#im living life on the edge leaving these so late

[xodarling]

I have really bad brainworms for Stelle.. Perhaps overstimulation (or edging, whichever you prefer) for her? I'd like to think that there are two options for her. Either she doesn't know how any of this works which leaves room for corruption, or she does know and enjoys every second of it

Sexual training - xodarling

includes: sub!stelle, innocent!stelle, fem!reader, strap on, lowercase writing, usage of y/n, corruption kink, overstimulation, edging, established relationship, pet names (puppy, baby), pet play lil bit, u have boobis, needy!stelle, praise, g!p stelle, reverse size kink, accidental orgasms

a/n: why not both😜😜😜 also im really sorry this is so late

at this hour, most of the astral express is asleep, probably for the next twenty four hours knowing how little sleep all of them get; it’s very hard doing this job. except for you and your lovely puppy-like girlfriend, stelle.

“a-ah..! p-please, please..!” she whines out with her adorable husky voice, you giggle softly in response, “poor baby..” you coo. stelle originally knocked on your door right when you were about to fall asleep with a pout on her face and glassy eyes, and her pajama pants had a very noticeable bulge.

she whined and complained about how her stomach felt weird and how her ‘private’ was bigger and felt stiff! you and stelle have been dating for just a month but it wasn’t rocket science to see the tall girl was naïve to most things sexual.

you told her that you knew what was happening and would help out your girlfriend, her face brightened and her tail would’ve started wagging if she had one. now, you’re here. stelle laying flat on your bed, her gray hair all fluffy and a mess, flushed cheeks, and her very endowed penis flopping against her stomach and yours.

“o-oh..! ssho good..!” she slurs out, tightly clutching the pillow she’s resting on and burying her face into it. you chuckle again and start to plow your strap in faster, your hips slapping against her ass, “feels good? i’m glad, baby, only the best for my puppy.” you coo and pump her behemoth cock with your hand.

her tip is desperately leaking pre-cum. by the looks of it, stelle probably never had an orgasm in her life. with one specific angle change, stelle moans and arches her back, her hand start to fling everywhere as she desperately looks for something to cling on to; she settles for your smaller hands resting on her waist.

“there it is. you’re doing amazing, baby.” your gentle tone warms up stelle’s heart and her face gets even redder, “it’s.. so hot. n’ soo good..” she moves her hips to meet yours in a desperate attempt for more pleasure, “i know, puppy, it’s okay, i’m here.” your gently hold both of her hands as you aggressively fuck her ass.

“it feelss.. so weird..! something.. o-oh..!” she whines, her kicking her feet as the unfamiliar feeling of an orgasm starts to approach. before stelle could hit that euphoric feeling, you pull the silicone toy out, softly giggling as she whines and clenches down on nothing.

“poor baby..” you coo, immediately slamming in and continuing your pounding. stelle lets out a whine and arches her back again, seeing the large trailblazer being reduced to a whiny, flustered mess is so exhilarating. the tip of your large cock hits spots inside of stelle that she didn’t know existed, she won’t be able to live without your cock anymore, she knows that.

stelle clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes, she’s gonna cum again and fast, more whines leaves her throat and then you stop again. stelle squirms and kicks her feet in dissatisfaction, thumping your fluffy mattress, “no complaining.” you gently scold her and she shuts up.

her large hands scramble up to your chest when you accelerate once more, groping the fat of your tits as you wreck her insides. her large, calloused fingers flick and tug at your nipples, hoping to keep the last bit of sanity she has left. your smaller fingers dig into her hips and you bite your lip, making your pace go from fast to impossibly faster.

stelle aggressively smacks your tits, wordlessly telling you that that weird feeling is coming back, “hold it.” you grunt out, sweat trailing down your forehead, “i-i don’ nggh.. know how..!” she whines, her grip on your breasts tightens which makes you hiss in pain. her dick flops around, because your force, because she’s moving it herself, you don’t know, her eyes are screwed shut as she tries to ‘hold in’ this feeling.

the tip of your silicone cock hits her spongy spot again and again, her hands detach from your bust and scramble around your fluffy bed. stelle may be naive but she’s not stupid, kinda, she tries her absolute hardest to think of anything else while you force her walls into your shape. it doesn’t work, she tries thinking of anything, like the way oleg’s bones cracked one time while she walked with him; anything that’s not this!

it doesn’t work. stelle feels something climb up her shaft and fast, her moans rise in pitch and dull nails sink into your bedsheets. her hips buck three times and then she lets out a deafening moan, coating you, the bed, and herself all in her cum. stelle’s eyes completely roll back and a dopey smile appears on her lips, what a feeling, she’s addicted now. months of built up sperm exploding out of her tip.

to say you’re disappointed is an understatement, you told stelle to hold it and look what happened! her cum is everywhere! but you can’t stay mad at your puppy for too long. your hand wraps around her cock again and your hips don’t relent, “what did i tell you, baby?” you gently ask, “..h-hold.. itt..” she slurs back, drool leaving her mouth a little, “..i-i’m.. shorry..”

the orgasmic rush slowly fades away but your shaft doesn’t stop shaping stelle’s walls, she squirms and whines, her tip no longer leaking her hot cum and instead red and throbbing with overstimulation. if you could, you’d bend her in half and pound away but she’s too big, you settle for just pounding.

she shakes her head and makes her gray hair so much fluffier, it’s adorable. her ass contracts around your plastic shaft, the lube that you rubbed all over her hole slushes in reaction. stelle whines and sticks her tongue out, making her pant like a tiny little puppy. her orgasm already faded away and now it’s just a burning feeling of overstimulation.

“you look so fucking sexy, stelle.” you chuckle and wrap your hand around her cock again, aggressively pumping her large and stiff dick. her cock throbs in pleasure, “n-no.. it f-feels weird..!” she slurs, looking up at you with big, glassy golden eyes. or, at least she tries, the never ending pleasure makes her groan and throw her head back each time.

the onslaught of pounds into stelle’s hole made her feel something that she didn’t know was humanly possible, something that made her float and the surroundings around her become blurry and spin. her legs were in the air and kicked with each prod at her spot as well as a scratchy yelp. wet slush sounds and her moans bounce off the walls of your room, probably being heard outside in the hallway.

your pace intensified, becoming more and more frantic as stelle’s core began to tighten again. her body shook violently with each powerful thrust of the strap, making stelle let out a symphony of whimpers as well as slaps from both of your flesh on the others. “oh g-god..! a-again..!” stelle screamed out, the pleasure was too much, her tip was burning and the heavy cum in her balls was ready to explode once more.

“y-yeah?” you ask and she responds with a nod and whine. honestly, your hips burn and you’re getting really tired so this was fantastic for you. with renewed vigor and determination, you somehow go faster, to the point where you have to bite your lip because of your aggression. stelle kicks her feet again, her golden orbs are rolled back showing the whites of her eyes.

there’s sweat dripping down your forehead and some on your upper lip, this is one extremely intense workout out. stelle’s doing no better either, she’s also sweating so much to the point where your sheets are a little damp, which would be disgusting if you the two of you weren’t fucking like animals.

suddenly, it happens. stelle screams as the orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsed spasmodically, and she cried out as she released that tight knot. cum erupts from her swollen, red tip onto her abdomen and yours, some on both of your breasts, and even her hair got touched with sticky, white fluid.

your hips don’t stop until her behemoth cock stops spewing out her sperm, hands tightly gripping her hips and then releasing once you stop. breathing heavily, stelle’s body goes limp, her knees feel weak and unsteady, until the addicting pleasure fades away. not to disturb her, you pull the large toy out very carefully, the lubricant still staying on the toy and her ass.

after a moment, stelle speaks, “t-that was.. insane. w-what did you to me? i never.. felt like that before.” she utters being heavy pants, “don’t worry, puppy.” you coo, “just relax, don’t think.”. stelle listens and closes her eyes, enjoying and fully taking in the aftermath of your fucking.

gingerly, you unharness the strap around your waist and place it down the soft mattress. stelle seems unaware of your movement as you crawl all the way up to her head and shift around so your cunt is hovering over her blissful face. she feels something drip onto her chin and when she opens her eyes, her eyes widen.

her mouth opens to question but you shush her. “shh, i know this is selfish, baby, but i worked so hard to please you. don’t you wanna do the same for me?” and, of course, like the loyal puppy she is, she nods yes.

“i’ll teach you, stelle, just think of it as training!” you happily said, your nails massaging her scalp and your nether area lowering onto her lower face.

#stelle x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #trailblazer x reader #sub!hsr #sub!honkai star rail #stelle smut #sub!stelle #sub!trailblazer #dom!reader #honkai star rail x reader

[i05wook]

NOW LOADING... LOVER BOY

PAIRING: PARK GUNWOOK X GN! READER

GENRE: FLUFF, IDOL AU, COLLEGE AU

SUMMARY: AN INSIGHT TO THE CUTE, ADORABLE, DOMESTIC BOYFRIEND PARK GUNWOOK

WORD COUNT: 700+ WORDS

AUTHORS' NOTES: SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG TIME AWAY FROM THIS ACCOUNT BUT NEW YEAR NEW START. AND WHAT A WAY TO START THAN WITH THIS MAN'S BIRTHDAY POST!! HONESTLY, HE'S BROUGHT A LOT OF SUNSHINE INTO MY LIFE RECENTLY, AND IM SO HAPPY TO HAVE DISCOVERED ZB1!!

DOWNLOADING...

It had been a couple of weeks since both of you had seen each other due to both of your conflicting schedules. While Gunwook had been busy preparing for his concerts and comebacks, you had been preparing for your big project due for your degree. However, you both finally had a day off together where you could be free from the burdens of your day to day lives. This meant that you could finally enjoy each other's company for as long as humanly possible, before you both had to leave again to deal with your individual responsibilities. The day was spent with Gunwook, Gyuvin, and Yujin, two of your favourite boys in the world (after your boyfriend). The four of you visited the new samoyed café which had opened up only a block away from the boys’ dorm, and who were you to decline such an opportunity to spend time with your boyfriend and best friends. The entire time you guys were there, you couldn't help but take pictures of your adorable boyfriend cuddling up and playing with the puppies the entire time. Every so often, he’d take notice of your photo taking, and pose with the puppies or the other two boys. It meant so much to you to give the boys these chances away from idol life to form memories with each other, and help heal the inner child, which was lost to the idol life they chose.  After you spent hours at the animal cafe, you invited the rest of the boys to join the four of you for Korean barbecue at the restaurant by their dorms. The spent enjoying the company of the nine boys, whilst eating delicious food meant that the daylight which remained had soon disappeared from your grasp, and the hours of darkness began.  As the hour hand edged closer to midnight, the boys’ liveliness dropped off, and before you knew it you all headed back to their dorms. The boys knew how hard it had been for Gunwook to have been separated from you for a period of time in which he was very stressed, and could only imagine how you had felt during that time.  The boys who usually bunked up with Gunwook, retreated to other rooms in the dorm to allow the pair of you some quality time together (mainly away from Gyuvin‘s constant teasing!) before it was ruined again the following afternoon.  The hours which followed were spent purely in silence wrapped up in each other's warmth and company, the air was filled with a comfortable silence, as you both recharged in the embrace of your lovers, an exchange that often occurred after the long breaks away from each other. However, before you knew it, it was the early hours of the following morning, and while darkness still lingered in the night sky. The dorm stood silent with all the boys exhausted from the past few weeks of preparations, yet both you and Gunwook remained awake bathing in each other's presence.  That was up until Gunwook’s stomach grumbled under the quilt, igniting a laughing fit from deep under the quilt. You rolled out of his grasp, with great difficulty, before you stood up on the cold wooden floor and dragged Gunwook out of his bed and towards the kitchen in search of food.  While rummaging in one of the cupboards, right at the back, lay two packs of instant noodles and a box of eggs, a favourite late snack of the both of you. While you watched the water begin to boil in the small metallic pan on top of the stove, Gunwook waddled over to you in his Snorlax onesie and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You weren’t sure when, but in a moment of silence, you heard a familiar tune begin to play quietly from a phone which lay on the kitchen counter. The song just so happened to be “Good Night” from their latest album, and a favourite of yours. While you watched the water begin to boil, he began gently swaying the pair of you from side to side, his head buried in the crook of your neck.  Unbeknownst to you, he had set up his phone in the corner of the room, recording such a heartwarming, domestic sight, keen to share this video with the world when the time allowed. 

#kflixnet #k-labels #zb1 #zb1 fics #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 soft hours #zb1 gunwook #zb1 park gunwook #zerobaseone #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone scenarios #zerobaseone fluff #zb1 fluff #park gunwook #park gunwook x reader #reader x park gunwook #reader x zerobaseone #reader x zb1 #happy birthday gunwookie!!

[gothicflowers]

John Price x GN!firefighter!Reader

Hang Up The Coat

Umm so this is extremely self indulgent (I’m using Price to cope instead of facing the reality of my job)

Warnings: mentions of death, alcoholism, firefighter reader. SFW.

John had returned last night from his deployment to an empty home. Bottles scattered around, Piles of laundry from the past month. He knew it was getting bad but it seemed to have gotten worse in his absence. He didn’t know how to have the talk that needed to happen but you seemed to be on the edge of breaking and he’d be damned to let you get near it.

It was 07:13 in this morning and he had already polished the house clean. The was no evidence that anything was even remotely wrong. To price it was important to help you get better. Even if that meant waking up at 4AM to clean the house so you could relax when you got off shift. Working 48 hours consecutively absolutely exhausted you and he wanted to make sure you could have his undivided attention.

You had a habit of going full housewife when he was home. Cooking, cleaning and tending to his every need. Despite your families disappointment of getting a male dominated job you still can’t get rid of the traditional values you where raised to uphold. Your adoration for John was undeniable even after all these years. In a way you left that your life purpose was to serve him. And John lived his life to serve you, when he wasn’t at work the soldier in him melted away to reveal a kind hearted man with a love for his wife and board games.

He finally heard your car door shut in the driveway. He practically ran to the door to great you like a puppy. Opening the door you were greeted with a brown haired man with his hair pulled back and a smile plastered on his face. He was home a week earlier to your surprise.

“My love I missed you”

He pulls you into a deep kiss. His strong hands cradling your small head as he kissed you. The tears he hadn’t noticed poured into his hands.

“No, no, baby what’s wrong?”

You sniffled and handed him the paper that you hoped would say something different. Instead it read the same as all the times before.

Hello,

Thank you for applying for the lieutenant position. We regret to inform you that you were not selected this round. While you held the necessary certificates and training requirements the promotion committee believes you should improve as a member of the brotherhood before any further promotions. We appreciate your time and dedication in the selection process.

Thank you,

Chief

“Darling im so sorry”

He pulled you into a deep hug. His musk engulfs your senses. He’s been gone for three long lonely months. No contact with you per 141 policy. The isolation is suffocating. All your friends had moved on with life and left you behind so you were completely alone. The letter wasn’t helping with the sense of adulthood failure.

“I’m so tired, of this constant struggle to be enough”

“Maybe it’s time to consider other options”

His soft voice was afraid of what you’d say next.

“But it’s what I was made for. All these year and to just be done?!”

John felt a ping in his heart because he knew his honest words would still sting.

“Love you don’t need your job to be your purpose in life”

That’s when you began the real breakdown.

“But it’s what I’ve been doing since I was 18. I don’t know anything else, I’m stuck, but I love the job too much to quit. It’s like asking you to leave 141.”

You never intended to be a firefighter. It just kinda happened. That bright eyed rookie that was full of energy had been burned to pieces years ago. Your friends always told you that working a 48 hour shift must be so nice because you have so much time off. In reality you came home and slept for a few hours after the never ending late night 911 calls and days filled with the general public yelling at you for not being fast enough, cold dinners, washing bio hazards of your boots.

At home waking up to deal with the mental toll of the job and making yourself a glass of whiskey to ease your mind, only to overdo it and end up passed out on the kitchen floor.

