?”

“Take… take the next left,” you answered at last. Your voice was soft—far too soft for what you’d endured that night. “There’s a ship on the landing platform… my ship—we can use that.”

Cody nodded firmly, following your instructions to the letter. Through the echoed sounds of attack, you and Cody emerged onto the landing platform, where a small golden vessel awaited you. Cody wasn’t worried about where the two of you were headed—for now, offworld was all that mattered.

Together, you boarded your starship. Once Cody ensured you were situated in the ship’s living quarters, he rushed to the cockpit. Before the droids could grow wise to where you’d run off to, he picked the ship off the ground, navigating to the temporary reprieve of hyperspace.

, , ,

“Troubling news, this is…”

Cody stood in the cockpit of your ship, looking upon holograms of the two Master Jedi to whom he relayed the news. It was rare he had an audience with Master Yoda, but General Kenobi’s presence was familiar.

“More than troubling,” General Kenobi agreed. “To attack a peaceful gathering entirely unprovoked… the Separatists have gotten bolder.”

Master Yoda nodded, his chin clutched between his fingers. “Indeed. What they were seeking, I wonder?”

“I believe I can answer that, General,” Cody spoke at last. “Assassinating the princess seems to be the likely motivation. If the Separatists were to install their own leader, the planet would act as an important staging ground for future attacks on the Mid-Rim.”

“And save her, you did?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody confirmed. “She’s in stable condition aboard this vessel.”

Cody’s eyes lingered to the living quarters of the ship, where you had been since the two of you fled the planet. You’d kept quiet so far, unmoving from the bench you sat on. It struck Cody with an inexplicable worry.

“Good. Make sure she remains that way,” General Kenobi instructed. “The Separatists will be hunting her even now. You’ll need to ensure they aren’t able to find her.”

“Undercover, you must go,” Master Yoda added. “Refuge, on a nearby planet, must you seek. Until the princess’s planet, liberated, it is.”

Cody’s jaw tensed.

“And… how long will it take to muster enough forces and reclaim her world?” he asked.

“We believe we will have the required numbers in ten rotations,” General Kenobi answered.

Ten rotations?

Cody stifled his surprise, masking his uncertainty with his usual stoic expression.

“Understood, General,” he answered with a curt nod.

“Good,” General Kenobi answered. “Until we contact you, keep a low profile. And do not let anything happen to her.”

“That will be all, Commander,” Master Yoda said. The slightest smile appeared on the corners of his lips as he added, “May the Force be with you.”

The holograms before him dissipated, leaving Cody alone. He released the heavy sigh that he’d harbored in his chest. Ten rotations. To think that hours ago, this had been a mere pit stop on his way back to Coruscant, where he could await redeployment to a battlefront in need of his support. Now, it had become a full-fledged mission of its own…

Again, Cody glanced towards the back hold, seeing that you still hadn’t budged from where you sat. You stared hard at nothing, but he could tell that the violence of the droid army still flashed before your eyes. A wave of guilt washed over the commander. For him, this was just another assignment in years of war. But for you, your entire life had changed—taken from you with no warning and no remorse. If ten rotations was truly all it would take to see your world returned to you, it would be a blessing.

Treading quietly, Cody approached you. As he grew closer, he could make out more and more lesions on your skin. He tried not to grimace, but the sight of injuries on someone so beautiful ate at him. Though he was thankful you were still alive, he faulted himself for not being able to protect you from all the harm you’d endured that night.

“Princess…” he began. Immediately, you blinked out of your stupor, turning your attention to him. “I’ve received word that the Republic will be mounting a campaign to retake your world. But in the meantime, we’ll need to take you into hiding to ensure there are no more threats to your life.”

Your shoulders slumped.

“I see,” you murmured. “For how long?”

“We’re estimating around ten rotations.”

“Oh.”

It didn’t take a Jedi to discern the worry on your face, but in short order, you put on a smile. Right away, Cody knew it looked wrong—polite, pretty, but not at all real. Not anything like the warm smile you’d shown him when you first passed by him. 

“Thank you, sir, for informing me,” you said.

Your gaze fell to the floor, and the smile you’d forced onto your features fell along with it. Cody thought to take his leave, but couldn’t. Not yet. He didn’t want to abandon you in an empty hold, on a ship with an unknown soldier, to remain all by your lonesome. If he’d learned one thing from General Kenobi’s leadership, it was just how far a modicum of kindness could take you.

And for you, he could certainly be kind.

“Are you… all right?” he asked. His stilted voice made him wince. He hoped you didn’t take his rigidness as disrespect—he just wasn’t used to this. Any of it. 

You offered a weak nod in response.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him. “I… I think I’m still a bit out of sorts, is all. Thank you for your concern.”

 Cody took a seat beside you on the bench—though making sure to keep an overly respectful distance from you.

“It… must be hard for you. Leaving your home behind so suddenly,” he continued.

You shook your head halfheartedly.

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about my people,” you sighed. “We’ve resisted Separatist occupation for so long. I shouldn’t be in hiding while they suffer.”

Cody watched you as your hands trembled, your brow knit with worry. The pain you held ran deeper than your wounds from the attack, and that much was obvious even to him. Cody solved his problems with a blaster more often than he did with words, but for you, he felt compelled to try.

“If it means anything, Princess… I’m sure your people are just as concerned for your well-being,” Cody spoke at last. Your gaze met his once more, and the sincerity in your eyes nearly paralyzed him. He dashed his nervousness with an awkward cough. “The Republic values your world and your people. As soon as the necessary forces are able to deploy, I have complete confidence that you will be returned home with no further struggles against the Separatists. We won’t let you down, Princess.”

The hold fell silent. Your eyes, sparkling in the glow of hyperspace, peered into his. Although his sheepishness begged him to look away, he stared back at you. When at last a small grin formed on your lips, Cody wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or petrified.

“... I don’t believe you ever told me your name, sir,” you mentioned.

Cody gave an awkward nod. “It’s… Commander Cody, your highness.”

Your smile widened.

“Cody…” you repeated. The sound of his name on your lips made Cody’s face burn. “I’m thankful to have your company through all of this. I can’t imagine how much worse things could have been without your intervention. I owe you my life.”

In all his time on the front lines of this war, Cody had rarely been thanked. He never expected to be—he was quite literally born for this conflict, so gratitude was far from necessary. But knowing for once that his actions had meaning—that he was valued not merely as part of an army, but as an individual… it made his chest ache.

His gaze broke from yours, glancing away in hopes of slowing his rapid pulse.

“Of course, Princess. It’s what we’re here for,” he assured you. “Though… I should apologize.”

You tilt your head. “What for?”

His eyes returned to you; when he saw the bruises forming on your arms, he frowned.

“I’ve had better rescues,” he confessed. “I didn’t mean to throw you off your feet like that. I should’ve been more careful.”

To his surprise, a gentle laugh escaped you. He grimaced, wondering if he’d said something wrong. With a shake of your head, you rested your hand on his shoulder.

“Cody… a few bruises are no cost at all for staying alive to wear them,” you assured him. “I’d prefer getting knocked over by you to becoming a victim of the Separatists any day.”

The warmth of your touch and your smile seeped through Cody’s armor. Suddenly, the prospect of spending a few rotations ensuring your safety no longer troubled him so much. “Well… good,” he said. “Though, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to make a habit of barging into you—whether or not you prefer it.”

You beamed. Cody swore he saw the faintest blush on your cheeks.

“Just for special occasions, then?” you teased.

Cody chuckled, allowing his guard to drop for the first time that evening.

“If that’s what you want to call it… sure,” he replied.

 Something about the kindness you showed him made the war feel so distant, even in spite of all it had taken to get the two of you here. At your side, maybe ten rotations would feel like no time at all.

In the back of his mind, a small part of Cody even wondered if ten rotations was long enough.

, , ,

The transition to life on a quiet planet hadn’t been kind to either of you, but thankfully, having one another meant the struggle was not so overwhelming. Cody had taken a number of precautions from the moment you touched down—finding accommodations far from the nearest town center and ensuring that as few locals as possible even knew of your existence. The two of you had lived there in isolation for a few days now, in a little domicile out in the woodlands. And while those first few days were tense with worry, they were thankfully uneventful.

At first, Cody had tried to keep himself distant from you. He had little knowledge of what the life of a royal might entail, but something told him that fraternizing with a common soldier was probably considered an etiquette breach of some kind. But despite his attempts at maintaining decorum, every kind gesture made your company irresistible to him. Each time you brewed a pot of caf in the morning, you would offer him a mug. His rations were always tended to before your own. Even at night, you wouldn’t sleep before ensuring there wasn’t something he needed your help with. Compared to his typical soldier’s life, you treated him like royalty—a bit of irony that was far from lost on him.

The uneventful days meant the two of you had ample time to talk. You clearly had experience with speaking, having penned and performed countless speeches on your homeworld. But the way you talked to Cody felt different from any senate address he had ever heard. You spoke so fondly of things you missed from your homeworld, memories that you could glow about for hours. Cody was content to let you, though admittedly, there were times he found his attention drifting from your words—watching instead the way your eyes would glitter, your lips would purse, your cheeks would blush.

Of course, you turned the conversation to him just as often. Cody initially struggled to match your enthusiasm, not one to hold such a romantic memory of most anything. But you quickly found a way through his shell when you landed on the topic of his brothers—the only family he had, and the one he devoted himself fiercely to. Something about your attentive gaze and warm smiles made it easy for Cody to open up to you in a way he had never even considered opening up to anyone else.

Your talks served as such a fitting distraction, in fact, that you barely noticed just how much time had passed the two of you by. Both of you were caught by surprise the day you awoke to no caf left to brew—and hardly any rations, to match.

Faced with the options of going hungry or making the trek to the nearby marketplace for supplies, Cody chose the latter. He had grappled for an hour whether it was wiser to leave you alone in the domicile where you might be safer, but lack his protection. However, you made the decision for him—insisting that you would be joining him no matter what he had to say about it.

He hadn’t been so keen on the idea, at first. But as he watched you browse the bustling farmer’s market, he warmed to it quickly enough.

As the two of you roamed around the marketplace, you stopped for what Cody estimated to be the tenth time in the past hour, taking an interest in a hand-woven tapestry hanging on a stall.

“Hmm…” you hummed, taking in the uniquely knitted fabric.

Cody tilted his head, a smirk on his lips. “Enjoying yourself?”

You returned to his side, grinning up at him.

“I am, thank you,” you returned, speaking in stride as the two of you began walking again. “Have some sympathy, will you? I’m lucky if I get to leave my palace once a cycle.”

When another patron skirted a bit too close for comfort, you didn’t hesitate to walk nearer to Cody’s side. It swelled a strange sense of pride in him, knowing that you trusted him enough to keep you safe. To be your protector. He swore to never make you regret that trust.

“I’m just… trying to act natural,” you continued.  “I’ve never had to get supplies for myself, as strange as that is to admit.” You look up at him curiously. “Do you think we stick out at all?”

A dry smirk found Cody’s lips.

“What, a clone and a princess on a planet of farmers? I can’t imagine how we would,” he snarked. 

When you donned that sweet, flustered grin, Cody’s smile widened.

“You’re mean,” you teased.

“You make it easy.”

With a roll of your eyes, you checked satchel on your hip.

“Well… since we have almost everything, I don’t think I’ll have to endure your cruelty for much longer, at least,” you pointed out. “I think we’re just missing…”

Before your sentence ended, a clamor from further up in the marketplace interrupted you. Cody placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you close as the scene developed. At first, he could only make out the sight of fleeing patrons and frightened stall owners hastily stowing their merchandise.

But then, that familiar, metallic clanking droned into Cody’s ears, and he knew. 

The Separatists were here.

A full squad of droids trampled into view on the dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust behind them. At the center, a B1 barked orders at the civilians.

“Attention, citizens! There is a royal fugitive hiding on your planet. Bring her to us, or face the consequences!”

As the droids advanced, you stiffened. Given the unlikelihood of a different princess running from Separatist forces somewhere on this world, these droids were here for you. And if the two of you didn’t act quickly, they just might find you.

Cody’s eyes narrowed, donning the Commander’s mindset with ease. He reached for your wrist, taking extra care to be gentle in fear of reliving the first time he rescued you.

“This way,” he said, his voice hushed. With deft strides, he led you through the crowd—all of whom seemed far too distracted by the encroaching droids to notice just who was passing by them.

Cody’s eyes scanned the marketplace, and the moment he spotted an alleyway behind a few abandoned stalls, he began formulating an exit strategy. But his swiftly-made plan met almost immediately with challenges. A separate squad of droids approaching from a few dozen meters off prepared to slam his only window of opportunity shut.

With no time to explain, Cody slipped his arm around your waist, sweeping you toward the alleyway alongside him. Just as you entered the shadows, he pressed you against the wall, leaning his hand against the brick surface in such a way that the shawl on his shoulder fully obscured you from the main thoroughfare.

At first, Cody listened closely to the sound of the droids stalking past, counting the paces as their metallic frames shambled down the street. Only when his focus returned to the sight directly in front of him did he realize just how close you were as he loomed over you now.

Years of outmaneuvering droids made the invading Separatists all but mundane. Standing chest to chest with you, his lips a mere tilt of his head from yours… that was what sent his heart racing at lightspeed.

“Ah… a-apologies, Princess,” he murmured, his gaze trying to meet anything but you. He silently chastised himself, unable to imagine how daunted you must feel by his actions. 

But it was your touch on his cheek that pulled him back to reality—and the gentle guidance of your hand that pulled his gaze back to yours. The smile you wore drew a blush to his cheeks.

“Cody…” you spoke softly. His name… you made it sound so perfect. “You have nothing to apologize for. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”

Cody could only hope the droids were long gone, as the only sound he could hear clearly was the pounding pulse in his ears. The weight of your words hit his chest like a speeder, leaving him hopeless to muster any meaningful response.

“...o-of course,” was all he could utter. With all his strength, he found the slightest smile of his own, holding your gaze until he could no longer handle the sight of you without losing sight of himself. “It is my honor to protect you, Princess.”

When at last he looked away, he drew a steadying breath. From the sound of it, the droids outside the alleyway had passed. A relief, but not a great one, since the challenge of escaping the city still remained.

However reluctantly, Cody pulled himself away from you, though keeping a hand on your waist to ensure you stayed at his side. A cautious glance out of the alleyway revealed no additional droids—a promising sign.

“We need to keep moving,” Cody said, staying vigilant as he walked you through the market. “We’re nearly at the edge of town. If we can get clear of the market and into the forest—”

“You! Stop right there!”

The shrill, tinny voice of a battle droid brought Cody to a halt for a mere moment. The rhythmic clanking approached from behind the two of you.

“Identify yourselves, citizens!” the droid hissed as it got nearer. Cody didn’t respond. The droid stalked ever closer. “Are your auditory processors working? Identification—now!”

Cody squeezed your hip, leaning in just close enough for you to hear him whisper.

“Run.”

Abruptly, he released you from his grasp, whirling around and ripping his pistol from its thigh holster along the way. He needed only a split second to spot the droid—and shorter still to fire a shot into its head.

The sound of blaster fire alerted the dozens of other droids scattered around the marketplace, drawing them all in perfect pace to the location of their fallen comrade. Not wanting to give them an easy shot, Cody took off running the same direction you had.

As he ran, he looked ahead, trying but failing to see you—especially now that the blaster fire had stirred the remaining civilians into a frenzy. He kept faith that you’d listened to him and ran, unable to do much more with the droids’ stray blaster bolts ringing by his ears. He darted through the mob, tuning out every distraction—the clamor of the crowd, the dust plumes kicked up by the droids’ blasters...

“Cody!”

Your voice, however, always seemed to get his attention.

Cody locked his legs, sliding to an abrupt halt against the dusty road. He whipped his head in the direction of your voice, and at last, he spotted you taking cover behind a market stall. You waved him over to you, and as he ran, he saw why you’d chosen here, of all places, to wait for him.

Parked beside the stall was an abandoned speeder bike ripe for the taking.

As Cody arrived at your side, he stopped only briefly to set his hand on your shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m fine. I found this speeder—”

“Already on it,” Cody interjected. Before he turned to the speeder, he handed you his blaster. “Have you ever used one of these?”

“Once or twice. O-Only for ceremonies…”

“Good enough,” he grunted, already on his knees to slice the speeder’s controls. “If any droid gets close, point it and fire.”

Cody tried to ignore the impending march of the clankers, rewiring the bike as quickly as he could manage. He’d nearly cracked it when he heard a blaster bolt ring out at his side, and a metallic pang some dozen meters behind him. He didn’t dare risk a glance over his shoulder to take in your handiwork, but beneath his adrenaline, he felt the smallest tinge of pride.

At last, the speeder’s engine revved to life. Cody got to his feet, finding you standing over the crumpled body of a B1. You gripped his blaster with white knuckles, hands trembling ever so slightly, just waiting for another clanker to try its luck. Biting back a smirk, Cody took the pistol from your hands.

“Nice shot,” he said quickly. With his free hand, he helped sit you on the front of the speeder. “Hold on tight. Once we get moving—”

“Cody, look out!”

You pointed past Cody with wide eyes, and he had barely a moment to follow your gaze as another droid rounded the corner. Just as it raised its blaster and fired, you yanked Cody down by his wrist. The bolt that would’ve been in Cody’s chest instead singed his shoulder, and Cody was glad he was alive to feel the pain that coursed from his wound.

Fumbling for his pistol, Cody fired two shots—managing to drop the droid with the second. But as it fell, even more came to replace it. With gritted teeth, Cody clambered onto the speeder behind you.

“Your shoulder…!” you cried, looking upon his wound with wide eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” he grunted. “Hold on!”

Pushing through his pain, Cody clasped the bike’s handlebars. The engine roared, launching the bike forward and gaining speed by the second. A hail of blasterfire flew around the two of you, and Cody veered as well as he could manage to avoid it. Once the speeder cleared through the treeline, the bolts became fewer and fewer, until at last, none at all chased after you. , , ,

The adrenaline driving Cody subsided little by little on the long ride back to the domicile. By the time the two of you arrived, the stinging wound on his shoulder had begun to ache and burn. Even so, he forced himself to keep his priorities straight—which meant tending to you, first and foremost.

When he parked the speeder, he got to his feet, before reaching his hand down to help you stand. To his surprise, though, you stared back at him in horror.

“Princess…?” he breathed.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes.

“Cody… w-we need to get inside,” you instructed.

You dismounted the bike, only taking his hand to lead him indoors. You slammed the door behind him, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you sat him down on a chaise in the living quarters. Cody watched you, confused as you began to rifle through cabinets.

“Princess, what’s wrong?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, merely shaking your head. He could see the way your hands trembled as you fished the bacta patches out from one of the cabinets. When you turned to face him again, the glow of the sunset through the windows was just enough to light the tears on your face.

You sat beside him, and before he could say a word, you reached for the collar of his shirt. His chest seized as your nimble fingers ran down his body, too nervous to even breathe. One by one, you unhooked the fasteners, before carefully stripping the fabric from him. Seeing the wound on his shoulder more clearly now only made you cry harder, forcing you to pinch your eyes shut as you prepared a bacta patch.

Realizing now what had you so worked up, Cody found the ghost of a smile.

“Hey… it’s all right,” he promised. “I’ve taken worse hits than this. I’ll be fine.”

You sniffled, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand before carefully affixing the bacta patch to the wound on his shoulder. Your hands lingered there, reddened eyes unmoving from his injury.

Against his better judgment, Cody put his hand on your cheek. Gently, he turned your gaze to meet his.

“Princess, please,” he begged. When more tears slipped from your eyes, he swept them away with his thumb. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Your lips parted slightly, but still, you struggled to speak. Cody’s heart ached at your hesitation; he leaned closer to you, running his thumb softly against your cheekbone. To his relief, you leaned into his touch, sighing and calming down.

“This is all happening because of me,” you confessed at last.

Cody tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“None of this would’ve happened if the Separatists weren’t hunting me. You… you got hurt because of me.” Despite your best efforts, tears overwhelmed you again. “You could’ve died… and it would’ve been my fault.”

