#slow-burn

[dreamywriter143]

I Wish I Knew

Genre : ANGST, Slow-Burn, Unrequited love, SFW,Romance.

Status: Oneshot-Completed

Parings : Neteyam X Reader,

Warnings: Sad Neteyam, Unrequited love, Mutual Pinning, Mentions of blood/bullets, Mentions of alcohol and consumption (Please be advised), Panic attacks.

Inspired by; Bad Habit by Steve Lacy

Summary: Neteyam and Y/n have been joined at the hip since they were children. Growing feelings for one another was inevitable due to their close proximity. But Neteyam always suppressed his feelings in fear of losing his friendship with her. But as they grow into adults he can’t help but wonder, had he missed his chance?

Word count: 5.9k

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“How did you find me?” Neteyam asks, his eyes strained forward. He didn’t bother turning to face her as she set herself down. Her feet mirrored his as she dangled them over the edge of the cliff.

Neteyam knew it was her, he didn’t have to look to confirm who it was. He knew the moment she softly landed her Ikran, the coo of the creature he knew by heart because that always signaled her arrival. Her scent wafted through the light breeze as the air caused his body to freeze up. It was a scent he memorized. Because it smelt like her, because it was her. 

“Call it intuition?” She chuckles softly, the breeze picking up in the slightest. Her braided locks clacking against one another, the sound of the beads crashing caused Neteyam to quickly glance her way. 

Y/n peered up into the sky, the stars mirrored amongst her e/c irises beautifully. Neteyam stopped himself from getting lost in them, which he caught himself doing often. It was weird considering she was his dearest friend, his oldest friend. He just couldn't help the fluttery feeling that consumed him whenever she was near. He didn't know when it started, but as he grew, so did his feelings.

Neteyam and Y/n grew up joined at the hip, even though she was younger by one year the girl never hesitated to follow Neteyam to his duties. Always marveling at how he slowly but surely became such a great warrior, outranking all in his age group. Neteyam also adored her, he respected how she tried to become a warrior herself. Even though she fell short many times, it never deterred her from her goal. That same goofy smile plastered on her face even when her body was littered with bruises. 

Neteyam thought of her as a distraction at one point, but as they both grew up he realized how much he needed her support. Someone to talk to, someone to pour all his raw emotion on. And Y/n was always eager, her shoulders waiting for him to lean on as the days of stress pulled him down. It was as if she always knew how and what he was feeling.

 “What did he do this time?” Y/n whispers softly. 

Neteyam’s ears twitch to the sound of her voice, laced with concern and question. Neteyam had once again been on the receiving end of his fathers words. He was tasked to help Lo’ak with his tracking skills, but that skxawng decided to run mid session, almost getting eaten by a threatened mother Pululukan. Neteyam had barely made it in time to save Lo’ak as well as himself. The array of leaves covered in ointment scattered all over his body proved that it was indeed a close call. 

“He almost got eaten by a mother Pululukan” he replies solemnly.

 He catches the way Y/n’s eyes scrunch together at the mental image. Her brows furrowing together, her lips forming into a frown. 

“Let me guess, you took the blame?” Y/n asks, more like declares. 

She knew Neteyam like the back of her hand. Of course he took the blame from his brother, always has and always will. It’s just that each time he did, he never could recover the pieces that Jake tore apart upon each lecture. That’s where Y/n came in, always ready to piece him back together. 

“You shouldn’t protect him all the time. He’s 15 Neteyam, he has to realize the stunts he pulls have consequences” Y/n says, her body turning to face him. Neteyam averts his eyes, not wanting her to catch his gaze that was already lingering on her. 

“It’s my job, I’m the eldest son. If I don’t watch over my siblings, who will?” Neteyam replies back, refusing to look her in the eyes. Y/n sighs out in defeat. She knew how much Nteeyam loved and cared for his siblings, she felt the same way being the only child. That's why she stuck to the family like glue. As if they were a second family.

“Then who will have your back?” She asks, her voice laced with concern. Neteyam finds his lips twitching at her words. She never failed to surprise him with her caring nature. It was astonishing to the young warrior that someone like her, who was so kind and nurturing, was also a warrior. Someone that equaled his skills at times.

He turns around to face her, locking eyes. He felt his breath hitch at their close proximity, how her eyes shone under the moonlight with such allure. He felt like he was being sucked in, and he didn’t feel it within himself to deny the feeling. 

“I was hoping you would”  a smile twitches along his lips. 

Y/n let’s out a giggle, her eyes filling with a twinkle which left Neteyam starstruck. Oh how beautiful she looked under the moonlight, it had to be a sin. 

“I thought that was a given” she teases, playfully nudging her shoulder against his. The feeling sent a jolt of electricity through his body, causing a pleasurable shiver to run along his spine. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, that made him feel sane. So much stress has been put upon him since birth, all washing away with a mere smile. 

“Just making sure” Neteyam easily replies back, opting to lean against her shoulder. Something they did often when they sought each other for comfort. Y/n hums happily, leaning her weight against his. She rests her head against him, breathing in the night sky. 

“You are obligated to take care of your siblings Neteyam. That I respect. Just….take care of yourself too, ok?” Y/n suggests softly. Neteyam lets out a sigh, nodding his head, agreeing with her words. Seeming satisfied by his non verbal response Y/n smiles wide.

 “And I’ll always be here for you Neteyam. I’ll never leave your side. You are my best friend after all” she teases her eyes locking onto the moon, oh how majestic it looked.

Neteyam thickly swallows the lump in his throat. At that moment the feeling of serenity left him. He enjoyed his moments with Y/n. Over the years it seems as though these particular moments held all his happiness. It felt great when he was naïve to his feelings.

At first he was confused as to what the quicken heartbeats meant when he would stare into her eyes. He questioned the butterflies in his stomach, and an unfamiliar fluttery feeling whenever she gazed at him. 

It took him a while, but once he realized what he was feeling, it was already too late. The feeling had grown without his knowledge. What was once a simple crush grew to infatuation. He felt cursed, cursed to loving his friend who didn’t love him the same way. The unconditional love that seemed to grow year by year. 

~~~~~~ 

“Shhh, don’t speak!” Kiri shushs, crouching down near the tent. The close call with the RDA left quite an impact with the Sully children and Y/n. After Y/n had decided to accompany Lo’ak and Spider on their adventure, all so she could keep a watchful eye on Tuk. They got caught by the RDA. Y/n desperately held Tuk within her grasp all while her tswin was harshly being held against her.

The moment Neteyam heard Y/n’s name over the com an unexplainable dread came over his form. They had his siblings, they had Y/n. What if he was late? What if he couldn’t save her in time? As he quickly showed his parents the quicker way he was determined to find her. He was determined to ensure her safety. 

Neteyam didn’t have to think twice about going against his fathers orders and got involved right away. Because he knew, if it were the other way around, Y/n wouldn’t hesitate to disobey orders from her leader to save his siblings, himself included. 

The relief that flooded Neteyam’s system was like waves after waves as he realized everyone was safe and unscathed. He pulled Y/n tightly against him, relishing in her heat as she shook under his hold. Sobs racking her body in full force. She was terrified by what had transpired and Neteyam felt useless being unable to console her. 

As the siblings and Y/n eavesdrop on the parents' conversations, Neteyam keeps a firm grasp of Y/n’s hand. Ever since the incident Y/n has been desperately latching into him. Her fear is getting the best of her. Neteyam felt horrible for what she went through, but loved the feeling of her needing him, wanting to hold him. 

“He had our children. He had them under his knife!” Jake hisses.

Y/n audibly gulps. Was he actually suggesting they leave? Flee the clan? Y/n felt her heart drop to her stomach with a sickening feeling. They would leave her, her second family would leave her here alone for their own safety. And Y/n couldn’t do anything about it. She wanted them safe more than anything, but the fear of them leaving caused her to choke up with unbridled sadness. 

Feeling her eyes sting with tears Y/n pushes herself into Neteyam’s embrace. He was shocked at first but welcomed it. Would this be the last time he held her? Feel her pressed up against him like this? He would wake up every day not seeing her face? Neteyam’s throat closes up at the thought, letting Y/n nuzzle into the crevice of his neck. He wraps one hand around her for support as he bites lips furiously. He couldn’t cry, as much as he wanted to. He is a warrior after all. He had to stay strong.

“What about Y/n? She was protecting Tuk, they know she is close to the family. They will hunt her down Ma’Jake” Neytiri cries in fear.  

Both Neteyam and Y/n freeze up at her words. Lo’ak and Kiri glance at the duo, horror stricken as well. It was true, Y/n tried her best to cover Tuk during the entire altercation. They didn’t bother inspecting her hands while they were focused on Lo’ak and Kiri. But her involvement meant they knew her. And where to find her.

 “I’ll speak to her parents. It’s not safe for her here” Jake says, causing Y/n to gasp in shock. She covers her mouth before looking at each Sully. Confirming what she heard was true. He was suggesting she go with them. 

Feeling an overwhelming amount of emotion Y/n abruptly stands up, before sprinting towards her tent. Neteyam moves to follow her but Kiri stops him midstep. Her expression of worry for her friend.

“Give her some space, brother” 

~~~~~~~~~

“How did you find me?” Y/n asks softly, her back facing Neteyam as he took tentative steps towards her. He purposely made sure his steps were heard, he didn’t want to startle her after all they’ve been through the past few days. If he wanted to go unnoticed, he would have succeeded. He was very silent with his footing. 

“Call is intuition?” Neteyam lightly teases, taking a seat beside her. His shoulders slide against her, feeling her body cold against him. Neteyam flinches upon contact. How long had she been out here? 

“Eywa Y/n, you’re freezing. How long have you been out here?” He questions his eyes trained in her. She turns her head to face him, her puffy cheeks covered with the stains of her tears she had shed a while ago. She sighs out, shrugging her shoulders in response. Neteyam frowns, he felt sick to his stomach seeing her like this.

The past two days have been utter hell for him. After Jake declared the decision to the family he went on about how Tarsem would be the next Olo'eyktan. Not to mention when Jake left to relay the news to Y/n’s  parents. They were upset at first but stressed for her future, they agreed that for her future she needed to flee. For her own safety. Y/n’s parents reluctantly agreed to the request, she would be unsafe the longer she stayed within the village. Ever since that, Y/n had been actively avoiding the Sully’s, Neteyam included. 

Neteyam lost his birthright, and best friend all in one day. 

He's been through a rollercoaster of emotion's and sadness the past few days, but he was able to come to terms with it. His family came first, if he were to lose his title for that, then so be it.

Neteyam also wanted to approach Y/n many times but respected his sister's wishes to give her space. By the fourth day he was fed up, he couldn’t stay away from her. He had to ensure she was ok, he also missed her terribly. Thus why he came all the way out here in search of her. He missed her terribly and couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that has happened. 