The department you worked for always peached “brotherhood” but no matter how hard you worked you still remained an outside. Constantly getting pulled into the chiefs office for “not showing enough dedication”. They never recognized the extra effort you put in. The endless charity events you organized, overtime, teaching classes. Going to extra training classes eating away at your days off. Countless trainings out of town when your husband was home from deployment. None of it mattered to them. Never good enough.

Promotion time came and went again, this was round four of applying for promotion. Yet again missing out on becoming a lieutenant because you don’t fit into any of the clicks. You didn’t golf with the ranked officers on your days off. You didn’t get invited to the cookouts. They always said promotion was based off performance but the five newest officers proved that to be false. Lazy, arrogant, fat men had moved up while you stayed at the bottom. If you wanted to move up you needed to be one of the boys. How?

“It’s never enough for them is it” John has said just loud enough to be a whisper.

John was tired of seeing you get kicked around. It angered him more than you’ll ever know. He always stood by your side when things got hard. You had made it your goal to get promoted to lieutenant before you started trying for a family. John was never going to tell you but he has growing slightly impatient. He wanted you to spend your days happy, kids running around while he cooks breakfast and you sleep in. Not coming home pretending that you didn’t witness another overdose before breakfast and help the corenor bag another young person took far too soon before bed.

You barely had energy to kiss him when you got home. Your mental health had plummeted, your new hobby was drinking and screaming at the walls. Stumbling around with music blasting. You didn’t care about anything, and when you wanted to talk about something you turned it into an argument over nothing. The five foot nothing angel he fell in love with eight years ago was barely recognizable in you. The man that never wanted you to know pain, death, loneliness felt helpless.

But for whatever reason he still loved you. He recalls a time before you met when he was this way in the military, before 141. Angry at the world, doing his best with a bottle in his hand. He only realized he needed a change when he was given the option to stay or start 141. He chose to leave the bottle.

“Love maybe… maybe it’s time to close this chapter” he was gentle saying it as best as he could. He knew how much it hurt for you to hear it. But he knew you better than to let you keep being destructive. He could see the internal conflict within yourself behind the tears in your eyes.

“Then what do I do? I know what I want out of life but I just feel like I’ll lose part of myself if I stop”

“Do you think you’ll lose a part of yourself, or has the part of you that’s tired of pushing has turned into rage?”

“It’s turned from rage to sorrows. And I’m tired of being pushed around. And I’m tired of not being good enough… and…”

“And what love”

“I don’t want you to think less of me for calling it quits when you’ve always stood by be though it all. I want to go back to how I was to you. I’m so sorry I’ve neglected you for so long”

“Oh love you’ll always and forever be my strong angell. I would never think of you differently for quitting. You did such a good job and I know they don’t see it but I know. I will always know my wife fought hard. And I just want you to get better and I’m happy you want to. But I can’t let you keep hurting yourself like this”

“Then I think… I’m ready to hand up my coat.”

“Then that’s what you will do”

He gently kissed your lips and wiped away your tears.

He had a soft reassuring smile. He knew this was going to be a hard process for you but the job was eating you alive and you knew it too.

“Would you like me to help you write your letter of resignation?” His hands still holding your delicate face while his eyes looked down with love.

“I would love that”

#call of duty #captain john price #flowerwrites #john price #john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain price smut #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x you #price x y/n #john price cod #john price x reader

[wjhik]

Why Are You Doing This To Me?! (Jude Bellingham)

A/N: guys im way too proud of this one. so much angst so much heartbreak. gaslighter!jude so much fun PLEASE COMMENT ANYTHING I LOVE READING THEM

As my birthday approached, I clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. I planned a special dinner for just the two of us, maybe a chance to reconnect and rediscover the love Jude and I had lost over the past 5 years. I was there for him at his worst at Dortmund, and now his best at Madrid, but as the hours ticked by and Jude failed to show, any remaining hope turned to despair. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I blew out the candles to my homemade chocolate cake, as per Jude’s request, alone, the flickering flames a cruel reflection of my shattered dreams.

↭

I sat on the edge of Jude and I’s bed, my fingers tracing aimless patterns on the wrinkled sheets beneath me. The clock on the bedside table mocked me with each passing second, a cruel reminder of Jude's absence. He had been drifting further away with each passing day, lost in the shitty late-nights with his friends. Our once vibrant relationship had begun to crumble, leaving me alone to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart.

I had given everything up for Jude. I left everything I knew to come to Dortmund to be with him. I gave up scholarships to end up going to a shitty college in a country where I knew no one, but I never complained, because I was with the love of my life. A few years in, I had finally settled down, but Jude decided he was too good for Germany, so he made the move to Madrid with not a thought about me. He wouldn't hesitate to leave me behind if I didn’t make it work, but being the dumbass I am, I made it work. I moved out here to Madrid with him just for me to see him, if I’m lucky, twice a week, despite living together.

Unable to bear the silence of our empty house any longer, I made the decision. The decision I would regret forever. I went to Jude's regular bar, the place where he often chilled in the company of his friends. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the familiar scent of stale beer and laughter. But, unexpectedly, Jude was nowhere to be found. My heart started pounding, thinking about the worst possible situations. I scanned the room to see a group of some of Jude’s teammates. I let out a sigh of false relief, suspecting maybe he was using the toilet or something. Desperation clawed at my chest as I approached Vini.

"Vini, have you seen Jude tonight?" I asked the Brazilian, my voice trembling with emotion, hoping and praying that he knew.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, words slurred from far too many drinks. "Yeah, he left a while ago," he mumbled, pointing vaguely in the direction of the exit. “With someone…” He softly added on softly. “With who?!” I exclaimed. “Just one of his friends, don’t worry.” Luka adds on. “Where’d he go?” I asked, slightly shivering. “I don’t know.” They said, miserably lying. “Please.” I plead, tears in my eyes.

↭

I heart sank unhealthily deep in my chest as I shoved my phone back into my pocket, the address burning in the forefront of my mind. I started the 30-minute walk to the given location, all sorts of horrible thoughts in my head. Who is this friend? Do I know him? Why would Jude not tell me? Why were the guys keeping it a secret? Is he with another girl? 

↭

With trembling hands, I pressed the doorbell, my pulse racing with anticipation as if I had run 5 marathons with no break. The door swung open, revealing Jude. He was shirtless, bruises all over his uncovered chest, bruises I didn’t leave. He looked around briefly until his eyes meet my wet ones. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” Jude asked me, much too surprised for anything innocent, his voice tinged with guilt. Before I got the chance to reply, I heard a voice calling his name from the next room. I heard light footsteps approaching my boyfriend. “Baby, who’s there?” She asked. My heart instantly dropped. Anguish surged through my veins as the truth dawned on her. 

The beautiful woman wearing lacy lingerie and a silk robe places a kiss on the back of Jude’s neck before clinging onto his arm. “Can we help you?” She asked, far too nicely. My eyes filled with tears as I struggled to find my voice. "Who is she?" I whispered, ignoring the girl on Jude’s arm in my place and locking eyes with my ‘boyfriend’, my heart breaking with each and every word

Jude's gaze shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the other girl tightening. "She's just a friend," he insisted, but his words fell on my deaf ears. Her eyes widened as she realized who was standing at her front step.

A torrent of emotions flooded through me as I screamed all sorts of horrid curses at Jude, each accusation tearing at our already fragile bond. “You’re a cheating, lying bastard! All these fucking years I wasted on you, you’re going to throw that all away for this?! And on my fucking birthday?!” I couldn't understand how the man I loved with all my heart could betray me like this, how he could throw away everything we had built together for the sake of a fleeting moment of pleasure.

“Love, you’re hyperventilating. You’ll pass out at this rate. Please come inside.” The woman offers. She sat me down on her couch as I uncontrollably sobbed and screamed at Jude. She disappeared for a moment into her kitchen and came back with a glass of water. 

Our argument echoed through the empty hallway, or should I say my yelling, because Jude had nothing to say. All of my insecurities that Jude has ever reassured bubbled to the surface, fueled by years of my doubt and his neglect. I was small and insignificant. I didn't matter in Jude's eyes anymore. I didn’t matter in anyone’s eyes. 

Jude stepped away from my shaking body to cross paths with his ‘new girl’. I couldn’t hear everything except for something along the lines of: “You’re right, Jude. She’s not well. She needs help.” It sounded sympathetic. I stood up and continued yelling. “You made me seem like I’m fucking crazy! You fucking asshole, you ruined everything! Anybody would go crazy with all the shit you put me through!” The two got startled and came over to comfort me once again. I felt like I was nothing. Nothing but a mentally ill, crazy bitch. I felt like it was all my fault. Maybe Jude wasn’t wrong to cheat on me. “It’s okay, darling. Just breathe.” The girl comforts me. 

↭

Somewhere along the lines of screaming and crying, I had given out and fallen asleep on my boyfriend’s side chick’s couch. This was probably my lowest point ever. My eyes shot open and the tears fell out once again. I looked around to see no one there. I heard a sweet voice coming from the other room. I went over to see Jude on her bed, head in his hands, and her hugging and comforting him. Jude looked up and immediately shot up. He moved towards me and hugged me. 

"Y/N, let's go home. You’re so exhausted." he said softly, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

I hesitated, torn between the desire to lash out at this fucker who broke my heart and the girl he broke it with or the longing for comfort they both were giving me. But in the end, I nodded, allowing Jude to drive me back to our shared house. The journey was filled with a heavy silence, the weight of his unspoken words hanging in the air like a thick fog, my words were all spoken. I laid my head on the window, unable to hold back my tears.

As we entered the house, once called a home, the tension between us was obvious. You could break it with the dullest of knives. I looked at the man I once loved who didn’t hesitate to throw me aside like a broken toy. But to my own surprise, I wasn’t leaving. I always preached about leaving your cheater boyfriends, but I truly had no one else.

"I'm not leaving," I said, my words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “I have nowhere else to go. You’re all I know."

And with those simple words, I thought the fragile remnants of our love were stitched back together, a patchwork of broken promises and shattered dreams, but I was wrong. 

"I have to go, Y/N," Jude's voice broke through the heavy silence, his words hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

My heart skipped a beat, confusion etched into every line of my face. What is he doing? I’m letting him have his happy ending. What the fuck is happening? "What do you mean?" I whispered, my voice barely audible in pure confusion.

Jude took a deep breath, his gaze filled with sadness and regret. "I'm leaving you, Y/N," he said, each word like a dagger to my heart. "Cassie… she's pregnant. I'm going to be a father, and I’m really happy about it."

The world seemed to spin out of control as I struggled to comprehend the enormity of Jude's betrayal. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at him, unable to find the words to express the depth of my pain. “Jude, I’m giving you what you want here. I’m supposed to be the independent woman and leave you, but I’m not. I’m staying. What the fuck are you doing to me?” I say, sobbing as I try to plead my case. 

“Y/N, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He said, walking into the bedroom to get his pre-packed suitcase, me trailing behind. “Listen, I was planning on doing this anyways. The house is all yours. I don’t need it.” He says, handing me his keys. I looked around at our house, all of his belongings were gone. How did I not notice? “Wait, Jude. Hold on. Why are you doing this to me-” I tried to say as Jude walked out of the room. “You’ll be fine.” He interrupted. He put his hand on the back of my head and kissed my forehead. And like that, he walked out of my life.

↭

Six years passed in a blur of heartache and longing. I watched helplessly as Jude built a new life with Cassie, our shared house now a distant memory. I thought I would accept it, but I never did. I couldn't change the past, couldn't erase the hurt and betrayal, and I knew that, but it didn’t help. All I could do was move forward, one painful step at a time, but I couldn’t. All of our pictures hung in my apartment, despite selling our house out of desperation. I couldn’t keep a job, always coming to work drunk and miserable, so I needed the money. 

Here I found myself standing outside a church, my heart heavy with sorrow and despair. I received an invitation to Jude's wedding, a cruel reminder of how that sick bastard ruined my life. But as I stepped inside the beautiful venue, my eyes fell on two familiar faces in the crowd.

Jude stood at the altar, his hand intertwined with the woman who ended it all, a big smile playing at the corners of his lips, bigger than when we were ever together. And beside them, a little boy with Jude's dark curly hair and soulful eyes, his resemblance to his father unmistakable. 

My heart hurt and felt heavy at the sight, a bittersweet and horrible mix of sadness and resignation washing over me like a tidal wave. I watched silently as Jude exchanged vows with the other woman, my heart breaking with each promise of love and fidelity. He promised her love, care, attention, and ironically honesty and loyalty. The same things he promised me almost 10 years ago, but here I am. A miserable guest while she’s his wife.

#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham #footballer x reader #football x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham smut

[thanotaphobia]

pájaro

this was written before purgatory......... im devastated pissa nation, WHY WERE THEY SPLIT APART.................................

crossposted to AO3

⋆

It’s four in the morning and Missa is staring at Phil’s wings.

Ever since the first time he’d seen them, he hadn’t really known what to think. At first, Phil had been casually cagey about them, not bringing it up in conversation. Missa hadn’t been sure how to even ask. So he hadn’t– they’d continued on with their lives together like two orbiting stars, caught in each other’s gravitational fields. Missa had kept the feather, and that had been that. Life went on.

And then Missa left for a while. Came back to their son missing. He left again. Came back this time to something in Phil missing, a part of him broken in a way Missa wasn’t sure he could fix.

So he stayed this time. Hanging around Phil’s house and doing little things when he could. Phil hid the broken parts of him fairly well, but it was in this time that Missa started to see the cracks. Whether or not it was intentional, he’s still not sure, but Phil started… letting him in, strangely. They still never really talked about anything, but Phil had told him that he’d needed him, and so Missa stayed. 

The first time they slept in a bed together since the eggs went missing, Phil kept his shirt on. The second– not so much.

It starts with both of them coming back to the house exhausted after a late night out with a few of the other islanders. They’d fought back sleep for a while together, and Missa had stayed late with Phil because even though he knows Fit and Tubbo can handle him just fine, he worries. Phil’s twitchy these days, and with Forever missing even more so. It’s weird, being stuck together like glue when they’d spent so much initial time apart, but neither of them mind. Missa certainly doesn’t. His heart lights up every time Phil so much as smiles at him.

They get home, and Missa almost collapses on the couch before Phil grabs him– just by the arm, a casual over-the-shoulder touch, but the action makes Missa shiver a little. 

“Come sleep in a proper bed, mate,” Phil insists, and Missa can’t say no.

So that’s how he ends up here, at four in the morning, staring at Phil’s wings. They’d crawled into bed together and at some point in the night, Phil had shed his jacket and shirt and had fallen back asleep without them on. Missa had woken up for no good reason at all– maybe a noise outside had startled him awake, but he’d come to in groggy stages only to find inky black feathers brushing against his arm.

He lies there, staring quietly at the shape of Phil’s back in the dim morning light of their bedroom. His shoulder blades rise and fall, a softer kind of darkness edged by nighttime. His feathers are smooth and soft and Missa, almost unconsciously, reaches out and smooths a hand down the flat edge of one. Phil doesn’t seem to wake up, and in the dark Missa can hear his breathing almost settle.

It’s nice. The lying here, together. He likes it. He wants more of it. He was such a stupid fucking fool to leave like he did, leave Phil here to deal with all of this alone. They were supposed to be partners, weren’t they? Husbands. And despite his absence, Phil still calls him his. Missa presses one of his hands to his face and takes a breath, forcing himself to calm down in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Something shuffles– feathers ruffle, the sheets shift, and then Missa feels a heavy arm on top of his own.

“You okay?” Phil asks softly, breaking the silence between them.

“I didn’t mean to wake up,” Missa breathes, his stomach flip-flopping. Phil’s bare skin is warm against his own, and the hand on his arm curls a little tighter.

“It’s alright,” Phil says, still in that soft tone, like he’s afraid to speak any louder for fear of shattering the night. “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Missa keeps his face hidden behind his hand. He knows Phil hasn’t been sleeping well lately. It’s hard not to tell, given the state of his gaunt face. He keeps his hand at the level of his eyes when he asks, “What do you dream about?”

“Hm?” 

“When you do sleep,” Missa clarifies. “What do you dream about?”

