#i know some people who drew yellow skinned and slowly changed it over time

[chalkeater]

guys can you please stop drawing the UTDR Humans as YELLOW. (Kris and frisk)

it normalizes it for the fandom and people WILL copy you. IVE SEEN PEOPLE COPY PEOPLE. Especially seeing Frisk look like a walking asian stereotype is CRAZY . on my dash??

[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!

[kinsurou]

Hello guys! This is my first contribution to the Haikyuu HQ Server Collabs! It's so exciting to be part of this project alongside so many wonderful creators! We were asked to create a fic/art with the following prompt: "I wonder what he'd do if he knew you were with me right now." (Pronouns may vary).

I want to thank everyone in the HQHQ Server who helped me out with this fic. You guys are such amazing friends and I love every single one of you!

Click here to check out the Collab Masterlist!

Word Count: 5.1K

Pairings: Suna Rintarou x Reader

Beta Reader: @kuroos-babygirl

Warnings: Smut (+18), Dubcon (Reader doesn't give verbal consent.) Coercion, Toxic Parental Figures, Use of weed, Alcohol, Unprotected sex, Corruption.

A sharp, unfaltering gaze followed your every move all the way back from the other side of the room. From the small fidgeting whenever anyone looked in your direction, to the way you would sip awkwardly at the red cup clasped between your hands, and the scrunch of distaste adorning your features because of the strong, bitter flavor of the drink.

But what else could you do when you’re surrounded by literal strangers, and the only person that can be considered your only friend was currently too busy straddling a guy’s lap, making out to her heart’s content and grinding against his lap...while they’re both sitting in front of you.

It was so awkward...and yet it was nearly impossible to look away from the two of them. The way her hips rocked against his lap as she pulled on his gray locks, or his veiny hands taking a firm hold of her hips. Watching her going at it with this guy was too much to handle.

Why did you let her drag you into this party to begin with? If your parents find out you snuck out of the house, they’ll kill you.

...Your parents.

That thought is quickly forgotten. Right now you just want to have another drink and drown the worries away. Standing up from the cushion, you quickly begin walking towards the kitchen, leaving behind the security of the couch as well as your occupied friend. 

To your relief, the kitchen isn’t as crowded as the rest of the house, where other people were just talking, some of them doing keg stands or playing drinking games. There’s even some of them laying around the floor or leaning against the walls, completely knocked out by the amount of alcohol they consumed.

Finally, you come across a mess of beer bottles and red cups all over the countertop, some of them thrown around carelessly, others are full with the alcohol you were desperately looking for. Rather than going back to your seat, you stay in the empty room, leaning back against the marble and taking a swig of a new cup, once again drinking in silence while swaying slightly to the beat of the music. Too distracted to realize someone else just walked in until their footsteps come relatively closer, stopping less than a few feet away from you.

“Isn’t it past midnight already, Cinderella?” 

You jolt in surprise, nearly crushing the cup with a tight grip until you recognize that voice and that cursed nickname. There’s only one person on campus who calls you that face to face. Frowning slightly as you look at the culprit, you come face to face with a pair of nonchalant, dark yellow eyes that are always looking out for other’ weak spots despite their absent facade.

“Stop calling me that, Suna.” You turn away from him, hoping that he’ll get the hint and walk away, but that heavy, piercing gaze never leaves your body. Instead, he just walked closer before stopping in front of you. He starts leaning forwards, that bored look on his face doesn’t change in the slightest while he traps you between the marble countertop and his broad torso. “G-Go away…”

But he just continues staring at you, not another word comes out of his lips before his face approaches yours. Cheeks brushing past each other’s so faintly that the touch almost goes unnoticed. When his warm breath brushes against the uncovered skin of your shoulders, you finally realize just how close he’s standing. But either he doesn’t notice or he just doesn’t care about the proximity, or the effects it has on your body. Such as the clenching between your thighs or the small hitch in your breathing.

It only lasted for a minute, and yet it feels like an eternity when he finally takes a step back, holding one of those familiar cups in hand. Both relief and disappointment radiate off your body when he finally takes a step back, but judging from the way he looks at you with a small glint in his eyes, Suna is perfectly aware of what he’s provoking.

“Disappointed much?” God, you wanted to smack that smirk off his face so badly. This is exactly why you try to avoid him in college as much as possible.

...As well as other reasons.

“You’re so easy to read that it’s not even a challenge.” The eye contact is never broken as he leans back against the sink, taking a sip of his own cup so nonchalantly. It was like he didn’t corner you in the first place. But you know better that Suna Rintarou never does anything by mere coincidence. “What are you doing here in the first place? I thought Cinderella wasn’t allowed to go to the party.”

“Yeah, well…” You don’t look at him as you answer. The less eye contact you could make with him, the better “She still attended, didn’t she?”

He chuckled quietly from his spot. It was such a low noise, barely audible despite standing so close to him. And yet something about it was just so captivating. You’ve never heard his laughter before, so this was definitely something new.

“No wonder everyone’s talking about you right now.” With those words, you fell right into his trap just like a butterfly on a spiderweb. Quickly turning around to find yourself into the same position as before. Trapped between marble and his warmth. This time he stood even closer than before, so close that you could smell an all too familiar scent that saturated every fiber of his clothes.

“It was too good to be true. The principal’s daughter coming to a party? Had to see with my own eyes.” He leans forwards again. The overwhelming proximity makes your heart beat rapidly against your chest with such strength, it’s a miracle Suna hasn’t said anything about it when he presses his own chest against yours. Or maybe he did notice, if the way he looks at your cleavage is any indicator.

“You’re so nervous, it feels like I’m looking at a little rabbit.” His fingers start playing with the hem of your blouse, brushing faintly against your hips. Every inch of your skin trembles by his touch. A part of your head tells you this is a bad idea, that you need to walk away and leave right this instant. But your body says otherwise, staying firm in place.

“N-No.” Your gaze is averted, focused on anything else but the man standing in front of you. “Please, I just want to leave...”

“Do you? Or maybe you’re just afraid.” Something brushes softly against the shell of your ear, it takes you a full minute to realize that feeling belongs to his lips, nibbling teasingly while his hands make their way up your back, fiddling with the clips of your bra. But he just keeps tugging at them playfully, not really set on taking off your clothes….at least not yet.

“Afraid of what your parents would say. Think nobody knows how they treat you?” his hands finally stop, just to delve down until they’re resting over your lower back. “You’re such a good girl who never causes trouble...it’s too good to be true if you ask me.”

He pulled your hips closer towards him, slipping one leg between your trembling legs. A sly smirk grew on his face once he began grinding his knee against your core, sweet friction drew out one of the sweetest, high-pitched gasps from you. A noise so sweet, dirty and addictive that he needed to hear more of them. So when you looked at him in the eye, Suna could barely control himself. “Don’t you want to let loose for once? Do you want to be my dirty little girl?”

“Suna, I…” He didn’t wait for an answer, capturing your silky lips into a fervent kiss, swallowing every single whimper you gave whenever that knee brushed lazily against your core. Everything he did quickly overwhelmed your body, triggering a chain of breath-taking sensations. Like the fluttering at the pit of your stomach, the uncontrollable shivers prickling your skin, and the waves of heat radiating off your face. Frankly, you wanted more of it.

...But just thinking about your parent’s reactions was enough to feel terrified. The constant pressure and beliting over the smallest things. Not getting a perfect score in all the exams? Lazy and irresponsible. Wearing something they deemed inappropriate? Attention seeker. You could still remember the one time you ran into Suna while he was smoking, the smell of his cigarette had tainted your clothes that day, but neither of your parents believed the claims of innocence, calling you such horrible things that the mere reminder could be enough to make anyone suffer a meltdown.

Having one of the harshest teachers as well as the principal themselves as your parents was a nightmare nobody would wish upon their worst enemy.

You mustered enough courage to place both hands on his chest, slightly pushing him away while trying so hard not to try and feel the chiseled muscles hidden underneath the black fabric of his shirt.

“Stop. They’ll kill me if they find out.”

“They don’t have to know.”

“But I don’t want to get in trouble again.”

“You’re already in trouble just being here, Cinderella.”

It was true. And you hated how true that statement was, sooner or later your father would find out and it would be chaos...but that didn’t do much to soothe that painful sensation at the pit of your stomach, slowly feeding off the sheer horror you felt at the idea of their constant beliting.

The trembling of your body didn’t go unnoticed by the guy standing between your legs. 

“Hey, you’re already in trouble...So let me help you relax, what do you say, Cinderella?” He kissed your jaw softly, lingering in place as he inhaled the soft scent of perfume. “Don’t you want to feel good for once? I know you’ll enjoy it.”

But he was only met with silence, neither were you looking at him again, instead your eyes stayed focused on the sink overflowing with empty bottles of liquor. Suna just huffed, pulling his hands back before he began stepping back, ready to go back to the living room with a sour mood, but that quickly vanished when he felt the tight clutch at the corner of his shirt.

With an eyebrow raised, he turned back to see you grabbing on his shirt, still avoiding his gaze as much as possible. But he could see it, the way your body said the contrary. You wanted this as much as he did, maybe even more. But the fear clouding your thoughts was making it hard to say anything.

And that gave Suna an idea.

“If you want this so bad, then I can give you a hand. What do you say Cinderella?” His fingers once again brushed against the uncovered skin of your shoulder. And when you made no move to stop his approaches, Suna knew he had won. “Good girl.”

He grabbed you softly by the wrist, determined to take things somewhere more private. Nobody seemed to pay attention anymore as you both walked across the halls. When he crossed the living room, Suna made eye contact with his silver haired friend, who was ever so busy with the girl sitting on his lap as she attacked his neck fervently. Both males just looked at each other and nodded silently before getting back to business. Osamu went back to making out with the girl, and Suna brought you along to one of the empty rooms.

The sound of a door being closed snapped you out of it. apart from the soft glow of the moonlight, the room was completely dark, but it was still possible to see the outline of some furniture placed around the room, the outline of a desk at the corner, some shelves and even a small couch near the window. It had to be some sort of study. Whose house was this in the first place…?

Out of nowhere, a strong smell began coming from your side, slowly making its presence well-known across the room. A strong smell that could come from one thing only.

And that was from the joint held between Suna’s fingers, the tip burned brightly in the darkness of the room, giving his sharp features this captivating, gentle glow akin to that from a fireplace in those fairytales you always used to read when you were but a small little girl, still full of nothing but hope and dreams for a brighter future.

Suna noticed the way your eyes lingered on the speck of light, following the smoky trail as it danced across the small breeze inside the room before dissipating, like it never existed in the first place.

“Here.” He put the joint in front of your face, not even blinking by the shocked expression on your face. Eyes wide open as you looked at it with sheer horror and panic. “This will help you relax, little rabbit.”

“...I thought I was Cinderella?”

“I thought you hated that nickname?”

He sighed in irritation, knowing exactly where this was going. You changed the subjects on purpose, trying to delay this for a bit longer. “Come on, it’s not like it’s gonna bite you.”

Slowly, you grabbed the joint from his hand. Carefully bringing it closer to your mouth and letting its weight rest over your lips for a moment, before inhaling deeply. Something you quickly regretted before coughing rapidly, suffocating on the smoke burning at the back of your throat. The room was filled with coughing and a laughing fit coming from the male sitting on the couch. When in the world did he sit down?

“How...ack!...How do you enjoy this crap?!” You wheezed painfully, glaring at Suna while he held the sides of his stomach, his body was shaking tremendously from his laughter that he nearly slid off the couch. Asshole…

Once he regained his breath, he got up from his seat and approached you again, taking the blunt away before you could throw it away, after all it had been expensive.

“Seriously Cinderella. You’re supposed to go slowly.” He pulled you along one more time. Sitting back on his previous spot as he helped position your legs to his sides so you straddled his lap just nicely enough for him to admire the sight in front of him. “I suppose you could use some help, mmm?”

You looked at him in both embarrassment and confusion. Watching him smoke that cursed thing so easily, no coughing fits, no choking on the smoke, nada. How long had he been doing this? All your attention was on the embers coming to life with his breathing, too focused on that precious light to notice the hand making its way around your back, casually tracing circles on your upper back.

That same hand pulled you again, this time with such care that it was impossible to resist the contact, not even when he pulled the blunt away before reaching out for your face, holding you close by the cheeks as your lips brushed against each others. You focused every bit of attention on that feather like touch, that was shortly followed by a fain gust of smoke. It felt so intimate being like this, being held so closely by someone you’ve known since high school, and being able to catch up after all this time wasn’t such a bad experience after all…

Then something in the air took a sharp turn when he closed the distance between your lips, once again capturing them with his own. But this time that weight on your shoulders was absent. That fear that always haunted your every action, every decision, every single thought, it was all gone.

For once in your life, you were not afraid anymore…

Your arms me their way around his neck, deepening the kiss with an intensity Suna didn’t even know was possible for someone as meek and quiet as you. No wonder people always joke that the quietest ones are the most perverse.

“Haha...That’s the spirit, Cinderella.”

The arms around your body pulled your hips down, grinding the spot between your legs against something hard, it didn’t take a genius to know where this was heading. You just let his arms guide you through it, enjoying the grinding of his growing erection and the low grunts he gave, easily muffled by the deafening music blaring through the other side of the door.

“Enjoying yourself?” If only you could see the mischievous smirk on his face when the only reply he got was a loud whimper. If only you could see the effect those little noises had on the male humping through your clothes, eager to get a taste of your body after all this time pining after you. “Fuck, you’re really into this, huh? You dirty little girl.”

Was it his words? The blunt finally starting to kick in? Both? Whatever it was, it made waves of heat radiate off your skin, covering it with a thin layer of sweat that made your clothes suffocating. Every fiber of these borrowed tight fitting clothes kept sticking oh so painfully over your body.

It felt like a torture having to part away from Suna, but these clothes had to leave. He had to admit watching as your top left your body was a delicious show, one he really wanted to take part in as he reached out to help remove your bottoms, leaving your body displayed to him, covered in nothing but a scandalous set of lingerie.

“Not so innocent, are you?”

As soon as you got within his arm’s reach, he pulled you back into his lap again. This time however, he had you sitting down between his open legs, with your bare back leaning against his chest. Not only did Suna have a way with words that could easily rile anyone up, but he also had a way to do wonders with his hands. 

The blunt was left over the window’s edge, forgotten in favor of your lace covered chest. Which he began squeezing softly, pinching the fabric over your nipples every time you released a whimper because of his intoxicating touches.

“Do you ever play with your nipples the same way you play with your pussy?”

“N-No…!”

“You’re an awful liar, Cinderella.” He slid one hand under your bra, pinching an erect nipple between his fingers while his other hand made his way to trace small circles over your panties, enjoying the feeling of damp fabric under his fingers. “You can tell a lot about people by looking them in the eye. You’re so desperate to be fucked silly.”

The lace over your chest is pulled upwards, releasing the soft mounds from their restraints with a soft bounce before a hand quickly latched on to one of them. Squeezing in sync with the fingers making their way inside the black lingerie, one began prodding its way between sloppy folds, gathering enough of your arousal before delving deeper into your cunt.

“Mmmm!….It feels so...weird.” Your back arches with each thrust of his finger against your soft walls “Suna, please!” Rather than slowing down he pushes another finger inside, thrusting and scissoring them at a leisurely pace to prepare you for the real thing.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that.” He swiftly wraps an arm under your chest as soon as your body starts writhing, buckling against the digits buried deep inside. The calloused texture, a result of his constant games of volleyball, provide additional stimulation. “Now, hold still. Look at you, taking my fingers so well.”

If only you could wipe that smirk of his face, but your hands were currently balled up into tight fists, nails digging painfully into the skin of your palms with ferocious strength, threatening to rip through the flesh at any moment. 

“Does it feel this good when you’re touching yourself?” You began squirming again, unable to take anymore of his touch, it’s too much, your body couldn’t take it anymore. It jerked furiously as it reached an orgasm, knocking the air out of your lungs with its strength.

If only you could see the look on Suna’s face as he leaned forwards over your shoulder, observing the heave of your chest with heightened desire. The throbbing in his pants turned unbearable when your walls clenched around his hand, soaking it with your sweet release that dripped down on the couch. 

God, he wanted to be inside you so badly. He wanted to ruin that sweet little hole, wreck it and fill it with his cum until the only thing that came out of your parted lips was his name.

“Ready for the best part, you little whore?” You were still too dazed to answer him, not even when he laid you face down on the couch, pulling your hips up to hook two fingers over the waistband of those soaked panties, pulling them away and taking them off before shoving them in his pocket. He grunted at the sight of those dripping folds, grabbing the flesh of your bare ass to get a better look at that slick cunt ready to be pleased. “I want to taste your pussy so badly, Cinderella.”

His hand left your skin just as quickly. You felt his weight leave the cushion, hearing the rustle of fabric even with the music from the party still blaring downstairs. One sound caught your attention among all the noise. The sound of a zipper being undone lures you attention like a sweet melody. And when your face follows the source you’re greeted by such an alluring sight of a well toned chest, with ripped muscles from years of training in the volleyball team despite Suna’s lean frame.

You wanted to run your hands acrossthem again, caress and kiss that bare skin. But Suna had other plans as he lowered both pants and boxers, sighing as his erection springs out with a small bounce, with a small bead of precum already dribbling down. He was quick to crawl over your naked body to begin grinding his shaft between your cheeks so you could feel the hard cock eager to be inside your velvet walls. “But as much as I’d love to have you sitting on my face. I can’t wait any longer, but neither can you right?”

He let out that signature chuckle when you buried your face into the arm rest and started mumbling to yourself, he could still make out something along the lines of “asshole”. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cinderella.” He gathered more of your arousal between his fingers, occasionally rubbing a thumb against your clit to tease, ignoring the desperate pleads as he began pumping his cock, covering it with enough of your slick before pressing it down between your folds, with a quick thrust of his hips, he finally buried himself all the way in.

The fabric underneath your face muffed your cries of discomfort, pressed tightly against your face to the point it was hard to breathe. The stretch was so painful, so hot, but it was so fucking good, your body craved for more and Suna was eager to provide.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel so good sucking in my cock like a good little slut.” He gripped your hips harshly, giving short, lazy thrust that made you cry out to him. “Tell me how good it feels to have me inside of you.”

“It feels...ngh! It feels great, Suna!” A hand smacked your ass painfully, leaving behind a burning sensation on the delicate skin. “Mmmm!”

“Wrong name, sweetheart.” He gave another thrust, a rougher one that pushed you forwards, nearly smacking your forehead against the arm rest. “Wanna try again? You better get it right this time.”

“R….Rin-!” A hand pressed firmly on your back while the other one tilted your hips upwards, it helped Suna brush against a different spot, one that brought tears to your eyes with every thrust. An arm reached back to hold on to him, just to be grabbed by the wrist and twisted behind your back, trapped in place while Suna began moving faster “Eh, close enough. Be grateful your pussy feels so good, otherwise I would’ve left already.”

“No!” You cried out, “Please Rin! Don’t stop, it feels so good!” You gave him a pleading look and tried moving your hips, just for a hand to smack the tender flesh of your ass, it was a warming to remain still. You’ve never been this bold before, why were you acting so different? Was it the effects of the blunt? Being railed in the middle of a party, where anyone could barge in at any moment?

“So you know your place, good.” you didn’t know it was possible to feel better than what you’re currently feeling, but Suna proved it was possible when he began pounding you harder, nearly pulling out his whole member until only the tip remained inside before slamming back against your abused hole.

He couldn’t take his eyes off your body, of the soft jiggling of your ass whenever he slammed back against it, the loud slapping of your skin, the way you moaned whenever he brushed against your cervix. It was too good, and he needed to preserve that image.

Your arm was released abruptly, and you quickly pulled it back to hold onto something else as the same warm feeling from before began spreading again, sending goosebumps through your whole body. If that wonderful feeling and the music hadn’t been a distraction, you would have heard the low beep of a smartphone filming everything. 

It started out at the spot where you both were connected, capturing the uncontrollable clenching of your cunt around Suna’s cock, the lewd mixture of your moans, grunts, the slapping of sweaty skin and one of the most vulgar songs to ever exist, slowly the camera went over those red marks all over your ass and hips, until it stopped at the back of your head, and the locks of hair bouncing around with each thrust.

“You look beautiful, Cinderella.” Suna cooed. “I wonder what They’d do if They knew you were with me right now.” He hissed in delight when you clenched tighter around him. “What would mommy and daddy think of you?” 

Anyone else would have cringed from thinking about their parents in the middle of sex, but Suna’s words stirred something twisted inside you. A wicked being yearning to make your parent’s life miserable and make them pay for everything.

Every single memory came back in a flash. From the memories of elementary school, where they expected nothing but the best but couldn’t bother to attend the school plays to the incident at college. 

That was the last straw, and the exact same reason why you sneaked out to this party to begin with, even borrowing an outfit from your friend that was perfect for the occasion. And look where that got you, to one hell of a good experience. Probably the first time you’ve been able to be yourself, not just a trophy child to be bragged about during Christmas dinner.

The same creature wanting to feed off your parent’s wrath kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear, sinister thoughts hidden behind honeyed words, craving to watch the world burn beneath your feet….In the end, not a single effort was ever enough to please your parent’s expectations...so, why bother?

Fuck it...Fuck it all.

“Harder, please fuck me harder Rin! Your cock feels amazing!” Suna blinked once, then twice, scoffing in amusement by the sudden twist in your mood, but who was he to complain? His phone was quickly shoved aside and ignored, not even remembering to stop filming as he leaned over your body. 

Those hard muscles you had been craving to touch were pressed firmly against your back, his toned arms resting around your head, and the chance to feel them up was certainly not missed.

With this angle, he reached places inside you that felt like the physical embodiment of paradise. Drool, sweat and tears covered your entire face when he found that one spot that took away your breath, and he began abusing it repeatedly. He too started getting closer to his release, and buried his face into your hair with a growl. His pace wavered bit….but he was so close, and so were you, judging from the desperation as you chanted his name over and over.

“Where do you want me to cum, my little whore? In you- Fuck! in your pussy? Your mouth? Your pretty pucker? I’ll put it wherever you want.”

That was it, you couldn’t take it anymore. Just thinking of it sent you over the edge. Your walls clamped down on his cock with such force that Suna had to stop moving. He would’ve loved to keep going for a little longer, but he couldn’t take it either.

“Rin!” With the last cry of his name, he pushed his whole body against yours, dropping his whole weight down as he finally came,  coating your insides with spurt after spurt of warm cum. Nothing seemed to matter as you laid on the soiled piece of furniture, trying to catch your breath in a dark room reeking of sex, sweat and weed.

It felt like an eternity had passed when Suna finally moved away and pulled out, watching in satisfaction as his cum began leaking, running down over your folds, your clit, eventually dripping down on the furniture with every spasm of your body.

The one thing that caught him off guard was when you hid your face away from him and began trembling in place, muffling some sniffles with the aid of the cushion. The fact you began crying caught him off guard for a moment, until your face turned to the side. And rather than crying, you were actually giggling like a mad woman.

You couldn’t stop that giddy smile. Cheeks burning furiously from everything you felt in that moment. For once in your life, you had the chance to experience freedom in the most intoxicating ways, and you wouldn’t change it for anything else.

“Everything okay, Cinderella?”

“Ahahaha...Yeah…” You turned over and laid on your back shortly after the laughter finally ceased, and turned back to him to watch that familiar joint between his fingers.

“Everything’s fine.”

Taglist: @hawks-senseis @honeytama @wakaoujisenhime @iwaasfairy @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro @xplosiveboy @shinsotired

[moonyswriting]

Pride

Happy Pride Month everyone! Whether you queer or questioning, closeted or out, I am so proud of you, you are valid and perfect! Remember that you never have to come out if you don’t want to. You’re not lying to anyone if you don’t. You don’t owe them to come out. Only do it if you want to. Also remember that labels can stay forever or can change and both is perfectly normal. You're fantastic the way you are. <3

So, I managed to write a pride fic for the first day of pride month! yay me. I hope you like it :)

Thank you for the idea @moonofthenight

Characters by @lumosinlove

When Pascal came into their living room it had never looked more colourful, but it had also not looked this messy in a long time. There was tape on all four sides of the table, paper and little paper cut outs all over the floor and in the middle of everything, all his four children, looking like deer in the headlights.

“What happened?”, he asked slowly. There would be a reasonable explanation for all of this, he was sure. Celeste had probably helped and they would clean everything back up in no time, leaving no trace of a mess before the team came over for dinner tonight.

Adele shuffled over looking at the floor. “Um,” she stared before glazing back at her siblings, who nodded at her encouragingly. “So, we decided to make some things for the others. You know, since you’re having that Pride Party tonight? We thought we’d make little gifts for the team.”

Oh, Pascal’s heart was already a puddle. “You-”, he stared, but couldn’t continue. He had questioned a lot if he should have raised his children differently, more open to the rainbow or attractions and genders (or lack thereof) that was out there, but this made him feel like he and Celeste had at least done some things right.

Pascal only realised he hadn’t properly said anything yet when Katie rushed towards him, hugging his hip. “Please don’t be mad. I promise, we’ll clean it all up. Mama said she’d help us!”, the big eyes of his youngest daughter stared up at him, guilty, but hopeful.

“I’m not mad, mon chou.”, picking her up, he turned towards the other three, still standing in front of him. “Not at any of you. This is an incredible idea! The team will love them. Thank you so much, it’s really thoughtful.” Leaning down, he placed a kiss on each of his childrens’ foreheads, including Katie’s before setting her down to get back to the others. Celeste walked through the door the next moment, flowers of all colours in her hand.

“You found our little pride squad then?”she asked, walking past him and into the kitchen, probably to cut off the ends of the stems. “Don’t worry, I’ll help them clean up and we’ll be done before any of your teammates even leave their houses.”

His wife knew him too well. He hated when other people visited them and their house was messy. Of course there had been times where he couldn’t really keep it clean with four toddlers running around, but he still always tried and his family knew that and helped him. It wasn’t really that it bothered him that visitors could see that they were possibly not clean people, it was just the principle. He thought it should that they were prepared and anticipated someone’s visit. He never wanted them to think it was a bad time to visit because he would eventually excuse the mess. He always wanted everyone to feel welcome.

And that’s what tonight would be about. Making his team feel always welcomed and loved and accepted.

Celeste returned back to their dining room without the flowers, kissing Pacal’s cheek and then turning towards their children. “Did you show him what you made already?” they shook their heads but quickly climbed up onto chairs and sorted through the things they had made. “They’re all really cute, I already saw some of them.” Celeste whispered giddily into his ear, as excitement bloomed in his chest and they walked over to look at the crafts.

“Here!” Katie waved a piece of paper in the air and Pascal walked around the table to look at what she had made. SHe beamed up at him as she explained, “This is for Tremzy! And Harzy and Knutty! It’s a card and I drew Lo, Leo and Finn on the front, see!” The man took the card in his hands. There were three stick figures on it, the smallest with brown hair, the next one with bright red hair and the last, taller than the other with yellow hair. In the back there were blue, red and black dots. “Why did you use those colours, ma petite?” He did have an idea, but with the many coloured pens on the table it could have just been a coincidence.

He could see Katie look over to Adele and Marc, before her eyes met his again. “Del and Marc said that those are the colours when you have more than one love and Logan has Finn and Leo, so they said I should use those. They look good together right?” Pascal could see that he wasn’t the only one close to tears after glazing over at Celeste smiling brightly. “Yes, Katie, it looks beautiful. Lo, Leo and Finn will love it! Adele, Marc, thank you for helping your sister. I know that this will mean a lot to Logan.” then as if he couldn’t help but to add, “I’m also very proud of you for looking up pride flag colours. I’m really happy you're informing yourself about these topics. They’re important.”

They all smiled at him. Pascal went over to Louis next. “I made two! This one is a card for Olli and Del and Marc also helped me with colours, so it's black, grey, white and this really nice purple that Katie gave me. It didn’t really match the photo, but I liked it better than the really dark one. Do you think he’ll mind?” The fact that his youngest son actually looked concerned staring down at his work had a tear spilling over. He let out a wet chuckle. “Non, je pense qu’il va l'adorer, c’est parfait. For who is the green one?” Louis pulled it out from under his other one and now Pascal could see it was not just green. There were black, grey, white and purple stripes on it too. “It’s for Reg! See, it’s got these stripes and then I drew this heart above it, cause even though he doesn’t want a boyfriend like Siri, he still gets all the love he needs from me and Siri and you and Re and the rest of the team!” Celeste came over and placed a kiss on his cheek, “He loves you too, mon lapinou. They look amazing.”

He walked over to his older son, he didn’t know if he could be any prouder of them. “ I made one for Kasey, Nat and Alex.” Marc stated as he handed his father one of the cards he had made. There were three heads on it, one with long blond hair and hoop earrings, one with light brown hair to the shoulders and one with dark red hair, freckles filling up more of his face than the light pink his son had used for all their skin tones. Pascal was about to compliment it, when Marc gave him another one. “This one is for Nado and Kuny. I made it full of hearts in pan and bi colours, because you mentioned that once and I really hope it’s right.” before Pascal could even think his next thought a stack of cards was placed in his hands. “And then for some of then we didn’t know, but we didn’t want them to feel left out or asume, so I made some rainbow ones for Pots, Talker, Sergei, Timmers, Cookie, Bluey, Ringer, Volley, Wrangler, Sunny and Foxy.”

Pascal was a bit shaken, not only that his son even remembered everyone of his teammates, without missing a single one, but at him having crafted every single one of them a rainbow card. “They will all love them, I’m sure. They look incredible.”

He saw Adele look down at her cards and moving them slightly out of view. Frowning, he walked over to her, “Did you also make something, ma colombe?” She nodded, pulling out one of her cards and holding it up for him to see. It was beautiful. She had glued blue magazine cut outs on the top of the cards, which got lighter til they reached a white in the middle and to green ones at the bottom. Over it there was a heart which read “Some hockey players marry their PT, get over it” He didn’t know how she had thought of that, but it was true and funny and so Adele, Pascal had no choice but to love it.

“These are all perfect. Thank you so, so much for making them, they’ll all love them I’m sure. We can tell them to all sit down in the living room so you can give them their cards later, sounds good?” They all nodded, seemingly happy with the idea. “Now let’s clean up before they come here and don’t recognize the place, eh?” All of them nodded as they got up, Celeste telling them where to start and how to clean it.