Your sorrow ate away at Cody. Never had he felt this irrepressible instinct—the desire to pull you into his arms, to hold you against his chest and promise you over and over that everything would be all right. He’d make it all right for you. Someone like you didn’t deserve to feel this way… and certainly not on his behalf.

Though he wished he could break that barrier, the most he could manage was placing his other hand against your cheek—cupping your face softly. He gazed into your glassy, beautiful eyes, struggling to find the words to convey everything on his mind.

“Princess…” he began softly, “please, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Believe me, the Separatists have no trouble shooting at me whether or not I’m with you.”

You pouted. “But I—”

Cody pinched your cheek playfully. “Hey. Just listen.”

To his utmost relief, the slightest smile formed on your lips. But though he was glad to see it, it made what he planned to say next all the more difficult.

“If anything… I’m happy I was the one to take a hit today. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you under my protection,” he continued. His words felt strangled in his throat, and every passing second begged him to find the courage to speak. “I… I would do anything for you, Princess. I… um…”

Looking into your eyes—seeing just how beautiful, soft, and breathtaking you appeared in the bloom of the setting sun… Cody couldn’t finish his thought. The words that lingered on his tongue held such consequence—both for him and for you. He couldn’t say which he feared more: that you might reject him, or that you might not.

But as always, you saw through him. You leaned in closer, resting one of your hands on his.

“You what?” you prompted him, gazing fondly into his eyes.

Unable to deny you, Cody drove himself to speak. 

“I… care about you.”

It wasn’t what he truly wished to say. But in your eyes, he knew you understood.

“Cody…”

His name on your lips drove him mad. But your lips on his sent him spiraling.

Every glance he’d stolen at your lips never could have prepared him for the feeling of kissing you like this. What little distance remained between the two of you melted away, and the uncharacteristic hesitation that had plagued Cody since the day he met you finally left him. Knowing that you felt just as strongly as he did finally allowed him to be his true self. It compelled him to serve you as more than just a soldier.

Nothing but a word from you could have stopped Cody then—from carrying you to your bed, from laying you carefully upon your sheets, from gently stripping the fabric from your figure. Your hands minded his injury as they ran over his skin, but he had forgotten about it long ago. His only concern was you.

“Cody…”

His name dripped from your lips like honey as he worked his way down your body, marking inch after inch of your form with delicate kisses. It was a softness he hadn’t believed himself capable of. But every fleeting, tender touch you graced him with inspired something in his heart. He had never been loved before; he was a soldier, built for battle and nothing more. And yet, you treated him with such care—as though he might break from too swift a touch. In a way, he supposed it was true. The mere feeling of being cared for swelled his heart so full that he feared it might burst.

No, he had never been loved before. And if this was to be the last time, he wanted to relish it utterly.

“Cody…”

He couldn’t say which he was drunk on more: the sound of your voice as you breathed his name, or the wetness he lapped between your legs. With your fingers roaming through his hair, his head held snugly between your thighs, there was nowhere else in the galaxy that could’ve filled Cody with such bliss. Every twist of your hips, every arch of your back, every hitch of your breath only drove him to please you more.

“Cody…”

You looked so beautiful as he loomed over you now. The warm dusk painted your skin, though your cheeks burned red without it. And your smile… even as he ran his thumb along your lips, even as he trailed his length against your sex, it never faded from your face. You wore it just for him, and he would not take that privilege for granted.

Only when he pressed into you did the overwhelming pleasure turn your expression to something different, but he didn’t fret, choosing to meet your lips with his, instead.

“Cody…!”

In an eternity and an instant, he could feel himself unraveling. It took all his strength to keep from succumbing to the agonizing, heavenly warmth you enveloped him with. How could he, when you still needed him? Lips lavishing your neck, hands tangled in your hair, he buried himself in you over and over. While your nails dragged across his back, your voice grew hoarse from whimpers and moans. He knew you were close—so horribly, painfully close.

When his hand trailed down across your form, and his fingers grazed the aching point between your legs, you cried his name for the last time that night.

“Cody!”

Wave after wave of your release shuddered through you, the sensation spelling Cody’s end, all the same. Your ankles locked around him, holding him in your depths as he filled you with his warmth. Trembling and spent, Cody barely managed to keep himself from collapsing on you, maintaining his balance just long enough to meet you in a soft, tender kiss—one that could never convey the full extent of his adoration.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, if only to join you at the head of the bed. As the heat of your encounter faded, an inkling of uncertainty entered Cody’s mind again. His hands longed for you, but as before, your titles stood in his way. He feared being improper, offending you somehow even after the love you’d shared…

But, to his utmost thankfulness, you were not about to let him flounder. Unabashed, you worked your way into his arms, burrowing yourself against his broad chest. The mere sight overwhelmed Cody with warmth. With no further doubts, he embraced you, dotting kiss after loving kiss upon your head.

After a moment, he leaned back, if only to look upon you. Again, you met him with that smile—the one he would never tire of, and the one he hoped you would wear any time he was near. Gently, he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Princess…” he hummed. “I…”

You bumped your nose on his. “Yes, Cody?”

He sighed. There remained no part of him that could resist you now.

“I love you.”

His heart did not race at his words, nor did yours. Your smile merely widened, and you snaked your arms around his neck, drawing him in for yet another kiss. His confession was no shock to either of you. You’d had his love from the moment he first laid eyes on you. But what you said in turn—however much he had hoped to hear it—he still felt unprepared for.

“I love you, too.”

The moons rose over the horizon as the two of you shared in each others’ affection, and Cody had never been so content. Even as he drifted off, holding you in his arms, he thought not of the war, the Separatists, the dangers he might face come morning.

Only you.

,,,

That morning, you hadn’t brewed Cody a mug of caf, as was routine. But given there was no force in the galaxy that could pry you from his arms, he had to forgive you.

Lazy mornings felt strange to Cody—and lazy mornings in the embrace of a beautiful woman, even stranger. His fondest dreams could never compare to the sight of you waking up on his chest, eyes full of love as they looked upon him for the first time that day.

Gently, he set his hand against your cheek, beckoning your lips closer. You offered a soft kiss, with barely enough weight to graze your lips against his. Cody could feel you smile against him, and he could only smile, in turn.

“Good morning, Princess,” he hummed, trailing languid kisses along your jaw. “Now what has you smiling at this hour?”

His teasing only served to widen your grin. You giggled—not stopping when his lips continued down your neck.

“Oh, nothing, really… I suppose I’m just in good spirits,” you sighed. Your hands ran along Cody’s shoulders, slipping up his neck until you buried your fingers in his hair. “It’s entirely possible that it has something to do with waking up next to such a handsome man, but… I can’t be sure.”

Cody chuckled. His lips had reached your collarbone now, and he had no desire to stop lavishing you anytime soon.

“You can’t, can you?” he echoed. “What would it take to make you sure?”

As he asked his question, Cody’s calloused hands slipped up your thighs, roving over your hips and up your gorgeous frame. His touch drew the faintest gasp from your lips, emboldening him ever more. Though the night you shared had exhilarated Cody beyond his wildest dreams, he couldn’t help but long for more of you. And judging by the way your back arched against him, you hadn’t had your fill of him, either.

“Cody…” A whimper passed your lips when his hands cupped your chest. Through a love-drunk smile, you breathed, “I love you…”

Cody hummed softly, intoxicated from the caress of your fingers along his scalp. He kissed along your sternum, reveling in your every sound.

“I love you, more…”

The shrill beeping from the strewn pile of Cody’s clothes on the floor startled both of you, a cruel return to reality. With a heavy sigh, Cody shook his head. If someone was making the effort to reach him on an undercover operation, it had to be important… much to his displeasure.

Wrapping you tightly in his arms, he offered a kiss to your forehead as a parting gift.

“You stay put,” he instructed playfully. “No getting into trouble while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes and bumped your nose against his. “I’ll try.”

With a heavy sigh, Cody left the warmth of the bed and your arms behind, making himself presentable for whomever awaited on the other end of the ringing commlink. Once he was dressed, he stepped out of your bedroom, ensuring the door closed firmly behind him. Alone in the main room of the domicile, he accepted the incoming transmission.

“General Kenobi,” Cody spoke as the Jedi flickered to life on the holoprojector.

“Good morning, Cody,” General Kenobi answered. “It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve talked. How are you getting on?”

Cody swallowed the immediate fear that shot through him, forgetting for a moment that the general was looking for a situation report—not any summary of what trouble his commander may have gotten into the night prior.

“We’re… surviving,” Cody replied. “We had a close call yesterday—some Separatist deployments have made their way to this planet looking for the princess, and they nearly found her, too. But we were able to evade them without incident.”

“I see,” the general hummed, stroking his beard. “I suppose this news will be a relief, then. We’ve successfully liberated the princess’s homeworld, so the two of you won’t need to fend for yourselves any longer.”

Cody’s eyes went wide. 

“Already?” he uttered.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well… i-it’s just that it’s only been eight rotations,” Cody floundered, trying to recover. “I was expecting we’d be here longer, but… that’s… good to hear, General.”

“I’m glad,” General Kenobi returned. “I’ll be on the lookout for an update or your arrival. May the Force be with you, Commander.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll be there soon.”

The hologram dissipated, and Cody’s heart sank along with it. As a Marshal Commander, it was rare for him to lose track of… well, anything. But it seemed he’d gotten so wrapped up in this little fantasy with you that he forgot the caveats that came along with it—most notably, that it would eventually come to an end. It was bittersweet: on one hand, he was thankful to know your planet was safe, and he would be eager to return to his brothers…

…but on the other, the mere thought of leaving you behind twisted his stomach into knots.

Sighing, Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed all that remained was to break the news to you. But he couldn’t say why his feet stayed put—why he couldn’t bring himself to open the bedroom door again.

“I’m guessing it’s bad news for you, too…?”

Your voice brought Cody back from his brooding. When he turned, he found you wrapped up in one of his shawls, leaning against the doorway with a sad smirk on your lips. The sun bathed your skin in a radiant glow that made you look simply ethereal.

As if the universe couldn’t make this any harder on him…

Cody returned to you, his hands slipping around your waist. He could see the disappointment in your smile; even as you draped your arms over his shoulders, resting your forehead on his, you didn’t beam as brightly as you had before. Cody couldn’t blame you—his smile was just as somber.

“Yeah. I didn’t realize how long it’s been,” he sighed. With a bitter chuckle, he added, “I guess that’ll teach me to train my battalion so well. If they were worse soldiers, we might’ve had more time.”

Though his words earned a giggle from you, it didn’t linger. Before long, you fell quiet again, and Cody couldn’t bring himself to break the silence. He held you close, safe and sound in his arms. His hands ran up and down your back, and he planted kiss after lazy kiss upon your head. All while his mind raced.

What could he say? The options overwhelmed him, but not one felt like enough to make up for the reality of the situation. I love you with all I am. I wish we had more time. I want to marry you.

“Are you going to stay?”

Your voice caught Cody by surprise. He leaned back, if only to meet your eyes. When he did, he found you looking back at him with the slightest sorrow.

“What?” he asked.

The ghost of a smile formed on your lips, your gaze bashfully falling from his.

“You don’t have to go, you know… and I don’t have to go back to my homeworld. We can stay together, just the two of us.” As you spoke, your fingers trembled against his skin. “I know it’s a forlorn hope, and it’s asking a lot, but… I want to stay with you. I love you, Cody. I don’t want you to go.”

When your gaze met his again, your misty eyes pleaded with him.

“Will you stay with me, Cody? Please?”

Your words tore Cody asunder, a pain more agonizing than he’d felt on any battlefield. Pieces of him begged to stay with you—to never be without the love you showered him with, to be your protector for all his life. But as you could already tell, those pieces of him were not enough to shun his duty, his purpose. Even if he wished he could.

“Princess…” Cody sighed. From his first word alone, he saw the hope drain from your face. Though he wanted to subvert your fears—to say whatever it took to bring the light back to your eyes—he couldn’t. He owed you the full answer, as much as it hurt to hear—and to say. “I’m sorry. I love you, too… more than I ever thought was possible, I love you. But… I won’t let you give up everything for me. Your planet needs you, and my brothers need me. We can’t leave our lives behind.”

Dejected, your gaze fell from Cody’s. He could feel the tears slipping from your cheeks onto the soft fabric of his shirt. Guilt weighed on his chest, with every tear you shed crushing him further. Was he truly so cruel, to make the woman he loved more than life itself devastated like this? 

He knew he had more to say. He knew it would be nowhere near enough to temper the pain of your separation. But if he could not give himself to you, he would leave you with hope to hold onto in his absence.

Gently, he took your chin between his fingers, moving your gaze back to his again.

“But Princess… I promise this isn’t the end for you and me. Even if we’re apart, I’m still yours… and I will be until the day I die.”

He pressed a soft kiss between your eyes.

“The moment this war ends, I’m boarding the first transport to your homeworld. And no matter what anyone says, I’m marrying you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the time we lost. Nothing else will matter to me but you.” Though halfhearted, he managed a smirk. “Understood?”

You smiled. Even through the tears that streamed down your face, you smiled. It was real, and it was beautiful.

“Understood,” you whispered.

Softly, Cody kissed away every last one of your tears, before meeting your lips once more.

The two of you still had the day, and you both agreed to make the most of it. Packing up the little life you’d built together went slowly, interrupted countless times by kisses, conversations, lovemaking... Cody cherished every moment. He never wanted to forget the warmth of your body in his arms, the taste of you on his lips, the sound of your laughter in his ears. Soon, his senses would once more be overwhelmed by the battlefield, and he would long for these comforts in his dreams. If he couldn’t stay with you, he at least wanted to carry your memory with him.

When at last the two of you boarded your ship, ready to return to your homeworld, you were content. The pain of your imminent parting had dulled, and in its place came the bittersweet comfort of knowing you’d enjoyed what little time you had to the fullest. 

The flight was uneventful, but unlike those first few days you’d spent with one another, the two of you had nothing to say. You merely held one another close, your adoration speaking for itself.

, , ,

“Your commander is to be commended for his service to this planet. Without him, I may very well not be here to retake my throne.”

You stood before the armored commander and his Jedi General, bowing your head politely to show your appreciation for their actions. In every sense, you were back where you belonged—in the halls of your palace, dressed in the finest regalia. The princess you were meant to be. But stunning though you were, Cody could not help but remember you as you had been during your time together. Dressed without concern for royal protocol, stripped down to your truest self… a side of you that was his alone to see.

From beside Cody, General Kenobi nodded graciously.

“He is an impeccable soldier. I am pleased to hear he took such good care of you,” General Kenobi said.

Cody’s heart raced, and he tried to keep a solemn face. His struggle was made all the more apparent with how easily you could mask any reaction, merely meeting the general with a kind smile.

“Indeed. I hope he is well rewarded for his assistance,” you said. For the briefest moment, your eyes met Cody’s, and your smile softened. “I’m afraid my gratitude is not nearly enough to thank him for all he has done.”

A ghost of a smile formed on Cody’s lips. He stood just a bit taller at your words.

“We’ll see to it that he is, your highness,” General Kenobi agreed. “But in the meantime, I’m afraid the war demands our attention. We wish you well, your majesty.”

You curtseyed politely before the two men.

“May luck follow you in your battles, Master Jedi,” you said. When you turned your attention once more to Cody, your expression faltered for the briefest moment. “And may luck follow you, Commander Cody.”

Cody gazed back at you, doing little to hide the feelings buried beneath the surface. Even as the General began the walk back to the transport, Cody remained—lingering just as long as he could. Savoring the sight of you until the last, desperate second. Praying to the Maker that his every thought of you could be conveyed through this last moment alone.

“Thank you… Princess.”

You smiled. Though the faintest sadness hid behind it, you meant it from the depths of your being. And even if it was unbecoming of a soldier, Cody smiled back at you. 

But he knew this was not the end. Even as he finally turned away, setting his helmet upon his head and boarding the LAAT, even as he looked back to you one last time before the shuttle doors closed, he knew.

He would see you again. 

AN: Thank you for getting to the end lol I hope you enjoyed it despite the intimidating wordcount LOL and I hope you like it @loving-the-cambridges ! Also, huge thank you to @ghostofskywalker for putting this event together and organizing, it was so much fun and I would love to participate again!✨✨

"""taglist""" - @shinyshayminflower @starrylothcat

[ivorywreathablaze]

Hello, I'm Laurel!

Here resides the randomness of someone who is late for everything probably including my own funeral.

Welcome!

I am also on: DeviantArt, Fanfiction.net, and Instagram.

I'm one of the artists for JohnPeacekeeper’s Itadaki no Hecate! Technically. I'm still working on it lol. (I'm currently going to basics I never did before and working on character sheets.)

If you have a story on with Khamsin x Kazumi in it, please message me so I can add it to the Khami community! If it's elsewhere, I can still post it to the list, which is on DeviantArt! I also have anonymous messages are turned on, so if you’re shy you can contact me there.

P.S. My username was previously ‘Qiana King’ and ‘Laurel Gwen King.’ Why change? Because a pen name looks weird on fandom stuff. Also, this is thematic!

Current Status of the fics I’m working on is on my Fanfic profile, until I figure out how to make it into cool bars on a page on my tumblr lol

Shakugan OTPs:

Khamsin x Kazumi (Khami)

I will never be able to explain exactly why I ship them, because I've had them as an OTP for so long that they’re just stuck in my brain. I probably wouldn't ship them if I hadn't started when I was thirteen and looking to ship Kazumi with someone—but then again, they work to understand each other better, she’s the only one who makes him smile, she’s implied to be his motivation to keep fighting for a better world, she surprises him, he is the only character in the series who gets her, she’s the only one he opens up to at all, he dies protecting her, they get a significant goodbye scene, he’s looking at her instead of anyone else present as he dies, she’s the main character with the saddest ending but keeps going strong just like he said she would . . . so like, maybe I would.

Yuji x Shana(Shanji)

They’re the main ship in the series, so if you like the series I probably don’t have to explain it. But Yuji gives Shana her humanity back, helps her access her emotions, and gives her companionship. Meanwhile, he falls in love with her so deeply that he becomes a strong fighter, turns the entire world upside-down for her, and decides to wander eternally without her just trying to atone for betraying her trust. Then Shana refuses to let him be alone, and they get their happy ending!

Keisaku Satou x Margery Daw (Keigery)

They have this slow-build dynamic, which eventually grows into romantic dedication. It starts when he’s one her lackeys who have a crush on her, and ends with them being emotional equals. He becomes dedicated to helping her, and she manages to hang on to life past her life purpose falling apart explicitly because of her feelings for him. It’s SO CUTE!

SouthValley x WestShore

I have . . . NO explanation. Just vibes.

Posting Standards:

I will never post something that is MA/Explicit. Because of my personal clothing choices, I rarely post drawings of girls in clothes that show their shoulders, never post them in something low-cut, and they always have clothes that go to their knees. Same kind of rules apply to drawing guys. I am Christian, which means I try not to make light of/glamorize violence, addiction, prejudice, or other like topics, (though it can be difficult given the genes I write so please do message me/review if you think the balance is off in one of my fics). I also believe that online activism is most often actively harmful, especially from people who don't know what they're talking about (me) so I intentionally don’t post about politics. My personal beliefs will show up in my stories despite my efforts, but when I catch it then I do try to show other perspectives as well.

Thanks for reading through that whole boring wall of text lol, and I hope you enjoy my upcoming work!

[kaija-rayne-author]

I wrote something hard today. It's long. Please mind the content warnings, this one is heavy.

We Must Remember

ON DECEMBER 30, 2023 BY KAELENRHY/Kaija Rayne

Content Warnings: AIDS epidemic, queer death, queer abuse, child abuse, child neglect, mention of attempted rape, sexual harassment in the form of catcalling and whistling.

My generation of queers, the ones who came of age in the middle of losing most of a generation of our queer siblings… we don’t talk about it.

It’s got to be pretty obvious why we don’t. I can’t think of a queer person who knew they were queer who didn’t lose someone. And we all lost when it comes to some people. Freddie Mercury, for one, the lead singer of Queen. He died a day after announcing his diagnosis in 1991. He was 45 years old.

And there were so many others.

I’ve been aware of the lack of people who lived through it talking about this for a while. But it really brought it home to me when I asked my eldest, who is openly queer, if they knew what the AIDS quilt was. They didn’t. And generally, they’re interested in queer history, so tend to be better informed than a lot of queer youth about our collective history. It helps that I was a history teacher at one time and have always lived and breathed teaching it to anyone willing to learn.