He hears Phil shouting himself awake, sometimes. It’s just one of those things they don’t talk about. He’s not sure why he’s asking now.

But despite the breach of their unspoken agreement, Phil just… sighs. His hand squeezes Missa’s arm and he lowers his hand from his face, but keeps his eyes closed anyway. It’s very nearly a surprise when Phil answers him.

“Chayanne,” Phil says quietly. “Tallulah. Cucurucho. And– a birdhouse.”

Missa thinks of Phil’s wings, and the harsh cut of the primaries against their bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not all bad,” Phil says. He sounds tired, his voice hoarse. He shifts his weight again and the whole bed moves with it, one of Phil’s feet poking at Missa’s. He pokes back, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to hear the smile in Phil’s voice. “I dream about you, sometimes.”

“What?” That surprises him enough that he opens his eyes. Phil’s head is a foot or so away from his, and the smile is there, mischievous and soft in the dark. Missa blinks at him, then looks down and away, staring at the puff of black feathers over his shoulder instead. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says. Missa can’t help himself– he looks back at Phil’s face again and finds him searching for something in Missa’s gaze, eyes intense and dark. “Usually I lose you.”

“I’m staying,” Missa says, fiercer than he feels. “I told you, I’m not leaving again.”

“No, I know,” Phil says. “In the dreams it’s not– it’s usually not your fault. But I can never… get there in time.”

“I’m sorry,” Missa says again. Phil just sighs, long and labored, and doesn’t look away from him. The hand on his arm curls, and then drags him a little closer. Missa squeaks but lets it happen, feeling hot breath on his forehead as Phil just keeps him there. Selfishly, some part of him is squealing with delight the way a teenage girl does when seeing her idol. But another part of him aches with a sadness he can’t chase away, a sadness for Phil, a want to push all the nightmares away and let him sleep peacefully for once.

They lie there for a while, saying nothing. It takes Missa almost five minutes of working himself up to shuffle his arms around and bring them up around Phil in turn, caging in his torso and laying gently and unobtrusively on the rough skin that runs a valley up the middle of his wings. The musculature of Phil’s back is unfamiliar, avian-like, but warm. In response, Phil just hugs him a little closer. 

“I wish I could do more,” Missa breathes out on a whim, tucking his chin down and closing his eyes. “To help.”

Phil laughs, the movement rustling between them. “You’re helping plenty, mate.”

“Like this?” 

“Yeah, this is… nice.”

“You didn’t think it’d be nice?” Missa is pretty sure he’s thought about hugging Phil every damn day for the past three months. 

“No, I did, I guess I just…” Phil trails off, “Actually. There is something you could do to help me, if you, uh. If you wanted.”

Missa’s stomach leaps into his throat. He licks his lips to make sure they’re not as bone-dry as they feel. “Sure,” he says. After a second, Phil pulls away from him and Missa is left cold for a moment as he sits up. A second later, the lantern switches on and now he’s cold and blind. “Ah,” he says, bringing a hand to cover his face. “Warn a guy!”

“Sorry,” Phil says, laughing. Missa blinks, eyes adjusted to the light after a moment, and sits up to look at Phil. He’s got his back to Missa, one wing pulled around in front of him, fingers carding through his own feathers. “Take the other?”

“The other?” Missa asks, sitting up and blinking a few more times.

“My wing,” Phil says, giving the feathers a fluffy shake. “The island is constantly springtime. I can’t tell my shedding cycle for shit, but it’s been itchy lately.” The way he speaks is so casual, so bland, but Missa can see the anxiety behind his words. He’s too focused, too careful about how nonchalant he’s being. For a second Missa hesitates, hands ghosting over Phil’s too-short feathers, but then he internally slaps himself and shouts PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, PENDEJO. He can do this. Phil is asking him to do this.

“Okay,” Missa says a few seconds too late. Phil is looking at him now over his shoulder, and Missa gently takes his wing in hand. “How do I…”

“Look for loose feathers. Tug, but not too hard. If they’re ready, they’ll come out,” Phil tells him, and Missa starts to gently tug. “It feels nicer when they lay flat and aren’t so messy, too.”

“How come I never see you do this?” Missa mutters, carding his fingers absently through the feathers. They’re soft– he knows the texture, has spent hours of his life running the feather from the first time he’d seen Philza’s wings through his hands.

“It’s not something I show off,” Phil says quietly. “Not with the fucking Feds lurking around.”

Missa plucks a sheared feather and scowls at it. That, he can understand.

“So why show me?” he asks. He knows why, he thinks– honestly, he just wants to hear Phil say it. A weird little part of him is greedy for Phil to admit why Missa gets to see.

“I trust you,” Phil says. Missa picks a piece of grit out from between his feathers, and delights in the way Phil’s shoulders relax minutely. He does it again, and again, and smiles when he hears Phil sigh.

“I want to see you fly someday,” Missa says, and Phil lets go of his other wing and stretches it out wide, the muscles flexing and feathers shifting. Then he sets it behind him, and Missa understands both of them are now his job. He doesn’t mind. Not one bit. Phil leans forward and braces his arm against the wall, holding himself there.

“Sure,” Phil says. “Once my primaries grow in again, whenever that happens to be.”

“What do you do with the loose feathers?”

“Throw them out. Or you can keep them, if you want.”

Missa looks at the small pile of plucked feathers he has beside him now, and imagines keeping all of them. A special backpack, just for Phil’s feathers. He holds one up in front of his eyes and commits the shape and color of it to memory– a smooth, silky indigo, with a sharp quill that bends a little to the left towards the end of it. 

They sit in silence for a while after that, Missa systematically working his way through Phil’s wings and getting better and better at the job as he does. It’s not often he feels useful around Phil. Usually, Phil is the one doing things for him. But here, Missa is the one doing the work while Phil relaxes, tension slipping from his shoulders like rainwater off a duck’s back, his eyes closing a few minutes in and not opening for a while after. The bed is soft beneath them, Phil is warm in front of him, and Missa’s chest feels so full. It’s not perfect– their children are missing, and that ache never disappears, but right now in the early morning light with Phil golden in front of him, Missa thinks he feels okay.

The love bubbles in him and almost without thinking, Missa cards his fingers through the feathers and leans forward– presses the lightest, softest kiss against the middle of Phil’s back, near the top of his spine and just below his neck.

He sees the way Phil’s muscles twitch and shiver, watches the progression of the movement down his bare back and the way the downier, softer feathers puff up. He feels, for a moment, powerful.

“Let me do this more,” Missa says, riding that wave while he has it. He’s still close to Phil’s back, and tips his head so he’s speaking by Phil’s ear now. “Yeah?”

Phil laughs– his eyes are still closed, his face half hidden in his arms, but he looks better. Not perfect, but better. His laugh sounds just a little bit brighter.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to smile at Missa with an expression like the sun. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d mind that.”

#qsmp #pissa #phissa #deathduo #q!philza #q!missa #philza #missasinfonia #my writing

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 8

Part 8: Observant

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. a bit suggestive wink wink. A/N: hi hi. apologies for the late posting (again). exam season is in full swing and im drowning a bit. butttt, I managed to get this little (its the longest chapter yet lol) part out for you guys <3 just cause I love u so much. ps. the gif is a hint ;)

Every step west of that cottage distanced you further from the cold front following yesterday’s rain. The day hadn’t started exceptionally hot, but the week’s gradual dip in temperature made the sun’s increasing beat feel more eager than you’d known it as of late. The further you got, the more frequent sips you took from the lukewarm water bottle in your bag, even tying that sweater you’d been cuddling for warmth in, just yesterday, around your waist. 

Daryl seemed alright, all things considered. His arm hadn’t proved too troublesome, but the area had proved relatively deserted anyway. The two walkers you came across were tired and slow. Not much of a threat. The heat didn’t seem to bother him, either; he hadn’t shed the flannel underneath his vest yet. 

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when you met the border of the next town, a few hours later. 

“You’ve been through here before?” You asked Daryl, pointing to your spot on the map while walking side by side down the first commercial strip of the town. The stores looked like something out of a movie, quant but full of country charm. If it hadn’t been for the boarded windows and rusted cars sitting in the road, it would’ve been a lively sight. 

“When we first cleared the prison. Made our way through all the places nearby, too.” 

“Couldn’t have left a little for us?” You teased, glancing up at him. 

“There’s still some left. Shit we didn’t need.” 

“Shit we might need?” 

“Mhm. Lemme see tha’.” He grabbed the map from your hand, raising one of his own to block the sun from his eyes. He glanced over the paper, squinting at the tiny roads, then at the street sign above. 

“We can take this to Red Oak.” He tapped the street lines on the map, then continued forward. 

“What's on Red Oak?” 

He looked over his shoulder with a slight smirk. 

“Somethin’ we need.” 

It wasn’t until halfway down Red Oak Drive that you realized what that was. 

When it clicked, you smiled. 

It was an auto repair shop. Daryl had been here before, briefly as he told it, but long enough to make note of a few vehicles still in good condition. One of which was an old, dark blue hatchback that only needed a new battery and some gas to get started again. It was still sitting in the backlot, bathed in the sun’s last harsh rays of the season after the two of you made your way around the building. 

Daryl popped the hood. It was in the same condition as it was when he first found it, with a dead battery and dusty windows. 

“Do we… recharge it?” 

You didn’t know much about cars other than how to drive them. 

“Unless ya got a generator I don’t know ‘bout,” Daryl quipped, to which you softly rolled your eyes. “We need a new one.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something here.” You looked back to the building. 

“Mhm.” He nodded, closing the hood again. “Come on.” 

He kicked the back door three times. You were surprised that hadn’t been enough to bring it down; it was a flimsy thing. They must’ve not worried much about burglars in a small town like this. The brick wall was sturdy, though. Ridged edges pressed into your shoulder as you leaned against it, one leg crossed over the other while the wait began. A breeze of crisp, much more seasonally appropriate air rushed by, fluttering your few loose pieces of hair; you’d have to redo that mess of a ponytail soon. 

Daryl readjusted his hold of the crossbow, rolling his shoulders back— as well as he could, the left one was still noticeably stiff. 

You weren’t subtle about keeping an eye on him. 

“How’s the shoulder?” 

His eyes squinted under the bright sun. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“’S a bit sore,” he admitted.

“I tried to tell you.” The loose smile on your lips was sympathetic, rather than teasing. 

“I know.” Daryl chewed at his lip. “But, I know ya get why I couldn’t stay there, neither.”

You stood a bit straighter, and the smile slipped away. 

“I do.” 

Daryl nodded. The air was heavy, not only with the newfound heat but a lingering tension— knowing— between you. If there was anyone who could understand his urge to find what was left of his family, it was you. The night you told him about your brother was still fresh in memory. There had been a vagueness you kept about the whole thing, a tone that could have sounded like a casual acceptance of fate, but Daryl remembered that look in your eye. The tear that slipped past. He didn’t have any doubt that you’d searched as far as you could for him.

But some people were too far gone. 

The shared silence between you two had grown comfortable these last few weeks. This one was different. Stretching seconds, then a minute, it made his muscles heavy. His weight felt unbalanced, even with two feet on the ground. 

Daryl had never been good with words— unless you counted those snarky quips he made. He either didn’t think at all or thought too long. It made him snappy and surly, the type of man people would’ve avoided before this thing. Somewhere there was a list of names to prove it. And yet, he had something to say. He wanted to. 

“Thank you,” he finally mumbled. 

Your expression lifted at that. “For what?” 

“For keepin’ an eye on me. Takin’ care’a me the way ya did.” 

Still, you seemed confused. A knit of your brows and a sweet look in your eye as you tried to pick apart some deeper meaning. Of course, you helped him. That’s what you promised, back at the start. 

“Of course,” you replied. “What else was I gonna do?” 

“I didn’t think you were gonna leave or nothin’,” he said, recalling your conversation while patching him up. Loyal ran deep in you, like it did him, and he trusted that you wouldn’t just leave him to rot. “But a lot’a people would’a.” 

Maybe that’s what he meant. Thank you for not being that person. 

You blinked, readjusting your focus on his serious demeanour. He was reserved, his lips drawn in and eyes barely holding your stare. 

“Well, that’s not us,” you said plainly. 

A reminder that he’d given you that loyalty, too. You weren’t sure if there were words to express how it didn’t feel so difficult to give your attention and care to the health of the man who fought tooth and nail for you to live, even after all the harm you’d caused him. It wasn’t even that you felt you owed him, but you knew he deserved it. 

Daryl gave you a small glimpse of a smile. Soft and sweet, like he was proving to be— deep down, at least. It drew a lopsided grin from you too. Your temple rested against the cool brick wall, and under the sun’s golden glow, you looked quite pretty like that. It was a talent, how quickly you could turn the charm back on; nothing else seemed to grab his attention the same way.  

“After all, what are friends for?” 

Daryl scoffed. He hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful when he blurted, “Tha’s wha' we are now?” 

“I would say so. We keep saving each other’s lives and the conversation is half decent.” You shrugged, as if indifferent. But your smile had turned playful not long ago, about the same time he noticed a warmth at his cheeks.

He’d blame it on the heat, if you asked. 

A second or two later, a walker slammed against the door. 

Daryl’s shoulder wasn’t too restraining; he lured the lone monster out and freed his knife from its skull without breaking a sweat. You gave him a quick smile of acknowledgment before the two of you stepped inside. 

The garage was in rough condition. A sign that was probably falling apart even before the world did, cheap tile floors, and a thick smell of mildew mixed with something decomposing— you were, unfortunately, quite knowledgeable about that smell, by now. The nicest thing about the building was that big roll-down window in the front that let the storefront become soaked in sunlight. The summer must’ve been a lot more tolerable with that wide open.

When the sunlight sneaking into the abandoned building didn’t reach far enough, Daryl held a flashlight in his mouth and scanned the store with his bow. His left shoulder was still stiff, so he had to depend on his other arm to bear most of the weight. Of course, you’d already tried to get him to keep it on his back, if anything, and take the gun instead— but he refused. All but demanded you keep the gun for yourself. 

The two of you searched the aisles with quiet steps, waiting for another unfriendly face to jump out of the shadows. 

It didn’t come. 

Instead, you gathered the few supplies Daryl needed, even pocketed a pair of sunglasses that you were sure would be useless after today, and went back out to that warm autumn day. Sitting on that small bench by the side of the building, eyes protected from the sun, you watched Daryl pop the hood of the car. He was quick at work, dexterous fingers tinkering with different parts of the vehicle that you could barely label. 

Between sips of water, your sight caught on those fingers— now smeared with grease— perhaps a second too long. When he turned to wipe his hands along that red rag in his back pocket, he noticed your lingering eye and paused.

Hesitated. 

With the pair of you caught off guard, you tried to break the quickly growing tension and asked, “Were you an auto mechanic before?” 

Daryl shook his head, bangs falling in his eyes as he did. He stretched underneath the hood again but spared you a glance back. Eyes squinted under the sun, the shine of sunlight hitting the grease along his exposed skin; the scene before you was beginning to look like something out of those ridiculous male model calendars. 

“I jus’ know cars,” he rumbled, a slight smirk to match that thick accent.

It was getting absurd, really; the hot sun wasn’t the only thing making you blush. 

You swallowed another gulp of water. 

It turned out the battery issue wasn’t too complicated. Daryl recounted some of his steps to you, telling you about which wire connected to which point, and so on. It was valuable information, undoubtedly worth paying attention to. The only problem was that by that point, the sun’s beat had stripped him of his vest and hitched the sleeves of his flannel around his elbows. The fact that the top three buttons were undone, opening across that broad and bare chest of his, wasn’t lost on you, either. 

It felt like a tease. He did. 

All you could do was nod along with his rough drawl and lean against the cool brick wall while you tried to deny checking him out. But really, everything else came second place to the swell of that shirt around his biceps, and his tense, thick forearms. Muscles overworked after dealing with tight gears and heavy equipment. 

The shade of those sunglasses was dangerous, giving you the excuse to let your eyes roam free all while Daryl was none the wiser— or so you hoped. 