“I’m sorry…” Neteyam whispers, his voice cracking under everything he felt. Y/n’s eyes snap to him, concerned glossing over irises in confusion. 

“W-what? For?” She asks scooting closer to him. Neteyam clenched his hands into fists.

“For you getting involved….for forcing you to leave everything you’ve known, your family, your friends, for us..” he admits, head bowed down shamefully. Y/n lets out a shaky sigh, taking her small hands and using them to cup Neteyam’s cheeks. He allows her to lift his face up to meet her waiting eyes, all while still cupping his cheeks. 

“Neteyam…..I was sad, the first day. But I’m at peace with it. I will not endanger our people, my family, just so I can stay here. I’m fine with coming along with your family. In fact, I’m grateful your family thought of me and my protection” Y/n says softly. Neteyam lets out the breath he was holding, his shoulders relaxing significantly. He felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t explain how happy he was to hear this. She was ok with coming with him, she was at peace with it. How could he not feel happy? 

“Then….why have you been avoiding us?….have I done something to upset you? Has someone else done something?” Neteyam asks, he tries to play it off as a regular question but it came out as a plea. His need for her seeping through his words. Y/n thickly swallows, as if his question caused her to choke up again. Neteyam sits up straighter, placing his hands over hers. Y/n clears her throat before taking a deep breath. 

“I-it’s you…”  she says, causing Neteyam to go slightly stiff. 

“All your life you’ve been training to become an Olo'eyktan. You’ve worked so hard, proved yourself and gained so much respect amongst the people. I know, because I was always there to watch you from afar. Admiring your strength and vigor-“ Neteyam felt a sad smile twitch along his lips. She’s always been there, always watching him grow. Always seeing him.

“-once I heard Tarsem being announced as the next leader, it was as if a part of me shattered…..here I am, watching helplessly as my best friends dream slips through his fingers….all because I couldn’t try hard enough to keep Lo’ak from venturing out” Y/n croaks, tears streaming down her face. 

Neteyam is quick to wipe the fresh tears away from her cold skin. The past few days Y/n had been beating herself over the fact that she may be the reason Neteyam had lost his birthright. What he dreamt of every day. In a way, his dream became apart of her dream as well, as she watched him grow.

Neteyam pulls her in for a hug, his heart soaring but his heart crumbling. “It’s not your fault. Please don’t blame yourself Syulang. Please” Neteyam begs, feeling Y/n shake that much harder under his hold, unable to hold back her cries of pain. After a while Y/n settles down, slightly pulling back to wipe her eyes. 

“Neteyam, I-“ 

“Don’t you dare apologize” he interrupts her, swiping the streaks of tears along her cheeks. His gaze stern. Y/n seems to frown at his word but understands he didn’t want to speak of the matter any longer. 

“I was sad,” Neteyam says, causing her ears to twitch with attention.

“I was sad that I’ve lost my goal, that I have to leave everything I’ve known growing up. I lost my title that I worked so hard for, but I can prove myself again. I know it. This isn't the end Y/n, but a new beginning…also a part of me is happy knowing I have my family to rely on….happy that I’ll have you” he admits, words that felt like stones to his heart because he knew Y/n wouldn’t interpret his words for what he actually wanted to say.

‘I love you, I need you with me’

“Oh Neteyam. I’ll follow you to the ends of Pandora. I’ll always be by your side.” She croaks, pulling him in for a tight embrace. Neteyam presses his head against her temple, inhaling her scent. A scent that always gave him comfort.

“I know, I’ll always be there for you Y/n. Always'' 

~~~~~~~~~

“Watch his head!!!” Lo’ak hisses, struggling to pick Neteyam up on the rocks. Tsireya steadies his legs, Y/n and Spider holding his side as they haul him over as gently as possible. Y/n winces at the sharp pain on her arm, her tears staining her cheeks. She helps set Neteyam down as he looks up at her, concern lacing his painful expression. 

“Y-y/n” He whimpers out, seeing the distant look in her eye. That of fear. 

After Neteyam and Lo’ak decided to find  Spider deeper in the ship, they didn’t notice how Y/n snuck in after them. She stayed quiet making sure to stay a few feet behind them, her knife in the ready to assist them if needed. 

A lot has happened over the past few months, the quick adaptation to the sea, the Metkayina clan not accepting them and dealing with the RDA once again was like hit after hit. Y/n had failed to keep Kiri safe when the Ikran snatched her away; she refused to allow Neteyam and Lo’ak to get hurt under her watch. 

Her attention snaps back to Neteyam and Lo’ak jumping down taking on some of the human soldiers. Y/n doesn’t even hesitate jumping down to assist them while Neteyam and Lo’ak stare at her in shock. Seeing a soldier get up she grabs the gun off the floor, shooting the man shakily. 

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” Neteyam demands, snatching the gun from her shaking hands. Y/n looks over at the three who stare at her in astonishment.

 “I can’t let you do this alone. Now let’s get out of here!!” Y/n encourages her ears twitch at the sound of rapid footsteps nearing them. As they run away from many soldiers, Y/n sends Lo’ak and Spider to jump into the water safely while Neteyam fires the gun to distract the soldiers shooting their way. 

“Go! Go!” Neteyam hollers, his eyes focused on the soldiers who refuse to give up. 

“Not without you!” Y/n demands, her eyes widening, seeing the soldier come closer for a clearer shot. “Shit!” Y/n shoves Neteyam pulling him with her. She glances over her shoulder seeing the avatar directly point the barrel of his gun towards Neteyam. Towards his chest. Using her adrenaline to her advantage she shoves Neteyam into the water, tumbling after him. 

The moment she crashed into the sea she heard the happy screams of Lo’ak and Spider as she desperately looked for Neteyam. She noticed the crimson in the water before she caught sight of Neteyam, holding onto his arm in pain. 

“I’ve been s-shot” he struggles out. The three words Y/n never wanted to hear. 

As she helped Tsireya pull Neteyam into the Iiu she was shocked to see the blood in the water increase. All of a sudden she feels a sting on her side, glancing down she is able to see a flesh wound, where the bullet had grazed her as well. It seemed as though colliding her body against Neteyam caused the bullet to gaze at her arm as well as his. 

Y/n snaps her attention back to Neteyam as he regulates his breathing. Luckily the bullet hasn't penetrated his arm, but the gash was deep enough to cause a lot of blood. Neteyam was about to pass out from the blood loss. Y/n shakily puts pressure on his wound, drowning out the sounds around her. 

Tsireya audibly gasps seeing blood pour out of Y/n’s arms. The girl was in shock, therefore not registering how everyone was around her, as well as her own injury. Her attention solely focused on the wound  as she tried to stop the bleeding. 

“Y/n!! Your arm!!” Lo’ak screams in hysterics, his father rushing towards them. Seeing Neteyam on the floor he clutches down, noting there was no wound on his chest, just his arm. 

“Is there an exit wound?” He asks crouching down to his level. Neteyam groans back, glancing between his father and Y/n.

“N-no, it's just a graze….Y/n save m-me” Neteyam says through clenched teeth, pain cursing through the entirety of his arm. Jake looks at Y/n  with relief but it disappeared upon seeing her own gash.

“S-she’s hurt dad, p-please” Neteyam whispers, seeing how Y/n’s eyes were glazed onto him, as if she were in a trance, in her own world. She didn’t register her pain or when Jake had instructed Tsireya to hold onto her wound to stop the bleeding.

 “Y/n '' Neteyam calls again, causing her to break eye contact, resting on his face. Her initial shock wore off at the sound of his concerned tone. 

“You’re hurt” Neteyam breathes out, feeling some relief flood into his system with her pressing tightly against the wound. Y/n shakes her head.

 “You Skxawng you almost died. Don’t worry about me” she assured shakily, sending a tear sticker Tsireya a small smile. Neteyam coughs, his feeble attempt to laugh at her tone. She sounded like a mother bird, always stressing over everyone including him. 

“T-thank you. For saving me” 

Y/n smiles at his words, her eyes glossing with warmth. She felt panic rise deep within her at the sight of so much blood. But seeing him alert and responding proved that he was ok. He was alive.

“I told you I’ll always be there for you. I’ve got your back” 

~~~~~~~~~ 

5 years. 

It’s been five years since that fateful day. The day they won against the sky people, since the day Tonowari and Ronal accepted them as true Metkayina. One with the Reef.

Since then the Sully’s and Y/n have accomplished a lot. Lo’ak was finally recognized as a man, completing his Iknimaya. He was Metkayina now, able to prove Payakan as a hero as the people accepted him.

Neteyam also completed his Iknimaya. Claiming a Tulkun for himself as well as a Tsurak on his first try. He was known as a fierce warrior amongst the clan, Tonowari and Jake were greatly proud of his accomplishments. He had proven himself, and was seen as a mighty warrior. He finally felt like he gained what he once lost.

Kiri and Y/n also finished their Iknimaya with equal results, following Ronal and her teachings as Tsahik. And today, Tuk had finally completed hers. Thus the celebration that had been held for the majority of the day in celebration of her. Her feats at such a young age were being appreciated greatly. 

Once the celebration had died down, the group decided to sit around a fire, taking sips of the celebratory alcohol to reminisce about the past.

“Do you remember when Payakan swallowed you whole? I was so scared that you were sent to Eywa!! If it weren't for Tsireya and Ao’nung then I would have had to throw hands with a Tulkun in your memory” Neteyam lets out a booming laugh, Tsireya cracking up next to her mate. Lo’ak rolls his eyes playfully at his brother's antics, nudging Tsireya who sat beside him, their hands clutching small cups of liquor.

Y/n laughed aloud at the memory, she sat perched on a large log beside Kiri and her mate Roxto. His hand held her against him as she laid her head on his shoulder. The alcohol evading her system.

 “Oh yea? Who was it that fell face first into the sea right after they tamed their Tsurak?” Lo’ak taunts, Roxto snickering loudly at the memory. Neteyam frowns, drowning his drink in one go. Y/n giggles, her eyes crinkling with happiness.

 “I have a better story, how about that time Lo’ak burst into tears when getting his first tattoo? I remember the big fat tears rolling down his eyes'' Y/n teases causing Lo’ak to scoff loudly. Tsireya giggles at the memory, how Lo’ak clutched her hand in a vise-like grip that left a bruise. 

“Hey! Not fair, you’re defending Neteyam again!” Lo’ak accuses causing  Y/n to send a playful wink across to Neteyam. Neteyam smiles, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol but Y/n looked absolutely breathtaking under the moonlight. Her hips grew fuller over the years, her bust also growing a few sizes, beautifully adorned with shells of the sea. Her hair had grew straight down to her waist, the tattoos running down from her arm all the down to her thighs. She looked stunning. 

