#take it from here. ta xx
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ridi, dont be shy, drop the recipe for that soup (no worries if not!)
here she is!! nicked off pinterest but well..thats what its for innit xx
#should clarify when i say my soup. i consider anything i have made to be mine..'my' soup recipe girl u took that off pinterest. well yes!#but then i made it! and as such it is now mine...jamie oliver recipe? well did i make it? it is now mine. thank you for ur help jamie ill#take it from here. ta xx#telegram#grey tag
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Book of Breathings - Elain - Ankh Symbol
First of all this is tied to my "a tool of creation" theory so you can read that first if you want.
We first learned about book of breathings in acomaf. To nullify the Cauldron.
“When the Cauldron was made,” the carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)
And as the books went on...we got the two half of the books and finally the book is somehow in cc world.
So lets start with this theory post.
The name of the book comes from Egyptian Mythology
The Books of Breathing (Arabic: كتاب التنفس Kitāb al-Tanafus) are several ancient Egyptian funerary texts, intended to enable deceased people to continue existing in the afterlife. The earliest known copy dates to circa 350 BC.[1] Other copies come from the Ptolemaic Kingdom and Roman Egypt, as late as the 2nd century AD.[2] It is a simplified form of the Book of the Dead
This information will be important for later. And in the meantime I made a post about koshei's onyx box connecting to this if you wanna read it.
Okay moving on...
I was looking at acotar coloring book pages and book of breathings drawing is... interesting.
Side not: sarah got the deals for the acotar books and then worked on the coloring book so I think this is important to add bc she LOVES to add hints as little things and whats better to add than a coloring book?
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The circles of silver, gold and bronz.
It had been formed of dark metal plates bound on three rings of gold, silver, and bronze, each word carved with painstaking precision, in an alphabet I could not recognize. Yes, it indeed turned out my reading lessons were unnecessary.
I think these might be related to the book names of the new acotar books.
Silver flames
Gold(en) XX
Bronz XX (for vassa maybe? Bc she is a bird of flame...flame and bronze???)
Okay back to the other things.
The star(sun?) in the middle. When you first look at it it is like a sun but when you take into account that the asteri made this book and there is the starborn symbol of 8pointed star...its probably an eight pointed star.
She stared and stared at the Book—as if it were a ghost, as if it were a miracle—and said, “It is the Leshon Hakodesh. The Holy Tongue.” Those quicksilver eyes shifted to Rhysand, and I realized she’d understood, too, why she’d gone. Rhysand said, “I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings who feared the Cauldron’s power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here … and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it.” (acomaf)
Amren turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language—their language: “The glowing letters inked on her back … they’re the same as those in the Book of Breathings.” (hofas)
“I can teach you things you’ve never even dreamed of,” Rigelus promised. “The language inked on your back—it is our language. From our home world. I can teach you how to wield it. Any world might be open to you, Bryce Quinlan. Name the world, and it shall be yours.”(hofas)
Also in the coloring book the ships of the papa archeron have these on them.
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Feyre: moon and stars
Nesta: sun?
Elain: eight pointed star 👀
So for feyre it checks out. For nesta...why sun? When she had eight pointed star tattoed on her back(tho now it is gone after the deal with cassian is done) I thought what could the sun mean? The cover of acosf.
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That's a sun. Also it is interesting that the High Lord of Day had such a negative reaction to the mask...🤔
And now... eight pointed star for elain? That remains to be seen what it could mean...👀
So thats out of the way and now we will look into the symbol at the bottom and top which I found out is the symbol of Ankh...from Egyptian Mythology.
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The ankh or key of life is an ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol used to represent the word for "life" and, by extension, as a symbol of life itself.
The ankh has a T-shape topped by a droplet-shaped loop. It was used in writing as a triliteral sign, representing a sequence of three consonants, Ꜥ-n-ḫ. This sequence was found in several Egyptian words, including the terms for "mirror", "floral bouquet", and "life". The symbol often appeared in Egyptian art as a physical object representing either life or related life-giving substances such as air or water. Commonly depicted in the hands of ancient Egyptian deities, sometimes being given by them to the pharaoh, it represents their power to sustain life and to revive human souls in the afterlife.
Life...soul? We always say how Nesta is death and Elain got the life. Maybe it is more correct than we had thought???
And now the bird on the cover. There is no mention of bird symbol being on the cover of the book.(Im pretty sure of this but if Im wrong...it still stand that the only quote the book of breathings has said with bird is this) So why add bird? The only time Book of Breathings is connected with a bird is this quote:
The other one, the Book hissed. Bring the other one … let us be joined, let us be free. I slid the Book from my pocket, tucking it into the crook of my arm as I tugged the second half free. Lovely girl, beautiful bird—so sweet, so generous … Together together together
Which I totally think it is about Elain and Vassa.
Lovely girl? Elain. There is SO MANY quotes with elain and lovely.
Beautiful bird? Vassa...bird of flame.
And I made a bigger post about this(the other one) if you wanna read it.
So maybe we really need to get the book of breathings back? And Elain will use it to control cauldron?
#elriel#cauldron#book of breathings#ankh symbol#this is kind of mess but I cant deal with making it look that pretty so here you go...
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Dave Lizewski X Reader - Social Suicide (Part 4)
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summary - you’re were failing calculus so your teacher gives you a tutor, dave lizewski.
warnings - 18!dave, 18!reader, swearing, violence, mentions of injury, kidnapping, murder, poorly proof read 😭
Main Masterlist Dave Lizewski Masterlist Series Masterlist
a/n - hey girlies! this is an extra long one for ya becos all the others were short asf. ta ta my lovelies xx
dave lizewski x popular!reader
part 1 part 2 part 3
It’s the end of the day and you’re talking with Riley in the school parking lot next to her car. It’s the 2010 Chevrolet Camaro SS. It was her favourite colour, green. But not the bright green that’s disgusting. She got it wrapped in a sage green.
You were talking about mindless things. Her car. The car you are going to get when you leave high school. Todd. Dave.
“He’s cute. Bet he likes you. He couldn’t stop looking at you in the library.” She gives you that eyebrow raise you usually give each other with a cheeky grin.
“Oh shush, he doesn’t. We’re just friends.” A sad look comes across your face. You didn’t want to be just friends. You think Riley could tell.
“Oh babe, I can tell you like him. But I can also tell for a fact he likes you. I mean for one, you’re fucking sexy. And two, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. In the 45 minutes I was there he looked at you about a bazillion times.” Your eyes widened. No way. Not a chance. Not in a million years.
“Are you sure he wasn’t looking at something next to me? Because that’s what happens to me a lot, people think I look at them but I’m looking at something near them-” Riley cuts you off before you can continue waffling.
“Y/N, I’m 100% sure he was looking at you. Okay?” You nod your head in response. You both stand in silence for a few seconds before you look at the time. You and Riley have been stood here for an hour and a half and it was 4:30. You had to get home before Dave gets there.
“I’ve got to go, Dave’s coming to my house at 5. But we need to hang out together at some point.” You give her a smile and quickly get her to put her number into your phone as you hadn’t ever asked before now. You say goodbye and give her a hug before speeding off towards home.
It took around 50 minutes for you to walk home but only 20 if you take a shortcut. You never usually take the shortcut because it’s in a kinda dodgy area. But hey ho, you need to get home quick.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
You were 15 minutes into my walk and you got to the kinda dodgy part. You turn a corner, keeping your eyes to the ground. You had always hated going through here, which is why you never go this way.
Your eyes keep on the ground until you accidentally bump into someone. You step back and see three men. Blocking your path.
“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You give them a smile then try to go around them. One of the men put his arm out and push you back.
“Sorry little lady but you’re coming with us.” Before you can say or do anything, the men grab you and then you see darkness.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
5 o’clock on the dot. Dave is at your door. He takes a deep breath and knocks. Much to his surprise, your younger sister answers the door.
“Who are you?” She raises her brow at him. Dave takes a shakey breath. This is his first time meeting her and from the things you had told him he’s worried how this interaction will go.
“Uh I-I’m Dave. Y/N’s friend.” Before Dave could say anything else your younger sister interrupted.
“So you’re Dave! Oh my days Y/N/N doesn’t shut the fuck up about you. Dave this. Dave that. Even when you weren’t speaking to each other, which I find a dick move from you in all honesty. But she likes you. A lot. And-” She cut herself off before she could say anything else and puts her hand to her mouth.
Dave chuckles, he scratches the back of his necks and looks down at his shoes. He then clears his throat.
“So is uh, is Y/N here?” Your younger sister shouts your name while facing upstairs.
“Nah sorry. Thought she was with you actually. Surprised she isn’t.” That’s when Dave began to worry. You two had planned to meet here at 5. And in the short time he’s known you, you are never late. Not even by a minute.
“Oh okay, I’ll come by later then. She’s probably with her friend Riley.” He chuckles nervously as he grabs his bike and begins to cycle away.
He calls Mindy and asks for her help. She tells him to come to her place so that they can make a plan and start looking for you.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
“Help! Anybody! Please!” You shout, hoping someone can possibly hear your cries for help. Most likely to no avail though. You suddenly hear someone laugh.
“No one is going to hear you dollface. We’re far away from everywhere.” You try to see something, anything from under my blindfold but nothing. They really did a good job at keeping you from seeing anything.
“Fuck you! Why the fuck did you pick me out of everyone?” The voice laughs again. It makes you want to smack the ever loving shit out of him.
“Because Kick-Ass has taken a liking to you Y/N.” The man grabs my jaw and squeezes it. Very hard.
“What do you mean?” You try to act clueless but you are 97% sure Kick-Ass is Dave.
“My men have seen him every now and then outside your house, just sitting across the street on a roof. At first I thought it was your older sister, but she’s barely there. And I know it isn’t your younger sister because she looks about 14. So I dwindled it down to you.” He releases my jaw then walks away.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
“Looks like she’s at a warehouse about 20 minutes from here.�� Mindy somehow found you, based on the tracker that Dave had put on you before you even left the library. He had a feeling that something like this was going to happen at some point.
Dave nods, taking the katanas and handguns that Mindy had given him and went straight for the door.
“Dude! Wait! We don’t even have a plan.” Mindy grabs his wrist to prevent him from going any further.
“I don’t care! Who knows who the guy that took her is? For all we know he could’ve killed her by now so we’re just wasting time standing around even thinking about a plan!” Dave yanks his wrist from Mindy’s grasp and heads out the door. She follows him soon after.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
Dave and Mindy are now on the roof of the warehouse. They found a window to see how many people were there and if you were okay. They scan the whole floor of what they can see, but no sign of you.
“Wait… There!” Mindy points to the very corner of the room. When Dave sees you, his heart drops. You’re on the floor, not even on a chair and blindfolded. All he wants to do right now is take you into his arms and take care of you.
“I’m going in. Either you can come with me or stay here. But I’m not letting Y/N suffer any longer.” Dave goes and slides down a gutter on the side of the warehouse. He sneakily walks up to a side door, but it’s locked.
Mindy shoves Dave out the way and begins to pick the lock, only took her a few seconds before they heard the click. She carefully opens the door and looks around. No one in this room.
They find the closest door and open it slightly, peering through the gap. There are around ten men in there. All with guns. They look around more to see if they can see you, you’re still in the corner. Passed out.
“You take them five and I’ll take the other five. After that we grab Y/N and go.” Mindy nods at Dave, they both sneak up to the closest guys and get them in a chokehold.
This gets the attention of the eight other men. They immediately start shooting, to which Mindy and Dave - or should I say Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass - grab their guns and start shooting.
Dave then runs out of ammo so he pulls out his katanas and runs up to the nearest goon and slices his throat.
Mindy runs out of ammo and begins to fight hand-to-hand. Throwing punches left, right and centre, Mindy finally manages to knock most of them out.
“Now let’s go get Y/N!” Dave shouts to Mindy as he hurriedly runs in the direction of where you’re being held captive.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
Dave could hear your screams and cries for help. It made his heart hurt even more than it already did. And this fuelled his anger against the fucker who did this to you.
As the two of them get to the room you were in, the sight of you blindfolded and bound made Dave break. How could someone do this to such a beautiful and kind person like you? Someone who changed for the better when you two met.
“Finally. Took you a while didn’t it Kick-Ass? And love the girl you brought too. Makes it more of a challenge for me.” The man looks to be about 5’6, slim build and sounds like he needs an inhaler. All the wheezing he does makes him seem like he shouldn’t be fighting anyone.
“Even walking sounds like a challenge for you, bitch boy.” Mindy spits at the man. He raises a brow at her then turns to Dave.
“She’s feisty. I like that.” Dave points his katana at his throat, losing his patience and just wants to take you home.
“Let Y/N go. She never deserved any of this.” The man could tell Dave was about to crash out. He laughs in Dave’s face.
“Oh I know. But it’d be a lot less fun if I just picked a fight with you on the street. I needed to take something that meant a lot to you. And it seems she does.” The man points to you, practically curled up in a ball, blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. It looks so uncomfortable.
“You’re a fucking piece of shit. She’s innocent. You’ve probably put her through hell and it was just to pick a fight with me?” Dave is fighting the urge to just cut his head off right now. If it hadn’t been for you being there, he would’ve just beaten him up and left it at that.
“Right enough chit chat. Can we fight now?” The man pulls out a big knife, Dave quickly looks to Mindy and they both nod.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
The fight was almost brutal. Mindy got knocked out, Dave almost got stabbed. Many cuts and bruises were given and received. That man put up a real fight. Dave and Mindy almost gave up. Until you hit him around the head with a metal pipe.
You found a shard of glass and cut whatever was keeping your hands bound and took your blindfold off. Taking this chance because everyone was distracted. You grabbed the closest thing to you and hit the man in the head with all your force.
“Y/N?” Dave immediately threw his arms around you. He was so worried but proud at the same time. He pulls away and cups your cheeks into his hands, he turns your head, checking for any injuries.
“I-I’m okay.” You look over to Mindy, no clue who she is. She sticks her hand out for you to shake.
“Hit-Girl. Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.” She gives you a nice, genuine smile. You shake her hand but then wince in pain.
“What’s the matter?” Dave almost instantly scans your body to check for any visible injuries. He finds a massive blood stain on your shirt. A big one.
You lift up your shirt slowly, and when the cut is visible your eyes widen, and so does Dave’s and Mindy’s. It wasn’t deep but it was very big. Say goodbye to bikinis.