Thoughts you hadn’t entertained in a long time began to roam free, too. It hadn't bothered you when they left; survival was the top priority, not romance or desire. Of course, the lack of time and potential suitors was a factor, too— why would you think about that when there wasn't even a chance for it? But here you were now, staring at Daryl, and recalling that fluttering feeling of attraction in your gut all too well. 

He was kind and strong. Whatever brute strength and resilience he had was matched with that three-sizes-too-big heart of his. After all, who else would take in an injured stranger, nevertheless one that attacked you just hours beforehand? Daryl might’ve blamed it on getting even, after you helped him from the window, but you knew there was something more behind that harsh stare of his. 

Something delicate. 

For whatever reason, you’d been lucky enough to see that gold-hearted nature firsthand. It sliced through his rough exterior, sparkling like a piece of glass caught in the sun. It was fragile, but you’d seemed to weave your way inside, anyway. 

You inhaled— stop. 

It might've felt otherwise, but there was still parts of Daryl you didn't know. Sometimes you forgot he was a man you’d known less than a month, been friends (barely) with less than two weeks. Even if he proved to be a good person, and was clearly easy on the eyes, from the obvious display ahead, these thoughts were intrusive. Perhaps an outcome of an idle mind. A natural attraction after a string of moments free of tension; all those life-or-death events bonded you, for better or worse, and as the urgency and blood washed off, you were falling victim to the full extent of that tie. 

“Got tha’?” 

“Mhm,” you faintly hummed. 

He said your name— no, repeated it. Embarrassment snapped you back into focus. Here you were daydreaming and practically ogling the man, while he was trying to teach you something. Help you. 

“Asked ya to grab another jug.” He gestured to the empty distilled water in his hand. Thank God, you were able to ignore that flex of his arm— mostly— when he did. 

“Right, yeah, of course,” you stammered. He tossed you the small flashlight before you scurried back into the building. The dark, cool air was a welcome relief against your hot cheeks, and you hoped it’d bring down whatever flush had inevitably crept up your chest.

At least you had those sunglasses. 

Maybe Daryl could feel your eyes roam his bare arms, chest, neck— stop— but you still had an inch of dignity left; he couldn’t prove it past the dark tint of those glasses, now sitting at the top of your head. 

Strolling through those same aisles, you grabbed another jug and tried to shake the last of those thoughts from your mind. Like how his eyes were as blue as the pretty Georgian sky, and were quickly becoming a solace for you. 

You were starting to like the looks he gave you— like he had while waiting at the door. It wasn’t that he was easy to read, no, you’d probably be fighting for a glimpse into those thoughts of his for the rest of your life. But every time you met those eyes that were once so harsh, you remembered the forgiveness he’d shared with you. The kindness. Perhaps it was a bit selfish because when you thought about that, it made something bloom deep in your chest. Something warm and sweet and good. 

You wanted to share it with him too. 

Somehow. 

Helping him find his people was your first try. You hoped you wouldn’t need a second. 

You grabbed the second jug of distilled water and turned to head back. 

A thump came from behind. 

It was odd. Two years spent in this world and yet, in a week, you’d reverted right back to that jumpy girl at the start. The air became thin, and you had to suck in a deeper breath just to keep your head straight. Heart pounding against your ribcage.

The last time you were in a dark store alone, it ended up with three people dead and Daryl shot. 

You spun around, flashlight high. The light danced across the aisles, no walkers or living under the fluorescent glow. That wasn’t enough to soothe your anxieties, so you placed the jug on the ground next to you and grabbed your gun, instead. 

It was then that your light landed on an exit sign. You could see the frame of a door below, in the far corner of the store. You approached it carefully, previously neglected as the pair of you assumed it was just a fire exit leading to that back alley, but now, with your heart still beating fast, you suspected something more lying behind that door. 

You twisted the handle carefully, gun ready in the other hand, but it was locked. 

You checked the front desk, found a ring of keys, and tried two before you found the right one. By then, your heart had slowed a bit. An engaged lock between you and that warning was slightly comforting, but you were still on edge. Finger ready by the trigger, if needed. 

The door creaked open and you stepped inside. 

Immediately, you found the source of the thump. A lone walker. Long, thin hair that was missing chunks and skin like leather stretched across its loosely hung open jaw. Its eyes were wide, staring out to the door you’d just walked through, but other than that low moan that rasped past its throat, it barely moved. 

The walker was old and frail, decomposing in this backroom alone since, if you could guess, the start. It didn’t even try to crawl. It couldn’t, there was a heavy cast on its leg reaching up to its upper thigh. A mop lying on the floor— maybe the thump. A bottle of antifreeze sat next to it, a dried splash of something bumpy and red. 

Puke. 

She killed herself. Locked alone in a backroom, with a broken leg and no other choice. 

The various ways you found the dead often reflected their last moments. Guts hanging out and bits of muscle torn from their flesh meant the obvious. Bullet and knife wounds, too. At the start, the mourning had almost been unbearable. Suffocating. Sympathy never stopped, there were simply too many roaming the world. It became dormant after one too many tried— and almost succeeded— to kill you. Then, something you only ever thought about in silent moments like this one. 

You unsheathed your knife and stepped over the fallen mop. It was the least you could do. 

The room was untouched. It didn’t have many valuables. Not for this world, anyway. There was a stack of cash and a nice bracelet in the bottom drawer of the desk, but nothing other than a couple of mints and a screwdriver that was worth keeping. In the top drawer, you found a single key on a thick, metal ring.  

You pocketed it, just in case. 

Other than the desk and those wobbly shelves filled with client records and taxes— a whole lot of paper— there was only that lumpy grey blanket, draped over something leaning against the wall, left to check out. You peeled it off carefully, but a cloud of dust surrounded anyway. Between coughs, you recognized what was underneath. The somber tone of the room lifted quickly, then. 

From the front of the store, Daryl called your name. Apparently, you’d been taking too long and his suspicions had arisen. 

“I’m okay!” you called back, clearing your throat one last time. “Be there in a second.”  

Even though you knew even less about motorcycles than you did about cars, you smiled as you gripped the handles. You were betting Daryl knew about bikes, too. You kicked up the stand and moved the bike through the store. Twisting it around the aisles and picking up that leftover jug of distilled water as you did. 

“I found something.” You grinned as you stepped back into the sunlight. 

Daryl’s eyes widened when he saw what you were leading. 

“No way.” He said, wiping his hands across the red rag, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Where’d ya find this?” 

“Backroom. We missed it earlier.” You pulled out the keys you found as Daryl quickly grabbed the bike.

His hands ran over the handles, then the seat. 

“And I think I found the key.”

He had a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. You hadn’t even realized he could smile like that. 

“Pass ‘em ‘ere.” 

You dropped the ring in his open palm as he straddled the bike, thighs on either side. He looked down at the beast of a vehicle between his legs like it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. 

And then he looked back at you with that same look, and it almost made those intrusive thoughts from earlier seem a bit less insane. 

You were sure you had a goofy grin of your own. “You know how to ride one of these?” 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry. Stupid question,” you chuckled, eyes roaming over his leather vest— back on— and patchwork jeans. You never liked stereotypes, but Daryl sure was one sometimes. 

“Jus’ a bit,” he quipped. 

“You know,” you mumbled, smile growing, “I’ve never been on one.” 

“Never?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well, come on, girl.” 

You certainly didn’t need convincing. He shuffled forward, giving you the space to swing your leg over the seat behind him. At first, your hands grabbed at the spot, maneuvering your balance into a comfortable sit— but the overwhelming sight of Daryl's exceptionally broad back, draped in that black leather vest, soon had you squirming again. 

“Ya gotta hold on to me, alright?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled. You placed your shaky hands on his sturdy shoulders, like handlebars of your own. It was lucky that he was wearing that vest now—an extra layer between your skin and his— because you were pretty sure your palms were slick with sweat by that point. 

“Not there.” Daryl’s hand wrapped around the bend of your elbow, gently pulling your hands down. “Don’t need ya diggin’ a finger in my scab.” 

Then he repositioned them around his waist. 

Like it had been nothing. 

It had— you reminded yourself. Whatever bothered thoughts that kept slipping into mind today were an exception. Maybe your period was coming back. Or maybe that hot sun had melted away every bit of self-control you had left. 

“Ya might wanna hold on a bit tighter. It goes fast.” 

Your lungs constricted. Suddenly this felt wrong. Dangerous. 

“Wait— what about your shoulder? Should you be moving it—” 

“‘M movin’ it less sittin’ on this thing than off’a it.” 

“Well, shouldn’t we be wearing helmets or something?” 

The vibration of his laugh echoed through his back, which you were practically pressed up against. You might've cared more about his flippant attitude if he hadn’t reverberated a particularly soothing warmth back into you. 

“You chickenin’ out?” 

“No. I’m just remembering every motorcycle crash horror story my brother told me.” 

“He ride?” 

“God, no. He was an ER nurse.” 

“Well, we ain’t gonna crash.” Daryl rolled his shoulders back, and your grip tightened already. Nerves overcoming you. “Promise.” 

His confidence was reassuring. His firm body, even more so. 

“Alright then.” You nodded and the engine roared to life.  

Daryl’s feet lifted off the ground, landing on the rests just in front of yours. He found his balance quickly, even with you wrapped around his back. The pace was slow at first, a steady crawl that seemed overpowered by the loud rumble of that engine below. 

Then, when he finally passed the lot, he shot down the street. 

You couldn’t even guess how fast he was going. The world around you started to slip away, a lost frame of reference. The trees lining the road blurred into splatters of green and red, like a watercolour painting, and the wind rustled through those strands of hair that hadn't made it into your ponytail this morning. Racing through the breeze, that chill came back. Cold, little shards of air splintering across your face and hands.

The sudden bolt of movement made your stomach drop, that fluttering feeling of emptiness finding its spot. It reminded you of riding a rollercoaster as a kid, holding your brother’s hand tight and putting on a brave face as the big sister. It might’ve worked all those years ago, but you were pretty sure he’d be laughing at you now. You squeaked like a mouse, digging your face into the warm leather at Daryl’s back. The threading of his angel wings tickled your face alongside your wild hair, and you felt that familiar rumble in his chest again. 

“Ya alright?” He yelled back. 

You sucked in a fresh breath of air and peeked an eye open. It felt like the bravest peek in the world— the blurry, fast world. Though still huddled behind Daryl, with a vice grip around his steady waist, you were sure it didn’t appear very courageous to anyone else. 

“Fine!” You managed to reply, “I just didn’t expect that.” 

His gruff voice was harsher when he had to speak over that deafening engine. You barely made out his next sentence: “Want me to slow down?” 

You thought about it. But by the time you understood his offer, your eyes had opened completely, almost adjusted to the speed of the world around you. You even sat up properly, looking to your left as he raced past a strip of abandoned cars. That floating feeling inside your chest began to feel less dizzying, like Daryl’s waist was a tether to gravity as the bike ripped down the streets. He was always positioned firm and steady, like that beat of his heart you could feel against your cheek. You trusted him to keep you solid, even as the wind picked up. 

“No,” you practically squealed with a newfound excitement. “Keep going!” 

Much to your increasing delight, he kept that speed until you noticed a group of walkers at the end of the long-stretching road. He slowed down to turn, the joy and carefree adventure stained with reality, once again. The engine was loud. You glanced behind as Daryl bolted back through the street you’d just gone down, the blurry heads of the dead turning toward you in the distance. It’d been as good a sign as any to head back, with the gas slowly dwindling too. 

When you reached the car garage again, the bike crawled back through the lot, allowing you to finally take a deep breath and catch that fluttering feeling in your stomach. The bike paused and the engine turned off. The stark difference in noise was shocking— some time down that road you forgot just how loud the engine was, and just how quiet the rest of the Earth was nowadays. 

Daryl sat back, hands limply grasping the handlebars, head bowed to the beast of a motor below him. He seemed content from behind. Relaxed. 

You leaned around his shoulder. “End of the line?”

He seemed to snap back into focus then, glancing at you. 

“Gas is runnin’ low anyway.” 

You nodded, but added hopefully, “Maybe we can find more?” 

“We should use it for the car.” 

You sighed, “I know.”

The engine was still warm underneath your legs. Your disappointment was just as fresh. That could’ve been your first and only chance on the back of a bike, for all you knew. 

“Good first ride then?” 

“Are you kidding?” You laughed. “I get it now. Horror stories be damned.” 

He chuckled, even throwing you another glance back. But the second after your eyes met, his grin fell an inch. He turned his face away, too, and it hadn’t only taken a second longer for you to notice how close he was like this. You still wrapped around his back. 

“Ya gotta move so—” 

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, climbing off the bike. Trying to steady yourself on the ground was harder than you anticipated; your legs felt like jelly, already missing the smooth leather beneath you.

Your eyes caught on Daryl's vest as he also got off. 

In front of you. 

The bike balanced on its stand, Daryl on one side and you on the other. Something caught his attention, just above your eyes. 

“Ya got…” He gestured with a lazy hand around the top of his head. 

Your eyes went wide, hand flying up to the wild mess of your hair. 

You patted down a patch. “There?” 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, giving you the ghost of a smile.

You felt it again. Butterflies. 

Fuck. 

---

By the time you finished siphoning gas from the other cars, Daryl was done fixing the blue one. Throwing your few bags in the backseat, you climbed inside. You in the passenger seat, him behind the wheel. He liked to drive. It seemed to calm him, from that loose expression he wore. 

“We’ll keep drivin’ west, see wha’ we can find.” Daryl gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other lingered by his mouth, thumb occasionally gnawed at. “Can siphon gas from the cars on the road. Hunt for food, sleep in the back.” 

“A home on wheels.” You rolled down the window as the car began to drift down the same streets you’d just sped through. The wind was softer than it had been on the bike. You already missed that terrifying, joyful freedom. 

There was another way you could chase it, you realized. You started to dig through the glove compartment. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” 

“CDs, hopefully.” 

His eyes flickered over you. Hair now brushed, let loose from that ponytail and tucked behind your ear as you leaned forward. The sun was still strong late into the afternoon, direct rays landing across the dashboard and reflecting onto you. It explained that glow you had. 

“God, I’d listen to anything at this point.” 

Daryl glanced over to the road, but his attention didn’t slip off you completely. 

It never seemed to, anymore. 

“Here.” You popped the cd from its case and rubbed it against the soft fabric of your sweater. “Can’t believe this is the only one. Who the hell owned this car?” 

Daryl’s lip twitched up at your soft snark. “You a music snob or somethin’?” 

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “I was just hoping for something better.” 

With one hand off the wheel, he clicked on the radio. Static rumbled from the speakers until he slid the dusty cd inside. The dark melody was slow, something that reminded him of those nights in the same run-down bar in the early nineties. A favourite of his uncle, then his brother, and while the pair of them served a stint in jail, Daryl’s. 

It was strange, feeling better off without your family by your side. But Daryl had all his life to get used to that thought. It wasn’t until he made his own family, then lost them, that he felt the opposite. He missed that group more than he could say, missed that feeling of purpose they gave him. 

Though, as the days rolled on, you were beginning to fill that ache in his chest, too. 

“Sure there’s nothin’ else in there?” 

You checked again, but it was mostly a polite gesture. There hadn’t been much in there, anyway. A pair of old gloves that you’d already stuffed in your bag, some tissue, the lone cd, and a brochure. 

“Only this.” You flickered through the pages of the sale brochure. It was for the development of a small community, units starting in the low three hundreds. The prospective opening date was off by a few years, though. You doubted they’d even broken ground before everything fell apart. 

“You really don’t like it?” 

“Ain’t exactly a fan,” he grumbled. There was a flash of disappointment across your face, caught in the corner of his eye. His frown lifted a bit. “’S fine, though. Ain’t a big deal, neither.” 

“What are you a fan of then?” You tossed the brochure back inside the box. “Now that we have a radio, next time I’m scavenging I’ll keep an eye out.” 

Daryl thought for a moment. “I dunno. Only really listened to what Merle liked.” 

You blinked, brows knitting a centimetre closer. 

“You spent a lot of time with him?” 