Pascal moved to the kitchen with the tray of now empty glasses Celeste had no doubt gotten them earlier, when he heard something behind him. Once he had carefully placed down everything he turned around to see Adele standing in the kitchen, arms behind her back. He waited for her to speak for only a moment until she did. “So, you saw that we made cards for everyone, because they’re all great and we should let them know we love and support them, right?” Pascal nodded, letting her continue, “But there’s one more card I made,” Pascal had counted before, his children hadn’t forgotten a single one of his teammates, he had no clue what that last card could be for. “because it’s important that they know they’re loved right?” she continued, “that’s a really important part of all of this. So,” she slowly pulled out a card from behind her back, “this one is for exactly that. Just because someone’s not queer or questioning, doesn’t mean they’re not important this month. It’s not the main focus of it, of course, but having allies is a big part of being able to be proud of who they are for some people. I wanted to thank you for that. I could have gotten some homophobic dad like some of my classmates, but I’m really, really glad I got you.”

She handed him the card she had made, similar to the collage of magazines but in black and white stripes with a rainbow A covering it. He couldn’t help the wetness that gathered in his eyes again. And here he had thought the emotional stuff wouldn’t be until the team arrived. He walked forward and hugged his oldest daughter. “Thank you so, so much,” he whispered, since he didn’t trust himself with anything else to come out anywhere close to evenly, “Thank you, ma petite. I am so proud to have you as my daughter. You’re the best children I could have ever asked for.”

[cafeacademia]

Guardian | Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!Reader Soulmate AU

Chapter Summary: After months of no contact with your soulmate, you begin to finally act on your suspicions, only to learn a difficult truth about your close friend, Draco.

Warnings: Sadness, some fluff, mention of abusive environments (Draco being involved with his father, Voldy and death eaters).

Word count: Approx 3200

Masterlist

NOTE: This story is following a slightly altered AU, in which Fred and George are still at school and Harry does not go for Draco after Katie Bell’s possession.

A/N: Hi loves! Here’s the next chapter! I did struggle a little with this one, but I’m really happy with it. I hope you enjoy this part and I promise there is some fluff coming for these two soon, enjoy! 💖

Flashbacks are separated using *** and use of the soulmate book is highlighted in italics

Previous Part | Next Part

Was it ever enough? The spilled ink, the black stained fingertips having spent hours writing with a quill. The way the pages crinkled under the heavy use, words that did not spell out a work of fiction, but that of the tale of two souls meant to be.

Was it enough to bring back what was lost by writing to him often? You couldn't know, but all you could do was try.

It was well beyond the start of your first term in your sixth year and as the leaves fell and the seasons changed, the forest surrounding the grounds with deep red and orange hues, you wondered where he could have gone, what had happened to him?

But as you wandered through the grounds, the clouds drew in, bringing a sudden downpour with them. Being quite far from the castle, the closest spot for shelter in the heavy rain was the owlery and quickly, you tugged your jacket over your head and sprinted across the wet grass towards the stone tower.

Taking care not to slip on the steps on your way up, you heaved out a sigh when you finally got yourself through the doorway. It wasn’t much warmer in the enclosed space, but it was at least dry.

It was a particularly odd Sunday, the weather had been changing all day, though you knew as winter drew in that this time of year was often very rainy and ever changing, just like autumn itself.

 Backing further into the owlery, you shivered, trying to warm yourself up a little bit, but as the strong winds blew across the grounds and swept through the openings between the stones in the owlery walls, you chilled even more.

 Suddenly, without even a whisper, having seemingly appeared out of no where, You felt something being draped around your shoulders and you jumped, looking over your shoulder to see yourself face to face with a Slytherin. “Draco?” It came out as a gasp. All he could do was meet your gaze with the cold blue hues of his eyes, barely managing a small smile, one that did not reach his eyes, one that appeared forced and perhaps even painful. His eyes were deep with the weight of his emotions, things he wish he could tell someone, but he had to keep them locked away as far down in himself as he could.

The ashen haired boy had barely even looked at you since the end of the last school year and a few weeks after your return to Hogwarts, it was increasingly obvious that he didn’t want to be around you.

“Harry is under the impression Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater.” Hermione had said it as if even she herself could not believe it to be true and you weren’t sure if you were lucky, or terribly placed at the wrong place at the wrong time to hear something that, despite your better judgement, caused your heart to ache.

What had he been pulled into? You couldn’t know for certain, but even now as you looked up at him and met his soft gaze, you knew that whatever he was taking part in was not through choice.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly, pulling the jacket he had draped over your shoulders around you a little more, only receiving a small nod from him. “Draco.” You reached out for him, your hand catching his wrist before he had a chance to turn away from you. And for a moment, Draco allowed himself to be touched, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of your gentle touch, but as he met your eyes, he slowly slipped his wrist out of your grasp and took a step back. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” He said, attempting a smile before ducking out of the doorway and disappearing down the steps into the heavy downpour.

Your heart ached at the way he had pulled away, at the deep regret he had held in his eyes as he had turned away from you. Pulling his coat around you even more, you were thankful at least, that returning his coat to him would allow you a moment to speak to him soon and you hoped you could get a moment alone with your friend soon.

Having made your way back to the castle after a ten minute wait for the downpour of cease, you headed back up to your dormitory to dry off and warm up. And as you perched on your bed with a blanket wrapped around yourself, you sighed, leaning down to gently take the small leather bound book out of the top of your school bag. Flicking through the pages, you turned to the last one that had been written on, only your handwriting occupying the crinkled, slightly yellowed paper and you sighed, your eyes landing on the words you had last written to him, drawing in a breath to speak them out loud. “Where are you?”

Draco hated it. He hated that every time he closed his eyes, all he saw, all he heard were things that haunted him. It was as if his mind could not truly allow him to rest, not without being reminded what dreadful things were happening and what were to come. But it was the worst when what he saw when he closed his eyes was the way his father had snatched the book from him, his voice full of opportunity.

***

“Do you know who this soulmate of yours is, Draco?” Lucius had asked. “No, father.” Draco lied, keeping his features neutral, his eyes passing over the book that was clutched in his father’s strong grip. Lucius cast a lingering stare at his son, judgement in his eyes as he considered his answer.

Draco knew he could not give away that he did, in fact know who his soulmate was, because surely someone might want to use you against him and he certainly did not put it past those around him to do so. Even if his father were to not use that information, he was sure someone else might, especially as motivation to carry out tasks. He knew already that anyone knowing about his soulmate even existing was bad enough, because even without knowing who you were, people could still use it as leverage. “Now, now, don’t look so miserable. You may have this back once you’ve tended to your duties.” Lucius had told him.

***

Draco looking down, pulling up his shirt sleeve to look at the image of the dark mark imprinted in his skin. Following the curve of the snake as it trailed over the veins in his wrist, Draco felt sick to his stomach. His eyes glanced up to land on the book. It was scratched up, dented and damaged, the golden gilding worn and scuffed off some of the edges, one of the metal corner protectors had gone missing and a few of the gold painted page edges were folded and ripped. It made his heart ache. It made Draco feel a uncontrollable, seething anger, a want to cry and scream and protect what was his with everything he had. But he could not.

They had all ridiculed him, used the book as a way to force him closer to the same lifestyle that they followed and Draco hated it. He resented everything they had used his book to make him do. Because it wasn’t just a book they were using, they had used you. And even though the book was now back in his possession after being confiscated more than once, thrown about and damaged on purpose to taunt him, despite the fact that he now held it as close to him as possible, he refused to use it.

What if someone were take his memories and view them? What if someone found out what he talked about? Or more importantly who he talked to. But with each passing day, his eyes landing on the old, tattered book, simultaneously a symbol of both hope and pain, Draco longer to open the cover and read the contents.

His aunt Bellatrix had tried to force him to read it out, but as if the book had known what was happening to both him and itself, it appeared blank no matter what they did, no matter how they tried to strip it of it’s concealment charms. Draco just could not bring himself to read your words, to see what you might have written in his absence, to see what his silence might have done.

“Soulmates? You can’t be serious, that’s all a bunch of old fairy tales.” Ron brushed it off. “Don’t be ridiculous Ronald.” Hermione sighed, about to curb his argument. “It’s not!” Neville suddenly burst into the argument, having seen you looking rather out of depth from the reaction you’d gotten from Ron. “My parents are soulmates too.” Neville said in a softer tone that time, giving you a kind smile as he looked across at you.

“With a book too?” You asked, now intrigued while Ron gave you both a look of confusion, having genuinely thought you had been pulling his leg when Fred and George had pestered it out of you. “No, they can hear each other’s thoughts.” Neville explained. “Do you know who yours is?” Harry asked, leaning over in his seat to join the conversation. “I can’t be sure, but I have a couple of theories.” You replied, leaning forwards and resting your chin on your hand. “Well, who is it then?” Fred asked with a big grin on his face at the idea of some brilliant gossip. “None of you would believe me even if I told you.”

“I would.” Luna smiled sweetly at you as she approached the bench, Neville almost immediately shuffling up and accidentally bumping George a little to give her some space to sit between you and him. “I believe in soulmates too, they are fascinating, don’t you think?” She asked. ”I just wish mine would talk to me again, he’s been quiet for months.” You sighed as Ron, Hermione and Ginny began to discuss something else with the twins. “You really don’t know who it is?” Luna asked. “My grandmother told me that soulmates are often much closer than you expect them to be, maybe there’s someone hiding in plain sight, waiting for you to realise that it’s them.” She told you, giving you a sweet little smile before she turned away to talk to Neville.

Perhaps Luna was right and perhaps, despite feeling a bit silly for thinking it might be someone you already knew, she was right and if your soulmate, whoever he really was, was very much absent and maybe it was time to really find out for sure.

Ron had suggested the use of Felix Felicis, but it felt wrong to use a potion in an attempt to cheat your way  into knowing who your soulmate was, but as the weeks passed and you left the falling leaves behind, along with the events that took place and had shaken everyone who had seen Katie Bell tragically possessed, you began to wonder if the idea wasn’t so bad after all. The year seemed more bleak as time passed and even as you passed into spring, it felt as if the tension in the castle was ready to snap at any moment.

Despite the tempting idea of brewing liquid luck and using it to find him, another part of you was reluctant, not because you felt it was wrong or like it was cheating at something you obviously should see through to the end, but because you had a feeling you already knew who it was.

But just as you feared his sudden coldness being the only worry and the fact that you had not found a single moment in which Draco would take his coat back from you from months ago, you feared the reasons he might not be speaking to you at all. Why was he so cold to you? The chill hurt. Walking into the great hall, the chatter between the trio as you passed them seemed to only be of one thing and it shook you as deeply as it had everyone else who had witnessed it. The horrifying way she had moved in such an unnatural way, how she had contorted and her face had been taken over by something terrible. Katie Bell’s possession.

“It was Malfoy, I’m sure of it.” Harry was adamant and the conviction in his voice was enough to chill everyone in earshot. And when you had swept passed the trio, looking for a seat elsewhere, you turned to see Draco standing in the middle of the hall, his face riddled with regret, shame and something that swam deep in his eyes as he looked at you. He held your gaze for a moment, your movements still as you stood in front of a bench, your eyes not leaving his. It was as if he was silently pleading you, as if he was asking you to help him, reaching out for something, for someone.

But just as you slowly moved a step in his direction, he turned and fled, Harry leaping up from his seat, but being yanked back by Hermione as you rushed after the Slytherin.

You tried to keep up with his quick pace, Draco weaving around corners and slipping through half open doors so quickly that if you hadn’t been paying enough attention, you might have lost him.

Finally, you rounded the doorway into the bathroom, seeing Draco hunched over a sink, his hair messed up and out of place, sobs shaking his body as he tried to wash the pain away with water.

“Draco,” It was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to startle him and he turned to look at you with fear in his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Your heart broke, your throat clenching tight at the sight of him in such a state. “I had to do it.” He sobbed, backing against the wall and sliding down onto the cold stone below. “He made me do it.”

Slowly, you crossed the bathroom, carefully kneeling down in front of him and reaching out, tentatively at first to brush his hair from his face. “I tried so hard to protect-.” He stopped himself, a sob interrupting mid sentence and Draco heaved for breath as he reached for you. And just as he had done for you, when he had held you so many times when you felt nothing but pain and hurt and everything in between, you held him in your arms too. The beating of your heart soothed him as he cried against your shoulder, his hands holding you with a weak grip and slowly, his sobs softened as you held him tightly, softly stroking his hair.

“He made me do it.” Draco repeated, parting from you for a moment, pulling his sleeve up to show you, but he would not meet your eyes. The dark mark was like binding seal on his wrist, one that bound him to a life he did not want and you knew that the Draco his father was trying to make him be, was not the Draco you knew.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, pulling him back against you and hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” You felt the tears well up in your eyes, seeing someone you cared so deeply for, someone who you had secretly bonded with for years was being torn apart and put back together as someone he was not meant to be and you hated to see it happen.

“I can’t be around you, I can’t look at you, he’ll know.” Draco whispered, hugging you tightly around the middle. “You don’t deserve this pain, you deserve something more, something better.” You told him. Draco didn’t feel like he did, he didn’t feel like he deserved anything better and he certainly didn’t feel like he deserved you either.

“I’m sorry.” Draco cried, pulling away and wiping harshly at his tears. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” He said, moving to get up, but you reached out and grabbed his hand before he could go. “Then talk to me by paper and quill. Like we used to.” You told him, and while your words could have implied your little notes during class or the letters during the summer, both of you knew what that had really meant. “Okay.” He nodded, trying to move away again, but you stopped him once more.

“Hold on, take this.” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks, sniffling as you reached into your robe pocket to pull out the beautiful green handkerchief he had given you three years prior. “You still have it.” He whispered. “Of course.” You nodded, reaching up to wipe your tears away. “I can’t take it, love. You keep it.” Draco said, gently using his fingers to close your own around the handkerchief and pushing it back against your chest.

“I still have your coat.” You added as you felt his touch linger on your hand. “You’ll keep it safe for me, won’t you?” He asked. “Of course.” You nodded. “Why, are you going somewhere?” You asked. Draco paused, almost daring himself to look up at you, to meet your eyes one last time, but he resisted and sighed. “It might be a while before you see me again.” He told you, gently trailing his fingertips over the back of your hand. “But… I will see you again, won’t I?” You asked. “I promise, we will.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” Draco whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before he left you alone in the bathroom, walking away to prepare to carry out his biggest and most dreaded task. And he wondered as he descended into the dungeons, how you could ever love him after he had performed the things he must do.

But Draco had been right, because only months later, with no communication with each other aside from the odd glance here and there, he disappeared completely.

Promise me, you will not come looking for me. It was scrawled quickly onto a page and for the first time in nearly a year, you saw his writing join yours again on the paper of your book. You sighed as you read those words, sitting in your dormitory amidst the horrible realisation of what had taken place, that death eaters had killed Albus Dumbledore.

Leaping up from your bed, you grabbed a quill from your bag and opened the inkwell at your desk before writing your reply. I promise, but you must promise to find me when it’s safe. You wrote back.

Minutes passed and not a single drop of ink came through. Minutes turned into hours and while you thought he might not write back at all, you cast a quick glance at the page before you finally decided to try and sleep to see his words amongst yours again.

I promise.

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[hoe4almondmilk]

Safety Net: Chapter 3

Present! Carol Denning/Reader

Trigger Warning: There is mentions of Attempted sexual assault, nothing in detail though. 

“Oh, don’t be like that! Just give me a piece and I won’t make an arrest for reckless driving and possession.” The cop chuckled as he attempted to grab your shoulder.

“I said get the fuck away from me!” you yelled. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as his face approached yours. 

He grabbed you by the shoulders, everything was happening so fast and yet it felt like it was all in slow motion. That's when you grabbed his gun from his waist and shot him.

You gasped, sitting up quickly. Your heart was pounding and your skin was slick with sweat from the nightmare. It took a few moments to finally catch your breath.

“Oh my god.” You groaned quietly, as you rubbed your eyes from exhaustion.

This was your first nightmare in a very long time. The last time you had a nightmare was back when you first arrived at camp but that was years ago and you were on antidepressants. You had almost forgotten how real they felt. How they brought you back to that horrific moment. The moment your life was turned upside down and changed for the worst. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Carol groaned in a grumpy tone from underneath her bunk in a groggy voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Nothing. Just a nightmare.” You replied blankly as you laid back down.

After a few minutes of silence you heard Carol ask “You okay, kid?” Maybe you were delusional from being tired but you could’ve sworn you heard the slightest bit of concern in Carol’s voice.

“Not even a little bit.” You whispered as you attempted to hold back the tears.

It felt almost like hours before you could fall back asleep, scared your nightmare would continue if you closed your eyes.

“Wake the fuck up, Inmate.” C.O. Hellman yelled as he smacked the door of your cell, making a large clap noise that made you jump up from your sleep.

“Okay, I’m awake.” You groaned, as you rubbed your eyes and slid down from your bunk. You must’ve slept in pretty late, considering Carol was absent from her bunk. 

After getting changed into your navy scrubs and brushing your teeth, you made your way out of your cell into the common area. 

You scanned the room to see Carol at her usual spot playing bridge with the other women. 

You and Carol were on good terms now after your agreement the other night. An hour before lights out she’d even spend some time with you, giving you a bridge lesson. Still you still really weren’t sure if you were on that level of familiarity with her yet to just go sit at her table. You looked over to see your two favorite people Piper and Alex and made your way towards them.

“Well, someone slept in pretty late.” Alex said as she looked up from her book.

“Yeah, I had some trouble sleeping last night and I guess my body made up for it.” You groaned and you got comfortable in your seat.

“(L/N), what happened to you the other night? I can still see the bruises on your neck.” Piper inquired.

“Oh, shit.” Alex hissed as she leaned in to take a closer look at the now yellow bruising on your neck.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Your hand rubbed your neck as a pathetic attempt to shield the bruises. 

“Was it Badison?” Piper’s eyes widened. “You see Alex, I told you Badison is fucking crazy.” 

“Chapman, shush!” You hushed Piper. “Seriously, watch what you say around here.” 

“So it was Badison?” Piper whispered.

“Jesus, yes, Chapman. Listen, I have it taken care of, okay?.” You groaned, you did not want what happened to you the other night in the showers happening to her.

“If you say so.” Piper sighed as she looked over to Alex in hopes for a response. Alex just shrugged her shoulders. 

“Well, speak of the devil.” Alex warned as Badison made her way over to your table.”

“Hey lezzies, sorry to interrupt but Carol wants to see Mouse.” Badison chuckled. “Now.” She demanded.

“Well, off I go.” You sighed as you got up from your spot following the rambunctious blonde.

It’s safe to say you probably should’ve sat with Carol when you entered the common room. Hopefully, she’s not too upset. How could you have known? You gulped out of nervousness. What if you did piss her off? If Badison could get two girls to jump you in the shower imagine the damage Carol could do if she really wanted to. 

You quickly snapped out of your thoughts when you made it over to Carol’s table. Akers, Creech, Teng, Brock, Chambal and of course Carol were all sitting at the table. Badison sat down in front of Carol. You could feel not only her eyes on you but the eyes of the other women who sat around Carol. 

“Brock, move.” Carol said not looking up from her cards.

Brock rolled her eyes as she got up and away from her spot next Carol.

Carol looked up from her the cards in her hands and met your eyes with hers. “Sit.” 

You nodded and sat next to her, filling in Brock’s spot.

“It’s your turn to switch in.” Carol slid the deck of cards to you.

“What is she doing here?” Teng grunted obviously annoyed by your presence at the table. 

You couldn’t really blame her, Badison did order her to go jump you and made you out to be an enemy, yet here you were sitting next to Carol playing bridge.

Carol looked up from her cards and glared at Teng. “She works with us now.”

“So, Mouse. What the fuck are you in here for?” Badison smirked. You could feel the eyes of everyone at the table on you, except Carol who was too focused on the cards in her hands. 

“I’d really rather not talk about it.” You replied as you drew a couple of cards trying to focus on the game. 

You actually hadn’t told really anyone about why you were in prison in the first place but camp was small so word got around and so did rumors about what you had done, most of which weren’t true. You didn’t care, let them think what they want. You wanted to do your time and leave this place behind. But of course, your luck, the riot happened as you only had three years left of your seven year sentence. 

You were at maximum now, things were different here. You were surrounded by some of the most violent types of offenders. Maybe you should’ve been here in the first place. No, you shouldn’t. You did what you had to do.

 “Probably something petty, you did come here from minimum.” She chuckled. “Ain’t nothin tough about you.” It took everything in you not to roll your eyes at her. 

“Madison.” Carol cautioned with a glare. After a few moments of silence, Carol asked “Are you gonna tell us?”, as she glanced over at you waiting for an answer.

Should you lie? No, no definitely not. Carol was the boss, she could probably have a CO find out for her if she really wanted to and she'd have your head if she found out you lied to her.

 “I shot a cop.” You muttered as you pulled another card from the deck. You looked up when you noticed the wave of silence that washed over the entire table. Everyone was shocked to say the least. Even Carol whose face normally wore a blank expression looked slightly surprised with one of her eyebrows raised. 

“Damn, Mouse is a cop killer!” Creech laughed. 

“Yo, that’s badass!” Akers joined in with Creech. Both women were laughing in unison.

“Bullshit.” Badison laughed. “You just want to look tough.”

“It’s true.” You replied, as you sank further into your seat. Just wanting the attention to shift away from you. 

And unfortunately you were telling the truth but you couldn’t blame her for not believing you or anyone for that matter. You hated people finding out what you did. You didn’t necessarily regret what happened but you hated the way people saw you after you told them. Especially in prison, it gave a false image of you. You weren’t a violent person nor did you ever try to appear as one.

“Then why were you in minimum “cop killer”?'' Badison leaned forward, asking almost as if she was challenging you. Everything was a competition to her. 

You slammed the cards down on the table. “Not that it’s any of your business, Badison, but I didn’t kill him and it was self defense.” 

“I’m not buying it.” Badison continued.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you, Badison.” You scoffed, as you once again tried to center your focus back to the game. 

“Well that’s a shame cause you really sho-“

“Madison.” Carol interrupted her mid sentence “Stop.” Her eyes burning onto the loud blonde, obviously having enough of Badison starting petty pointless fights. 

You tried your best to stop the corners of your mouth from curving into a small smile. It was nice knowing Carol was keeping her end of the deal. 

Badison gulped and did as Carol said. 

“You know what,” Carol put her deck of cards down. “Madison, Scat.”

“What?” Badison asked almost dumbfounded.

“Unless you can play bridge well, all of a sudden, go. You’re annoying me.” Carol continued her glare at Badison.

“Fine.” Badison stood up from her spot and slowly trudged off, anger obvious in every step. 

Normally you would’ve been scared but you weren’t. Badison knew she was already crossing the line with Carol’s patience. She knew not to fuck with you like she did last time. 

“Let’s start over.” Carol sighed as she began to reshuffle the thick deck of playing cards.

After an hour of non stop rounds of bridge, Carol decided to take a break. She needed to talk to Badison about their new haul of pills. You weren’t complaining, your ass was starting to hurt from sitting on the hard plastic seat for so long. You headed up the stairs to your cell to lay down for a bit. You let out a quiet groan, as you rubbed your lower back. Your lower back definitely needed a break too.

“Psst.” You heard a voice whisper to you right before you walked into your cell, stopping you in your tracks. God it better not be fuckin Badison. You looked over and almost screamed. It was Nicky. 

“Long time no see, Doll.” Nicky chuckled as she leaned against the custodial cart.

“Nicky,” It took everything in you not to run into her arms and hug the absolute shit out of her. “I- How-... What are you doing here?” 

You couldn’t believe your eyes, you hadn’t seen Nicky since you guys were in Ad Seg but you two couldn’t really even have a real conversation because of the asshole guards. 

Nicky was one of the few real friends you had at camp. You remember the day she first arrived to camp. You two had been inseparable since and not that you would ever admit it but at one point you had a slight crush on her. You never mentioned it nor would you ever mention it to her because you value your friendship with Nicky more.

“What, not happy to see me?” She chuckled as she faked a pout.

You looked around to make sure no one was looking, seriously not needing another jumping. You smiled looking back at her, “I’m so happy, if I could hug you and not get jumped I would.” 

Nicky’s smile quickly faded when her eyes landed on your neck, “A second time? What the fuck happened?” 

You groaned, damn how long were these bruises gonna stay. “I don’t want to talk about it, it won’t happen again.”

 Nicky rolled her eyes and she gripped the mop in her hands tighter, her anger was obvious.“Who did that to you? I swear I’ll-“

“You’ll what? You’ll get jumped too, Nicky. It’s not like camp. Red can’t protect us here. Where is she anyway? Is she in D-Block with you?” The last time you saw Red was in Ad Seg.

“No, She must still be in Ad Seg.” Nicky looked hurt answering that. You wanted to hug her. It was painful knowing you couldn’t. 

“How are you, Nicky? Seriously, I fuckin miss you.” You could feel your eyes watering up. 

Nicky sniffled, “I miss you too,” She wiped her eyes, “You know, I’ve been better, Lorna and her bunkie adopted a pack of rats so I’ve had to hear about that for the past four days.” Nicky chuckled.

“Ew, that’s gross.” You chuckled softly.

“Nichols!” CO Blake yelled. “There’s a spill down here!” 

“Heigh-ho, off to work I go.” Nicky groaned, as she started to wheel her cart away, She turned around to say “I miss you, kid.” sadly.

“I miss you too, Nicky. More than you could know.” You replied, you slowly turned around trying to soak up as much of her image as you could before you made your way back into your cell. 

You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes before anyone saw. You hated it here. None of you deserved to be in here. You wanted your prison family back even if it was a dysfunctional mess.

You crawled up your bunk and into your bed, plopping face down into your very thin pillow. Praying that you’d just wake up from all of this and be back home with your family before all of this mess happened. Prison was a tortuous hell. 

Snapping you out of the hypnotizing darkness that was your pillow, you heard, “It’s barely noon and you’re asleep again?”

You lifted your head up to see Carol leaning against the entrance of the cell.

You let out a groan as you flipped onto your back, as you faced the ceiling. “I wasn’t sleeping.” 

“That’s surprising.” Carol chuckled as she strolled into the cell and sat herself down on her bed. “You’re so young, what do you have to be tired about?” 

You rolled your eyes, you absolutely hated it when people told you that, it was so annoying. “You know, that’s really invalidating.” You sat up on your bed, leaning your body towards the edge of the bed so you could look at her.

Carol was hardly listening, too focused on her magazine and lollipop. “Invalidating, how so?” She gave you a glance, taking a minuscule break from her scantily clad men.

“You’re just assuming, I have nothing to worry about solely because of the fact that I'm young. I don’t even feel young because of the place. Prison has robbed me of my youth. I should be in college.” You looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I should be anywhere but here.” 

Carol was silent for a moment, looking at you. “How long have you been in here?”

“I was eighteen, when it happened. I just graduated high school.” 

“Eighteen.” Carol repeated, She chuckled. “You were about my age when I first got here.” 

“You’ve been in here since you were eighteen?” You asked, you were shocked. Carol’s spent her whole life in this place and by the looks of how she runs things here, she wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon. 

“Crazy, isn’t it? It’s gone by so excruciatingly slow yet time flew by so fast.” She sighed as she removed her glasses from her face to rub her eyes. There was a hint of sadness and yet some passive aggressiveness in her voice. “It was originally just twenty-five years but I was betrayed by someone I cared about and so I got an extra thirty stacked on top.” She leaned her head against the wall of her bunk.

An “I’m sorry, Carol.” was all you could say, was there anything else you could say? This woman has spent her whole life in this place and was most likely going to die here, yet for some reason you thought you had the right to complain about a measly seven years.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m different now. I’ve learned not to trust anyone here so easily.” She put her glasses back on her face. There was a moment of silence. “So, exactly why did you shoot that cop, tough girl?” 

“It’s hard to talk about.” You muttered. “I have so many mixed feelings about what happened.”

“Sit down here with me.” Carol invited, scooting over to where her pillow laid.

You nodded as you climbed down from your bed to hers, not wasting this act of kindness from Carol. You knew she was cold blooded and was rarely kind to anyone. So far though, she made an exception for you. You just took it as her being nice because you were new and could offer something for her business.

You sat down on her bed, pulling your knees to your chest. “I didn’t intend to shoot him. That was the last thing I wanted to do but I didn’t have any other choice.” Your voice became hoarse as you tried to hold back the tears. 

Carol watched and listened to you in silence. 

“I had to, I wasn’t going to let him rape me. That’s what he wanted. I saw how he looked at me and how he grabbed me. I can still feel his grasp on my arms.” Tears fell from your eyes. Three years later and it was still so hard to talk about. You should be getting proper counseling, not the bullshit you were getting from Healy back at camp.

“Is that why you woke up last night?” Carol asked. You looked over at her and her expression was soft. Before it was a word that couldn’t be put with Carol. She was hard, tough and cold. Yet somehow she was showing you sympathy.

You nodded. “This was my first nightmare in years. My last one was when I first arrived at camp.” You wiped your tears away and chuckled. “What’s so fucked up is I’m the victim and yet I'm the one in prison. They decided his gunshot wound was his punishment.” 

You flinched when you felt Carol’s hand touch your back. Your muscles slowly relaxed when she began to rub your back. She didn’t say anything for a moment there. She didn’t need to. Her hand on your back was all she needed to say. This was the first time in a while you had felt someone show you slightest bit of affection. It was nice. You were touch starved.

“Thank you.” You gave Carol a small smile.

And she smiled back at you.

[whereflowersbloom]

Dum Spiro Spero

The leader of the league of shadows and secrets was watching a beautiful creature bathing in sunlight. Shinning ebony hair catching each breath of early autumn’s glinting sunset, a tendril of her hair catching in the wind as it breaks free from an elaborated braid. Raven was kneeling in the garden, hands working the soil, to bring life, making new life grow. Some moments she stopped to enjoy the autumnal breeze on her face, staring into the distance as if caught in between this world and another.

Looking back Damian never thought he would have this. It had never been an option for him. His life was mostly filled with dangers, blood, threats and uncertainty. Wondering if he would live to see the next sunrise or survive enough to watch the following sunset. His life had been filled with hatred. Hatred towards a parent be believed had abandoned him, an enemy that murdered his loved ones who raised him. He did everything in his power to avenge them but he did not feel satisfaction or any kind of gratification after killing him. No. The emptiness did not fade away.

There were times where he was filled with so much regrets. Regret of rejecting his father and not believing in him, that he cared for him. Regret of the days he spent resenting his adoptive brothers for having the chance of a different life. Regret for not being able to love someone freely. Not until her.

The first time he saw her he couldn’t help but stare in awe. The same day Damian drew in his first breath of Gotham City air.

An eternity could have passed by in the blink of an eye, breath hitched in his throat, eyes quivering with strong emotion, heart hammering in his chest and yet he would have stared at the sight of her the rest of his days. For it was humanly impossible to get his eyes off of her. It was a view he had been starved of for eighteen years.

He stared because she was light.

She was home. Finally.

Porcelain skin, thick locks of raven hair, piercing, unearthly amethysts struck through his soul. And he felt alive, whole.