“We need to get you somewhere safe so we can take care of that.” Dave gets one of your arms and put it over his shoulder, Mindy does the same with your other arm.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
Dave and Mindy took your back to your house. Mindy left, saying she had to go speak with her father. So that left you and Dave alone. Dave took the head of his suit off and immediately went into your bathroom.
He grabbed the first-aid kit from the cupboard under your sink, remembering where it was the time you helped him. He sits you on your bed, he gives you a look - asking for permission to lift your shirt. You nod at him in answer. He douses the cotton in rubbing alcohol. He pauses before making contact with your skin.
“This is going to hurt a lot Y/N… you’re going to need to bite down on something or squeeze something to help with the pain slightly.” Dave has a look in his eyes. A look that said this is going to hurt him as much as it’s going to hurt you.
“I’ll be fine Dave. Don’t worry.” You give him a reassuring smile. He nods at you and you brace for the sharp pain that’s about to come. As soon as the cotton pad makes contact with the massive cut you yelp and grab onto Dave’s bicep.
“Fuck!” You take a sharp breath in through your teeth. Then you hear your dad shout upstairs to you.
“Y/N! You alright sweetheart?” You and Dave look at each other with wide eyes. Quickly thinking of what to say.
“Yeah dad I’m okay! Stubbed my toe!” You hear your dad laugh then walk away from the stairs. You’re surprised he heard you because he’s deaf most of the time.
Dave continues to rub the cotton pad along your cut, you squeezing his bicep harder and harder in the process. Dave didn’t care that your nails were digging into him, possibly breaking the skin. He just wants to take care of you.
He finally finishes cleaning the wound and bandages it up. Making sure the tape is on properly and the gauze is covering the wound completely.
“I have to go, Mindy wanted to give me something. She said it isn’t urgent but I just want to get it over and done with.” Dave stands up and turns to go out of your window. You quickly grab his forearm, stopping him from moving.
“Please stay. I… I don’t want to be alone.” You look down to the floor, almost ashamed of asking him that.
“Of course I can. Am I fine changing? I don’t want to stay in these grim clothes.” He chuckles a little, looking down and gesturing to his suit. It was covered in blood and dirt.
“Of course. I think I might have an oversized t-shirt and sweats that could fit you. And I think I’m going to get changed as well.” You try to get up but wince in pain, you fight against it and stand up. However, you stumble over. Dave is quick to catch you though.
Dave’s grasp on you is tight, not tight enough to cause any pain. You straighten your posture, your faces now terribly close to each other. You both stand there, waiting for the other to do something. Both of your eyes darting from the other’s lips to their eyes.
You clear your throat and you both pull away. You look down at yourself and realise you need a shower. Feeling disgusting as you’ve been sat on a floor for god knows how long.
“We should probably also shower. You stink.” You grin whilst saying the last part. You ruffle his hair then go to your drawers to get two towels. One for him and one for you. You also get him an oversized t-shirt and the sweats that you promised.
Sadly for Dave, it was a pink oversized tee with Ghost-face printed on it and your favourite hello kitty pyjama pants. He gave you a ‘seriously?’ look. All you did was giggle and point him to the bathroom that was just down the hall from your bedroom.
。 ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ 。˚
You are fresh out the shower, dressed in your fluffy PJs and lying on your bed. You were looking through a magazine when you look to the corner of your bed and see Dave forgot the clothes you had given him.
You quickly grab them and make your way to the bathroom you told him to go to. Before you can even knock, Dave opens the door. Your eyes widen at the sight.
His hair was damp, probably towel dried. Water droplets scattered across his torso and his gorgeous washboard abs. And his towel hung low, showing his v-line.
“I-I uh, you left these in my room.” You are breathless. Dave was dumbfounded, he didn’t know what to do. And all you wanted to do was jump his bones. But it’s too soon for that.
Dave takes the clothes out of your hand. He looks like ehe wants to say something but doesn’t. You nod and turn around to leave but Dave grabs your hand.
As you turn to face him he grabs your face and crashes his lips against yours. You react immediately, kissing back and placing your hand on the back of his neck.
He pulled you further into the bathroom and closed the door. Proceeding to push you against the door. Dave’s hands roam all over your body.
Dave pulled away for air. The look in his eyes made your breath hitch. Both of your breathing was heavy. Your hand is now on the back of his neck and the other is on his waist.
“Jump.” His words lit a fire inside of you. One that you weren’t going to put out any time soon. You do as he said and jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushes you against the door again.
“You have no… idea how… long I’ve… been wanting to… do this.” Dave whispers between kisses. You begin grinding against Dave’s crotch. He instantly moans into your mouth and grinds into you back, earning a moan from you too.
You both pull away at the same time, looking into each other’s eyes. You want to tell him everything. How you feel about him. How long you have felt this way.
“Y/N… I like you. A lot. I did before we even started talking. I knew you were different but I didn’t want to say anything because of Haley. And when Miss Norwich asked me to tutor you I immediately said yes… what I’m trying to say is… Y/N Y/L/N, will you be my girlfriend?” His question make fireworks set off inside you. Your brain began to malfunction. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even fathom what to say.
Dave’s expression began to falter, thinking he messed everything up with you. He puts you down on the floor and steps away. Not even looking at you.
“I-I’m sorry… sorry I said that…” Dave put the shirt on that you had given him. He kept rambling on and on about how sorry he was and that you could just completely ignore what happened.
“Dave!” He pauses, eyes wide that you had raised your voice at him. You take his face into your hands and make him look up at you.
“I’d love to be your girlfriend.” Your smile is massive as you look at him. He smiles and giggles at you. He can’t contain himself so he does a little celebration dance.
You both giggle for a bit, then Dave grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for another kiss.
Fin.
#dave lizewski#dave lizewski fluff#dave lizewski x reader#dave lizewski x you#dave lizewski x y/n#kick ass x y/n#kick ass x reader#kick ass
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six months - j.m x gn!reader
posted april 10th, 2023 11:31 pm
i've been on hiatus for quite some time now, and my birthday was a few days ago and that inspired some writing. I finally fell down the jj maybank rabbit hole and decided to test this out, lmk if you enjoyed xx - xe
masterlist
wordcount: 0.6k
You didn’t think anything of it when you made it to John B’s and was greeted by JJ with nothing more than a hey and a quick kiss on the cheek. 5 minutes afterward though, when JJ followed John B out to the pogue, Kie sat by you on the couch.
“Isn’t today your anniversary?” She asked, pulling her knees to her chest.
“Yeah, six months, why?” You watched as Pope got up and went to go catch up with the boys.
“Are you guys doing anything for it? To be honest, I didn’t think JJ could last in a relationship this long” Kie jokes, nudging you a little while you laughed.
“No, I don’t think so, I mean, I didn’t plan anything. I don’t know I guess it just flew by so fast it doesn’t feel like its been that long you know?”
And besides, you always thought that six months isn’t even that impressive. Not for you and JJ anyway, he was already your best friend before you got together, now it just felt like he was your best friend who got kissing privileges.
“Do you think JJ is planning anything?” you shrugged in response.
It didn’t seem very JJ to do something for an anniversary
But just maybe a little part of you hoped he had. Or that he’d at least mention it sometime tonight.
Kie stood up, making a comment on how long it was taking the boys to come back just as the three of them came into sight.
“Hey, what took you guys so long-” you were cut off by John B.
“We have to go get some supplies to clean the pogue,” You gave him a confused look before responding, “Clean the pogue? I don’t even think I’ve seen you hose it down before.”
Pope piped up, “It’s filthy, here take this rag and go start wiping down the outside,” he tossed you a grease-covered green rag as John B grabbed his key and signaled for Kie and Pope to follow him.
You saw Kiara nod at JJ before she smiled at you and followed the two boys as they rushed to the old van.
“The fuck’s that about?” You asked, standing up and making your way to your boyfriend.
“No idea but it looks like we got stuck with the outside job,” You looked at JJ, even more confused than before.
“What? You’re actually gonna listen to them?”
“The pogue is practically our safe haven, good to treat her nice by keepin’ her clean.” You scoffed in response, giving JJ a lighthearted glare before he laughed. “C��mon,”
Reluctantly, you followed him to the pogue, playing with the dirty rag in your hand as you walked, occasionally hitting his shoulder and laughing at how he’d tried to grab it from you.
As the boat you spent so much time on came into view, you noticed it looked completely different.
“What the hell?” JJ smiled in response before turning to face you and opening his arms in a “Ta-da!” form.
Inside the pogue was an old picnic blanket from John B’s porch, Kie’s cooler, and some fake candles scattered around the boat.
You pouted, looking back at JJ to see him still smiling proudly. “Happy anniversary, mama”
“Did you guys just do this?” You asked, staring in awh of the setup.
“Yeah, you like it?” “course, I do, I didn’t think you’d want to do something like this,” JJ furrowed his brows at you before throwing his arm around your shoulders.
“Seriously? I’ve been spoken for, for 6 whole months, that’s a new record for me” You laughed in response before asking, “What’s in that cooler?”
Once again that ever so proud smile returned to his pretty face before he happily told you he and Kie made sandwiches and John B stuffed the cooler with beer.
“So it’ll be just us, on the pogue, all night?” you asked, stepping inside the boat and watching as JJ copied your actions.
“All night, baby.”
#jj mayback x reader#jj mayback imagine#jj maybank x pogue!reader#jj maybank x you#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank fluff#jj maybank blurb#outer banks imagines#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank imagines#Spotify
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Farm house pt 6
Cw: drinking, swearing, implications of sex and ‘repayment’ in sexual acts
“I’ll just have a beer thanks Simon” You hum as Simon collects the drink orders for your group. “I'll have a martini please!” Maybel sings as she shamelessly ogles Simon to which you have to suppress an annoyed groan. Those two have been eye fucking for ages and have never asked eachother out at this point you’ve considered looking into how to make an arranged marriage. “Beer f’ me too Ghost” Johnny nods at Ghost before looking right at you and fuck does it make you weak, you’d give anything right now to climb over the table and kiss him. No. Dammit snap out of it you are here for a fun time not a man… sure the man who you want no need is right across from you but you need to get a grip. “So how long are yer stayin’ down here in Devon, Maybell?” Johnny asks with his usual impish grin. “Umm another three days i think, then i have to get back to work” Maybel smiles her pretty posh london accent almost makes you jealous. “What do yer do f’ work lass?” He asks as he murmurs a small “cheers” to Ghost as he hands him his beer. “I work in a flower shop” Maybell beams, she's always loved flowers even when you two were wee lasses. “She’s very good at makin’ th’ flower bunches n shite” Ghost grumbles as he sits down the chair creaking under his weight, his compliment makes Maybell blush like an in season tomato.
“Meant ta ask ya lass, whats th’ deal bout the sheep back at yer place?” Johnny inquires as he looks straight at you making dead eye contact and it’s nothing short from hot. “I sell em’ that’s what i do for work. I sell th’ sheep n their wool or meat” You clarify before taking a much needed gulp of beer. “Still havin’ trouble with that Steve guy n his dogs?” Simon adds looking at you to most people having two well decorated and honestly intimidating men staring right at you would be unnerving at least but you don’t see them in that light. “Nah, once i shot his dog i think he got th’ message. Keep ya fuckin’ dogs away from my sheep” You chuckle and Simon gives you a proud brotherly look.
“Work has been quiet lately, Si?” Maybel hums as she again ogles Simon. He gives her a polite nod “Too quiet, knock on wood it ain’t a curse in disguise” He smiles. Both you and Johnny shoot each other looks you both can’t remember the last time Simon smiled like that. Sure the seemingly stone cold Lieutenant smiles and cracks a laugh every now and then but he hasn’t smiled like that at someone in a long time. A genuine, lovestruck smile. “Hey Mabel, wanna come to go see how much the old juke box is to play some music? You hum standing up and grabbing her hand before walking away and flashing her an eager smile. Once you are out of earshot you giggle at her. “Maybel, He is head over heels for you!” you groan with a grin as you look at your best friend. “No way!” she gasps not believing you for a second “He don’t smile like that for anyone” You say pursuing your lips together.
2:21am
It’s gotten late in the night, Simon and Maybel have disappeared somewhere definitely shit faced. It’s just you and Johnny left you both are drunk but not as much as your other friends it’s what you like to call ‘thoroughly buzzed’. You sigh pulling out your phone and opening your best friends contact.
Saturday 8/4/24, 2:22 am
2:22 am: May didn’t get kidnapped, did you??
2:30am: girl at this point i'm assuming you’re with Simon, text me when you can Xx
“Can Yer get a hold of her?” Johnny asks as he sighs, putting his own phone down on the table. You shake your head with a small drunken chuckle. “Nup, you get ahold of Simon?” You inquire as you nurse the end of a slightly warm martini that is probably not yours. “Nae, what's th’ bet their fuckin’ right now?” Johnny laughs loudly he’s definitely more drunk then you but not off his face. “Honestly they probably are” You huff “should i call dad to give us a ride home or you wanna walk?”. Johnny faines thinking hard about the question. “I think if yer old man saw i was hangin’ around his daughter unsupervised he’d cut me dick off” Johny half winces and half chuckles. “Walk it is then, we need those intact don’t we?” You blurt out accompanied by a wink before you can process what your drunk mind is doing. Johnny’s subtle smirk forms into a full wide grin at your comment. “Is that right lass?” He chuckles, his arm snakes around your waist as you two walk down the quiet street.
Fuck. you can’t believe you just said that. You are now blushing like a mad woman but thankfully he doesn’t add anything else. His arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist as you two walk down the street. “Meant to clarify before lass… yer just sell sheep?” Johnny slurs drunkenly as he looks down at you with a goofy smile. “ya just sheep i ain’t got anything else for work… I mean I chose to sell sheep” You nod with a smile that you can’t help but crack. “I mean i could be a teacher i’ve got a degree in Agriculture and biology” You ramble on leaning into Johnny’s side as you near closer to your house. “Oh so yer a smart girl?” Johnny beams with an impish grin. “I’ve always liked smart girls” he teases as you make the kilometre walk up your ridiculously long driveway. You blush more if it’s even possible at this point at his stupid but somehow charming comment.