“When he was around.” 

Something stung in your chest. No, your heart. From the sparse details Daryl spared about his brother, Merle didn’t seem the reliable type. Every story he told was followed with stiffness. Those memories were distant and cold— the type of coolness that grew from hurt, not time. 

You knew to tread lightly. 

“What’d you guys do?” 

“Whatever.” Daryl shrugged. “Drank. Went huntin’. Nothin’ special.” 

“So you hunted even before this?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Merle taught you?” 

“My dad.”  

“Oh.” 

Daryl had never mentioned a parent before. Given the age gap, you’d assumed Merle had probably raised him a good chunk of his childhood. When he was around, anyway. 

That cold tone Daryl had for his brother extended to his father, also. A part of you wondered if that hurt had been deep, too. Maybe as deep as those scars on his back. 

It was an insensitive thought. Unfair. Daryl didn’t owe you anything, and he certainly didn’t deserve you stuffing your nose in his family’s business. 

“Do you like hunting?” 

“I liked the forest. Liked eatin’.” It was better than being home. “But I didn’t do it ‘cause I liked it. Was jus’ somethin’ I had to learn.”

With a nod, you went quiet. A softly contemplative look on your face. It piqued his interest, a flutter of nerves catching in his gut. 

“Why ya askin’?” 

“Just curious,” you answered. “You’re the only person I’ve had out here that didn’t jump at every snap of a branch.” 

“Well I got practice,” he said. “Stuck with a lotta city folk, then?” 

You turned back to him then, a sly smile hanging off your lips. “I’m city folk.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

You laughed, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Cause you’re jumpy, too,” Daryl scoffed. “Scared’a your own damn shadow.” 

“I like the forest,” you defended with a slight pitch to your words. It made Daryl smirk, too. “I just don’t like how dark it can get. It’s freaky. I’ll never get used to it. Maybe all those bright city lights mess with your brain after all.” 

Daryl nodded, and he knew the moment had presented itself. The tone shifted a bit serious when he finally asked the question that’d be pressing him. 

“Atlanta, then?” 

“Briefly.” You nodded. “My brother and I were visiting before everything happened.” 

“Heard it was bad there.” 

It was. It’d taken a long time to stop waking up in a sweat with memories of that night. 

Still, you shrugged. “It was bad everywhere.” 

“Yeah, but they weren’t droppin’ bombs everywhere.” 

“I got out before that.” 

Good timing.

“We were only there for two weeks. If the trip had been a month later, or earlier, we wouldn’t have been anywhere close to Georgia when this thing hit.” 

Daryl felt something fester in his gut. Anxiety? That distant, non-existent what-if made him shift in his seat. He could feel it looking over your side profile— the curve of your nose and lips, the soft flutter of eyelashes— and it hit him like that bullet had. Fast. 

It was true. You’d grown on him. He cared. 

“You’re not from Georgia?” 

You shook your head. “Nope.” 

“Explains the accent.” 

“Or lack thereof,” you countered. “I like yours though. It's charming.” 

Daryl scoffed, and you gave him a look. 

“What? I’m being serious. You have a nice voice.” 

A pretty shade of light pink scattered across his cheeks. You couldn’t help that loose smile you wore. It was nice to make him nervous, for once. Of course, you weren’t about to rub it in his face. You glanced away, eyes caught in the fast shades of green, orange, and red passing by the window. 

“What about you? Where were you at the start?” 

Daryl cleared his throat. “Same place I’d always been. Hometown.” 

“You never left?” 

“Nah.” 

“Not even for college or…” 

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he tried not to side-eye your reaction when he finally muttered, “Didn’t go.” 

Though that part of him that held all those pessimistic, self-doubts was a strong force to be reckoned with. He didn’t need to prove himself— never cared to before— but now here he was, sitting with that gnawing feeling in his gut, wanting to. 

And yet, you barely even shrugged. 

“I almost didn’t go, either,” you said nonchalantly, eyes running over the back of the CD case. “You ever wish you had, though?” 

“Nah.” 

“Fair enough. I think you could’ve been good at it, though. You’re very…” 

Daryl waited, brow hitched as you hummed. 

“Intuitive.” You’d decided. “You know, you have good instincts. Sometimes it feels like you know what’s gonna happen before it does.” 

He sat with those words a moment, then offered one of his own: “Observant.” 

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe you could’ve been a lawyer… Or a cop.” 

“Nah,” Daryl huffed. “Cops ’n I never got along well.” 

“No?” You teased. “You used to get into trouble, Dixon?” 

“Merle did. Guess I tagged along for the ride.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I was a dumbass.” 

“You being a dumbass— that’s hard to imagine.” 

“I didn’t have to,” he quipped. 

You smiled at the easy wit that always just seemed to flow from him. 

“So you didn’t leave town before this?” 

“Not really. Never even left Georgia.” 

“Seriously?” 

He shook his head. 

“Well, maybe after we pick up your friends we can go on a road trip.” 

Daryl gave you a look. It was questioning, sure, but gentle. “Plannin’ on stickin’ around then?” 

“Well, I uh…” you paused. Curiously, you hadn’t thought about it much. Since those initially tense first days together, the possibility of parting ways with Daryl, not because of a feverish worry or a herd, but because your shared journey had reached an end, hadn’t come to mind often. The two of you hadn’t been together long, but you’d already been through a lot. Patching the other up, too many close calls to count, sharing what little supplies you had… just to say ‘see ya!’ after everything felt wrong. Incomplete. 

“If you’d let me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go— anyone else.” 

“Alright.” Daryl nodded. 

It was a short acknowledgement. A single word. It still made you smile. 

Daryl wasn’t like most people. He was forgiving and insightful. He let you live when you probably deserved to die because he wasn’t like most people. All you knew about the others was that they’d earned Daryl’s loyalty at some point, and made their own way into his sentiment, too. If he trusted them, you hoped that meant you could too. 

Hoped. 

Worry crept back in. Maybe the others wouldn’t want you there. The stain of the prison could’ve been enough to taint your reputation, completely, even if Daryl vouched for you. And, if it came down to it, choosing between you and them, there was no doubt in your mind. He wouldn’t pick the girl he knew for a couple of weeks over his real family. 

It poured out faster than you meant. Words slipped, mumbled and stuttered, “You think they might— might wanna kill me? Or, I don’t know, cut me loose?” 

“Tha’ ain’t gonna happen.” Daryl watched the road. “They’re good people. Like you.” 

The weight of worry lifted off your chest again. He had a talent for that. 

You smiled. 

Good people. 

You tried to hide the flush at your cheeks and chest, glancing out the window. “How’d you find them anyway?” 

“At the start, Merle ’n I were in the middle’a huntin’. Didn’t even know ‘bout the walkers until I found one out there, ’n it tried to take a bite outta me.” 

“Shit,” you hissed. 

“Douchebag was all over me. Smelt somethin’ awful. I started yellin’, screamin’ at the thing. Punchin’ him. He jus’ kept coming, then Merle shot it.” He scoffed, “Thought I was ‘bout to serve hard time for murder, till Merle said he’d heard something on the truck’s radio ‘bout dead bastards comin’ back to life. We left for Atlanta after tha’.” 

“Refugee camps?” 

“Never made it. That was when we found the others on the road. We stayed up by a quarry for a while. It wasn’t safe, so we kept movin’, till we found the prison. ‘Bout a year ago.” 

“You stayed there a year?” 

Daryl nodded. “We lost a lot gettin’ there. Made somethin’ of it, though.” 

“I didn’t think anything like that could be real.” You shook your head. 

He met your look. It’d gone from smiling to serious in a few sentences. That slight bite at your lip, a quiver in your brow. 

“It was," he said.

“Do you think you could ever have that again?” 

Of course, he’d thought about it. Even if he tried not to, those memories of the prison and the community they built from a grey, desolate building— a prison— were overwhelming. It was the first time in maybe his whole life that he felt a purpose. People didn’t just depend on him. They accepted him. They liked him. 

He stole another look at you. That bloom of familiarity was deep in his chest, again. 

“Maybe.” 

---

Another hour passed. The sun was softer, a cold breeze shifting through that open window until you finally rolled it back up. You still stared outside, watching the trees slip by.

Daryl had traced the backroads back to the main road leaving the prison, and you’d been travelling west since. The same way he’d seen the bus go. It seemed strange that they hadn’t come up with an official rendezvous spot, just a last chance at loading on that bus together. But maybe a more detailed plan would’ve been useless anyway; places didn’t last long, nowadays. 

The car rolled to a stop. Your head lulled to face forward, finding a slight ache in your neck when you finally tore your eyes away from the window. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, about to slip when your eyes landed on the answer. 

Instead, you gasped, “Oh my God.” 

There, sitting in the road, was the bus. 

Splatters of blood painted the siding. A dozen or so bodies sprawled by the back door. Some were piled on top of each other, limbs mixed. Others lay alone. All of them had turned before they were put down for good. 

You could just tell. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel. The veins in his hands popped out, muscle turned into stone, and there was no use in glancing up at him; you already knew that look of pain— despair— he had. Could practically feel him begin to bottle up every word, emotion, or care. 

You were the first one to exit the car. 

Goosebumps broke out on your skin as a cold breeze took hold. That chill sunk into your skin with the sound of the second door opening, and something stiff and heavy clouded behind you. 

It was coming from him. You knew that already. It made that pit of dread in your gut even heavier. 

Was it fury he was feeling? Grief? 

Even when you finally did glance back at him, lingering by the car's side, you still couldn’t say for sure. That glossy look in his eye was certainly bitter. Tense with emotion that you knew he was fighting to reign in. It left him with a dark glare as he stared at the dead faces of his people— the only ones he’d known for sure got out. He had practice keeping that type of anger silent. Not the one that made you punch some asshole at the bar, but the type that was born out of misery and regret. 

He’d been abrasive at the cabin. Then softer after the pharmacy. Even strained in the cottage, with you tending to his back. But he’d never forced himself numb before, not like this. You could tell he was holding back. A guttural scream, you thought, from the tension in his neck and that vein threatening to pop out where a swollen bump had been a few days prior. 

But his lips drew shut in a taut line, and he was quieter than the rustle of the trees. 

It made your stomach knot. Though, you were sure it was no worse than what he might have been feeling— if he'd let himself. His only lead: bloody, dead, and rotting in the middle of the road. If you’d kept driving, the tires would’ve ripped through decaying muscle and crushed bone. 

It wasn’t fair. 

The gas station. His wounds. The bus. These people, lying like trash on the road. No more significant than the withering leaves beside them. 

There wasn’t the time, nor the energy, to spend digging graves. But you dragged each limp body, one by one, to the side of the road. Right where the grass bled into the concrete, they laid. 

Sometime around the third body, Daryl began to help. He picked up the opposite limb with his good arm, then eventually his bad one too. 

Nothing but that gloss across his eye to tell you these people meant anything to him. He was retreating by the second. Crawling back into that ugly pit of animosity and cynicism that always seemed to have a spot waiting for him. Each body you moved reaffirmed it. Pushed him deeper as hollow eyes fell on the cold faces of the people he cared about. He fed. He protected. 

Or, tried to. 

It was never enough. 

-> part 9

A/N: so much happened in this part I mean... reader finally realizing she might have a lil crush on him... the bike ride... the car conversation... THE BUS

anyway. back to our regular scheduled bad shit happening to our fav fictional characters. if u have any predictions or thoughts, lmk :p

FYI: I'm expecting to miss next weeks posting. I have too much to do with exams, sorry! after that ill be graduated so lots of free time coming up lol.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon / reader #daryl / you #daryl / reader #daryl dixon series #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #norman reedus #the walking dead fanfic

[bonefall]

Do BB!Jay and Poppy ever become friends again? Obviously there's... the Whole Kits Thing but IDK I just like seeing them be friends. I think they should have been friends in canon but god forbid Jayfeather hangs out with anyone except the Three (and Hollyleaf before she dies and then she dies again)

It doesn't happen for years. Poppyfrost wanted to move on SO bad, and she's chronically avoidant of any legitimate problems. If left to her own devices, she would have kept dodging him until the day she died.

(Poppy with her garden like "I Just Want To Grill.")

I think what changed was Dovewing leaving.

Poppyfrost is one of the last people who talks to her before she Hits Da Bricks, not knowing that she was close to a boiling point. She was FINALLY going to be brave about it and chat with her 'niece' after being distant her whole life so far. And uh... it didn't end well.

Too little too little too late, really. But it killed her, that when she finally mustered up the courage it basically pushed Dovewing over the edge.

But after that, with Dovewing leaving completely and disavowing her garbage family for how they all hurt her or failed to protect her, Jayfeather can't keep doing this shit. Poppyfrost avoiding him and refusing to talk about it

He KNOWS it's just as hard on her as it is on him. And that her breath catches uncomfortably when she looks at him. How long are they going to live like this? Badly pretending that nothing happened while they're both obviously in the middle of a big mess of their mutual making?

I haven't written on it yet but I imagine he cornered her while alone, and ended up actually, legitimately chasing her down. Like,

"Poppyfrost. You're bottling something up again."

"Aaaaaahaha idk what you mean. What. Huh."

"Yes you do, this is getting absolutely ridiculous. I'm blind not stupid, you can't pretend our secret codebreaking lovechild didn't--"

"BYE"

"What do you MEAN BYE IM- HEY!! POPPYFROST!!!!"

Something about the way that EVERY time Poppyfrost turns her head, Jayfeather is there. Once a comfort, then an inescapability, and someday... back to something comfortable.

Never the way it was, but better than it is when she's bolting through the woods trying to pretend her problems don't exist.

#Poppyfrost: I bottle it all up in here and one day I will die 8) #Also tw death but #Jimmy Buffet died and he meant a lot to me so I AM now laying here imagining an AMV in my head to Margaritaville lmao #Jay and Poppy wasting away again in margaritaville. Girl they are searching for their lost shaker of salt. #Bone babble #BB!Poppyfrost #BB!Jayfeather #Better bones au #Jay is here like ''why do all of my female family members vanish into the aether after emotional confrontations'' #'WHY are you running?! WHHY are you RUNNING?"

[scaredcacticle]

Fire Bomb | ch 3

Stu macher x reader | slowburn

Ring ring

Looking at the clock you scoffed at whoever thought you’d be answering THIS late.

“It’s 2 am you idiot just hang up” you say absentmindedly at the phone as it continue to ring.

But then it rings again… and again……. and again.

“What the fuck do you want,” you angrily say into the phone.

“Why don’t you want to talk to me,” that all too familiar voice from the news replies.

“Oh haha who is this? Are senseless murders really that funny you low-life?” You reply disgusted at whoever was on the other line before hanging up again.

The string of murders recently had everyone on edge or at least the smart ones. And you just so happened to be one of the smart ones.

But just like before the line rings over and over even when you try to ignore for at LEAST 5 minutes.

“My favorite scary movie is Texas chainsaw massacre part 2, something about choptop gets me going,” you reply sarcastically figuring they weren’t going to leave you alone anytime soon.

“How’d you know what I was gonna ask?”

“Well the actual killers ask that every time not that hard to use context clues, are you done now?”

“I am the-“ click

In the middle of their sentence you hang up no longer putting up with the bored individual on the other end, and getting ready for a shower.

But before you even make it out of the living room you hear it.

Bumping

Bumping coming from directly above you, in your bedroom.

Not letting the prank from before get to you, you assume that it’s your cat Porkchop and head up.

Your heart finally settles in your chest as you see him sitting there cleaning himself on your bed.

“You scared me you asshole,” you laugh, hugging him close.

Ring ring

Your bedroom phone rings this time, nearly making you jump out of bed.

This time you’re less on edge thinking maybe it’s one of your friends calling from out of state.

“Heeeyyy who is this? Kennie?” You ask with a smile.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Your heart stops immediately, it’s the same caller. But your bedroom has a completely different number just like most of the phones in the house.

Going to hang up once again the caller yells at you.

“You hang up on me and I’ll use your little pink pajamas ,” they say mockingly” to choke the life out of you while I watch you die pig”

“Try it” and with that you hang up, grab porkchop, and run to the downstairs office.