He had learned an important lesson. Life was too short, shorter if you’re an assassin, it was too precious. You could never waste a second of it, especially with the people closest to your heart. And he made a solemn promise to his family and himself. He decided to live without regret. To take the opportunities that life handed him and most importantly, he swore to himself that even no matter what happened in the past, the terrible things he had done, his faults and mistakes. He deserved to be happy.

That was five years ago.

It was easy to lurk in the shadows of the their house, a petite, cozy cottage close to the league’s headquarters. In the Kunlun mountains he had found a rustic little gem straight out of a Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronté novel, that was how Raven had described it. She had been working on the garden for eight months. There were now fragrant jasmine bushes and two apple trees, one almost completely covered by creamy white climbing roses, clusters of bluebells, foxgloves, pink Hibiscus flowers, pale lavender orchids, and the entire lawn was strewn with white and yellow daisies. In the shadows he knew he would not disturb her reverie. Yet he had been caught, luminous violet eyes wiser than her years cast to where he has hidden with a gentle smile that just pricked the corners of her mouth. “You know I can feel you staring, Damian. The intensity of your emotions is making me go weak.”

Damian couldn’t stop admiring his lover. Because the eyes that followed her were ones brimmed with love, adoration. Stepping into the sunlight, gently he helped her stand up, instinctively wrapping an arm around her waist. “You will never be weak, beloved. Not because of me or anyone.” Words were spoken softly, his other hand reaching to lift a white lily from the blooming bulbs bed and tucking it right behind her ear. Not too far off in the distance the radiant sun continued arching low in the sky reading to say goodbye and allowing the sky to welcome the moon and stars.

One of his long, tanned hands, cupped her face with delicacy, her body aching desperately for his touch. He placed his remaining hand over her chest. She was aware that Damian could feel the rapid pulse of her heart through skin. “Thought you’re stronger than any other living creature in this universe. There is strength in your goodness, as much as there is in steel and fire.” His emerald eyes were filled with so much joy, so much warmth and devotion, it was endless, everflowing.

Raven barely thought she was breathing, willing her unruly heart to ease a fraction, soothe down its beating instead of racing even after all these years together. Damian gently kissed her temple and murmured against her rosy cheek in a low voice that made goosebumps rise on her tender flesh. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

She licked her lips and pretended to think about it for a moment. “Because I said you were insufferable our first meeting.” She teased. As much as his presence annoyed her at first, she had come to feel comfortable around him, safe, content. The feelings she had tried to contain became harder and harder to ignore. Slowly, he carved himself into her heart, something she did not have a name for took root. Every time he saw him, heart fluttered in her chest like a child, and everytime he smiled at her...oh Azar she couldn’t take the clash of ardent emotions. After that something inside her began to loosen, shift, to change. She had been a fool, deceiving herself it was nothing more than friendship.

Everything changed for them and she was infinitely thankful both had put in the effort to help each other overcome their fears. They only required a little push from Dick at the beginning, because both were impossibly stubborn.

Damian chuckled audibly. It was a fascinating sound she thought to herself. His hand trailed along her collarbone, enjoying the smooth texture of her ivory skin, grasping the side of her face. Green orbs bored into violet constellations. He spoke firmly and his features hardened slightly. There was a battle raging behind his green gaze, like he was desperately fighting something inside him. His past. “You did not judge me for my past actions, for the assassin I was raised to be. I was coated in blood, spent my days destroying and taking lives. And yet you found goodness in me.” His deep voice was rough and cracked just a bit.

She had given him five years worth of smiles, laughter, love and so much more. Filling the void inside him after losing his grandfather and mother. She had lifted him up. Damian would never let her go. He refused to. How could he?

“Dum spiro spero.” He breathed, heart thundering in his chest.

He did not have tell her its definition. She knew the meaning of the phrase. She blinked in surprise, her mind automatically translated it. While I breath, I hope.

Interlacing his hand with hers, entwined like a vine to tree, he swallowed hard before continuing. “You are my hope, Raven. When I look at you I see hope.” Raven was this incredible force which had burrowed itself so deeply within him being that there would be no uprooting it. Never.

She found herself voiceless, giving time for his words to sink in. Then she did not have to think about her responses for more than a second. She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Raven held his gaze, unwavering, for another minute before speaking. “I know you really look at me and see me for who I am and I hope you know, I will always look at you and I will see someone who despite seeing the worst of it all, is still kind, good, a generous and compassionate soul.”

The raw emotion swimming in his eyes made her want to embrace him for eternity. He loved her. He loved her more than she ever imagined. She felt her own eyes watering, tears running down her cheeks which Damian wiped away with careful motions.

“I would love to be your hope until the end of my days.” She whispered voice thick with emotion, forehead pressed against his. His skin was warmer than hers, she let herself submerge in the lingeringly tender contact. Unable to hold back anymore Damian kissed her ferociously, with starved lips, pouring all his words and feelings into the caress. Squeezing her frame against his, wishing for any distance to vanish, anything that would keep them apart.

“I love you.” He whispered in the most intimate of ways against her mouth.

Damian took her in his arms, carrying her and not wasting time, making his way inside the small cottage. They were two souls in love, hearts beating the same tune, in perfect synchrony.

Happy birthday chromie 🙈🙈🙈❤️❤️❤️

This small oneshot is dedicated to @chromium7sky my closest friend in the fandom.

I hope you all like it though. @tweepunkgrl @alerialblu @andthendk @ravenfan1242 @carnationmilk @bourniebna @srose-foxfire @sofiii

[lemonlushff-iy]

What's the dirtiest thing you've written that you never expected to write?

WIP. I'll finish it one day. Warning - it may present as Dub Con at first...but if I ever finish it, you will see that it's actually NOT. But...It feels worth adding this disclaimer regardless.

“Password?”

“Irish car bomb.”

Inuyasha watched as the metal slot slammed shut and the heavy grey door swung open, revealing the dark interior beyond the snake demon guarding the entrance. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and he could see it swirling in plumes from where he stood on the threshold.

The snake moved to the side, his yellow eyes narrowing when Inuyasha didn’t enter. He didn’t want to go in, but he didn’t have much of a fucking choice, did he? Thanks for that, Miroku and Sesshomaru.

“You coming or what, half breed?”

Not because he wanted to…

“Yeah,” he sighed, running his fingers through his shaggy hair before finally crossing the threshold into hell. It was dingy. Dirty. He was amazed he could smell the tang of sex in the air over all the cigarette smoke, but the further he walked down the barely lit hallway, the more that gave way to other scents.

Sex. Drugs. Alcohol.

It made his skin crawl.

“What am I getting myself into,” he sighed, slowly descending the stairs he found at the end of the hallway until he reached the club itself. Sweaty bodies ground together on the dance floor and lasers flashed down on the gyrating bodies from above, illuminating their flesh as they moved together.

He wasn’t interested in them, however. He was after something else.

His eyes swept over the crowd, and if he were self-conscious enough, he would have felt out of place there. His simple red button-down and jeans made him feel like a boy scout compared to the way the tight and short clothing fit all of these other patrons. If he wanted to blend in and find his adopted brother, he was going to have to change that a little.

He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, hoping that made him look a bit more like the typical clientele of the joint. No one was bothering him though, so he figured he was on the right path at least.

Inuyasha’s eyes swept the crowd as he looked for the backroom or a VIP area...Anywhere this “gang leader” could be hanging out. He didn’t know much about him. Just that he needed to find “Silver” to work things out. He couldn’t lose Shippo.

The guys were dumb, but they didn’t deserve to be held captive here or forced into this gang.

He spotted something in the back of the club that looked like a VIP section - rope and curtains included. There was a small gathering of women...all dressed in club clothing and looking far too beautiful to be related to this gang as anything more than arm candy...but...He knew they were his destination. If he were looking to find someone named Silver, they just felt like the people to ask.

His ears pinned themselves down to his head as he began to weave his way through the throng of bodies on the dance floor. He felt hands trying to pull him into dancing - palming his chest and upper body as he walked, and he shrugged them off as best he could. He needed to stay focused - he couldn’t afford any distractions. He had come this far, and he wasn’t about to lose his way now.

A flash of silver hair out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to a shirtless waiter wearing a pair of black pants and matching suspenders. A white shirt collar hung around his neck, serving as the base for a black tie, and matching white cuffs stood out against his wrists.

Sesshomaru.

His golden eyes were nervous as he brought the women their drinks, placing it on the table before a woman with black, wavy hair and silver eyes. She wore a short, low cut, silver sequin dress, and a red smile on her face that made his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat.

She was stunning. Mysterious. Sensual. He wanted to bend her over the table and fuck her raw then and there, but he couldn’t. He was on a mission and he couldn’t stray from his task. It was too important to him.

Now that he was closer, he could see the danger in her. The beauty that was nothing more than a front for the many mysteries she held within. He wanted to know what they were. She seemed powerful and not to be trifled with, but he didn’t care. He needed to know everything about her.

Was...he wrong?

Was she Silver?

He swallowed the thought, and his stomach dropped as she reached out and grabbed ahold of his brother’s tie, running her hands up it until she held the base at Sesshomaru’s throat. She gave it a sharp tug, making him fall forward and almost into her lap. He caught himself on the back of her chair, his palms slamming against it with what would have been a loud slap if the music wasn’t blaring overhead.

Inuyasha watched “Silver” smirk and tilt her head up, whispering something to Sesshomaru, and Inuyasha could see his brother’s Adam's apple bob at her words. He nodded his head, murmuring a response before she slid her fingers into his hair and brought his ear to her lips. He couldn’t discern what they were talking about, but it was making his stomach knot. He knew he needed to get to them, and now.

“SESSHOMARU!” He bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth in an attempt to make his voice carry, but it was just drowned out. He wasn’t going to get their attention this way. He no longer cared about blending in. He shoved his way through the crowd, disgruntled patrons shooting him glares and yelling “hey!” and “Watch it asshole!” as he went until he was standing in front of the VIP area.

“Sesshomaru!” he yelled, and “Silver” broke away from his brother in annoyance, her eyes warming slightly as she took him in. He felt her gaze roam up his body, taking in every inch of him. Weighing him. Judging him. Calculating the situation.

“You know this man, Pet?” she demanded, and Inuyasha knew in that moment that he was right. This was “Silver”, alright.

“I’m his brother,” Inuyasha replied before Sesshomaru could. “I’m here for him, and I’m not leaving without him.”

Silver’s red lips widened into a smile as she reclined in her chair, propping her chin on a relaxed, curled fist.

“Really? The dog has a half breed for a brother?”

Inuyasha did his best to contain his growl, but Silver could still hear it, if the way her smile widened was any indicator.

“Do you know why he’s here, oh brother of his?”

“I do.”

“Then you know that he’s not just walking out of here,” she informed him curtly, her eyes roaming up and down his body again. He noticed that the other women beside her were doing the same, and he noticed for the first time that all of the women there were appraising him. One of the women beside her leaned in to whisper something to Silver, and he watched the long, thick lashes around her eyes lower as she listened.

“Mmmm...Already ahead of you, Kikyo,” he heard her reply, and this response seemed to please Kikyo greatly.

“I don’t care,” Inuyasha replied, trying to ignore the exchange between the women, but it was hard. He had a feeling it was about him, and it made him nervous. “He’s not staying here with you.”

“Sesshomaru has a debt to be paid,” she calmly informed him. “Now, I can’t just...overlook this, nor can I overlook his transgressions...Do you understand what I mean?”

Paid. Money. Alright. He could do this. It would be hard...but he’d figure out something.

“Ok. How much?”

The women around him laughed, and he suddenly got the impression that perhaps it wasn’t monetary.

“What is your name, ‘brother’,” Silver demanded, and he swallowed. She was far too calm for his taste.

He saw Sesshomaru open his mouth, perhaps to reply on his behalf, but a wind demoness with a high ponytail and magenta eyeshadow pulled him down to her seat. He watched his brother situate himself in her lap, allowing her to run her fingers down his suspenders. His chest. His pectorals. She circled his nipples, flicking them and scraping his nails against them, and all the while, Sesshomaru said nothing - allowing her to have her way with his body however she saw fit.

“Inuyasha,” he whispered, unable to remove his eyes from his brother. Sesshomaru wouldn’t meet his gaze. He looked like he actually enjoyed the demoness’s attention, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now.

“Inuyasha,” Silver purred, her smile widening. “An interesting and yet fitting name,” she commented offhandedly as her eyes flicked to the top of his head, and he found himself looking away from her. He didn’t need or want the reminder right now.

“Parents had a sense of humor, but enough about me. I wanna talk money. What’s it gonna take, Silver?”

“He thinks I’m Silver,” she laughed, her head tilting back as she let out a full-bodied laugh. He didn’t get what was so fucking funny, and frankly, he was starting to get annoyed. “Oh Inuyasha,” she breathed. “I’m not Silver...but your brother is mine. You’re right about that.”

“Yeah? Then who has my brother?” he demanded as she leaned forward to take a glass of red liquid from the table. The movement lowered the neckline of her dress, allowing him to see more of her breasts than he previously could, and he felt his desire for her flare.

“Well. That depends...I’m inclined to release your brother to you, Inuyasha. But, seeing as his debt needs to be paid, what you call me depends on what you’re willing to do to obtain him. Now, there is an easy way and a hard way we can do this,” she informed him, lifting her hand and two other women stood - one with short, shoulder length hair and a sight black dress that clung to every curve of her body. The other wore a black mesh catsuit with solid black cut outs that prevented you from seeing anything, yet told you that she had forgone both a bra and panties that night. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that still reached her waist, and pink eyeshadow. They moved to the sides of the VIP area, drawing the curtains around them shut to give them some privacy as they spoke.

It muffled the music significantly, enough that his ears were able to rise up from his skull, but not enough that he could no longer hear it or feel the base in his chest. Or maybe that was just the pounding of his heart he felt. Nerves. It had to be nerves.

“Alright. What’s the easy way?” he pressed, and the women who had just closed the curtain came up behind him, running their hands up and down his chest and back in a way that allowed him to connect the dots even before the woman in silver purred.

“Satisfy my whims and desires for the night, and he’s yours.”

Her eyes were dark. Salacious. Filled with desires that were impossible to mistake.

“Just the night,” he demanded, shifting his eyes away from the silver clad vixen and back to his brother.

“Please me, and yes. Just the night. You’ll take his place and do everything that I ask, and obey me fully and completely. When I say jump, you say…”

He swallowed thickly.

“How high,” he finished, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Very good...yes…” she approved, and a thousand images of her naked body entwined with his entered his mind at her praise. Images that left his heart racing and his blood heating in want. He could feel his cock twitch in excitement at the thought of bending her over the table and making her his.

“What’s the hard way?” he continued, trying to dispel the thoughts and refocus his attention. It was an obligatory ask, though he knew he had his answer.

“The hard way...Well...Let’s just say that it involves obtaining something not exactly...legally. Are you interested?”

Not particularly. No.

“Easy way it is,” he chuckled nervously, as the woman holding Sesshomaru leaned down to kiss him. At the same moment, one of the women holding Inuyasha slipped her hand inside his shirt, making his breath hitch as she palmed his pectoral muscle.

He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

“In that case...You may call me Mistress.”

He swallowed and felt the women on either side of him begin to unbutton his shirt. He could feel their fingers working each button through the holes in the fabric, the warm air of the club kissing his skin as the front of his chest was slowly exposed to Mistress and her friends. Despite the heat in the room, he could still feel his skin pucker and a shiver run through him as the woman with the shorter hair leaned forward and kissed his neck. His shoulder. Slid her fingers across his own nipples. He tried not to panic. This was what he had agreed to, and Mistress seemed to expect the way her friend was touching him.

It almost looked like she welcomed it and took pleasure in it. In watching the little show her friends were putting on.

“How does he taste, Yura?” she asked, and he felt Yura nip his shoulder before soothing the offended flesh with her tongue.

“Delicious. You’re lucky you get this one all to yourself.”

“Later,” Mistress mused as the other woman with the high ponytail pushed his open shirt down his shoulders before her mouth was on him as well. Licking, sucking, palming his flesh...He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself focused.

“Sango?” Mistress pressed, and her friend reached down to the front of his pants, palming him.

“Very lucky indeed…”

“Sesshomaru,” Mistress, cooed, and Inuyasha watched his brother stand to kneel before her. “Give your brother your clothes,” she demanded, and Inuyasha felt the women’s hands working on his belt.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, rising once more and working on removing his own clothing, or lack thereof. He placed each item onto the table before the woman in silver, until he stood before them clad in nothing more than his birthday suit.

Inuyasha closed his eyes as he felt his boxer briefs being pushed down to his ankles, and he fought the urge to cover himself. What was the point? They’d all see him in all his “glory” before the night was over. He held his hands down to his side, clenching and unclenching his fists and watched as Mistress's smile widened as she took him in.

“Sesshomaru, perhaps I should have traded you a long time ago for your brother…”

Sesshomaru’s didn’t respond, nor did he.

He toed off his socks and shoes, not needing to be told to. He knew what was coming next. He didn’t need them to verbalize their demands. He bent down to pick up the cuffs first, knowing the women wanted a show, and Sango tilted her head to the side.

“He has a nice ass,” she commented, slapping it and making him straighten his back abruptly. “Nice and firm.”

“Really,” Kikyo drawled, shifting in her chair. “Do try and contain yourselves. The entertainment hasn’t even begun yet.”

“Mmmm…” Mistress agreed. “But...we have all night, ladies. Sango?” Mistress intoned, tilting her head to the side, and she begrudgingly returned to her seat. “You too,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at Yura and she reluctantly left his side as well.

He took that as his cue to keep dressing, and when he was finished, he stood at attention, waiting for her to tell him to do something.

“Pet...This area is a mess,” Mistress informed him. “Clean it and return...And while you’re there, ask the bartender for ‘Kagome’s Kit’. He will know what you mean.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he ground out picking up all of the empty bottles and glasses. When he slipped out behind the curtain he sighed, trying to wrap his head around what the hell had just happened to him in there.

[where-dreamers-go]

James Conrad x Fem!Reader (Soulmate AU) Part One

(A/N: I wanted to experiment with another soulmate alternative universe. Predominantly in James’ point of view. This has been (slowly) in the works for a long while. Again, I went back to this now in 2021 when this was typed from a notebook in 2019. I kind of forgot about this one…my bad. So this is for @girl-next-door-writes Bingo Challenge~! Yeah, I know I have a few other insert readers that I’m working on, but this one was basically finished and I can’t believe I forgot about it. Part One, Erica? Yeah, I know...we get there when we get there. Bingo Card: Soulmates Warnings: Brief and vague mentions of people not surviving on Skull Island. Word Count: 3,246 words )

A world with ancient creatures long forgotten and slowly being remembered was an intricate puzzle. There were believers, those who were neutral, and those who spit negativity at the notion of something against their beliefs.

A society and world where soulmates could found one another on their own was exciting for the hopeful. Bioluminescent glow of the skin acted as a compass with one’s soulmate in place of North. A part of the body closest to the direction of one’s soulmate would glow. It could be the tip of a nose, an extended elbow, or any small pinpoint glow unless one’s soulmate was closer. The more near to one’s soulmate, the larger the glowing area. 

✧ ✧ ✧

James’ skin never glowed more than the size of a small coin. He had traveled more than the average citizen. He had been a captain, Special Operations, but was a civilian once more as a hirable tracker. Yet agreeing to go aboard his last job changed everything. What he knew about the world and her creatures was altered. Skull Island was only a part of it all.

On top of being forced into Monarch’s containment and learning that there were other monsters out there around the world—his skin was glowing in large patches. It was distracting for himself and those with him. The others were getting quite interested and offering to help. As it had been glowing more noticeably since he and Mason were briefed on the ancient super species.

“I can handle it. Let’s stay on topic, shall we?” James asked, as he walked out of the concrete holding room.

“Are you sure? Because—,” the boy, Houston, swallowed his words at the quick glance from James. “Right.”

It was no secret that the two scientists, Houston Brooks and San Lin, found James’ glowing skin to be a big deal. Seeing someone’s skin glow about the size of their hand was nothing to ignore. Yet that was what James intended to do. There were larger situations to consider, especially as the two scientists took Mason and James to another area—finally—once they were on board.

“More of your skin is glowing,” said Mason, her voice hushed.

“I know.” James stated, but not as flatly as he intended to end the conversation.

“I wonder who it is,” Houston stated.

“Someone in Monarch definitely,” San added.

“Again, may we stay on topic?” James looked pointedly at each of his companions.

“Sorry.”

“Yes.”

He did not have a clear idea where they were being lead in the government building, but he did know it would lead to more information on the matters Monarch was involved in.

✧ ✧ ✧

Work had been left ignored, procrastinated for hours. Your eyes studying your own skin as its bioluminescence when you had walked through the compound and as you sat in your small office.

You were brought into Monarch almost a year ago with promises of knowledge and helping others. Your curiosity had sucked you in. It was a home, workplace, and life like no other. There were many surreal moments, definitely, considering ancient creatures not being just legends. Something a zoologist like yourself dove into researching.

You were happy. You had a purpose of helping others. The more you learned and researched, the more you felt actually fulfilled. Also, the more paperwork and notes you had pinned to the wall and filed onto your desk.

Seeing your skin’s soulmate glow broaden in size seemed more otherworldly than writing down a wingspan for Mothra.

Sighing, you rotated your forearm as the glow spread to your bicep.

This week just keeps getting more intense, you thought. First an expedition on Skull Island, now—

Knock knock

You quickly rolled down the sleeves of your shirt.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Houston walked in through the open doorway, “got a minute?”

“Sure.” You answered, standing from your seat.

Three more people walked into your office, one of which you recognized as San.

“May I help you?” You asked as you made an effort not to make any direct eye contact with the newcomers for at least a moment longer.

“Ah…” His eyes were on the man he had brought with him.

“Houston?”

He coughed before speaking and turning his attention elsewhere, “This is Mason Weaver—.”

“Hi.” Mason waved, a woman with dirty blonde hair.

“Hi,” you smiled and waved in return. The glow appearing out of your hand. You quickly tucked your hands behind your back. A glow then brightening your face.

“—And…this is James Conrad.”

“Hi.” The tall man swallowed dryly, his face and neck glowing warmly. Extremely obviously.

Oh, dear, you thought.

Clearly, out of everything that happened in the past week, he was not prepared for meeting his soulmate. Neither were you.

“Hi.” Your voice lacked the strength you were hoping to pull out of yourself for one second away from your work. Although it did not seem to hurt any of the introductions.

Quiet quickly took over your small office. Multiple pairs of eyes looked between you and the Mister Conrad. With your desk behind you, you were a cornered little mammal.

“So, what’s your job here?” Mason asked, breaking through the other’s silent stares.

“I’m a zoologist and here at Monarch I try to figure out how these species live—survive in their environments. Hoping to learn about their evolution and habits. Basically the animal kingdom.” You answered, your shoulders slacking some.

“She also has an interest in mythology, which is a great help to us,” Houston piped up.

“If I was more into cryptology it would make this a little more fun. If not give me a small head start when I first came here.”

“Speaking of head start…How much time do you think we have?” Mason asked.

“Time… Uh. Considering we survived this long as a species, how technology is progressing, and how your expedition unearthed some of the creatures….I would say that we still have time before the world—our society as a whole—knows them as facts. That much can be said.”

“That’s good news.”

“But that doesn’t mean all humans or even our technology will be prepared for their arrival or even living amongst them.”

“I’m not sure I want to live next door to one of them,” Houston pointed out.

“The creatures already live here. They were here first.” San added.

“We are the ones who must adapt.” James said, arms crossed over his chest.

Your breath came in quickly as your eyes reminded you of the man’s own bioluminescence. It covered all of his arms’ skin that was visible from his short-sleeve shirt. Mesmerizing you in thoughts that seemed too supernatural and much too distracting for the topic at hand.

“Are we not gonna talk about you two’s skins glowing?” Houston asked, jolting you out of your thoughts.

You straightened up hastily.

“Learning all we can about ancient creatures that could possibly destroy the human race and other creatures of the world comes first.” You said, though perhaps more to yourself. It wasn’t entirely a ‘no’.

“Agreed.” James stated, arms still crossed and glowing.

You had only taken a glimpse at him from the corner of your eye.

“Alright,” Houston drew out the word. “The world is top priority.”

“As it should,” San added. “And we should show Mason and James the other wing. Show them their rooms and where they can eat.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Mason said as she turned towards the door.

“Likewise,” you smiled.

“A pleasure,” James said shortly before leaving just before Mason.

Houston and San gave their short goodbyes as they left you to your work.

You plopped down onto your chair. Heart thumping loudly in your chest, you shuttered as you let out a breath of air.

“He’s here.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Mason and James were shown more of the facility on the way to the living area. A whole opposite wing inside of the secret facility where those in Monarch could stay. It was impressive. Their separate rooms would be the final stop on the tour.

James wondered if there would be no leaving that place. After time, would he want to?

I’m going to have to help people. I’m alright with that. If they need help—the world, I’ll do what I can. He thought as he counted off the doors they passed.

Houston and San lead the way.

“I can’t believe you didn’t stay and talk with her,” Mason declared from beside James. “Actually I can. Nevermind.”

“There’s no time.” James said.

“That’s a poor excuse for someone who just heard that we do have time. Years even.”

“But would it be worth it?” He countered.

“That’s up to you and her. You could also learn a lot more about this place.”

“I think I’ve heard enough about this place for one day.”

He knew that Mason was trying to bait him, but also to genuinely help. It wasn’t an everyday thing to hear about someone finding their soulmate; let alone see it happen.

It had to happen this way, didn’t it?

When night fell and James was finally alone, he was reminded of everything he had pushed to the back of his mind. Well fed and cleaned up, he laid in bed. He could not help but to stare at the glowing of his skin on his left side. It meant that you did not leave the facility either. Could you though? He reached out his left arm and watched as his entire hand glowed. Bright whites and warm yellow tones. Even when he was in the UK his skin never glowed more than the size of his thumb. His soulmate was there. Alive and healthy.

He sighed.

Normally he would not even think about his soulmate or even remember about a glowing patch of his skin because it was always out of sight or not enough to notice. Too many changes and discoveries. Then he met you. However brief of a meeting, James had felt something spark in his mind and his veins. Somewhere in him, he felt a connection. An interest that rooted itself inside of him where he could not see.

Closing his eyes, James settled with his thoughts.

She’s safe. That’s what’s important.

✧ ✧ ✧

James awakened from his half-sleep state from a knocking on the room’s only door. Rolling out of bed, he walked to see who needed to see him. It was not until his entire front was glowing brighter than yesterday did he know for certain who was behind the door. He flicked on the room light. Sleep faded from his mind completely.

He took a breath in.

Upon opening the door, he did not mind greeting who he saw.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smiled all tense with your face all aglow.

A small smile curled his lips.

Guess it didn’t take her long to figure out which room I was in.

“I’m sorry if it’s too early.” You said, voice hushed.

“It’s fine. Truly.”

“I was just…wondering if you were okay.”

He could of laughed at the statement, but he chose against it.

“Considering I was lucky to return alive from an island full of monsters, was taken against my will to be brought here, was shown a presentation of other monsters on the planet, and still haven’t left this place—I would have to say that simply ‘okay’ doesn’t quite fit.”

Silence filled the hall.

James felt a twinge of guilt seeing the mixture of hurt on your face unfiltered. Your fingers intertwined tightly. He waited to hear what you would say.

You finally found words you wanted to share, “Monarch tends to be a bit dramatic and secretive, but I think that’s because it’s difficult for Monarch as a whole to find people they can trust.”

“They seem to trust you a great deal.”

“I’ve just gathered information. I’m a zoologist and I also want to make sense of what our world really is—but that doesn’t mean I’ll figure out everything we should even know about one of these creatures. I do my best. I don’t go out recruiting or anything. I haven’t even been out in the field in months.”

He saw more than he had yesterday how the subjects at hand were making you distressed. Seen from how your eyes looked panicked and you hid your hands in the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry for what you went through on the island. No one should have gotten hurt or…,” your voice trailed off.

“Each of us knew the risks—to a degree.”

“But you weren’t told the truth. It wasn’t fair.”

James leaned against the doorway. New thoughts coming forward in his mind.

“Were you available to go to Skull Island?”

“I—,” you cocked your head at him before your eyes glanced elsewhere. “Bill Randa told me to look over my research. Basically like writing a second draft to a paper. He told me that I was missing something. But…we didn’t have any new information coming in at the time.”

“Any chance he was wary of whether or not you would have told those he hired why we were really there?”

That would have been helpful. But Houston and San did not say anything either.

“I…I don’t know. I’ve never told a secret before. Not that any of this is really a secret. It’s more like myths and stories that people wouldn’t likely believe at first glance.”

He watched as you rubbed your arms still deep in thought.

James straightened up.

“Would you care to come in? I think we’ve stood out here long enough.” He smiled.

You smiled kindly in return.

“Would it be alright if we talked about something other than monsters?” You inquired.

“Sure. Did you have anything in mind?” He dearly hoped you were not going to ask about the War or that part of his past that interested most others.

No doubt she had heard something from Houston or San. Or she asked.

To his surprise and only partial relief, you held up a single glowing finger.

Right. That.

James’ chest rose and fell before he nodded in agreement. The man moved back inside the room given to him and held the door open as you gingerly entered.

As you passed him the side of your face glowed a bright white that his eyes seemed to follow without a second thought.

Seconds ticked by and you were both still standing around and not sure what to do as you both glowed, keeping a distance.

You rose your eyebrows, amused with the silence.

One of us has to say something, he thought.

What was there to say? It was not the most ideal of circumstances around.

“I…I must apologize for being so blunt when we met.” James said. “Everything has just been adding up and piling on more information. I didn’t want to put any of that emotion towards you. None of this was expected.”

“It’s alright. I mean, I always figured I’d miss my chance at meeting my—uh, you know…”

James nodded.

“Because of my work and usually being inside or one place. Not really moving around. Plus I figured I’d somehow walk right passed or something and not notice because I’m focused on other things.”

“Your work is important to you. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you smiled a bit as you rested your hands on your hips. “Nothing like good work ethic in something your interested in. Though right now it’s quite the topics.”

Narrowing his eyes for a moment, James figured you were talking about more than just monsters. About him, perhaps?

We keep dancing around the soulmate subject. What do we even want? What do I want?

“It’d been nice to focus on other things.” You said.

What?

The corner of your lips quirked up as you looked at him.

“Things about what other people do or are interested in.” You clarified. You had read his expression well enough.

“I’m not sure what information I could offer.” James stated softly. “I was still a tracker for hire when Monarch offered me the job.” He had not entirely wanted to bring that up to you, however there was not much else. How personal did he want to be? This was the most time he had spent in your presence since meeting you the day before. To him, you did not seem the radical type like those he encountered while on Skull Island. Time would tell when he would open up more to you. Even the whole soulmate subject was a heavy topic.