“Shhhh if ya wake up dad i’ll let him cut your dick off” You hiss at Johnny as he steps on a creaky floor board. You are both heading not so quietly upstairs to your room. Is Johnny supposed to be sleeping down stairs on the couch? Yes but you feel bad for the poor man after all he's been so polite to you all night may as well repay him right? Of course without your father, his Captain finds out otherwise he’ll be lacking the assets for you to repay him with. “Watch the left side… the boards are creaky there” you shoosh as you pull Johnny next to you stupid fuck almost stepped on the part you said not to which causes you to roll your eyes. After what feels like hours but in a non-drunken reality was only a few moments you both successfully make it into your bedroom. You quickly strip down to your bra and underwear and Johnny follows suit before you both slip into your double bed that Johnny is taking up the majority of. That just gives you an excuse to cuddle up to him, you press your ass into his upper crotch area and he envelops you in a cuddle. Very quickly you both fall asleep due to your drunken states.
Taglist:
@tabbslouuformer
@amberpanda99
@thepowers-kat-be
#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap mactavish x reader#simon riley x oc#captain price
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In Waves- Jamie xx
There were very few 2024 albums that had as much hype going for them as Jamie xx’s proper follow-up to his beloved 2015 blockbuster, In Colour. IC felt like a watershed moment for dance music writ large, as well as a culmination of Jamie’s talents that had been blossoming throughout the last several years, showcased both within his work cutting his teeth as the prominent creative force driving the influential dream pop band The xx, as well as with his infectious early singles and remixes. IC was and remains the kind of singular statement that you really only hear once or twice in a generation; it’s the kind of record that’s easy to imitate (as the years since have shown) but impossible to replicate. Jamie’s proper follow-up solo LP, In Waves, tries to recreate that lightning in a bottle caliber magic that he captured on IC 9 years later, but IW comes up short in nearly every respect. While IW is hardly a “bad” record, it’s extremely underwhelming in comparison to IC, and it can’t help but further solidify the latter record’s singular sweep.
IW retrains the ambitious, sonically omnivorous sound palette that propelled IC, but there aren’t any real sonic revelations here. Nearly everything feels like a retread of something that Jamie’s done more distinctively elsewhere, and the handful of experiments here sound both overstuffed and underdeveloped. Most of the songs on IW have at least one featured artist present, but these appearances feel more haphazardly strewn together to help juice streaming numbers than they do the results of inspired curation. Take Panda Bear on “Daffodil”; I’ve wanted to hear Noah’s gorgeous tenor grace a Jamie production for well over a decade now, but his appearance being reduced to criminally underutilized harmonies that trail off on the tail end of a song that just spins its wheels in place for a few minutes is just a bafflingly missed opportunity. The same goes for the straightforward appearance from The Avalanches on “All You Children”. Why bother including TA on a rote house joint that never taps into their striking, sun-kissed sampledelic signatures? The Honey Dijon and Robyn collaborations fare better, but the songs themselves are still ultimately very safe sounding. There’s nothing like the life-affirming lift-off “Gosh”, the explosive, penultimate “The Rest Is Noise”, or the chaotic, freewheeling “I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times)” to be found here. It’s as if the sound design of IC was sapped of all its color, leaving dull slabs of gray in its place.
Now, as disappointing as most of IW is, there are still a few bright spots to be found among the procession of duds. A few of the best offerings on IW are the songs without shoehorned vocalists or producers that instead simply let Jamie’s immaculate programming breathe. Early highlight “Treat Each Other Right” cribs an infectious sample from Almeta Lattimore’s “Oh My Love” for a bright joyride that continues to build in urgency until reaching a sweltering fever pitch, while “Breather” sidesteps the implications of its title for a propulsive, 6 minute UK garage workout that never runs out of steam or overstays its welcome, with taut arrangements in a perpetual state of flux. On the other side of that spectrum are a few inspired collaborations that don’t sound like the result of a label executive running through their checklist. “Waited All Night”, which features Jamie’s xx bandmates Romy and Oliver Sim, emerges like a twilight-streaked victory lap that gets plenty of mileage out of their immensely expressive, respective vocal stylings and chemistry over increasingly visceral bass throbs, while the closer “Falling Together” rides a triumphant, luminous glow to close courtesy of a sublime synth melody, infectious drums, and excellent pacing, with vocal samples of Oona Doherty shading in the negative space. It’s in these moments that IW truly soars, but they’re bogged down by quite a bit of music that rarely seems to aspire to anything beyond serviceable.
The list of samples and collaborators on deck throughout IW renders it the biggest and glossiest sounding record that Jamie has ever produced, but once the initial sheen wears off there’s very little that sticks with me. The music is immaculately produced, with every visceral kick, effervescent vocal sample, and pristine synth line placed just so, but for a producer who once seemed to reshape people’s ideas of what the possibilities of electronic music could sound like with each subsequent remix, it’s hard to shake the impression that this is the sort of record that Jamie felt like he should make rather than the one that he wanted to make. IW finds itself in company with other unfortunately conventional sounding 2024 electronic records from the likes of Four Tet and Caribou, all producers who once pushed sonic boundaries in everything they did, and are now sliding into a comfortable, commercially viable creative rut propelled by the streaming incentivized playbook of releasing sanitized, floor-filling data dumps. While Jamie’s immense talent, finely-tuned ear, and creativity remain evident on IW, the album ultimately lacks the spark of an idiosyncratic mind looking beyond itself to see what borders it can collapse, and instead arrives closer to the sound of an idiosyncratic mind perfectly content with the prospect of working within those borders.
Essentials: “Falling Together” ft Oona Doherty, “Waited All Night” ft. Romy & Oliver Sim, “Treat Each Other Right”
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Best of 2024 - Songs
Go ahead and listen my favorites from 2024. Even more on the playlist, more techno, drum'n'bass and even industrial ambient. Enjoy!
01. Lola Young - Messy - "Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice About how you think I'm gonna die lucky if I turn 33 Okay, so yeah, I smoke like a chimney I'm not skinny, and I pull a Britney every other week But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?Because I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean You told me, "Get a job", then you ask where the hell I've been And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth I want to be me, is that not allowed?"
02. Mahmood - Tuta Gold
03. Tove Lo - Busy Girl
04. FKA Twigs - Eusexua
05. The Irrepressibles - Yo Homo - "And I love you from my heart down to my tippy-toes Yeah I love you from your head down to your tippy-toes You lift me up, I lift you and we make each other free!"
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/73c9660c10fcb1d25945eada0ead95e2/773e77c66878c2e3-93/s540x810/f9beb6e33725db0b566266afc4f49c7417f76536.jpg)
06. Tsatsamis - Faith
07. Allie X - Weird World
08. FKA Twigs - Perfect Stranger
09. Fontaines D.C. - Here's The Thing
10. The Blessed Madonna featuring Clementine Douglas - Happier
11. Oklou - Family and Friends
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/aa5ec24e2128b7595dbcd41ea065a853/773e77c66878c2e3-f8/s540x810/30a3b2effd256dda8e5d7e590ffab6820fcce617.jpg)
12. Mahmood - RA TA TA
13. The Irrepressibles - Will You?
14. Lola Young - Wish You Were Dead - "Can you come around, fuck me nice Pull my hair, sing me lullabies? And we can pretend that we're in love When you come around, I'll wear red I'll forget all the awful things you've ever said And, oh, we can pretend that we're in love We can pretend that we're in love"
15. Mind Against featuring TSHA & NIMMO - OnlyL
16. Nadine Shah - French Exit
17. Allie X - You Slept On Me
18. NewDad - Sickly Sweet
19. Joywave - Scared - "I wanna touch you, but I'm scared I really love you though, I swear I dread the moment you're not there I need your hands in my hair"
20. ionnalee - Not Your Cherry
21. Kesha - Joyride
22. Jamie xx & The Avalanches - All Your Children
23. Dua Lipa - French Exit
24. Willow - bigfeelings
25. Kaleida & Robot Koch - Choises
26. Tsatsamis - Misunderstanding - "It's over And I misunderstood How something that means so much to me Could mean nothing at all to you And it's easy For me to speak too soon When something that means so much to me Means nothing, nothing at all to you"
27. Emiliana Torrini - Miss Flower
28. TSHA & Rose Gray - Girls
29. Crystal Murray - STARMANIAK
30. Orville Peck featuring Noah Cyrus - How Far Will We Take It?
31. Nilufer Yanya - Just a Western
32. Nicolas Jaar - Aqui
33. The Irrepressibles - The Desert
34. Crazy P - Human After All
35. Bright Light Bright Light - Boys etc. - "I'm not like all the other boys I'm giving you music, they're giving you noise I'm not like all the other boys I'm giving you magic, I'm giving you joy Don't be shy, come and try your luck Or do I have to be my own boyfriend cos you can't keep up?"
36. The Smile - Bodies Laughing
37. Gui Boratto & Darren Emerson - The Shell
38. Jayda G - If We Only Knew
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e22498d8c9abca905dd547cbc8958db9/773e77c66878c2e3-5a/s540x810/6a961bb855ea82064a626e1c1eea2c1197af85ca.jpg)
39. Porches - Itch
40. The Irrepressibles - Destination
41. Telenova - Teardrop
42. Archive - Times To Kill
43. Michael Kiwanuka - Small Changes
44. Joan As Police Woman - The Dream
45. Orla Gartland - Late To The Party
46. Rebecca Black - TRUST!
47. Banks & Doechii - I Hate Your Ex-Girlfriend
48. Gavin Friday - When The World Was Young
49. venbee - Dark Place
50. Mahmood - SEMPRE/JAMAIS
#best of 2024#best of#2024 playlist#doechii#rebecca black#lola young#mahmood#dua lipa#telenova#the irrepressibles#venbee#nicolas jaar#gavin friday#fka twigs#allie x#tsatsamis#tove lo#sg lewis
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hellooo! can i request hcs for sova, chamber, and cypher overhearing their s/o trying to learn their native language but have terrible pronounciation? (ty in advance if you do this xx)
Duolingo
Sova, Chamber, Cypher x reader
Sure thing! Thank you for requesting ❤ I've actually recently been using Duolingo to learn Spanish and French 😂
P.S I used Google Translate on anything that isn't in English here
Hope you enjoy!
Sova
• The way his heart did a double back flip and a barrel roll.
• Didn't expect you to be learning his mother tongue.
• Gets excited and all giddy about it.
• "You're learning Russian I see? My babushka told me not to brag, but I'd say I'm a great teacher."
• Expect a more bold Sova, he’s more confident when speaking in Russian.
• Non stop praising whenever you learn a new word.
• "Let's have a break, you did well."
• Motivational talk when you're frustrated and wanting to give up.
• Is not wrong about being a great teacher.
----
You were taking this course seriously.
Pen and note book next to you and the app opened on your phone.
Having had made past the levels that were multiple choice, you reached one that required speaking.
You look confused at the words on the screen, holding back from taking a peak at your notes.
You scratched your head and tapped your pencil, deciding to give it a try you pulled your phone closer to you.
"где молоко?" You said in the most botched accent.
You heard a voice behind you say the same word perfectly.
That caused you to almost jump off your seat.
"Sasha!" You yelped, face going red in embarrassment.
He gave you a cheeky grin before hovering over you to see your work.
"Your writing is great love, pronunciation... not so." He said eyes scanning through your notes.
You shut your notebook closed with a groan.
"This is humiliating." You hid your face in your arms.
Sova pulled you back up and opened your notes again.
"Let me help you, my babushka told me not to brag, but I'm a great teacher."
He pulled another chair next to yours and an extra pen.
His eagerness to help you made you feel less embarrassed.
"Okay, okay, fine."
----
"When will we get to the cuss words?"
"Y/n...."
----
Chamber
• Honored that you're learning his language.
• Things he can't express in English will soon be understood.
• Understands learning a new language is hard, so is willing to help you out for something in return.
• Will start talking to you in French at random times and will expect a reply.
• Mixes French and English together to make it easier on you (for now).
• Would probably say something 🤨.
• Finds it cute when you try to pronounce a complicated word.
• Proud whenever you master new words.
----
You were walking down the hallway, unware of anyone that could be around you.
Too busy on revising last nights lesson, you didn't catch yourself saying the words out loud.
"Bonjour, hello, Comment vas-tu?, How are you? Now what was 'where is the dog?'..."
You were just about to pull out your phone to check until you heard an all too familiar voice behind you.
"Bonjour mon amour, learning French I see? It's comment, not comment by the way. You'll get there."
He caught up to you, snaking his hand into yours.
You looked away, embarrassment all over your face.
Of course he had to hear all that.
"There is nothing to me ashamed of my love, we all start somewhere. I can help you, but let's make a deal."
You sighed, less embarrassed. You looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
"It's a good deal, I teach you French, and you give me a kiss after every lesson." A dumb smile was plastered on his face as he said that.
You chuckled at that, "Fine, it's a deal Mr. businessman."
----
"Now repeat after me, 'Vincent, ta cravate est superbe et tu es si beau.'"
You just face palmed.
----
Cypher
• Sees this as an opportunity to tease you.
• Is a terrible teacher, but is willing to answer any questions you have about the language.
• Would secretly record your botched pronunciation.
• Loves that you're learning his language, it brings back fond memories.
• Although he can't teach you, he will give you advice.
• Makes you study around him so he can help you correct mistakes.
• Supportive all the way.
----
You sat at the back of the protocol library.
You are dedicating today's lesson on pronunciation, so the library is the perfect place.
It has dictionaries and it's quiet.
Plus, no one ever really comes to stay here other than Sage and occasionally Brimstone.
"Kayf hali what?" You groaned in frustration, having had been stuck on this word for awhile now.
You were about to pick up your things and go, but your phone dinged.
A voicemail from Cypher appeared on your screen.
You brought it up to your ear to hear it clearly.
'It's 'كيف حالك؟.'
Your jaw dropped open, and you wanted to jump off the building.
You threw your hands over your face in embarrassment, slumping your body against the couch.
'Ding!', another message.
'It was cute though really.'
You got even more embarrassed.
You looked around for wherever he could have a camera set up, and there it was hiding in the corner of the room.
"You've been watching me this whole time struggle, and only now do you say something?"
'Ding!'
'Perhaps...'
----
"Amir, what did you mean by 'لماذا أنت جميل جدا' I still don't get it."
His face went red, luckily he still had his mask on.
----
This finished a bit later because as soon as I finished for Chamber and Cypher, I accidentally pressed something on my mouse that reset the page 😢 but it managed to redo it so here it is
#Valorant#Valorant x reader#Sova Valorant#Sova x reader#Chamber Valorant#Chamber x reader#Cypher Valorant#Cypher x reader
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Pancake - Blaise Zabini x Female Reader (One Shot)
⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨sweetpandorabox୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆
⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙
Synopsis: You and your boyfriend of 6 months Blaise are eating breakfast together before an intense quidditch match later on between Slytherin house and Gryffindor house, he regrets to confirm but he's indeed nervous about the match, and due to his nervousness devouring him, he wasn't feeling like eating until you encourage him to do so.
Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Female Reader
Story Setting: This fanfiction is set in your 6th year of Hogwarts during the Half Blood Prince.
Warnings⚠️: None this one is pure fluff.
A/N: Hey sexy it's Angel here, this week I've decided to write some more super short one-shots for all of you, I'll be sure to make one for at least all of the Harry Potter boys and girls because it's super easy, and, and don't require a lot of time, anyway enjoy love you. xx
Word Count: 710
✯¸.•´¨*•✿ Pancake ✿•*¨`•.¸✯
You stride down the delicious-scented great hall hand in hand with your boyfriend in his Quidditch uniform making your way towards the Slytherin table, having a small conversation before the both of you settle next to your other fellow Slytherin students enjoying their breakfast giving them a quick hello. "Hey Pans" you greet putting your arms around her neck in a loving matter hugging her from behind as she takes a bite of her cut-up strawberries, "Morning Gorgeous" she added rubbing the arms you have around her before she pats an empty spot on the bench next to her, inviting you to sit. You did just that making sure your boyfriend Blaise sit next to you too as Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle sat across from the three of you, you gave all three boys a smile and a nod as they all did vice versa.
the 6 of you have always been close ever since 1st year as you were all sorted into the Slytherin house and share a common trait of dislike and hate towards Potter and his other Gryffindork friends, but despite such traits and picking on others the 6 of you are inseparable best of friends, often walking together as a group intimidating others around you which was all in good fun. You scan the table full of breakfast items such as pancakes, toast, waffles, sausages, bacon, eggs, and more wafting its scent through your nose, your mouth starts to salivate as you help yourself to a serving of bacon and eggs your all-time favorite meal, you swear to yourself that if you were in your death bed a plate of bacon and eggs can resuscitate you back to a healthy and normal state again. You take a bite of bacon and a smile instantly appeared on your face but once you look over to your left you saw your boyfriend focusing intently on the daily prophet paper with a cup of black coffee in hand.
As the others were distracted by a conversation you place a calming hand on Blaise's back studying his face curiously, he looked frazzled and a bit nervous, his breathing was a bit off and he tries to let it all go by reading. "Babe, how come you aren't eating anything?" you asked gently leaning your head on his arm, he let out a sigh before looking over at you with a weak smile, "It's nothing love I'm just a bit nervous for today's game" he responds kissing the top of your head before laying his eyes back into the piece of parchments full of news and wonders. You got worried but decide to scan around the table full of breakfast spotting a steamy plate of pancakes lying around ready to be served into someone's plate, your eyes light up, and use the provided spatula to pick up 3 pieces of pancake into your boyfriend plate drizzling syrup over the top of it and a knob of butter on top.
He noticed the commotion you were making and put aside the papers he'd been reading only to find a plate of his favorite breakfast food right in front of him, "Ta-da it's your favorite now open up your mouth and eat" you encourage the nervous boy. He let out a small chuckle and open his mouth open for you to feed him a piece, "How is it babe good?" you asked acting oblivious about the answer he was about to give as if you didn't know that pancakes were his all-time favorites, he nodded with a slight smirk nodding to himself as he enjoys the warm and comforting taste of those pancakes, "Good you need to eat babe being nervous is completely normal but don't you worry you're going to do great... I've never seen such a fast chaser as you" a smile starts to appear watching him swallows the food.
"You're right love, I should be eating before I play otherwise I might mess up" he replies before he starts feeding himself some more, you giggle at his response kissing him on the cheek as you both enjoy your breakfast together later on walking out of the hallway hand in hand towards the quidditch pitch telling each other "I love you".
#blaise zabini#slytherin#blaise x reader#harry potter imagine#harry potter fandom#harry potter fanfiction#fluff#imagines#hp fanfcition#hp fanfic#hp fandom#romantic#one shot#female reader#quidditch
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Hello :) I was wondering if I can request extensive headcanons and/or a oneshot of Viktor Krum with a straight female reader...?
Unfortunately I don't have any plot ideas.
Could you make it as dark as possible, with limited to no fluff?
I don't want to force anyone so only if you want/can! Thank you xx
Hello dear💖, thanks for your request.
If viktor krum had to help you survive during the battle of hogwarts⚡️✨️
You knew viktor krum since the start of the year, you thought he was quite handsome however at the time you weren't in the favour of him as he only liked hermione.
Krum at the end of the year drifted his feelings from hermione to you.
When you went to durmstrung, you were the shy student that had a wit about them.
When the battle of Hogwarts started, you were knocked out cold with the spell "stupify".
You woke up only to find other students wounded or dead.
You yelled out "viktor!" Hoping to find him alive.
Death eaters swarmed the area, you had to get out of here as soon as possible.
You limped over toward the main yard but hit behind a stone gargoyle on top of a pedestal.
You turned to over to the side to see if viktor was there.
He was, well at least, he had bruises and cuts on his head and arms.
You yelled out "Viktor" once more.
Viktor turned in the direction of your voice seeing you behind the pedestal.
He wandered over to you, he shot spells behind and in front of him to defend any death eaters.
You ran up and grapsed him in your arms. Hugging him to the point it was tight.
You let go as Viktor told you "we need to go, you need to leave and get to a safe area".
You refused "not without you".
Viktor wrapped his arm around you in order to help you walk faster through the mass destruction.
Viktor and you got to the corridor, he aimed to hide you in your house room once the battle was over.
Only, a death eater peered around the corner.
"Avada kadavra" he shouted at Viktor. The spell only missed by just a touch.
Viktor jumped you to the ground to take cover, he held your cheek. "I love you, next time I'll win you the next quidditch cup with your name on it"
He kissed you like it was his last moments on earth.
You felt his lips press you hard before he parted, grabbing his wand.
At first the death eater shouted curses but backfired with viktor shouting back.
"Stupify".
"Pritago".
"Expelliamus".
"Crucio".
"Stu-" he was cut off.
"Avarda kedavra" the death eater yelled.
A beam of green light shot straight into Viktor Krums chest.
Viktor's eyes became still as he fell back in a lifeless motion.
You shouted "NO!" As Viktor fell to the ground.
You shouted in rage "expelliamus" knocking the death eater back, blacking out cold.
You shake the body of Viktor krum as he didn't respond.
Tears fill your eyes however you had to keep going, for his sake.
You carried on through the battle of hogwarts. Leaving krums body.
In the end, you were covered in ash and bruises. Your expression was cold.
Never would you forget the love you once had for the qudditch star player in durmstrung.
Anyways that's all I have for now:
Ta Ta ✨️
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Doggy Dancing
Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader
A/N: Hey guys, I've been focusing so much on my series, it's been so long since I did a one shot 😭😭 Anyways, I hope you enjoy and as always I love love love feedback! Enjoy xx
Summary: Tom is confused when he finds (y/n) is trying to teach Tessa how to dance
Taglist
Masterlist
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“Come on Tessa, good girl,” Tom could hear (y/n) cooing as soon as he arrived home “Alright, one more time, just like that.” He chuckled as he paced towards the living room, “I’m home darling!”
“We’re busy!” (y/n) called back, making him frown.
“Too busy for me?” he pouted.
“We’re training,” she giggled as Tom entered the living room, Tessa stood between her legs, her tail wagging like crazy.
Tom raised a brow, “You know she’s already trained love.”
“Yeah, for boring stuff,” she rolled her eyes, “Not for doggy dancing.”
“Doggy Dancing?”
She nodded, “Yes, see I was watching this show on Netflix, it’s called ‘We Are the Champions', and there was an episode on doggy dancing. It was so cute, and I just knew Tessa would be so good at it.”
“So you’ve been practicing doggy dancing all day?” he laughed.
“Yes!” she beamed, “We watched a bunch of videos and then we started training. Which, by the way, we’re great at.”
“Oh I’m sure you are,” he grabbed her waist, pushing Tessa out from under her legs. She grunted and padded over to the couch, “Oh shush you, you’ve had mommy’s attention all day, it’s daddy’s turn now.”
She rolled her eyes as he pressed his lips to hers, “She’s mad because you’re interrupting our training session, we’re trying to make it to the world championship here.”
“After one day?” he questioned.
“We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Alright,” Tom pecked her lips again before falling back onto the couch beside Tessa, “Well show me what you’ve got.”
She flushed suddenly, “It’s not like we have routine or something.”
“I know, just show me what you’ve been doing, I want to see what this doggy dancing is all about,” he smirked and nudged Tessa off the couch, “Get up there Tess, show me your moves.”
Tessa padded back over to (y/n) and sat by her feet, looking up at her expectantly. She took a deep breath and nodded, “Alright, Tessa you wanna show daddy your new tricks?”
Tessa stared up at her and cocked her head.
Tom smiled, “Well get on with it then.”
“Okay, well we start like this,” (y/n) lifted her left and Tessa copied her, lifting her left front paw, “Good girl Tessa,” she praised before lifting the other leg. Tessa copied her again, they repeated the move three more times while Tom happily watched them, “Okay Tess, now spin,” she spun and Tessa followed, “Now go around,” she waved her hand in a small circle and Tessa walked in a circle around her legs, “Beautiful Tessa, oknoway one more, through the legs remember?” she pointed between her legs and Tessa ran under them. She walked forward a few steps, Tessa weaved through her legs and sat at her side when she stopped, “Ta da!”
Tom smiled ear to ear while he clapped for them, “That’s fantastic my loves, you two are amazing,” he stood, ruffling Tessa’s head before he cupped (y/n)’s face.
“Bravo, I’m sure you’ll be winning all sorts of medals in no time.”
(y/n) blushed and kissed his nose, “You’re a dork.”
“I’m a dork? You’re the one who spent all day teaching our dog how to dance.”
“You’re still a dork,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He rolled his eyes and took a hold of her waist, “Well since you two have been working so hard all day, how about I take you out to that puppy cafe for a little treat?”
“That sounds lovely,” she nodded in agreement, “What do you say Tess? Do you wanna go for a ride?”
Her tail shook back and forth and she barked excitedly before running for the door.
“I think that’s a yes,” Tom nuzzled his nose against hers, “Let me change real quick. Do you want to get her in the car?”
“What? I can’t get her in the car, she doesn’t listen to me.”
“Doesn’t listen to you?” he laughed, “You just taught her how to dance!”
“I know, but she never lets me buckle her in,” she whined, “She’s a daddy's girl Tom.”
“Just get her in the car, I’ll buckle her in,” he pressed a series of kisses to the side of her head before he pulled away from her, “Daddy’s girl,” he chuckled, “She must take after you then ey?”
Her cheeks flushed suddenly, “Tom!”
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Taglist:
@niallsvirgosun @spideyssunshine @namoreno @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @emistrash @andreagf956 @tomsirishgirlx @agbspidey @peachyafshawn @sleepybesson @nj01 @misshale21 @prancerrparkerr @raajali3 @ellabellabus07 @mayal0pez @xoxomaterialgirl
#tom holland#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland imagine#tom holland headcanon#tom holland blurb#tom holland x reader#tom holland x reader fluff#tom holland x you#tom holland x y/n#tom x reader#MCU fanfiction#marvel fanfiction#MCU#marvel#mcu peter parker#MCU Spiderman#peter parker#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x reader#tom holland x reader angst#spiderman#spiderman x reader#arvin russell x reader#Arvin Russell#Nathen drake#Nathen drake fanfiction#Nathen drake x reader
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could you share more about sysba's language? owo
YES I ABSOLUTELY CAN. I’m a little bit proud of myself for this (slowly crafted) language, so I’m definitely happy to share it with you!!!
So Sysba’s language is called ‘Ioctaxari’; Lovecraftian lore—which the whole eldritch concept is based off of—has a language, but there are no firmly established guidelines for it so I said fuck it, I’ll do my own. Ioctaxari takes from Welsh Gaelic and older Germanic languages in order to make the terms that are often used.
In terms of naming, Elder Gods often own a name of their own choosing and a “true” name, such as the case with Sysba (going by Sysba, Moloch, etc) and their “true” name of ‘Ymnar. True names are often tied in with the Elder God’s abilities, origin, etc. Elder Gods do not possess surnames or 'parental ties', but in the case of Sysba, they jokingly took the second half of their Fathers name (Korath) and applied that as their surname. This is not correct in terms of the structure of the Ioctaxari language—but Sysba doesn’t follow any rules anyway, so are we surprised?
One thing that should be noted regarding Ioctaxari is that concepts of time are non-existent. Therefore, numbers used by this language are ones used exclusively by Sysba, Florence, and Abraxas, created after the exile of Sysba and the departure of Florence and Abraxas. This applies to days of the week and months as well. For Elder Gods, since time doesn’t exist, there’s no need to track it—but for Sysba, Florence, and Abraxas, staying on earth has made them adapt these habits so that, in the few cases they communicate to one another in Ioctaxari, the flow of conversation still works.
Here’s an example of the numbers taken from Ioctaxari:
0—Oen | 1—El | 2—Ta | 3—Den | 4—Fi | 5—Pen | 6—Zech | 7—Rhk | 8—Zhr | 9—Nach | 10—Xi | 11—Ihe | 12—Yath | 13—Xiden | 14—Xifi | 15—Xipen | 16—Xizech | 17—Xirhk | 18—Xizhr | 19—Xinach | 20—Ta-en | 21—Ta-en el | 22—Ta-en ta…| 30—Den-en | 40—Fi-en | 50—Pen-en | 60—Zech-en | 70—Rhk-en | 80—Zhr-en | 90—Nach-en | 100—Xi-thera | 200—Ta-xi-thera | 201—Ta-xi-thera el | 300—Den-xi-thera… etc.