As soon as you close and lock the door the office phone rings but you refuse no matter what to answer the phone.

While you wait you grab your fathers gun from his desk and hold it in front of you.

After a few minutes the ringing finally stops and you let out a sigh of relief.

BANG BANG BANG

“CMON OUUUTT Y/N” “GET OUT HERE YOU SLUT WHAT ARE YOU SCARED OF US OR SOMETHING”

Banging so loud it sounds like the doors being kicked in soon replaces the ringing of the phone along with the screams of two voices.

Not one. TWO.

You let off one shot directly at the door and hear a pained groan and slow shuffling away from the door.

You don’t know how long you stayed im the office but it’s long enough to fall asleep until the very next day.

You’re only awoken by the sound of the office phone ringing which sends a shockwave of panic through you.

“H-hello?” You say, voice shaking.

“Y/n why did the neighbors call and say they heard gunshots. What did we tell you about the damn guns you never listen. We let you stay there so that you-“

Click

“Nice talking to you too dad, oh me yeah I’m fine just had to use your gun to save my life…prick” you say to yourself before slowly opening the office door.

With a sigh you take a look around the house and it’s exactly as it was the night before except for the new bullet hole in the door.

After feeding Porkchop you see that it’s 1:45 and decide to go to school while you still can.

-

-

-

Ch 2

#slasher x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #slashers #slow burn

[burnedwriter]

how they are in a relationship pt1

A/n:this is pt1 out of 2,it might take me awhile for pt2 since im working on a alfred x hunter!reader and the choir x hunter!reader,if you want to see specific characters for pt 2 dont hesitate to interact with this post!

warning:smut starts at the second half,Fluff,mention of rough sex,Overstimulation,Edging,Teasing,dirty talking,mention of biting and choking,mention of typical violence on alfred’s part,!gender-neutral reader.

laurence

hes sweet yet secretive,i feel like he will keep the whole beast situation a secret since he doesnt want to get his s/o involved in this mess,until you find him crying  while writing in his notes and confesses everything to you.

hes not a major fan of pda outdoors but mostly indoors,when the two of you are together outdoors he will have a hand wrapped around your waist,showing in a subtle way who you belong to and stop any unwanted advances.

laurence writes romantic poems about you and how beautiful you are and sending them as gifts,you have gathered so many you had to store them in a chest.

ludwig

the best out of everyone on this list probably.hes an absolute sweetheart,a gentle giant,that has sworn to protect you at all cost.It was the promise he made to you the day you officially became a couple.

He loves showing you affetion no mattter where you two are.He will always give you a kiss before he leaves just in case he doesnt come back just so you know he always loved you even in death,ludwig’s kisses range from forehead to him kissing your hand gently.

Before the severe beast outbreak you too would go late night horse backriding,to blow some steam off of your everyday struggles,you would rest your head on his back while you wrap your arms around his shoulder into a hug while you chat making the moment even more intimate.

micolash

library dates?talking about kos to the wee hours the answer is yes

hes not the type to take you out on romantic dates since he has no social skills without making himself look weird,his ideal date is studying in the library or just you keeping him company while he does his reasearch.

i feel like he would leave flowers as bookmarks,like one day you will open your book and see a small flower sticking out from the top and with a micolash taking small glimpses at you to see how you reacted.

hes super clingy and he will be on you like a leech,have fun trying to get him off of you.

simon

hes not completly extroverted so it took him a long time to approach you and tell you that he likes you.

really romantic and cheesy,he is the type of guy who will try to suprise you with flowers but ultimatly failing as the flowers are visible from behind his back but also says cheesy jokes to you that are horrendously bad.

leaves you in the dark about what hes doing since he doesnt want you to become a target like he is.Also most people dont even know that he has an s/o.

djura

one qualification that his s/o must have is to be nice and take care of the beasts just like he does.Thats how you two met,seeing you pass from old yharnam,he was ready to shoot you with his gatling gun when he realized you werent killing them.

Finally reaching the tower and starting a peaceful conversation with him,he decided to recruite you to his little team and after that the both of you started to get close as you spend many nights on the tower.

unlike his tough appearance you got to learn that djura is actually sweet and very caring towards his partner,he is not afraid to show you affection no matter where he is.

brador

Hes very overprotective over his s/o and doesnt want them to get involved with anything that might force him to kill you.

just like simon nobody actually knows that brador has an s/o, as a matter of fact nobody actually knows anything about brador’s private life unlike other church members lives.

He might not show you affection at first or any vulnurebility almost like hes testing you to see if you are up to something.The same goes for public too but after trusting you he will become puddy in your hands something that you are only able to see.

Alfred

Alfred radietes golden retriever energy and  will treat you like royalty.hes also very romantic giving you flowers and little gifts when he comes back home

he loves showing affection to his s/o no matter where he is! his bear hugs are the best.

he also has sworn his s/o but unlike ludwig,Alfred has the knight in shining armor complex and will kill anyone that has caused any harm to his s/o and come back like nothing happened but his smiley always gives it away.

nsfw

laurence

laurence is dominant in the bedroom,i see him as more of a pleasure dom than anything else,putting your pleasure over his,guiding you with a commanding yet calm voice,making them reach their climax.

hes quite the dirty talker but only when necessery, using it to add to the pleasure of his partner.

He loves overstimulation,seeing your face with seer pleasure as you beg him for more always brings a smile to his face.

ludwig

ludwig is a gentle dom,he will take things slow, he will never be rough to you unless you ask him to.

a body worshipper,he will kiss every inch of your body and shower you with compliments and tell you how well you are doing.

Not very fond of dirty talk unlike the other people on this list,he prefers complimenting you more since he doesnt like degrading his partner.

Micolash

Hes a switch but  a buttom most of the times.he likes getting commanded around or you giving him instruction of what you want him or where to touch you

Expect a lot of experimentation and trying out new ‘’things’’,basicly a freak as someone would describe him.

he will implement dirty talk to his teasing just to see how your body reacts and to push your buttons to be rougher with him. He practicly tolerates anything in the book:biting,choking him etc.

simon

hes a switch but mostly a dom.hes more into gentle sex than anything else.

just like micolash he loves teasing you but not to the point that willl piss you off.

he loves overstimulation but with a twist.....he will edge you over and over again as his whispers the dirtiest things in your ear before he overstimulates you to the point where your whole body is shaking and his words are circling around your foggy mind.

Djura

it’s not unusual for him and you to have outdoors sex on the tower late at night.

Djura is switch ,i believe after so much commanding he wants someone else to take control.

Overall pretty vanilla and kinda hesitant to try new things but eventually warm up to it after a lot of convicing

Brador

hes a dom but unlike the others hes rough with you showing you no remorse until all of yarhnam will hear you scream his name.

hes also one that wants to try new things and spice things up in the bedroom and with that being said....

he enjoys some outdoors sex pulling you into an alleyway,seeing you struggle and trying your best to keep quiet so the both of you dont get caught while he chuckles in your ear at your struggle,he likes the thrill of almost being caught,kinky bastard.

Alfred

Alfred is a switch ,if hes buttoming,hes a power buttom and in that case he like placing his strong hands on your hips while you ride him.

Also someone who will worship your body and cover your body in kisses but unlike ludwig he enjoys dirty talk and seeing how you react to it.

he wants to hear you moan ,it’s like music to his ears as he says adding to his already inflated ego

#bloodborne x reader #micolash host of the nightmare #ludwig the holy blade #alfred the executioner #brador church assassin #laurence the first vicar #retired hunter djura #simon the harrowed

[eyelessfaces]

llewyn with #40. ik it sounds very cliche and plays on a lot of what people have already wrote for llewyn (yada yada yada, he crashes on your couch, blah blah you fight) but i lowkey eat that trope up. no need to write (ofc) but as a fellow angst enjoyer, HNNGGGGGGGGG

cause like (im sorry im gonna ramble)

Imagine being his really close friend. He practically lives with you, he stays up late with you, talks with you until you fall asleep. You work as a bartender at the Gaslight, so you two are also technically co-workers. You laugh with him, walk around the city with him- generally very couple-like. You and him are always teetering on the edge of becoming romantically involved, but he's avoiding/curbing all your attempts to get the both of you together. and it's not because he's not interested, no, he's VERY interested. but you're you. and he's llewyn. he'd never deserve a chance with you. he's scared of loving because he knows that when he loves he hurts. his love is seen as dangerous. something that kills like weeds choking out a garden.

one night, you two get kinda close and personal. you lean in for a kiss, but he turns away at the last second. and you're kinda hurt by that. from your point of view, he's been leading you on and leading you to believe that you'll get together eventually. eventually never comes. you're frustrated and begin to think that you're the problem, so in that distressed state of mind, you choke out the words:

"Why are you afraid to love me?"

(im sorry that this is rlly long and kinda overwhelming, you can delete if needed :D i wont take it personally)

no because atp this has to be canon in his love life!!

he's obviously portrayed to be self destructive and borderline toxic lmao so of course he believes he doesn't deserve any of that and that he's gonna end up ruining everything like he always does

I feel like he'd just go "I'm not afraid to love you, I'm afraid of hurting you" and even if you try to explain and convince him that you're sure you'll be okay he'll still brush you off

maybe from there things blur between you and you barely see him anymore after that; and not seeing you anymore doesn't mean that he doesn't think about you anymore and at some point he'll realize it was a mistake to give up on you

.......I'll leave you to decide how the rest of the story goes

(I actually love long ass asks where thoughts are elaborate so please don't apologize omg!!)

#llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis headcanon #llewyn davis headcanons #jane answers #oscar isaac

[silverspadesss]

so HEY how are we feeling about the Pib Moments in the latest ep because i, for one, am Obsessed. genuinely wanting vengeance on Snowhold. talking about how Tomas followed the rules and was supposed to get his happily ever after but got fucked over instead??? and then immediately following it up with the "no one asked me if i ever wanted to obey these rules"??? he loved that boy and is furious at the world for what happened to him!

PFFF IM SO SORRY IM SO LATE TO THIS BUT I FORGOT ASKS EXISTED BUT HOOOO BOY IM SO ILL ABOUT THIS TINY CAT!!!!

so, time for some narrative rambling!!! yay!!!!

over the course of neverafter we’ve seen pib slowly come to realise his role in the narrative as a trickster and how that means he isn’t supposed to get attached, and isn’t supposed to be a hero. he’s not meant to be the figure in the story that is admired and loved, he’s just meant to enable someone else to achieve that or in some cases prevent it altogether. and then he’ll do what he always does: slip back between the lines and out of the story. nothing he does is supposed to matter beyond achieving his purpose, he himself is not supposed to matter.

but pib wants things to matter. he’s a cat who loves the world and he just can’t help but form attachments.

he loved tomas so much. that was his best friend and his sole purpose in that life was to make him happy. which sure, fine, tricksters aren’t supposed to care about the people they rope into their ruses, but as long as he does the trick and then leaves in search of the next one, it’ll all work out. except that’s not what he does. i can literally imagine pib being ready to begrudgingly leave after tomas’s coronation now he’s done what he’s set out to do. then tomas asks him to stay. he still wants him around because he’s grown to love him as a friend and not just a helper.

and so fine, he’s done all this hard work, why not stick around and enjoy the fruits of his labour a little bit longer? it’s only natural. a few weeks and he’ll be gone. on to the next trick. tomas will be just fine. he doesn’t need him anymore.

but a few weeks turns into a few months. and then a few years. and it’s against the trickster way, but pib has stopped caring at this point because he is happy. he has a family who loves him, a home, a life, everything a trickster doesn’t need and shouldn’t want but now he has it he doesn’t want to let it go. for the first time in all his lives he has somewhere to belong. someone that needs him. someone that he can keep advising, keep helping, keep being useful to.

then the giants come and all of that is wrenched away. pib loses his happily ever after, his safety, his purpose. it all comes crumbling down before his eyes.

but that’s not what he’s mad about, because a creature like him was never supposed to get a happy ending in the first place.

tomas did everything right and he still lost. the world gave him these rules to follow, he did what he was supposed to do, and then overnight whatever author was watching decided none of that mattered and decided to punish him anyway.

and how could a creature like the cat let that stand? he is a disruptor of rules, his purpose is to corrupt every story he gets his paws on, and now with a clear enemy in his sights he is going to twist the narrative. the world can burn all around him, every story can go black and wither at the edges, none of it matters anymore.

but he will get his hero his happy ending. whatever it takes.

#whoo that was long #neverafter #dimension 20 #d20 #pib #puss in boots #zac oyama #ask response #thank you so much!! #any excuse to ramble at this point all of this is so fascinating <333 #i just know that both tomas and his wife loved pib so much #they loved their little stinker cat son <3

[kilibaggins]

I saw your requests open post! ❤️ I am very curious to what a Thor x Bruce Banner blurb would be like, I haven’t read any of those before :0! Perhaps a dinner date, if you are interested to write that!

More Us

thor odinson x bruce banner

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AHHH!! i love thorbruce so much you dont understand theyre just so AHHH. i loved writing this i got so excited when i saw you sent this in! feel free to request more of this or tbh anything i write, im loving writing lately!

btw this is the post that is being referred to, its a little drabble/short fic event but tbh most of my fics are probably short anyway idk ! just go check it out and send something if you want!

Word Count: 369

"Bruce, you're tense," Thor says, gently laying an arm around his shoulders. Bruce instinctively leans into the god's touch before rolling his eyes.

"I'm always tense," Bruce says, a small smile on his face as Thor directs him to one of the fancy seats. "This place feels more like Tony's style than yours."

"Yes, well, you deserve the best!" He says a little too loud and the people around them look over at him with judgment. Thor doesn't seem to notice though, as he carelessly throws himself into one of the fancy chairs. "Oh, is this mahogany?" He says, trailing his finger around the edge of the table.

Bruce, with much more grace but also somehow with less grace than Thor, sits in the seat across from him. Thor smiles at him, a beaming bright white smile that makes Bruce choke on his own breath. He feels butterflies in his stomach and he looks down at the table. He feels a hand on his and he looks up at Thor again.

"I hope this is… okay," Thor says, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm still not in tune with all of this… Human stuff."

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head.

"I'm human and have been living here my whole life and I'm not even in tune with any of it," Bruce says and Thor laughs, a big boisterous laugh that makes everyone look at them again. "It's fine, Thor."

Thor smiles widely and a waiter comes over with a couple of menus. When the waiter leaves Thor leans forward and looks at Bruce's menu. Then back up at Bruce.

"Do you know what any of this is?" Thor asks, looking at him with wide eyes. Bruce looks up at him and shakes his head. They both laugh then, Thor's loud and joyful and Bruce's soft but just as joy-filled. They sit there for a few seconds before Thor throws down the menu. "This may have been a bad idea."

"This is more of Tony's type of place than ours…" Bruce mumbles and Thor stands up abruptly. He holds out his hand and Bruce takes it.

"Want to go to Al's Steakhouse?" Thor asks and Bruce smiles wide.

"Yeah. That's more us."

#thorbruce #thor odinson x bruce banner #bruce bannr x thor odinson #thorbruce fanfic #bruce banner #thor odinson #marvel #marvel fanfic #avengers #my fanfic #beetlesneedles #thats a fun url it RHYMES I LIKE IT

[walmart-cereal]

May I request an angst request for Marko and/or Paul? no Y/N usage, but I’ve been looking for a decent fic that has only a brotherly (or Poly!) gang and there are hardly any that I can find- Basically, Marko had actually survived the attack from the frog brothers! And the Emerson’s never actually went after the Lost boys because- why not- anyway, this takes place only a couple of days after the attack! Marko had been on edge and refused to go out in order to recover, and Paul thinks it’s a good idea to scare him! He does so and by instinct Marko attacks him, leaving Paul in a bit of a gory stated (mainly his arm and leg-), eventually Marko snaps out of it when Dwayne pulled him off, and if u want you can write more after that because I have no idea-

YES HI IM SO SORRY BABYGIRL THAT THIS IS LATE NOOOOO

anyways here you go

usual warnings except we added a new one! ANGST (exept this was my first time trying so it watered down ffs)

I did however change the reason Paulie got attacked if you dont mind UEEHUEHEUUU

It wasn't exactly something Marko expected when he steals buys a comic book. Nobody expects a stake in them when they want to read Superman. Thankfully, they barely miss his heart.