You seemed determined enough to push through the conversation.

“Could…,” you pressed your lips together in a tight line. Eyes no longer meeting his. “This is probably extremely personal, but—if you wanted to…would you had been able to find me on your own?”

“The glowing would had made it exceedingly easier. Yes.”

You nodded, taking in his words.

“Would you?” He asked.

Eyes returning to his, your shoulders perked higher. You shook your head.

“Even working for Monarch, I couldn’t.” You said quietly. “I think it worked out though.” You shrugged, trying to defend your happiness of meeting James.

She really is happy to have met me. Finding me though…That’s what I figured, he thought. She can’t travel the world with her expertise without support. She couldn’t have been able to find me in Vietnam. Seeing her office, she probably would had been helpful on the trip. He froze at his thoughts. No. That would had been terrible.

“I know that we agreed not to speak about any more monsters, however,” he inhaled visibly, “I am glad that you were not on that expedition.”

“Why?” Your question was out of curiosity not pride.

“Your presence would had made it more complicated. None of it would have been of your own doing. Rather, uh, the stakes would have been higher. Greater.”

Just the start of his mind thinking about if you there bothered him. The creatures, the people, unknown environment they found themselves in, and the secrets that were held.

“Oh…that sort of makes sense.”

“Sorry,” he took a step closer to you. “It’s just there were guns being pointed to anyone who disagreed with the Lieutenant Colonel. And if you were there I’m sure he would have used you as leverage or had threatened you or worse. Our glowing skins would have made us easy targets.”

“Not to forget the wildlife as I heard briefly.”

“That too. I’m so glad you weren’t there and I say that with much respect to you.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

That didn’t sound forward, did it?

“At least this is a much more safer environment to get to know one another.” James said.

At the closer proximity he could see that even the tip of your nose was glowing. He had never seen someone’s entire face illuminated before. To know it was from his presence, gave him an emotion he could not immediately place.

“How long do you plan on staying?”

The question struck him deep. James had not even left Vietnam when the war was over and even in Monarch he was not sure where he would stay. Was there a place for him in Monarch? He was a tracker and they were discovering monsters who lived below the Earth’s surface. He could find work there, but could he find a life there?

“As long as I am needed.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

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[when-they-write-stuff]

-

Stiles thought the best way to end things was to never let them start in the first place. 

That’s what his case seemed to be anyway.

See, if something started, it had to end. Stiles had learned that the hard way over and over again during his life. His mom’s sickness came and didn’t go away until it had stripped her from him in every way possible. Then he’d been thrust into the chaotic world of werewolves, banshees, and hunters, and he was pretty sure it was all going to end with his inevitable doom.

Things always came to an end one way or another. So eventually, Stiles had decided it was easier to just never let them start.

That began with the case of Lydia Martin.

Stiles’s mom used to tell him that if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that could stand in his way. Of course, that hadn’t worked when she’d gotten sick and he’d decided there was no way she could ever die. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Stiles had told himself one day that parents couldn’t die and fully believed afterward, that if he set his mind to that fact, she’d live forever.

That changed the day of the funeral. Not before, not even when he’d been alone in the hospital and the heart monitor had gone flat. No, it’d taken him a lot longer than that to realize she was gone and… and parents could die.

People could in general.

The next thing he set his mind to was Lydia Martin. There was something about sharp green eyes and the way she looked when solving a problem that made him think maybe, maybe, this was what his mom had meant. That some things were just meant to be.

Stiles was ten when he set his mind to Lydia Martin. 

He was sixteen when she set her own to Jackson Whittemore.

Or maybe, he thought, it was less of her mind and more of her heart. And that’s what really mattered, wasn’t it?

Seventeen-year-old Stiles ended up being determined. Not in any way particular anymore, no. He was determined in general; determined to survive, determined to get through the rest of his teenage years without becoming werewolf chow or prey to whatever else Beacon Hills brought. 

It all started with the case of Lydia Martin. It ended that way too. 

And honestly, Stiles didn’t think it was all bad, necessarily. He was the sidekick, the token human. He had this baseball bat, a can of wolfsbane pepper spray, and his trusty jeep. Stiles Stilinski was the kid in the red hoodie, where it was darker in certain spots from bloodstains that never fully washed away. Things didn’t need to start with him, because they had already begun with the people who actually mattered.

But then there was the matter of Derek Hale.

The first time Stiles had run into the werewolf in the middle of the woods, his brain had gone nope, scary, bad. There was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. The man scared him half to death for the entirety of his freshman year and then one day, Stiles realized he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Derek Hale was difficult to figure out. When Stiles was faced with a problem, he liked to take his time. Figure it out. 

With his mom, it had been something involving hope. See, Stiles had known she was sick. He wasn’t young enough to think that couldn’t happen. But he didn’t quite put it all together until after weeks of watching the nurses move in and out of his mom’s hospital room, with their notepads and checklists that he could never make out the words of.

One of the nurses gave him his own pad and red-inked pen one day. She told him to draw whatever he wanted, as if sitting in the same chair for hours on end wasn’t healthy. Looking back now, Stiles supposed maybe it wasn’t.

That was probably the first time he’d tried to solve a puzzle like the adults did. He’d always sucked at drawing anyway.

Red was unsolved. 

Stiles still owned that red pen.

For Lydia Martin, Stiles tried to step up his game. He made this ten-year plan that was destined to go right. The more details, the better, he thought. Except maybe ten years wasn’t enough, or maybe he’d skipped over some important step, because it never ended up happening. 

Stiles bought the whiteboard when werewolves became a thing. A whiteboard with red string, yellow string, and green. Then at some point, there was blue too. Stiles couldn’t really remember when that happened.

It kind of snuck up on him. Like the matter of Derek Hale.

Oh— fucking Derek Hale.

Things started to end when fucking Derek Hale kissed him.

-

Stiles couldn’t exactly remember what had put Derek in a bad mood, but the man had been stomping around for weeks with an expression that constantly promised murder. Stiles supposed if he was smart, he would have stuck with the rest of the pack and avoided the man like the plague, but Stiles never claimed to be smart.

Clever, sometimes. But not smart. Not often, at least.

Erica thought his bad mood was caused by the last threat they faced; a rather bloodthirsty hunter who had shot Derek in the chest. It’d taken the man three days to fully heal, so Stiles thought that was possible.

But he could never get a good read on the werewolf, okay? Red was unsolvable. Derek was unsolvable. The man was like a riddle Stiles hadn’t been able to solve and no matter what angle he looked at the werewolf from, he hadn’t been able to figure Derek Hale out.

Not yet, at least.

And then there was the argument.

To be fair, Stiles didn’t argue with Derek as often as he did someone like Jackson. Sure, he often drove Derek to flash red eyes or occasionally threaten to rip his head off, but that was just their relationship. Stiles drove him crazy and when Lydia gave him that knowing look, he pretended the man didn’t exist until their next ‘I’ll rip your throat out’ type of conversation.

But this time was different. This time, Stiles had almost— only almost though— gotten himself ripped apart by a rogue omega. And then Derek was red-eyed right from the beginning.

And Stiles sometimes had a tendency to push.

“I’m just saying,” he said, crossing his arms to Derek’s rather murderous expression. “If I were any one of the other pack members, you would have clapped me on the back for taking the omega out.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, Stiles,” Derek growled. “You were stupid and reckless, and you put yourself and the pack in danger!”

“I have a baseball bat for a reason, asshole! I can take care of myself!”

The man looked livid, the red in his eyes not even close to the minor turn-on that Stiles sometimes found it to be. But it wasn’t like any of this was his fault, really. Sure, he’d gotten a little scratched up, but it wasn’t like the rest of the pack had gotten off scott-free. Stiles had seen his chance and he’d taken it, knocking the omega right out with his recently upgraded steel baseball bat.

If anything Derek should be thanking him, not flipping out.

“It’s just because I’m human,” Stiles said hotly. Derek growled again.

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else is it, Derek? All my limbs are still intact and there’s still life in this token human’s lungs, so I think that counts as a win! The omega was about to rip Isaac’s throat out anyway, so I did a good thing!”

“You did a stupid thing.”

Stiles drew back, seething. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek had chewed him out for doing something ‘irresponsible’ or ‘stupid’ but usually Scott was around to keep one of them from committing murder. The loft was empty this time, though, the rest of the pack having gone out to celebrate while Derek had all but forced Stiles back to the loft to take a look at his injures.

Which were scratches. Stiles got worse at lacrosse practice.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “I’m going to meet up with the rest of the pack. Scott said he’d buy me fries for being a badass. Which I was, asshole.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

Stiles clenched his jaw and spun back around. The red had faded a little from Derek’s eyes, but he still looked murderous. And wouldn’t that be unfortunate it Stiles had survived being torn to shreds only to have his throat ripped out by Derek Hale?

“I just—” The man took a step forward and then grimaced, folding his arms over his chest again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But just me.”

“The others can heal.”

“Allison can’t.”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “Allison is a hunter. She’s had training.”

“I have a baseball bat!”

“That is not—” Derek glared. “That’s not good enough. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a giant ass!”

Derek growled again, uncrossing his arms. And if Stiles was being honest, he wasn’t sure how one thing turned to another. But one moment, he was pretty sure he could punch the man out, stepping forward and lifting his chin, and then Derek was yanking him even closer, kissing him hard before Stiles could even react.

Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.

Stiles was pretty sure his brain short-circuited for a second, but he probably wouldn’t have pulled away even if it hadn’t. And he’d totally blame that for the moment it took him to respond, because Stiles had been so sure one of them was going to murder the other. Not… this.

Though, he would happily let this be how he died.

Yeah, this could be how he died.

Derek’s nipped sharply at his lower lip and Stiles groaned, his brain coming back online slowly. If he would have known this would happen when they really argued, he would have started picking fights with the werewolf a lot sooner. Though, maybe it was all built up over time. The man kissed him like they were still arguing, the one way Stiles couldn’t mouth off to win the fight.

He could be okay with that, though.

Stiles was still dazed with Derek eventually pulled back a few inches, the man’s breaths warm against his skin. He wasn’t the only one panting, Stiles realized, his own heart thudding like a drum against his chest.

For a moment, they both just stood there. And for the first time that night, Stiles’s mind was completely empty. And it was nice, in a strange way. Like he’d been drugged.

Then Stiles blinked a few times and stared. Except Derek wasn’t even looking back at him.

The man avoided his gaze like Stiles wasn’t there, posture rigid with his arms folded over his chest again. Like that was the only defense he had against Stiles and the few inches between them. Stiles’s brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up before Derek’s voice broke the silence— low and shaky.

“You should go.”

And just like that, the haze was gone. Stiles stiffened, staring incredulously at the man, but Derek definitely wasn't meeting his gaze. “I should… what?”

“You should go, Stiles.”

Stiles stared. Slowly, a lump formed in his throat.

Because this was what happened, right? Something started, something ended. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for another long moment, feeling like he’d just taken a blow, until Derek fixed him with one of those red-eyed looks. And Stiles didn’t even know how to categorize it. The man’s face was carefully blank. He didn’t look mad, repulsed, or even regretful. He just looked—

Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Nodding silently, he turned away, starting toward the loft door. And despite it all, some part of him thought Derek might call his name before he reached it. Or at least say something. Anything.

But the man didn’t. And Stiles didn’t glance back.

Going after the omega earlier hadn’t been the stupid move, he realized. No, it hadn’t even been close.

But this?

This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

-

Fuck Derek Hale.

That’s what Stiles would like to say. Fuck Derek Hale and the radio silence that stretched on for two months after that one night. 

Stiles used to secretly look forward to the few nights a week when his window would be shoved up and Derek would pull himself through, always with some excuse about the monster of the week or research. But the only time Stiles had seen the man since had been during pack meetings and he could’ve sworn that Derek was keeping as much distance between them as possible, never saying a direct word to Stiles unless he had to.

It made him feel… dirty, almost. Wrong. If he could go back and keep that night from happening, Stiles would, because that’s where it all went wrong. That’s where it all went wrong, right? It’s not like it had been a long time coming or anything.

He hadn’t— Stiles didn’t— dammit.

Fuck Derek Hale.

The way Stiles saw it, if Derek was going to go around pretending he didn’t exist, then he was going to do the exact same. That started with completely ignoring the werewolf at each pack meeting and then Stiles started skipping them in general, getting the information through Scott. The boy seemed beyond confused but Stiles refused to give his reasoning for pretending Derek didn’t exist.

The Alpha was an asshole, was all he’d say. And then Lydia would give him one of those knowing looks.

Stiles really hated the pack sometimes.

He did his best not to think about it had felt when Derek had kissed him, or the way the man had tugged at his hair, bit down on his bottom lip, and how that feeling was literally imprinted into his brain. He didn’t look at his window and wonder what the hell was so wrong with kissing him— what was so wrong with wanting him?

So Stiles stopped going to pack meetings. And when the betas started following him around school asking questions, he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.

One month passed without Stiles seeing Derek. And he was fine.

Then the next monster of the week came to town and there was a knock at his window. 

When Stiles glanced up from his laptop to see Derek crouching on the roof, he stared for a long moment before completely ignoring the man. It wasn’t like Derek to knock; he used to just let himself in, sometimes already waiting in Stiles’s room when he came back from lacrosse practice. And yeah, Stiles had always complained. It was creepy after all. 

But it was also Derek.

A few seconds passed before his window was pushed up and Derek pulled himself into the bedroom. Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his computer screen.

Derek had to be insane if he thought he was getting any research help.

“Stiles—”

“No.”

Derek went silent for a moment. On Stiles’s computer, his movie continued to play, and he continued to be watching it. 

Then, “Stiles, the pack needs your help.”

“The pack?”

One more moment of silence, followed by; “I need your help.”

Stiles finally hit pause, glancing up at the Alpha coldly. He did his best to ignore the way his heart twisted at the sight of Derek, because Stiles didn’t care. He could’ve gone another long month— he could have gone two. And why the hell was Derek here, anyway? Stiles wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a computer. “Go ask Lydia.”

Derek’s expression did something strange. “Lydia?”

“She’s a genius, you know.”

“I don’t— the pack doesn’t—” Derek blinked, then clenched his jaw. For a moment, the man actually looked frustrated. “I need your help, Stiles, not hers.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, gesturing to his computer. “I’m busy.”

He told himself he didn’t take a little bit of pleasure in the way that Derek’s face tightened. But the man was definitely looking frustrated now and honestly? he shouldn’t have expected this visit to go any differently.

“There’s something ripping apart animals in the preserve,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles shrugged.

“A mountain lion?”

“Stiles.”

“Or maybe it’s a bear.”

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek?” Stiles said, shutting his computer harder than he meant to. But the man’s tone was nothing but angry now and he was looking at Stiles like this was his fault. Like it hadn’t been three months of absolutely no contact and Derek hadn’t kissed him before literally throwing him out of the loft like week-old trash.

It made Stiles feel dirty. Yeah, that’s what it was.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t want you here,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze. He hated himself a bit for how small his voice sounded. “I don’t want you here, Derek.”

The silence continued to reign. And when Stiles glanced back up, Derek was just looking at him. Silently, blankly. Just like that one night, Stiles couldn’t read his expression.

He swallowed hard at the memory. “I’m done, Derek. This— all of it— we’re done.”

There was a flicker of red in the man’s eyes. And Stiles had thought that telling him off, sending him away, would be a victorious moment. He’d felt so crappy after being the one kicked out first, that he thought it’d make him feel better to be the one sending Derek away this time.

But it really didn't.

“Do the research yourself,” Stiles said, opening his laptop back up and clicking the play button of his movie. “Or ask someone else to do it.”

He didn’t get an answer. But Stiles just locked his gaze on his computer screen and waited a few long minutes before he dared to glance back up again.

And when he did, Derek was gone and his window was still open.

-

Stiles was mad. 

He was mad, he was hurt, and he was so freaking confused, it was starting to affect his sleep. His day-to-day life. Scott kept him updated on the comings and goings of the pack and Stiles got even madder, even though he couldn’t explain it.

Then at some point, after he’d stopped keeping track of how long it had been since that night, he decided he was done. Done being so pissed at fucking Derek Hale.

He showed up to the next pack meeting and Derek looked so surprised, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. He was thrumming out of his skin a little bit, but tried to act like it was the complete opposite, letting the betas practically bowl him over as fingers traced along the back of his neck and Derek continued to stare.

The man only broke his gaze when Lydia snapped fingers in front of his face. And he gave her a red-eyed look at that.

Stiles stuck next to Scott’s side and kept his gaze anywhere but Derek.

He thought everything could have gone worse.

By the time the pizza was gone, the betas were still moaning about how hungry they were, only to get a twenty from Derek and a growled ‘get out’, Stiles felt a little less nervous. Scott had one arm slung over Allison’s shoulder with plans to hang out after, even as he asked Stiles sheepishly if he wanted to tag along.

Stiles had been the third wheel for long enough to know he really didn’t want to be around when they decided to hang out this late on a weekend.

“Come with us, Batman,” Erica said, latching onto his arm. Stiles snorted.

“And wind up paying for dessert when you three eat through twenty dollars of pizza in five minutes? No thank you.”

The girl pouted, giving him a batted-eyes look, but Stiles shrugged her off.

“Nope, I’ve got homework,” he said. “And my own fridge at home where werewolves with infinite appetites won’t eat all my food.”

“You can’t do homework on a Friday,” Isaac said. “That’s so lame.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Great response, Stilinski,” Jackson said, sneering. Stiles just smirked back.

“Whatever, lizard boy.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look, grabbing Jackon’s arm and pulling him toward the door before the beta could say anything back. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting Erica grab his arm again as she started to drag him after them, but then someone cleared their throat behind him.

Erica let go in a second. Stiles froze, slowly turning around to see Derek standing near the table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“I need Stiles to stay.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed silently. “Actually, I’ve really got to—”

“It’s fine,” Boyd said, cutting him off. Stiles shot the beta a venomous look, but Boyd pointedly avoided Stiles’s glare. “Stiles can catch up.”

“Or, I could just—”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles looked back at him reluctantly, but the man’s expression really wasn't as threatening as he’d expected. If anything, he looked a little pleading.

Words stuck in Stiles’s throat, so he just nodded, dropping his gaze again. And Erica traced fingers over the back of his neck one more time before the betas followed Jackson and Lydia out the loft door.

Silence fell over the room. Stiles swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. “What?”

“I was surprised to see you here tonight.”

“I’m still a part of the pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“So you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I just thought that after last time—”

“Oh hell, no,” Stiles said, stalking forward. All the anger he’d felt before came rising back up at Derek’s words and he jabbed a finger into the man’s chest, making Derek stiffen even more. “You don’t get to pull that card. It’s all so shitty, Derek, you know that? These past few months have been so shitty.”

Derek just looked down at Stiles’s finger, as if he was surprised at something. At the reaction, at Stiles’s anger, whatever. 

Stiles was still pissed.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Stiles said. “I know you’re the big bad Alpha werewolf who doesn’t need anyone but himself and especially doesn’t need the token human. But you kissed me, asshole. You kissed me and kicked me out, and do you even know how fucked up that is?”

Derek’s gaze finally traveled back up to Stiles’s face. His hands were still stuffed into his pockets and Stiles didn’t know if that was better or worse than when the man would keep his arms barricaded over his chest.

“If it was a mistake, fine,” Stiles said. “But you should have told me.”

“Stiles, it wasn’t… I don’t…”

The man sucked at talking. Stiles could accept that. But as Derek trailed off, he thought he might go crazy if he had to leave the loft again without any answers.

Derek was still saying half sentences. Biting back a curse, Stiles surged forward.

The first time Derek had kissed him, Stiles .exe had completely stopped working. He didn’t quite get that reaction with Derek this time, but the man definitely froze for a moment. And Stiles figured this could go two ways. Derek could kick him out of the loft with reason this time, or the absolute whirlwind that Stiles had been going through these past few months would finally stop.

He kissed Derek hard and hungry, and it was so much different than last time.

Then the man was kissing him too. The hands that had been stuck in his pockets moved down Stiles’s sides, down his thighs, and then Derek was picking him up, turning away from the loft door and heading toward the couch.

So it’s option two, Stiles thought hazily. 

Thank fucking god.

Derek lowered him onto the cushions and drew back a few inches, green eyes searching Stiles’s face. And for some reason, Stiles was terrified again for a moment. Because things always started and things always stopped but god, he didn’t want this to stop.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Derek said softly. “You’re not a mistake.”

Stiles held his gaze, almost waiting for the ‘but’. Except it never came, Derek hesitated for another moment, some unreadable expression flickering across his face.

“Is this okay?”

Was this okay? 

Stiles could have laughed for a moment. Some sharp, shocked laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t more than okay. Everything leading up to it sucked, yeah, and some part of Stiles wanted to chew Derek out. But another wanted to make sure that the constipated idiot knew that he was okay, this was okay, it was okay.

“Dammit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Derek’s eyes flickered red. And Stiles nearly choked on his own breath as the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the Alpha’s lips. One he’d never seen before— soft, almost a little nervous.

Yeah, this was more than okay.

Because red was unsolvable, right? And Stiles was pretty sure he was still figuring Derek Hale out. But this didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon.

And the first time in a long time, Stiles set his mind to something new.

Or, maybe his heart.

-

Tagging @roricomplex​ for the amazing prompt, I hope it turned out okay! I had a ton of fun with this one, thanks for sending a number <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[hunflowers]

Cecilia

Word Count: 8k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood Board

A/N: Yay, 70s! Harry is here :D I love it and I hope you do too my loves. And quick note, the song Cecilia by Simon & Garfunkel is basically the anthem of this piece, (*ahem* note the title) so maybe give it a listen while reading or before or after, whatever works! *nose boops*

Murder is the biggest extreme anyone could ever commit. It’s crazy to ever want to kill someone, to wrap your hands around someone’s throat, to stab them in the heart or the back, or maybe put a bullet between their eyes.

It’s extreme.

Yet, Y/N had every urge to murder Harry.

Her night was going just fine. It was going exactly how she wanted, and it was going to end exactly how she wanted. Danny was a super nice guy, a super handsome guy, and was exactly who she wanted between her legs in just a few hours time.

Fleetwood Mac was blaring over the speakers of the crowded club and Y/N was enjoying her third beer of the night as Danny held himself against her, placing sloppy kisses up the side of her neck while she circled her bottom against his groin. 

It was going extremely well until Danny said he was going to get himself another drink. Then the moment one body left her, another soon joined. One, that wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Harry! Back off!” Y/N groaned, pushing his hands off her hips. She noticed him earlier in the night when she and Danny walked in but she quickly avoided any contact with him the moment her eyes laid on him, praying to herself that he never spots her.

Clearly, luck wasn’t on her side when the curly-haired, green-eyed nuisance looked down at her with that infamous smirk. “You should be happy to see me. I’m here to save y’life.”

“Save my life? By cock blocking me?” She huffed, trying to step around him but was stopped when he grabbed her by the waist and turned her back to his front. The button-front of his white shirt was held together by two buttons near the bottom, his revealed chest pressed to the skin of her back as his jeans rubbed friction against the soft material of her skirt.

“He could be a serial killer for all you know. Plus, I’m practically begging you to have my cock, so what do you need his for?” He murmured into her ear, slowly starting to sway themselves to the rhythm of the song playing. Y/N could feel the growing tent in his jeans as they rocked, her breath slightly hitching in her throat when she thought about all of their past… adventures with one another. But that’s all it was; their past.

Y/N saw Harry more often than not, but the last time they had sex was well over a month ago, and she figured he’d get the hint by this point that she wasn’t interested anymore. He’s made it obvious that he wasn’t done with her, but she doesn’t settle for too long and she needs a new taste every so often. And she’s young, she doesn’t have this desire to situate herself with one man no matter how desperate he acts. 

Licking her lips and turning her head to her right to meet his eyes, their noses slightly sweep together as their breaths mingle over one another. “You’re old news, H, get real,” she hissed, her eyes raking over his features as he looks past her and into the deep crowd of the dance floor ahead of them. When she moved to remove herself from his grip, he held her back, one of his hands coming up to the back of her head and pressing his mouth down onto hers in a heated kiss.

She almost got lost in it, and almost let him have his way as she could feel her panties dampen the moment his tongue slipped past her lips. But then she heard, “Y/N?” and her mind reeled her back into reality and she pushed away from Harry in a second, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked to Danny who held a confused look in his eyes before he scoffed and turned back around.

“Wait!” She called, quickly turning around to Harry and sneering at him, “You saw him there didn’t you? Leave me the fuck alone.” And without even thinking about it she poured the remainder of her beer over his pants, dropping the bottle at his feet before running off to try and amend what she could with Danny.

When she finally pushed past the final group of bodies and made it outside into the warm Spring night air, she spotted Danny storming over to his car at the end of the parking lot, ignoring her pleas to stop walking. He looked over his shoulder one final time and shook his head before getting into his burnt orange Cadillac Eldorado and speeding off and away from her. Y/N let out a whine, stomping her platform heel into the ground.

Ever since she saw him stroll into her sociology class at the beginning of the semester she knew she wanted him. Not for long, but at least for one memorable night. Every class she noticed the way his eyes raked up the length of her legs and landed on her chest beneath the fabric of her shirts, so it was obvious he wanted her just as bad. But she had a serious roach problem, and she was moments away from snapping completely and snapping his neck.

Marching over to the nearest payphone, she called her roommate to come pick her up with a series of pleas and bargains since it was nearly one in the morning, and unfortunately for her roommate, she has an early morning Friday class. She didn’t expect to be stranded at this hour and she didn’t bring enough cash for a cab ride home. It’s not like Sarah would say no to her, but she sure as hell wasn’t happy about it either.

Sitting herself down on the curb below her, Y/N stretched out her legs in front of her, pulling a cigarette from her purse and her yellow lighter, putting the stick between her lips and inhaling the nicotine as she drew the flame against the tip. She was getting real sick of Harry thinking he could swoop in whenever he deemed necessary. Where was all this affection when they first started seeing each other? He was the one who pushed her away and turned her into who she is. He was the one that told her college and her early adulthood was about indulging in as many people as she can before she had to settle her life away. And now he changed his mind? 

Well, tough shit.

She was tempted to storm back in there and curse him out and knee him where the sun doesn’t shine, but truth be told, she wouldn’t even handle seeing his face again without seeing red or breaking down. This wasn’t the first time he crashed a date of hers, and she just couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on chasing her down. She doesn’t even understand how he always knows where she is, and if he shows up again she’s filing for a restraining order.

They met last year, right around this time when Sarah’s boyfriend, Mitch brought him over to their apartment for a little party. And before he came crashing into her life, she had herself somewhat together, in a happy relationship with her boyfriend of a few months. People like Harry that sleep around with anyone they can were never anyone she interested herself in hanging around. Then he swooped her off her feet, coaxing her to break up with her uptight boyfriend to live her free life, and eventually into his bed. 

Y/N told herself that was going to be the only time, because Harry was bad news, and everyone knew that, and she knew better than to get caught up in his messy life. But, he’s one hell of a sweet talker and whenever he was near she just knew she’d end up right back in his bed after getting out of it that same morning. Then she wanted more and he didn’t. And for some odd reason, the roles have reversed and she couldn’t be bothered to be in a relationship anymore. Especially with him.

Sucking the last bit of her remaining cigarette into her mouth, she dropped it to the street, stomping on it with her heel, picturing it to be Harry’s face instead. She’d already been out here for about fifteen minutes, and she’s surprised he hasn’t come running after her with his drenched pants. She saw his familiar light pink Plymouth sitting across the street, images of them together in the backseat flashing across her eyes before she closes her eyes and shakes her head as if rattling her brain will cause the memories to fly from her skull.

Noticing Sarah at the red light down the road, Y/N stood up, brushing the debris off her skirt and legs, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout as she sulked in tonight’s failure. When Sarah pulled up to the curb, Y/N opened the door, and as if she wasn’t being punished already, she heard Sarah say, “Hi, Harry.”

Snapping her head over her shoulder to the entrance of the bar behind her, Harry was walking out, car keys in his hand as his other ruffled his short curls. Then a petite blonde trailed after him, tripping over her own feet as a giggle left her thin lips, her nails digging into the skin of his arm as she steadied herself. Y/N’s jaw snapped shut after she realized it had dropped open at the sight, her eyebrows furrowing as she imagined stomping on Harry’s foot just like she did with the cigarette butt.

“Oh, so you get to fuck someone, but I can’t?”

“Y/N-”

“Hey, I wouldn’t waste your time on him! It’s really small, and he lasts maybe two minutes tops before he passes out,” she called to the blonde who’s smile wiped from her face in an instant. She scoffed, pushing Harry away from her before leaving his side and heading back in the busy bar. Y/N’s sure she’ll find someone else better and more suiting.

Harry looked to Y/N in disbelief and then to the spot next to him that’s now vacant, and then to Sarah who was rapidly beeping her horn to get her roommate into the car. “What the fuck was that?”

“Karma’s a bitch, asshole,” Y/N sneers, hopping into the car and telling Sarah to step on it.

What goes around, simply comes around.

❊ ❊

A week had gone by and, this time Y/N, Sarah, Mitch, and a few more friends were out. It was a celebratory night that finals week had finally been completed, and a few of them were due for graduation. 

Unfortunately for Y/N, Harry had been strung along for the night as well, but this time around, they were both ignoring each other for the sake of not being thrown out of the bar. When she saw his face pull up outside in his oh so precious car, it took everything in her to not fake an illness and go home. 

There was something about his smug face greeting her friends that had her knocking back shots of tequila quicker than she could blink. They also have some unspoken challenge going on as they continuously flirted their way around the copious amounts of young men and women, eyeing the other to see if they were watching. 

Y/N had actually noticed Danny in the crowd on the dance floor, worming her way over to him to say hello and to see if he still hated her. When she saw him in sociology the last few classes he avoided her when she sat down a few seats from him, and she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at his now evident rejection. But, with alcohol running in both of their systems she hoped he had changed his mind even just for the one night.

Danny looked to her with a bored expression, hardly listening to a thing she had to say before interrupting her little spiel with a scoff, “Y/N, he told me everything and I don’t want to hear it.”

She froze up at that, pulling her head back in confusion as her brows scrunched together. “What do you mean, told you everything?”

“Look, I’m not a rebound okay? If you wanted to have sex because you like me, cool, I’m down; but I’m not having sex with you just to make him jealous or some shit. I got better things to do, sorry,” and then he patted her on the shoulder before walking away and out of her sight. 

Completely dumbfounded and embarrassed to have been rejected so publicly, Y/N turned on her heel and walked back to the table that her friends were sat at, a puzzled looking face nestled on her features. But, when she made eye contact with Harry who had his eyes dead set on her over the brim of his beer bottle, a little smirk peaking out and taunting her, she stomped over and slammed her hands down on the table in front of him, jolting the whole table to look at her. Harry was hardly fazed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“What the fuck did you tell him?” She gritted out, leaning her face close to his. 