So, here’s a story from a time I hope never to see again, but one which, when I look at the world, I deeply fear is coming back.

The moral panic we see now is like déjà vu for people like me. It was this exact same moral panic that caused medicine, and most of humanity, to completely ignore it as loved ones died. To treat human beings without the care or respect any human being deserves simply by drawing breath.

I grew up in the mountains in a very Christian cult-like atmosphere. It was honestly so close to being an actual cult. There really is such a minuscule difference. But it wasn’t an official cult. Just… very poor people backbiting each other any way they could. Praying like good people on Wednesdays and Sundays, but doing anything they wanted every other day of the week. You’d think with all the mountains around, they’d have anything better to do than gossip. But gossip ran as life’s blood. The internet didn’t yet exist in private homes in that piss hole in a snowbank. There were 3 churches in the town, and 6 bars. For 300 people. The closest store was a good 20-minute drive away, the closest library an hour.

Christ, it’s hard to remember these things. It’s been 33 ish years since this story happened in real life, and I still don’t want to revisit it.

But it’s important.

The memory of this day is ingrained on the inside of my skin. I can almost feel the heavy summer sun.

Sad Summer Day

I’m around 14 years old. I’m barefoot, because my family doesn’t see the point of buying shoes for summer wear. Feet toughen up just fine.

I’m wearing a fourth or fifth-hand t-shirt that is far too see-through and cut-off jean shorts. The tickling of the strings falling against my thighs as I walk is a soothing sensation to me. I’m finished with my chores, the horses are cared for, the dog fed, the abusive younger sibling has stopped screaming and throwing things at me because I wasn’t a suitable big sister and had gone to hide in her room. I’m an embarrassment to my allistic sister. I’m an embarrassment to my mother too. If she ever crawls out of the bottle long enough to give a shit about anyone. My brother lives elsewhere.

I stink. I don’t know that or understand it, but I stink. Getting clean means swimming in a scummy mountain lake most evenings. My mother hasn’t taught me anything about personal hygiene. She smokes like a damned chimney and always smells of booze. There is no way I don’t smell bad. We had bath nights once a week in the winter. The only reason I knew my period was a thing was school health class.

I hang around in the barn a lot. Or in the ancient maple tree in the pasture. Ar Bazara is my beautiful Arabian mare. Her hide is the stunning red of particularly vociferous sunsets. She often patiently lets me lie on her back with a book open on her rump while she grazes. My new goat, Esmerelda, is still adjusting to not being the house goat she was used to being. She’s miserable, mourning her friend and old life. I do what I can, but it doesn’t help very much. Goats grieve as much as humans do, maybe more so.

It’s my job, and escape, to walk to town and get the mail for my father, who works more than not, and can’t get to the post before it closes at 5pm. I have no idea when or if my mother will come stumbling in blind drunk.

I hope to see my friend, who lives at the top of the road to the post office. He hasn’t been feeling well. Wrapped up in a quilt in his mother’s rocking chair on the porch is how I’ve been finding him lately. It’s not very odd, it never gets truly warm in the mountains, so people in heavier clothes or a blanket around their shoulders isn’t uncommon. I think nothing of it.

He’s a relatively recent addition to my life. He moved into his mother’s house last year. Esmeralda had been his, but he’d asked me to take her last week and love her like he did. I really don’t see it coming, or maybe I don’t want to add up the clues.

He’s my only friend there. He looks much older to me, but in reality, is likely in his late twenties. He wears dark tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, always has interesting books to read and ideas to discuss. He’d made it out of the mountains, so has seen so much more of the world I long desperately to experience for myself. His butterscotch blond hair is always a curly mess, and he’s always running his hand through it. I hope I can sit on his porch steps, picking at splinters, while he tells me another story. I’m not supposed to talk to him. No one does in that town. We might catch it, if we do so much as look at him. But I like him, and he treats me like a combination of younger sister and wild animal. He always speaks in such a gentle, calm tone. A tone I never hear at home. Except for the day he gave me Esmerelda. He couldn’t talk through the tears he was trying to hide.

My aunt lives next to him and warns me away every time she sees me. I suppose she likely told my parents, but my parents either aren’t there or are drunk. He’s the only adult in that town other than my grandmother, who even sees me. Much less talks to me like I’m a person. My aunt is happy enough to take his money to make an extra portion of food for him when she cooks for her family every day. She drops it off on the porch and will only take the dishes back if they’re soaking in bleach water when she comes to get them.

I’m tanned dark brown. My mother kicks us out as soon as the snow melts and we’re expected to stay out until dusk. But I’ve got my summer colour, my hair is frizzy from the yearly perms, and sun-bleached. The stench of lemon juice in my hair is still strong, but I know better than to not use it every morning. Having my mother yank the black, spiral hairs out of my head hurts worse. But I hate the smell of lemon juice in my hair.

It’s a short walk to a mountain child. Though if you’d called me a child then it would’ve infuriated me.

I am still a child, a very naïve one. I only know the words gay and lesbian because I’ve read the OED cover to cover. But they’re nascent, formless concepts to me. I’m in the midst of my first crush. A girl in my class with the prettiest brown eyes and lush, curly hair. But, I’ve told no one.

There’s sand on the sides of the beaten-up tarmac of the road. I’m avoiding walking on the road itself because prickers from wild roses and blackberry bushes are vastly preferable to burnt feet.

In shade areas, the mounded sand is cool, a treat to dig my toes into, and there’s a place where rain makes interesting patterns in the sand. I stop there for a short time to look at the swirling patterns in that section. It’s different every time it rains.

The air is heavy, like a wet wool blanket, presaging another evening rainstorm. I cuss because it means I won’t get to swim that night. If I want to rinse off, it’ll be in the cold rain. Hopefully, there won’t be thunder. Loamy earth and the particular faintly metallic scent of slightly damp, lichen-covered stone coat my tongue with a musky taste. The lighter, higher sweet honey note of spreading dogbane makes the walk smell like a slice of heaven. They’re poisonous, of course, but they’re beautiful and one of my favourites. Bunchberry shows little red splashes of colour. Orange hawkweed is blossoming, and so is the milkweed. Soon there will be so many monarch butterfly caterpillars I’ll have to watch where I step. The unnatural stench of old, oft-tarred tarmacadam adds an unwelcome element of human activity to the interesting scents.

The forest sings, murmuring to each other with the slight breeze that’s the only coolness I’ll find unless it rains. And the creaks and groans of the poplar and birch trees provide a symphony. I walk by my grandmother’s house. She’s outside tending to her flowers and checking the bird feeders, so I wave instead of meandering over. My grandmother loves to talk. I’ll stop on the way back. I’m later than usual going to get the mail because of my sister’s abusive outburst.

My hands are stuffed in the far too small front pockets of my shorts. My hand is tightly wrapped around the mail key. I always hold it in my fist, my father says it’s a trust, and I don’t want to blow it. A hopped-up pickup truck with a custom paint job, jacked tires, and glass-packs roars by. The boys inside and riding on the bed cat call me, but I don’t understand it.

By this time in my life, my mother has dived into a bottle and never looked back. She taught me to drink on hanged man’s bridge when I was 11. Vodka. She’d already moved on to vodka from wine by that time. In a lot of ways, I didn’t have a mother anymore, if I’d ever really had one at all in anything other than the physical sense.

It’s 1990. Big hair is falling out of fashion, but I still have the perm that my (at the time) stick-straight hair needs to look like Bon Jovi.

It’s mid-summer, the sun is high in the sky and it won’t get dark until after 9 pm. I won’t have to go inside until 10. The voracious bugs are preferable to listening to another argument. And Gram will let me in and likely feed me. Maybe my brother will be there.

As long as I’m on my father’s or grandmother’s land by dusk, I don’t have to go inside. The crab apples aren’t quite ready, but I pick one to eat, anyway. The bitter, tart juice is still green-flavoured, but it fends off my hunger. I didn’t get to eat my food; I cleaned it up from where my sister had thrown it at the wall and took it out to the hens. I wonder if they like grape jam?

It’s not the first time I’ve been hungry. Hunger is basically my ground state. So much so that I don’t even feel it when I’m hungry.

I pause on hanged man’s bridge. Just for a moment, while I warily scan the church parking lots at the end of the road.

They’d kicked me out when I was 12, but if the minister sees me, I’ll get scolded for breathing. I’m lucky, the lots are deserted and I continue on my way.

There’s no tree cover here, but there is down by the water. The beavers are busily building a dam that the men will burn come fall. It makes me sad because I can see kits with their parents. Beaver has a lot of fat in the fall, so it’s good meat.

I turn left at the end of the road and walk past another not-so-distant relative’s house. I stop for a moment to pet the Percheron workhorses who obligingly hang their heads over the fence so I can pluck handfuls of fresh green grass for them. Their slobber on my hands is green, but it doesn’t register as anything other than something to wipe off on my butt. I love these gentle giants, but the sun is lower in the sky, so I hurry on. I pass two more relatives’ houses. I have a tendency to walk with my gaze on the ground, partially to make sure I don’t step in anything, but partially in hope of finding a new, interesting stone or a bone for my collections.

So, I just… don’t notice. I’m in my own head a lot, working on stories. I started writing 3 years before.

There’s a sharp, rattling sound I associate with caster wheels and I look up.

My friend isn’t on the porch and he can’t tell me any more stories.

The glaring canary yellow of haz-mat suits screams brightly from his faded house. They look like aliens to me. Fierce, terrifying aliens. We don’t have TV, or rather, we don’t have TV reception, so the only reason I know what the suits are is because of my long habit of reading encyclopedias.

One of them is roughly handling his body as the other wraps a second roll of cellophane around him, over and over. They’re great yellow spiders as they finish wrapping my friend in cellophane and put him on the emergency bed from the ambulance. There aren’t any lights on, it’s turned off, and the driver has his booted foot hung out the window while he looks at a playboy. He whistles at me and winks. I hear one of the aliens say the body bags are too expensive to waste on trash. One of them fetches a floral sheet from my friend’s home. They wrap him in that.

I stand there like a rock has landed on my head.

I’m mute. I can’t even make myself move to go yell at them for laughing over my friend’s body and trading slurs for him as if it’s a game. Even if I were brave enough to confront adults. Which, I am not.

They very carefully take the gurney to the ambulance, avoiding all possible touch with the cellophane cocoon. The straps are so tight around my friend’s body that if he could feel them, he would have cried.

The doors make a doubled, muffled thump and the engine of the ambulance starts. It jerks me into movement, but I’m too late. They drive off.

They haven’t closed his kitchen door. So I do it, thinking in that odd way that he’ll be sad when he comes back to find it left open. I never have seen inside his house and I don’t breach his privacy as I close the door.

I have no way to lock it, and he told me he hasn’t any family left.

I step quickly down the top of the searing hot grey metal culvert cover to my aunt’s large backyard. I’m grateful to not run into my cousins. One of whom has already tried to rape me. I can fight him off if I have to, again, but all I need is to escape. I hopscotch across the brook and into the old potato field. I leap like a yearling deer from one mound to the next before I can disappear myself into the forested lands on my dad’s property. I practically live in the forest, and my friend’s habit of treating me like a wild animal isn’t off. I am.

The next thing I clearly remember is hugging Esmerelda’s neck, finally understanding why he’d asked me to take her.

Finally understanding a lot of things a 14-year-old probably shouldn’t have to think about.

I never did get the mail that day. I had to scour the area I’d walked to find the mail key I’d always been so careful not to drop.

Years later, when I was 19, and I’d escaped those fucking mountains, I was in university and doing very well. The only semester I didn’t hit the president’s list was the semester I had mono, and I still made dean’s.

I and a couple of others had recently been thrilled to get the B added to the LG group (lesbian and gay). Bisexual erasure is still prevalent, and it was worse then.

It was meeting night for the club, and one of my friends, one of the first openly gay men I knew while understanding what that meant, had a square of heavy white cloth. He explained it was for a project to remember those we’d lost to AIDS.

I took it home to my dorm room that night and feverishly embroidered a little grey goat wearing a green collar and a shiny gold jingle bell. I’ll never know why he named her Esmerelda.

The last time I visited those mountains, just before our move to Canada… I walked over with my eldest on my hip to look at my friend’s house. The door gaped open like a missing tooth in a smile, but no human scavengers had touched anything. (In those mountains, scavenging is a way of life. It’s a testimonial to their prejudice and discrimination that his home wasn’t pillaged.) The roof had fallen in at some point, always a danger in those mountains, from the weight of snow. The porch step I’d sat on to listen to his stories had fallen off and lay almost rotted through. I stood there looking at his house for probably longer than I remember. They’d closed the post office. The workhorses had been sent to make dog food when the man of the house died and his widow couldn’t care for them. Pound for pound selling them to the butcher was more practical.

My mother sold Ar Bazara just before she left my father. My beautiful mare had died at her new owners from pneumonia not long after I’d graduated high school.

Fall asters bloomed, making shockingly bright splotches of colour around his house. No one would even go close enough to do the neighborly thing and mow the tiny area of land that went with the house. Perception was everything to those people. It wouldn’t do to be perceived as less than a ‘good Christian’. So it spoke volumes that no one had shoveled the roof or mown the lawn. The only way people survive up there is by banding together when needed. My cousins may shoot each other (true fact) but they’ll band together if someone threatens from outside.

My grandmother was gone. Still with us in the flesh, but Alzheimer’s took her from us long before she actually died. She didn’t even remember I had a kid.

My father had cut the ancient maple tree I’d loved so much for firewood years before, sometime when I was in uni.

There weren’t any horses anymore. Esmeralda had gone. She never recovered. The sweet, gentle goat I’d agreed to love turned vicious and mean. I didn’t know how to help her and no one I dared ask could help. My father made me get rid of her when she butted him in the knee.

I kissed my little one’s head when he reached up curiously to touch a tear on my cheek. I doubt he’d ever seen me cry before that. I don’t cry easy. My therapist has me working on relearning how to cry.

That isn’t a problem right now. I can barely see to type. No matter how many years pass, I can’t forget the tearing, sticky sound of the cellophane as they wrapped my friend up. I can’t forget the things they said about him while wearing those stupid haz-mat suits. Which they hadn’t even been wearing correctly. I can’t forget and it’s so bloody hard to remember these things, much less talk or write about them.

Within my lifetime, we’ve seen amazing changes in queer rights. But I, and a lot of older queers, are watching the current political climate of the world and… we could so easily lose everything we’ve gained.

Trans people are always the canaries in the coal mine; always the ones sacrificed first. They will come for the rest of us.

If you’re queer, don’t ever fall into the trap of thinking it’s ancient history. I’m currently 47. This day happened 33 years ago. Don’t fall into the morass of thinking our rights can’t be stripped from us.

They can. And I fear, deeply, that they’ll strip our rights from us again. We could so easily fall down the slippery slope until all of us are disrespected as my friend was. He died alone. And I suppose I should be grateful my aunt noticed right away, that anyone noticed at all. He was a pariah. He’d come home to die after his partner did, only to face massive social exclusion by people he’d grown up with. My aunt only fed him for the cash. Even then, barter was still common. Hard cash wasn’t always easy to get.

I went to the cemetery to try to find his grave and plant some flowers on it. I found where it was supposed to be. Right on the very edge next to the pine forest. Just a slight depression marking what was likely a cheap pine coffin, if they even paid him that much respect. There wasn’t a crematorium anywhere close by. So they’d stuck him as far away from the other dead people as possible. As if the dead could catch it. We didn’t name it. It was the illness variety of the boogeyman. If you don’t name it, it can’t find you.

Starflower had grown to cover the area, so at least I know every spring he has a blanket of small, ethereal white flowers. We lost most of a generation of queers due to medical negligence and reprehensible cruelty from humans to other human beings.

But these stories shouldn’t die with us. Queer youth need to understand what we lived through so they don’t get too complacent. I’ve fought for queer rights since I was 14 years old.

My eldest can just be openly queer. Something I’ve never been able to be except for a few short years in university.

I don’t want to see us lose our rights again.

I don’t want another misunderstood, abused, hurting queer kid to have to watch as their only friend is wrapped in cellophane and denied the honour of a body bag. Denied the honour of a decent grave with a simple headstone.

We’re already losing queer rights. Please don’t be complacent.

Phew, so… I’m a sobbing mess. If my work of words touched you, please consider a tip or becoming a patron. We live in poverty. My husband is recovering from one of the likely three back surgeries he needs for his broken back. We have two autistic/ADHD kids and finding a job is impossible. I’ve been looking since January 15th, 2023. I have $50/$1220 I need for rent for January. We can’t get any government aid because I’m an immigrant.

Far too many queer creatives live in poverty. I’ll do a series of these memories as I can. They’re very emotionally difficult for me to write, but I feel they’re very important things.

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[vampireninjabunnies-blog]

WIP Wednesday (I'm not late. You guys were just early lol)

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton,@direwombat and@inafieldofdaisies

Bearer of Bad News

Joey Hudson

This was the worst part of the job. And she shouldn't be the one doing it. Damn it Whitehorse should be here walking up the steps to John's front door. The autumn breeze sent a chill down her spine. It was eerie for the ranch to be this quiet. The Peggies standing nearby eyed her suspiciously. Normally the ones in Holland Valley were quite a bit friendlier than the rest elsewhere. It made her nervous.

"Relax Joey." Danny squeezed her shoulder lightly and gave her a small smile. "You being tense won't make this any better. Let's get it over with."

She knocked sharply on the door when they finally reached it, waiting patiently as the sound of footsteps grew louder. When the door opened it was Joseph who greeted them.

"Deputy Hudson, Deputy Trevor. How can we help you?"

They had very few interactions with Joseph in the past. Only occasionally seeing him with Jerome or his brothers. Whitehorse usually handled Joseph. In many ways he intimidated Joey the most, though she couldn't quite figure out why.

"May we come in? We need to speak to John." Danny thankfully didn't sound nearly as hesitant as she felt.

Joseph motioned for them to come in, watching them closely. His gaze unsettling and hard to read behind the yellow tint of his glasses.

"Who is it? Has someone heard something?!"

The sound of their voices must have carried because John came rushing in from the other room. Joey had never seen him like this. Normally so well put together, John's hair was disheveled and clothes were in disarray. He was visibly sleep deprived and from what she could tell had likely been drinking.

"Hudson,Trevor? Why are you here? Did you find her?" His voice was strained, pleading. It broke her heart.

Danny looked at her, both of them trying to find the words.

She pulled a small chain from her pocket, a dainty gold wedding band hanging from it. The glimmer of hope that had been shining in his eyes died when she handed it to him.

"I'm sorry John. This is all we found. And it's already been several weeks and-"

His eyes widened staring at her. "No no...you have to keep looking. You have to..."

Danny put a tentative hand on his shoulder "She couldn't swim John, the odds that we'll find anything now. Look we're sorry but"

John fell to his knees begging them to keep looking. His words muddled behind incoherent sobbing. Joey took note of the vague look of disdain behind the veil of sympathy on Joseph's face as he stared at his baby brother. Danny led her out when he motioned for them to leave. Muttering another apology as they left.

Joseph held John whispering in his ear. "I'm sorry John. I'm sorry they gave up."

John looked up at him, his eyes red. For just a moment Joseph saw nothing of the grown man he'd found in Atlanta. Instead the little toddler wailing in the corner after their father had beat him. He ignored the twisting gnawing feeling of remorse in his gut. An opportunity had presented itself and intended to take it. Touching his forehead to John's.

"You put too much faith in these sinners John. They don't care. Of course they would give up on one of ours. Have faith brother. Atonement will come."

Danny paused, drumming his fingers on the open car door looking back at the ranch.

Joey leaned on the roof "What's the matter?"

"You see the look on Joseph's face? Not so sure that wreck was an accident."

They climbed into the car. She looked at him with doubt. " I don't know Danny. You might be reaching there. I mean his own brother?"

He started the engine and pulled out of the drive toward Fall's End.

"Maybe but something don't feel right here. Somehow we're gonna get the blame for this. Whole lot trouble coming our way Joey."