“Neteyam?” Tsireya calls his attention to her, his head snapping towards her. Embarrassed to have been caught gazing towards Y/n’s direction.

“Sorry, I blanked out for a second. The alcohol is strong. What was the topic?” He asks, glancing at Y/n who takes a tiny sip of the sweetly tangy drink. 

“We were talking about crushes. Lo’ak said he didn’t like anyone but me-“ Tsireya furiously blushes as Lo’ak smirks wide. “-I admitted to a childish crush I had as a child that died down a long time ago. Before I met Lo’ak. Now it's your turn. Have you had any crushes?” She asks.

Neteyam feels hot under everyone’s watchful stare. He forced down  the sick feeling in his stomach, as he forced his stare on the fire in front of him. He didn’t stare at Y/n across from him, the girl who had his heart for years. The love that seemed to always  torture him, knowing he could never have her. How could he love her? Was he even worth her? These questions always kept his confession at bay after all these years. 

He didn’t feel worthy of himself and he feared losing her altogether. He feared that if he spilled the longing he had for her, she’d run away and never turn back. Which is why he never even attempted to confess to her, painfully opting to watch from afar. Loving her from afar. It didn't hurt much since he grew accustomed to the pain, learning how to numb the burning jealousy and sadness within. He knew she didn't love him, that was the only thing that keep him sane.

There was no other female that ever held a candle to her, no other girl who took his breath away. No girl who caused his soul to smile with pure joy. There was no one that took up his heart the way she did, from the very young age of 13. It had always been her. 

“Not really. Back home I was so busy with my duties I hardly had time to look for a potential mate let alone a crush. I did feel something once…… but it ended quickly. It also didn’t help that I had to stay vigilant and watch over my troublesome siblings”  he states, earning a glare from both Kiri and Lo’ak. Neteyam was shocked at how easily he was able to lie through his teeth. He added a tiny bit of the truth in there to make his story believable. 

 Neteyam stifles a laugh, looking anywhere else but Y/n. He didn’t want his feelings to betray him, after many long years.

The group seems satisfied with his response as they move on to Roxto, then Kiri. Both admitting to never having feelings for anyone else until they met each other. How romantic. 

Then, it landed on Y/n. 

“So, did you have any childhood crushes??” Tsireya asks giddily, genuinely interested. Y/n giggles covering her mouth with her hand, her cheeks turning purple in embarrassment. Neteyam finds himself smiling at the gesture. 

“I did, and it wasn't a childhood crush. It was serious until I realized I didn’t have a shot and I had to move on” Y/n starts, every eye on her. All equally invested.

 Neteyam goes stiff. She liked someone? It wasn't a child-like crush, it was serious. Who was it? Had he turned her down? How didn't he notice? Neteyam is bombarded with these questions as he leans closer into the circle. Now fully invested. 

“Who was it?” Roxto asks, sitting on the edge of his seat. Y/n chuckles, sending Neteyam a quick apologetic glance. Neteyam’s eyes furrow in question. 

“It was Neteyam….” 

Neteyam’s ears flatten against his head, his breathing comes to a halt at her words. 

“I loved Neteyam for the longest time, ever since I was a little  girl. I always followed him around” Y/n adds chucking at the memory fondly. Everyone shares smiles, wanting to hear more.

 All while Neteyam sat frozen in time. She loved him? Ever since she began following him? ‘How could I have been so blind….w-we both l-loved each other?’ Neteyam felt stupid, he hated himself for not noticing. All that time thinking he wasn't good enough, all that time worrying he’d lose their friendship over a confession. All of the pain that came with watching her from a distance. All that pain. All of it could have been avoided. 

“Did you know?” Lo’ak asks causally causing Neteyam to jolt up. 

“N-no I n-neve-“ 

“I made sure he didn’t notice. I honestly never thought I had a chance which is why I decided to keep everything under wraps” Y/n quickly cuts in. In her eyes Neteyam looked disgruntled and slightly uncomfortable. When in reality he was beating himself up for being so foolish.

“How did you get over it?? When did you get over it?” Kiri asks, causing Roxto to nudge her. “You don’t have to answer if that makes you uncomfortable!” Kiri quickly adds, 

“It’s fine, we're all adults here. And it was a while ago I guess…I took many years to get over him. But eventually I did and now I’ve finally moved on '' Y/n looks at Neteyam apologetically. 

“I’m sorry Neteyam, this must be so uncomfortable. Hearing that your best friend once had a crush on you” Y/n says apologetically causing Neteyam to finally find his voice in the middle of his shock. 

“No. It’s f-fine. If I knew I would hav-“ Neteyam whispers his feeling blubber inside of him. He felt he had to let her know, know that he felt the same. That he still feels the same. His feelings almost slip past his lips as Ao’nung walks towards the group with an annoyed sigh. Holding a tray filled with drinks accompanied with a gourd. 

“Next time you guys want drinks, don’t order the future Olo'eyktan to grab them for you” Ao’nung grumbles, handing Tsireya the tray who passes it around. Neteyam mechanically accepts his glass, his eyes sorrowfully watching as Ao’nungs seats himself beside Y/n. Pulling her into an embrace. 

Y/n stares up into his eyes lovingly as Ao’nung places a careful kiss on her cheek. 

Neteyam feels sick to his stomach as he watches the mated pair cuddle against one another. His entire life he suppressed his feelings. Feelings he thought were forbidden. Dwellings he thought would harm his friendship with the girl he longed and dreamed about. 

He painfully watched the last 4 years as Y/n and Ao’nung got closer together, eventually announcing their union before Ewya. Neteyam felt a part of him die that day, but he was okay and happy knowing she found someone she loved, after all, what he felt was unrequited, she didn't love him back. Therefore he never had a chance. 

But now, all that self talk and self reassurance crumbled as Y/n had confessed she once loved him. For so long. 

There was a perfect moment in time where  they both mutually loved another. 

‘Only if I wasn't a coward’ Neteyam cursed, his eyes stinging with the unshed tears as he watched Y/n nuzzle against Ao’nung. Her mate for life.

He missed his chance, long ago. But now he would have to live with the knowledge he lost her not because she didn’t leave him back. But because he was too much of a coward to fight for his love for her. 

“Hey, are you ok?” Lo’ak whispers quietly, ignoring the chattering group. He made his way over to his brother who had been dead silent for a while. He catches the glossy look in his brother's eyes, how he watched Y/n from across the fire. A look filled with longing, sadness and regret.

 Lo’ak felt his stomach lurch at the thought that Neteyam might be on the verge of crying. 

“Neteyam?” He calls again, Neteyam finally turning to his brother. His eyes blown wide as he struggles to hold in his tears. Small gasps escaped his body that caused his body to shake. Lo’ak realizes the symptoms Neteyam was having, a start of a panic attack. He quickly pulls his brother up, letting him rest all his weight against his body. This catches the attention of the group as Y/n stands up, her face scrunched with worry. 

“Nete-"

“It’s fine, he’s feeling sick. Told you guys he can’t hold his liquor” Lo’ak jokes teasingly. He tosses Tsireya a knowing look before excusing himself from the group. All the while having Y/n’s  worried stare focus on the retreating boys. 

As they walk a good few feet away Lo’ak glances at his brother's defeated face. The tears run along his cheeks freely as he tries to regulate his breathing. His face was in complete mourning, as if he had lost something of high value.

Lo’ak was able to put the pieces together, Why he had been acting differently. Why his brother always looked at Y/n as if she held the stars, in complete wonderment. And why he looked completely distraught hearing Y/n confess about her past feelings. 

“It was her….you loved her didn’t you” Lo’ak states causing Neteyam to whimper out in pain.

 “Yes” he gasps. He felt as though his world was crumbling around him. 

“It has always been her” 

Lo’ak felt his heart crumble, his brother, the mighty warrior looking defeated as the life in his eyes disappeared. It was as if he felt as though he had nothing else to live for. 

Neteyam choked in another sob, unable to control himself any longer. He desperately wished he could go back in time. Tell his younger self to open his eyes. To take the step he couldn’t take.

He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he was aware of her feelings back then. Would they have been mated? Would they be this stupidly in love? Would they begin to start a family Neteyam always dreamed about. Neteyam couldn’t help but wonder. 

‘I wish I knew…..’ his vision became blurry with the endless tears. His sobs taking him full force, causing him to shake in Lo’ak’s arms. 

‘I wish I knew you wanted me’

____________________________________________________________

A/N: Hi!!!! I hope you enjoyed, I was was in a angsty mood so I decided to finish this idea I had for a while. I'm not good at writing angst so this is my attempt! Let me know what you think! I love receiving input from you guys. Also, Thank you for 250 Followers!!!!! I'm so blessed!! I love you guysss!!!!

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #avatar x y/n #atwow x y/n #angst #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #slow-burn #avatar fic #avatar angst #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam #neteyam fic #Ao'nung #aonung x reader #aonung x y/n #unrequited love #mutual pining

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

He hasn't been himself

What -- we're still in S02E05 Chupacabra, and Daryl gets some stitches (courtesy of you), T-Dog teases you about calling that mangy hick so many pet-names, and you come face to face with your big brother Shane's descent into something that you're afraid of you don't recognize.

Relationships/ is there fluff? -- yes! found-family fluff and slowww-burn Daryl x Reader fluff

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl at the end

When - right after Spell your last name, please. when Daryl is getting some medical attention after his very rough, hell of a day

Pronouns - neutral, y'all

TWs - some language, and light discussion of giving sutures (stitches), and Daryl's significant scarring (the result of child abuse) is mentioned

I always do my assigned reading, what chapters will help with context? XD -- all of them muahahahaha Start with souls stripped bare, then the Invisible, tugging strings Part 1 and Part 2, then of course Spell your last name, please.

is there a crappy screenshot of the mangy hick? -- yes, you'll be embarrassed on my behalf.

Masterlist -- Official One here, purely chronological one here :)

Have fun and happy reading!

You

Because Maggie and everyone else but Hershel and Rick are leaving the room, you use your uninjured side to take over maintaining pressure on Daryl's head wound.

That he wanted specifically you to stay made that strange, invisible string on your chest tug more. And that you had to curl your arm gently around him so you could press the rag down properly didn’t escape your notice. Neither was the way his hand just brushed against yours to take over for you.

While you’re waiting for the tugging string to give it a rest, Patricia mumbles to you that she’ll come back in to help clean Daryl’s head once Hershel gives the okay.

“Daryl, is this about what you found?” Rick asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

More quietly, he wants to know “Would it be alright if Shane and Carol came in, too, or is it better if it’s just Shane?”

You think he means if what Daryl had to tell him was good or bad news regarding Sophia.

“You and Shane seem to be a package deal,” Daryl grunts in response.