Again, he hardly had a reaction, jutting his tongue out to lick his lips. “Tell who, what?”

Huffing at his nonchalant attitude, she pulled on the collar of his printed shirt, their noses grazing. If she weren’t so angry, she’d say this was a pretty intimate moment as they kept their eyes locked on one another, their breaths mingling together as their mouths were only centimetres apart. In all honesty, they forgot they had friends just seats apart from them ogling the situation with worry.

To them, it looked like Y/N was about to twist his head in a full one-eighty. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Styles! You’re not my father, stop trying to act like it,” she spat, pushing him back aggressively against his chair and storming away, again. If anything, she was more mad at the fact that she let him get under her skin again. She should just go up to any guy she chooses and kiss him hard on the lips to prove a point - but instead she’s biting her lip to refrain from screaming into the night and letting the pesky tears welling up in her eyes fall onto her skin. 

The bar wasn’t too far from her apartment this time, and she’d rather walk than ruin Sarah’s night anymore than she already did because of her dramatic ways. Not that she could really drive anyway since she was just knocking back tequila not even ten minutes ago. Maybe when she’s sober she’ll grow a tougher exterior and not let Harry get to her, but as she regains her balance after stumbling in her heels, she’ll sulk and cry the whole way home, and probably as she tucks herself into her sheets.

“Y/N!” Harry called after her, but she flipped him off over her shoulder as she continued her journey down the sidewalk.

Hearing the quickening pace of footsteps behind her, Y/N wiped at her eyes quickly to remove any traces of a broken heart. Feeling a tug on her bicep, she was whipped around to face his sorrowful face, his free hand immediately coming up to wipe the tears away from her eyes that seemed to betray her. “I... I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small pitiful laugh at that, looking away from him and watching the cars pass them by. “Just leave me alone, Harry.”

“Y/N, hey,” he paused, cupping his face in his large palms, trying to get her to look at him. “Baby, please look at me.”

“I’m not your baby,” she hissed, turning to look at him with a scowl.

“Got ya to look at me though, didn’t it?”

It was safe to say Y/N wasn’t amused, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Harry nodded, realizing now wasn’t the time for joking, looking to his feet for a split second before bringing his eyes up to look at the crescent moon above them, letting out a puff of air before speaking up again. “Let’s split. Just you and me, let me make it up to you for being an ass.”

Y/N’s eyes widen in a fit of fury, her mouth dropping open in a gasp, “I’m not having sex with you! Are you ins-”

“No! M’fucking hungry and want a real meal, not the shit this joint serves. And we need to talk, so join me?” He clarifies, dropping his hands back down to his sides and propping them on his hips as he awaits her answer.

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she contemplates her choices. She really doesn’t want to be alone with him, but she’s also starving and if he’s paying then there’s no use in turning down free food. Mulling it over for a few moments, she eventually nods her head in a soft agreeance, causing a bright smile to flash across his face.

“Alright, let’s go to Debby’s, her burgers always taste better late at night.” And with that, he was tossing his arm over her shoulders and tugging her to his side as they walked in sync to Debby’s Diner a few blocks over. They both had been drinking and figured it probably wasn’t safe to drive just yet, plus it was a really nice night, and the moon looked extra bright surrounded by its little star friends.

❊ ❊

It was insanely awkward. 

Probably more awkward then when they first had sex, and even that wasn’t this bad. Maybe it’s because they’ve never really had any heart-to-heart chats and this was new territory they weren’t exactly used to. 

“Cecilia” by Simon & Garfunkel flowed through the empty diner, filling the tense air that could be cut with a knife. Y/N mindlessly hummed along, sipping on her strawberry milkshake, looking anywhere but at the man in front of her. 

“You like this song?” Harry questioned, balling the paper straw wrapper before stretching it back out and then just squishing it again. 

Licking the whip cream from the tip of her nose, Y/N nodded her head, “It’s nice.”

“It describes us.”

She looked at him confused, “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like seeing you with anyone else,” he shrugged, leaning his elbows on the metal table, tossing his straw wrapper to the side. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone, ever, and I just get so tee’d off every time I see you out with someone that isn’t me.”

“That isn’t fair, Harry, and you know it,” she scoffs, leaning back into the booth, and crossing her arms over her chest. “Where was this months ago? When I wanted to be with you?

Poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek and swiping it across his bottom lip to reach the other side, Harry let out a sigh, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He can’t exactly pinpoint when he had a change of heart, or why for that matter, but he did and that’s all that’s important. He remembers her lying beside him, fingers dancing over the skin of his chest while her one leg was hitched over his waist as her exposed breasts were pressed flush against his side. She had asked him if they could be more than just fuck buddies and he easily turned her down in a way that wasn’t too aggressive but made it known he wasn’t one for girlfriends. 

At first Y/N was okay with that, not wanting to hop into a relationship so suddenly after just leaving one, but then she wanted more. There’s something about Harry, the way he presents himself to the world, not giving a shit about anything yet at the same time being so caring towards everyone. Whenever she saw him her heart would flutter, and heat would flood her body at the thought of getting to kiss him and hold him and have sex with him whenever she wants. But, he didn’t see it that way, at least not at first, and Y/N couldn’t put herself through the heartache anymore. So, she broadened her horizons, and put Harry in her past, making him just a friend.

Then his mysterious change of heart became evident, and he’s been hellbent on getting back into her good graces. It’s clear it was sparked by jealousy, but Harry wasn’t so sure that was the only reason anymore. Desire to have her as his, to make her smile all the time, to see her pretty face everyday of his life fueled his need for her. He loathed the idea of any other guy touching her, but he reveled in the idea of her touching him, whether it be sexually or just by holding hands. 

Harry didn’t realize it at first, but when she started pushing him away and going out with different guys from her classes, he knew he was starting to fall in love with her. He grew so used to the idea of Y/N being around and not hating him that without even noticing, he was falling in love with her.

So, if he needs to actually get on his knees to beg for her, then he will.

“I’m just asking for one more chance. Let me prove to ya I’m not so bad, pet,” he spoke softly reaching out to grab ahold of her hand but she pulled her hand away from his reach, biting down on her lower lip and thinking over his words.

“You made it near impossible for me to know anyone else for your own selfish purposes, and now, what, you want to go on a date with me? Why should I?” Y/N stressed, combing her fingers through the roots of her hair, tangling the makeshift curls she spent all day perfecting.

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. It started off as jealousy, I hated knowing other guys were putting their hands on you like I did, it just didn’t sit right with me-”

“But you were allowed to go out with Cindy? And Jenny? And Katherine? You have sex with me a few times and all of a sudden I’m only allowed to be with you even after you tell me you don’t want a relationship?” She spits, tilting her head slightly and glaring daggers into the side of his face as he looked off to the side to gather his thoughts.

Y/N wanted a better answer than jealousy. She wanted a better excuse than some pitiful jealousy that made her look like a pure whore in front of every date she had been on. Harry always swooped in when her date scurried off for a bathroom break or to get drinks or a refill on popcorn, holding her close and kissing her swiftly on the lips when he knew the date would catch them. It was his go-to plan every time, and each time before they left her ass, they would spit slander at her that had her stomach sinking and her eyes brimming with pesky tears. She wanted a better excuse than stupid jealousy that had her feeling like complete and utter shit whenever she ducked under her covers and cried away her pain.

She really liked Harry. She still does, even though he doesn’t deserve that. Whenever he did crash her outings, even though it pissed her off beyond belief, she knew he was jealous and jealousy stems from him caring about her and wanting her, and that excited her, as messed up as it seems. It’s not exactly the most stable mentality, but Y/N doesn’t care about stability, she just cares for honesty. “Be straightforward for once, please. You can’t say you don’t see yourself in a relationship with anyone, then hate seeing me with other people.”

He nodded his head and took a breath before beginning, “I don’t know how to properly express my feelings. I’ve had girlfriends but I always wind up breaking their hearts and they all end up hating me, so I think I’m better off without one. You don’t deserve for me to break your heart, baby, but I’m too selfish to let y’go. So, whaddya say, just one more chance, please?”

“Newsflash, I already do hate you, you prick,” Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning forward to take another sip of her half drunken milkshake. She was even bold enough to steal one of his fries and dip it into the sugar trap, happily munching on it as she processes what he just told her. 

Harry watched her as she looked deep in thought, biting on the tip of her straw as she sucked up the remains of her pink drink. He was nervous to what she was gonna say, because he knows he’s been an asshole and most definitely doesn’t deserve her kindness and rather deserves a slap to the face. When she poured her drink over his jeans, he was surprised she didn’t kick him in the nuts too. But, deep down he was praying that she would at least give him a try, and if she still wants to kick him in the nuts, he’ll let her.

Eating one more fry, Y/N refocuses her attention back on Harry, clearing her throat to say, “So you were jealous. What exactly was it that made you jealous? Was it the idea of them touching me? Kissing me? Or, how about them fuc-”

“Okay! That’s enough!” he scowled, taking the cherry from her shake and biting down on it, removing it from the stem. Y/N laughed, brushing the crumbs from the fries off of her fingers.

Then a brief moment of silence enveloped them, before she spoke up again, “Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“So, that’s a yes?” He smiles, relief running through his veins as his body relaxes from all of the unknown tension he put on himself.

“It’s a yes.”

❊ ❊ 

Ever since Y/N agreed to giving Harry his chance at proving he’s not a total asshole, he hasn’t left her side. He’s been showing up to her apartment, serenading her to take a drive with him every morning to go to this park just outside of the city, showering her in flowers and breakfast foods to win her over.

And when she had to go to work, he offered to drop her off and pick her up, not wanting her to take the bus like she used to. “Too many looneys out in the world, pet.”

It was just past two weeks from their night at Debby’s Diner, and with time, Y/N was starting to warm back up to him. It was a process considering how they treated each other for months on end, but everyday without fail, Y/N was glad to see him. He wasn’t trying to make passes at her, no sexual innuendos or insinuations that they should sleep together, just two people building up a friendship that had been worn down.

It was a warm Friday night, and Harry insisted they go see a movie at the newly opened drive in a few towns over. They were showcasing The Godfather, a movie on both of their lists to watch, so he figured what better time and place to go see it. For the first half of the movie they sat in a comfortable silence, eating their snacks and popcorn and sipping on their sodas, but then Y/N grew restless with this whole no talking situation, shifting her body to look at Harry rather than Marlon Brando.

Harry paused in his chewing, turning his head to look at her confusedly as she just stared at him. He felt like he had done something wrong as he slowly swallowed his candy, muttering a “What?”

“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me?”

Harry’s eyes widen at the question, his lips rolling into his mouth as his eyes blink rapidly, wondering if he heard that correctly. “Sorry?”

“It’s been over two weeks and you’ve made no moves to kiss me or to have sex, and I’m just confused,” she states, her fingers twiddling in her lap as nerves struck her.

Y/N was just simply confused. Because she’s known Harry for a while, and she knows how he works either with her or with other women. His never ending libido and flirtatious attitude was one of the strongest assets of his personality, not that it was a bad thing, but when he wasn’t acting the way he normally does, Y/N grew more and more confused. Every time he came in on one of her dates, he would kiss her and hold her, and try to get her come home with him, but now as she sits on a date with him, he’s acting like the fucking virgin Mary.

This doesn’t mean she wants him to pounce on her and rip her clothes off every moment they’re together, but there’s this recurring anxious thought flashing through her mind that maybe he doesn’t see her like that anymore. It doesn’t make sense since he won’t leave her side, but she’s wondering if there’s something wrong with her for him to not act like he usually does.

“Is it me? Be straightforward, did I do something?” She murmured, tugging on the hem of her dress that had ridden up from her moving around on the leather seat. “Because, normally by this point you’d be trying to get your hand up my skirt.”

Harry sat and looked at her for a moment, bringing his hand up to pull at his bottom lip as he thought of something to say. Then he let out a giggle that had Y/N spiraling into more confusion as he shook his head mockingly.

“Do you want me to put my hand up your skirt?” He questioned, smacking his hand down on her thigh, giving the flesh of her skin a firm squeeze that had her yelp in response. On instinct, she pushed his prying fingers away, but immediately regretted it since his touch lit a fire stirring in her belly.

“Look, bunny, the thought of fucking you has been at the front of mind ever since you showed up in that tiny little number, but I’m trying to do this right. Need to prove that I don’t want you just for y’body,” he explained, this time resting his hand gently on her exposed thigh, to which she didn’t shove away.

Y/N nodded her head slowly in understanding, pursing her lips as her eyes glanced back at the movie being showcased ahead of them. “What’s going through that head of yours?” He asked, tucking back a piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

Turning her head back to face him, their faces suddenly were only inches part, their noses barely brushing together. Y/N gulped at the proximity, her eyes going back forth between his sparkling green ones, before glancing down to his pink lips that she bets taste like the buttery popcorn he was just devouring.

Without so much of a second thought, she leaned forward pressing their mouths together in a soft kiss, sparks tingling her skin as he didn’t move to break them apart. Instead, he locked one of his hands to the side of her face, pulling her in closer, moving their lips in a slow manner, taking his time to appreciate the true softness of her skin that he had taken for granted whenever they shared heated kisses.

Y/N scooted herself on her knees across the bench, landing on his lap in a straddle, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, deepening the intimacy of the moment. Nothing about this moment seemed rushed, and it was probably the most tame they had ever been with one another even if their hips began rocking together to gain friction in their cores.

They could’ve stayed like that for hours, completely engulfed in the other, tongues dancing together, trails of spit keeping them connected as they would part to catch their breaths before indulging in another round of making out. Harry’s hands kept themselves nestled nicely on the curves of her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh and most likely leaving bruises in his wake. Y/N lightly tugged at the roots of his hair, pulling his head back from her to trail sloppy kisses down the length of his neck. She even was bold enough to mark his skin with a decently sized hickey; It was only payback for the countless he’s left on her multiple times before and the few he sucked this night.

Departing from his mouth, she rested her forehead on his and took in a couple deep breaths, biting on her bottom lip as she let out a breathy laugh. “That was what was going through my head.”

“Fuck, you’re out of sight, Y/N.”

❊ ❊ 

They still haven’t had sex.

Y/N was overjoyed at first that he wanted to treat her like a proper gentleman, waiting until she was comfortable around him again to make any advances. But, after they shared that kiss from a month beforehand, she was definitely worried something was wrong with him. 

They had done other things, but every time they were just moments away from actual sex, he would pull away and say it wasn’t the right time or place. It was the most extreme case of blue balls, and she doesn’t even have balls. The weird part was that she could feel how hard he would get every time, but he always kept himself at bay.

It was nice at first, but now it’s just plain cruel.

Y/N didn’t want to act desperate, but he was being the ultimate tease and she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. She almost tempted him when they went to a festival and they were both high off their minds. Yet, even under the influence he had a stronghold and resisted the flirty bat of her eyelashes and the stellar handjob he got behind someone’s Volkswagen van.

Now as she sat in his lap, surrounded by friends in her apartment since Sarah and Mitch were having another one of their little parties, she was determined to have sex. Y/N finished off the remainder of her drink, purposefully rubbing her ass against Harry’s groin as she leaned forward to place her cup on the table in front of them. A little hiss could be heard leaving his lips as his fingers dug into her waist, giving her a silent warning to not do anything she’s gonna regret.

Little did he know, that was exactly what she wanted. At this point, she didn’t even care if they fucked in front of everyone, she just really wanted him. Looking over her shoulder, she sent him an innocent look before engaging in conversation with the boy almost completely passed out beside them. And again on purpose, she shifted her body against his thigh, which then in turn pressed her butt on his growing bulge.

While she was talking to Ben - she found out his name - Harry pulled her back against his chest, his mouth pressing against the shell of her ear, warm air fanning over her skin, chills shooting down her spine. “What’re y’trying to do, bunny?”

When she ignored his question, she felt him nip at her ear with his teeth, murmuring, “Act like a tease, gonna get fucked like one,” into her hair, groping at her exposed thigh.

Cursing to herself as Ben gets up to get another drink, she turns her face to look at Harry, bringing a hand up to push a few fallen curls off his forehead. Leaning close to him, she placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips replying back with, “Doubt it,” in a feisty tone, bringing her head back to smile at him before getting up from his lap and sauntering off to make conversation with anyone else.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him spread his legs, elbows leaning on them as he lit a cigarette now between his lips. He cocked his head with a raise of his eyebrow, challenging her to try anything else. He couldn’t exactly blame her for acting the way she is, because like usual, he knows he’s been an asshole and not giving her what she wants. But, in his eyes, all of this built up frustration will only enhance the experience for both of them after not fucking for months.

“What the hell is going on between you two?” Sarah whispered in Y/N’s ear, casually following her eyes to see Harry looking at the little group on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N took the cigarette from her friend’s hands, inhaling deeply and giving it back, blowing the stream of smoke from her nose as she shrugged. “Nothing. Just putting him in his place.”

“I don’t think he got the memo,” she teased back, raising her eyebrows as a gesture that he was walking over. Then without fail, Y/N felt a tug on her upper arm and her back collided with a chest. 

“Mind if I steal my girl for a second?” He asked the group to which he got shrugs in return and one person to say Think it’ll be more than a second.

Sarah waved goodbye to Y/N as she was being pulled away, doing a sign of the cross and praying hands to say she was in her prayers. Y/N rolled her eyes but mouthed a thank you anyway. Before she could comprehend, she was tugged into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her as her back was shoved against it, Harry’s hands landing on either side of her head, his face mere centimetres from hers.

Y/N smirked up at him, gently brushing her nose against his, a sinister look dancing across her eyes. “Y’know, you could’ve just taken us to my bedroom,” she hummed, dragging her finger nail down the length of his exposed chest, stopping where the first button was closed just under his butterfly tattoo on his abdomen.

“What d’ya think is gonna happen, pet?” He murmured into the skin of her neck, peppering soft kisses up until he met her jawline then worked his way back down.

“You’re gonna stop being a tease and fuck me already,” she retorted in a gasp as his one hand came up to grope at her tit in her halter top. His head came back up to level with hers, green eyes boring into hers as he tilts his head in the same challenging manner from before.

“Is that so?”

“Well, if you’re not gonna do it then I’ll get someone who will.”

Then it was like a switch was flipped in his brain, and his eyes darkened, and a devilish smile painted his face before he took her face and smashed his mouth onto hers. His hands grabbed under her thighs and hoisted her up so her legs wrapped around his waist, his front grinding on her center feverishly, both of them letting out light moans at the contact.

“We both know you’re not gonna do that,” Harry muttered between kisses, his left hand leaving her thigh and cupping her throbbing heat over her panties, his palm pressing against her clit and his fingers tapping at the pool of wetness forming on the white fabric. Y/N’s jaw slacked open, her eyes fluttering shut at the slight relief he was giving her. “No one can give it to you like I can, baby.”

Before she could utter out a response, he pushed her underwear to the side before thrusting his middle finger into her fully lubricated hole. He pumped it in slowly, teasing her walls and ignoring her pleas for more, “Admit it, no one can treat you like I can.”

Then he added his ring finger, fastening his movements against her fluttering pussy. “None of those candyasses gave it to you like I did.”

“Every time you were with them you wished it was me. C’mon, Y/N, be straightforward,” he whispered in her ear, thrusting his fingers in at a brutal force, the heel of his palm rubbing harsh circles against her bundle of nerves that had her crying out in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck... O-only you can - shit, Harry please,” she cried out, her ankles locking behind his back and pulling him impossibly closer to her body, her head knocking against the wooden door behind her.

Harry slowed his movements for a moment, bringing his other hand up to her mouth and trying to block the sounds she was emitting at an extremely high pitch. She whined into his hand, bucking her hips to build the friction back up, the familiar feeling of her high dissipating as he stilled himself. “Y/N, you’re gonna ‘ave to be quiet. Don’t want anyone hearing you. Those pretty moans are reserved for my ears only.”

Just to be sure she stayed quiet, instead of muffling her with his palm, he stuck his thumb between her lips, pressing down on her tongue and ordering her to suck. It took a lot of control to not push his jeans and briefs down his body and fuck into her the moment she started swirling her tongue around the tip of his thumb, gently sucking on it and looking at him with her innocent doe eyes. He was determined to get her to come undone now, desperate to see her face morph into one filled with pleasure as he curled his fingers against her sweet spot, thrusting against it continuously. He whispered dirty things into her ear, urging her to cum for him, saying everything she likes to hear that helps her reach her peak quicker.

Y/N’s mouth dropped open again, but this time her moans came out all gurgled and muffled as he kept his thumb right where it was. Her thighs clenched around him as she wanted to close them instinctively, her orgasm building up inside of her until he hit her g-spot one more time and then her body was shaking uncontrollably. Harry helped her to calm down, placing a kiss to her temple and slowly settling her back down on the floor, her legs wobbling a little bit before she regained her balance.

“Need to take you somewhere more private, need to hear you for what else I’m gonna do to you,” he stated before taking her hand and leading her out of the bathroom.

And that’s how they ended up in his car in a deserted parking lot, in his back seat, Y/N on all fours while he thrust into her from behind. The backseat was a bit of a tight fit for the position they were in, but neither of them really seemed to care as they were into a euphoric state of mind.

Harry’s sweaty chest was leaned over and pressing into her back, his face nestled into the crook of her neck as he tugged lightly on her hair in a makeshift ponytail wrapped around his fist. Neither of them were shy about their moans and groans, practically screaming them to the world and putting all pornstars to shame.

Aside from their sounds of pleasure, the steamy car was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against her ass and the squelch of their centers coming together. Harry also left the car radio on to ‘give a nice ambiance while I wreck your pretty little cunt.’

“What -shit, what was that you said about my dick being really small? Or me only lasting two minutes? Could you refresh my memory, bunny?” He snickered into her cheek, delivering a particularly hard thrust into her that had her knees shifting up the leather seat. 

“You’re s-so tight, squeezing down on my big cock just nice. Fit like a glove,” he egged on. He placed his left hand on the wall of his car, stabilizing his balance a little more as he wrapped his other hand around her throat and brought her to a kneel. Y/N’s own hands reached out to balance herself anywhere she could put them,

“D’ya wanna say it again?” he continued to tease, halting his movements, waiting for her to say something back.

Y/N shook her head feverishly, bringing her bottom down against his cock to continue what he paused. “N-no, m’sorry.”

Harry tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he released his grip on her throat and flipped them around so she was straddling him now. “Why don’t you put some work in if you want it so bad. Use me, pet, know you can,” he stated with a smack to her bottom that echoed throughout the car.

Y/N never dropped herself down on someone quicker. In one go she sank down on him to the hilt, the tip of his bright red head hitting a spot so deep inside of her. She swiveled her hips in circles, before kneeling up again and then dropping down fully again feeling him at the very pit of her tummy. Her clit brushed against his pubic mound, the tuft of hair rubbing against her swell, urging her orgasm to arrive quicker.

And if that wasn’t enough, Harry leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, kitten licking it and gently nipping at it before sucking on it. He paid close attention to her pert tits, covering her once bare chest in various bites, all while kneading the flesh of her ass, assisting her in her movements and bringing her down on him harder and faster.

“I’m… oh, I’m so cl-close,” Y/N moaned, her head falling to the crevice of his shoulder as he pounded up into her to meet her thrusts.

“Me too, pet. Hold on a little longer f’me,” he spoke, now brutally fucking up into her to get himself to match where she is. Y/N tugged on his hair like he liked, scratching her nails into his skin and muttering words of encouragement like, “Prove to me how wrong I was… Only you can do this to me, baby.”

Then with a few more sloppy thrusts, they were both hitting their highs, cumming so hard that Harry fell limp against the seat and Y/N against him. The long wait for this was definitely worth it as both of them took in gulps of air, meeting their mouths in a lazy kiss in triumph. Despite the ache of her body, Y/N lifted herself off of Harry and landed next to him instead, her head falling against his shoulder again as her eyes fluttered close.

Now, only the hum of the radio could be heard around them, that same Simon & Garfunkel song on like it was at Debby’s all that time ago. Y/N can remember Harry saying it described them, and as she sits here, completely enamored from the man beside her, she could attest to that.

Without knowing it, Harry was looking down at Y/N, humming the tune of the song as he sat in awe of her figure completely worn out next to him.

Jubilation, she loves me again.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #14: Of Flowers and Child-Friendly Scissors

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: No CW: Brief mention of blood, Angst

The gentle fragrance of freshly cut flowers had always been nostalgic for Anna. She awoke to it every morning, and like clockwork she’d rise and perform her morning routine. With a large mug of sugary coffee in hand, she’d head down from her apartment to the shop floor below to get to work. Visually, she could never get enough of the array of vibrant colours. It overwhelmed her senses as much as the smell.

Raking a hand through her messy red hair, Anna wandered around the shop floor surveying her stock. Swapping her mug for a pair of pruning scissors from the counter, she walked around clipping the flowers on display, changing their water and creating easy to pick up pre-made bunches for her customers. Her mother had always hated being trapped in the family run business but Anna was the opposite: the quiet allowed her time to think. It was her only space in the universe, and she lost herself within it.

Caught up in her own world, she didn’t even hear the gentle chime of the bell as the door opened.

“Excuse me -”

Anna leapt out of her skin; almost chopping her fingers clean off.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” the customer flew to her knees beside Anna, taking her hand in her own.

Anna blinked, still as a mouse as she met bright cerulean eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes followed her customer’s down to her hand. Scarlet glistened in the morning sunlight, and it took Anna a moment to realise it was her blood. She panicked for a good ten seconds, wondering if perhaps she really had cut her fingers off. Flexing them made her realise she hadn’t.

“I am such an idiot,” Anna yanked her hand back from the stranger as she scrambled to her feet.

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I really am so sorry!” the woman chased Anna back to the counter where she clambered in drawers for the first aid kit.

“It’s okay, really. It’s not the first time. I should really be issued with child-friendly scissors,” she said, running around like a whirlwind. Once she had found the box she was looking for Anna tipped it upside down, spilling the contents of bandages, plasters and antiseptic cream across the counter.

“Sit down, let me bandage it,” the customer told her with a stern tone. It was enough to give Anna pause. Taking a minute to really look the woman over she realised she hadn’t met her before. The village was small; small enough to know every resident. A visitor, then, she assumed.

Silently, Anna obeyed and took a seat, the woman getting straight to work with light and delicate fingers, gently cleaning the wound and applying the dressing.

Anna found herself captivated by her guest: irises were a deep blue peppered with flecks of grey, eyes narrowed in intense concentration. She brushed away blonde hair from her face as she worked, strands so pale they almost lacked all pigment completely. The snow white skin of her arms were without blemish, and Anna’s eyes dared to wander further, past the chain of the silver locket resting on her collarbone, further still to the soft summer dress in muted tones of lilac. She was so lost in her that she didn’t even notice when the mysterious stranger had finished tending to her hand.

“Are you okay? You look flushed. Do you have a fever?” the woman held her hand to Anna’s forehead, and Anna, abruptly snapping out of her daydream at the surprisingly ice cold touch, almost died on the spot.

“I am fine! Totally fine!” she replied far too quickly, backing up as much as her chair would allow, her free hand grasping the arm rest, knuckles white.

Get yourself together! She berated herself. Taking a deep breath, Anna looked up again to greet her customer.

“I haven’t seen you around. Are you visiting?” she asked, keeping her voice surprisingly level as she swiftly changed the subject.

“No, I moved in last week,” the woman replied, finally taking a step back, and Anna breathed out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure she’d survive a whole conversation pinned down in the chair… though looking her visitor over once more, a part of her lamented the loss of contact. Just the thought of being pinned down by the enigmatic blonde was giving her more of a thrill than she cared to admit.

“Wait, you just moved in?” Anna suddenly processed her words. She had to think hard. There were no houses up for sale. That kind of news travelled fast. Unless -

“- my grandmother passed away last year and she left her cottage to me. I sat on it for a while, wondering whether to sell it… but my life turned upside down recently and well, here I am, moving into a village where I know no one.”

“You moved into number 6. You’re Rita’s granddaughter,” Anna said, taking a moment to compare the woman before her to the elderly lady who used to visit so often. Forgetting herself, Anna quickly continued, “I know it was a while ago, but I am sorry for your loss. She really was the heart of the village.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s been weird stepping into her life. People talk to me like I should know her, but I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. I have no idea what she was like, or why she bypassed my parents to leave this to me. But here I am, standing in your shop. Life just goes on. It’s quite cruel really.”

And here I am also talking to you like you’d have known her. Anna could have face-palmed. She was making a fine mess of this first meeting.

“Anna Noakes,” Anna held her hand out: the one that wasn’t bandaged, “I run the florist. Big surprise, I know, seen as that’s where we are,” Anna held her other arm out to gesture to the flower covered room. The chuckle it drew from Elsa made her heart soar.

“Well, Anna Noakes,” Elsa took her hand in greeting, “the florist who should only be issued with child-friendly scissors, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Elsa. Elsa Frost. What would you recommend for a first date?”

Anna caught the look of mirth in her customer’s eyes. She was never living that down.

Pursing her lips, thoughts flicked through the various flowers she had in stock which would appeal to a man. It wasn’t a request she had ever had before, but it wasn’t completely unheard of for a woman to buy a man flowers.

“Does he have a favourite colour that you know of? Is he sentimental?” Anna asked as she dug through some bunches of freesias to reach the gerberas behind.

“She,” Elsa corrected, “and I have no idea.”

Anna froze. Slowly, she turned back to Elsa, who was flicking through her phone. She is seeing a woman? And she talks like it’s no big deal? It was an alien feeling for Anna, who had always been surrounded by her friends and family in this village. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her lot in life, but explaining to them that she may very well not be into men seemed impossible in a small community where no one deviated from traditional expectations.

Elsa held up her phone unapologetically and pointed to a picture of a brunette.

“Isn’t that a dating app?” Anna asked, tracing the emerald eyes and chestnut locks of the flawless woman on the screen. She was beautiful, and successful, judging by the brief bio she caught just beneath.

“Yes. We’ve been talking for a few days and we seem to click. I’m kind of nervous. I really want it to work.” 

Anna caught the shy smile from Elsa, and she could not help but empathise with her sincerity. She was adorable.

“I wondered whether to give her roses -”

“- No, you’re not taking roses. Too overdone,” Anna dismissed it immediately.

“Let me make you something special. Peonies are beautiful, as are gerberas… maybe alstroemerias…” Anna murmured, moving around the store plucking individual flowers from buckets until she appeared back at Elsa’s side with a small bunch full of bright reds and yellows. Anna looked between the bunch and Elsa, wondering if perhaps she had made an error. The flowers didn’t reflect their purchaser at all, but before Anna could put them down and start again Elsa leaned forward and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

“They are perfect, thank you.”