The Frog brothers took him behind the store where he could die. He figured that if this is the way he was going to go, forgive him if he wasnt really exstatic.

Laying on the floor while listening to the laughter and well ... life on the boardwalk didn't really improve his mood either. It hurt, and he was bleeding. His breaths became ragged and shallow. Of course, if you drive a stake into a vampire's heart, it kills them like 5 seconds later- so what the fuck??? Must've hit right under the heart.

He decides that this generation of kids are royally fucked up.

Dwayne finds him, just an hour before sunrise looking and feeling panicked. He does his best to drag an impaled Marko with him to the bikes and back to the caves

Star managed to patch him up pretty good for someone who has no idea what's going on or what happened. Poor boy had to explain under a mix of adrenalyn, zaza and tequila.

Fast forward to *checks notes* 3 days later

He doesn't think he's spent this much time in a bed when he was living. Vampires are always on edge. Marko somehow got worse.

Among other things, I would not want to be this guy. Can't blame him though.

The boys knew that they shoud keep their distance and check on him once in a while. Of course, like roomies, they took turns. This time it was Paul's.

One thing about ya boy Paulie, is that he can be really silent if he wants to. So Marko didn't really appreciate the "hey-".

In other words, Paul was greeted with a sucker punch and other things i suppose.

The muffled screams from the other room sent David and Dwayne speed running. Paul silently noted to himself that he should thank Dwayne for having muscles (although he could use a shirt)

After Paul got his bandages and his scolding from David, he also got to spend some time on a couch across the bed Marko was resting on.

All apologies accepted of course.

"dude do you sharpen your fangs goddamn"

a/n: this isnt as good as i wanted it to be!! i really wish this came out sonner and i felt guilty leaving you waiting!! writers block is a bitch

#the lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #tlb fanfic #walmart fics #thank you sm for requesting!

[starreadssstuff]

Fragments of a broken bond -Nanami Kento

warnings - Angsty, character death, spoilers! (kinda idk) emotional distress if anything LMK!

Authors note- y'all... I have been so M.I.A lately so im super sorry!! writers block and life have been crappy soooo... But I am planing on writing a lot more but yk. I really hope u enjoy!! love, star ♥️

Dark clouds loomed overhead as the once serene landscape trembled with an impending threat. You and Nanami Kento, bound by a love as strong as the sorcery that coursed through your veins, stood side by side, ready to face the cursed adversary that threatened to tear your world apart.

The battle was fierce, the air heavy with desperation and the taste of bitter defeat. Spells collided, shattering the calm of the forest, and cries of anguish pierced the air. In the chaos, you caught sight of Nanami, his expression etched with determination, fighting valiantly against the cursed entity.

With a surge of energy, you summoned every ounce of your power, unleashing a spell so potent it rocked the very foundations of your existence. But in that moment, the enemy struck with a vengeance, and a wave of darkness engulfed the battlefield.

When the smoke cleared, you found yourself standing alone, your heart pounding with fear and despair. Kento was nowhere to be found. Panic gripped your chest as you frantically searched the wreckage, calling out his name in a voice choked with tears.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as the weight of loss settled upon your shoulders. The world had grown cold, its colors faded, devoid of the warmth that Nanami's presence once brought. Every breath you took felt shallow, each heartbeat a reminder of the emptiness that consumed you.

Unable to bear the pain any longer, you sought solace in the memories you shared. Photographs, letters, and trinkets became your lifeline, preserving fragments of a love that once thrived. In the quiet corners of your mind, you replayed moments spent together—laughter, whispered promises, and stolen kisses.

One moonlit night, as you stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing at the starry sky, a gust of wind caressed your cheeks, carrying with it a faint echo of Kento’s voice. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I never wanted to leave you. Please, find happiness."

Tears mingled with the wind as you whispered your response to the empty night, "I'll carry your love with me always, Kento. But without you, happiness feels distant and unattainable."

Days turned into months, and months turned into years, but the ache in your heart remained steadfast. Though you continued to live, the shadow of loss loomed over every step you took. The world moved on, but you remained trapped in a bittersweet limbo, forever haunted by the ghost of a love lost.

In the quiet corners of your existence, you often imagined what life could have been. Would Kento have held you close during sleepless nights? Would he have shared stories of his past, allowing you to bear witness to the depths of his soul? The unanswered questions haunted you, forever etching an anguished longing in your heart.

As time marched on, you vowed to honor Kento’s memory by channeling your pain into purpose. You became a beacon of hope for others, wielding your sorcery to bring solace to those plagued by curses. And as you embarked on your journey, you carried within you the fragments of a broken bond, forever etched in your soul.

For love, even in its absence, has the power to transform sorrow into strength and pain into resilience. And in the depths of your grief, you clung to that glimmer of hope, carrying the memory of Nanami Kento with you, forever.

#Nanami #nanami kento #Nanami x Reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami jjk #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kiasen #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami kento angst

[typewriter-worries]

Book recommendations please (if possible)

[im looking for dark academia-ish, morbid-ish]

Hello there!

Here's some that fit the mold, I think. Not all of these are my favorite, but you might love them so I don't want to discount them!

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio - This is a perfect book that'll get you in the "dark academia" mood.

If We Were Villains is a mystery novel set in a New England acting conservatory during the 1990s. After tragedy strikes the fourth year class, we watch their friend group (friends mainly by proximity, mind you) start to unravel.

Calling If We Were Villains a "cozy" mystery wouldn't give the book fair credit. While you can curl up under a blanket, a cup of cocoa and read it while the fall leaves start to fall; it's more of a book that'll leave you on the edge of year seat wanting more. 

You can read my full review here

Breaking Point by Alex Flinn: This is a book that I often describe as a "beginner's guide to dark academia" due to both the subject matter and the age of the main character.

While it's set in a high school, this is still a novel in which the main character is asked the question almost all questions in dark academia books are posed, "How far are you willing to go?"

All that said, at risk of spoilers, this may be one to check the trigger warnings for. It's a pretty dark book, especially for being targeted towards young adults.

You can read my full review here

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin - This book is actually one of my favorite books of all times and deserves all the praise that has followed it since the year it was published.

Giovanni’s Room follows the story of David, a young man who’s fallen in love with both a young woman named Hella and another young man named Giovanni against the backdrop of 1950s Paris.

We read about, what some might call, a tumultuous love affair and a constant question of identity. Baldwin’s depiction of the internal struggle is masterful without being overtly extravagant.

While it's a slow-paced, shorter read; it'll leave an impression in the best possible way.

Fans of the Impossible Life by Kate Scelsa - This book is a bit of a modern retelling of Brideshead Revisted by Evelyn Waugh, with a few, maybe even many, liberties taken.

It follows the senior year of three teenagers: Jeremy, Mina and Sebastian. Over the course of the book, you go through the coming of age story of each character. Jeremy coming to terms with his identity, Sebastian and his bouts of self destruction and Mina’s relationship with her mental health. 

What's fun about this book (at least to me), is that it's told in three different point of views. Jeremy's is first, Sebastian's is second, and Mira's is third.

That said, there is a pretty infamous scene that I didn't like, but can be skipped over without losing any of the plot (If you read the book, you'll know what it is immediately.)

You can read my full review here

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood - Much like Giovanni's Room, this a slow-paced short read that's heart wrenching.

It follows the life of George, a gay middle-aged professor living in southern California in the 1960s. We follow him as he processes the death of his late partner, actively still grieves and learns to deal with the concept of being alone, but not lonely.

While the book is very mundane, there's something so human about it, you can't wait to see what's to become of him.

Hope you enjoy the ones you choose to read; if you do, please let me know what you think!

#hope all's well in your world anon <3 #these are a few of my favorite things

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 7

Part 7: Burning Out

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: description of injury, infection, and other typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: oh hi <3 im happy to be back with a new part for you guys. definitely needed that break. I had my last class of university this week and I've just been a bundle of feelings lately. thank you for being so patient and for all the lovely comments lately :) mwah! enjoy

These last few years, the fight had been constant— to find shelter, to defend a friend, to get your next meal. Each day was like a knife at your throat, leaving you to wonder when the blade would finally pierce and bleed you dry. 

It was an oddly empty feeling when there was nothing left to do. A gnawing in your gut, like you'd been doing to the raw skin of your thumb the last half hour, as if there was an answer you were forgetting. 

You ran through the list for the ninth time. The last of that antibiotic cream. Dressings coated in a layer of honey— Daryl taught you that one. A damp cloth over his forehead. As much ibuprofen as you could give him. You’d done it all. Now there was nothing left to do but wait for the fever to break. 

It was miserable. 

The room was dark, lit by a single candle. Sometimes it flickered with your occasional sigh. Otherwise, it cast a gentle glow across the small bedroom. You sat in a cushioned chair by the door, five feet from Daryl’s bedside. It had been in the living room until you dragged it in here yesterday, falling into the same routine as you did now. Chin resting in your palm and a lazy stare at the sick man ahead. 

It’d gotten bad since that first day. Infection came— of course, it did— and without much more than that antibiotic cream and the rest of the drugs you'd used for your leg, Daryl was forced to fight through it. That meant long, feverish nights like this one. 

Waiting. 

“Ya jus’ gonna stare at me all night?” 

You sat up. His eyes were narrowed into a slit, but open. With only the low flicker of the candle beside you, they almost looked black. 

“You’re awake.” 

“Guess so,” Daryl mumbled. “Hot as hell in ‘ere.” 

He was already stripped of his vest, that flannel he wore on cold nights, and his boots. Yesterday, in one of his steadier moments, you’d dug a simple black t-shirt from the dresser and made him change. It took him a couple of minutes, his shoulder still stiff and swollen with infection. It gave you time to wash his usual sleeveless button-down as best as you could, though a litter of blood stains still dried across the fabric. 

As you stepped closer, flickering candle in hand, you could see the damp mark of sweat around his collar, but if anything, the room was cool. 

“Your fever’s getting worse.” 

You grabbed the cloth from his forehead. It was tepid on the edges, warm where it rested against his skin. Puffy eyes met yours, scanning your serious expression. He’d been asleep for hours. You’d only managed to get a few with that anxious pit in your stomach waking you up, over and over. 

“Feel like shit.” He adjusted his spot, sitting up against the pile of pillows behind him with a low groan. You passed him his bottle of water and placed it back after he’d had a few sips. 

“How long I been sleepin’?” 

“Most of the night.” You sat by his legs. The bed was bare of its thick blanket; you’d torn it off him when his skin started to burn. The top sheet was thin enough that you let him keep it when the chills hit. He kicked it down when the first hot flash came. “You woke up a couple of times.” 

“Don’t remember tha’.” 

“I figured. You’ve been pretty out of it.”

Daryl nodded, eyes as tired as they’d looked at sunset. Yours must’ve been similarly drained. 

“Ya got any sleep yet?” 

“A bit,” you said. “I’m fine.” 

“Ya don’t look fine.” 

You gave him a playful, lopsided grin. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” 

Daryl huffed, eyes falling to his lap. But your tease had done what it meant: to distract away from the bloom of purple that was, no doubt, forming under your eyes. Those sickening worries about Daryl’s health were already suffocating. You didn’t need the weight of your well-being piled on top. 

“You hungry?” 

He hummed yes. That was a good sign, you thought, before drifting out of the room. 

Dawn was still a few hours away. You walked the dark halls of the house you’d come to know, and a few minutes later, that same candlelight welcomed you back into the bedroom Daryl stayed in. You had a bowl of steaming chicken soup and a half-eaten package of crackers in hand. It was a good thing you’d gone for the bag, after all. If you hadn’t, it would’ve been just another thing to worry about.

His appetite was low, but better than it’d been the last couple of days. There were still three crackers he hadn’t touched and a quarter of soup left, but he seemed adamant about having the rest later. Food was often in such short supply that he wouldn’t dare waste a bite. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

You placed his bowl of leftover soup and the half-eaten package of crackers on the dresser you’d raided for cloth, towel, anything that could be boiled sterile and made into a bandage when that roll of gauze finally ran out after his second dressing change. 

Back at his side, you gave him a small smile. “Still feel like shit?” 

He chewed his lip. “Shoulder’s throbbin’ somethin’ awful. Head too.” 

There was a small bump in his hairline left from that day. He hadn’t caught a concussion, but the fever had been giving him a wicked headache. 

“There’s another hour until you can take the next round of painkillers.” You dipped the cloth back into a small bowl of water. Rubbing your thumb along the inches that had become warm, you waited for the fabric to cool. Droplets trickled down as you rang it out, causing ripples to catch in the faint light. It was the only noise in the air, save Daryl’s slow, heavy breaths. 

Until you turned and he caught that dispirited expression across your face. It must’ve been particularly obvious; the candlelight barely reached your face at this angle. As you stepped closer, the glow curtained you in delicate gold. An easy warmth that looked quite special painted across your gentle features, even if they were hinted with regret. 

The closer you got, the harder his head pounded. No, his heart. Which seemed to echo in his head. 

His eyes shifted away when you found that spot next to him again. 

“Should save ‘em anyway.” 

“No. This is what they’re meant for.” 

He huffed as you placed the cloth on his head. As your fingers inched closer to his skin, he blinked rapidly. It wasn’t quite a flinch, but you felt the resistance all the same.

“Still. Might need ‘em later.” 

“You need them now,” you challenged. “We’ll have time to find more when you’re better.” 

When. 

“Guess you’re the boss.” 

You scoffed. If anything was in charge, it was that fever. 

“Is there anything you can think of that could help? Another pillow or…” You shook your head, not even sure what else you could offer. 

He rolled his good shoulder back, biting back a groan as he found a comfortable spot against the bed. “‘M alright.” He nodded, even sparing you the smallest curl of his mouth. 

You gave him a bittersweet smile back, fighting the urge to brush his bangs behind his pinkened ear. His cheeks were flushed too, even if he seemed to be retreating back into the warm bed. Perhaps the hot flash was nearing its end. 

“You should drink some more. It’ll help.” You handed him the water again. 

He took small sips. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later when a distant thump came from the other side of the house, and Daryl didn’t jump up, that you realized just how out of it he was. Thick in the fog of fever and pain, his senses were dull. On the contrary, the twitching in your muscles had started hours ago, a cruel mix of exhaustion and restlessness. It made you more jumpy than sharp, but demanded your attention for every small creak in the house the same. 

Your shoulders tensed, and your head snapped to the side. 

Daryl noticed that. 

“Wha’?” He grumbled. 

A gun sat on the small table next to your chair, next to the book you couldn't read well enough under only candlelight. You stood up and grabbed it, weighing the heavy handle in your palm. You made a mental note to keep your twitching finger off the trigger. 

“Stay put. I’m serious,” you told Daryl with a quick stern glance and closed the bedroom door behind you. 

The wooden floors whined even under the slowest, steadiest steps you could manage. The hallway was thin, drywall stained with cigarette smoke. There were two doors ahead, one on the right leading to a small linen closet and one on the left that passed into the kitchen. Quietly, you made your way to the general area where the noise had come from, near the kitchen, while raising the gun Ross gave you. The exit to the back porch was there and, fuck, what if someone had snuck in? What if they had a gun and cruel intentions and what if you had to— 

Deep breath. 

You hovered in the same spot for a second longer, waiting for the drum of your heart to slow. It wasn’t much, but at least you were able to open your eyes without that dizzy fog suffocating you again. 

It was only a few more steps to the kitchen’s doorway. With your back to the wall, you reached the hallway’s end and peeked around the corner. 

Good thing you only peeked. 