She sighed staring out the window at the glaring Peggie faces as they drove by, wishing again that Whitehorse had come instead of them. Maybe Danny was right. Damn it this really was the worst part of the job. Being the bearer of bad news.

[mywrittings]

abandoned building / eddie munson

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Joining the Hellfire club has been one of the best things you had done. You met new friends but became very good friends with the leader. One of the things he really liked doing with you was exploring new places and tonight was no different. Or was it?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 3.9k+

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 18+ ONLY smoking a cigarette, kissing, explicit language, some fingering, unprotected sex, some spit

𝒶/𝓃: ahhh first of all, thank you so much for the amount of love on my last story about eddie. I cannot believe so many of you liked it???? It truly means a lot to me and I appriciate every single one of you for reading it. So thank you again, I don't know what else to say.

Now this story is um...well... I was going to go for a more softer approach but I said HECK NO. Not yet. So here you go, I hope you like this one just as you liked the other one!

It was a typical night in the town of Hawkins. Everyone was already fed up with the new school year a few days after it began. It almost felt like each year it all became harder to bear. From numerous homeworks to projects… It was a never-ending story.

But one good thing came out of all of this. You met some new friends when you joined a club called ‘Hellfire’. At first you weren’t sure what it was about as you only heard rumors passing through the school’s hallways but soon you learned about the game and the members that were part of it. 

The leader was called Eddie Munson and you had become close friends with him out of all of them. It helped that you both shared the love for the same music and dressed in similar ways.  Never in your life had you connected with someone so quickly, he made you feel so welcomed and even if you were a newbie, the rest of the members grew fond of you fast.

However the only difference between Eddie, you and the others was that you two would hang out in private. The conversations you two had went way out of the Hellfire club so you would see one another in various places. Sometimes at his home, sometimes at yours but also often at random places. It’s not like you were hiding from the rest, they knew you were hanging out but others would not get your slang and the topics you would be talking about.

Tonight was no different. The night had fallen and spread all across the town and Eddie had called you, telling you he’s going to pick you up and that you two would be going to a new location. He told you it was a new one, saying that there is lots to unravel and you instantly knew he wanted to explore a new area of Hawkins. 

Hawkins in itself was a huge surprise. People said it was cursed, due to last year's events, where people had died and it all was still a mystery to some. So you would be lying if you had said that you were not scared. But most of the time the places Eddie finds are pretty well lit up and there’s people nearby so that was calming you, while you were driving to the area. 

‘’How did you find this place then?’’ you ask, as you look outside the car window, the soft yellowish lights passing by, leading to yet another road

‘’Well you won’t like what I’m going to say but I was delivering a package and had seen it.’’  he replies back, tapping at the wheel and you turn your head to him

Package meaning he was delivering drugs to someone. Many times you told him not to go to strange places to do the exchange, rather meet somewhere with people but Eddie told you that it doesn’t work like that. He told you he could get caught, so meeting elsewhere was much more secure which didn’t make sense to you. Ever since you found out about that, you’d always tell him to call you afterwards, to make sure he was okay. 

‘’Ah, so it’s a scary area.’’ you nod, noticing as the lights behind you kept disappearing into the night and soon the road would be overtaken with darkness

‘’It’s not scary Y/n. I’ll be by your side,’’ he squeezes your knee ‘’Don’t you know I’m the master player of D&D. No man could beat me.’’ he boasts and you only roll your eyes but chuckle afterwards

The road suddenly became narrow, meaning that if two cars meet they wouldn’t be able to pass by each other. On the left side as you drove by was a random destroyed house, fully overgrown with grass and trees, sticks poking through the windows. On the right was more grass, followed by some more trees and in the distance you could see a light. 

‘’Is that where this new location is?’’ you point in front of you and hear Eddie hum in response

Sure enough as the light kept getting bigger, a big building stood before you. In front of it, it seems there were parking spaces once but the lines were so hard to see. Lights spread out around the space but the building was dark. Shattered windows, shattered doors. It was abandoned, nobody had been here for years. 

‘’Oh you gotta be kidding me. We are exploring this?!’’ you yell, now turning your entire body to him

‘’Yes, yes we are.’’ he had a grin on his face, he was so excited to see this area again

‘’As if there is anything to explore here!’’ you motion with your hand towards the building but Eddie keeps smiling. I mean you’d at least think it was some sort of old museum or anything that would be worthy enough to get out and have a look around but this was just mind blowing.

‘’Ah come on, you have to admit the building looks cool.’’ but there was nothing cool about it, I mean it was just an old building. You couldn’t even make out what the sign read that was holding on for dear life at the top, near the roof. 

‘’Eddie, this is garbage. And also we are in the middle of nowhere,’’ you kept pointing outside ‘’nobody would know if someone just sliced our throats or something.’’ 

‘’They wouldn’t know because it wouldn’t happen.’’ he comes to a stop and parks his car. You stall for a moment but get out too and quickly run over to his side. His arms were on his hips as he lifted his eyes to the building and just examined it for a moment.

‘’Eddie, let’s go back.’’ you plead but he grabs your hand and starts walking you further down

You could’ve taken the steps and walked up but Eddie had climbed on to a large ledge that looked like it could be a balcony and extended his hand out, helping you come up as well. When you turned around, your face was in horror. It looked so terrifying. The large parking lot, Eddie's car in the middle surrounded by nothing more than lights, grass and trees; you could feel your heartbeat going faster.

Eddie in the meantime, walks up and down a couple times, trying to find a way in. Once he sees a door open ajar he signals to you and both of you walk in. 

If you thought the area outside was horrendous this was on a whole other level. Glass scattered all over the area, walls broken down, stairs that missed a chunk in the middle, the list goes on. As you look up you see a large whole in the middle of the ceiling and you just hoped and prayed there wasn’t anyone looking at you from it. 

‘’Wow, I mean this is just amazing.’’ you sarcastically say but Eddie thought you were not kidding.

‘’Told you!’’

‘’Amazing to die. Are you serious, Eddie no, I am sorry but this location is bad.’’ you grab at his jacket and he stops in his tracks

‘’You hadn’t even seen the rest of it and you’re already judging, come on.’’  with his other hand he guides you to his fingers and he locks them with yours. A tight squeeze around it and just for a moment you felt safe. 

Eddie had a thing for touching you, it was his way of expressing when sometimes words wouldn’t be enough. Even if it was just a small touch on your skin, you understood him clearly. In situations like this he was extra touchy, holding your hand or having his hand on your lower back. In just a small short amount of time you had met him and already you were so close to one another.

As you groan, still protesting as Eddie begins walking you up the stairs. These ones were different from the first ones you saw; they didn’t have the giant chunk of it missing. The stairs were pretty wide so you walked beside him, not letting go of his hand. You thought this is the right floor but he went up another one, until at last you were at the top. 

‘’So this is what you-...’’ before you could say anything further, you stopped, letting go of Eddie’s hand and your eyes were stunned. Right in front of you in the distance was almost the entire Hawkins. 

The lights coming from the town, illuminated the area, that same yellowish color, fell onto the city while blending in with other lights. Those came from houses, other buildings… This is exactly what you liked about Hawkins. It had its magic at an hour like this, that’s why you enjoyed going out and exploring but you did not think a piece of that magic would be waiting for you here.

‘’Eddie this is…’’ you were speechless, it was breathtaking that on top of some random beat up building is an overview of the town

‘’Amazing? Beautiful? Stunning?’’ he was picking all the right names for this little hidden gem as he walked past you

‘’I can’t believe this.’’ you gasp, your eyes were glistening, reflecting those lights as you stepped closer where Eddie was standing

There was a medium-sized wall built up around the roof area, which didn’t really do much if you weren't careful and one could easily fall and go straight into the depths. Not to mention there were cracks here and there, you questioned yourself ‘how is this still standing here?’.

‘’I knew you’d like it. Might be scary but once you come to the top, it’s a whole different story.’’ Eddie crosses his arms and puts them on the wall, he too was staring at the view. 

‘’There’s our Hawkins. Gosh, I love this town.’’ you adored it, even after all the strange occurances, this was still your town, where you grew up and met your friends.

‘’Yup and there’s so much more to it I’m sure.’’ Eddie was always thinking one step further. He hadn’t even finished exploring one place, he was already onto the next one with his mind. 

Eddie then takes out a small packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He pulls one out and lends you it but you don’t take it. He smirks, placing it between his lips before lighting it.  

‘’Oh so now you don’t smoke?’’ he laughs, taking one puff out of it, the smoke going up in the air 

‘’Sometimes, I’m not like you Eddie.’’ you lean your back to the wall, observing him inhaling again

‘’Like what?’’ he taps away the ashes, some falling onto his jeans and you notice him cursing to himself which made you giggle

‘’I am not a regular smoker.’’ You had smoked before knowing Eddie. It would just be occasionally at a party or when you’d get super stressed but you made sure this wouldn’t become a regular thing for you.

‘’I thought you were going to say something else.’’ he rubs his forehead, by now he’s standing in front of you

‘’Oh that you’re what like ruining your health?’’ you raise your eyebrows and Eddie laughs, as he looks up at the sky

‘’Something like that yes.’’  he nods with his head, as he takes a small step towards you. He puts the cigarette back in his mouth as both of his hands reach to your jacket, where he plays with the zipper. You look down as he’s fiddling with it, trying to put it in the hatch.

‘’What are you doing?’’ you question as he continues struggling with it

‘’Well you’re ruining your health as well if your jacket is opened like this.’’ he mumbles, tilting his head up as he looks at you

‘’You are unbelievable Eddie.’’ you beam, as you reach down and try to help him. 

But then your fingers touch, as Eddie hadn’t taken his hands away yet. He doesn’t pull away, rather lingers his fingers on top of yours. You could feel your hands getting clammy, a tingling sense around them. He looks down again at the sudden physical touch and even if he had touched you before, this one felt different. 

He suddenly takes his hands away as the cigarette in his mouth had burned up a good amount,  the ashes were barely holding on to the end and he takes it out and throws it on the floor. 

‘’What about my health?’’ you ask, trying to conceal the sudden silence

He was still close to you, looking down on the ground this time but soon he grasped your fingers. Guiding your hands to the inside of his jacket. He wraps it around your hands and you could feel his heartbeat.

‘’Better?’’  his voice sounded so earnest, his eyes were focused on you now 

‘’Yeah.’’  you quickly reply

‘’Y/n…’’ 

‘’Yeah?’’

‘’Can you fuck me?’’ 

You freeze and stare with your eyes wide open. Never during your friendship had he ever asked something like that, not even joke with you. You’ve had conversations about sex but that’s when you’d be talking about your personal experiences. 

‘’If I c-can fuck you?’’ you repeat after him and he nods, his tongue poking the corner of his mouth

‘’Yes. I want you to fuck me.’’ each time he’d say something similar, you felt your heart rate jump up. 

‘’Eddie I’m so confused right now are you joking or?’’ you could barely say that, the air got so thick, your hands still remained on his chest

‘’I’m not joking. I’m serious Y/n.’’ he mildly squeezes your fingers but it still wasn’t getting through your head

Eddie very slowly places your hands on his back, wrapping them around underneath his jacket. That causes you to move forward and you could closely smell his scent. A mix of cigarettes and cologne that he always liked to wear were merging together. He lets go of your hands and tenderly touches your lips with the tip of his finger, his other hand grabs at your face, drawing you in to himself.

‘’Fuck me Y/n. Please. I have been dying for that pussy for some time now.’’ he hissed, leisurely attaching his plump lips to your earlobe. He gently bites on it, making you say his name.

 ‘’Eddie.’’ 

‘’Y/n, you and I both know friends don’t touch each other the way we do.’’  he continues moving down, where he stops by the neck. ‘’I know you fucking feel it too.’’ You feel his tongue at the side of your neck before he sucks on your skin, his lips were so cushiony like small clouds had tickled at you.

His hand that was before on your lips, goes behind you to the wall as his body pushes up against you. In response you let go of him, pressing your hands on the wall as well, Eddie’s lips still lingering around your neck.

‘’Tell me you feel it Y/n.’’ he pressed a soft peck on your neck, returning back up. His gleaming eyes that were exhibiting a desire, were gazing at you. 

Your eyes transfer to his lips. He had the most perfect lips ever. Full, slightly reddish and so soft. Eddie had taken notice of you staring at him and before he could speak another word you kissed him. It was probably the most heated kiss ever. You craved that kiss and that confirmed it. Both of you were savoring it, even if it was heated it was perfect. Your breathing united as Eddie’s tongue entered your mouth and he was such a good fucking kisser. His tongue was so warm as it went in and twisted around with yours.  You could hear him groan, causing you to moan back. 

Your mind was hazy, you weren’t sure if you were dreaming or if it was real; the fact that you and Eddie were kissing one another. You didn’t even know that you had made it so obvious whenever he’d touch you, you’d react in a certain way. And maybe even yourself didn’t know that all of that skinship was different than it should be between friends.

‘’Fuck me right now.’’ he suddenly pulls away as he was heaving loudly from the kiss

‘’Here? At this building?’’ you breathy say

‘’Yes. I can’t wait, I need you right now.’’ The scenery was beautiful but to fuck here where there’s so many things shattered and God only knows what could happen? But at the same time you liked the idea. It was thrilling when you thought about him fucking you at a wrecked place like this. 

So you push your lips back onto his, this time your bodies fused together and you could feel his cock that was hard as a rock. Eddie’s hands seep from your back to your ass. He firmly squeezes it while pressing himself into you and you shudder. 

‘’Turn around.’’ he instructs and you listen, placing your hands back on the wall, as Eddie quickly pulls your jeans down along with your panties. He doesn’t give you time to take them off, instead he spreads your legs with his knee a bit and you hear him spit on his hand. 

Before you know it he has his fingers on your pussy. At first he fastly wiggles his fingers around, covering your clit with his spit before he parts your pussy lips. You shiver in your place, once you feel his middle finger graze over the entrance and you could hear how aroused you were. He had long fingers and once he put one inside and bent it at the end, your knees began to shake.

‘’Oh my god.’’ Eddie grunts as his body pushes up against you, his cock was now nudging at your ass. 

He leaves your pussy alone for a moment as you hear him lick his fingers; lick them clean. He goes back in but as he’s massaging your pussy he manages to take his jeans off, followed by his underwear. With his other hand he places you in a position where you are now leaning forward, making him gain a lot more access to your pussy. You cry out a moan once his tip is smothering around it.  

‘’Give me your hand.’’ you take your right hand off the wall and Eddie clasps his fingers around your wrist. Shortly after you feel him place the palm of your hand to the head of his cock. Your instant instinct was to wrap it around his tip, awakening a groan from Eddie. His hand doesn’t let go of yours but he guides it to your entrance.

As it goes in you tightly grab at the wall and yelp once you feel him inside of you. From there on he lets go of your hand and you too let go of his cock, your pussy tightly wrapping around it. His hands grazes up your back and goes back down, softly touching at your ass before he harshly smacks it. 

He sets the motion and at first it is steady but then he quickly switches gears and begins hammering himself inside of you. His hips were clashing with your ass and he’d whip at it every now and then, which you knew would leave a good red mark. 

‘’Fuck me, fuck me, bounce that ass on me Y/n,’’ he pants as he was deep inside of you ‘’Yes, yes just like that.’’ he adds, his cock was filling you up and you felt shaky. He was sliding in and out of you so slickly and you were barely able to catch his pattern of movements.

‘’All the Hawkins looking at you tonight getting fucked huh,’’ he presses up against you so that his chest was touching your back ‘’Bet you like that hm?’’ he whispers, the words finding their way to your pussy as it vibrated when he’d barely use his voice. 

‘’Eddie oh my god.’’ adrenaline rushed everywhere along your body, that feeling of him being so close to you was what you craved right now. You wanted his skin on top of yours, you wanted to feel his chest touch your back. But he takes it a step further as one of his hands wraps around your neck the other one tightly going around your stomach. He had more pressure this way as he was pulling your hips down harder. 

‘’I want you to milk my cock baby, get every bit of cum out, I want to see it drip out of you once we’re done,’’ he says that in between railing himself in your pussy ‘’do you understand?’’ 

‘’Mhmm…’’ you whine, as his hand was around your neck, lifting your head up to place an open mouth kiss behind your neck before you feel his forehead laying on your shoulder. His cock was tense, you could sense him being close and your body was also ready to dive into the pleasure of orgasming.

Eddie suddenly pulls out of you and turns you around. He puts his cock back inside of you and you finally are able to see his face. 

‘’I have to look at you while I cum,’’ he smirks ‘’I wanna see that pretty face while you milk every drop of my cum.’’ and that’s what made you shatter as time suddenly slowed down and you could feel the build up reach all the way to the top.  

‘’Cum on my cock baby, cum with me.’’ Eddie rasps and you instantly feel yourself getting filled with his hot cum, which causes you to grip around him, both of your bodies shaking. Your moans die down once you compose yourself but still feel the heartbeat of your pussy.

‘’Holy fuck Y/n…’’ Eddie pulls out of you and you tremble but he catches you ‘’Come here.’’ he kisses your lips so sweetly, like he wanted to make sure you were okay, even if he had just fucked the shit out of you.

‘’I can’t believe we just fucked here.’’ he laughs, his nose touching yours 

‘’I can’t either, I don’t know how you convinced me to do it here.’’ you respond back as Eddie so slowly deepens the kiss

‘’You’re so fucking gorgeous you know that?’’ he admires you but only for a short moment because it had gotten so cold that you were trembling in your place and once you got dressed and cleaned yourself as much as you could you both returned back to Eddie’s car.

‘’No, sit on top of me.’’ he protests as you sit in the passenger seat but soon wiggle yourself on him. He encloses his arms around you, squeezing you so tight before he kisses you again. 

‘’We probably could’ve fucked here.’’ he raises his eyebrows, observing his car that was clean for once

‘’But we didn’t because you wanted the whole Hawkins to know that we were having sex.’’  you joke back

Eddie bites his lip with a grin on his face ‘’Well yeah, I want the whole of Hawkins to know you’re mine. That this tight pussy milked me so fucking good that I can’t wait to fuck it again.’’

‘’Well too bad that I’m going home after this.’’ you pout your lips and try to get back on your seat but he’s faster than you and brings you back down

‘’Don’t go home Y/n. I won’t be able to fall asleep without you. Not after everything that just happened.’’ 

You ponder for a moment but you knew you were only joking when you said that you were going home. ‘’Will you sing me to sleep? I kinda miss you playing for me.’’

‘’Anything, anything just to make you stay.’’

[a-mere-dream]

hey, I loved your response to my martial god yqy ideas... I've been thinking about this poor loser a lot, happy to talk to a fellow yqy stan!!! I have a theory, narratively speaking, (& mb we can talk abt this elsewhere? email? idek, just tumblr asks are a bit weird & I don't log in here a lot), LBH, YQY and Airplane-bro are like some kinda triangle - when LBH pulls the blankie onto himself, the other two are usually helpless. when LBH gets 'healthy', YQY usually gets to be the idiot ex 1/2

2/2 or worse, a creep. SO imagine YQY touches Shen Yuan for the first time and System is like DING, a failed protagonist halo detected! would you like to switch to an alt power source??? by touch I mean the first scene! not sexual touch! so A-Yuan is stuck looking for the lost original goods soul w a budding protag yqy which makes white lotus binghe's halo power off as the story goes on. also turns out YQY and SJ were supposed to be in a whole OTHER story anyway (like Spicy Chicken and co in Magister, who got cut out and inserted later) I hope this is making sense

(When I tell you I scrambled to get this down as soon as possible --)

Shen Yuan doesn't remember a lot from High School. This is, in his humble opinion, a goddamn blessing. Being a teenager is horrible already, but high school? There has never been a more embarrassing time in his life, even while counting that one time his mom came to visit out of nowhere and saw the drying cover of his Luo Binghe body pillow hanging on his laundry line.

So he has repressed most memories, and is perfectly fine with that. Most knowledge wasn't useful anyway.

Looking at the blue screen of the System flickering in and out of view, Shen Yuan wished he had paid a little more in Chinese class.

“What do you mean Yue Qingyuan is a Protagonist?” Shen Yuan hissed under his breath, fighting the urge to slap the System with his fan. “He can't be a Protagonist! There's Binghe already!” And it couldn't be that Binghe didn't have his Halo, why else would the System break that ceiling beam one time with the Skinner Demon?