Anna gave her a small smile, unable to bring herself to change her mind. If her customer liked them then that was that. They’d be fine. A date wasn’t about the flowers anyway. It was about the people, and she was sure Elsa would have a fine time.

Accepting payment, Anna bid farewell to her new customer and slouched back in her chair as she watched her leave, a goofy smile on her face. It would be nice to have a friend her age in the village. Especially one who must have gone through the same kind of trials Anna was going through.

“I wonder when I’ll see her again.”

 —-

The incessant ring from the alarm jolted Anna awake. She slapped it off, only for it to buzz again a few minutes later.

“Snooze, snooze,” she murmured. One alarm was never enough.

Crawling out of bed to that perfumed scent of fragrant flower meadows, Anna repeated her morning routine, with the addition of cleaning her wound and reapplying her bandage. Taking more care not to cut herself, she got back to tending and pruning her flowers.

She was alert to the chime of the door, and looking up her heart raced at the sight of Elsa. Two days in a row. I am blessed.

Putting her scissors down with care, Anna rushed to her feet to greet her.

“Hey! Back again already?” Anna asked, smile bright.

“Just checking in to make sure you’re okay.”

Anna blinked, not understanding.

“Your hand,” Elsa pointed out.

“Oh!” The penny dropped. “This,” she held out her bandaged hand. “Well, it hasn’t fallen off yet so I guess it’s good?” Anna made light of the topic, though Elsa’s concern did not waver.

“Anyway, how did your date go?” she asked, and Elsa’s expression faded to something more melancholy.

“Not so great…” she admitted, and instantly Anna felt for her. Dates were cruel; dating apps even worse: Anna had experienced enough to know that much.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I really hope it wasn’t the flowers – God, I’d hate to think I ruined your chances -”

“- No, it wasn’t the flowers. We just didn’t get on in person as much as I had expected,” Elsa said, eyes looking anywhere but at Anna. 

Why would I suggest gerberas? I should have gone for muted hues. Something that suited her character. I’m such an idiot.

“Have you ever used a dating app before? They are pretty terrible,” Elsa made idle conversation as she browsed a selection of the pre-made bunches available.

“Yes – no, kind of… after my ex I swore off dating forever.”

“He was that bad?”

Anna let out a small chuckle. “No, she was not that bad. Not really. I just wasn’t ready to come out to everyone… Which I still haven’t really done. Which I am still not ready to do. And I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

The flash of surprise on Elsa’s face made Anna freeze for a moment, but the gentle smile that replaced it reassured her that she hadn’t made a mistake in confessing that to her.

“Did you date her here?” Elsa asked curiously, not seeming to miss a beat.

“Oh, hell no. She lived in the city. I travelled. Could you imagine if the village knew? It would be the gossip of the century.”

“I don’t know. Fitting in seems kind of boring, don’t you think?”

Anna was caught in her gaze for a long moment, those irises flickering with something darker. Had they been in a bar in the city Anna might have mistaken her customer’s intense look as an invitation to flirt, but they weren’t in a city. This was her village, and Anna was supposed to be serving the woman.

A ding from Elsa’s phone distracted them both.

Anna took a breath, almost relieved the tension was broken. She needed to stop letting Elsa fluster her. Threading her fingers through red hair, she tried to work out exactly how she was going to do that when Elsa continued, “Looks like another match. You ever think women find it corny for a partner to show up with flowers? Am I being old fashioned?”

“Absolutely not. It’s like the pinnacle of romance,” Anna said, resolute in her conviction. If any of her past dates had showed up with flowers she’d have been flattered; she’d have swooned.

“Mmm,” Elsa hummed, still checking her phone. “She wants to meet.”

“Isn’t that a little soon?” Anna frowned, voice laced with concern.

“Probably. But she does look cute. What do you think?” Elsa held her phone out. Anna sucked in a breath as she looked the redhead over in the image. She was stunning: glamorous. Anna felt a twang of envy as she looked over the photo. The woman staring back at her was much like Anna, and yet she was more refined, more city-smart, she had a proper job. It only served to remind her why she hated dating apps. Everyone on there always showed off their best side. Filtered photographs and high paying jobs weren’t everything… even if a small part of her wished she could have that lifestyle.

“She looks great,” the lie rolled off her tongue so easily. Anna had learnt the hard way how cruel the dating world could be, and Elsa needed to learn this herself. It wasn’t for Anna to judge.

“In that case, what flowers would you recommend?”

Anna smiled, even if it was a sad smile. Those girls would never know how lucky they were to have someone take these dates so seriously.

Changing it up, Anna picked bunches of muted purples and whites, with just a flash of yellow; selected from her best lilac, asters and crocuses. “The hope a new love can bring.”

“Do they always mean so much?” Elsa asked, examining them closely.

“Definitely. I could go on for days, but I won’t bore you.” Anna shot her a knowing grin.

“Maybe when I next pop by,” Elsa said, accepting the bunch and proceeding to purchase them.

She’ll be back. Anna held onto the thought. It was beginning to dawn on her that if Elsa really was planning on staying here permanently then these little visits might become more frequent than she ever could have dreamed. And for reasons Anna wasn’t entirely sure of, she was looking forward to them already.

Anna was about to bid farewell to Elsa, when she hesitated, an ivory hand lingering on her bunch of flowers still on the counter.

“I really am so lucky I found you. I have no idea what I’d have done without your help. I’d have been lost in a world of poorly maintained supermarket flowers,” Elsa admitted, and it was enough to draw a nervous laugh from Anna. 

“I don’t know, probably not messing up your last date?” Anna replied, cheeks rosy in embarrassment. The arched eyebrow Elsa raised in response made her glance away.

“Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe I am just so hopeless that even the best flowers in the world can’t convince a woman to sit through a meal with me.”

“No, absolutely not!” Anna said without conscious thought. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to have a meal with you. You’re lovely. And kind, and considerate, and just -” she stopped herself before her mouth ran away with itself. “I just mean… you’re trying. Which is more than any of my dates ever did. They don’t know how lucky they are. You’ll meet the right person, eventually. Never give up.”

Elsa cocked her head, and for a moment Anna worried she had overstepped some kind of boundary.

“Thank you,” Elsa said sincerely. “I worried when I came here that I wouldn’t meet anyone who’d get me.”

“Oh?” Anna asked in surprise.

“A young independent woman from the city moving into a sleepy old village? Everyone here seems so set in their ways.”

She wasn’t wrong. Anna felt the same, and she had lived here her entire life.

A question tugged at Anna, and she considered not asking, but curiosity got the better of her. “Why did you move here?” It was an innocent enough question, or so she thought.

“Well…” Elsa hesitated, and for a moment Anna wasn’t sure if she’d continue. The way she clammed up made Anna wish she had never asked at all. It was such a contrast to the happy woman who stood there moments earlier. “We got serious so my girlfriend at the time moved in… and then we split a few years later. Do you know how hard it is living with your ex full time? It was okay while we weren’t seeing people. But when she started bringing people home…”

Anna watched those bright eyes fall into despair. Instinctively, she reached out and pulled Elsa into a hug.

“It hurt so, so much.” The raw emotion was evident in every syllable. “But I know she has nothing. Nowhere to go. So now I pay the mortgage and she lives in my apartment in the city,” Elsa said with the deepest of sighs.

How does someone even end up in that situation?

“I couldn’t throw her out onto the street, but I couldn’t live there either. So here I am, trying to start fresh. A psychiatrist would have a field day with me, I swear.” 

The way she tried to lighten the mood made Anna squeeze her even tighter.

“No – no.” Anna shook her head. “You’re amazing, and thoughtful. Your ex is a fool,” she paused, debating how best to tell her that renting her apartment out for free to an ex was crazy. “Don’t get me wrong – you totally need to fix your apartment situation, but you’re doing what you think is right. You’re being a good person. Don’t ever feel bad for that.”

Anna pulled back enough from Elsa to look her over. She could now see how clearly she was suffering beneath her upbeat persona. She still loves her. Anna supposed it made sense now. Why else would she be trying so hard to find someone new? Or maybe she’s just trying to find a way to heal.

“Thank you. For both the flowers and the pep talk,” Elsa said gratefully, pulling away from Anna’s arms and collecting the flowers from the counter. Anna felt an emptiness at the loss of contact, and she wondered if Elsa did too as she watched as she wrapped one arm around herself self-consciously.

“Anytime. I’m here every day of the week. Literally. Except Sunday. I have Sundays off.”

Anna opened her mouth to give Elsa something more: advice? Encouragement? Just a friendly goodbye? No words followed. She watched, a bleakness filling her at what she had just learnt. It didn’t seem fair that someone trying so hard had suffered so much misfortune.

I hope she finds what she is looking for.

 —-

It wasn’t often Anna didn’t sleep well, but here she was, wide awake long before her alarm had even gone off. She rolled out of bed and, like every morning, proceeded to perform her morning routine. 

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how Elsa’s date went, and more importantly, how Elsa was doing. The more she thought about her the more Anna realised she barely knew a thing about her. Had she moved here with anyone? Could she have another soul to confide in at home? She certainly implied she didn’t.

Maybe I should drop by after work. Just to make sure she’s settling in. Without even consciously realising it, resolving to check in on Elsa that afternoon gave Anna an extra spring in her step as she flipped her open sign on the shop door to closed. 

Keeping busy from idle thoughts, she continued to put the finishing touches on the flower arrangements for the wedding at the church later that day. Despite being a small, inclusive village, it was situated in an idyllic location and passing trade kept her afloat: especially weddings, and she needed her sole focus to ensure these would be perfect. Even if that meant no customers for a few hours.

Caught in the concentration of her job, she didn’t hear the door gently chime as it opened some time later.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you -”

Anna almost hit the ceiling. Holding her poor, beating heart, she turned to face Elsa. Had it been anyone else she’d have been thinking up a very tort reply involving reading and shop signage. But it was Elsa, and all of Anna’s irritation faded away in an instant.

“Sorry,” Elsa said with a sheepish smile, seeming to realise that she had made Anna jump out of her skin yet again. “I’m not normally this sneaky. I feel like you’re going to think I am doing this on purpose.”

“No, really, it’s fine. It’s great to see you again!” Anna said a little too enthusiastically, and instantly she wanted to face-palm. Way to sound desperate.

Immediately changing topic, because Anna needed to think about absolutely anything except her joy of seeing Elsa, she asked the one question on her mind. “How was your date?”

Elsa let out a low sigh. “I think I must have fool written all over my face.”

Anna nodded in understanding, not pressing her for any further details… and then proceeded to shake her head vehemently when she realised just what she had been agreeing to.

Elsa’s face softened, and for a moment she stood uncertain, one hand playing with the handles of her tote bag.

“…I actually got you a present.”

“A present?” Anna asked, both in pleasant surprise and anxious anticipation. What could ever have possessed Elsa to buy something for her she’d never know.

“Yes. Just something to say thank you for your help these past couple days.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to. My job is to supply my customers with perfect bouquets. If anything I should probably be giving you a refund for how well they’ve gone down.”

“Stop that,” Elsa’s voice held an edge that silenced Anna. “I loved them, and that’s all that matters.”

As much as Anna wanted to argue that that wasn’t the point, she remained quiet.

“Listen, don’t thank me too quickly. I pass a shop every day on the way to work and I saw it and thought of you and…” Elsa hesitated. “Just open it.”

Anna frowned but reluctantly accepted the neatly wrapped gift. Delicately, she pulled at the yellow ribbon and unpicked the sunflower paper. She looked between Elsa and the plain brown box beneath in curiosity. Chocolate maybe? She wondered, proceeding to slide the box open. To her surprise, Anna looked down at a dinky pair of black and white scissors, complete with blunt, rounded edges and topped off with a safety cap. Her eyes traced the cute cartoon panda faces over the grip.

She blinked in disbelief. “You bought me childrens scissors.”

“I did.” The absence of any shame in Elsa’s tone was both as amusing as it was humiliating.

Taking a breath, Anna finally looked up, keeping her expression as stern as she could as she inwardly melted at how adorable the gift was. “I want you to know I am both flattered and offended in equal measure.”

“Good. That’s what I was pitching for,” Elsa said, eyes alight with mischief. “Perhaps when rude customers sneak up on you, you won’t almost chop your hands off.”

“That was one time, and you weren’t rude.” Anna rolled her eyes.

“You said it had happened before,” Elsa retorted with folded arms and that arched look Anna was coming to enjoy a little too much.

“…So I did,” Anna conceded as she popped the scissors down by the counter.

“Can I get you a drink?” the words had already left Anna’s mouth before she realised how weird that was. They were in a flower shop. Elsa was shopping, not having afternoon tea. 

Before Anna could backpedal and come up with excuses for how ridiculous the offer was Elsa’s musical notes had already left her lips, “I would love one.”

“G-great! Tea or coffee? Or juice, water, soda, alcohol?” Anna stammered, caught off guard. 

Is my milk even in date?

“Coffee is fine.”

I really hope my milk is in date.

 “Can you watch the shop for a minute? My kettle is upstairs.”

Elsa nodded, and with that Anna sped upstairs, taking two at a time. Setting the kettle to boil with one hand and grabbing a random mug from her pile of washing up with the other, she quickly got to work cleaning it and mixing up a cup of coffee.

I really hope she likes instant coffee. How many sugars does a normal person take? …Was the milk in date? Pushing all fears aside, Anna charged back down with the mug, almost spilling it as she skidded to a stop. I really hope I don’t kill her.

“World’s Number 1 Florist?” Elsa mused as she accepted the coffee. Anna frowned, not understanding until Elsa held the mug up to take a sip. “If it’s on a mug it must be true.” 

The regret from picking that dumb mug was eclipsed by the playful twinkle in Elsa’s eye. Anna felt her cheeks redden, and feared for a moment Elsa would comment further, but she simply turned away and began wandering around the small shop floor, admiring the flowers on display. 

At ease in her company, Anna went back to the arrangements she was working.

“So, you live above the shop? Isn’t it weird having your house as your business? I don’t think I could ever do that. Like, where is the boundary? You must end up working so many hours,” Elsa made idle conversation, but Anna didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace to have company.

How strange. She couldn’t help but notice. She always left the shop closed when she needed to really concentrate on a big order, but somehow Elsa’s presence didn’t disrupt her flow in the same way every other person did. 

“Yeah, it feels a bit like that sometimes,” Anna nodded in reply, not pausing in her work.

Elsa continued looking around, sipping her coffee as she took in every detail; from the range of flowers to the rustic design of the displays.

“Do you work here alone?”

“Yes. My grandparents owned the shop, and left it to me after they passed a few years back. My mum didn’t like being tied to it so she left way before. But even though I’m kind of stuck here I do enjoy it.”

“Your mum left?”

Anna sucked in a breath. She supposed she should have been more careful with her choice of words, but now she had mentioned it there was no taking that back. 

“Yes. When I was 8. She wasn’t really mum material,” she said diplomatically. Explaining to Elsa that her mother liked the alcohol and drugs more than her own family felt impossible. “I see her sometimes, and we got along okay, but my grandparents are the ones who raised me.”

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Elsa said empathetically, pausing to really look at Anna. She avoided her gaze, not needing, or wanting her pity. She had enough of that from the village. Being so small had its disadvantages, and everyone knowing everyone’s business was one of them. 

“Don’t be. Family problems, or maybe just life problems. I know I’m not the only one,” Anna said, thinking back to Elsa and their conversation about her grandmother and her ex. Her life was just as complicated, even if it was for completely different reasons.

“Life problems, indeed,” she agreed soberly, not prying for further details, and Anna respected that. It was a far cry from the gossip mongers she usually served.

Wordlessly, Anna continued arranging the wedding bouquets, acutely aware Elsa was now watching her every move with interest.

“Do you ever get lonely working here?” she finally broke the fragile silence that had fallen between them.

“I… don’t really notice? Maybe?” Anna wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “I try to keep myself busy. With so much to get done I don’t have time to think about much else. I need to get the flowers ready for the wedding this afternoon, and then for the church sermon tomorrow. And next week there are two more weddings.”

“Oh! I am sorry; I didn’t mean to keep you from anything -”

“- No - no, you’re not. I didn’t mean -”

“But you have Sundays off?” 

Anna let out a low sigh. She hadn’t meant to offend the woman, though she did wonder if Elsa had even read the signage on the door when she let herself in.

“Yes. I don’t open but I sometimes,” always, “get things ready for the week.”

Elsa pursed her lips and for a moment Anna thought she might say something else, but instead she took a long sip of her coffee, finishing the mug.

“Thank you, for both the coffee and the chat. But I really shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

You really don’t have to go. But as much as she wished for it, Anna couldn’t voice the words out loud.

“…Thank you for the scissors,” she settled with, and it was enough to draw a smirk from her new friend.

Anna’s breath caught as Elsa leaned in dangerously close, pinning her to the counter. The brush of her arm against her own sent sparks through her. Teal eyes glanced down, catching the pale pink of her lips, and for the briefest of moments Anna thought she might lean just that touch closer. 

The sound of Elsa placing her mug down on the hard surface behind snapped her back to reality.

“Be safe with them.” 

Anna nodded wordlessly, unable to move from where she stood frozen as Elsa stepped out of the shop.

—-

Am I reading too much into it? Anna sat on the windowsill, gazing across the village, mug of coffee in hand. It was what she loved the most about living above the shop: from here she could see past the green, to the collection of shops on the other side, the tall spire of the local church peeking above large oak trees, and beyond to the series of cottages. She counted along each roof, picking out Elsa’s cottage.

Craft scissors. Completely and utterly unsuitable for the precise clipping of her flower stems, and yet she adored them all the same. But what did they mean? They were such an unusual gift. And the seriousness offset by the playfulness… Elsa was impossible to work out.

Don’t be a fool. A smart city girl like her would never look twice at a school drop out like you.

Anna had seen the bios of those successful girls on that dating app. Designer clothes, immaculate makeup, high flying jobs; a lot like Elsa. It was a far cry from Anna’s messy bedhead and clumsiness.

She let out a low sigh. I wonder if she’ll stick around for long. Who was she kidding? As soon as Elsa sorted her relationship and apartment problem the girl would be out of this village in a flash. What else was to keep her here?

The sharp ring of her alarm made her leap out of her skin. In retaliation she tossed a book over, knocking it clean off the bedside table. Instead of shutting it up however, it continued to squeal in an even higher pitch.

“Stupid alarm,” she grumbled as she got up and reset it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It wasn’t even 8am yet. God, who’d want flowers at this time?

“We’re closed!” she called out. After a second knock she rolled her eyes and headed downstairs.

I swear if it’s Mrs Peterson again. She knows I’m closed yet every Sunday she -

“- Elsa?” she said in surprise, the air knocked out of her completely at the sight of her. Anna blinked. In contrast to her previous two visits, Elsa wore a longer and brighter floral dress, complete with a wide brim straw hat. 

“Sorry. I saw movement by your window and I just… well… I got you some flowers…” she trailed off. Anna frowned, glancing between Elsa and the bunch of vibrant crocuses in her hand.

“Are those for me?” Anna asked, dumbfounded. “The shop has plenty of stock. I don’t need -”

“- They aren’t for your shop. They are for you,” Elsa clarified. Anna looked down at them again, unable to understand the gesture.

“I know you have a whole store full of them, and they probably mean something entirely significant that I do not know of,” Elsa said as she thrust the bunch out to Anna, “I picked them because they are the only thing growing in my garden… aside from the sunflowers, and they were so tall I felt too mean to take my scissors to them.”

Anna accepted the bunch tentatively, still not entirely sure what was happening. No one had ever gifted her flowers… or scissors for that matter.

“You know, I really should have gone with the sunflowers,” Elsa lamented, and Anna snapped back up immediately. “They are just so much more you.”

More me? Anna opened her mouth to question just what she meant when Elsa continued, “you could come by and see them, if you have any free time today. I’m not exaggerating when I say they are taller than us.”

Anna met Elsa’s vivid blue eyes squarely: so brave, yet so vulnerable in that moment.

“We get along well, don’t we? If I am imagining it please just tell me. I seem to have a terrible track record.”

She looked back down at the flowers, a variety of purple hues with flashes of white and yellow. They were as bright as they were beautiful: as gentle as snow, as warm as summer.

“Please say something before I perish on the spot.”

“…Please don’t perish. That would be awkward for everybody involved,” Anna finally said, giving her an apologetic look.

A soft chuckle escaped Elsa’s lips. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? You’d think asking someone on a date wouldn’t be so difficult.”

A date?

“No. I am. I’m not - I don’t -” Anna paused and took a breath to get her thoughts straight. Everyone in the village will know if I see a local girl. Yet somehow the threat of that seemed so far away compared to the promise of a date with Elsa.

Don’t over think it.

“I would love to visit. I mean -”

Don’t worry about tomorrow. 

“- I’d like to go on a date. With you. Together. Obviously. Please make me stop talking.”

Long fingers threaded between her own, and Anna let out as gasp as Elsa boldly pulled her close.

“Together sounds perfect,” Elsa’s words were like velvet, and Anna had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Just enjoy today. The future can wait.

[kyber-kisses]

All The Comforts of Home

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mentions of torture, blood, cursing, spn level gore (but there’s fluff!)

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: Nightmares

Summary: After the Reader is taken, Sam and Dean come to the rescue but it doesn’t take long for Dean to see that something isn’t right.

A/n: I’m back at it again with Bad Things Happen bingo! Anyways hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Four weeks.

That’s how you had been missing. That how long Dean had been tearing up Colorado looking for you. Four weeks of total panic and fear as he chased leads back and forth across the front range.

It took four weeks before he finally found a solid lead, one that was currently tied firmly to the chair in front of him and his brother, coal black eyes boring into him as if trying to kill him with just a look.

But all Dean felt as he looked down at this lowlife demon was hot rage, everything in his vision going red.

“Is she alive?” His voice sharp as he gripped the blade tightly in his hand, jaw clenched.

“Is who alive?”

Dean let out a light huff as he shook his head. Did this demon really think playing dumb was going to work on him? “Y/N. Our friend.”

The demon only shook his hanging head, leaning against his restraints. “Y/N, I Don’t know no Y/N.” His answer unfortunately getting him a solid fist in the gut from Dean, doubling him over in pain.

“Try again.”

A sly smirk crossed the demons features as it leaned forward further, eyes suddenly bright. “Aw, does the great Dean Winchester have a girlfriend?”

A low growl rumbled in Deans throat as he swung the chair next to him around, sitting down harshly in front of the vile piece of crap he was working with. “Focus right here-“ he knocked his knuckles against the underside of the demons chin, forcing him to look up. “Right here, or I’ll shove this blade into your goddamn neck.”

The change was almost instant, because it was a universal truth at this point that the Winchester brothers were things monsters told their children about at night. The beasts under your bed. In other words, you did not mess with them if you wanted to keep living. And truth be told, as Dean sat there, he never thought he’d seen a demon crack so quickly. For a second he almost believed it was a poor innocent person he had bound in rope.

“She’s-shes Alive.” It panted, still gasping for air from Deans punch. “She’s our newest pet.”

“Where is she being kept?”

“In the town.”

Growing impatient, Dean drew his hand back before driving the blade into the demons thigh, it’s eyes once more going black as it screamed.

“What town?!”

“Sterling! She’s being kept in Sterling!”

“Sam check for any demonic signs in Sterling.” Dean spoke over his shoulder, eyes still glued to the demon slowly falling apart in front of him.

“On it. You want me to load the stuff into the car?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out as soon as I’m done with this guy.” Slowly rising from his seat, Dean flipped the knife in his hand, pushing the old chair back into its proper spot.

“You gonna let me go now?”

Dean shot the demon an amused look, tilting his head ever so slightly. “You do know who your messing with right? You think I’m gonna let you go? Especially after you took someone I care about?”

“I told you where she was! Now let me out!” The demon barked, rocking forward in the chair in an attempt to get closer to the Winchester. He didn’t get very far before Dean swiftly plunged the blade into his jugular, the point of impact sparking before fizzing out.

“Yeah, not gonna happen buddy.” Shaking his head, he pulled the blade out before wiping it on the sleeve of his canvas jacket. Dean pocketed the weapon before grabbing the last of the duffel bags and heading out the door after his brother.

You were alive. He was going to find you and he was going to save you.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Brave. It was a silly word the longer you thought about it. It meant ready to face and endure danger and pain while showing courage. You were never that while hunting. You were never “ready” for pain and danger. You just barreled through. That’s how the job got done. Bravery never had anything to do with it.

Sam and Dean constantly said you were one of the bravest and toughest people they had ever met. . . But you didn’t feel that way. Not now at least. If anything you were the furthest from it.

The only way you could properly describe your holding cell was that it was clear that it had once been an old meat locker. Massive hooks hung limply from the ceiling, and the cold cement floor beneath your bare feet was stained dark in multiple areas. When you were first thrown in here you had tried everything in your power to get out, and when that didn’t work you changed tactics, doing everything you could just to stay warm in the freezing cell, from push-ups to jumping jacks and everything in between.

But soon the days began to feel longer and with it you began to get weaker. The demons holding you here barley fed you, and even when they did you ended up puking half of it right back up anyways.

Then there was the issue of the demons themselves. You didn’t know how many there were, only that when they came they had a different face each time. They’d slink into the room with their black eyes and bag full of knickknacks and that’s when the real fun for them would begin.

Letting out a deep sigh you curled in your toes, hoping it would generate some warmth, resting your head against the yellowing tile of the walls. Your body felt as though it had been bruised in every corner. Your legs felt shaky and you already knew they could not support your own body weight. Even your head felt heavy. The real pain came in waves though. Just when you thought the soreness was beginning to subside another bolt of pain shot up your spine. Your back arching as the pain rushed through your body like an ignited fire, your eyes squeezing closed as your face contorted.

You didn’t know exactly what they were doing to you, but what you did know was that you had never experienced such pain in your life.

You could feel your head spinning as you leaned forward, grabbing fistfuls of hair. You pulled on it in a futile attempt to direct the pain away from the rest of your body. Thankfully after a moment it began to work and you dropped your hands once more, ignoring the tremble in them.

Pain. You had been experiencing it for so long now that you couldn’t even remember what it was like to not feel it.

Tucking your legs closer into you, you curled back up in the corner you had grown so familiar with, resting your head against your inner forearms as you let your fingers tangle in your hair.

You just wanted to go home. You didn’t even know why the demons wanted you in the first place. You weren’t anything special.

Head still in your arms you felt the first pricks of tears in the corners of your no doubt already red eyes. But that’s all that happened. You were to dehydrated and tired to actually cry.

Home. Just think about home.

You could feel sleep slowly beginning to take you when you heard the first gunshots echo down the hallway beyond your four cold walls. Suddenly alert you picked your head up, eyeing the door wearily. A moment later another set of shots was heard, this time much closer and you could feel your heart rate increase.

The muffled sound of boots striking concrete echoed down the hallway, and before you could come up with a proper plan, there was another bang and the massive metal door was kicked open, your reflexes making you scramble back in fear.

“Y/N?!”

Dean entered the room like a living storm, gun still raised in defense as he scanned the room. Only lowering his weapon when his eyes found yours. His heart instantly breaking off into little pieces at the state of you. You were covered head to toe in bruises and cuts. Your skin dirty and smeared with blood.

“Y/N-“ he breathed out again, tucking his gun back into his waistband as he quickly crossed the floor towards you, shedding his jacket as he did. “Sam, I found her!” Being as gentle as he could, he wrapped the canvas material around your shoulders, kneeling down to do so.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Yeah. Sam and I came to get you out of here. How does that sound?” Giving you a small smile he smoothed back your hair, getting the stray pieces out of your face.

“Good.”

“Okay. Can you walk?”

“I-I think so.” You nodded, bracing one hand on the wall and grabbing Deans outstretched palm in your other, slowly pushing yourself up onto wobbly legs.

“There we go. That wasn’t too fast was it?” Dean questioned, keeping a hand on the base of your back to keep you steady.

“No.”

Taking a deep breath, you took a step forward- only for your legs to quickly buckle underneath you. Fortunately Dean was quicker and his own knees bent as he wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you from falling.

“Okay, alright. Take it slow.”

“Dean, how is she- Y/N!” And just like his brother, Sam was suddenly at your other side. A look of concern filling his features as he helped support you.

“We gotta get her out of here. Get her some place warmer than this freezer.” Dean sighed, adjusting his grip on you as he looked down at you.

“Here, I got her. You go ahead of us and make sure we cleared this place out.” Sam nodded, watching as his brother hesitated before agreeing.

“Okay, okay. Y/N, I’m gonna pass you to Sam. That alright?”

“Mhmm.”

Slowly unwinding his arm from his waist, he allowed you to fall into Sam’s arms. Only pulling his gun back out once he knew you wouldn’t drop.

“Alright, and up we go.” With one swift movement Sam hoisted you up into his arms, cradling you close to his massive frame. “This okay, Y/N?”

You let out a small groan before replying with a soft yes, all the sudden movement quickly reminding you of how sore you were. How battered.

You just wanted to go home. You just wanted everything to go back to normal.

You wanted to feel better.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The motel room was quiet as Dean and Sam helped stitch you up. Quiet to the point in which neither of them were bold enough to say anything in attempt to break it.

Dean would have preferred driving through the night to get back to the bunker, but you deserved to sleep in an actual bed and not in the back seat of Baby. So instead the three of you found yourselves at some dinky motel right off of 36 and just outside Atwood Kansas.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” Dean sighed, threading the needle through what he guessed was the eighth gash he had worked on since they began patching you up.

“I’m fine.”

At your words, both brothers paused their work to share a concerned look. Ever since they found you, you had been repeating those two words like a broken record, your voice monotone and calm.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Dean-“ Sam sighed a warning as he finished bandaging your calf, dropping the extra materials back into the first aid kit.

“What? I’m just stating a fact.” Dean shot back, still focused entirely on the gash on your shoulder blade, his fingers working gently to finish the stitches.

He didn’t mean to snap. Really, he didn’t. He was just worried. Really, really fucking worried. It was clear that you were anything but fine. You barley spoke and if he was being completely honest, when he looked at you it was like looking at a husk. You weren’t yourself. He was hoping that once they got some food in you and some sleep you might slowly come back to them, but you didn’t.

“It hurts.” You mumbled suddenly. Your words making Dean pull his hands away from his work in fear that it was his doing, before he realized you were talking about your actual injuries.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know. Those painkillers Sam give you kickin in yet?”

“I think so.”

“Well those things will conk you right out. You should sleep like a baby.” Dean let out a light chuckle as he finished his work. The snapping of the first aid kit  telling you he was done.

Running a hand through hair you could still feel it was damp from the shower you had taken earlier to clean the blood and dirt off of you. It felt good to be clean, but you still didn’t feel right. You still didnt feel like you. As you stood up Dean was at your side once again, helping you across the room towards the bed.