And the Alphabet:
Aa—Ah | Bb—Bah | Cc—Cèh | Chch—Cah | Dd—Di | DdDd— Edd | Ee—Eh |Ff—Ef | Gg—Eg (Gh produces a J sound) | Hh—Aest |Ii—Iy | IhIh—I’ch | Kk—Kah | Ll—Ell | LlLl—Eh | Mm—Em | Nn—En | Ngng—Eng | Oo—Ohr | Pp—Pah | Rr—Aehr | Rhrh—Rhi | Ss—Es | Tt—Ti | Thth—Etha | Uu—Uhr | Vv—Vah | Ww—V | Xx—Ek | Xixi—Ziy | Yy—Zay | Zz—Zeh | Zhzh—Shah
I also have days of the week, months, and seasons:
Days of the week
Sunday—Sol Ddhar | Monday—Luhn Ddhar | Tuesday—Toth Ddhar | Wednesday—Ngyr Ddhar | Thursday—Cihl Ddhar |Friday—Gauth Ddhar | Saturday—Som Ddhar
Months
January—Cri-ehr | February—Llyanehr |March—Gwehndd |April—Glatil | May—Stelnuhr |June—Uhlan | July—Ghaih | August—Rhan | September—Medrendel |October—Bliefendel | November—Sahmendel | December—Noxendel
Seasons
Spring—Glahnys |Summer—Buhys |Winter—Crihys |Fall—Rhaxhys
Note: endings are altered if things go from singular to plural. For example, Brenfih (A loaf of bread) can become Brenfihre (Loaves of bread). Sol Ddhar (Sunday) becomes Sol Ddhara (Sundays).
Here’s a basic sentence:
Mira enew yn Ames. Ihr llyah crihys, ihr hazhal buhys.
My name is Ames. I love winter, I hate summer.
Obviously it’s still a work in progress in regards to grammar rules and other such things, but I’m enjoying picking away at it!!! Thank you for asking!
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Endless Love (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw) - Chapter 1
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fc9704034dda93f524305b7e1904fdbc/fbdfb73423439075-bc/s540x810/0c2a8857a3f7dde2f073b530083b3a077f76a090.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/949dddb456960c1b18ea15738a922c42/fbdfb73423439075-f6/s540x810/71ff0aa3406dc13ddf50fd0d27cdb6a7a5723806.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3c58b1d2655fa8e8e60ef7f0fa35c8ac/fbdfb73423439075-ce/s540x810/074ca34b1a849ef5f1bc649fd738edac3b3fc25d.jpg)
summary - Y/N Y/L/N and Bradley Bradshaw have had a rivalry ever since they both attended the same academy. Every chance they took, they always tried to one up each other. One day, Bradley takes the rivalry too far and Y/N ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. Will it make Y/N want to get him back twice as worse? Or will it make her realise that this rivalry between them is childish?
warnings - swearing, enemies to lovers, mention of serious injury, traumatic episodes, reader traumatised from what happened, smut, slowburn, seizures, flashbacks
Main Masterlist Bradley ”Rooster” Bradshaw Masterlist Series Masterlist
a/n - hello my lovelies! this is not the original first chapter becos i was a knobhead and accodentally deleted it so i'm going have to rewrite it ahaha. anyways, ta ta! xx
I had moved to San Diego from Manchester, England to get into the academy that would lead me to entering Top Gun. That was 2 years ago. I am now officially part of the Top Gun and I am dead fucking proud.
However, the first official day at Top Gun is tomorrow. Everyone who was accepted made a group chat and we all arranged to go to The Hard Deck to meet everyone and break the ice.
I'm driving in my red Toyota S2000, There It Go by Juelz Santana blasting through my speakers and the roof down. I've began to enjoy living in America, although I do miss my home back in Manchester.
I finally arrive at The Hard Deck, park my car, put the roof up and lock the doors. I make my way to the door, but suddenly two tall and muscular men burst through the door carrying a slightly smaller man. I pay them no mind and go into the bar.
I look around and when I see the khaki uniforms that we all have to wear I made my way over. I looked around the group and saw a woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun and brown eyes. I sighed in relief and made my way over to her.
"Thank god that there's another woman, I could not deal with all the testosterone on my own." The woman chuckled as she stook her hand out for me to shake.
"I'm Phoenix, you can call me Nat if you want though." I shake her hand a give her a warm smile.
"I'm Vandal, but you can call me Y/N." After making some small talk with her I buy a double whiskey from the bar and make my way back to Nat.
"What do we have here?" A cocky and arrogant voice boomed throughout the room. I turned to look at who it was and saw a tanned, blonde man standing in front of me and Nat.
"Vandal. You?" I raise a brow at him, I could tell he was the type of guy to immediately thinking he is the best out of all of us.
"Hangman. But you can call me Jake." He winked at me and I fake gagged at him. The smile faltered slightly but then he took a step closer to me and aligned his mouth to my ear.
"Just know you're missing out on one hell of a night Sugar." Nat punched him in his shoulder lightly and he flinched back.
"Back off Bagman, you're more passed around than a cigarette." Me and Nat laugh and he mocks hurt. He puts his hand on his chest and fake cries.
"Words hurt Phoenix." After actually talking to some of them, the door bursts open. Everyone turns to the door to look whose made such a ruckus.
Bradley fucking Bradshaw. Great.
We make eye contact and he smirks. He weaves through the crowd until he's about 3 feet in front of me. I could smell his shitty cologne from here, God it smelled disgusting.
"What are you doing here Shortcake?" That nickname made my stomach churn. He was so fucking aggravating.
"Well, seeing as I'm a damn good pilot, they asked me to join Top Gun. What you doing ere? Seeing what could've been?" I raise my eyebrow and curl my lip at him.
We always had a rivalry every since I joined the same academy as he did. We immediately started this sort of rivalry type thing. Well, he started it. Never found out why he never liked me.
"Actually, Sweetheart. I was asked to come to Top Gun as well." He had the smuggest look on his face I wanted to punch it right off. Prick.
"Well that's surprising, didn't know they'd let just about anyone into Top Gun." Bradshaw rolled his eyes and walked away to go meet the other guys.
"I sense some tension." Nat said in a sing-songy voice. Oh God not her too.
"Absolutely not, I do not like him one single bit. And he feels the same way about me." Nat raised a brow with a cheeky side-smile.
"Then what is going on between you two? Did one of you not call the other back?" Nat asked in a slight baby voice while pouting.
"We've just never liked each other, we always try to one up each other all the time. He treats it as a game, but I just want to be the best." Nat nodded and still had the side smile on her face.
"I just know you two are eventually going to go home together. It always happens like that." My eyes become as wide as golf balls. Absolutely not! Never! I told myself as I practically choked on my drink.
"Absolutely not! Now instead, let's enjoy our night before we have to wake up at the break of fucking dawn tomorrow." Nat nods in agreement as we head over to the bar.
This is going to be a long few weeks. Especially with Bradshaw here.
#top gun#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun imagines#top gun maverick#rooster fluff#rooster imagine#rooster x reader#rooster smut#rooster#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw fluff#bradley rooster bradshaw smut#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw fluff#rooster x you#top gun rooster#rooster top gun#dagger squad
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Turning Page
For Liv xx
Summary: Stuck with a seemingly monotonous book as the subject for a final project, you quickly find that the prolific tale of two unlikely lovers is just what you need to pursue your romantic interest in your longtime classmate and beloved friend.
Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader
Word Count: ~ 9,000
Warnings: 18+!!! Explicit sexual content
Notes: Thank you again @jakekiszska for helping me edit <3
“Ah, Mr. Kiszka,” your professor's booming voice echoes through the lecture hall, just as you hear the door behind you creaking open. “Nice of you to finally join us on this fine Monday morning.”
You’re seated front and center of the large classroom, so you have to fully turn around to see the piteous, wide-eyed boy standing in the entryway, the door closing behind him with a loud clammer.
“My apologies Dr. Howard,” Sam smiles meekly, his backpack slung over one of his shoulders. “I had some… car troubles.”
You glance up at the clock above him, reading that class started fifteen minutes ago.
The professor sighs, his mouth slanted in a frown.
“I’ll excuse it today,” he nods, motioning for Sam to sit in his usual spot, in the empty seat to your left. “But just this once.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam accepts graciously, his hands folding in gratitude before he shuffles through the aisle.
He sets his backpack on the floor with a quiet thud, slumping into the chair. You try to stifle an amused giggle at his grand entrance, and he shoots you a facetious glare.
You and Sam have been friends since freshman year, meeting at the orientation for your shared literacy majors. You immediately bonded over your love of music during one of those dumb icebreaker games, and you’ve been the perfect duo since, taking almost every class you can together.
While you’re both excellent writers, Sam certainly has more of an eye for lyricism; he has a minor in music studies, and he wants to be a songwriter someday, working now as an assistant writer at a studio downtown. With his talent, you know he will end up exactly where he wants to be in the industry, and you can’t wait to see what he makes of his career.
You have your own plans laid out for your future, and while they’re not as perfectly aligned as Sam’s, you’re satisfied with your ventures thus far. You occasionally TA for Dr. Howard, having earned his favoritism with your exceptional grades in his classes, and you help tutor high school students in your free time. Your passion for writing is undeniable, and you know you’re bound to end up in a job that fulfills you just as well as Sam’s.
Even with your irrefutable love for writing though, you don’t think you would be as devoted to your work as you are if it wasn't for him being by your side through nearly all of it.
“Anyway,” your professor continues with a clearing of his throat, pointing back to the slideshow he was projecting onto the screen behind him. “For your final project, you will be analyzing and writing a report on a novel from the Romanticism movement - anywhere between 1790 and 1850.”
Your ears perk at the mention of romanticism — it’s your favorite. The sultry drama, the awe of nature, everything written in that time period is unlike any other. You wish you could simply step into the world of their incredible poems and stories and live in them forever.
“Now, this period covers a lot of ground, so I wanted to make this a bit fun,” Dr. Howard adds as he reaches under his desk and retrieves a small wicker basket, shuffling it around so you see the small slips of paper inside of it. “I’ve written the names of all of the novels I wish for you to cover, and placed them in here.”
He crouches back down, lugging up a larger cardboard box from under the desk. “The department has some copies of these novels that you may borrow. You are to pair up, blindly choose a slip at the end of class, and check out the corresponding book.”
You look over at Sam and make the nonverbal agreement that you will be partners, as if you had any other willing options.
You can hardly stay still for the rest of class, anxious to see what you will choose. You’re hoping for something especially dark and dramatic, like The Scarlet Letter or The Fall of the House of Usher.
When the time comes, you spring up from your chair, scurrying over to be the first in line. You eagerly stick your hand in the basket and shuffle around the strips for a moment before gripping one between your fingertips. You pull it out, smiling as you unravel it, though your expression quickly falls once you read its contents:
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
“What is this, high school English class?” you scoff to yourself, flipping the paper between your fingers as if there was a second choice written elsewhere.
It isn’t that you don’t like Jane Austen, she’s a brilliant romantic author— an author of true romance, of unrequited love stories that you adored reading in grade school— but it just feels a bit underwhelming compared to the countless other options you have.
“Can I choose another?” you ask Dr. Howard, who sits scrolling through the computer on his desk.
“No, ma’am, you get what you get,” he smiles politely, tilting his head down to glance over at you over his thickly lensed glasses. “That’s the fun of it!”
You puff a sigh, sulking up to the box of books. You stick your hand in and shuffle them around in search of yours, your heart lurching every time you see a title you would much rather be reaching for.
You finally find it. This copy must be at least half a century old, its spine worn and delicate. You step away from the box to let the next person search, flipping through its yellowed pages as you make your way back to your seat. Many of them are dogeared, with illegible annotations scribbled in black ink throughout.
Sam is still seated, scrolling through his phone. He looks up once he notices you approaching, his brows furrowing at the sight of your disappointed face.
“What’d we get?”
“Fucking Pride and Prejudice,” you scorn, flicking the slip of paper onto the desk in front of him. “Should that even be able to count? It’s satire.”
“I guess since it’s so renowned,” Sam shrugs as he leans forward to study the slip himself. “It’s not the worst choice. At least we didn’t get, like, Frankenstein or something.”
“Sam, I would’ve much preferred Frankenstein over this,” you inform, stuffing the book in your bag.
He contorts his face in clear disagreement, which causes you to giggle.
“Come on,” you say, snagging your bag from your chair. “Let’s get this over with.”
With this being the last project of the semester, you want it done as quickly as possible, especially with the assumption that the work won’t be very enjoyable.
“Meet at West Oak?” you ask Sam as you wait for him to gather his things, suddenly craving a warm cup of tea and a pastry from your favorite café.
With your nearly perfectly aligned schedules, neither of you have any other classes for the day, so you’ve made it a habit to hang at the library or café to study and catch up on whatever you’ve missed from each other over the weekend.
“I don’t have my car,” Sam reminds you as falls into step at your side.
“Oh, I thought that was just an excuse,” you laugh, filing in line towards the door.
“No, well, I wasn’t having mechanical troubles,” he explains, stepping past you to hold the door open, letting you walk through first from underneath his extended arm. “My problem is Josh. He took it to go visit our parents, without telling me, of course.”
You throw your head back in a laugh. Sam has two older twin brothers, Josh and Jake. They both graduated a few years back, Jake in sound engineering, and Josh in performance arts. Josh is now working as head of your university’s theater department, and Jake is an audio tech at the same studio as Sam, so the twins live together just up the road from you. You have hung out with them multiple times since befriending Sam, and you’ve come to learn that they are both just as talented and intelligent as him, but perhaps a bit spastic — Josh especially. You recall a few months ago when Sam told you that Josh had wrecked and totaled the Jeep he had gotten as a graduation present from their parents. Luckily he wasn’t injured, but they’ve been hesitant to get him another car since. You suppose the issue still stands.
“He stole it right out of the parking garage. I called and he said Jake dropped him off after refusing to let him take his. His excuse for not telling me was he was ‘running late’,” Sam rolls his eyes, air-quoting the last part. “I should have the bastard arrested for theft, I had to walk here.”
You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics. The brothers are always having some sort of conflict, though it never amounts to anything serious, and it goes as nothing but entertainment for you.
“All that trouble, I would’ve just skipped,” you say as you skip through the foyer and out into the chilly winter air.
Holiday break is rapidly approaching, and the treetops and roofs of the buildings around you are dusted lightly with the first fall of snow.
“I could have,” Sam replies, and you notice his pace slows a bit, so you turn around to glance over at him. “But it’s my favorite class, and I didn’t want to miss it.”
He’s giving you this look that he does sometimes, and it never fails to catch you off guard. It’s something about how his usual deep brown eyes suddenly brighten to a warm honey, and how the crescent lines on the sides of his mouth deepen with his lips curved into the softest smile. It gives you an indiscernible feeling deep in the pit of your stomach, like he’s just flattered you.
You don’t let your thoughts wander, and you hope you haven't been staring too long when you clear your throat, motioning to your car parked in the lot across the courtyard.
“Well, don’t worry about it. I can drive.”
~
The drive there is filled with your usual nonsense chatter, with your music playing softly in the background. You ask about Sam’s holiday plans, and if he’s started Christmas shopping yet.