[Actually, having multiple Protagonists is a time-honoured choice.] The System tries to inform him. [A Dual Protagonist Narrative is when two characters with different goals have their own unique transformation. The characters might not be in direct conflict with one another --]

“I don't care!” Shen Yuan said. “Look at me, not caring in the least.” He was silent for a moment. “Why Yue Qingyuan? He dies in, like, chapter six hundred.”

[Character: 'Yue Qingyuan' dies in chapter 603 of Book: 'Proud Immortal Demon Way.'] The System says. [Character: 'Yue Qingyuan' dies in chapter 3904 of Book: 'The Last Hope of The Mud-Stained Phoenix'.]

At Shen Yuan's disbelieving silence, it adds, almost reticently, [You're the protagonist of your own life. His story doesn't start and end with Character: 'Luo Binghe'.]

“No, it just ends with him,” Shen Yuan says reflexively. “And don't you quote Mob Psycho 100 at me.”

He fidgets with his fan. “Is this — Is this bad? It doesn't hurt him, does it? Not having enough energy? He looked healthy.”

[In Universe-subsets, in lack of a character designated 'Villain' or 'Antagonist', creators latch on to Character: 'Yue Qingyuan'. It is…] A thin balk blinks in and out, like the words are being typed before his eyes, [… Convenient.]

“And the only endings for those are either one of death, physical pain, or of being so pathetic that everyone is content with their current suffering,” Shen Yuan fills in. He tilts his head and frowns. “That sucks.”

He likes Yue Qingyuan. This bleeding heart of a character; Shen Yuan has always taken him to be no-one to be afraid of. How could Shen Yuan not grow fond of him, when he suffered so much and had done so little to deserve it? Tricked by his awful shidi into protecting him, even dying for him while none of that care was recruited…

“What do you expect me to do about it, though?”

[User 002's actions could result in more of the Protagonist Halo being diverted to Character: 'Yue Qingyuan'.]

“Only by being stolen from Binghe.” That didn't sit right with Shen Yuan.

[… If User 002 diverts enough strength from Character: 'Luo Binghe', there might not be enough weight on the narrative to require him to enter Location: 'The Abyss'.]

Shen Yuan lets out a deep breath. “Well, why didn't you say that sooner,” he scolds. Now he had to do it, if only to save Binghe from ever going through that! As long as he made sure Binghe kept enough power to survive any attempts on his life, then surely there would be no harm in this?

* * *

And then he goes on a whole quest to give Yue Qingyuan a satisfying ending, making his story more enjoyable to read so he can attract more fans and through that, more weight on his position as Protagonist. He doesn't know why that has to involve resurrecting Shen Jiu (maybe the story needs a villain? Did Yue Qingyuan secretly resent him? Is that it??) but whoops, now there's necromancy.

I didn't even manage to get into Airplane during all this, sheesh. But holy shit, what a great concept. Luo Binghe hogging the Magical Blanket Of Protagonism.

(And yeah, sure! DM me for my email or Discord, we can take turns screaming over Yue Qingyuan :D)

[yesokaythatsfine69]

Moments in-between

Description: HC's of aot characters that are all kinda madly in love with y/n, if only just in different ways. Aspects of Modern au.

Character(s): Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Marco, Sasha, Connie, Historia, Ymir, Annie, Reiner, Bertholdt, Levi, Erwin, Hanje

POV: 2nd, 3rd

Warning(s):

A/n: I know I said that I was ending my aot works but after the last episode's intense trauma I need some home groan therapy. Also please don't make fun of me for misspelling both Bertolt and Hange's names continually. Enjoy

Word Count: x

Song: lmao listen to everywhere I go by Hollywood undead.

*none of the gifs used are mine, full credit goes to the maker.

Y/n invites the AOT gang to a party.

You looked around for your friends, having foolish lost track of the chaotic group after you paused to hang your coat up. You warned them all to remain close, these college parties tended to get a little wild for your liking, but of course, they were all too stubborn.

"Hey you! I already said that we weren't playing Lady Gaga here!" Your ears prickled, and you turned, seeing Hanje at the DJ's box. You quirked a brow but made a mental note of where she was for later.

You moved on, searching for the rest of your friends. You opened the door to a bathroom, finding several girls hunched over, puking into the toilet, sink, and tub. Erwin was standing in the midst of the chaos, holding their hair as they drunkenly emptied their guts.

"Erwin? We've been here five minutes!" Erwin looked up at your newfound appearance. "Y/n! Quick, I think something in their drinks made them sick, you need to warn the other people at this party!" You met his blue eyes, "What?" He made a motion with his right hand, accidentally tugging on a girl's hair and bobbing her head. "Hey!" She squeaked before puking again. "Hurry, Y/l/n! They may not have much time left."

You rolled your eyes. "Erwin, they're drunk, not suffering from food poisoning." He looked down at the girls. "Really?" You sighed.

Later, you came upon Levi, who had been keeping a practiced eye on Hanje and other various members of your friend group. He had designated himself the designated driver of the group, which was admirable but you made sure not too drink too much either, knowing that there was no way Levi could possibly deal with all of you being wasted.

Reiner had challenged Annie to a drinking game, and was in the midst of losing miserably, whilst Bertholdt silently cleaned up the mess that Reiner and Annie created with their squashed beer cans.

You also found ymir and Historia cheerfully dancing to Poker face, and you marveled at the way the two seemed to be in their own world. You smiled, at the red that dusted ymir's cheeks and at Historia's hand on her cheek. A crash from the kitchen behind you caused you to cringe and jump slightly, before you rushed in.

Not unsurprisingly you found Connie and Sasha at the epicenter of the chaos. Neither were drunk but both were still idiots. A broken dish and what had been cheese fries was on the floor at their feet. "Hey! What'd I say about getting into their food?" You pointed threateningly at the duo. "If we do it don't get caught?" Sasha had a fry in her mouth and big eyes. "Clean this up, I'll go get Levi." "Oh, no don't get Levi!" Connie whined, waving his hands dramatically. "I'm getting him!"

Marco and Armin had found a old monopoly game and had sat down to play it in the dinning room of the house. You found it especially funny at the amount of girls the two had unwittingly attracted, who sat down to play with them.

"Y/n!" You perked up and turned, careful to not spill your drink. Jean smiled at you, his eyes the tiniest bit lidded. "Care for a dance?" You had actually been expecting this, since Jean's flirtiness doubled with the mix of alcohol. "You look hot, y/n!" He gently wrapped his hands around you as the two of you slid onto the dance floor. You laughed, enjoying Jean's wild dance moves. Finally he popped into a Russian dig, "hype me up best friend!" He called, and you whooped until he ran right into Eren.

"You drunk idiot! Hello, Y/n!" Eren glared at Jean, but smiled at you. "Look at this drink I made! It was clear but now it's brown!" Before you could respond, Jean hopped up. "y/n doesn't care about your shit drink!" You sighed as the two began arguing, which slowly developed into a tense dance battle between the two men.

Mikasa had been with Eren, you guessed most likely protectively watching over him. She watched with you, before you smirked and outstretched your hand. Mikasa took it, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

In the soft glow of a living room, you and Mikasa danced together to an old 80's tune, the rest of your friends giving elsewhere. It was a nice party.

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n wears a skimpy outfit

You smiled at yourself in the mirror, tugging gently on your new top. Oftentimes you found it hard to truly appreciate your body, but the corseted top made you feel like a definite hot girl. You wore long black shoes, tight leather pants, dark jewelry. You just looked ready to step on some bitches.

You exited your room, and grabbed your purse, ready to head out with your girls. Eren was sitting on your coach, playing some video game. "Hey we'll be heading out soon so I left some numbers to order pizza for when you get hungry." You turned, digging in your purse for your keys. "Y/n, I'm not a child! I can take care of- holy shit, y/n!" You turned, Eren had dropped his controller, no longer focused on his game. "You can't go out like that! There are men out there!" You smiled and pulled out ur taser, flashing it a couple times. "I know."

Mikasa exited her room from the same hall, entering the living room. "Y/n, you look nice." You smiled and put your taser up. "thanks Mikasa!" "Wait, Mikasa you're going out too?" Eren stood up. "it's girls night out, Eren." You rolled your eyes. "but I wanna go too!" Mikasa opened her mouth but you beat her to it. "No."

The front door opened and Armin entered, his blonde hair flittering in his eyes. "Hey; Eren, Mikasa, and..." A blush erupted onto his cheeks. "Y/n!" His blues casted panicked glances around the room as if he wasn't sure he should make direct eye contact with you.

Eren pointed to his flustered friend. "See!" Again you rolled your eyes. "You look v-very nice, y/n." Armin mumbled before he sat down. "Thanks, sweetie." Armin's face reddened.

Suddenly the front door to the apartment flung open, allowing Jean, Marco, and Connie to enter. They were in the midst of conversation, laughing at a joke Connie had said. "Hey bitch-" Jean's words caught somewhere in the back of his throat as he saw you. His cheeks erupted into fire and he stopped, causing Connie and Marco to slam into him. "Hey!" Connie looked past Jean's frozen position, and smiled knowingly. "Bark, Bark, Bark! Y/n you look a sexy grim reaper!" Jean blinked as you laughed. Connie slid past Jean and made his way to the kitchen, giving the others a greeting as he did so.

Marco smiled at your outfit. "You look so pretty y/n!" Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from happiness and you wondered if you should wear this stuff more often and not just in your dreams. Jean seemed to snap out of it. "You...you...nice, y/n." He managed to get out, not right before Eren made fun of his stuttering.

Sasha exited her room, and to the delight of everyone gave a twirl in her little dress. "y/n! You look very nice!" She may or not have said whilst grabbing your boob. Historia admitted to helping you pick out the fit, and ymir made everyone thank her for her service.

"you should wear this more often, y/n. Or at least less more often." Annie nudged you from behind. You were amazed at her sauveness but also the blush that dusted the tips of her ears.

Reiner and Bertholdt came through the fire escape (because Reiner has been on a "parkour!" Kick recently. But Reiner made sure to call you hot, (effectively pissing off both Jean and Eren.) And Bertholdt simply blushed, quickly agreeing with Reiner.

Finally Hanje, Erwin, and Levi arrived, Levi bringing leftovers from his tea shop. Hanje had squealed and called you "hot!" Erwin was certain you were only wearing a bra and refused to look at you, whilst Levi couldn't take his eyes off of you, but said nothing all the same.

"Well ladies, I hope you all are ready!" Hanje smirked. "Who's riding with me?"

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n gets a tattoo

"So...what do you think?" You stood in front of Hanje, Annie, and Ymir, your shirt raised to your underboob. Hanje clapped excitedly. "It looks great, y/n!" "I like the view." Annie said dryly. Ymir nodded. "yeah it's nice, just don't show Historia."

"Don't show me what?" Historia entered the living room via the kitchen. Immediately her eyes found your tattoo, and she smiled. "lovely!"

The others found the tattoo under different circumstances however.

Sasha had known first, since she went with you to get it originally, having helped you pick out the design. By that I mean, she mainly just agreed with whatever you said but helped you out none the less. Mikasa found out before you were training together, (she thought it looked cool).

Eren found out because he walked in on you in the shower. "Shit! Wait is that a tattoo!?" He would've told you he liked it had you not kicked the shit out of him and lectured him about coming over to your apartment constantly, blah, blah, blah.

Armin found out because you showed him, (and he promptly died a bit) but he also really liked it and you invited him to come get another one with you some time. Maybe, just maybe you had a weak spot for the blonde.

Jean and Connie found out because you sent Marco a snap of it, and they looked at it from over his shoulder. Connie laughed at Jean's sharp in take of breathe and Jean tackled Connie. Meanwhile as they fought in the background Marco sent you a video snap of his response.

Reiner found out via a training session, much like Mikasa. "Why, y/n I never knew what a sly devil you could be!"

Bertholdt knew because Reiner made sure to describe it to him in great detail, knowing that the tall fellow would get flustered.

Erwin was probably told at some point but forgot so anytime he sees in you in a bikini or something skimpy he gets his mind blown.

Levi found out because, you may or may not have sent him a snap (with much different intentions then the one you had sent Marco.) Levi thought it was badass, though.

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n kisses the AOT gang

Yes, you had kissed each member of the gang. For any of these bitches, they could get it, let's be real.

You had given Eren forehead kisses many a time between he and you. This had been pretty random but regardless, it was something the two of you did often.

You often kissed Armin on the cheek, pinching them together whilst you smushed his face and pulled him in for hugs. Really, you loved Armin.

You kissed Jean on several occasions, partially because you weren't one to refuse an offer from an attractive man and also it was the quickest way to fluster the boy. He has the king of talking the talk but never actually walking the walk.

You give Marco and Connie platonic cheek kisses everytime you see each other. They also give you cheek kisses back. Marco also gives hugs!

You blow Reiner kisses all the time because that's exactly what your friendship is.

You give Bertholdt sweet little cheek kisses and he's always a blushing mess afterwards.

You give Erwin goodbye kisses and he always returns them.

You've made out with Levi. His tongue's been in your mouth. Yes, you kiss.

You give Hanje cheek kisses all the time. You seriously love this woman.

You've made out with Annie too. You also give her kisses on her neck just to hear her giggle.

You and ymir don't usually kiss, but you and Historia kiss each other's cheek.

You've kissed Sasha smack on the lips before, and you two cuddle all da time.

You give Mikasa forehead kisses because touch isn't necessarily her love language but you know when she needs it.

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n gets into a fight

You don't get in trouble, like ever. You're reliable, kind, level headed. However sometimes you come across a Titan of an issue and need your friends to rally behind you.

Historia will get into an argument for you, but she isn't scary at all, nor is she very powerful when it comes to muscle might.

Mikasa will kill a bitch for you. Straight up. She may not always show it outright but she loves you.

Ymir would video tape the ass whooping of whoever dares to cross you until they tried to come after Historia. Then she's seeing red.

Annie would laugh at whoever is trying to fight you. She won't step into the fray directly until you need her though, she trusts you do take care of it.

Eren doesn't care if they haven't even thrown a punch if they even say a damn thing that he doesn't feel you deserve he will start the fight. He has no self control. He's an aries.

Jean will also fight for you. He'd be a hundred percent more levelheaded about the problem but he won't let you take shit.

Connie will at first be confused and then pull his signature "bruh" face. He'll be the one that takes the phone from Ymir after Historia gets involved.

Sasha will try to protect you the best she can. She doesn't want you hurt so she'll probably grab a spoon as a weapon and charge.

Reiner is just trying to vibe and then suddenly he's pulled into an all out war. Sigh. But at least it's for you.

Hange will find this all very funny, but she'll help out in between snorts.

Erwin will just stand there looking at your antagonist dead in the eye with the slightest raise of his brow. That's the end of it all.

Armin will go all manipulative bestie on however is bothering you.

Levi merely get in between you. He may be short but nothing scare him and he's literally willing to kick some ass if need be.

Bertolt would just take you somewhere else. Yes he's super annoyed and upset at this person, but he has better things to do with his time.

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n gets a dog

To be honest, you'd wanted a pet for a long long time. Living closely with seven other women- and essentially nine men, had made that prospect rather slim, until one day approximately four months ago when you dropped the question.

The response was rather positive, so you carefully crafted a schedule and supplies.

The little puppy had been the runt of the litter, but that didn't bother you one bit (your not so secret infatuation of a certain 5'2" raven haired fellow solidified that.)

You were the first person to arrive home that day, and when you did you hurried to get the house puppified.

Bertolt came by early that day and was the first to see the puppy. At first he wasn't so sure about the little rascal. It seemed so hyper, a little too hyper, actually. But then, it licked him and he fell in love. He actually completely forgot you were even there he was so enthralled.

Levi came by with takeout, and much like Bertolt he wasn't sure about this creature. He'd always been more of a cat person, but even then he wasn't exactly an animal person. Just too messy. But for your sake he pat the pup on the head. (And to both your and bertolt's shock the puppy began to follow Levi around.

Armin loved the puppy. He immediately scooped it up and sang to it. You had never seen the blonde so happy as he cooed over the little Beasty. He raised it up into the air and swung it until Levi yelled at him for waving the animal over the takeout.

Erwin seemed a bit indifferent to the dog, almost as if the animal had just always been there. He did make sure however to share his food with it.

Hange tickled the poor animal savagely, vowing to buy it a sweater for the winter. You told them they didn't have to, but they refused. "What's a godparent for?"

Sasha vowed to help feed it and promised it that she would only buy it the best food possible.

Marco adored the tiny thing. "have you named him yet?" He had asked while lovingly scratching behind it's ears. "he looks like a sugar...or a Coco?"

Connie immediately sat down and started playing with newly named Sugar. "Connie! You're getting Sugar too riled up." Levi warned, but right then Connie was attacked by the tiny pup, and despite the small size of the dog the sheer force almost knocked Connie over. "Tch, idiot."

Jean was the first to take Sugar for a walk and you joined him. Together the two of you laughed at how cute Sugar looked as he bounced around in the grass. You made sure to have Jean clean up after him though, don't worry.

Sugar immediately fell asleep on Eren who threatened anyone that would dare touch or wake up him. Eren was extremely content with this little ball of joy.

Annie wasn't really excited for the puppy but she did promise to train Sugar when it was time, so there's that.

Ymir tried to act similar to Annie but Ymir is a total dog person, and after a bit she scoped up Sugar and put the sleeping pup on her own lap.

Mikasa was just happy everyone else seemed happy. She did sit by ymir though so she could get a few good pats in.

Later that night Historia grabbed the puppy and took him into her room, which she shared with Ymir. Really this puppy wasn't yours, it was everyone's.

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The AOT gang goes to a concert

You pulled into Eren's hand practically dragging him through the crowd. "That's the last time I'm letting you lead us anywhere, Eren!" He groaned behind you. "I thought the sign said Row one, it was an honest mistake!" You shot him a dangerous glare. "It was a sign for the bathroom!"

Finally you met up with your friends, who were all already comfortably seated, waiting for the concert to begin. "Hey guys sorry we're late, we had some...sign trouble."

You and Eren found your seats, "Good news is if anyone wants to know where the bathrooms are.." you elbowed your brunette friend.

When the concert began, it was immediately pretty damn hype. You and Jean clasped hands and danced together, shouting out the lyrics to the first song at the top of your lungs.

At the second song and Sasha took orders for food, and grabbed some grub. As you waited in the unnecessarily long line you pulled her into a hug and took a quick picture.

When you returned you stood by Reiner, but some big headed bastard had moved in front of your spot. So you climbed into Reiner's shoulders and screamed at the stage from your pretty impressive view.

Connie dared you to throw your bra on stage, but didn't actually think you'd do it. His face, and literally everyone around you, was priceless. In fact, you got a round of applause.

Hanje was video tapping about 90% of it, but they often drapped a hand around your shoulders and pulled you into the video, the two of you singing along to the musicians voice.

You and Levi held hands when a soft song came on, him pulling you into his chest at just the right note. You dipped your head into the chin, enjoying the soft thud of his heartbeat against the deep bass of the speakers. It was nice.

You face timed Bertolt, who unfortunately couldn't attend because he had "work". He enjoyed the concert better from that angle anyways.

You and Historia took a ton of pictures! So many! Some weren't even in focus! But you two didn't care!

Marco grabbed his phone light every chance he got and kept accidentally flashing it in people's eyes. He got you like seven times.

Erwin kept complaining that it was too loud, but you literally saw him full on do the sprinkler because he was vibing so hard.

You and Mikasa went to the bathroom together, and you forced her to take a picture with you. You also got lost on the way back but Mikasa helped guide you back. What would you do without her?

When you returned you ran into ymir and Historia dancing together, laughing and giggling. Damn them and their happiness.

After the show you and Armin went and met the people you watched and got a picture with them. They kept referring to Armin as your boyfriend so in the photo he looks like a tomato. He swore you to secrecy.

On the way back to the apartment you switched riders with Hanje so that she could take Eren home and you could just take Annie back to the apartment you shared. The whole way back you just let loose in the car. Annie could be very loud when with people she trusts entirely.