That was another thing. From the the moment they found you Dean had been a constant. Never wavering from your side unless you were taking a shower or going to the bathroom. All he wanted to do was help, and you gladly let him. The comfort and safety he gave off being greatly welcomed after four weeks of pure agony.

“You need Me or Sam to get you anything?” He asked lightly after helping you get situated on one of the motel beds.

Fidgeting with the hem of the shirt Dean had lent you, you shook your head. “No. I’m okay. Thank you though.”

“Okay. You promise you’ll tell us though if you do?”

“I promise.” You nodded, giving him the faintest of smiles as you did so. The action being enough to give Dean some relief, even if only for a moment. You were still in there.

“Alright, get some sleep. You need it.” Leaning down he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline before retreating back to the table Sam was seated at. Before his butt had even hit the chair he could see that you were already out. Your eyes closed as you pressed your face into the pillow.

“I’m worried about her.”

“I know, Dean. So am I.”

Prying open the cap to his beer, he leaned back in his seat. “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, Sam. I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Well being tortured doesn’t exactly leave one walking away with good memories, Dean.”

At the word torture Dean felt himself flinch. His stomach rolled at the mere thought of some creature carving into you. He should have taken his time offing each one of those demons, drawn out their suffering a little longer because of what they inflicted on you.

“She didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right. She didn’t. But at least she’s alive. I know she’s not okay, but we need to give her some time. Let her heal.”

“God, I know. I know.” Setting the beer bottle back down, Dean ran his hands through his hair. “I just want her to be okay.”

There was a moment of silence before the younger Winchester spoke up again. “You should tell her.”

“Sam-“ Dean warned, lifting his head from his hands to glare at his brother.

“I’m serious. When she gets better you should tell her how you feel.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Shaking his head Dean pushed himself out of his seat before grabbing his duffel and heading towards the bathroom to change. Doing anything to avoid the topic at hand. “Just go to bed, Sam.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Dean didn’t sleep in a bed that night. Usually he bunked with you but he was afraid he might nudge or kick you and hit one of your bruises or stitches, and he decided against sharing a bed with Sam because the giant took up most of the bed anyways. So instead he wrapped himself in one of the spare blankets usually hanging from the foot of the bed and slept between the two mattresses. Sure he could have taken the couch but it was too small for his 6’1 body, plus he wanted to be close to you in case you needed something. Sam insisted that you would be fine, but Dean refused. The hunter not going to bed until the little neon clock on the nightstand blinked 1:30 AM.

He had maybe been asleep half an hour when things took a turn like he had been fearing. A loud scream from your lips suddenly pierced the still air of the motel room, sending both boys upright as they whipped their guns out from beneath their pillows. There was a sharp thud as you fell off the other side of the bed and Dean was on his feet in seconds, eyes wide and alert.

“Y/N!”

Peering through the dark room, he could see your silhouette scramble back until your back hit the wall with a sharp thud.

Nightmares. That was the only thing that could come to Deans mind. It was the only thing that made sense in the otherwise safety of the motel room. Tossing his gun onto Sams bed he quickly vaulted over the mattress dividing the two of you, sinking to his knees in front of you as he wrapped his hands around your wrists.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

“No! Don’t- don’t touch me!” You screamed, flinching away from Deans desperate touch. At this point Sam has gotten out of bed, flicking on the bathroom light so they could somewhat see. Your eyes were wild, and your breathing was fast and shallow. Your whole body trembling with uncontrollable fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Dean spoke gently, sliding his hands from your wrists and into your palms. It was only when your eyes finally met that he scooted himself behind you and pulled you between his legs, your back resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “Listen to me. You’re safe and they aren’t going to hurt you again. I’m here now. Trust me, I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

Dean almost expected you to launch yourself out of his arms in panic but you didn’t. Instead he felt you slowly begin to relax in his hold, tears collecting on the sleeve of his Henley as you let out a breath. “I-“

“It’s okay.” Dean shushed you, pulling you further into his lap as he let you calm down. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“Dean-“ Sam began only to be waved off by his brother.

Cradling the back of your neck, Dean allowed you to rest your head in the crook of his, the hunter placing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he smoothed your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It was a nightmare. We all get em.”

“No. I’m supposed to be brave, but I’m not. I’m not brave.” Your sobs coming back as your fingers twisted into the fabric of Deans Henley, using it as somewhat of a lifeline.

“Woah, don’t say that. That ain’t true at all.” Dean quickly interjected, pulling back to look you in the eyes. His hand moving from the back of your neck so he could thumb away your tears. “You’re the bravest person Sam and I know, and the strongest.”

“It’s a lie. Those demons broke me, Dean.” Shaking your head you ignored the crack in your voice. “They broke me.”

“No. No they didn’t.” By this point he had your face cradled between his two hands as he looked at you fiercely. “Sure, they may have put a few dents in ya, but they didn’t break you. You’re like polished freakin steel. It’s gonna take a lot more than a few low level demons to bring you down.”

Your lips parted as you tried to find words, but none came. The man had stunned you into total silence. . . So instead you found yourself leaning forward once more to wrap your arms around him again, the hunter not hesitating to return the gesture. The breath from his lips lightly tickling your neck as nestled against it.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I want to. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you and Sam.”

Even if he denied it later on, you could feel Dean smile against your skin. “Let’s get your back to bed.”

“Only if you promise not to sleep on the floor.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” Adjusting you in his arms, Dean picked you up off the rough carpet of the motel room floor, before softly depositing you the nearest bed. Sam was already back asleep by the time Dean turned the bathroom light back off.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean hummed, sinking down onto the mattress besides you.

“Why did those demons take me?”

There was a pause before an answer came through the dark between you. “They were trying to use you to get to me.”

“. . . Why?”

Another pause.

“Because you’re my weak spot.” Dean swallowed, feeling the next words crawl up his throat with a vengeance. “Because I’m in-love with you.”

The silence that followed made Dean want to jump out the nearest window. For a moment he thought you had fallen back asleep and he let out a sigh of relief, but then he heard you suck in a breath.

“Don’t play with my emotions, Dean. That’s not funny.”

“I swear to you, I would never joke about something like this. I’m in love with you and I have been for quite some time.” Even in the dark Deans hand found yours, the hunter tangling his fingers in your own.

“. . . I- what if I don’t believe you?” You spoke softly.

“Then I’ll just keep telling you until you do.”

“Im just kidding, I believe you. . .But don’t let that stop you.”

“Oh?”

“I love you too.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Dean let out a relieved chuckle at your words, rolling over to loop an arm around you.

“Okay, as happy as I am for the both of you, would the two of you please shut up and go to bed? There’s still one person in this room who is trying to sleep.”

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[laurelsofhighever]

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

She tumbled into the light. Her stomach lurched as if in a dream of falling and then her lungs sensed air and instinct overtook her in great, sawing gulps of it, like she was breaching the surface of the ocean after being held under. The flush of panic beneath her skin paused the tally of her other senses, but slowly the scents of rain and earth rose up to meet her, the sigh of wind against her face and the cold of mud under the claw of her fingernails. After so long, the onslaught of sensation bloomed sparks of colour beneath her eyelids. When she tried to open them, the world reeled and fell behind a red haze of too-quick movement, gravity firm against her back and cool earth pressed under her cheek.

“Rest easy, child. It will take some time to adjust to the world again.”

The familiarity of the voice, wry and cracked with age, spurred her into motion. Shivering, she rolled onto her side and turned her head up into the rain. Fat drops prickled her forehead, forcing her to blink, while grass poked at the back of her neck with every heaving gasp she drew for breath. The sky was white. Not green, not dark and swirling with currents of strange energy, but the blank white of a low cloud heavy with water, of a typical miserable day in the waking world that made travellers turn up their collars and drove wildlife to huddle away in whatever shelter they could.

Distracted, she opened her arms wide and laughed until the sound turned into sobbing.

And then a tendril of emerald energy flickered through the air above her head and dread froze her where she lay. The possibility that she was mired in illusion, that this glimpse of freedom might be ripped from her grasp like a curtain pulled back on an empty theatre, churned in her stomach and brought another wave of dizziness crashing down upon her head. It could not be. Without yet knowing if she would stand to face whatever was coming for her this time, she followed the flare of magic back to the rip in the Veil that had allowed her to cross, lifting her head past the ache growing in her bones to see an old woman in the worn, patched clothing of a beggar, her arms raised and wreathed in ropes of blinding bright energy that fed into the slippery green scar of the Fade. It shrank, twisting and snapping like a wild animal trying to free its ropes, until finally with a crack, a flash, and an afterimage that glowed on the back of her eyes, it disappeared entirely.

The roar of it grew stronger by its absence. Trees shivered around the ring of the hill, the susurration of their leaves like an incoming sea. She lay next to Flemeth within a ring of stones patchy with moss, with the acrid odour of a damp fire nearby, too beaten down by the weather to offer either light or warmth.

From neck to foot, her armour clanked with her shivering, even after her saviour barked a command to the flames to leap from their sulking places under the wet logs. As she dragged herself across the sodden ground to the wash of heat over her face, her senses righted still further and nagged her about her surroundings, the familiarity in the stones. She dismissed it. Her hands warmed as she knelt and thrust them towards the fire, but that only sparked another worry; somewhere along the way she had dropped her charm, the pink-petalled rose that had guided her, guarded her, through her wanderings. A bush of the same pale flowers hunkered a little way beyond the circle, but it only held her gaze for a moment before her eye caught on a more distant shape, the solid form of a castle behind the haze of rain, with the dim shadow of a settlement beneath it.

“This is Harrowhill,” she realised, her own voice out loud grating against her ears. Her heart clenched. Two and a half leagues off, her home waited, along with the life she had left behind. She could have walked there within a day, if she pushed herself.

A blanket folded around her shoulders in the same instant that another spoken word to the fire made it leap higher still.

“How do you feel?” Flemeth asked.

Rosslyn looked up into the gleaming yellow eyes. Her body had yet to catalogue the full inventory of hurts that had been done to it, but even in the moment as she pondered the question, more made themselves known. Her throat stung like she had been drinking seawater and the cold shiver in her limbs had turned into full shakes that shot pain through the length of her muscles, while about her, the world spun on more axes than it should. Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned to face straight ahead in the hopes it would quell the nausea, but the pounding in her head only worsened, and it brought into focus the face of a man slumped across the other side of the fire, whom until that moment she had mistaken for a bedroll.

“Who is that?”

Flemeth followed the direction of her gaze. “A criminal. It matters not.”

His eyes stared glassily at nothing from unremarkable, ashen features, mouth agape above a rust-dark line that stretched across the width of his throat.

“You used blood magic.” Sickened, she tried to back away from the corpse, but the effort roiled in her stomach and dimmed her vision at the corners.

“Is that the most of your accusations?” The witch laughed. “This man would have died either way, condemned as he was, but he wished to make amends before his execution, and I needed a source of power. This way, he was of use.”

“You murdered him,” Rosslyn spat. The horizon tilted.

“And rid the world of a murderer to return a champion to it. Are you not glad to be back among the living?”

Still trying to stand, she opened her mouth to respond, but the sway in her ears turned her upside down before the words could form, and in a rush everything slid down into darkness.

--

When she awoke, it was to a long lance of golden light slanting across the bare beams of a shingle roof above her. Whether it came from a dawning or a westering sun she did not know, and decided did not matter. For a moment she let herself sink back and hover just above unconsciousness as she tried to reconcile the memory of the wet, blustery vision of Harrowhill with the present warm scratch of a wool blanket against her cheek. How Flemeth must have moved her was a mystery for another time; as she collected herself, the images of fevered dreams passed through her mind’s eye, hands pressing her back into a mattress, forcing potions down her throat. Her body ached as if she had been in battle, her breath laboured in her chest, and her blistered mouth screamed for even a drop of water.

Birdsong drifted in through the window. She recognised the trill of a blackbird among the general din, with the distinct purling quality of a late summer boast. Evening, then. The boards above her head were all felled from the same tree, with a collection of whorls in the wood that brought to mind the faces of a dog, and between them spiders had strung webs that now hung thick with dust. She counted them. Every detail was sifted carefully to check for truth, from the bite of her nails into her palms to the tame spit of the hearthfire and the scents of woodsmoke and cooking food.

When she was finally satisfied that the world around her had not been presented as a trick for her mind to follow, she tried to move. Flemeth’s dubious mercy could not be trusted. Someone had taken her armour, her weapons, and stripped her down to a plain shift that rasped against her skin.

Her first attempt failed when the protest in her muscles sent her falling back, panting, but with gritted teeth she changed tack and rolled onto one arm instead of straight up, and from there curled around until her feet planted into the curly strands of a sheepskin rug. Even that taxed her, driving the pulse in her neck and the saw in her breath as if she had already been three rounds in the lists, and it galled to have to settle her hand against her sternum –

Alistair’s necklace had gone. The familiar weight of the chain was not around her neck, the amulet bearing Andraste’s image no longer resting against her collarbone. Panicked, she threw herself upright, already searching the pillow and the floor for a telltale glimpse of silverite, but with barely a wobble of warning, her legs refused to take her weight. She went down hard enough that she had to throw out an arm to stop her skull cracking on the flagstone floor, though it didn’t save the skin of her knees.

“Hang it all,” she snarled, as blood welled from the cuts. Her legs trembled, the muscles atrophied into bare cords beneath the skin.

Before her horrified mind could make sense of the sight, footsteps running from outside marked her time. With another snarl she lunged for a candlestick that had been set on the bedside drawer she had narrowly missed as she went down and held it like a club, though by rights it would barely do more damage than her fists.

The figure who opened the door a moment later stopped on the threshold as she took in Rosslyn’s position crumpled on the floor, her large green eyes wide above the Dalish markings on her cheeks.

“Oh – no! you shouldn’t be out of bed!” She started forward, tucking a bobbed lock of black hair behind one pointed ear.

Rosslyn bared her teeth. “Stay away from me.”

“I’m here to help you,” the elf replied, somewhat hopefully.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where am I? The last thing I remember –”

“If your memory’s coming back, that’s good!” But the optimism faded in the face of Rosslyn’s continued hostility. “My name is Merrill, and you’re safe – I was asked to look after you, by Asha’bellanar herself,” she added proudly.

The name stirred something in Rosslyn’s memory, but she didn’t drop the candlestick. Seeing her hands shake, Merrill put up her hands and made her way over to the hearth in slow movements, unhooking the staff slung across her back to lean it against the wall as she crouched in front of the stewpot.

“You must be hungry, it’s been days since you’ve eaten – or years, really,” she said. “I’m not sure what the best way is to measure time in the Fade when you’re physically there. You must have seen some fascinating sights.”

“Years?” The candlestick clattered to the floor.

There was no telling how many. Their surroundings showed the typical interior of a Fereldan homestead, with a levelled stone foundation and walls made from hand-planed timber, a design that had served well for generations but offered no clues for context about where they were, or the state of the world beyond. Rosslyn could well believe Flemeth able to survive unchanged for decades, but thinking on it drew her mind to the terror that perhaps enough time had passed to wither away everything she had left behind. She had seen such things in the Fade, after all, the works of entire ages that rose and fell in in the space it took to draw a single breath. She pushed her head into her hands. Was Ferelden still the same beyond the walls of her prison as when she left it? Had the war ended? And what of Alistair, with whom she had vowed to stand against all hardship? With her body so weakened, she had a slim chance of escaping and finding her way to him. Even if she were still somewhere within the Teyrnir of Highever, the likelihood of being found by her brother’s men or the king’s was outmatched by the possibility of less savoury characters stumbling across her when she would be unable to defend herself.

She looked up through her fingers and her growing panic as Merrill approached with a rough wooden bowl filled with whatever had been in the stewpot. The elf’s anxious smile seemed genuine, and as she offered the bowl with a chunk of dense, crusty bread, Rosslyn breathed deep and decided to take it as such. After all, if any harm was meant to her, she would have woken up in chains instead of a warm, clean house – if at all. Hating how the weight of it made her hands tremble, she took the offered bowl and the bread with a cautious sniff. The rich yellow soup within was thicker than the fine broths served at high table, more like a puréed sauce, with flecks of green herbs throughout and something pale and crumbly scattered over the surface.

“Asha’bellanar… That’s what the Dalish call Flemeth, isn’t it?” she asked cautiously as she dipped the bread into the mix.

“That’s not something most humans know,” Merrill replied, the corners of her mouth ticking upwards in pleased surprise.

Rosslyn shrugged. “Two Dalish came to the palace on Flemeth’s word that we should go to Ostagar. At the time, I didn’t know whether to believe them.”

“That would have been Ethalas and Tamlen.” The elf shifted into the space next to Rosslyn on the sheepskin. “They were from my clan.”

“You sound sad.”

“I haven’t seen any of them since I agreed to follow Asha’bellanar.”

“Did your Keeper send you like she sent them?” Rosslyn asked.

Merrill shook her head and silence fell between them. Not wanting to pry, Rosslyn turned her attention back to the soup, and with it, the unsettlingly bizarre feeling of having food in her hands. The last she had eaten was a ration of hardtack as she was dressed for battle at Ostagar. Since then, she had dreamed of feasts, and rivers of wine where she could drink her fill, but the Fade contained nothing of substance, and eventually even the memory of flavour had been forgotten in her trudge across that endless, empty plain. If not for the need to regain her strength in order to find Alistair and return to her former life, she might have listened to the nausea prowling through her insides and pushed away even this simple dish. As it was, she closed her eyes and brought the mopped chunk of bread to her lips.

The taste exploded on her tongue, salt and sweet and the aroma of the herbs used to season the other ingredients. She recognised the taste of squash and sage, and a gaminess that was almost like goat’s cheese but more pungent, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. Her stomach heaved.

“Is it that bad?” Merrill cried clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Hahren Paivel always did despair of my cooking but I tried to make this exactly as Sylissa always did when the children were sick. I’d hoped –”

But Rosslyn ignored her, already devouring the rest of the bowl. The bread was too much work to chew so she set it aside, but the soup warmed her and went down in gulps to quench the wakened fire of her appetite, and though more than half of it still remained when she sat back, she could feel the life seeping into her body, fleshing her out as if before she had only been a wash on a painter’s canvas. Though she fought against the well of fatigue that came with the relief, she could already feel herself nodding.

“Thank you,” she said to Merrill, who was still hovering nervously. “I could not have asked for a finer first meal.”

“I’m rather glad I didn’t poison you,” came the answer. “I was worried humans might not be able to eat elvhen food.”

“City elves eat the same food as humans,” she pointed out.

“That’s true, I suppose – oh!” Placing one hand on Rosslyn’s arm, she reached around with the other to one of the pouches belted at her waist, and with a delicate clink of metal pulled out an engraved disc on a short silverite chain. “It’s special, isn’t it?” she asked. “I had to take it off you while you were recovering so it didn’t break.”

Rosslyn took it in wary, reverent fingers. “My husband gave it to me to keep safe.” For a moment, all she could do was look into the serene face of Andraste and swallow back her tears. The amulet might be all she had left of him. “Where are we?”

“I’m… not supposed to tell you.”

“I need to get to Denerim as soon as possible, I need to get word to the king that –”

Unless she no longer had a place at court. With the aftermath of a civil war to cause instability, she could hardly imagine the Landsmeet would sit by while their ruler left the throne unsecured, and even before Alistair was thrown into Valesh Aeducan’s path she recalled the veritable parade of young noblewomen who had tried to make an impression on him after his title was recognised. And then there was Anora. When they had marched south she had been in the tower awaiting judgement, with her crowd of supporters grumbling but appeased by the stay of punishment for her involvement with her father. What if –

No. Giving space to such thoughts could only end in self-defeat. Once more centring herself with a breath, she turned to Merrill, the amulet held tight in her fist.

“Tell me everything you know,” she commanded.

--

The days passed slowly as Rosslyn worked to get her strength back, the walls of her prison slowly expanding to include first the yard where the chickens pecked for grubs, and then the rim of the clearing where Flemeth had brought her, in a dell where the trees grew too tall to admit any view of the landscape beyond. The mixed stands of oak and beech that barred her path let her guess they were somewhere in the northern part of the country, but nothing more certain, and though she looked in every direction, the only column of smoke she found was the one rising from her own chimney, so she could not hope for a nearby settlement, either.

It did not hinder her determination. Once she recovered enough to walk from one side of the clearing to the other without needing to rest, she donned a cloak, strapped Talon to her belt, and pushed through the scrub into the forest, keeping the sun to her left. When she emerged into the clearing again less than an hour later, the commiserating look Merrill offered barely helped calm the flare in her temper.

She tried again, and again, until her attempts and the days blurred together. Whichever direction she chose, her path inevitably led her back to the house, and even when she tied string to the branches as she went, she could not find her way. Ostagar was eighteen months gone, with no news of the court, and as reality slowly worked its way back into Rosslyn’s bones, the pain of Alistair’s absence grew like a canker. It felt too much like defeat to stop trying, however, so she took up her sword forms instead, running through them all until her limbs shook from exhaustion and she turned feverish again.

“You were in the Fade in your physical body, you can’t expect to be springing about like a halla fawn right away,” Merrill chided that night as she checked her temperature with the back of one small hand.

She offered a wry smile. “I’m sorry to undo all of your good work.”

“Not all of it,” Merrill allowed. “The rules of this world don’t apply in the Fade, so your body was sort of… stuck, like a fly getting trapped in tree sap, but when you came back, everything you went through caught up all at once. Or at least, that’s my best guess. Nobody’s walked in the Fade like that since the days of Arlathan, and never for so long.”

“And so is the Golden City blackened with each step you take in my Hall,” Rosslyn quoted.

“What’s that?”

“It’s from the Chant of Light.” Unconvinced she might be by the Maker’s Word, but like any good noble child, Rosslyn had been thoroughly schooled in its teachings. “Tevinter magisters lifted the Veil and stormed the Maker’s city, only to be cursed with the Blight for their trouble.”

“Well… you haven’t been tainted.” Merrill smiled. “That’s a good thing. You just have to be patient.”

“I will not be kept here.”

Too many people needed her, too much might happen if she lingered.

And yet, how could she face Alistair looking as she did now? Her hollowed cheeks stared at her corpselike from her reflection in the water bucket every morning, the shadows of her ribs swelled with every breath, and the armour once made for her rattled on her frame as if she were a child dressing up in her parents’ clothes. If he were to see her, what pity would follow his touch as he traced her suffering? Guilt would plague him, and perhaps revulsion, and the thought of either was like a stab through the heart, though as she lay on her cot in the dark of night refusing the pull of sleep, those were not the only fears that kept her from rest.

Merrill helped. Her endless optimism infected even the bleakest of Rosslyn’s moods, and she had a way of guilting a person after a disagreement that reminded her of the artful silences Nan used to employ whenever Cuno got loose in the kitchen. Without any other company but each other, they spent their days swapping stories as they divvied up the chores of the house, and in doing so Rosslyn discovered she wasn’t the only one in Flemeth’s debt, though her new companion always changed the subject when it brushed too close to the nature of her deal with the witch.

“If we’re to be tools for whatever grand scheme she’s plotting, surely we would be more use not left to rust out here in the back end of nowhere,” she groused one evening as they shared their meal. “I could have gotten word – said something – but instead I’m trapped here doing nothing.” Summer was fading from the trees, the days growing shorter as the verdancy of their surroundings turned to shifting hues of bronze and gold. “Are you sure you can’t try to lift the enchantment she’s put on the clearing?”

With a sympathetic look and considerable patience, Merrill shook her head. “The enchantments she added when we were brought here are older magics than I was ever taught. If I try to unravel the spells without knowing where they start, it might make things worse.”

“I need to go home.”

“You’re lucky to have one,” the elf replied. “My clan won’t take me back. This is all I have.”

Rosslyn glanced to her sharply, but she refused to say more, and they spent the rest of the night in bitter silence.

--

A jingle of harness through the morning mist a few weeks later gave them the first sign of Flemeth’s arrival. A pair of mismatched cobs plodded into the clearing ahead of a closed wagon that should have been too big to make it through the dense underbrush, and at the reins an old woman sat wrapped in a cloak, completely innocuous except for the golden gleam of her eyes. When she halted the wagon in front of the house, she pulled the scarf from around her face to reveal the cold twist of that ever-present smirk.

“I see your convalescence has not doused your fire,” she said to Rosslyn, who had emerged from the house with Talon resting on her hip.

“I do not care to be kept a prisoner,” she growled in return. “You had no right to keep me here.”

“Didn’t I?” One fine eyebrow arched. “You entered a bargain when I came to you in the Fade. You said you wanted to live, and I told you there would be a price. You might have thanked me for it before you started berating me, or do Couslands no longer keep their word?”

She lifted her chin. “If you want my debt paid then let me pay it and have done. I have people waiting for me.”

“And people whose lives you fear go on without you,” Flemeth retorted. She climbed down from the driver’s seat, unhurried, joints cracking. “I told you once of the wars and deaths that would happen without your leave, but it takes living through death to see the truth of it, wouldn’t you say? You need not worry. I have come to take you for what’s needed.”

“I want to see Alistair.”

The amusement in the old witch’s face turned to ice. “You are in no position to make demands of me, girl. What would you do, go to him only to say that you must leave again?”

Before she could answer with more than a scowl, Merrill joined them, dressed in travelling clothes and with the bag where she kept her few belongings slung over her shoulder.

“Andaran atish’an, Asha’bellanar,” she murmured, bowing low.

“There now,” Flemeth crowed. “Someone with manners. You should ready to leave, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shutting up the house took less than an hour. They doused the fire and caught the chickens to take with them, loaded Rosslyn’s armour into the back of the wagon with supplies for the road, and when everything was settled, Flemeth climbed back into the driver’s perch without so much as a backward glance.

“Aren’t you going to tie me up, or put me under a Sleep?” Rosslyn asked, suspicious.

“I have no need,” came the airy reply. “Because I will tell you what you are to do, and after that, you will stay of your own volition.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

Flemeth chuckled. “I am an old, old woman, and I have seen your like before. Honour and duty will serve to bind you just as well as magic, as it did your ancestors.”

Still reluctant, Rosslyn climbed up next to Merrill, who beamed and offered her a pocket of warm bread filled with honey and chopped nuts.

“Well, you didn’t want to be left behind, did you?” she asked. “I’m sure this’ll be exciting.”

For the first few days, the journey took them through disorienting countryside along barely visible trackways, but eventually the ground rose and the forest opened ahead of the cart into the sparse pine slopes of the Frostbacks. With such a landmark, Rosslyn could have cut her way across-country to a settlement and from there on to Denerim, even with the dangerous weather closing in with the end of the year, but as the witch had predicted, she did not. She had learned what was needed of her, the consequences if she deserted, and she had not forced the Nightmare back into the Fade only for the world to shatter around her mere months after she fell into it again.

So she stayed. She watched the scenery from the back of the cart as it mellowed from frowning, snow-capped peaks to the gently undulating plains of southern Orlais, and she made no complaint when she and Merrill were once more shut away, this time in townhouse in the noble quarter of Halamshiral. A few weeks, Flemeth promised, and then she could reclaim her life and its petty entrapments.

The witch herself faded into the background of the house, the puppeteer behind the curtain as preparations were made to infiltrate the palace with the opening of the winter season. Dresses were made, and introductions, and if the servants were hollow-eyed and their hostess too vacant to hold a conversation, Rosslyn chose not to concern herself with it. Blood magic was an evil against which she could not win alone, one that so far hadn’t been turned on her only because Flemeth needed her mind intact. Alistair would not have approved of her silence, her compromise, but she shoved that knowledge to the back of her mind along with all the other choices she would rather forget. Compared to the dead at South Reach, the sacrifices at Lothering, the fate of one overwrought Orlesian noblewoman mattered little.

With Merrill’s help, by the time the First Night Ball arrived she had charmed, bribed, and enchanted her way into one of the guest rooms of the palace itself. From there, she joined the nameless throng into the entrance hall in the plain mask of someone too humble too be noticed, and waited for Morrigan to appear.

It was then she caught the first whispers.

“Have you seen him yet?”

“He has not made his entrance.”

“They say he still mourns.”

“I saw him in Kirkwall last year, a man so handsome should have company to match, even if he is a dog lord.”

“You, cherie? He’s the empress’ prize – why else do you think she would bring him here as her personal guest? She means to have Ferelden.”

“His advisors mean him to have someone, no matter who. Any of us might catch his eye.”

The words made her heart bound behind her ribs. Who else could they be talking about, but Alistair? Flemeth’s smile as she left for the palace made more sense now, the repeated order to keep herself unknown. She lost the rest of what was said by her neighbours through the rushing in her ears. He was supposed to be in Denerim, far away. But not waiting for her; she had seen to that herself.

She was grateful for the mask when he appeared a few moments later at the top of the stairs to the royal wing with her brother in tow. Fergus hunched slightly, his once-wide shoulders gaunt and his strong resemblance to their father only increased with the time and distance they had been apart, but it was Alistair who held her eye. His hair had grown long, half to his shoulders, still the same tawny bronze as ever where it curled slightly around his ears, the strong line of his jaw accented by the trim of a beard. He had been unable to grow one when they had been together, the hairs on his chin had been sparse and patchy and he had pouted every time she teased him about it. As he breathed deep, she wondered if the same were true for the hair on his chest.

Her own breath sawed in her throat as he descended into the crowd, the cold marble of the balustrade beneath her palm holding her upright during the interminable moment when he passed within fifteen feet of where she stood, completely unaware of her existence. Of course she followed him. She watched him make smiles at the nobles, yearned towards him like a weed towards the sun, reading the tense line of his shoulders and the way his mirth didn’t quite meet his eyes, the whole time aching with the tear between what she had done and what she still had left to do.

And then he looked at her. The glance was brief, a flash like the sun on a shard of glass as it searched the room, but it stopped her breath nonetheless. Only when he turned away again and moved into the ballroom did the tingle fade from her limbs, and by then her purpose had reasserted itself.

Draw attention to yourself and they will know you for a cuckoo, Flemeth had told her. They will not show mercy, and I will not help you.

Alistair’s presence raised the stakes. Before, she might have been able to stick to her borrowed identity if she were caught, but with the threat of recognition came the knowledge that Ferelden would share in whatever punishment Celene thought up for her if she did not succeed.

She could not allow it.

At least growing up as a reluctant court flower had taught her how to be invisible in a room full of nobles. When the castellan announced her name she crossed the floor in the perfect attitude of courtly grace, unable to entirely quell the hope that he would see her, though the hesitation as she glanced to the dais cost her a stern glance from Celene. Others more worthy remained to be greeted, after all. Alistair did not spare her even that much.

If I had to choose between you and Ferelden… I don’t know if I could make that choice. The words, spoken a lifetime ago as if they were yesterday, reared in her mind as the night wore on, hours passing with Morrigan still absent, with Alistair at the centre of the room twisting like a flame on a dark night on the arm of so many eager women that bile rose in the back of her throat. The touch of his eyes burned her with every accidental glance, but she was just another face in the crowd, as alone as when she had awoken at Ostagar and found the other side of her bed empty. The thought had yet to pass when someone knocked into her.