“Not yet,” he laughs from the passenger seat. “I’m not the best gift giver. But we’re renting a cabin with my grandparents for a week, and I’m really excited. It’s gorgeous, deep in the Huron mountains. Have you been?”
“No, I haven’t,” you smile as you pull into the parking lot of West Oak. “But that sounds lovely.”
“Well, maybe we can go sometime,” Sam offers, and you freeze, even with his nonchalant tone. “It’s beautiful year round.”
“Yeah,” you reply a bit too quickly, and you cringe at how your voice goes up a few octaves. “That would be fun.”
You try to not let yourself deliberate your overzealous reply too much as you twist the steering wheel into the first parking spot, switching off the engine and gathering your things.
“I’m gonna go find us a spot,” you say over your shoulder as you enter the café, leaving Sam to stand in the order line. “Get me usual?”
“Earl grey and danish,” Sam answers, shooting his finger at you to verify.
“You got it,” you point back with a smile. “Whatever flavor they have today.”
You walk through the array of tables, scanning for anything available. It’s a bit busy, but you get lucky and snag one by the window in the far back room, just as a sweet looking elderly couple is leaving it.
You settle down in the chair and pull the needed contents out of your bag: your laptop, a notebook and pens, and…the book.
You sigh as you stare at it, examining it more attentively than when you first laid eyes on it earlier. It’s cover is printed with a marbled design that looks as if someone dipped a paintbrush in a mixture of blues and reds and twirled it across the buckram. The name of the novel is printed in silver, against a ruby red square in its center, with delicate embellishments etched along the edges.
You turn the book in your hands to look at its spine: the same ruby red and dainty adornments, with three navy blue squares, one highlighting the name of its renowned author, the second its printing company, and the last acknowledging its illustrator.
Illustrator? You don’t remember seeing pictures. You flip the book open again, shuffling through its fragile pages until you come across a few that have a firmer, glossy texture, their pastel colors standing out immediately.
You study the delicate prints. One shows Elizabeth, the sharp- witted main character of the story. She’s wearing a pale yellow dress, with frilly lace trimmings and feathered, sumptuous bonnet tied to her head, its pink ribbon streaming down her shoulders. Her expression is wistful, her doe eyes staring longingly into the distance as a letter hangs loosely from her delicate hands.
You remember reading about the letters, her unrequited lover spilling his heart to her through the ink. The idea of only being able to communicate through the chance of a letter strikes you as incredibly romantic. You wish more people wrote them nowadays.
The next page is of the man himself — Mr. Darcy. He looks stoic and noble, a cane tucked under the arm of his tailcoat that skirts along his white breeches, his top hat crowning a head of thick, dark curls. His face is handsome and earnest, his body and gaze facing to the side. You don’t know what scene in particular the illustration comes from, but his legs are extended as though he’s apprehensive to go somewhere. You imagine he’s on his way to Elizabeth.
You forgot how much you actually love this book. You chalked it up to you being a lovelorn teenager when you thought back to how much you enjoyed it in high school, but the story starts coming back to you as you look though the rest of the pictures. You’re admiring another handsome illustration of Darcy when you see a figure approaching from your peripherals.
“Here you go,” Sam chimes as he sets down a travel coffee cup with its paper sleeve, a foil wrapped danish balancing on its lid. “One steaming cup of earl grey, and one raspberry danish.”
He places the danish on the table once everything is set, and slides into the chair across from you.
“Thank you,” you smile, setting down the book and eagerly grabbing the tea, taking a careful sip of the steaming liquid.
“What’d you get?” you ask as you eye his cup, unwrapping your warm pastry.
“I asked the barista what her favorite drink is,” he says, picking it up and examining the label scribbled on its side.. “Caramel, praline, something. I don’t know, but it sounded good.”
He lifts the cup to his lips with both hands, his fingers lacing together to cradle it gently. It always amuses you how strangely he drinks things, almost like a child.
“Tastes good too,” he smiles. “Wanna try?”
“I’m good, thanks,” you giggle, breaking off the first piece of danish and stuffing it in your mouth. “But let’s get started on this.”
You tap the book, frowning when you suddenly realize you probably should’ve gotten two copies.
“I guess, let’s just take turns reading it?” Sam says, seeming to have the same thought as you. “We can just run through it real quick. I remember the story vaguely, but I definitely need a refresher.”
“That works,” you nod.
Coming from two literacy majors, you both can get through a book in just a few hours, so this one should be a breeze.
“Then I’ll start,” Sam offers, taking the fragile book in his hand and flipping to the first page
He clears his throat, furrowing his brow and placing a hand regally to his chest.
“Chapter One; It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
He speaks in an awful attempt at a posh English accent, and it makes you laugh. You quickly redact your regret of not getting two copies; instead of having your face buried in the text as you follow along, you’re able to watch Sam as he acts out the words. He has the book extended to his left, his free hand making dramatic gestures as he reads just loud enough to not disrupt any of the other café patrons.
Since the chapters are rather short, you decide to switch off after every two. You’re surprisingly nervous once you reach the third, wanting to keep the same theatrical energy as Sam.
“The girls grieved along over such a number of ladies,” you read along, entering the scene of the Bennett sisters meeting Mr. Bingley and company. “But were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin.”
You try to mimic the same accent Sam was using, but it eventually falls apart after an attempt to stifle a laugh from hearing him snort with amusement.
“And when the party entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five altogether, Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.”
You swoon at the first mention of Mr. Darcy, smiling through your words as you continue the scene of recounts about his pompous ego, and how the Bennett family dismisses him and his arrogance. Your heart flutters at what’s to come of their relationship.
The two of you spend the next few hours going back and forth, jotting down significant parts that can be used in your report. You’re about twenty chapters deep, right at the part where Elizabeth denies marriage to Mr. Collins, the unimpressive clergyman and distant cousin to Darcy.
“I think this is a good place to stop,” you say, slapping the book shut.
Your head feels a bit hazy after concentrating so hard for so long, and you look out the window to see the sun beginning to set over the snow-dusted buildings across the street.
“Wanna meet here tomorrow to continue?” Sam asks, starting to gather your empty cups and wrappers. “You know, once I get my car back.”
“Yeah sure, and I think I have a copy of this somewhere at home,” you answer as you slide the copy over to him, thinking back to the collector's series of classics your parents gave you for Christmas one year. “It’s definitely being used as decoration on one of my shelves somewhere. So here, you take this one.”
Sam happily accepts the book, sliding into the front pocket of his book bag.
You’re pondering his idea of coming back to the café tomorrow to finish reading as you’re both putting the rest of your stuff away. You glance around at the people lingering in the café, the crowd much more sparse as closing time nears.
“Actually, how about my place tomorrow?” you ask as you’re both heading back to your car outside. “My analytics class gets out at four, you can come over after? We can get a pizza?”
Your heart picks up pace, suddenly nervous that what you’re asking sounds like you’re insinuating something that oversteps your boundaries as friends, even though the invitation is nothing new.
Sam smiles at you from across the hood of the car, gently pulling the passenger door open once you unlock it.
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
~
It’s the next day, and you’ve just spent the three hours aggressively cleaning your apartment in anticipation for Sam coming over. You’re not sure why you feel the need to clean, he’s been over multiple times before when you’ve had your laundry strewn over the couch, and dishes in the sink, but something compelled you to today. It started by just sweeping the floor, but led to you wiping the counters, vacuuming the rugs, and replacing every air freshener and candle around your place. The space now smelt like the perfectly sweet mix of brown sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon.
You fall to the couch, sighing loudly as you wipe your brow from the labor you just endured, when you hear a knock at the door.
You freeze.
He’s here already? You reach for your phone on the coffee table, freeze at the sight of your clock — 6:15. You had agreed to meet at 6.
“Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you scroll through series of messages and missed calls from him that you had not heard as you were cleaning.
Sam
5:30: Hey, I just got my car back from Josh. I can go ahead and get the pizza. I’ll be over by 6 :)
5:45: Just picked it up! Otw now
5:55: Here
6:05: Hello??
You feel a rush of panic, looking down at your tattered sweatpants and t-shirt. This isn’t a formal occasion by any means, but you are nowhere near presentable to anyone’s standards.
“Just a second!” you call out over your shoulder.
You feel terrible for making Sam wait any longer, but you scramble off the couch and sprint to your room.
You yank off your sweats and reach for the first pair of jeans you can find, hopping into them frantically. You rip off the t-shirt and leave the tank top you have on underneath, pulling a cardigan over your bare arms before racing over to your vanity for a spritz of perfume. You catch a glimpse of your tangled mess of hair, and decide to rake your brush through it a few times before pulling it into a bun.
“Whatever,” you huff with an annoyed click of your tongue, satisfied enough with your improvement in appearance.
You pick off bits of lint and dust from your top as you shuffle over to your door, unlocking it and pulling it open to reveal Sam.
“Oh good, you’re alive,” Sam laughs, his hands gripping either side of a large pizza box. “You weren’t answering your texts, I was getting worried. I was waiting out there for like ten minutes before one of your neighbors let me in the building, said he recognized me.”
“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, your face heating with embarrassment as you gesture at him to come inside. “I was just doing some tidying up, and lost track of time, and I guess my phone was on silent. Thank you for getting the pizza, I totally would have ordered it before if-”
“Don’t worry about it,” he politely interrupts with a dismissing wave, his tone cool and collected following your slew of excuses.
Your blush deepens as you follow him into the kitchen, watching as he peels off his jacket and sets the pizza box down on the counter.
You notice he’s wearing a cozy, white sweater that you had to borrow once, after spilling a glass of cabernet all over your sweater during an outing with him and his brothers last winter. He insisted on letting you change into it because, in his words, the giant splotch of red “made it look like you had been stabbed to death”. He had not brought a jacket though, and spent the rest of the night in just the t-shirt he had on underneath it, which included the 20 minute walk back to his place in the freezing cold. He ended up catching pneumonia the next day, and was bedridden for a week, with you routinely bringing him soup and catching him up with what he missed in class.
You reminisce on the sweet memory, until you notice him turn around to face you.
“Hungry?” Sam asks, and you realize he’s repeated himself, the pizza box flipped open.
“Oh yeah,” you finally say, stepping to look at the glorious sight of it over his shoulder, your mouth watering.
With the rumbling of your stomach, you realize you had accidentally skipped lunch in lieu of your cleaning frenzy. You reach above you to grab two plates from the cabinet, handing one to Sam.
“Starving, actually.”
The both of you split off your respective slices onto the plates and take a seat on the couch in your living room. You turn on your TV and keep it on whatever channel you had left it on, using it as background noise more than anything.
“So, how did getting your car back go?” you ask before taking the first bite from the tip of your slice.
“Oh, god,” Sam rolls his eyes, his mouth already full.
“Josh tried to convince me to let him borrow it until the weekend, but there is no fuckin’ way.”
He shakes his head with the last words, the oil from the pizza making his lips glisten. You can’t help but stare a bit as he wipes them with a napkin, but you quickly bring yourself back to the conversation before he notices.
“Aw,” you finally say, forcing a frown. “I feel bad.”
“Please, don’t,” he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “He’ll survive. Plus, I think our parents are gonna let him have their Oldsmobile, though I didn’t think that clunky thing could even run anymore.”
He gives an amused cackle after that, taking another bite.
“Well, that’s good,” you giggle, your fingers squeezing into the napkin that you have balled in your fist.
Your throat is getting dry from both the pizza and your nerves, and you realize you haven’t gotten anything to wash it down.
“Oh, fuck,” you blurt, hopping off the couch and shuffling back into the kitchen. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah, whatcha got?” Sam asks over his shoulder.
You pull open the door to your fridge, scanning your mostly barren shelves for what you have.
“Water, Sprite, lemonade…” you start listing off.
You swing open the freezer to make sure you have ice, when your eyes catch sight of a frosted blue bottle on the door.
“…Vodka?”
“Vodka!” Sam exclaims, without hesitation.
You’re usually not much of a liquor drinker, but one of your friends had left the bottle as a pregame for a night out the other week, and they told you to keep it when you tried to give it back. There’s only about a third of it left, and you’ve been meaning to polish it off, but you didn’t really consider tonight to be appropriate for that. Knowing Sam though, you’re foolish to think he would ever turn down the offer.
“Okay, but let’s not get too crazy,” you laugh, grabbing two glasses and popping the lid of the chilled bottle. “We have work to do.”
“It’ll just let us get more into character,” Sam argues, his head peering over the couch to watch you make the drinks.
“I guess you're right,” you answer, thinking back to how much you enjoyed acting the story out yesterday.
You decide to pour a bit of lemonade over the vodka, mixing the drinks with a cocktail spoon and carrying them over to the living room.
“Cheers,” you toast, handing Sam his glass as you settle back on your spot next to him.
“Cheers,” Sam answers in his terrible posh accent, clinking his glass to yours. “To romanticism.”
Of course, one drink turned into two, and two to three, and pretty soon you’re feeling the effects of the liquor. You feel yourself getting more giggly by the second, your heavy head laid against the back of the couch as you watch Sam read. He had picked up the book by his second drink, just after you ensued another reminder about the work you two had to get done.
You had agreed to stop your separate reading last night right at your favorite part in the book, where Darcy confesses his undeniable love for Elizabeth. You could go grab your copy from your room to follow along, but you’re too comfortable to bother getting up. Plus, the drinks definitely are contributing to his grand performance.
He has the book cradled in his left hand, his head bowed and lashes fluttering down at the pages. He’s given up on his accent at this point, seeming much more intrigued by the story than he was prior. You watch intently as his eyes scan over each line, lips carefully articulating each word despite his slight drunkenness. His brow raises occasionally for emphasis, the hand that’s gripping his dwindling glass of liquor moving aimlessly with the eb and flow of each sentence.
“Elizabeth could not think of Darcy’s leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him,” he reads with a rhythmic cadence in his voice. “But Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.”
He tips the glass to his lips for a sip after he finishes the sentence, and being how excited you are, you take it as a chance to continue the scene yourself. You grab the book from his hand, quickly finding where he left off.
“While settling this point,” you read, your labored breathing discernible, due to either your nerves or the alcohol.
You see Sam sit back into the couch from your peripherals, his fingers lacing together in his lap as he listens.
“She was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of it being the Colonel himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might inquire particularly after her.”
You pull one of your knees to your chest and rest your chin on it, playing with the frayed trim of your jeans as you anxiously approach the climax of the story.
“But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.”