A figure caught under the moonlight. It shuffled past the small window, looking out to the side of the house. Shadows cascaded onto the cheap tile floors. Two— three— four walkers stumbled past the wrap-around porch. It reminded you of that first night after the prison fell. How Daryl stood watch all night with nothing but his bow as a herd of the dead moved through the street, surrounding the house he'd dragged you into. All night, you sat on that couch, nursing your hurt leg, watching the dance of their shadows along the walls, and avoiding Daryl’s abrasive stare. Waiting for the moment they finally knocked down the door and took you into their cold fingers first. 

This herd didn’t seem as big. Maybe a few dozen. You could only guess from the noise of bodies thumping carelessly into the house’s siding. 

Carelessly— that was good. It meant they hadn’t realized you were here yet. Best keep it that way. 

Delicately, you snuck back to the small bedroom. The thick curtains were already drawn, and that single candle was soft enough that you weren’t inclined to race back and blow it out. 

You opened the door again, and, well, should’ve guessed Daryl would’ve been out of bed, knife in hand and about to open the door himself. The gun slipped into the holster at your belt, and your eyes sought out his. They were uneasy, red-rimmed with dilated pupils.  

“It’s just a group of walkers passing by,” you said in a hushed whisper. “Get back in bed.” 

“How many?” 

“Maybe a couple dozen.” You gently pushed him back toward the bed, twisting the knife out of his grip as you did so. “They didn’t see me, so we can just wait it out.” 

“Ya can’t take ‘em all on.” 

“That’s why we're gonna stay here and be quiet.” 

“You should go.” 

You blinked. 

“What?” 

“If those assholes get in ‘ere, you run,” he said. His voice was hoarse and his accent thicker. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Your brows furrowed. Your whisper was soft, even if pitched with confusion, “Daryl, they don’t know we’re here. They’re not coming in.” 

There was a fog in that usual bright blue. It wasn’t from the dim lighting, either. He was dazed. 

The back of your palm landed against his forehead. Hot. Then dropped to his chest, just below his collarbones. Your hand laid flat against that black cotton, stretched over the broad expanse of his chest, and felt that same burning underneath. Daryl hadn’t flinched, he seemed to give up that impulse when the fever took control, but his eyes did flicker down to your touch. 

You shook your head. “You’re burning up. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Your hand hadn’t fallen off him yet, a lingering touch as the rhythm of his heart became a soft pulse underneath your palm. Gently pressing him back toward the bed, you hushed, “Lie back down. Relax. We’ll be fine.” 

He listened. Whatever that outburst had been about seemed to slip away with the cushion of an old mattress underneath him. It felt like a new weight lifted off your shoulders; you weren’t sure if you could sit through a lecture about how you should leave him for dead. After all he’d done, all you’d done, that just wasn’t an option. 

You sat beside him again. “Here.” You held a pill in the same palm that’d landed on his chest. 

“Thought it was too early?” 

“One more isn’t gonna kill you.” 

The fever could.

He glanced down at the small blue capsule. “How many left?” 

You almost laughed. Feverish, incoherent, and still stubborn. 

“Enough. You need them.” 

If you told him there were only three more pills in that bottle, he’d refuse. You held your tongue and he tossed them into his mouth. Swallowed, leaned back, and groaned. 

“Water?” 

“Elderberries,” he muttered. Your brow furrowed, and he gave you a weak shrug. “Hershel used ‘em for the fever, ‘fore we got back.” 

Hershel. 

You remembered that name. Of course, you did. The Governor had called it out right before he used him as a bargaining chip. Hershel, the man with the long white hair. He’d kneeled in front of that fence, tan shirt damp with sweat and hands tied behind his back. Even tried to reason with the Governor. It was his neck that poured blood, him that inched his way around the cars you were hiding behind when the bullets started flying. 

Until the Governor cornered him. Chopped into his neck three times before his head finally rolled across the bloody grass. 

The memory made your skin pale, your breathing pause. 

A second later, when your vision focused again, Daryl’s eyes were closed. His chest raised and fell with deep breaths, his heavy exhales tickling your clammy skin. 

After you’d had a moment to regain your composure, you asked, “‘Got back’?” 

You weren’t following his train of thought. It seemed to go beyond the weeks the two of you had shared, reaching into his time spent at the prison. That part of his life had been mostly out of bounds for you. Blocked from the casual conversation you sometimes fell into. 

The fever seemed to tear those boundaries down.

“The vet college. We had to— to get the meds for the sick ones,” he muttered under his breath. 

The cloth sitting on his forehead had fallen onto the bed, presumably when he’d gotten up to follow you. Your boundaries seemed to slip away, too; you finally brushed away the damp mess of bangs on his forehead, tucking a few strands behind his ear. 

There was a part of Daryl that never seemed to let up. It went deeper than stubbornness. He was strong, innately, even when his body was failing him. You knew it took a lot out of him to try and follow you out, and had probably brought on some kind of dizzy spell that was making him spill his guts now. 

“Elderberries,” you repeated. “I think I remember. If you make tea, they can help bring down a fever.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Smart man,” you said under your breath. 

He still caught it. Fever and all. 

“He was.” Daryl nodded slowly. His eyes seemed to glaze over again. “He was a good man.” 

A lump caught in your throat, stealing your voice. That old feeling of guilt sunk into you again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “He didn’t deserve it. None of you did.” 

“Should’a kept lookin’.” 

It was overdue, you thought. Daryl didn’t seem the patient type, not when it came to his own body, at least. Give him a long hunt, he’d be fine. A wound that kept him bedbound? He was itching for something— anything— to do. The worrisome fact that his family was still out there couldn’t have helped. 

You sighed, “We will—” 

“For the Governor.” 

Oh.

“Maybe if I wouldn’a gave up…” 

He sunk deeper into the pillow, mouth moving as incoherent whispers slipped past. 

It dawned on you that Daryl was perhaps his most vulnerable right now. Maybe even more so than when you first cleaned his back. In this moment, that surly, reserved man slipped away to leave someone who… who seemed lost. Guilty, like you. His words left you confused, filling in the gaps in his story, his regrets. 

He’d been looking for the Governor. If you had to guess, which you did, you’d assume after he killed Merle. Daryl had issues with his brother, no doubt, but he’d proved time and time again to be fiercely loyal. To his brother, his people, even you. Why he’d give that up, you couldn’t say. But Daryl didn’t seem irrational, or disinterested. There had to have been a reason— something— to pull him back. 

There was an undeniable part of you that ached to hear more, to let him bare himself to you in ways he hadn’t dared before. Curiosity could prove to be a dangerous thing. The trust between the two of you was fresh. Delicate. Leading him on with questions or letting him ramble in the midst of a daze, could rip it to shreds. 

You refolded, then placed the cloth back on his forehead. 

“Elderberries,” you whispered again. “I’ll look in the morning.” 

The walkers outside were still too close. 

It was quiet for a while. Daryl drifted off to sleep quickly and the dead passed thirty minutes after. You curled in the chair again, chin perched in your palm, leaning over the armrest. There was still that gnawing feeling in your gut. Still that worry that you could be doing more— should be. 

But exhaustion had dulled caution when the dead passed that half hour ago. Your blinks slowed, moments of darkness stretching into seconds, then minutes, and it became nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. 

The last thing you saw was a thin ray of early morning light, slipping between a gap in the curtains. Barely noticeable, until it had landed across Daryl’s face.

It seemed as good a sign as any, you thought, before drifting to sleep.

— 

The fever broke the night of the herd. Cups of elderberry tea helped subdue the few symptoms that lingered, and the stream of puss from his wound seemed to reach an end, after all. Four more days passed by and with them, the constant stress and anxiety that plagued you those late nights. 

A few more hours of sleep under your belt and life had become calm. Idle, even. 

The wind was lazy, its soft huff could barely rustle the fallen leaves. Hues of red, yellow, and anything in between scattered the woods, stretching into the backyard. A sharp crunch under your boot. There was a bite to the air, but the new berries you found had lasted through the weather’s turn. 

All those chilly mornings and early sunsets were not in vain; autumn was here, and winter was nearing, too. Though the cottage had been good enough while Daryl healed, it wasn’t suited to become a permanent stay. Certainly not a home. The surrounding trees were too dense, the walls too thin, and it didn’t matter how many strings of cans you set as alarms since the herd passed that night, you couldn’t sleep without one eye open. 

Even if it hadn’t been for his people still being out there, you’d have to leave. 

With the small bag in one hand, you pulled the first alarm string above your head. It chimed in the wind until it steadied again. It was an effective system; Daryl was opening the back door before you even had a chance to break through the tree line. 

You passed into the backyard with a smile. 

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey. Find anythin’?” 

“Just some berries.” 

The morning’s sun had drifted away within the last ten or so minutes. It wasn’t much of a shock to find the sky had darkened with heavy-looking clouds. 

“We should go in, looks like it's gonna rain,” you said, sliding between his frame and the door. 

It didn’t take long to place those buckets around the porch, just past its cover. A couple of empty, uncapped water bottles sat next to them. It didn’t take long for the rain to start, either. 

Inside, the small table in the kitchen was homemade. Shoddy work, but it could balance the few candles you’d found in the basement when night came. You picked the berries clean of their stems while Daryl confirmed the findings of your foraging were, in fact, edible.

Maybe at the start, when your brother had found that survivalist book, you would’ve been able to tell. But that got lost a mere month after he found it. Since then, you’d only stuck with the basics. What you knew was safe, without a doubt. That meant you spent a lot of time scavenging abandoned buildings instead of the woods. 

Daryl, on the other hand, seemed to know the forest better than anyone. You could assume from that deep accent and the fact that he never cringed at mud on his skin that he wasn’t a city kid. No, he probably grew up in the sticks. The middle of nowhere. In this world, that kind of experience was invaluable. You’d spent many hungry nights, staring at a bush of unrecognizable berries, wondering what could’ve been if you’d had it, too. 

By the time the two of you were done, a damp cold settled along the walls. The rain had been pouring down for some time. It wasn’t as harsh as it had started, but the cool, moist air was sinking in. The temperature of the usually feverish sun dropped, hidden behind grey clouds. 

Daryl started a fire with that wood you’d found a couple of days ago. The pile was dwindling faster than expected; the nights had been cold. The short flames reached up to the bottom of a pot you’d positioned. You poured some rainwater inside, then tossed in a couple rags to sterilize, and waited for it to reach a boil. 

By the time Daryl heard those bubbles begin to break the surface, you had wandered back to that back door, standing with the heat of the fire to your back and the cool breeze brushing across your face. 

You heard his steps approach behind you. 

“I like the rain.” 

Daryl stood at your side, quiet. 

“I always loved that smell, too.” You inhaled a deep breath, staring beyond the porch. “Do you remember what that’s called?” 

“Nah.” Daryl shook his head. “Jus’ called it rain.” 

You grinned. “Well, regardless. I always liked it.”

He watched the rain come down. It soaked the fallen leaves and dampened the soil. The breeze was slow, weaving its way through dripping trees. The roof was a weak material, something cheap and old, and echoed a low patter of rain. It made everything feel softer. Muted. 

“Me too.” 

You glanced over your shoulder, that grin slipping into a tender smile, kind and sweet. Daryl met your look, felt that bloom of familiarity in his chest, and gestured you to come back in. The cold would become bitter again and inside was warm, so you followed. 

He sat by the fire, arms wrapped around bent knees. He’d peeled off his vest, then his flannel, and finally pulled down the left sleeve of his shirt. Just like the first day you checked his wound. You sat behind him, a small pillow under your knees and the freshly boiled rags sitting in a clean bowl to your left. 

That little routine the two of you had fallen into— you’d come back to Daryl, who’d help deal with whatever you scavenged that morning, before you cleaned his wound, then ate— came easy. He’d gotten less tense every time you had to face his bare shoulder again. Which was frequent, unfortunately, since the exit wound had proved more troublesome than the smaller entrance. 

That heavy pit in your gut at the thought of those scars and their cruelty hadn’t alleviated much though. 

“How’s it feeling today?” 

“Better.” 

You nodded and unwrapped the bandage. The fever had been the height of that infection that hit him a few days ago. During the worst of it, his wound had swelled and reddened, leaking a trail of puss that reminded you why you could have never been a nurse like your brother. Today, the swelling was gone and the redness cleared. It was improving.

“It looks better, too.” 

“About time,” Daryl huffed. 

On the other hand, his attitude hadn’t improved. 

You sighed, “It’s only been a couple of days.” 

“’S been a week.” 

“You were shot.” You passed the rag along the few dried bits of puss, careful to leave the growing scab undisturbed. “It takes a while to heal from that.” 

“We don’t got a while.”

“I know.” Your jaw tightened.

Daryl was becoming more agitated with his rest as the days dragged on. Cabin fever, maybe. It must’ve been especially bothersome for a man like him, someone who seemed to feel more comfortable in the woods than four walls and a roof, to be trapped here. Especially when neither of you had forgotten the whole point of running house to house in the first place— finding his friends. 

“But we agreed. You need to let this heal as long as it can before we leave.” 

“Trail could’a gone cold by now.” 

Even with your eyes on the back of his neck, drifting down the outgrown strands of dark brown hair reaching to the cuff of his shirt, you could almost see him chewing his lip. It turned out that Daryl’s unease had become mixed up with yours some time ago. By now you could feel that stiffness in his muscles, as if it was in you, too. 

“It could’ve.” You dropped the last strip of clean cloth back into the bowl. “It could be fine, too.”

Daryl glanced back at you over his shoulder. It made you freeze— he hadn’t offered any attention other than the small talk you shared while you patched him up. Not until now, when those narrow blue eyes burned into you, demanding your attention. 

It was almost instinctual, that warm smile you offered. Still, you were sure he could notice that somber look in your eye. The one that remembered the fear and urgency you felt while in pursuit of your brother— before it ended the way it did. 

He seemed to notice every hint of emotion that slipped past your grip. 

“Dwelling on it won’t help us find them any faster,” you said. 

You glanced over his expression, almost leisurely in your inspection. His lips were parted slightly, jaw slack. Though he wasn’t angry, there was a heaviness in the pretty blue of his eyes. Lately, you were realizing that might be permanent. 

While it was sweet, your smile didn’t do much to soothe his urgency or frustration. He turned back. 

“I can’t keep doin’ nothin’.” 

You swallowed, bandaging a clean strip of cloth around his shoulder as the tone shifted. 

“Four days ago you could barely get out of bed.” you firmly stated. “And two days ago, you could barely lift your bow.” 

“‘M fine now,” he snapped. 

“You’re still healing.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” 

The cloth reached its end and you paused. Going in circles with him was exhausting. It made your stomach flutter with anxiety, too. This routine the two of you had fallen into, something idle and restful, was comfortable. He was comfortable. 

Maybe even a friend. 

“Well, I do,” you replied. “I guess I like you too much to risk you getting hurt worse.” 

Daryl glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Subtle enough that you almost hadn’t noticed. 

“Thought we didn’t have to like each other,” he retorted in a lighter tone from his previous. 

“It makes things a lot easier, don’t you think?” You smirked. “And if you can’t aim that bow, you’re kinda stuck with me anyway.” 

You, like anyone else nowadays, knew what it was like to lose a friend. You certainly didn’t want to lose Daryl— whatever it was you had with him— from perhaps a curse of your own overprotectiveness. It was hard to let someone go back into that dangerous world after you learned how bright their blood ran, but this thing you two shared was fragile. Trusting. If Daryl said he was ready, you had to be willing to give him a chance. 

So, with a cautionary glance at his new bandage, you gave in an inch. 

“One more day.”

His mouth opened, but you snapped before he could, “It's bad enough we’re leaving while you’re still hurt. I’m not doing it in the middle of a storm, either.” 

The rest of the day Daryl was still tense. Emotionally, at least. He practiced picking up his crossbow, balancing the weight in his hands. You packed both bags, boiled and bottled all the water you could carry, and hoped this was the right thing to do. The rain didn’t let up until long past sunset. 

When morning finally came and the sun broke through grey clouds, you followed through on your word. Backpacks stuffed full, your boots landed across that empty road and the two of you finally left that little house for good.

-> part 8

A/N: slower part, but I think they need that right now. it can't all be fighting and running and shooting and blah blah. I love these little interactions between them as they grow closer <3 I hope u do too!

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

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