“Oh! Do excuse me.” The familiarity of the voice shook Rosslyn from the bitter line of her thoughts, but not quickly enough to note the flash of red hair as the stranger rose and caught her by the wrist.

“Consider it forgotten,” she muttered quickly, already turning away.

“No please, I insist. I must –” Leliana’s gasp cut off the rest of the words, the mask in her hand rising in a graceful arc to cover the slip.

Against her better judgement, Rosslyn turned. Sharp blue eyes peered up at her, still wide with shock.

“It is you.”

She reached for Leliana’s arm. “You have mistaken me, my lady,” she said, deliberately. “Please, forget the offence, my mind was distracted and I failed to see where I was going.”

“He has seen you,” the other woman pressed.

Hope – wild hope like the thundering of horses – roared in her ears, but only for an instant. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“I would not wish to accuse an old friend of lying, nor indeed a new acquaintance,” Leliana retorted, threatening with a steady look, while around them people with their eyes on the nearby dancers no doubt listened with interest.

“It would be an unfortunate thing to do in the middle of a crowd,” Rosslyn agreed.

They wove through the press of bodies to a darker corner where the heat and sweat of the dancing didn’t reach so strongly, with pleasant smiles on their faces to deflect the attention of anyone looking for court intrigue. Rosslyn took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing server, needing the fortification of the alcohol as much as the cover it provided.

“Now, what shall I tell him?” Leliana asked when they were finally out of earshot.

“Nothing,” she replied, after a casual sip. “He can’t know I’m here.”

“If you knew…”

“Promise me you won’t tell him,” she interrupted.

But Leliana stood her ground, a fierce light of loyalty in her eyes that nevertheless remained hidden from those around them. “Will you?”

“You used to have faith in me,” Rosslyn muttered eventually, after a moment of scrutiny. She received a calculating look before the gaze skittered away to the warmer light in the middle of the room.

“Very well, I promise I will not tell him who you are.”

They parted. The relief that swelled, the sense of betrayal that came with it, followed Rosslyn back into the crowd like a dog at her heels. Any glamour she had seen in the spectacle around her had tarnished, and now only the need to not let the night go wasted kept her from stalking out of the ball entirely. She needed Morrigan to be here, distracted, and then perhaps when she had done what was needed she might seek out Leliana again, and then –

The music died away. The castellan’s staff rapped sharply against the polished floor. She stiffened, breath held as a dark-haired woman glided through the double doors at the far end of the room, and as those around her crowded forward to get a better look at the empress’ favourite curiosity, she edged in the other direction, her eyes darting to the palace guard dotted in alcoves around the walls. But it wasn’t an Orlesian who stepped out in front of her to bar her path.

“My lady, your presence has been requested,” Morrence said.

And now, her plans shattered into ruin at her feet, she stood in the cold night air with Alistair’s hand on her cheek, his breath warm against her skin, and her heart all but thrashing loose of her ribcage to be closer still. Moonlight washed the colour from his eyes but she recognised their intensity, bold as the sun as he drank her in. She should have known better than to think she could have ever hidden from him.

“Rosslyn…” He breathed it, strangled and desperate.

She could not say anything at all, only squeeze her eyes shut and lean into the palm resting against her face, and hold back tears when he brought his forehead down to hers. He smelled of leather and sweat and smoke.

“Rosslyn. I – this isn’t real.” He swallowed. “I’m dreaming.”

“No,” she managed, trembling. “I’m real. It’s me.”

“What –” A helpless, hysterical giggle breached his lips. “How?”

She sighed, shook her head, pressed her hand against the back of his so he wouldn’t stop touching her. “It’s a long story.”

At that, he pulled back to search her face, a line drawn between his brows as he brushed a thumb over the corner of her mouth. Her heart fluttered, but instead of leaning in his gaze drifted back towards the ballroom, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips

“You can tell me all about it,” he promised, plucking up her hand to place a kiss against her knuckles. “We’ll have all the time in the world.”

“Alistair, what are you –?”

He stepped backwards, still with their fingers linked as if she would follow after him. “You’re alive,” he said, still with that note of disbelief in his voice. “Celene might not be happy about it but that’s no reason not to tell everyone, right?”

The night-time chill sank around her again as she dropped her gaze, pulled her hand away.

“I can’t.”

Tension crept into his shoulders, and through the silence that reached between them was brief, it left a bitter taste on Rosslyn’s tongue.

“Why not?” he asked, too quiet.

“I told you. I was sent here to pay a debt, and until I do nobody can know who I am.”

“But…” And then he stopped, glanced back to the ballroom again, and licked his lips as cconfusion hardened into something worse. “Was that supposed to include me? Would you have told me at all if I hadn’t brought you out here?”

Unable to bear the hurt in his expression and unable to lie, she turned back to the balustrade and laid her hands flat against the frosty stone. “I didn’t know you would be here. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“That’s your excuse?” he demanded.

“Alistair –”

“You’ve been alive all this time and you didn’t think I would want to know? Do you even know why I’m here, why they’re all gathering around me like blightwolves?”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just walk up to you and unmask myself in front of everyone!”

“Why not? It’s been two years, Rosslyn.” His voice cracked. “I mourned you. Andraste help me, there was a funeral – your brother sobbed like an infant because the last person he had left in the world died and I couldn’t comfort him because it was my fault for not keeping you safe.” As if of their own accord, his feet took a halting half-step towards her, broken off when he realised what he was doing. “I’ve had to go on and try to rule Ferelden by myself when we promised we’d do it together, and all this time you’ve been – what, swanning about playing hide and seek in Orlais? Has it been fun? Have you enjoyed watching me suffer from across the border?”

She stared at him, refusing to flinch. When they had first met, she might have risen to his anger, snarled back and bitten deep just to have the final word, but facing him now with all the hope for what their reunion might have been crumbling under her feet like a cliff into the sea, she found exhaustion quenching the fire of her battle-blood.

“I was in the Fade,” she told him without inflection. “When I fought the Nightmare the rift closed behind me and I couldn’t get back.” The featureless plain, the shadows of demons hounding her steps, greedy for the life in her veins – she pushed the memories to the back of her mind.

“But you’re here. Now. Which means you must have gotten out somehow – how long ago was that?”

“Three months,” she admitted. “Maybe four.”

“Four months.”

“Don’t you think I would have sent word if I could?” She had passed waystations, merchant caravans, outposts of militia who had all refused to believe her identity or even give her the charity of pen and paper.

“Clearly I don’t – you’ve only told me now because I forced it out of you!”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “I could have let you just walk away and forget about me but I didn’t. Maybe I should have.”

Alistair rocked backwards at the acidity in her tone, his expression tightening in a way that let her know the blow had struck, that it couldn’t be taken back.

“You aren’t who I thought you were,” he muttered at last. “The Rosslyn Cousland I knew wouldn’t skulk around some foreign ballroom like a Crow, and she wouldn’t have tried to hide from me. I would have liked to know the woman I loved was standing twenty feet from me while I was getting pawed at and drooled over like a butcher’s bone, but I guess that wasn’t her.”

Pride would not let him see her fall. She breathed, steady with one hand on the balustrade, the moonlight on her back and the faint cadence of the orchestra surging in to fill the gap left by the silence. Loved. Past tense. It would not have mattered anyway. Perhaps this had been part of Flemeth’s plan all along, an added spur of cruelty to keep the mind of her pawn on the task at hand and not running loose with the proverbial bit between her teeth.

“You have no right to stand in judgement of me,” she told him. “Believe what you want. It does not change my purpose here.”

Spine straight in the manner of the queen she had once so briefly been, she set the court mask back in place over her eyes and tied the knots so it would not slip again, and then kept beyond the reach of Alistair’s arms as she headed back towards the light of the ballroom, so he could not reach for her. Whatever fairytale she had expected for their reunion, her heart splintered at the reality, a sapling under the blow of an axe. She still had a duty, and she would do it, as she had been taught since childhood as a Cousland born. Beyond that lay a crevasse she could not have imagined would have yawned so far. Alistair had loved her. And then she had died.

[bosspigeon]

(hope the blood letting goes well :( ) nate/adam prompts??? lips chapped from the cold // warming the other's hands (or lips, 'cause, i mean)

in the dark, i can hear your heartbeat

Pairing: Adam du Mortain/Nate Sewell Word Count: 2603 Summary: Being sidelined during a mission isn’t too bad, if you ask Nate. Gives him plenty of time to ogle his commander. And maybe, if he’s very lucky, he’ll get to do a bit more than just ogle.

THIS PROMPT REALLY GOT AWAY FROM ME, HUH? Sorry it’s taken me so long to post it, I was just possessed by the spirit of Nate’s Intense Emotional Horniness. Title from “Cosmic Love” by Florence and the Machine~

Mild CW for some intense kissin’ and a bit of fondling, as well as some adult humor, but it doesn’t actually dip into anything too risque. Not for lack of trying on Nate’s part tho 👀

Watching Adam has become something of a self-soothing ritual for Nate over the centuries, even when it hurt him to do so. There was an odd sort of comfort in watching, in tracing the familiar paths of his silent, shackled longing with heavy eyes and quiet avarice. Then, he had to be careful not to overdo it, to make it obvious, however desperate he was to memorize every inch of his commanding agent, as if every moment with him would be the last. Adam’s eyes are sharp, his awareness of himself and how people observe him sometimes bordering on paranoia (though he would gut himself before admitting such weakness) and Nate learned to watch him when he was otherwise occupied, honed in with an intense, single-minded focus on whatever task the Agency had for them.

It became easier, over time, for him to contain the hunger of his gaze, to pick and choose the correct time to indulge himself in admiring the man who gradually became more than simply his superior, but his friend. Nate learned to play it off well when he was caught, to corral his racing heart like an errant beast, and he fervently thanked whatever power would listen to a lost creature like him that Adam’s interpersonal skills were not nearly so sharp as his observational ones. There was guilt, of course. A dark twist of shame that took far too long to shake, the niggling idea that there was something wicked about wanting the way he did, but Adam drew his gaze relentlessly from the very first moment they met. Nate was bedraggled, exhausted in a way beyond the physical, and no longer human, but meeting this steadfast, powerful, beautiful man lit a fire in his belly that warmed him, and even dulled the gnawing there, in a way he could never hope to explain.

He smiles to himself under the cover over darkness as he watches now, flushed with the knowledge that he does not have to hide it anymore.

Adam, body vibrating with restless tension as he watches the shadows, stiffens further when the weight of Nate’s gaze finally breaks through his focus. His spine somehow manages to straighten even further, and Nate’s smile widens, curling with mischief.

“What?” his commander hisses, breath fogging in the chilly gloom. The streets are quiet, and though this area is mostly condemned warehouses and abandoned factories, they lurk in the shadows and avoid the sparse yellow streetlights.

Nate’s smile does not falter, and he simply raises his brows. “Pardon?” he asks innocently.

Adam’s eyes narrow at him. “You are staring. Why?”

And, oh, he really can’t help himself, not when he is still all aflutter with the intoxicating freedom of having what he’s yearned for so long the ache had almost become a part of him. “You look quite striking in this light, is all,” he says. His gaze traces, unbidden, along the strong angle of Adam’s jaw, the proud curve of his nose, the breadth of his shoulders that strain enticingly against his coat, and when it finally drags itself back to his eyes, they are wide and startled. “What? Am I not allowed to admire you?” he teases, daring to slink closer.

“We… we are on a mission,” Adam protests, but his voice lacks the sharp edge of reproach it usually does when he is, say, chiding Mason or Felix.

“Chase, Mason, and Felix are on a mission,” Nate corrects gently, still smiling. “We are keeping watch until they return.”

Adam’s mouth twists, clearly sour about the reminder that they’ve been sidelined. Unfortunately, the mission is one that requires speed and subtlety, and the fewer of them to get in the way, the better. Chase was a rather last-minute addition— one that Adam did not approve of at first—until it was pointed out that his particular talents would be useful getting into the trapper hideout undetected. He even proved his skills by breaking into their Agency SUV without setting off the alarm. “That is still part of the mission,” Adam grumbles, turning away. Nate takes the final step that will get him where he wants to be, which is within touching distance of the brooding commander. Adam stiffens, but stubbornly keeps his gaze turned in the direction of the hideout, little more than a nondescript, barely-lit grey building in the distance. The radio silence makes them both antsy, but Nate takes comfort in knowing their team is a capable one, and if anything were wrong, they would be alerted. Nate allows himself another indulgence, and slides his hand over Adam’s arm. He’s done it countless times before. Even before this change, this new territory to chart, Adam allowed him and their team more intimacy than he allowed anyone else. Casual touches are not new, but now they feel strangely loaded. They carry a new weight.

An intent.

Nate squeezes the hard, tense muscle of Adam’s bicep, and Adam spins to face him again. He seems startled to realize Nate's gotten so close, and one hand comes up to press against his chest. Nate stops, lifts his head, and cocks his brows, waiting. There is a flush creeping up Adam’s cheeks, his breath seems to have frozen in his lungs (luckily he doesn’t really need it), and for a long moment, they simply stare at one another in silence.

Adam exhales in a plume of white mist, leaning forward ever so slightly. A hardly perceptible movement, but Nate has long since learned to read Adam’s gestures, his expressions, his silent requests. He slides his hand over the one on his chest, curling his fingers around it tenderly. “Your hands are cold,” he observes. Adam opens his mouth, likely to make some remark about Nate’s obvious comment, but it freezes before it even reaches the chilly air when Nate pulls the hand to his mouth to breathe warm air over it and rub it between his own. His eyes never leave Adam’s, wide and bright in the darkness, and that enticing flush only deepens when Nate presses his mouth softly to his knuckles. He kisses each one, slowly and sweetly, all the while rubbing circles into Adam's palm. Adam swallows, eyelids fluttering, and his lips part, but all that escapes them is a wordless, shaky little sigh.

And then Nate is being backed into the wall of the building behind them, Adam’s hands balled into the lapels of his coat. Nate’s shoulders hit the drab brick, and Adam crowds in close, green eyes flashing in the gloom. Nate’s hands find his hips, slipping underneath his coat, in part because his hands are somewhat cold as well, but mostly to get as close to skin as he can possibly get. He licks his lips, waiting. He’s waited three centuries for this, he can be patient a little while longer, and allow Adam to come to him when he’s ready.

The first kiss is quick, hardly more than a chaste peck. Adam's lips are cold, a little chapped, and Nate tries to follow them when they pull away. Thankfully, he isn't left wanting for long. Adam seems bolstered by his reaction, and kisses him again, more forcefully. His lips part in a sweet little gasp, and Nate takes the invitation, running his tongue along his lower lip and pulling it playfully between his teeth. He feels the sound that rumbles in Adam's chest more than he hears it, and he can't help but smirk. He hopes Adam can feel it pressed against his mouth, hopes he knows how much Nate delights in every reaction, relishes every little sound, and commits them to memory.

Adam's lips warm quickly against his, and his hands do too, sliding into Nate's open coat to brace against his chest. Nate warms his by tugging Adam's shirt from his belt and slipping his hands underneath. Adam gasps, his belly shuddering and twitching reflexively under his chilly fingers, but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he presses closer, clinging like a man drowning, soft, rough noises slipping helplessly from his mouth into Nate’s. Somehow, his thigh winds up between Adam’s, his hands creeper higher and higher underneath his shirt, inching it up over his belly. They’re pressed so close together, though, that his bare skin doesn’t meet the air.

Nate breaks away from the kiss with a heated gasp, and his wet lips are almost immediately stinging with the cold. It’s Adam’s turn to chase his mouth now, pushing up onto his toes to close the distance between them. He kisses at Nate’s jaw almost frantically, his fingers curling into his shirt, and when Nate doesn’t give him what he wants immediately, he growls.

It should be threatening. Nate has heard Adam growl before. He’s seen him bare his teeth and snarl to intimidate an enemy into backing down, or simply out of annoyance. Adam is a fierce presence when he wants to be, the very picture of an apex predator. Powerfully built, strong, and proud, with eyes that could gut a lesser man with a simple look. Now, growling as he mouths and nuzzles against Nate’s jaw, he just sounds needy.

Nate might die here, but it won’t be because Adam is any sort of threat. It’s easy enough to reverse their positions, pliant as Adam has gotten. It’s shockingly easy, really, and Nate is taken back to their conversation in Adam’s room, the way he simply let himself be spun around and pinned against his own desk, let Nate take whatever he wanted from him. They have sparred, however little Nate cares for it, and Adam’s beaten him every time. There’s no question which of them is physically stronger. The only reason Nate could push him anywhere is if Adam let him do so.

He shudders at the realization, an almost pained groan tearing free of him, and dips his head to catch Adam’s mouth again, earning another growl that he swallows up desperately. He wastes no time in slipping his tongue past Adam’s lips, tasting him with a feverish hunger that blisters with heat so intense he forgets the cold entirely. He gets his thigh between Adam’s legs again, and he pushes up, reveling in the choked moan it earns him. He swallows that too. Nate knows hunger, feels it gnawing at him even now, but even that ever-present, aching reminder of what he is drowns in the wake of this clawing need to get as close as possible, to taste as much of Adam as possible.

He is blearily considering how easy it would be to undo Adam’s fatigues and slip his hand inside, when he is nearly blinded by a sudden light washing over the little alcove they’ve sequestered into.

He snarls, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, and once the starbursts clear from his vision, he sees Chase standing at the mouth of the alleyway, shining his phone’s flashlight over them.

Nate doesn’t need the light to see the smirk curling the detective’s full lips, the wry quirk of his brow. He is flanked by Mason and Felix, who are wearing eerily matching, leering grins at the compromising position in which they’ve found their commanding agent and his second.

Heat rushes to his cheeks, and he peels himself away from Adam’s front (reluctantly, of course—embarrassed as he is, he still yearns to wrap himself around that powerful body and simply refuse to let go) with a sheepish cough. He finds his clothes are a bit… disheveled, to say the least, so he busies himself putting them back into order, risking a glance at Adam to find him hurrying to do the same.

Chase shakes his head disapprovingly and tuts at them. “Really, you two? Canoodling? In the middle of a mission?” He’s still smirking, eyeing them over with that sharp, knowing gaze.

Felix giggles helplessly and whispers “Canoodling” to Mason, who snorts.

“The mission,” Adam snaps, straightening his posture admirably, considering he is still hastily tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “You’ve gotten the information we need?” He sounds faintly breathless, but he hides it well. The pinkness of his lips, noticeably wet and swollen, less so. Nate wonders, a bit hysterically, if their accelerated healing mitigates things like beard burn.

Chase produces a manila folder from inside his jacket and waves it smugly. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“How did it go?” Nate asks, raking his fingers through his hair. “No difficulties, I hope? It’s still quiet.” He glances towards the building in the distance. Still and dimly lit. He breathes a sigh of relief. Even with the distraction, he does worry for his team, and is glad to see they seem no worse for wear. He is also, perhaps, glad to have a distraction from the heat still surging under his skin, the tangle of arousal still burning in his gut, the sharp awareness of Adam standing stiffly at his shoulder,  a person-shaped knot of tension.

“In and out,” Mason says with a nod and a little smile playing about his lips. Felix snickers again. “So easy it was almost boring.” The smile widens, and Nate braces for impact. “We definitely didn’t have as much fun as you two did.”

Felix collapses against Chase’s shoulder cackling.

Adam tenses even more, and Nate is concerned he’ll break something with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. “We'll return to the Warehouse and debrief there," he says stiffly, refusing to even deign the teasing with a response. Nate can't help but risk a touch to his lower back, light and barely there, in hopes it will soothe him even a little.

Adam meets his eyes for a fraction of a second, but Nate can feel the way his body loosens ever so slightly, and presses his palm more firmly to his back, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I bet you're real eager to debrief at least one of us," Felix manages to wheeze out, still recovering from his last little fit.

Adam's spine snaps straight again, and he begins to draw away from Nate's touch, to retreat into himself, to overthink. Chase sees it too, and he elbows Felix sharply in the side to quiet him. Nate takes the moment of distraction and loops his arm around Adam's waist and reels him in to brush a quick kiss to his temple. "Relax," he breathes into his ear.

He waits for Adam to react, keeps his grasp loose, so he can escape if he needs to. He wants this to be easy, but knows it may not be for Adam. This is uncharted territory for them both, but they have always handled uncharted territory in vastly different ways. He cannot expect Adam to simply be ready just because he is.

Adam doesn’t relax, so he begins to step away, keeping his face neutral, his posture loose. The rejection stings a bit, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. A strong hand latches around his wrist before he can withdraw it completely, and Adam’s eyes are stubbornly narrowed when they meet his. Nate smiles, warmth blooming bright in his chest, and curls his arm around Adam even tighter, slipping two fingers through his belt loops. He finally begins to relax, if slowly, and Nate can’t stop smiling.

Mason stomps his feet noisily against the cracked asphalt, interrupting the little moment, and Nate tears his eyes from Adam’s to see him rubbing his arms. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Is it?” Nate asks brightly, turning towards the black SUV parked deeper in the shadowed alleyway and steering Adam along with him. “I’d hardly noticed.”

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Onereyofstarlight

to @godsliltippy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Jelly smears onto her arm where Gordon grabs her and a ball of wrapping paper and tape is thrust into her hands.

“’t’s for you,” he says, eyes alight as she holds the pink package away from her body. 

Penelope stares at him and looks over to her father. Years of etiquette, engrained into her by nurses, nannies and governesses, never prepared her for the clumsy friendship of a five-year-old boy who showed all his teeth when he smiled.

No-one would know if she didn’t thank him. Just the two of them, and she doubts he would even notice. 

Her mother would notice. Her dead mother’s presence was everywhere, lurking in the corners of every room and watching Penelope’s every move. Her mother would tell someone and they would tell her father.

Nothing escapes Lord Creighton-Ward, especially not in his own house.

She nods slowly instead, allowing a thin smile to spread across her face. 

“Thank you, Gordon.”

There’s dirt on his nose. Her smile falters.

But Gordon is five and starry eyed and in love with the pretty girl who came to play school with his brothers and doesn’t see the lie in her eyes. 

He runs back to his mother, heedless of the way Penelope’s eyes follow him.

“Wot’s tha’ milady?”

“Nothing, Parker.”

She means it too.

The gift is never opened, discarded among the steamers and half-eaten plates of food.

Gordon never notices.

***

The next year, he gives her nothing but a cold stare.

***

Time passes and she’s no longer a haughty girl of seven, sulking in the back room of a boring Christmas Eve party, and he’s no longer the kid who follows his brothers like a lost puppy. He bounds first into every room, demanding attention and she can hardly stop herself from giving it to him. 

“Hey,” says John, looking slightly affronted at the way her eyes have slipped away from him once again. “You listening to me?”

“Yes.”

She’s lying, and she’s gotten good at that, but John still knows her tells, still knows her.

“Sure.”

It’s hard to hear him over the bright spark of laughter on the other side of the room. Gordon is surrounded, entertaining the small children stuck in the same position she was exactly twelve years ago.

A nudge pulls her from her thoughts and John nods in his direction.

“Talk to him.”

Penelope says nothing and he reads her silence as easily as his mathematical proofs. His mouth twists as he watches her, biting back platitudes that she can’t stand to hear.

“He got you a gift,” John says quietly. His eyes never leave her and she wishes desperately that she could leave. “He spent hours thinking about it, didn’t shut up about it since he drew your–”

“Don’t tell me that.”

His hands rise, open and honest and the words fall heavy between them.

She’d never been more pathetically grateful than when Gordon pulled her name for the annual Christmas round robin. She doesn’t need John to point it out to her.

There’s a dry lump in her throat and it tastes like pity.

Penelope knows she’s being a terrible host, but she allows the silence to stretch between them.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shakes her head, looking very carefully into the flickering flames. 

John sighs and collects her glass from the mantle all the same. 

“I’ll be back.”

She watches John as he strides across the dance floor, half convinced he’s about to spill the beans to Gordon, but he barely gives him a second glance. Instead, a few short words and a pointed look in her direction sends Virgil her way.

“Penelope, you’re looking wonderful.”

“What did John tell you?”

He grins and offers her his hand.

“Just thought you might appreciate a dance. Take your mind off matters.”

“He told you?”

“Never, our Johnny is a gentleman first. And a dancer last.”

On tiptoes, she spies John over his brother’s shoulder and glares at him as he ducks out of the room.

“One dance then, Mr Tracy.”

“Lady Creighton-Ward.”

In truth, Virgil is a wonderful dancer. They move like starlings in the dusk, mesmerising and perfectly choreographed as the music swells in a familiar beat. It’s easy and joyful, allowing herself to move without thinking while Virgil mutters terribly judgemental comments about the more stuck-up members of her peers.

“Stop it, Virgil,” she whispers, fighting a smile. “It’s not funny.”

He laughs and they dance, allowing the music and conversation to direct their pace and as the song swells, he twirls her, throwing her into a spin with laughter erupting from her lips, and yet it’s Gordon who catches her.

The sound dies and blood rushes to her cheeks. She drops his hand and stares, lips parted, eyes wide.

It’s embarrassing, really.

Virgil has made himself scarce, but her eyes are trained on Gordon alone. In his hands, he holds a present, its yellow bow flopping over like her father’s dog after a long walk, and he smiles, crooked and sweet in its uncertainty.

She can’t bring herself to breathe. His smile falters as his face flushes and he drops his eyes. They stand together and their eyes don’t meet. In one stilted motion, he presses the small box into her palm and turns away. 

Their hands never touch, but the gift is still warm. She traces the yellow ribbon as she watches him go.

“Thank you,” she calls out with a rush of courage. 

He glances back over his shoulder and shrugs, his smile brilliant between flaming cheeks.

“Welcome, Pen. Happy Christmas.”

And it is. 

Later that night, she stares at the neatly wrapped box and turns it over in her hands. She should open it, she knows, but she remembers John telling her how Gordon had agonised over this. He deserves more than a bleary thank you note tainted by exhausted emotion.

She puts the gift aside, ready for Christmas morning when she can take her time.

She wakes up and it’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day and her father dies.

***

She packs her childhood away and smiles with all the gracious manner he’d always expected of her. People stream through the house; some she hasn’t seen for years and some she’d seen only yesterday. Their comfort is as empty as the house she grew up in.

“We can’t put this off any longer, Penelope.”

Her aunt’s quiet voice breaks through the haze of grief and exhaustion.

“Not yet,” she whispers, watching the door.

“Not even Jeff Tracy can change an international flight plan midcourse. By the time they land, refuel and deal with the bureaucrats in order to get back here, I need to be gone. And you need to be with me.”

She exhales shakily, fighting the tears and tightness in her chest.

“Let me get my things.”

Great Aunt Sylvia nods and Penelope stands. It’s short work but she allows herself to hesitate. She knows what she’s getting into, and there won’t be time for sentimentality in her future. She looks down at the little box she’d placed on her bedside table. She should leave it behind along with her regrets. 

She pulls on the ribbon. It’s an impulse and a foolish one, and she can’t stop herself until she holds the gift unwrapped in her hands.

A laugh bubbles out of her, genuine and surprising in the dullness of the day. A pair of door knockers, moulded into the familiar shape of Sherbet, lay gleaming in the tissue paper. 

It’s ridiculous and perfect and she can’t help but love it.

“Penelope, dear? No time for dilly-dalliances.”

“I’ll be right down, Aunt Sylvia.”

Penelope collects her things, still biting back a smile. She’ll have them installed while she’s away.

***

Penelope trains in espionage. Gordon joins the military.

She completes her apprenticeship and Jeff Tracy offers her a position. He doesn’t return.

His father dies. She listens, numb, as Scott tries to get through to his superiors. No amount of money or connections will allow Gordon to resurface from his position of deep cover.

Unease settles over the family and no-one asks her to leave the island. So, she stays. She programs her favourite meals into the kitchen computer, hands tools to Brains and tells Parker to look after Mrs Tracy. Her employer is dead, but she’s not sure where else she should be.

Alan follows her around. Virgil sleeps. She doesn’t know what Scott and John are doing, locked away in the study.

Eventually, Gordon comes back. He’s lost his healthy tan and the bags under his eyes look like storm clouds. Still, he laughs as he swings Alan around in a hug, and drags Virgil out of his room, and needles at his other two brothers until they finally tell him the plan moving forward.

International Rescue will continue and Penelope no longer feels like a stranger on the island. The black despair begins to peel back and she can feel the hope and determination they all share.

It’s a gift.

***

He’s bashful.

He’s infuriating.

He’s scared.

He’s ecstatic.

He’s lost.

He’s safe.

His father is alive.

His father is alive and he’s looking at her, joy in his eyes and determination behind his smile.

He slips beneath the cool armour she forged in the wake of her father’s funeral with a kiss.

There’s no time to talk until there is.

He walks his grandmother’s son across the room and turns to her.

He reaches out and she meets him there.

*** 

It’s a fragile thing between them, still nebulous and undefined. Her breath catches as he slides an arm around her waist and tucks himself against her skin. Great Aunt Sylvia would never approve of such a blatant display. Parker certainly doesn’t. 

It’s vulnerable and honest, and so very Gordon, and she tenses as his family’s eyes land on them, bracing herself for the scrutiny to which she’s opening herself. He tugs her close, careless and unrepentant beneath the gentle ribbing and wolf whistles. She can hear the distinct bleep of money being transferred between bank accounts and shoots a glare in Virgil’s direction. 

It turns out that no-one finds them very interesting, hardly saying a word and playing with each other’s hands.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, until it spreads into a smile of her own beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed and she moves to clutch at the hand that cups her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth against her skin. “Happy Birthday.”

She pulls away and stares. 

“I thought you said we would exchange gifts on Christmas. I haven’t wrapped yours yet, you should have told me and–”

“Pen,” he interrupts, laughing a little. “I said ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not Christmas time just yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he reaches behind him with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it’s just I know how it is, being born near a holiday. Gotta imagine being born the day before Christmas lends itself to that combined present crap far too easily for people.” He glances down at the parcel, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.”

She loves him. The thought is no longer new or surprising but for the first time she embraces it and allows it to warm her heart instead of squirrelling the idea away in a fit of shame. He thought of her and she loves him and she doesn’t care about presents, not really, but no one had ever thought of her like he does.  

He hands her a brightly wrapped parcel and she can’t help the dopey smile that grows as she holds it in her hands.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she says, still staring in delight.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” It’s a self-conscious laugh, tinged with uncertainty and he can’t help himself and the question spills forth. “You like it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she says with a laugh of her own. “But I already love it.” 

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but she knows how to fix that these days. Leaning forward, she kisses him herself, paying no mind to the rest of the family. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.”