“Like a BOGO sale,” is your unhelpful, dumb comment to yourself followed by a more helpful, “Oh snap, doc, his second bag is empty already,” when you see his IV fluids are drained again.

A blunt, “Remove it and bandage him,” answers that. “The wax for the needle point is in my kit.” Mr. Greene’s patience gauge is pointing to the E, that much is plain.

While you’re busy taking out the IV catheter (guess what!—this time you did the venipuncture and IV setup! You can do that now!) and pressing a gauze pad to the site, Rick lets your brother in.

Shane seems kinda terse when he hands over the search map and squats on the little ottoman.

Rick places the map on the bed in front of Daryl, then kneels down to face him.

Before anything is said, Mr. Greene points to the bloodied rag that Daryl is not pressing down like you’d directed. “Are you able to maintain firm, constant pressure, or will Rick have to assist you?”

“I can hold a rag,” he responds back in that…unpleasant way he’s got.

You make a face at him. Rudeness is bad enough, but 1.) rudeness to the host, 2.) to the host who’s offering medical care, and 3.) whose horse he’d stolen borrowed without asking and now lost, and 4.) who is about to teach you stitching, and 5.) was using/had used a ton of his own stock of medical supplies? Who 6.) also just lost a man he considered family because of helping your group, like dude?

Daryl. Use a tablespoon of that gentleness you got in there.

Hershel looks at you, and you hope he sees the apology in your eyes.

“Y/N, if you’re going to observe,” he begins, pulling the towel off Daryl’s back and putting it aside. “Wash your hands again with me in the chlorhexidine solution and position yourself on this edge of the bed, there.”

It sucks that you’re all out of gloves. You’ll have to add that to the supply list, along with IV fluid if possible. Fortunately, there was enough chlorhexidine as well as iodine to sanitize, plus the leftover doxycycline but don’t get you started on how that’s unsafe antibiotic use, there’s only so much you can do.

Under his breath, Hershel explains, “We used the clamp and forceps during the boy’s emergency, but they aren’t sterilized. Stitches are best done with a clamp, but as you can see, it will be just our fingers today.”

Thankfully, you have clamps in the med-bag, you’ll donate one.

“Shane, in the med bag, there's a small bag with blue stripes, in it are two clamps,” you call over. “Grab one for me?”

“Swirl it in the solution first,” Mr. Greene requests. “Y/N, did you observe the two times you were stitched, and when Theodore had his?”

“Not the first time.” You shake your head. “But I did watch when Teddy got his, when you did Carl’s, and when Miss Patricia redid mine earlier.”

“She what?” your brother cuts in.

You idiot, Y/N.

“Y/N, what happened that you got stitched up again?”

You’d not told him on purpose. It’s not like you did anything wrong in not telling him, but you immediately feel overheated and guilty as if you had.

You reach out to accept the clamp from him. “Yeah, she checked them earlier,” you do your best to reply in a way that would imply it as being a routine course of action. That didn't count as a lie, right?

Mr. Greene to the rescue: “Y/N, watch what I do, then copy it on your own when I say. I’ll guide you along.” He holds up a small packet. “This is called a swaged needle. There's no eye, the thread is part of the needle. An ordinary straight needle can be used, likewise regular thread, in an emergency, but ideally a curved and swaged is best for obvious reasons. Cleanliness would be a concern, for one.” He opens the packet, points to Daryl’s side.

You sit where he asks and look at Daryl’s wound.

Hershel continues: “We’ll do a simple continuous stitch, the pattern is straightforward. If Daryl pops them, then I suppose you’ll learn how to do interrupted suturing. It’s time-consuming, but more secure.”

That your eyes travel down Daryl’s back again isn’t intentional, but there they get stuck, the same way your eyes had gotten stuck staring at it earlier when you’d helped remove his shirt.

The poor man.

What you thought you saw earlier, back at the house, was correct. Scars. Very big ones.

It looks like the tattoos he’s got on his upper back are partially to cover/distract from some of them on the more visible places up near his shoulders and neck.

A lot more money for a lot more ink would’ve been needed to try concealing the rest of what that person did, those scars were very thick and wide. And no, an accident would not have made such specific scarring, unfortunately, how those got there had to have been deliberate. Scattered all around were cigarette burns, too, some in patterns.

Statistically, it was probably a parent or parental figure.

Mr. Greene’s hand passes over your line of vision as he calls your name. You blink out of it, see his finger wag as if to say ‘don’t look at them anymore.’

After wiping your eyes with your forearm so as to not contaminate your hands, he points to the spot and nods once. “Daryl, I’m going to begin. It will pinch, then burn. Stay still.”

You cringe as the needle goes in. The invisible string tugs when you see Daryl’s breathing pattern hitch and his muscles clench in discomfort. Your stomach tells your eyes to look away when the skin tugs as the needle exits and the thread is lightly pulled.

“Then use the tool to gently bring it across like so,” Mr. Greene murmurs, “going slowly with the thread.” He does two more, then pauses. “Alright, now take over.”

Already?

“Rest in peace, bud,” you joke, whether to ease Daryl or yourself. It’s an insane blessing you have the doxycycline, is all you’re saying.

Slowly you thread the needle, as smoothly as you can. You use a low angle to pull it all through and gently hold the skin down to reduce how much it pulls…oh my gosh, you’re giving sutures right now. “You have my leave to cuss me out if it’s hurtin’ too bad.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“There’s that phrase, dude,” you quietly tease, focused on closing the wound and Mr. Greene’s silent guidance.

Daryl must be doing okay (or is toughing it out like a champ), because he starts to talk to Rick. “Right around here is where I saw the doll, see where the creek bends there?”

“Was it on top of the ridge, or down by the creekbed?”

“Creekbed, right near a waterfall. Spotted it from up top.”

“Was there a little camp or any tracks?”

“None that I saw. My guess is she was thirsty, but got her feet stuck in the mud and needed both hands to get out. Or somethin’ made her run again.” He stops pressing the rags to his head to look at the bleeding for a quick second.

Shane speaks up. “You run into any walkers by that spot there?”

“Yeah.”

“How many.” Not really a question.

You lose your focus for a moment, hearing his tone and being disappointed and a little frightened by it, so you pause the suturing. Breathe slowly and bite your tongue.

“Why? They friends of yours?” Daryl tosses at him, completely unphased even if dickish. You’re on his side with this one. “They wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t stuck on my back with a bolt stickin’ out of me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows as if to say “See? Told you,” then licks his teeth but doesn’t say anything other than: “Yeah, so I just wanna be realistic about this. Think we all do.”

“Daryl, I’m all ears,” jumps in Rick, ever the decent human being diplomat. “Can you tell us more?”

Mr. Greene taps you and directs you to get back to it.

Daryl tells Rick, “I’m thinkin’ the doll flowed downstream a ways after the rains yesterday, see the area closer to the road, there? I’d check around there.”

“I’ll take some people there tomorrow.”

“Not now?”

“Sun’s going down.”

Without looking up as you resume your work, you know Daryl will understand. His own words were 'Out in the dark’s no good.'

Rick then points to the map. “This spot here?”

Daryl hums in agreement and nods at wherever he’d showed him. “She must have dropped it crossin’ there somewhere.”

Rick looks back at your older brother and tells him “Cuts the grid almost in half,” as if it were a plea.

And just as you and Mr. Greene finish stitching him back up, Daryl grates in the most unattractive way possible, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Rick whips out his skill at de-escalation again. As poor Hershel has to quickly remind you to snip the suture from remaining thread in the packet (you legit forgot, so he does it for you), Rick turns the focus on the patient. “How’s he looking?”

“I had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly.”

Fair enough.

Hershel then washes his hands again, so you do the same. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” he then states more than questions, in the way you might confront a teenager who left their dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after sports practice.

And God save him, that mangy hick has no shame. Caught red-handed, he still yips like a grumpy little coonhound, “Yeah, the one who almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.”

You either just huffed, tutted, scoffed, groaned, or made all four at once. RIP invisible, tugging string.

Mr. Greene’s response implies his generosity, which makes you feel shame on Daryl’s behalf all the more. “We call that one Nelly. As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you if you’d bothered to ask.”

Your friend says nothing back. He stays quiet, and simply twists onto his back and starts spacing out at the ceiling, pressing the rag to his head and looking as if he feels very small and very tired.

His eyes close—and you remember that he’s just been through hell and back. He almost died how many times today?

As annoyed and on-guard as he is, Mr. Greene was offering him due kindness and patience when he didn’t get overly short with him.

Still, the way the older gentleman next chides in the most graciously Southern way possible, “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” strikes you as having such dry comedic timing that now you’re the only one cracking up in a room full of uncomfortable people.

It doesn’t stay full of uncomfortable people for long; Shane and Rick see themselves out.

When the door opens, you spot Lori in her worried-position (on the floor with her knees curled toward her chest). As she leaps up from the floor to see Rick, you give her a little wave before the door is once more shut.

Quiet and stillness passes over the room. You breathe out. Breathe in.

Okay, it's probably just about time to clean up and bandage Daryl’s head.

You turn to see him still laying there on his back, eyes still closed. By the looks of it, he wanted to cover up; he’s pulled the side of the quilt over his stomach. You take the towel you’d used to give him some modesty earlier and gently drape it over his exposed abdomen.

But your big brother’s voice sounds through the door before you can do anything else.

The beginning of whatever he said, you don’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. You hear enough. “…Hershel on this one. Can’t keep goin’ out there, not after this.”

Rick is saying something back, but his voice is softer and you can’t make out as much of it. “Daryl” “risked,” and “first, hard evidence” gives you the gist, as does Shane’s response to him:

“That’s one way to look at it. Way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll.”

“Yeah, I know the way you see it.” Rick’s footsteps then fade down the hall.

On the other side of the door, your pulse thumps in your ears. Your breathing is faster than it should be.

Shaney still has that little girl written off?

“Y/N,” Mr Greene calls from the bedside.

Before you calm yourself down enough to turn to help Hershel, your brother starts talking again.

He’s whispering, but it’s still recognizable enough that you hear every word. “I’m not out to be a hard case, just bein’ realistic. He’s just gotta start making the tough calls.”

Shane's speaking to Lori, then?

His footsteps are moving down the hall, and you quietly open the door in time to hear him mutter, “You know I’m right.”

Door now open, your fist grips the knob and doesn’t let go.

“I may not agree with all his choices, but I respect him,” Lori states.

With all she's got going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with how much Shane has changed for the worse. In fact, in your gut you don't want your brother even near her, now that you know they’d been intimate. And that she’s pregnant…

You miss her first few words, but do hear “Your way isn’t harder, it’s…it’s the easiest thing in the world to cut our losses and to not help. You keep telling yourself you’re making the tough calls, you’re really just trying to justif—”

He cuts her off by mumbling, “—The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.”