You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you deliver the momentous line. You give Sam a quick glance just to make sure he’s just as into it as you are, but when you meet eyes, you realize he’s admiring more than just the words that you read. You have to pause for a moment to take in his expression.
He’s giving that look again, except the feeling it gives you now is nearly overwhelming. His eyes look like they’ve filled with a million stars, the whites as wide and bright as ever, especially against the frame of his dark lashes. He studies your flustered face, his supple lips curving in the slightest smile as he gives you a nod to continue. You struggle to break his gaze, but you eventually clear your throat and find where you stopped, your fuzzy mind making it a bit difficult this time.
“In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room.”
You feel Sam shift his weight on the couch, but you now have the book purposely blocking his face so he doesn’t further distract you.
“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in and agitated manner, and thus began—“
Before you can continue, you feel Sam’s hand grasp over yours that’s gripping the book, your knuckles white around its fragile edges with your sudden flux of emotions. You jump slightly at his touch, and you pull the book down to meet his gaze. You realize he wants you to hand it back to him.
You release it from your grip and he takes it from you gingerly, clearing his throat to continue.
“In vain I have struggled,” he reads, his tone sounding much more profound than the last time he spoke.
You see his jaw clench a bit as he prepares for the next line.
“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
His eyes linger on the page for a moment, before traveling up to meet yours. Time seems to stand still as he continues looking at you with those starry eyes, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat, its beat roaring in your eardrums.
You know he didn’t just simply read the line aloud — there was intention held in the words.
“Sam,” is all you’re able to get out, and you’re not even sure what else to say before his body practically falls into you, cupping the side of your jaw once your lips crash together.
You’re completely stunned by the sudden contact, but it doesn’t take long at all for you to melt into his touch. His lips have the gentle burn of the liquor, and they’re pillow soft against yours. You’ve been craving this, all of your presumptuous thoughts and repressed emotions towards him now flooding to the surface. Your hands begin to wander as the kiss deepens, your fingers running along the knitted ribs of his sweater before meeting the warm skin of his neck. They travel through his long strands of hair as he guides you down to lay down along the couch, his nimble legs straddling yours.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathes under your ear, planting soft kisses along your jaw.
You knew those lingering stares he gives you are because he’s felt the same way, but you never knew how to go about being anything more than friends. This turn of events, confessing love through the words of a prolific writer, evidently seems very on brand for the both of you.
“I imagine it’s just as long as I have,” you reply, turning his face so you can kiss his lips again.
Sam’s smiles at your answer, before his lips begin to trail down your neck as you peel off the cardigan you so hastily put on earlier. His fingertips begin lingering at the edge of your tank top, his eyes flicking up to you with hesitance.
“It’s okay,” you beam at him, nodding your approval. “Take off my clothes, Sam.”
He breathes a shallow laugh.
“You don’t have to ask me twice, princess,” he smiles, the pet name making your skin prickle with excitement.
He swiftly yanks up the tank top, and you lift up your arms to pull it off completely, tossing it to the floor below you. His eyes dazzle at your exposed chest, his lips finding your collarbone once you’ve laid back down.
“You’re so beautiful,” he swoons as he begins traveling down to between your breasts.
One of his hands reaches over to gently knead one, his mouth finding your nipple, sucking at its peak as your eyelids flutter at the pleasurable sensation. Your fingertips grip at the nape of his sweater to urge him to sit up and slip it off, yearning to feel his bare skin against yours. His lips lock yours again once it’s discarded, your hands now exploring the new territory of his chest and back.
He pays regards to your opposite breast, before he slides his body further down your frame.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he grips the waist of your jeans.
“Absolutely,” you breathe, your fingers already working to unbutton and unzip them.
You shimmy out of them once they’re loose enough, lifting yourself off the couch a bit to pull them down past your ass. Sam helps you the rest of the way, tossing them onto the floor with the rest once they’re completely off.
He lays down further, with his stomach against the couch cushion so that he’s able to lace his arms around your thighs, his head hovering between them.
You’d be lying if you say you didn’t purposely choose one of your favorite lacy pairs of panties today, just in case this exact situation were to happen. You’re grateful that you did, with the way his eyes hungrily look over the lace that hugs your hips.
He places a kiss right above their hem, his chin brushing against the tiny bow tied to its center. Maybe it’s the change of angle, or how every nerve in your body is now on full throttle, but you’ve suddenly become keenly aware of the patches of stubble that cover his chin and above his lip, the hairs prickling gently at your sensitive skin as his lips move along the thin waistband. You shiver with pleasure, tilting your head back and shutting your eyes to revel in his touch.
Sam takes his time to move his fingertips along the expanse of your tummy and hips, before he laces his fingers around the sides of the panties. He pulls them down painfully slow, the cool air hitting your freshly shaven skin.
You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t shave your entire body the night before—not that you think Sam would mind the hair, but you did it for your own gratification.
You feel Sam’s breath hitting your abdomen as he continues to pull at the lace, and you dare to glance down at him, only to find him already staring up at you. His irises dark with lust, and he keeps eye contact as he places a kiss right on your smooth skin, a moan involuntary escaping your lips at the feeling of his scruff rub against it.
He has the gall to chuckle at your display of pleasure, and it causes your cheeks to heat with frustration.
“Stop teasing me,” you beg, running a hand from the crown of his head, through the strands of his thick hair. “You know what I want.”
“Hmm,” he hums, reaching down to unloop the panties from your ankles and letting them drop to the floor. “I don’t think I do. What is it?”
He then rests his chin against where he just kissed, the hairs of his stubble pricking you almost painfully now. You squirm at the feeling, breathing out a desperate laugh, your eyes clamping shut.
“God, who are you?” you whine, blindly reaching to cup his cheek and lift his chin off of you, your fingertips running against the grain of coarse hair. “What happened to my sweet Sammy?”
“I’m still here,” he assures with a kiss to your jutted hip bone. “I just love hearing your voice.”
You consider his words for a moment.
“Oh, do you?” you smile, feeling him move back to where you want him.
With a glimmer of deviance, you glance over at the book that found its way onto the coffee table, face down on the page you left it on.
You reach over and grab it, Sam not noticing as he continues to kiss up and down your slit.
“Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression,” you begin, your voice wavering as you try to separate your concentration from his efforts. “She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent.”
Your lips curving in a smirk when you feel Sam stop what he’s doing, and you move the book to look down at his beaming face.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” he breathes, clearly proud of you for coming up with such an idea.
He quickly bends back down to continue lapping at you, and you try your best to focus back on the book.
“Then he considered sufficient encouragement;” you continue, your breath enveloping each word as his mouth works fervidly against you. “And the avowal of all he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed.”
You only get through a few more lines before his tongue flicks directly onto the bud of your clit, and you suck in a sharp breath. Your voice staggers more and more with each sentence, your fingers shaking as it flips the page.
“In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s affection–mmm, Sam,” your concentration lapses with a moan when he hits your sweet spot again.
You feel his lips vibrate in a laugh before he lifts himself from you.
“What was that?” he quips with a devious inflection that you’ve never heard from him.
But then again, there’s a lot of firsts happening tonight.
You pull the book away from you once more, just to see him smirking up at you, his swollen lips slick with your wetness.
“Am I a character in this book?”
You blush, running your fingers back through the top of his hair.
“Shut up,” you jest, gently pressing his head back down.
He obeys, but not without a cocky brow raise, his lips reuniting with your heated skin.
You barely make it through the end of the next page before you’re completely tripping over your words, the sentences not making any sense with the amount of whimpers and moans that escape between each syllable.
You finally slap the book closed and toss it over the side of the couch when you feel one of Sam’s slender fingers sink into the depths of your core. He slowly pumps it in and out of you, your moans, mixed with the lewd sounds of his workings, filling the room around you as you feel your core begin to tighten.
He manages to work in another digit after a moment, and your nails reach to dig into the flexed muscles of his shoulders as their rhythm quickly syncs with the pace of his tongue.
“I’m gonna,” you pant, vivid colors painting behind your eyelids.
You can’t even finish your sentence, your body shuddering with the first surge of pleasure.
“Mhmm,” he hums against you, the vibrations sending you further over the edge. “Come for me.”
Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, every muscle in your body lurches with waves of pleasure that course through you. Wisps of light bloom your vision for a moment, until you’re gasping for air with your come down, your body soothing into a blissful trance once your energy levels. You realize once you come to that you managed to get a painful grip at the root of Sam’s hair, and you unhinge your fingers from the tuft that you were tugging at.
“Sorry,” you breathe, your bare chest heaving as you smooth the strands out.
“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, placing wet kisses up your body until he’s once again at your lips, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.
You begin to lift yourself up until you’re in a sitting position, and your hands slide down Sam’s torso. Your fingertips twirl around the hairs of his happy trail, and you let them linger down to the bulge that pressed against the fabric. You push into him as you continue to lean forward, guiding him back so he’s now the one laid out along the couch.
“My turn,” you smirk as you hover over him, planting a kiss along the curve of his neck. You smell his cologne lingering on his skin as you run the kisses down his chest and stomach, right down to where your fingers were playing before.
You help him zip his fly down, and he does the same shimmy you did, the jeans slipping with ease from his slim waist. He kicks off the legs and is left with only his briefs, the outline of his member stretching the cotton it’s strained against. You bend down and kiss him through the fabric, before gripping the stretchy waistband and gently pulling it down. His hard cock springs out, slapping lightly against his abdomen. You eye him zealously, your fingers wrapping gently around his shaft to tip it towards you. Your mouth is already salivating, and you lean forward to let a bead of spit drip from your open mouth.
You flick your eyes up to him, and you're delighted to see that he’s watching you, his mouth agape. You smile at him as your hand begins traveling up and down, slicking him in your saliva. You finally press your lips to his head, your tongue slipping out from your lips and swirling around the tip. Your hands continue to work his shaft as you push him further into your mouth, until you feel him in the back of your throat and you have to brace your hands on his hip bones as you fight your gag reflex. Pulling him back out through hollowed cheeks, you release him from your pursed lips with a lewd pop. You continue the cycle a few more times, your eyes streaming with tears with each plummet. You glance up again and meet the expanse of his neck this time, his head tilted back with the swell of his Adam's apple bobbing as he desperately swallows a moan. His long hair pools around his lean shoulders, beads of sweat glistening on his chest. As soon as you feel him begin to throb inside your mouth, he latches his hand around a section of your hair and swiftly pulls you up from him, the taste of his precum left on your tongue once you release. His hand let go of your hair to grip the back of your neck, guiding you up his body so your legs straddle him, your core against his slickened shaft.
You begin to rock your hips against him as your lips lock once more, the tastes of each other intermingling. You whimper with the sensation, still a bit sensitive from your first come up. His lips latch onto your collarbone as you continue to grind into him, until you feel properly warmed back up.
“Do you want me to put on a condom?” he breathes when your hand reaches down to line him up with your entrance.
“You don’t have to,” you pant, staring to tease yourself with his cock.
You, of course, trust each other to be clean, and you’ve been on birth control since a teenager. If any further anxiety lingers in the next morning, you have some morning after pills stashed in your bathroom cabinet.
“Okay,” he smiles, pulling your lips back to his.
You proceed to ease him in, moaning at how good it feels to finally have him inside of you. You roll yourself up and down his length a few times until you’re acclimated enough to sit down at his base. You continue the motion of grinding yourself against him, feeling him deep inside of you now, your head tipping back with a few escaped moans and whimpers. With your eyes still closed, you feel his fingers snake around your exposed throat and pull you forward. He kisses you deeply, still squeezing at your neck, now having the leverage to gyrate his hips and pull himself in and out of you. Your mouth dips back open when he begins to quicken the pace, and you push yourself fully onto him again, using your folded knees to bounce yourself along his length. You grab at your bouncing breasts, beads of sweat dripping between them and tickling down your stomach. He still has a grip on your neck, his other elbow propped behind him and his abs flexing to hold the position. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing the tendrils of muscles.
You’re suddenly being pushed backwards after a few more sinful moments, with Sam still inside of you and wrapped around your throat, your position seesawing once more so that you land with your back along the cushion. You don’t know how he even managed such a move, but you don’t have much time to ponder it as he thrusts deeply into you. You hike your legs around his waist, and the new angle lets him hit just the right spot. He lets go of your neck only to nurse his fingers into your mouth, pulling them out once your tongue has lapped around them. He lowers his hand, and you feel the slick pads of his fingers swirl against your throbbing clit. He continues the motion as he thrusts harder into you, the sound of your skin slapping together striking your eardrums. The addition of his fingers has your next climax rapidly building again, and you know he must be getting close when his rhythm begins to unravel.
“Come for me again,” he pleads, the veins in his neck protruding, his cheeks and chest rosy and sheened with sweat.
“I’m gonna,” you cry back, just as the first shudder courses through you.
You can tell he does his best to ride you through it, but he can only last a few more thrusts before he pulls out of you, his fingers leaving your clit to grip at the frame of the couch. You quickly reach down to stroke him, until you feel ribbons of warmth lap onto your stomach, a moan of relief escaping his lips.
You both sit there panting for a moment, his hands planted on either side of you so as to not hinder the mess. His hair hangs down and tickles your cheeks as he hovers over you, and you reach up tuck the stands behind his ears.
“That was incredible,” you breathe, turning over to grab your tank top from the floor.
You use it as a makeshift towel, wiping down your stomach and tossing it back into the floor, making a mental note to do some more laundry in the morning.
“It was,” he agrees, planting a kiss on your forehead before letting himself collapse to the side, between you and the back of the couch. “I can’t believe we just did that.
You giggle, hiking your thigh up to rest it against his abdomen.
“We neither.”
There isn’t a lot of room on the couch to lay comfortably together, so you decide to get up, extending a hand to guide him up as well.
“Come on, you might as well spend the night now.”
He nods his agreement with a sweet smile, and you lace your fingers together and take the lead down the hall, opening the door to your freshly cleaned clean room, the smell of sugar cookies wafting in the air with the lit candle you have on your nightstand.
You climb into your freshly made bed with Sam following suit, pulling the covers over the both of you, the fresh fabric feeling heavenly on your smooth skin.
You lean lean and snuff the candle, before crawling deeper into the bed and nestling your face into the cook of Sam’s neck.
“Goodnight, Sammy,” you mumble, the warmth of his body and soft fabric cocooned around you quickly winding you to sleep.
He presses one more kiss on top of your head, his arm cradling you.
“Goodnight, beautiful.”
~
It’s Christmas morning, and your family is gathered around the tree to open presents. You’ve been home for about a week now, climbing the steps of your parents porch a few days after submitting your finals, the last of which being the project you completed with Sam for Dr. Howard.