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Y/n flirts with the AOT gang

Unfortunately for you y/n you're not the sad drunk, clumsy drunk, dancer drunk, you're the flirty drunk. I guess there are worse things, though. These are the times when drunk you has flirted with your friends and their reactions.

One time you got blasted at a work party and Eren had to come drive you home. He was shocked at first, but he truly does care about you and is also the most oblivious person ever so he was just like "okay."

Annie was super confused at first, but she actually really liked the attention. She'd never admit that to you though. So she just kinda bumped shoulders with you and almost knocked you down, had she not caught you.

Jean actually almost shit himself your flirting flustered him so bad. But he realized that you were drunk and immediately lifted you up and took you home.

Armin blushed, squeaked, and giggled. He knew you were drunk but he just couldn't help it. He helped you to bed and you fell asleep next to each other.

Sasha took you out to eat immediately after you said you wanted to go on a date with a hot babe like her, because she just needs one reason to go get something to munch on. It helped sober you up and when you puked she held your hair. Besties.

You did have a line though and you never actually flirted with Historia or Ymir but Ymir always took videos of you drunk and Historia always made sure to help you to bed. Those two were your constant watch dogs though when you were having fun.

Reiner "pretends" to go along with your flirting. He really just likes it because your hawt. "oh really? Tell me more about my eyes." He does however makes sure no one messes with you and always makes sure you get home safely.

When you get drunk around Mikasa the Ackerman always just pats you on the head. Sometimes though she makes fun of you.

Whenever you flirt with Connie hes also drunk so he flirts back. The two of you are the most chaotic drunk duo though and always end up breaking shit.

Erwin tells you to stop. "Stop that y/n, it's weird." But he's always blushing when he says that and he acts like a parent. "No, no more tequila!"

Hange will literally just have fun with drunk you. She'd vibe and even give you her glasses.

Marco would think it's really funny, but he'd stick with you for as long as he needs to to make sure you're okay and then he'll take you home.

Levi will look so annoyed and so done but he'll blush and wrap his fingers with yours. Much like Jean, he'll try to take you home as soon as possible. He gets jealous way too easily for this and often he'll stay the night with you.

Bertolt's brain literally melts. Reiner has to drag him away from you. You've broken the poor man.

--------------------------------------------------

They walk in on you changing

Annie- She opened the door and come in without even paying attention, realized you were essentially naked when you squealed. She rolls her eyes, and mutters "look the door next time," but that's a mental image she'll be keeping for a while.

Armin- he doesn't even allow himself a second peak, immediately putting his hand over his eyes. "Oh! I'm so sorry y/n! I-i-yeah!" He practically runs out of there faster than lightening.

Bertolt- He freezes, and you have to push him out. His brain dies and he stands outside your door for several minutes still trying to process.

Connie- he doesn't even notice you, but when you yell at him he simply turns and farts at you.

Eren- "If you were changing why didn't you lock the door?"

Erwin- "I'm sorry I thought this was the bathroom. Did you get a new book shelf?"

Hanje- She comes in, sees that your changing and puts a hand over her eyes, continuing to tell you what she wanted.

Jean- he puts his hands on his hips and smiles, "you knew I was coming, didn't you?"

Levi- he doesn't really care and neither do you (nothing he hasn't seen before) but he doesn't make sure to shut the door and wrap you on the head. "you have a lock, brat, use it."

Marco- opens door. "Whoops." Closes door. "Sorry y/n!"

Mikasa- "hey y/n," just continues.

Sasha had half a donut in her mouth when she walked in on you and then immediately it fell from her mouth when she turned and saw your body. she blinked and quickly bent over, grabbing her donut and covered her eyes, but only partially.

Reiner- "Hey, y/n I- Woah! Nice ra-" you effectively cut him off by throwing a shoe at his face.

Historia- "Oh! Sorry sweetie, you're so pretty, oh my goodness!"

Ymir- after storming in she proclaims, "Historia saw you naked, I have to kill you now."

--------------------------------------------------

They find you crying

We all have those days, and this is when they find you having one.

Ymir found you in the your bedroom, completely bundled in blankets with the lights shut off. She notices that you've been crying because your sniffing loudly, but says nothing about it. "Hey, Y/n, do you have the wifi password?"

She'd leave, but tell Historia, knowing Historia is better suited to check on and deal with helping you. Historia will walk in and raise her hands, in an open hug. You'll wordlessly scootch over and allow her to slide in beside you and gently pull you into her grasp.

Sasha heard you crying and grabbed her comfort snacks, a blanket, and the puppy. All of which she carried into your bedroom. The two of you would sit, eat, and watch some comfort shows. "it's the best medicine!"

Reiner saw your car parked outside the apartments and thought he'd knock on your car window. When he got up to your window though, he noticed the tears that were streaking down your face. He'd immediately climb into the other side of the car, hopping into the passenger seat. You're shocked, having not even noticed him hanging outside your car to begin with. "Uh, Reiner?" "So," he buckles up. "Who did it?"

Mikasa could hear you crying when she was up late at night, (your door had been open a crack.) So she grabbed some ice cream and two spoons, and wordlessly walked into your room. She said nothing and didn't press you for information, and the two of you shared Sasha's favorite ice cream.

Marco witnessed you go full on break down mode after a ROUGH day and immediately gave you the greatest pep talk known to man. You were so amazed at his genuinely kind words you stopped crying, but Marco had become so touched that he had started.

You had actually went to Levi's apartment, and sat with him. He made you tea and listened silently as you told him about what had happened and how sad you felt. He didn't press any advice on you or dry your tears with grandiose words, but he genuinely listened and acknowledged your feelings. Then you cuddled, and it was more than enough.

Jean said something flirty to you and for one reason or another it set you off and tears were aflowing. At first he panicked because he thought he made you cry. When he realized it wasn't him, he gently brought you into him and held you as you cried into his shirt. Finally you looked up at him and he wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, "Would sex make you feel better?"

You called Hanje and told what happened after a particularly rough day, so she and moblit went and grabbed you some takeout and spent the day with you. They even took you to egg the offenders house. Revenge is sweet.

Erwin thought you were sick, so he left after finding you crying in your room, bought you soup, made it and just acted like you were sick. You didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

Eren saw you crying and then flicked you in the head and promptly left. You were stunned, but also found it funny and confusing, so you stopped crying.

Connie facetimed you and by the end you weren't crying because you were sad, but because Connie's really fucking stupid.

Bertolt noticed you were in your room for a while so he checked on you. He gave you a hug and then asked you very nicely to "stop crying."

Armin literally sat his ass down and stayed with you until the two of you fell asleep. He's a top tier friend who cares deeply about your emotional health so he does everything he can to sort you out. He holds your hand, nods, listens, gives you advice, and agrees with you.

Annie calls you a crybaby but she sits down beside you none the less. She doesn't press nor did she speak. But she wants you to know that's she's here in her own special Annie way.

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Thanks for reading! Remember, requests are open!

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

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The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That’s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh —” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We��ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

-

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

[ben-101-rewrite]

Apologizes once again that this took so long. Alien Swarm is a bit of a strange one to work with, and I was trying to figuring out what to keep, what to change, how how to fit it into the series. I decided to have this take place between Alien Force, and Ultimate Alien, as that just worked best for me. I’ve also been working on a few other things, and quite tired recently, lol. So It’s hard to keep up with everything. But, here the rewrite arc is! And I’ll be putting up voting soon for the next one. As always, feel free to ask questions, and let me know what you think! I really do hope people are enjoying my take on Ben 10 and the arcs I’ve rewritten so far!

-Elena’s History-

Elena’s mother died when she was rather young, at the age of four. Her father, Victor Valadis, did his best to both raise his daughter, and work his job at the Plumbers as a scientist/researcher. Because of her father working a lot, Elena became rather independent while growing up, and as she got older started putting in hard work herself to help her and her father.

Around 13-14 years old, she started to work under her father and became his apprentice for the plumbers. Thankfully, because of the omnitrix, Ben and villains like Vilgax’s events on earth during that one summer, earth has been making official full fledge plumber bases. This meant that not only could Victor finally work closer to home, but so could Elena.

However, because of how hard her father worked during her childhood, no mother figure in her life, and becoming independent and pull so much of her own weight as a kid, Elena deep down is depressed and unsure with her life. She hasn’t really put herself first, and didn’t get to do a lot of things that she could of as a child. Her dreams, desires and wishes nothing more than a thought in the back of her head. Her even becoming a Plumber was more so for her father, to help him and ease his own work, and because it made him happy to see his daughter following in his footsteps. And while Elena never said anything, deep down she’s not happy with her life.

During the Highbreed war, when she’s around 15-16 years old now, she finally meets Ben Tennyson. Working with the Plumbers to figure out the Highbreeds’ plans, Ben noticed Elena during her work hours, catching his attention when seeing a human teen like him working for the Plumbers. Bridging a connection, Ben started to chat with Elena, and while she was unsure at first, she slowly opened up to Ben, eventually meeting Kevin, Gwen and the whole Plumber squad. 

During the Highbreed arc, Elena helps the gang out from the sidelines, though isn’t an official member of the alien force squad. She provides them research and knowledge on things they request help from her, and she’s happy to help, especially since them being around makes her a little less lonely. 

She starts getting particularly close with Ben, who hangs out with her the most, helping her unwind and feel like a normal teenager finally. However, because of this, and her lack of socializing she’s had for years, she starts to develop a sort of crush on Ben. But it’s hard to tell if this is because she genuinely loves him, or loves the fact that he was the first person to make her feel young, free and alive for once. Because of her conflicting feelings, and knowing Ben has a girlfriend that he’s mentioned, she keeps it to herself.

She does still stay friends with him, and the others, helping out with both the Highbreed stuff, and eventually the return of Vilgax. But despite her trust in them, and her father doing his best to make it clear he wants her to be happy, she still hides a lot of her true feelings. Thinking it will eventually go away.

-Alien Swarm Movie-

After the Vilgax Return Arc is over, Ben is now left with a new watch, the ultimatrix, and is spending some time testing it out. The Plumber Kids are also now off world for a while, being sent by Max to do some more specialised training elsewhere. 

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, some Plumbers are checking out a plant that they received an S.O.S from a few days ago, but when they arrive the inhabitants seem to be fine, though acting a little off, urging the Plumbers to leave rather quickly. Unknown to them, the planet has already been infested with the nanochips, controlling everyone, though whoever is pulling the strings is unknown.

Not seeing anything wrong though, the Plumber squad leaves, not realising a nanochip queen is planted on them. Though it doesn’t activate right away, seeming to wait until they reach a new planet. 

This Plumber squad is sent to earth afterwards, as they’ve been wanting to tighten the security of the planet a little more after both the Highbreed and Vilgax tried invading it. Once they land, they are scanned to make sure nothing on them will cause problems, but the queen is detected and taken away to be looked over. Victor ends up being the one put in charge to figure out what this thing is.

While doing so, many of Victor’s coworkers simply believe the nanochip to be some piece of tech that isn’t online, not seeing the harm in it. However, one night while alone, Victor realises that the chip is indeed alive in a way, awaking up suddenly before striking, hopping right into Victor before he can call for help. The queen takes control of his mind, latching on as it starts its plans. 

Victor returns home that night, Elena noticing something off with her father, but when she goes to check on him in the morning, he’s gone. Worried, she tries to figure out what happened, even checking out his lab in the Plumber base, only finding his research notes on the chip and nothing more. She tells the Plumbers, who send out search parties, but there is very little they can do. Elena tries to argue that it must be the chips, but with very little evidence no one believes her.

After two days and finding nothing, Elena feels hurt and upset that the Plumbers aren’t listening to her, so she runs off to find Ben. She locates him in the middle of one of his normal hero time moments with Gwen, Kevin, and even Julie. After doing their thing, they sit down and listen to Elena, and are quick to agree in helping her find her father. 

On the way back to the Plumber base, Elena and Julie officially meet. Julie is friendly, though Elena isn’t sure how to feel, jealous deep down as she watches Ben and Julie interact with one another. But she puts on a smile, knowing its dumb to feel that way towards Julie.

Once they’ve arrived they meet up with Max, explaining to him the situation. Feeling bad for Elena, and agreeing that something is up, Max agrees to pull some of his own strings with the Plumbers to help find her father, and make them listen to her concerns. Finally feeling like she is being listened, Elena is grateful, thanking everyone, especially Ben quite a bit.

Gwen ends up suggesting that she uses a tracking spell to find her father, so Elena goes off with her and Kevin to find something of Victor’s to use. Ben and Julie talk for a bit, but when Ship wants to check out the place, and Max wants to talk to Ben alone, the two split for a short while to deal with their own things.

Max talked to Ben about Elena, having noticed her strange behavior towards Ben, and while he doesn’t want to claim any truth, he explains to Ben he suspects Elena might have feelings towards him. Ben, who was pretty oblivious to this, isn’t sure how to feel. Max encourages him to talk to Elena about this before anything bad could happen, though Ben is unsure how to approach such a situation.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Kevin and Elena make it to Victor’s lab, quick to find something for Gwen to use as tracking. As she’s getting the spell up and running, Elena chats with the two, the conversation almost leaning towards Ben, when Gwen speaks up in confusion suddenly, stating that Victor is in the base right this second. Confused, the three rush out to go find him.

Julie and Ship end up being the first to run into him, as Ship detected something strange, following it to a docking station. They see Victor and a few other plumbers, but all acting strange, rather stiff and fake in their mannerisms. Julie tries to leave, but realising she’s caught on to something being strange, Victor suddenly sends a wave of nanochips at her, wanting to control her like he seems to have done with the plumbers with him. However, Ship morphs around her in a suit mode, and protects her from the nanochips, as they can’t seem to damage or control Ship due to his biology. Victor and the controlled Plumbers then open a bunch of containers which were holding many nanochips, that start infesting the base.

Rushing out, Julie calls Ben for help, before bumping into Gwen, Elena and Kevin. She quickly explains what just happened, the team seeing the nanochips approaching, as they run back to the main hub, trying to warn everyone. Alarms start going off, but due to the nanochip’s powers and small size, they can’t seem to be stopped, infecting every Plumber one by one. The team eventually meet up with Ben and Max, but get cornered by the little bots and mind controlled Plumbers.

As they fight, they sadly lose Max to the nanochips, but no one else thankfully. It appears that Kevin and Gwen can not be infected, most likely due to their Anodite and Osmosian biology (which is too strange and complicated for the chips to infest), Julie is protected by ship, the Ultimatrix deflects the nanochips as it sees them as a danger, though it also seems to be partly glitching due to the nanochips, and Elena seems to be safe as her father is somehow fighting the nanochip just enough to keep her protected, for now anyway. 

The group manages to narrowly escape, heading to Kevin’s garage to keep safe. Taking a moment to catch their breath, they debate on what to do next. They realise it won’t take long for the nanochips to start taking control over Bellwood, or the other cities around them, and based on what Julie saw, they realise that they’re using Plumber ships to infect other places around the world. When they try using their Plumber badges, or other forms of communication, it appears that the nanochips have found a way to block out most signals on the planet, meaning they can’t even call for help outside or inside of earth. 

It doesn’t take them long to realise that this is their plan, to infect the earth, control everyone, and make it seem like to the galaxy that everything is fine once they are in total control. Though they don’t quite know who is pulling the string, believing it to be the queen inside Victor, based on the notes they got from his lab.

Thanks to Ship, they actually caught one of the nanochips, and use some of Kevin’s stuff to get a better look at it. They learn that they are a hybrid of organic and technological components, though all but the queen are drones, and merely do as she tells them. With that in mind, they realise they have to destory the queen in order to stop this whole thing. But how, they do not know, as they do not want to kill Victor. 

While this is happening, Ben takes a look over the watch, which is still partly glitching, but is calming down now that they are clear of any nanochips. Though he does take notice that it is still scanning something, perhaps DNA, but that confuses him as he hasn’t been around any new aliens yet. Thinking that the Ultimatrix is just busted, compared to the original watch, Ben doesn’t think about it too hard at the time.

Noticing Elena’s distress over her father, and all that just happened, Julie sits and talks with her, trying to help her stay calm and briefly take her mind off of things. Elena does appreciate it, though does make a passing comment saying she can see why Ben picked her, which slightly confuses Julie, but she doesn’t say anything.

Knowing they can’t sit around for long, they start to form a plan. Kevin and Gwen plan to stay behind and study the chip they have, to see if there is a means they can stop the Queen without harming Victor. Elena originally wanted to stay and help, but the group decided it would be best for her to go with Julie and Ben to help capture Victor and bring him back here, as her connection to her father might help give them the edge they need to stop him.

Though without Kevin to help them drive around, he decides to reveal to Ben a gift he’s been making for a few months now, which is a brand new car. After some joking around, Julie, Ben and Elena head off back to the Plumber base to find Victor. Leaving Gwen and Kevin to go back into researching the nanochips.

Arriving back at the Plumber base, which is now guarded by all the mind controlled Plumbers, Julie, Elena and Ben uses a combined effort to sneak in, without being detected. They eventually track down Victor, who appears to be producing more and more nanochips, that are being shipped out by the Plumbers. Deciding to take a risk, by Elena’s suggestion, Julie and Ben start a commotion as Elena sneaks up to her dad, and tries to knock him out herself (using a knock out chemical she got from her own lab).

Julie and Ben are doing their best to fight all that are mind controlled, though not wanting to harm or kill anyone due to the fact they are still innocent people. Things get tricky though when Max comes in, the nanochip in him trying to convince Ben to stop, making Ben hesitate. Julie snaps him out of it though, and he goes ultimate to help in the fight, but knows he has a limited amount of time before the ultimate power wears off. 

Elena manages to get to her dad, stunning him briefly as he’s clearly fighting the queen’s control to protect his daughter. But unlike Ben, no one can stop her from hesitating, and is knocked back by her father. He manages to call to Elena, telling her to the run, and that he can’t hold it back much longer. Seeing the plan failed, Ben and Julie reach Elena, grabbing her, before they narrowly make it out, failing their side of the mission.

Meanwhile with Kevin and Gwen, they think they’ve found a way to destory a nanochip and not have it damage the host, though it’s rather precise, and they don’t know if it works the same on the queen, nor how to reach it when it’s inside the person. But before they can learn more, the garage is suddenly attacked by random people from the street, no doubt now controlled by the nanochips. Having no choice back to flee, Gwen and Kevin rush to the car and escape, still doing their best not to kill again by mistake.

On the car ride, they realise that a good chunk of earth may already be under control, with how fast the nanochips are working, and looking out on the streets of Bellwood, seeing people mindlessly controlled by the nanochips, its a eerie thing to feel and see. But the two comfort and reassure each other, and are confidence they can do something to save the day.

They eventually run into Ben and the others by chance on the street, cars coming to a halt, before having to keep driving before stopping and dealing with some nanochip controlled plumbers who followed, bringing some tools and weapons with them. They fight them off, and escape somewhere hidden, regrouping to figure out their next step.

After learning Ben’s team could not capture Victor, and Gwen and Kevin stating their findings, the team is stuck, knowing they are running out of time. Until Ben hears the watch go off, stating it has a new alien form. Ben finally realises that his watch has scanned the nanochips this entire time, the process awkward as the watch had to fill in some DNA with his own, as the nanochips have strange biology. Knowing they can use this to reach the queen, the team decide that they will go for a straight fight this time, all together, while Ben strikes the queen directly. 

While getting prepared, Ben and Elena talk alone for a bit. She opens up to Ben that she’s scared, but also reveals more about her childhood to him, and her general feelings of being alone and not doing what she’s wanted to do. After today, seeing how much can go wrong so fast, she realises that if this is how it ends, then she’s thrown her entire life away. Ben connects with her, stating how his childhood had many negative aspects, due to not really having friends as kids, his jealosuly towards Gwen, and even when the watch came, things just got complicated. But he made the best of it, and is still trying, and suggests that once this is all done, she finally starts making choices for herself, and living a life she wants. Ben also goes to bring up the apparent crush she has on him, but drops it quickly, not thinking this is the right time or place to speak about it.

When everyone is ready, they get back in the cars and start driving. Having a feeling, Gwen uses her tracking spell and learns that Victor had moved, no doubt to try and trick the group into thinking he was still at the Plumber base. Instead, he is now at the edge of Bellwood, in an abandoned warehouse, producing the nanochips there.