His words aren't a put-on, that's what alarms you. You know what smooth or schmoozy Shane sounds like; but that there was genuine.

Lori calmly shakes her head and walks toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Even abandoning a lost child?” she prompts. “Really?”

She sounds like she expects Shane to snap out of it and think better on it. To remember his goodness.

But.

To the woman that his best friend since childhood married, and in the context of not caring about a missing, abused child, your brother instead tilts his head and offers Lori a small grin.

He’s…he just flirted with her.

Lori takes a step back.

Her back tightens, her head bows slightly. “My son and I are not your problem anymore. Or your excuse." She turns away. "As for Y/N, they’d be horrified to hear y—” she cuts off as you loose your grip on the doorknob, making noise, causing her to finally notice you standing there.

“You’re right, Lore, they would be,” you drawl, voice soft. “Sh-Shane, get out.”

Whatever he starts responding with, you don’t give a fuck, your softness vanishes as you growl back, “Get. Out.”

You link your good arm into Lori’s and take her down the hall to Carl’s room. She stops you from plowing through the door by holding you by the waist. You take a moment, turn toward her.

She looks you in the eyes and shakes her head, silently mouthing “Please.”

“I won’t,” you mouth back. Still, under your breath, you do stress “B-but he, he needs a leash. Rick can leash him.”

She looks into your eyes but says nothing back.

As soon as the door is open, your words charge out, “Ricky, Shane needs—

“—Mom! Y/N! Mr. Dixon found Sophia’s doll! The one Eliza gave her!” interrupts Carl, (crying and) grinning so wide that your cheeks are getting sore just looking at it.

You take in the room.

Carol and T-Dog are there along with Rick. Lori goes to her son, takes his hands and kisses them, Beth scoots in behind you holding three glasses of water.

Seeing your nephew helps you remember yourself, and you begin to smile back. Your lip wobbles. “He found her doll, little dude.”

Some tears decide to fall when you take a moment and lean against the wall.

Shane is scaring you.

You are frightened of your own brother.

And no, it's not just how he's been after Otis got killed, he hasn’t been himself. He’s scaring Lori, you saw it just now—and this is before he even knows about the new baby, oh my God how are you going to fix this? God, Shane doesn’t even care—doesn’t understand—that a clear sign of Sophia was found today.

And, and he doesn’t care about anyone else here, either, not even about Rick? “The only thing I care about in this world is Y/N, you and Carl.”

If that was really just him trying to flirt or whatever, you aren’t sure whether you’re more disgusted that he claimed to not care about jack-shit else to do it, or that he was saying something that awful not only to flirt but to flirt with a married woman. His best friend’s wife.

That you’re at Rick’s side and murmuring low, “Shane’s a problem,” doesn’t register in your head until he’s replying with what’s pretty much a platitude: “He’ll see reason.”

Even coming from Rick, it doesn’t comfort you.

“But how to we fix it?” you whisper. “Ricky, it’s like I can’t see him anymore. I’m gettin' scared of h—” you stop what you’re saying, a little alarmed that you just started to confess it out loud.

Rick is quiet.

“He hasn’t been himself,” he admits.

Lori’s whispering cuts in, “Honey, w-what are you two talking about?”

You figure she’s scared that you’re telling Rick more than is your business, so you subtly shake your head, then ask “Lore, have you noticed Shane ain’t been himself?”

The expression on her face is controlled. “He hasn’t been.” And she turns to sit back down beside her son and takes one of his hands into hers.

Rick rubs your arm a few times, and nothing else is spoken.

Whatever, you need to get back.

You’re supposed to be helping patch Daryl up, not hiding moping in here like some idiot bitch.

Cursing yourself that not only did you admit to being scared of your brother, but that you’re scared at the possibility he’s still in the hallway, you hold your injured side to lessen the pain when you bend down to peck a kiss on Carl’s forehead. “I’m headin’ off, baby, to help with Mr. Dixon,” you mumble in goodbye.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn back around to see Carl giving you his—sneaky grin? Why, what’s he about to rag you about? “Mr. Douglas told me you called Daryl ‘baby’ like a hundred times after he fainted.”

“That ain’t true,” T-Dog cuts in. “Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s mistaken.” He turns to Carl.

Wait up, T-Dog’s doing his pout thing he does before teasing somebo—

“First off, Y/N was at it before he even passed out.”

*sigh*

“And it wasn’t just ‘baby’, it was also ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sugar.’ Oh yeah, and ‘mangy hick,’ gotta admit that one threw me.” He makes a particularly wide smile in your direction. “Can’t remember if they also called him ‘darlin’ or not, though.”

“However many times Y/N called him a sweet name, Mr. Dixon deserved every one and more,” Carol softly tells the room.

As for you, you must feel lighter, because now you’re smiling, too.

What's better, you’ve thought of a way you’ll feel safe comfortable if Shane’s still in the hallway (that won’t include taking Rick, because you’re pretty sure Lori needs him to feel safe comfortable right now).

“Theodore, will you walk me back to darlin’ baby sugar sweetheart Daryl’s room, please?”

“Walk you a whole six yards down the hall?”

“Please," you ask him more urgently than you'd intended.

He might could've noticed, because he quickly stands and goes to the door with you. "I'ma charge you for this, though."

"Naturally, how many of my jewels will it take?" you joke.

"You gotta call him 'mangy' again for me."

You snort so hard it makes your new stitches hurt. That's the easiest possible exchange he could've made. "Deal."

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

Him

When he heard from outside the door their soft, “Thank you, Teddy,” his muscles relax again.

He’d been worried. Last thing he knew, Shane must’ve been saying some bullshit, ’cause Y/N had dead-ass growled at him to “Get. Out.”

After two knocks, a pause, and a “Daryl, it’s me,” he realizes he’s gotta call back, “You’re good,” so they’d come in the room. Usually people knock and just bust in, it was real nice to have someone wait until he said it was cool.

He’s damn relieved they’re back and doing okay. Other than worried about whatever crap their brother was slinging around them, he’d felt…small, and, and naked without them in there. Now that they’re back, he feels safe, like he’s got clothes on again.

It’s the total opposite of earlier that morning, when he’d felt like Y/N had seen too much of him, and him too much of them. Didn’t feel like that no more.

“Well, you’re still lookin’ nice and mangy, so I guess I haven’t missed much,” his friend jokes, then shuts the door behind them.

Why did they just make a face to whoever was out in the hallway?

“Where’d Mr. Greene go?”

Daryl grunts, unsure.

Y/N sinks into the little footrest by the window. “We’ll get you some dinner in about an hour, okay, sugar?”

Another pet name, another weird feeling in his stomach and chest.

His friend stares out the window and massages their shoulder and neck. “Oh, are you thirsty?”

That he can answer. “The opposite.”

“Ah, let me help you get up—wait, maybe let’s wait for Patricia or the doc to get back, just in case. Can you hold it?”

He just grumbles back. Ain’t like he’s two years old, of course he can hold it. "What's the deal with your brother? Heard him mouthing off."

"Yeah. He, um, he ain't been himself." Y/N grimaces as if there was a bad taste in their mouth, then covers their face, sighs, and changes the subject. “Should we might call today ‘rough,’ or pick a different adjective?”

No idea. Today was…“Today was somethin’ else.”

“Whoa, we’re going hardcore.”

He starts to crack up, which is how he learns that now, laughing makes his head and side ache.

“Crackin' up hurt, didn’t it?” they guess correctly.

A grunt passes as his “yes.”

His friend breathes in slowly, out just as slow. “When you’re up and at ’em again, I’m taking you with me to go light all the candles at that little church to help thank the heavens you got home alive.”

…he feels all warm and can hear his pulse again, what gives? Like, it’s just that he’d imagined Y/N talking about his coming “home” safe, it’s just weird it’s coming up again in real life. Not a bad weird, but still.

“Well,” they scrunch their nose and stare into space, “‘home’ might be different than the usual definition, but you know what I mean. You got back alive to us after all that, it’s—I dunno, God’s got plans for you yet, dude.”

Hadn’t had a friend say stuff like that to him before, so he just lays there like a beanbag.

Y/N is still still staring into space. “And like, all afternoon I had this tense…dread, that you were hurt. Kept explainin' it away, with a quick prayer just in case.” A chuckle. “We’ll bring Carol and Sophia with us when we go light those candles, deal?” Then they give him a look he can’t translate. “Right-o, bud, let me see that side of yours, I wanna admire my handiwork.”

Standing up with a wince, they walk to him. When he begins to slowly twist back onto his side, they stop him and tell him to stay comfortable. His stomach gets all funny again when he partly pulls aside the towel covering his abdomen and his friend gets close.

Y/N starts to put their hip on the bed, then pauses. “Does it hurt you when the bed jostles, baby?”

His stomach goes all funny again. He’s, um, he’s hungry… “You’re good.”

And not a moment after sitting on the bed and exhaling does Y/N groan and start to jabber, “Oh, Moses, I just did it again, look how red you got. Tell me, did you feel redder when you knew how many of us were crowded around you like seagulls on french fry, or when I kept callin’ you pet names? T-Dog’s been poking fun at me for it.”

He…grunts again. It’s, um, he isn’t really sure what else to do, this isn’t a conversation he knows how to tackle. Hadn’t had a friend who called him a ton of pet-names while taking care of him after he’d pin-balled down a ridge twice and got a bolt lodged in his side and fought off two zombie bastards after dreaming up a conversation with Y/N and Merle.

Now Y/N is looking at him in the way they usually look at Glenn before they goof off together. “Wanna compare yours and mine right quick before they get back?”

Well, he hums this time instead of grunts, so that counts as conversation.

“Carl and I joked that we have temporary, sewn-in friendship bracelets. You’re in the club now, too, welcome!” They lift their shirt slowly, blocking the rest of their belly with their arm. Their stitches are up by their ribs aaaaaannd why are Daryl's goddamn cheeks feeling hot again?

“We both have white nylon thread. Carl got blue, though, real fancy,” Y/N says, cute smile on their face.

“He showed me his when I talked to him last night, actually.”

With a giggle, they nod. “Of course he did.”

The front door to the house opens, and the muffled voices of Dr. Farmer and Patricia sound outside the closed bedroom door.

Y/N looks back and forth from their stitches to his, then mumble to themself, “Miss Patricia definitely gave me a different stitch, check out the variations.”

Daryl couldn’t tell from the angle he was in, to be honest, but…“Yeah, mine are way better.”

Y/N deserves a compliment. And, dunno, he’s not an expert, but his side is probably sewed together nice. It’s not like it's still bleeding, right?

Y/N almost misses it. “Hey, the stitches Patricia gave me are grea—ohh.” Their face lights up, and they bop him on the arm. “Aww!”

Daryl feels the corners of his mouth raise. His shoulders relax.

Dr. Farmer Mr. Greene calls from the hall, “I’m opening the door,” and finally walks back in with Patricia.