You were both really proud of how it turned out, and to your delight, you got a notification in your mailbox a day later, informing that you both received an A+.
You got to spend time with Sam before the two of you parted ways for the holidays, and needless to say, you’ve fully established your relationship beyond friends. You spent most of your time lounging in bed with him, watching Christmas movies until you ultimately got distracted with each other to pay any attention.
The night before you left, he took you out to a nice dinner, marking it as the first real outing you had as a couple. You ate and drank to your heart's content, spending the night at his place before he drove you to the airport in the morning.
You had been excited to announce your newfound relationship with Sam to your family, with your mother specifically always raving about how sweet and handsome he is. They’re thrilled for the two of you, and hope they can meet the rest of the Kiszka family sometime soon.
You love the gifts you receive from your family, your favorites being a new set of moleskine notebooks and fountain pens from your parents, that you'll be sure to use up next semester, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace from your sister.
Your dad is commencing his duty as the trash man once everything has been unwrapped, stuffing the leftover wrapping paper into a big trash bag as you excuse yourself to the kitchen.
You make yourself a cup of tea, enjoying how the waves of amber seep into the water as you dunk the bag into your favorite mug. You sip if gently as you pad over to the window in your entryway, and to your delight, you see tiny flakes of snow beginning to dust your front yard. It’s always a toss up on whether or not it’ll be a white Christmas, or if the most snow you’ll get is the patches left from a past storm, so you’re elated to see the former be the outcome for this year.
You’re about to turn to inform your family of the exciting news, when a flash of silver catches your attention from the floor of your porch. You look down to find that it’s a tinsel bow, set atop a package wrapped in red paper.
Your brows furrow with curiosity as you push the front door open, assuming it’s a package for your parents from one of your neighbors. Your eyes widen when you see your name on a tag looped with the bow, etched in a familiar handwriting.
You start tearing into the wrapping as you step back inside, the cool air already nipping at your bare arms and feet.
You gasp when you see the familiar crimson spine and silver letters.
“No way,” you breathe, remembering how secretly upset you were when you put the book back in its box after submitting your project last week, assuming the department wanted to keep such a delicate copy.
You flip through the pages, reminiscing on your newfound love for the story that you once thought you disdained, when a folded piece of paper falls from the bind and flutters to the floor.
You bend down to pick it up, reading the words that are scribbled along the lines in the same endearing handwriting.
I had to beg Howard to let me keep this, and he only let me after I said it was a gift for his most favorite student. I figured you’d like to have it, considering all it’s done for us. Plus, it really is a great story.
What can I say? Austen’s a genius.
Merry Christmas, I ardently love and admire you. - Sam ♡
#hope you liked it liv!!! :-)#ily#sammy#sam kiszka#sam kiszka fanfic#gvf#gvf fic#greta van fanfic#gret van fleet fic#greta van fleet#writing#mine
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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!
#the walking dead#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead fic#the walking dead daryl#twd#twd fanfiction#twd daryl#twd daryl dixon#daryl x reader#daryl twd#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#reader insert#crossbowking#norman reedus#honey & whiskey#long reads#oneshot#fanfic#twd fic#twd x reader#twd one shot#daryl one shot#fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixion imagine#x reader#the walking dead fandom#the walking dead one shot
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The One Where Derek Finds Out
Episode 3 of The One Where Everyone Finds Out
Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader
Also, once again, heavily implied confirmed Morcia. Because, once again: she is his GOD GIVEN SOLACE.
TW: mentions of losing a loved one, cursing, mentions of crimes by unsub
So! This is the first one that’s low key based on a request and I’m so excited, however, I need to clarify the timeline here. Here’s the situation, I’m about to utilize some PRECIOUS moments from season 8, however, I’m going to need us to, as a group, imagine that Maeve’s death happened before these events. We good? Alrighty then. Thank you to the anon for this request: Hi! First of all, I love your writing, something about your style is so comforting. I thought of a request I’d love to see your take on whenever you have time (I’m excited to read everything you’ve already got in the works :)). I think something set around the FBI baseball game at the end of S8E6 would be super cute! Whether or not this sparks inspiration for you, I’m looking forward to reading everything you put out!
Also thank you thank you thank you for the support on the first two chapters! I have loved writing and working on this series and I’m so glad that you guys seem to feel the same way! Thank you for being the best little community ever - love you bunches xx
They’re sitting at her favorite Thai restaurant and Derek’s halfway through his peanut chicken when Penelope drops what she clearly believes to an absolute bomb. His Baby Girl is a clever gossip, if anything, borderline Jane Austen-esque in her ability to drop platitudes and witty tidbits at appropriate moments, giving them more pungency and entertainment value than one would typically expect. He’s thrilled that their dinner date has taken her mind off of the frustrations of this morning, but he can sense that she’s holding something back. Nothing bad, but a juicier piece of gossip. She’s burying the lead on purpose.
“So, I have some news,” she finally says as she spears another piece of crispy tofu from her pad thai before looking up at him. He smiles at her excitement.
“And what’s that pretty lady?”
She smirks to herself bringing the piece of tofu almost to her lips before nearly whispering, “Reid and Y/N are in love with each other.” She takes her bite of tofu, reveling in what he knows is a slack jawed expression.
“Reid?” Derek asks indignantly. “Reid and Y/N? Alex Blake’s TA, Y/N?”
“Yes,” Penelope says after swallowing. She narrows her eyes at him a little, “And she’s been with the team for almost a whole year, Derek, she isn’t just Alex Blake’s TA anymore.”
“Don’t get your pretty little panties in a wad, Miss Thing,” he teases. “I know that Y/N is a very valuable asset to the team. I never said she wasn’t. However, I will say that I think you’re definitely wrong.”
“I am not!” Penelope exclaims so emphatically that a few of their fellow diners turn to look at the both of them. Derek meets their eyes with a tight lipped smile of apology before meeting her gaze again.
“Princess,” he chastens, gently, “I know you don’t want Pretty Boy to be lonely-”
“You do not get to call me ‘Princess’ after you say I’m wrong!” she whisper yells, much to the relief of the others in the restaurant. “And you didn’t see them today. If I hadn’t interrupted, they would’ve had a big ole makeout session in the kitchen.”
“Nuh-uh,” Derek disagrees. “Reid? Our Reid? Making out?”
“I know you also saw him making out with Lila Archer in a pool of all things,” Penelope parries, spearing another piece of tofu. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
“We both know the same semi-germaphobe, right?” Derek laughs. Penelope pouts adorably and Derek sighs. “Baby Girl, I believe you saw what you saw, but...I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Just this morning we were talking about how he’s still grieving.”
“I’m not getting my hopes up, Derek, you didn’t see them! It was so obvious - I can’t believe they don’t know-”
“What do you mean, they don’t know?” Derek asks, putting down his fork and leaning forward.
“Whoa,” Penelope jokes at the action, “this isn’t an interrogation, my hunk of burning love.” He smiles, but stays forward, cocking an eyebrow. “You just - you’ll have to see it for yourself, I’m sure, but...they’re in love, Derek. They just don’t know it yet.”
He smiles tenderly at the adorable, blond angel in front of him. He takes her hand on the table and smiles at her. And it might be the fact that she looks just so incredibly hopeful, but there’s a part of him that hopes she’s right.
~~~
Derek makes a promise to himself that he isn’t going to push Reid for information. He makes Penelope promise as well, but after Las Vegas, he has to repeat this promise to himself like a damn mantra every time he sees the two of you around the office. What he sees in Vegas is only an inkling, anyway, he constantly reasons to himself, but it was an inkling, nonetheless (really, it’s way more than an inkling, but he doesn’t want to push Spencer).
The case in Las Vegas is extremely stressful. Most of the BAU’s cases tend toward a stressful nature, but this one is a child abduction, meaning that time feels far more sensitive than it usually does. The parents are receiving ransom calls from the kidnappers, as well as torn bits of their daughter’s clothing shoved into their mailbox every morning. The team manages to catch the culprit behind the fabric, a paid off delivery man who proves completely unhelpful. Cases involving children are always difficult for every team member, but this is the first abduction Spencer’s dealt with since Maeve. He’s even more on edge than usual, which isn’t exactly helpful. Spencer barks one too many times at the local police chief and Hotch relegates him to working on the geographical profile in a fairly obvious act of time out. This, of course, only serves to piss Reid off more, especially as the rest of the team is sent away on other leads, leaving him to ruminate all alone. You and Derek are assigned to track down the missing girl’s nanny who is, rather suspiciously, not answering her phone. Looking over the evidence, it becomes clear that this woman might be the unsub or, at the very least might be the strongest connection to the unsub, meaning this is now the most dangerous lead to follow. It’s certainly the most dangerous task you’ve been given in your time with the BAU, typically handling more of the academic sides of the case with Spencer and Alex. Derek makes the executive decision to suit the two of you up in kevlars just in case. As the two of you prepare to go, he can feel the anxiety rolling off of you in sheets. He checks in with you a few times and you assure him that you’re fine, but when you’re about to leave the station, you pause. Derek looks down at you, an odd expression playing on your features.
“What’s up, Pretty Lady?” he asks. It’s unlike you to lose momentum on tasks, or, at all, really. You look up at him and open your mouth, only to abruptly close it again and look away on a small sigh.
“Um,” you murmur, “could you…” You trail off. You allow your eyes to flicker towards the board that Spencer is staring at. You look for such a tiny moment that Derek would’ve missed it were he not such a good profiler.
“Could you give me one second?” you finally ask, looking up at him with such a pained expression that he’s a little concerned.
Derek nods slowly, “Of course.” You nod quickly, stepping back slowly before turning around and scurrying to Spencer. Derek watches as you timidly tap Spencer on the shoulder. The young man turns around, the furrow in his brows unknotting as he takes in your nervous expression. Derek can’t hear what you say, but watches, almost in awe as you whisper something only to throw your arms around Spencer’s middle. The genius looks astonished for a millisecond, before wrapping his arms around you tightly. He considers the action for only a moment before placing a gentle kiss on top of your head. You pull away, slightly uncomfortable now, but Spencer pulls you for another quick hug before you dash back to Derek. Derek has the decency to look away for a moment, to pretend he didn’t see what he just saw.
“Ready,” you breathe, breezing past him through the doors. Derek looks back to where Spencer is standing, unabashedly watching you go, completely unaware of Derek’s study of him. Spencer nods to himself before taking a deep breath and standing up straighter, a new look of determination on his face.
Derek swallows, oddly moved by what he’s just seen. He’s not sure it’s the full-blown love Penelope’s so sure about, but there’s something deeply touching about the amount of pure, unadulterated care you’ve just exhibited for each other. But, it’s not love, right? Surely, not.
~~~
So, it’s definitely full-blown love. Yeah, you and Spencer are in love and neither of you knows it, though Derek is not at all sure how it’s possible. It’s so goddamn obvious that it’s almost painful that neither of you is aware. It’s in the halftime of the Secret Service versus FBI baseball game and Spencer is only playing because he owes Derek a favor when it happens. The game is not going...well. The FBI is down by one run and Spencer hasn’t made a single hit. He’s alright at playing defense on second, but when it comes to batting he’s borderline hopeless. The quick practice Derek had managed to force him to hadn’t helped much and had really only made his nerves about the game worse. Following another embarrassing round of batting, when half time is called, Spencer darts off to the public bathrooms, clearly trying to hide his nerves. Derek gives him a few minutes before he decides to go after him. The bathrooms don’t have doors, but rather a small alcove-like entrance. As he approaches, he notices you walking in, mustering your courage before you follow Spencer in. Derek pauses in the alcove, just able to see inside, though still concealed from you and Spencer. Spencer is leaning over a sink, crying, as you approach him. You pull him into a hug and he sobs into your shoulder.
“It’s not that bad, Spence,” you assure him. Derek almost walks in and interjects, almost wants to help encourage his friend with you, maybe crack a joke about how you don’t need to be in the men’s bathroom, but then Spencer releases another small sob and he doesn’t want to interrupt on such a private moment. “Aw, Spence,” your breathe.
“This is so embarrassing, Y/N,” Spencer rasps. “It’s just as bad as I remember. I’m just always going to be the pathetic, skinny kid that can’t do anything.” His voice is slightly muffled now, as you hug him. Derek watches as you square your shoulders, pulling back from Spencer, your hands on his shoulders.
“Spence,” you begin, “you’re not an athlete-”
“Well, thanks for that, Y/N,” Spencer replies, awkwardly.
“Let me finish,” you continue. “You’re not an athlete, but you know what you are? You’re a genius. You’re a goddamn FBI agent, a man with three PhDs, hundreds of solved cases under his belt. You’re a magician, you’re a godfather, you’re a friend. And you’re the best person I know.” Spencer sniffles again and Derek finds himself swallowing against a lump in his throat from where he’s eavesdropping. It’s not exactly a confession of love, but it might as well be.
“You might never be an athlete, but you’re not pathetic and I absolutely refuse to hear you talk about yourself like that. Don’t listen to a thing those Secret Service guys say, okay, Spence? You just have to get out of your head. You can do anything you set that big, beautiful mind to; I’ve seen you do it. You just have to believe in yourself.” There’s another pause and another sniffle before Spencer replies.
“I don’t know if I can, Y/N,” Spencer mutters, the pain apparent in his voice. You sigh and smile at him, looking down before leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Spencer’s eyes grow comically wide, his cheeks turning nearly fuschia. If it wasn’t so incredibly sweet, Derek would laugh.
“Well, then,” you whisper, clearly a little overwhelmed at what you’ve just done, “at least know that I believe in you. Always.” You awkwardly pat him on the shoulder before excusing yourself, giving Derek just a moment to scoot out of the alcove before you exit the bathroom.
“Oh, Derek,” you say, a blush growing on your cheeks as well.
“Y/N,” he nods in greeting, barely containing his smug smile.
“Um, Spence should be out in just a sec,” you hurry out before dashing back over to the stands with the rest of the team. As if on cue, Spencer walks out of the bathroom, a new look of conviction on his face paired with an absolutely enormous grin.
“Let’s play a baseball game!” Spencer exclaims enthusiastically, clapping his hands once.
“I think you mean, ‘let’s play ball’, kid,” Derek laughs. Spencer nods, the smile never leaving his face, and Derek can hardly fault him for it. Pretty Boy’s got far better things to think about than some inter-bureau baseball game. Because Spencer is in love with you.
~~~
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