Arriving, the team ready themselves before diving in, Elena, Gwen, Kevin and Julie causing a distraction as Ben turn into his new alien form, Nanomech. Become small in size, Nanomech flies into Victor to hunt down the queen.

While looking for her, his mind is suddenly assaulted by the queen’s voice, trying to control him due to his nanochip DNA. There’s also something else strange about the connection that Nanomech doesn’t understand just yet, instead fighting the control as best as he can.

He finds the queen, who looks different to the nanochips, but does have a similar spot Nanomech is suppose to target if he wishes to save Victor too. A fight breaks out between the two, the queen still trying to control Nanomech through the whole thing, with the others outside behind swarmed by all the controlled Plumbers.

But Nanomech finally gets the strike in, destroying the queen. Excited, he rushes out of Victor and turns back, seeing everyone suddenly stop, and awaking from their control. Even Max, who Gwen and Kevin find, and Elena rushes over towards Ben to see her father.

But victory is cut short when it’s revealed…killing the queen did leave some damage to Victor. His mind seems to have taken damage, his memories gone, and his behaviour and mannerism shaky and broken. Elena pleads with her father, but he reveals that he doesn’t even know who she is. Breaking down in tears, Elena can only watch as the Plumbers escort Victor out to get help, before being taken away herself. Ben is about to comfort her, but stops, blaming himself for what happened, even if the others try and reassure he did the best he could.

After a couple of weeks, the Plumbers fixing things the best they can, Ben finally checks in on Elena in her lab. Its clear she’s not doing alright, throwing herself into her job, but reassures Ben she’s getting help. She also explains to him that she doesn’t fault him for what happened to her dad, though something in her seems to be conflicted on that. Ben comforts her, letting her know he’ll be here for her, and to take it easy.

After he leaves, she briefly goes to check on her dad, who is being taken care by the Plumbers. His condition hasn’t changed, which Elena is struggling to handle. She goes back to the lab after doing so, looking over the seemingly dead nanochips, including the queen, hoping to find a way to cure her father. However, as she fails to pay attention, some of the nanochips comes to life, infecting her…but start calling her queen, telling her they’ll do whatever she wants. The effect they have on her is fast, her deepest desires quickly coming to the front of her mind.

Meanwhile, Ben meets up with Gwen, Kevin and Julie, explaining his how his check up on Elena went. They tell him to give her some time and space, and that she’ll be fine eventually. Ben agrees, though is still worried. He also explains to them about something he’s been thinking about. Back when the queen tried controlling him, he now realises the reason her mind control felt weird was because it wasn’t her pulling the strings, but rather another voice, someone not on earth, and that this queen was actually a false queen. Whoever is truly behind all this, is still out there. 

[waywardrose13]

Touch of Betrayal

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me

Word Count: 20,538

Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.

Commissioned by anonymous:)

A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Y/N

You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.

The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.

Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”

You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.

No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.

His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me.

As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.

Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.

Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married. 

Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years. 

You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.

Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.

He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm. 

He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.

But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.

As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.

It made you shiver.

The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.

So you obliged.

Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.

Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”

Saints liberate me.

The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.

Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.

You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.

Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.

Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.

Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.

You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always. 

The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-

The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.

Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab. 

Then you two were running.

Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?

Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.

“Faster, Y/n/n!”

You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished. 

You had to die.

But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.

“Faster. Please, run faster!”

Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.

Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.

“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago. 

“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”

Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free. 

“Daddy!”

“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”

You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin. 

“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.

“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”

You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.

“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you. 

“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”

“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.

“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.

Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.

Yourself.

Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.

DEAN

“Screw you.”

Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth. 

“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.

“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”

Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”

Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”

Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother. 

“Children,” Bobby muttered. 

The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.

“You boys up for a hunt?”

Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”

“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.

“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.

Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.

“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”

Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.

Fucking hell.

Literally.

It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.

Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.

If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off. 

No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.

So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.

Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.

Y/N

It had been nearly a week since you escaped.

A week of hiding and traveling.

You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.

Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.

You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.

You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.

For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.

You thought of your father every waking hour.

You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.

You hated it.

You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.

You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.

A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.

That amongst other little things was all you knew.

Being alone was terrifying. 

You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.

A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.

A car.

You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.

“You alright, girl?”

His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.

“Miss?”

You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.

“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”

Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.

“I…”

“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”

Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.

Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.

“What is it?” He asked. 

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.

It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.

Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.

Water suddenly splashed over your face.

Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife. 

You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead. 

“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”

“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”

“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”

“How?” You asked. 

“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”

You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.

...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...

You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?

Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”

Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.

The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.

“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.

“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”

You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…

“I ran away.”

The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”

You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown. 

“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?

The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink. 

Restraints?... I wonder… 

That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.

As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.

“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said. 

“Call me Bobby.”

DEAN

“Piece of cake.”

Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.

“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”

Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”

“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.

“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”

***

By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door. 

“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”

“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said. 

“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.

“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut. 

Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”

Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”

“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”

A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.

Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.

“What the hell?”

The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it. 

A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”

The brothers stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders. 

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”

“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow. 

“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said. 

Y/N

Bobby was kind.

The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.

“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked. 

“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals. 

“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”

“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”

Bobby simply stared at you. 

“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.

“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”

“Who is ‘we?’” 

You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.

Yes, you could trust him. 

“My coven!”

Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”

“Your what?”

You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”

“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Well… yes,” you said slowly. 

“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.

“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Ever?” He snapped. 

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?” 

You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”

“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”

He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”

“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.

“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”

Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”

He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position. 

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”

You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”

In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.

Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.

There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall. 

Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane. 

It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.

Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.

That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.

Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you. 

You couldn’t escape it. 

“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”

He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.

You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.

When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.

“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.

“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.

“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.

You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.

DEAN

“You think the girl is still there?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”

Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.

The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”

“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.

“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.

“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.

“Hello.”

Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound. 

“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”

“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said. 

“I’m a witch.”

“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.

“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”

“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Bobby-”

“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.

“Fine.”

“Sam!” Dean protested.

“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.

“She’s a witch!”

“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped. 

Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.” 

“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.

Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”

She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”

“And what are you doing?”

“... Riling him up.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?

“A consultant?” Sam asked.

“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”

“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said. 

“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.

“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.

“Y/n?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.

“On a date!”

Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”

“Yeah! Remember Ben?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”

“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”

“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.

“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”

She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.

“How did I not know about this?”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”

“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”

“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

Y/N

Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.

By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.

So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices. 

You loved having the fucking choice.

And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.

He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.

Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you. 

But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.

Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby. 

It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.

You’d try.

***

“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”

You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone. 

And fuck was that awkward.

You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.

“So how’s it been-”

“How do you like-”

You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”

Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.

“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”

“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.

“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”

“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.

“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”

“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.

“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded. 

“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”

You burst out laughing. 

Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest. 

“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.

“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”

Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”

That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

DEAN

“You like her.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.

“Winchester.”

“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.

“You.”

Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”

“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”

“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?

“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”

“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”

Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”

Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.

Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly. 

“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”

Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”

She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”

He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump. 

Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling. 

“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”

They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.

Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.

She was weird but he liked it.

Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.

And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.

“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…

Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.

Did he like her?

He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.

“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.

At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.

Sam.

He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Not Sam.

Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”

“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”

“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”

“You sick son of a bitch.”

“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”

“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-

“Dean?”

Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”

“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled. 

“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”

“That’s enough.”

The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”

“Which is?”

“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”

“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”

Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.” 

“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”

“No.”

“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”

“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”

She. Home. 

Who was he talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What do you want?”

Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”

Y/N

“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.

“I know it wasn’t great but-”

“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.

“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”

Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”

“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”

Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.

You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen. 

“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.

“I need your help,” he said. 

“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused. 

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you. 

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”

Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.

“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”

***

You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.

Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.

The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.

He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.

The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.

“Where’s Sam?”

Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.

She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!

That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.

“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”

You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.

You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate. 

“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”

You made a run for it.

You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.

You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull. 

That only made him angrier. 

He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.

He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.

“What?”

“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”

Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”

“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”

Ouch.

“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”

His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.

His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”

He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.

DEAN

The compound was deep in the forest. 

Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.

That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.

“The girl.”

Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk. 

He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.

And now?

Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much. 

How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.

That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again. 

He would always save Sam.

He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning. 

A promise.

He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.

The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”

“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.

“We have some… unfinished business.”

It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.

“Let Sam go.”

Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.

“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.

Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.

Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.

“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”

With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”

Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.

Y/N

“You traitorous bitch!”

Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.

Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.

Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.

You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.

And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.

“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.

There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.

So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.

Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper.

You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.

That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.

Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness. 

You gave up.

You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.

DEAN

“Dean.”

Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.

“Dean.”

He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.

Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.

The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…

No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.

If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.

“Dean, goddammit!”

He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.

Which, Dean thought, he probably was.

Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing. 

“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless. 

“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”

Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.

“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”

“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean. 

Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”

“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so. 

“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”

He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.

Y/N

As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror. 

You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.

The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody. 

A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it. 

The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.

They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual. 

As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.

So you just counted.

And counted.

And counted.

Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.

“Keep an eye out.”

“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”

“Real mature, Dean.”

“Thank you.

“Shut up.”

“Hurry up, Sam.”

“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”

“You know what? Move.”

Holy shit. Was that-

There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.

“Shit.”

Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?

His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.

“God, Dean- look at her back.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.

“Y/n-”

“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well. 

“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”

“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”

“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”

“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”

You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.

“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.

Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.

Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.

You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.

Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.

He was going to stand by and watch you die.

You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.

“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.

“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing. 

“Bobby, start it!”

“Holy mother of-”

“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.

“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.

“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.

DEAN

Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.

Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.

Dean didn’t blame her. 

The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”

Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”

Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”

“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.

“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”

“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”

Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study. 

It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.

Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.

Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.

“How are you feeling?”

Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.

“What do you think?” 

Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.

“Bobby, would you mind-”

“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Dean said.

“I trusted you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish. 

“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”

She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek. 

“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed. 

“Go back to hell, Dean.”

Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.

Go back to hell, Dean.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”

“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”

“Y/n-”

“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.

Y/N

“Please be careful.”

Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago. 

Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.

It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you. 

Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.

The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.

“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.

Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.

“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”

Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone. 

So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.

Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”

You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”

Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”

***

Two months later

“Another?”

The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.

“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one. 

The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”

You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”

He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously. 

You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.

But the scars hadn’t faded.

“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”

He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.

Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”

Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”

“No.”

“Y/n, come on.”

“No, Sam.”

“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”

“What about Bobby?”

He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”

Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”

Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”

“-Differences!-”

“But we could really use your skill. Please?” 

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”

“Are they working?”

“... Maybe.”

“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.

You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”

“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”

“Whatever.”

DEAN

“Is she coming?”

Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.

“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”

“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”

“Because you lo-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.

“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.

Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.

Regardless, Dean was going to try.

***

Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.

Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.

Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.

“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table. 

“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”

Y/N

The hunt went by smoothly.

It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.

“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.

“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”

Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.

He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.

A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.

Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.

“You’re doing what?”

“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.

“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I said go back to hell!”

“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.

Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.

***

Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.

There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt. 

You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.

Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”

You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.

“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”

You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.” 

He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”

“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”

You continued to stare at him silently.

“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours. 

“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.

“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”

Dean pulled back from you.

You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock. 

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”

You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.

“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he told you. 

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”

“Look at me,” you echoed. 

“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly. 

“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips. 

When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop. 

But you didn’t.

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”

You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.

“Patience, baby.”

You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.

“Jesus, Dean!”

He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.

“Dean!”

He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.

You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.

“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”

He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”

You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.

“Take off your shirt.”

You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.

“No, I don’t want to.”

You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.

“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”

You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.

He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.

“Do you want me?”

He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”

You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”

He snapped.

He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.

He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out. 

“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.

“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure. 

“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”

“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”

He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.

You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.

He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.

This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.

He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”

You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.

“I know, Dean.”

He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.

“I love you, too.”

[allthatyoulove]

hi babe. okay can you can i request steve rogers x reader where they are friends, like really really close friends and it seems like they are dating and steve gets jealous of someone from team with prompts 29 and 22. i was thinking about it all day, thank you

All the While

Steve Rogers / Reader

Prompt #22: "That is the dumbest thing you have ever said."

Prompt #29: "I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago."

Summary: You’ve been close with Steve for a long time and have managed to hide your feelings. Steve’s feelings for you, on the other hand...

Includes: kissing, light angst, fluff

Words: 3k

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, as always love <3 I hope you enjoy, let me know if anyone gets what movie I reference ;) (The avengers loving movies is important to me as you can tell). Please check out my prompt list! You can request as many prompts as you’d like! Hope you enjoy the story! Feel free to leave any feedback and please let me know of any warnings or errors I missed, thanks for stopping by :)

--

“Okay now it’s just not fair.” I huffed, crossing my arms and trying to catch my breath.

“You’ve never complained before, c’mon get over here.” Steve said, motioning me over with his hand. He was out of breath and sweating as well, but not nearly as much as I was. I groaned, putting my hands back up and swinging at him again. He easily dodged it, grinning behind his gloves. My arms felt heavy, and I got distracted by the sound of the training room door opening. I turned my head, seeing Bucky walk in, in a tank top and tactical pants. He waved at me, smiling. I gave him a nod of my head and smiled, turning back towards Steve.

Steve was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked between Bucky and I. I stood there staring at him, waiting for him to get back in position. I laughed at his dramatic staring, signalling with my hands to get back into it. He slowly raised his hands once again, putting the focus mitts up. I tried to get back into the rhythm, going through our drills. I could feel my punches getting lighter and lighter, until eventually I was throwing very pitiful punches. Steve eventually let his arms fall, looking at me with his brows furrowed.

“What’s going on with you? Where’s your head today?” He asked, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with his shirt. I sighed, starting to take my gloves off.

“I don’t know,” I groaned, “I just can’t focus today.” He continued to look at me, tilting his head in question. I focused on my gloves, not wanting to look up at him and start confessing everything.

I couldn’t focus because my mind was… elsewhere. More specifically, rethinking last night. The avengers have had the weekend off so far, and so we’ve all been hanging around the house together, enjoying the company. So, Steve decided to watch a movie in my room- like we usually do. Although, last night, it was different.

~~~

The screen turned black, the credits starting to roll. My mouth was wide open in shock at that ending. I turned around to Steve, seeing his angry expression towards the tv.

“Well what kinda ending was that?” He asked, motioning towards the screen with his arm.

“What are you talking about? That was the best possible ending!” I laughed, putting some popcorn in my mouth. He looked at me, smiling before turning back to the tv.

“I don’t get it.” He shook his head, smiling as he looked between me and the screen.

“He froze to death, so he’s one with the hotel now! Y’know, symbolism and all that.” I said, laughing at the confused look on his face. He started laughing with me, his hand falling over mine that was resting on the couch. My laughter died down as I looked at him. Our eyes met as I held my breath.

I’ve had a crush on him for the longest time. I’m just so scared I’ll ruin our friendship. If I lost him, I wouldn’t know what to do. We’ve known eachother so long, I can’t risk losing him.

I cleared my throat and looked away, seeing that the popcorn bowl was empty. I moved my hand out from under his, holding the popcorn bowl with both. I excused myself by going into the kitchen to put the bowl in the sink. I had to calm down the blush that was starting to spread through my face. I sighed as I placed my hands on either side of the sink, feeling overwhelmed by that small bit of contact. We’ve always been touchy with each other, that’s the kind of people we are. With this crush that keeps getting more intense, however, I can’t help but read into it, trying to make it something more.

I took my time out there, deciding to wash the dishes everyone had left in the sink. I needed to take some time to think. I should’ve thought about what I was going to say to him when I went back to the room, but I found myself reminiscing on all of our memories together. On how happy he made me. I smiled as I finished washing the last dish, turning the kitchen lights off. My heart started to beat faster as I walked closer and closer to my room.

I turned the lights off behind me as I went down the hallway, making it to my room.

“So should I explain the end-” I began, stopping halfway through my sentence and opening the door. The tv was back on the streaming service we got the movie from, waiting for another movie to be played. Steve was asleep, breathing softly with his back to me. The blankets were pulled just above his elbows as he held a pillow in his arms. I smiled to myself.

Of course he fell asleep.

Steve and I had movie nights extremely often, but he usually went back into his own room after each one. No matter how late it was. So finding him asleep in my bed was as shocking as it was endearing.

I quietly turned the tv off before going into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and heading to bed next to the super soldier. I gently pulled open the covers, laying down as slowly as possible so I didn’t wake him. I slept pretty close to the edge, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

How close I was to the edge didn’t matter, however. Especially not when as soon as I turned the light off and settled into the bed, Steve turned around and wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on top of mine. I smiled and held onto his arm, feeling him relax as I did. That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.

~~~

We hadn’t talked since last night, as I woke up to find Steve gone- on his morning run. As soon as I saw him for the first time, we went straight to training. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what it could mean for us.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked, stepping closer to me as he took off his own gloves. I took a second to remember our conversation, on what he was talking about. Talk about it? Last night? My heart sped up before I remembered our conversation before I got lost in thought. I shook my head, throwing my gloves on the ground. Talking about what I was thinking seemed like the worst possible option right now. I didn’t mean to come off cold or dismissive, but there was no way for me to express how I felt without turning things… awkward between us. I walked out of the training room, and back to my room to take a shower.

---

I finished changing into my pajamas, checking my phone. No texts or calls. I was slightly hurt that Steve hadn’t pried, like he usually did when I was upset about something. He hadn’t come into my room or talked to me at all since training this morning.

I’d stayed in my room the entire day, working on pointless papers and tasks. I was planning to continue doing that, until Tony called through the speakers for a mandatory avengers movie night. One that he had a cameo in, specifically. I took a final look at myself before heading out to the kitchen, where everyone was.

Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Steve, and I were the only ones staying in the compound at the moment. They all circled around the kitchen island, performing various tasks. Tony was pouring glasses of wine for everyone, Natasha searching for any type of candy in the huge pantry. Bucky was staring at the popcorn in the microwave, entranced by it. Steve had his back to me, leaning onto the counter with his elbows. Everyone was talking lightly, warm lighting spreading throughout the entire room. I walked up to Steve, softly touching his shoulder as I walked around the island to Tony. I took a glass of wine as he continued arguing with Natasha over which candy was best. I felt Steve’s eyes follow me as he sat up a little straighter. I smirked to myself but went over to Bucky, who was still looking at the popcorn.

“You think it’ll blow up?” I asked him, dramatically painting a look of anticipation over my face. He looked at me, crossing his arms and smirking.

“Ha ha. This is crazy, how this works y’know.” He said, motioning to the microwave.

“Are you stoned, Barnes?” I asked, furrowing my brows. He rolled his eyes at me, pushing me with his shoulder. I laughed at him, walking over to the pantry and asking Natasha for a box of m&ms. She threw it to me over her shoulder, still searching for the candy she wanted. I walked back over to Steve, popping an m&m into my mouth. He was leaning on his hands now, smirking at me as I sauntered over to him.

“What?” I asked as he stared at me with a smile. He looked down at the counter, looking back up at me. I followed his eyes, seeing an assortment of brand new candy boxes. All of my favorites. I gasped, setting my half-eaten box on the counter as I looked at all the candy on the counter. The smile stayed on his face as he watched me examine each box.

“I know this is your favorite part of movie night,” He said, taking a step back so I could take his place next to the counter. I set my hands in the same place his were as he stepped a little closer to me, crouching down so he could set his head on my shoulder. My cheeks flushed as I kept my focus on the candies, my heart hammering in my chest.

“You really know the way to my heart, Rogers.” I replied, picking up the one Natasha was looking for and getting her attention before tossing it to her. She thanked me, taking a glass of wine before heading to the huge couch. I took a sip of my wine, looking up to see Bucky putting the popcorn into a bowl.

“Hey, Bucky, you want some candy?” I asked, gesturing to the candy laid out in front of me. He looked over his shoulder at Steve and I, looking between us for a second before his eyes seemed to catch onto Steve’s. He watched Steve for a second, like he was listening to something he was saying. I turned my head to see Steve’s, but he was just watching the table. I turned back to Bucky, who then pursed his lips in thought before picking one- my favorite one.

“You bastard,” I said playfully, smacking his wrist.