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

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

> Masterlist link here

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@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @multiifandomhoe @writingmybeloved @boomergirl123 @iheartathena0 @moonliight-luv

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here and your comfort level is important!)  

#twd #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #canon compliant #canon-compliant #slow burn #slow-burn #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #reader x daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #reader insert #reader-insert #shane walsh #rick grimes #lori grimes #hershel greene #theodore “t-dog” douglas #t-dog #theodore douglas #carol peletier #carl grimes #the slowpoke series

[artsietango]

A wild update of Of Vampires & Turnabouts appears!

Thank you all for sticking around, I hope you guys like this info-heavy chapter of the fic. I'm very excited to see you guys react to where this goes.

Link to the fic here!

#my writing #long fic #fanfiction #ace attorney fanfiction #vampire au #vampire phoenix au #vampire phoenix wright #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #narumitsu #wrightworth #slow-burn #case fic #it's a long game rn but i promise it'll be worth it

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

A Peaceful Elf

Part XXXII

A Curse Conquered

“Remember, weeks ago, when I told you not to pick me up until I asked you to?”

He angled his head with curiosity.

You sighed. “After the fight, I didn’t know where you were and I—hastily and without sense—jumped from the ledge and went looking for you and Lae’zel. Well, now, I’m paying for it. Do you…mind carrying—”

A smug grin spread from ear to ear before he lifted you easily and threw you over his shoulder. His stride brought you to the stairway in two steps.

“This is NOT what I meant!”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, isn’t it? Care to jump down?” His voice bounced off of the stone walls as he continued making his way down the stairs.

“Dammit Halsin, if the other’s see you carrying me on your shoulder like—like—”

“Like a bale of hay?” 

“YES, actually,” you bounced on his shoulder with each step. 

“Well, I suppose every warrior down there will turn green with envy, won’t they?” He cackled, “I’m not a jealous elf, but I do find it entertaining to see it in others, on occasion.”

You paused, calculating what he’d said. “Ah, so not only are you annoying, but you’re also deluded. Good to know.”

#A peaceful elf #The peaceful elf #Halsin #durge #tav #halsin x durge #Halsin x tav #chapter 33 #part 32 #a curse conquered #Slow-burn #fluff #bg3

[hellcheerficdatabase]

heart begins to beat

Author: makeshiftcandy

Rating/Warning: Explicit, referenced ED

Chapter Count: 11/11

Description:

He ran when she died.

And she killed him in turn.

Vecna is dead. Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson were, too.

Until they weren't.

Tags: Alternate universe- canon compliant, post-canon, fix-it, angst, hurt and comfort, emotional hurt and comfort, Eddie needs a hug, Chrissy needs a hug, slow-burn, smut, alternating POV, multiple chapters, status: completed

#Alternate universe- canon compliant #post-canon #fix-it #angst #hurt and comfort #emotional hurt and comfort #Eddie needs a hug #Chrissy needs a hug #slow-burn #smut #alternating POV #multiple chapters #status: completed #eddie munson #eddissy #eddie and chrissy #eddie x chrissy #chrissy deserved better #eddsy #munningham #chreddie #hellcheer #stranger things #chrissy cunningham

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Passion and Plasmatic Plague

The first chapter is officially out!

I am excited to join the rest of my fellow creatives for Ecto-Implosion's posting week.

Many thanks to the incredible mods of @ecto-implosion for organizing this event. I had so much fun and have made so many new friends. This is the first time I've participated in a big fandom event. It's addictive, so I'm going to be joining more next year.

I was partnered with the incredible @emotigonecreative! Her piece is beyond inspiring, and you can find it here!

The update schedule for the story is every Saturday and Wednesday. There are 24 chapters, so expect to be fed all winter long! Summary:

Enmity, a supernatural plague, an irresistible connection. It's Sophomore year, and Danny Fenton was still on the bottom of the food chain in Casper High. His friends kept his counsel, and his family kept lecturing. They remained at arms' length, and all others a football field's distance. The one exception was Valerie Gray. Her words drew him closer, yet the Huntress' guns kept them apart. He needed to find a way to bridge the divide, and quickly, because an electronic plague burned through Amity Park, and they'd made a hasty alliance to put it out. Valerie's double life continued to vex her, her work as Huntress made more difficult by Phantom's interference. Then, stability came in the form of a mind-melding upgrade to her suit. It responds to her every whim, its power strengthening with every passing day. Serendipitous, because a ghost curse was spreading through town like ink through water, transforming every piece of technology into a potential adversary. Pulled between her hatred of ghosts and her growing affection for Phantom, she might just destroy her new partner, if her suit doesn't do it first.

You can find the full chapter here, but here's a preview if you're still not convinced:

The air basked in light and bird song, the world made anew in the heavy lidded eyes of the fading night. Rime dusted the ground and hoarfrost clung to the underside of freshly fallen leaves, making the whole world glitter and shine in the rosy dawn light. As the influence of Nox gave way to Aurora, she tucked her arms tighter against her body and slanted away from the touch of the wind’s chill. The sharp scuffle of her footfalls against the glistening concrete, newly citizen salted, cut through the press of silence that cocooned her on her solitary march to school. 

Finally, ahead of her, the light of the school’s warm interior glinted off the frost on the front lawn, its glimmer called forth from the dying strands of grass still fighting the oncoming sleep of winter like a toddler rolling about to avoid a nap. She pulled loosened hair away from her face as a big gust snatched at her curls, clawing away the neat style she’d spent the morning designing. I should have worn a beanie. Sure, she’d have to take it off right after entering school—the No-Hats policy remained even in the cold—but at least her hair would be intact. 

She stood off to the right of the entrance, just inside the double doors, and reached into her backpack to pull out a compact and her emergency brush. The other students brushed past her without comment, briefly sliding in and out of view on the edges of the mirror, as she carefully redid the style. Maybe more hairspray would have saved it? She’d consider it next time. The good stuff was expensive, and with her meager savings—

“Wow, did you fight a bear on the way here?”

“Is that what happened to you?” Valerie continued brushing her hair, eyes never leaving the mirror.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, on account of you wearing half an outfit in forty degree weather, Paulina.” She snapped the compact closed and slid it back into her bag. Even with the brief flash in the compact, she’d been able to see how much frostbite the other girl was risking. A bold, stupid choice, fitting for Casper’s Queen Bee.

#danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom #danny fenton #valerie gray #ectoimplosion 2023 #ectoimplosion #gray ghost #amethyst ocean #action/adventure #romance #slow-burn #sickfic #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst #canon typical violence #Bullying #hallucinations #psychosis #paranoia #Supernatural Curses #Gore #Body Horror #Pestilence!AU

[darkurgetrash]

Writing slow-burn, mutual pining, 'idiots in love' fanfic is 20% plot and 80% trying to figure out how to write the word blush/ed in as many different ways as possible. Fr, the amount these dumbasses be blushing, it's a shock they've not passed out from it.

#rolan blushed he flushed he reddened his face grew hot oh man how has no one called me out on this yet hahahaha #fanfic #fanfic writing #ao3 #ao3 tropes #slow-burn #mutual pining #idiots in love

[ir3nic-sluvv]

FOLLOW ME ON WATTPAD: -IR3NIC

Note: Also, comment or PM me your thoughts/impression of these books! :))

— All books are still on-going, I don’t usually update as much as frequently. But I still wanted to show you guys my works and all hehe 💗💗

10/20/23 — 2.97K reads

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#irenic ೃ༄ #resident evil #spy x family #anime #fanfiction #fanfic #romance #thriller #horror #drama #comedy #action #slow-burn #book series #capcom #tatsuya endo #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #loid forger #loid forger x reader #yor briar #yor forger #anya forger #yor forger x reader #yor briar x reader #xreader #x female reader

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Meeting you Pt.5

Seeing things nobody can

(Not my gif, credits go to its owner/creator)

Author's note:

Words: 2484

Warning: Description of a catatonic state, description of past trauma, exposition to the story, past motherhood, past death. Description of depressive mood (feelings only).

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Serie Masterlist

Part one Part two, Part three, Part four, part five.

Spotify link

Touch- Sleeping At Last

↺͏͏       ◁◁͏͏      ll      ▷▷       ⋮

1943

The silent night weighed on (Y/N)'s shoulders as she prepared herself for her shift at the hospital the next morning. Alice had a bad day with incessant visions, which helped (Y/N) none to keep calm. The man -Jasper- they (Alice) were (was) waiting for made different decisions that made finding him more complicated than it already was. (Y/N) didn't know why they were waiting to meet the man from Alice's vision. The girl said it was because he was not ready yet, but (Y/N) wasn't sure she knew what he was supposed to be ready for. She surely wasn't ready when she met the younger girl. Nor did the woman feel ready to meet the man, especially when Alice would hold back so much information about him. Alice never really talked about the man she saw in her vision. All she had to say to (Y/N) when she'd ask was that it concerned her too, and sometimes he was her mate, sometimes he wasn’t.

It was all very confusing. 

While the girl was curious, she couldn't blame Alice for trying to hold a secret about what she saw. (Y/N) understood the other girl's power. It was all based on one's decision. Should that person change their mind, the vision would change as well. Plus, she trusted Alice with her judgment. Most of the time, anyway. For eighteen years now that they stuck together, and not once had the pixie-like girl deceived her, sometimes her plans were … special. Never dangerous or treacherous, however. 

(Y/N) would then write about her curiosity to Esther and Thade. It was harder now to send letters, though, with the war going on worldwide. 

The war was making it difficult for everybody—Alice and (Y/N) were no exception. While Alice wanted nothing to do with it, (Y/N) had found a job as a nurse for the repatriated men from the fronts. She helped those who would not see the next day's morning light come to peace with it. Those who would never walk again to see the bright side of things, those who couldn't hear anymore, to learn to speak again. She helped those who were in desperate cases. It was a hard job, but it paid something, and Alice couldn't work at a regular job because she always had some difficulties adjusting to the vegetarian diet. Her control around humans was better but not yet perfect. 

(Y/N) was happy that she'd been rich when she was still human and that the woman only had to work a little bit all her immortal life. Now, the money wasn't for her to worry about. Nonetheless, she still had to keep appearances up. Both girls owned a tiny house near the forest of the small town they decided to live in for a while. It was just right for them.

Alice was sitting at the table, looking at (Y/N) rearranging her bag of medical supplies. Both women were soaking in comfortable silence, but the taller girl could sense the everyday need to ask a question in the back of her throat. It was a feeling she was getting used to with Alice around. The girl sighed.

"Ask away," said (Y/N) without turning to face the other girl.

"How do you do it?" (Y/N)'s head cocked lightly on one side; she still wasn't looking at Alice.

She didn't understand the question. ''Do what?''

"With all the blood around..." Continued Alice.

"Ah," said (Y/N), stopping her from organizing. Her hand went up to her hair, which was barely holding together in a loose braid. She replaced a strand of it behind her ear, thinking about her answer. "The blood doesn't bother me; it never really did."

It was the truth.

Mere months after her turning, (Y/N) had no trouble with her thirst, and while she smelled how human blood did, how delicious and sweet it seemed, she never really urged for it to be her meal. It had surprised her creator, Azaria, how controlled and collected she was. Yet, they never found out how it occurred. (Y/N) thought it was because of her condition of death.

Because, like her, Thade was found by Azaria on a battlefield, and he too was quick to find the control not to kill humans on sight -or smell.

(Y/N) was turned a short while after successfully, but not without difficulties delivering her first -and only- child. Azaria, saddened to see her leave the world without meeting her son at least once, bit her and made it look like (Y/N) died from fatigue, fever and blood loss. The girl often thought it was why she could control herself so well. Esther had once said that maybe it was because she wished to meet her son. While it was a possibility, (Y/N) was not convinced.

The seemingly young woman turned back to her bag. She was supposed to work early in the morning. Plus, she'd heard from Mrs. Lowman about a large shipment. (Y/N) was not usually one to fear people, but she didn't like this war any more than she'd enjoyed the first one. A shudder took her by surprise. The woman could still remember the haunted looks of the soldiers she worked with when she was still in England. She could still hear the terrified screams of the brave men that fought the war on the quietest night.

It took a second for the girl to notice the emptiness uncharacteristic of Alice that she now felt. 

But when she did, she turned around just in time to see Alice slouched dangerously close to falling out of her chair. Then, in a wink, she was near the dazed girl, stabilizing her so she wouldn't fall. Alice's blood-red eyes were unfixed, and her face was blank. It always took them both unprepared when Alice's visions came. (Y/N) wasn't panicking anymore, she was used to it, but it was still hard to get used to it, especially when they made her weak.

(Y/N) patted Alice's hair out of her face, not talking while she recovered from the vision. A lingering doubt comes to nudge her in the ribs, installing itself between her bones. But, of course, it wasn't her who felt that. Knowing that Alice disliked having her emotions played with all that much, (Y/N) didn't work on digging into the reasons for its existence. Instead, she voiced her concern for her friend.

"Are you well?" Asked the empath girl to the smaller one. Alice only nodded. She didn't look -or feel, well at all.

A post appeared on (Y/N)'s marble-like face. She wasn't exactly happy with Alice's lack of verbal answers. This was what Alice did whenever the visions weren't to her liking. This time, at least, she hadn't fallen over.

The sun was slowly peeking over the clouds. The birds were starting to sing a good morning too. (Y/N) passed a finger on Alice's cheek again before walking toward the couch they owned, where her medical bag was still waiting, unarranged enough to be up to her taste. The woman sighed, walking toward the small mirror hung next to the entry door. She toyed with her hair for a moment before signing again and turning to Alice.

"Can I ask for your help? It would seem it's impossible to complete this hairstyle without a second pair of hands." The smile Alice flashed her way was so bright that (Y/N) nearly missed how millions of butterflies seemed to fly in her stomach. Happiness, excitement, Alice.

She liked that one version of her better.

While the dark-haired vampire did her hairdo, the other was pinning her caduceus on her collar's left side, then her rank insignia on the right side. She wouldn't wear her cape long enough for it to go against the strict uniform rules. When Alice finished with her hair and placed the little hat over the bun -she'd insisted on doing it too, (Y/N) made sure that the dress wasn't wrinkled before taking her cape and her bag.

"I don't know when I'll be back," she said, "but if anything happens, or if you need to go hunt, go without me." Alice nodded.

It was their ritual before (Y/N) left the house. She would give her the plan for the day. Alice was one to voice her true feelings, but she didn't have to. She always felt nervous about being left alone. It reminded her of what she'd lived through as a human, even if she couldn't recollect it in any way. But, of course, Alice didn't like not knowing this, which was enough for (Y/N) to make her feel better about it.

The nurse smiled and left in the grayish light of early morning, accompanied by birds chirping and the promises of a sunny day she would not see.

It was the worst day yet of the entire decade for (Y/N).

They had received a big shipment, like her neighbour, Mrs. Lowman, had said. And some soldiers hadn't even made it out of the ship that brought the men home. Meaning that it had been even worst on the way back. (Y/N) didn't want to imagine it.

Nurses and doctors were running around, trying to be everywhere and anywhere simultaneously.

People were crying, weeping, and screaming. There was blood in every space that (Y/N) could look at, and people were ordering other people around without considering anybody else's needs. It was a mess.

The vampire had difficulties hearing herself think and reflect on what she was to go through it all. The seconds she'd entered the hospital, earlier in the morning, she hadn't stopped running. Two of her patients had already died while she was with them. Two others had to be sedated due to their violently psychotic state of panic. One other had tried to strangle her when she'd woke him up, and (Y/N) reacted on instinct. Pinning him down on his bed, growling. She'd soon started to whisper gentle words of encouragement when she realized what she'd done.

Sometimes, (Y/N) really hated to feel every emotion at once.

The worst was the grief, really. It was cold and heavy and sticky and debilitating. The woman knew she would never get used to grieving. Blood was everywhere on her, slowly making (Y/N) realize the gravity of the whole thing. 

She'd seen blood before, lots more even, but now she had to make Alice wouldn't smell it on her. Every breath (Y/N) took to calm the emotions floating around was making her throat ache more. She was terribly good at controlling herself. Otherwise, the whole town would have been wiped out already. That was the only thing that kept (Y/N) going about her day. 

She shivered at the thought of the bloody corpse she would leave behind in the frenzy of her thirst. The hot blood in her throat would finally give her the fullness the woman ignored for centuries, no more thirst. She could start with the closest nurses, every other present in the room was too weak to move, and the screams would not be out of place. Yet. Maybe people would start to know something was up, and little by little, all the screaming and crying would quiet down. By then, it would be too late. They'd already be dead.

No, no... (Y/N) thought for herself, taking hold of her mind yet. She swallowed with difficulty before looking around in the sea of people running around. That sort of thought was not usual for her.

"My legs, my legs!"

(Y/N) rushed to the wailing man's side. He'd just woken up from his surgery and missing both his legs. That was her expertise, the lost causes.

"It's alright, sir. I'll take care of you." She said as she reached the man's side. She could feel his panic bubbling inside her stomach her. Burning everything in hot trails. If she'd been human, she was sure she would have thrown up her meal right there and then. She was lucky she wasn't trembling like the poor soldier was. She took another sharp breath to calm him and herself both.

Today ought to be a very long day.

⁂

At the end of the day, (Y/N) bought another uniform. The one she had was utterly ruined now. It was soaked in blood, and the stenches were surely going to resist all of the washing (Y/N) would do. She'd already changed into the new uniform after taking a quick shower in the hospital's communal bathroom. It wasn't the best idea, but it was better than putting Alice in a worse predicament.

(Y/N) would never have forgiven herself if Alice was put in a bad posture because of her.

The town was quiet when she arrived. Usually, (Y/N) would have taken the bus to come home. But as she was already near the limit of her control, she'd ultimately decided not to. Every light was shut inside the small house the nurse shared with her friend. But when she entered the house, Alice quickly ran up to her. She threw herself into the other girl's arms as if she was to disappear.

"It went all blurry suddenly. as if I was in a smog and couldn't see properly." So the shorter vampire was saying.

"It's fine now." She reassured the brunette, forcing a smile to round her cheeks. Alice's eyes met hers, and a smile crept on her face, mirroring Alice's, after a short second. (Y/N)'s hands reached Alice's shoulders tenderly. She really reminds her of Joan by the way she clung to her. 

"You smell like blood." The pixie-sized girl whined; her naturally red eyes were now pitch black.

(Y/N) apologized, laughing a bit. "Let me change. We'll go hunting after." She promised.

The familiar butterflies emerged inside her stomach as Alice agreed with a load of giggles. She was in a happier mood than she was the whole week. That's good. Thought the nurse as she changed into a more sombre dress. She undid her hair, letting them fall on her shoulder and draping her back before braiding them.

Maybe she had a lovelier vision while I was gone…

A letter rested between the wedding ring she held to and the ribbon Esther had given her back ten or so years earlier on her vanity. It was in her name and wasn't opened. However, Alice had the infuriating habit of opening the letters (Y/N) received when she was bored. So, either this one had just arrived, or Alice had been extremely patient. Either way, (Y/N) was pleased.

She'd read it after her hunt. She was starving.

#Jasper Hale x reader #Jasper Hale imagine #Twilight x reader #Twilight imagine #Vampire x vampire #Jasper Hale #Jasper Cullen #Olympia Clan #x reader #x reader imagine #imagines #jasper hale x reader #Romance #Slow-burn

[bouncyballcitadel]

Which ROs are slow-burn? Can you tag this question with #slow-burn?

The slow-burn ROs in Citadel are definitely Vic and Dr. Grey. In terms of who is the slowest burn, Dr. Grey takes the cake (even more so than the Vic/Dr. Grey/MC poly).

#citadelwip #victor uytterhoeven #victoria uytterhoeven #peter grey #citadel slow burns #slow-burn

[a-gal-with-taste]

https://twitter.com/witchy_writes_s/status/1524318871888539648

I feel like this would be right up your alley

Oh, Okay. I see you, reawakening my love for the enemies-to-lovers troupe~

Warnings: SFW. Language, enemies-to-Lovers, Firelight!Reader (plagiarizing a bit from @chickenparm, go read Squeeze so I don’t get sued), canon-typical violence/injuries, banter, a Slow-Burn on fast-forward mode

The first, immediate reaction, is to laugh. Hysterically, maddeningly so, for such an offer is nothing short of pure absurdity. But it's just too absurd for you to even commit to your instantaneous reaction, and instead you just let out a barking sound that's somewhere between a chortle, and a wet, sticky cough, "What?"

"It's cliché, I'm know." Silco is at least honest about it, though he doesn't look you in the eyes as he focuses on his hands, keeping the blood-stained bandage to your torso. Not as much red as when first applied, but enough that made even his non-existent brow furrow, in a rare show of perturbation, daresay concern. Apparently your luck was so shit, you didn't even have to move all that much for the stitches to reopen...

Your musings are cut short, when his eyes dart up to yours once more. As if the second spent from them was too long. "But however predictable my offer may seem, it is an offer I mean, as sincerely as you believe-me capable of. Without strings, or less-than-desirable motives you may accuse me of... I simply ask one thing of you..."

Join me.

If he had said that, the very first time you had been face to face with him, you wouldn’t have even given the time to cackle at the absurdity of being offered a position at the side of the Eye of Zaun. No, you probably would’ve grabbed the mask he had knocked-off your face, and smashed it into his stupid face over and over until it became mush.