He smiled at me and went to put it back before I shook my head at him, letting him know it was fine. I took another box before patting Steve’s head, nonverbally telling him to move to the couch. He lifted his head from my shoulder, his hand trailing from my upper arm to my hand before dropping it as he walked to the couch. My skin felt as if it was on fire under his touch. I downed the rest of my wine before quickly filling it back up and going over to the couch. The couch was huge, so there was plenty of room. Natasha was lounging on a loveseat a couple feet away, Tony was taking up an entire corner of the couch- using an ottoman for his feet. Bucky was sitting in the corner opposite of Tony, while Steve was directly in the middle of both of them. There was several feet of empty space on both sides of him, so I decided to pick the one between Bucky and Steve. I sat in the middle of them for a second before I scooted almost completely over to Bucky. I stole some of his popcorn as the movie started. We were only a few minutes in when Steve got up, mumbling something about the bathroom. Bucky shifted beside me, clearing his throat.

“You good?” I asked, taking some of the candy he stole from me earlier.

“Yeah,” He said. I turned my attention back to the movie before he whispered to me again.

“Are you and Steve… together?”

I froze, stopping mid-chew. I sat in shock for a second before resuming, finishing my food and answering.

“No. Why?” I asked, looking over at him. He had a confused look on his face, looking back down at the popcorn bowl. He lifted his eyes back to mine after a moment.

“Hm. The group and I just figured, after seeing you guys, y’know, together all the time.”He said before continuing, “And he gave me a death stare in the kitchen when you asked if I wanted candy.”

My eyes widened in shock, freezing once again. My eyebrows then furrowed as I shook my head in confusion. None of this made sense.

“A death stare?” I asked, wanting clarification.

“Yeah. Well- I’m sure it was unintentional, but… it was scary.” He laughed.

I huffed out a laugh, now deep in thought. Why would he be giving Bucky a death stare? As he had his head on my shoulder? And the candy? And the cuddling? Was he trying to prove something, or did he just think we were just that close- just some friends who cuddled occasionally? None of this made sense, yet I was choosing to ignore the most obvious answer.

Does Steve like me?

My heart hammered in my chest and heat started to crawl up my face. I could still feel Bucky’s eyes on me, so I handed the candy back to him as I stood up and excused myself from the group. I heard Tony as I left the room.

“You’d think the people you let live with you would be supportive of your newfound passion for acting!” He called after me. I heard Natasha throw a pillow at him after he finished, everyone in the room laughing it off. I went down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was open, the light off. He didn’t go into the bathroom. I headed the opposite way to his room, seeing the door slightly ajar.

I pushed it open, peeking my head through. Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the contents of a box that was peeking from underneath his bed. They were photos that he was shuffling in his hand. Polaroids.

Polaroids that we would take together whenever we went on a trip. He was smiling to himself. I knocked lightly on the door to get his attention. He immediately threw the photos back into the box, using his heel to kick it back underneath the bed. I smiled internally, remembering to bring that up later.

“You okay?” I asked, walking into the room and shutting the door behind me. He shook his head in dismissal, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah, I’m sorry-”

“No no no you don’t have to apologize,” I said, kneeling down to look up at his face, “What’s on your mind?”

He stayed quiet, clasping his hands together as he sighed. I waited a few moments before speaking.

“Steve.” I said, resting my hand on his knee to get his attention.

He raised his head to look down at me, his eyebrows raising slightly as well.

“Do you have feelings for me?” I asked, holding the anticipation and fear in my eyes. Fear that he would say no, fear that he would say it’s all been in my head.

His gaze switched between both of my eyes, his mouth dropping to talk but no words coming out. He licked his lips instead while he shaked his head, looking down at his lap. My heart dropped.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same, I didn’t want to ruin our relationship.” He said, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees as he put his head in his hands. My mouth was barely open in shock as my focus darted between everything around me. My heart came back up to my chest, beating harder than it ever has before. I broke out into a smile, laughing with delight. His head raised from his hands, looking at me with confusion.

“I think that is the dumbest thing you have ever said.” I said, shaking my head. He looked hurt, his eyes flashing with sadness and rejection. I didn’t have the words to describe what I felt, so I decided to show him.

I raised up to my knees as I took his face in my hands, pulling his lips to mine. I held my breath as our lips met, and I could hear him do the same. I pulled away after a couple of seconds. Steve’s eyes fluttered open, looking between my lips and darting between my eyes.

“What- what was that?” He asked, licking his lips and suppressing a growing smile.

“I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago.” I said, looking between his eyes. I wanted him to know that I felt the same. I couldn’t believe he was in here thinking that I would reject him, that he would ruin our relationship. I had no idea. No idea that we were in the same situation.

He smiled at me, raising his hands to my face, pulling me towards him once again. One of my hands went to his hair, pulling lightly at the roots as we kissed with everything that went unsaid. He held my face delicately, in contrast to the way he was kissing me as if I was something he needed to live. We eventually pulled away, huge smiles on our faces.

“Do you wanna stay with me?” He whispered, his thumbs lightly moving back and forth on my face. The smile on my face wasn’t going anywhere.

“Only if you bring out those polaroids.”

[demonicheadcanons]

Can I get the brothers reacting to finding MCs sketchbook and it’s filled with drawings of the demon who picked it up? All of them are masterpieces and some are angsty or sad, others happy, some just them doing mundane things. When confronted, MC just says “Of course I draw you all the time, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re my muse.” Thank you in advance, if it’s too complicated you can skip.

AN: This cute prompt has been sitting in my inbox for far too long. Thanks for sending this in Nonny <3 I love this idea. I tried to keep each scenario short so I could get this done quickly, as you’ve waited long enough for it. Tried is the key word here ;u;

You’re maybe already dating the boys in these? Or very close? They’re not explicitly romantic but have some affection. I also didn’t make the MC say these exact words, or even anything at all in some of these prompts, but the general feeling is still there. I hope that’s alright!

Lucifer

You left the book behind when studying together, rushing off to meet up with Mammon after you realised you were late and would hear hell for it. He notices it sometime later, too busy relishing on even the short period of time he’d gotten to spend alone with you in relative peace.

He picks it up and, curious, with no worries that you might not really want him to look through it, he flips it open to the first page. He realises what it is right away, and continues to flip through the pages until he gets to a drawing of him. Its such a perfect represention of the moment that he can recall exactly when you must’ve drawn this.

You’d come into his room to have a break from all the noise in the rest of the house, and you had laid on your stomach on his bed and worked away at something as he went through paperwork at his desk. He’d wanted to ask you, at the time, what had you so focused, but he hadn’t wanted to ruin the sight.

He continues to flip through the pages, and frowns slightly for every drawing he sees of one of his brothers, but his lips twitch up every time there’s even a simple doodle of him. He counts, unconsciously, and realises you’ve drawn him more than anyone else. Pride swells in his chest, so very familiar and not at the same time.

He hears the tapping at his door and calls out, immediately, for you to come in. He knows that knock, after all, and you’re one of the few members of the house that he wouldn’t hear coming down the corridor. He leans against the front of his desk, holding your book open in front of him, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d looked through it.

The particular sketch he’s looking at is one where you must’ve been close - you’ve detailed in every long, delicate eyelash, his hair falling in front of his face and his lips slightly parted, only the faintest frown on his face as he focuses hard on his work. He smiles as he tips the book forward, watching as your eyes are drawn to it. To his surprise, you only smile, relieved, raising a hand to your chest.

“Thank goodness, I did leave it here after all.”

You walk over and hop up onto his desk, leaning towards him as you try to see which sketch he’s looking at. He slouches a little more to make you comfortable and shows the sketch.

“You’ve drawn me a lot,” he comments.

“Of course. You’re beautiful, how could I resist?”

He presses a kiss to your temple and rests his head against yours, smiling. He doesn’t often like people commenting on his appearance - he was confident enough about it, knew how he looked, but he didn’t need to hear about it all the time. Still, from you, it didn’t hurt. Especially not if you felt inspired enough by it to draw him.

.

[[Other brothers are under the read more]]

Mammon

Mammon had burst into your room and you weren’t there. Frustrated by your absence and unsure of when to expect you back, he decides to pick through your stuff. He wasn’t going to steal any of it - he’d been called out by Beel about that, before, and whilst he’d denied it at the time he knew it was true. He’d much rather steal something for you than from you.

The book is open on your desk to a page full of mindless doodles. It piques his curiosity, and he grabs it and sits down, kicking his feet up on top of your desk. It wasn’t like you were there to tell him not to, and you’d left without telling him where you were going so he was going to do whatever he wanted until you got back.

He flicks back to the start of the book, and honestly his first thoughts are about how you could easily sell these drawings for a lot of Grimm. Sketches of the Devildom, of flowers and creatures you couldn’t find in the human realm, of how the Devildom looked all lit up with the moon overhead, from the highest balcony in the RAD building. He’s in awe, mouth a faint ‘o’ shape as he continues to turn page by page.

The first drawing of him makes him freeze up. He was a model, Mammon knew he must be handsome. But he’d never felt it like he did now. In the drawing, he’s sitting on the floor, cushion in his lap as he plays some game on a controller. His expression is somewhere between frustrated and delighted, his hair fluffy and messy because he’d been running his hands through it.

He remembers - you’d been having trouble adapting to the Devildom so he stole- borrowed a console from Levi, but you were too tired to play. He played anyway, hoping that at least watching him would distract you enough, and to convince himself that he was in part doing it for him too and not to entertain some random human.

You walk in and he slams the book shut, but its too late - you’ve seen him holding it. You don’t seem mad about that, though, and instead glare at how he has his feet up on your desk. He adjusts quickly, fumbling as he tries to put on his confident act, walking over to you as he waves the sketchbook in the air.

“What’s this, then? You’ve been drawing me without asking me first?” he asks, teasing lilt falling flat in his voice. His face feels far too warm, as it often does when he’s around you.

“I couldn’t help it. You’re so pretty I just had to.” You shrug, nonchalant. You swipe the book from his hand and sit on your bed, tapping the space beside you. “How far in did you get?”

Mammon pouts as he goes to sit beside you. “Not far.” As he sits beside you, he grabs your sides and pulls you to lay down, holding the sketchbook open up in the air. He’s desperate for some attention right now, but he wanted to keep looking at your art. “Let’s look through the rest together.”

.

Leviathan

Levi was flustered. You’d been spending time in his room, and he loved your presence but it took him so long to get used to it each time that you stopped in to hang out with him. You’d brought the book you always had with you, and were working away on something, laying on your stomach on the floor with a Ruri-chan plushie in one arm.

He fumbles with his controller and sighs as he misses yet another jump in the game he was trying hard to distract himself with. Every time he glances over, he wants to ask what you’re doing, why you’re here with him when you could easily do your work elsewhere or with any of his brothers, if you were really happy to just sit in his presence like this. His voice dies in his throat and his face flushes when he catches sight of you, so he never does get to ask.

He’d messed up one too many times and was starting to get frustrated when he glanced over and realised you were looking at him, too. Heat floods into his face, and his frustrations die before he can even mumble out his signature ‘this is so unfair’. You smile, going back to your work before dropping your pencil. You wiggle around until you’re sitting, cross-legged, and hold out your sketchbook.

It was a drawing. You’d been drawing, and you’d been drawing him. Levi leans closer hesitantly, wanting to get a better look at it, trying not to think about how giddy and anxious your proud smile made him feel. He works up the courage to take the book out of your hands and looks over the drawing. It takes a long time before he can say anything, too busy focusing on all the little details - how his face is scrunched up from frustration and concentration, how his headphone cord is coiled around his fingers from when he’d been playing with it and hadn’t untangled it fully, how his head was tilted to stop his hair from fully falling in front of his eyes.

“You... its really good, but, I don’t... I’m not this handsome,” he mumbles, face bright red, and he flinches when you laugh.

“You are. More-so, actually, but its hard to capture from this distance.”

Levi can’t respond, just swallows. You sigh, something fond in it, and walk on your knees until you can fall against his side, cuddling up to the Ruri-chan plushie.

“Look through the other drawings. I only draw what I find beautiful. That’s why I drew you.”

His smile is faint, but its enough. He’s hearing your words, even if they’re hard to process for him. He relaxes and flips back to the front page, ready to look at the rest of your work with you.

.

Satan

Books were commonplace in his room. They were part of the furniture - quite literally, as they were piled up everywhere, even on top of his bed, although he’d made an effort to stop putting them there so long as you were spending time with him, so that you had somewhere comfortable to sit or lay whilst you were reading.

And yet, he always noticed when one was out of place, or when a new book had joined his collection without his knowing. Sometimes this happened because his brothers had found something interesting but weren’t willing to say aloud that it had reminded them of him, or that they bought it because he might enjoy it, so they’d simply popped into his room and added it to a stack. It was normal at this point.

That’s why he didn’t question it when there was a new book left on his bed, and when he didn’t hesitate to lay down and open it up, curious as to what story one of his brothers had left for him this time. Instead, he’s met with drawings. Amazing drawings of the Devildom, of his brothers... and of him.

There are notes, as well, few and far between, that allow him to place this as being your book. He knew that scrawl. He felt guilty to look through your sketchbook without your permission, but now that he’d already opened it, he was too curious to leave it be. He’d be honest about it later and deal with the consequences then, or joke about how you’d been drawing him without his permission so you were equal now.

The drawings were beautiful, more detailed that he’d seen for casual doodles left in a book without being shown to the subjects in them. He takes his time to look over each page carefully, each drawing filling his heart with something foreign, sweet and sticky like berry pie. He spends extra time focusing on each drawing of himself, wonders how and why you’d made him look so soft. It was hard for him to get portraits done as his presence could invoke anger in others and leave harsh and angry lines and brush strokes on the canvas, but clearly he didn’t have that same influence on you - instead, each drawing of him was more delicate than any of the others, like you’d put more effort in.

Satan returns it to you later, a smile on his face. He does apologise immediately, for looking at the drawings without your permission.

“Its alright. I’m just glad you found it for me.” You’re completely cheery, not bothered at all, and Satan sighs in relief.

“You’ve drawn me quite a lot,” he notes.

“Well obviously. I spend the most time with you,” you say, smiling when you catch the faint pout he covers up. That wasn’t what he had expected or wanted you to say, clearly. Nor was it all you had to say on the matter. “Also, you’re very beautiful. I wanted to try and capture that and keep a little for myself.”

He smiles now, content, and pats you on the head. “If you want me around, you only have to ask.”

.

Asmodeus

You’d been working away at something as he picked out an outfit and fixed his hair, and he’d been dying to ask but he just needed to adjust a few more strands first - you were going out to Majolish together and he wanted to look perfect. He always did, of course, but when the two of you were going out together he put in even more effort than usual.

When he finally finishes, he jumps up out of his chair and rushes over to you.

“How do I look?” he asks, beaming, full of confidence as always.

“Fabulous,” you say, reaching out to readjust a few strands of hair that had fallen out of place from his quick movements. He sits down on his bed beside you and pulls you up until you’re sitting beside him, hugging you around your waist.

“What were you doing whilst you were waiting? You looked so focused, it was adorable~” Asmo chirps, looking pointedly at the sketchbook. His eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Wait, is that me?”

You nod, lifting your sketchbook up so that the two of you could see it properly. You’d been drawing him, just little sketches as he flitted about the room doing this and that to get ready. You couldn’t have spent long on each one, and yet they captured him perfectly. He looked elegant in each, determined and beautiful.

You flicked back to the previous page before he could comment, and Asmo’s breath caught in his throat. This drawing was him, it was so brilliant an example of everything that he was. He was looking at you and smiling, and you’d captured the love and admiration in his eyes so perfectly he wondered if this was somehow a photograph.

Asmo tears up and hugs you tighter, burying his face against your neck. You can feel him smile wide against your skin. He stays like that for only a moment before his excitement bubbles up to the surface and he litters your cheek, nose, and forehead with feather-light kisses. He’d do anything for the one who saw him as he was.

.

Beelzebub

Beel had a pretty normal schedule for each day - he’d exercise, go to school, spend time with you and Belphie or his other brothers if they were around and alright with it, and of course, he’d eat quite a lot. You had a good idea of where he’d be throughout the day, and when you had the time for it, you’d accompany him so he wasn’t alone. Whether that meant sitting on the counter as he dug through the fridge, or laying on the sofa with your head in his lap and your feet in Belphie’s, you just liked to spend time with him.

And, a lot of the time, he noticed you had this little book with you. He’d caught you glancing at him many times, but didn’t think anything of it. He glanced at you a lot, too, so maybe it was only to be expected. He’d gotten used to the butterflies in his stomach when you two randomly linked eyes and you grinned, twirling your pencil around in your hand.

A lot of your time was spent together in relative silence, as well, and he was accustomed to hearing your pencil scratch against the paper. But he never asked what you were doing, because if you wanted to tell him you would. He trusted you to do that. And his trust paid off, when you were both watching a show together.

He notices early on that you're paying more attention to him than the screen, and when the episode finishes you tap him gently on the shoulder before stretching out your wrists. He looks to you, tilting his head in curiosity until you hold the book open in front of him.

It was a drawing of him, focused on the screen, odd lighting casting shadows against his form. He had something in his hand, some sort of food, but you’d put more attention into actually drawing him. So much attention that he was sure no matter how long he looked, there would always be something more to notice.

“Its me?” he asks, unsure lilt in his voice. He looks bashful, like he’s done something wrong. “Why?”

You stretch out your arms again, thinking, and finally answer, “Because you looked beautiful, and I wanted to draw you?”

It was neither easy nor hard to make Beel blush, and most of the time it just seemed to happen. You hadn’t caught onto the pattern yet, hadn’t been able to perfect it so that you could make it happen whenever you wanted. But you smile in silent victory now as his ears and cheeks flush a reddish pink, pairing nicely with his wide eyes.

His surprise gives way to a smile, and he leans over to wrap his arms around you, holding you close. All he can manage is a thank you, but with that you know how much he appreciates it, how much he appreciates you.

.

Belphegor

Belphie would often drag you off to the attic, and whilst he enjoyed the times where you would curl up in his arms and nap with him until you absolutely had to get up, he knew he couldn’t expect that of you constantly. You were still human, and you could only sleep so much before you had to get up to stretch or eat or just do something else to occupy your mind.

You’d built up a habit together, now, where if you wanted to get up you’d tap his arm twice and he’d reluctantly let you go. He’d stay awake if you left the room, just enough so that he’d be able to tell when you returned. If you didn’t, he’d have to go seek you out again by himself to drag you back with him and absolutely not just to make sure you were okay. If you did return, he’d go back to sleep and let you do what you wanted, opening his arms up if you tapped on them again to crawl back into his grip. It was peaceful, and though he never said it aloud, he loved it.

Often times, when he did wake up, you’d be sitting nearby in a little bundle of pillows and blankets that you’d made with a book and pencil in hand. You were quick to notice when he woke up, so Belphie could never just watch you to figure out what you were doing, which frustrated him to no end but at the same time it was nice to be known. Still, he was determined to figure it out.

His determination is unnecessary, because one day he wakes up and you’re looking straight at him, smiling contentedly. He woke up too fast, then, heart pounding as he tried to remember that expression. Did you admire him so much to look at him like that, even when he was just sleeping?

“You’re awake,” you say, voice light and cheery.

“And you were watching me sleep, as always,” Belphie scoffs, pulling the blanket up over his face to cover up his blush. “What’s new?”

You pout and stick out your tongue at him, and he lowers the blanket enough to return the gesture. It was hard to remember just how old he was when he acted like that.

“With good reason,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow, and you smile and hold out your sketchbook. He takes it immediately, trying to act nonchalant as he opens it up and flicks through the pages. You barely catch how his eyes widen, how his breath catches and he slows down, taking in each drawing carefully.

“There are... a lot of drawings, of me sleeping,” Belphie says, swallowing, raising the book enough to try to cover his smile. Too late, you think. You’d caught him.

“You look cute like that. Plus, its the only time you sit still enough for me to draw you.”

“Or you’re just that obsessed with me. Weirdo.” He closes the book and hands it back to you, sitting up to stretch. He keeps his eyes on you, notices when you frown the tiniest bit. Was his teasing too much?

He sighs and slides out of bed, sitting in your pile beside you. He leans against you, like a cat looking for attention without wanting to admit it, and takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers.

“Thanks, MC.”