It’s what any other Firelight would’ve done. It’s what you should’ve done, as you had scrambled back up to your feet, all under the hawk-like glare of Silco. Unmatching-eyes never wavered from your face, of which he seemed to be committing every detail of into his very-memory, as your hand frantically reached for a knife that - of course - had fallen during the unfortunate hoverboard crash. Knifeless, every nerve in your body was in preparations to lunge when Silco, the overlord and Shimmer tyrant of Zaun himself, tilted his chin up, looked you dead in the eyes and said, “You are far too old to be playing dress-up. Playing babysitter, then?”

Your mask was in his long-fingered hand.

It was a sight that should’ve filled you with far more disgust, but instead, you only felt annoyed at the most evil man in the Undercity, swiping your tongue around your mouth and spitting down far-too close to his boots. “I want that back.” 

“Very well.” He didn’t hand it to you. Not immediately. “Most of the Firelights are little more than children. I wasn’t aware they had a babysitter.” “And I wasn’t aware you conduct interrogations like they’re idle conversation,” You counter back, shifting on the balls of your feet. To lunge at him, end his reign and secure freedom and victory for Firelights, and Undercity alike, or to turn and run; you aren’t sure. The sounds of ambush on the shimmer-shipment are still going strong, but the weight of Silco’s unyielding gaze on you is even stronger. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do; fulfill the mission by taking out the head of the snake, or allow yourself to be charmed by the serpent. 

It’s decided against your will, when you storm a couple steps forward with a snarl on your lips and a panic in your step as you reach out, swiping at the mask yourself. Gloved fingers pinch the edge of your mask tighter and come up to pinch around your wrist as well, tight and as unyielding as his gaze as you glare up at him with plenty of fury, and no small amount of sudden-dread.

Silco continues to look down at you, seemingly unbothered that a quarter of his shipment has been ravaged, all his men are engaged in violent fisticuffs with a gang seeming hellbent to tear his operation down, and one Firelight, within striking - killing distance, gazing up at him. He’s unbothered by all of this, almost lazy in the way his gaze drifts down from your face, to your uniform, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist. He hums, dangerously-thoughtful, and meets your eyes again with a simple question on his lips, “What’s your name?”

It’s not the only question on his face, but you decide to ignore the one in his eyes, and respond to the one from his mouth with a definitive, instant, “Fuck you.” 

With the loosening of his fingers on both your mask and wrist, you snatch yourself away with both still in-tact, turning with your swift retreat and barreling away from the unlucky sidelines where you had crashed, back towards the sound of battle. Sounds which, even with the bitter call of retreat soon following, are far sweeter sounds than that of the faintest chuckle of bemusement that carry in the wind behind you, and the unspoken question in the Eye of Zauns gaze.

It’s a question that’s silently repeated the next time he corners you.

Or rather, sits beside you. Taverns are your weakness, one that you indulge with the recent defeat, and other budding developments - specifically, ones that have to do with the man reflected in the  half-full glass you bring up to your lips, to empty completely. Hands freeze like the blood in your veins, but you don’t turn to watch the rest of his approach, nor the soft hum as he settles onto the stool beside him. 

Instead, as the now ungloved-hand raises in a silent order for a drink of his own, you complete your mission and bring the rest of your bourbon to your lips, suffering the burn in silence when he begins to speak. “This was quite risky... The common belief is that the Lanes have Eyes, or so I hear.”

“And the best booze in the Undercity. Thought it’d be worth it.”

You try to convince yourself that’s not a laugh you hear, but it’s a sound that’s too low to be the tinkering of ice-cubes clinking in the glass placed before Silco. Silence reigns shortly after the not-laugh that slips from his mouth, and as he pleasures himself with taking a tip of the finest the bar has to offer, you chance a glance over your shoulder, attempting to see if you can spot the very gang-member who is going to break through the crowd at Silco’s orders to haul you off to Gods-know what kind of fate.

“Is it?”

“Hm?”

“Is it worth it? Trapezing about in a mask, risking death and embarrassment, all for the sake of... what? Shattering a handful of Shimmer vials with rebellious teenagers?" You bristle at such a plain dismissal of the cause - the Firelights weren't just some petty streetgang, looking to get rid of the higher-competition. You tell him as much, tone rather curt as you turn to him. "This might shock you, but eliminating your drugs from further damaging our streets isn’t just a pass-time of ours,” You snap coolly, bringing your quietly refilled glass back to your lips, and ignoring his eyes that follow the movement. “We’re fighting to free the Lanes, to keep them safe and protected-”

“Several-thousand in property damages, fighting openly in the streets and sapping at the most profitable business Underground, means ‘safe and protected?’” He sounded more curious than anything, but Silco was clearly unafraid of the glower you gave him in response to that shred of bemusement in his tone. “It’s better,” You hiss through your teeth. “Then doing nothing, and leaving the Undercity to rot while you line your pockets.”

“The pragmatism, I can appreciate. There’s a necessity for there to be a base amount of violence and destruction, in order to inspire change," Silco smiles as if he has any idea how it feels, and catches your glare with a glint of his own mix-matched eyes as he brings his glass to his lips. Cool amber slips past them, and he hums at the flavor on his tongue, with eyes that never leave yours and...

You hate it.

You hate being under the attention of the Eye, not just because it's wrong in every sense, not only because nearly every muscle in your body is yelling, screaming for you to turn and run from his attention...

But there's a tiny, slim, speck of a part of you, that wants to stay right where you are, and stay in his gaze forever.

"And what would you know about inspiring change?" You whisper quietly, and Silco let's out a scoff thats far too bemused. "Except for the fact that Shimmer-overdoses certainly weren't the norm around here in the years past, I doubt you and your goons have been as inspiring as you like to think you-"

"What was the last Enforcer raid? The last time Topsiders paraded our streets like a source of oddities to gawk at? Can you remember the last time you remembered a Topsider being amongst our streets, at all?"

You hate the fact that not only he says these calmly and matter-of-factly, but the fact that you can't actually recall. Silco continues on, after admiring your frustration for a beat as he swirls his glass in hand, "I admit, it's crude and often distasteful methods that win-wars, allowing circulation of drugs to bring strength to even the lowest among us... but in these years, I find myself enjoying victory over vials and papers, in compared to over bodies."

"Yes, because Shimmer is devoid of a body-count."

"Its not perfect," Silco readily admits, with something almost akin to apologetic in the way he shrugs one shoulder. "Additional research is always needed. Alternative options are consistently debated, however, outside perspective would benefit in easing out the more negative-effects that Zaun seems to naturally draw onto itself..."

"You think you can talk your way out of the mess you've created?" You sputter, and immediately grow quiet when he chuckles. A low, rolling sound that slips smoothly through the air - it's thin enough to wrap around your own attention, and commanding enough to hold on tight.

You're going to be hearing that sound for days in your mind.

"With the boy? No, he seems more inclined to silence me than to hear me... and he's not the one I would wish to converse with, in the journey to find a middle-ground."

Glass hits the table - not cracking it, but firmly left on the countertop, and left unfinished as you move off your stool. Silco watched, amused, and once more his fingers come up to lock your wrist like a shackle... a warm cuff, for you realize, suddenly, that he came ungloved. "It's not impractical," He comments to your stiff-form. "Wars have been resolved with much less than polite conversation. And in any case, you've sat here and listened to me for several minutes already..."

Eyes stubbornly fixed towards the exit, flicking instinctively to the scattered patrons for those that are just waiting for Silco's order, and you are so focused that you nearly miss the soft breeze of warm air brushing the shell of your ear when he leans close.

"Imagine how much we could talk though, if we spent not a handful of moments, but an entire evening? I believe we would get much done, don't you?"

There's another question there, beneath his words and, if you turned, you would see it in his eyes. But you don't entertain it, not with the one he whispered screeching your mind to a halt, and keeping it prone and useless when his thumb, warm and calloused, rubs a slow line over the pule-point on your wrist.

Up. And then down. Slow, methodical, and with care.

"We shouldn't."

"We shouldn't." Silco agrees in a low murmur. "But we could."

"... I can't."

That laugh is going to be the death of you - the laugh, or the feel of his breath tickling the skin behind your ear, you offhandedly acknowledge that one of those two things will be your undoing. "Somehow I doubt there's a force-alive that can stop you at anything you want to truly do." Silco muses, at the same time his fingers slip from your wrist, with one final, trailing touch along your veins. "You can. And if you decide that you do, you'll know where to find me."

You're released, freed, and give no opportunities for him to take hold of you again, darting from your barstool like life and sanity depends on it.

Despite being the improv drinking-partner of the Eye of Zaun with you as a Firelight, somehow, you know your life is still assured. Perhaps even protected.

Your sanity, however, seems to be something Silco relishes in breaking apart every time you meet. Whether by design or by coincidence, every part of you that vehemently, totally and utterly has resigned to loathing every-part about his existence, is left frayed at the seams every time you find yourself at his side again with every meeting.

And you met him again. Many, many times after that.

The bar is a favored place of yours, but never your regular - a Firelight is always ever adapting, always prepared to be on the move, never settling, and yet you find yourself making something of a third-home at that same counter. First once, than twice, and then more times than you can recall. But what you can recall, is that every time, Silco is there. Seated right beside your own, a glass already in hand, with a drink already fresh at the counter.

He swears he wasn't waiting. And after one of your many visits, you swear you weren't arrive early because you want to.

"Just like you aren't showing up at the same bar for the pleasure of my company?"

His quiet chuckles break you every time. The low-mirth in his smiles when you remember who he is, what he is, and make no attempt to hide the scorn in your tone.

"Exactly."

“I see.”

You hate the fact that he only smiles, truly smiles, when your speech dips from conversation to rhetoric, from cautiously treading the line between critique and rhetoric against the Eye. You loath the idea that he finds your impassioned hisses and glowers amusing, and you hate the fact that, slowly, with every passing visit, those feelings of scorn and words of hatred start to fade.

The words and feelings fade, but the way Silco smiles at you never does.

And you hate it, you swear you do. Or, at the very least, you know you should. But for whatever reason, you don't.

You could blame the liquor or the situation. You can blame the way he seems to have you charmed, how Silco's low words and smooth smiles have done their duty in wavering your loyalty to the point that it's shaken. You even try to blame your fading loathing for the Eye of Zaun, on the fact that there dares to be improvement on the streets.

Shimmer is being diluted. Excessive dosage is becoming rarer by the days, and weeks that follow the meets you share with him. Some Firelights even claim, bewildered and suspicious, that sales are being moderated almost carefully.

When you had stormed into the bar that night, snarls and accusations on your lips, with fury in your eyes, Silco didn't break your sanity with a smile, not this time. He broke it with an ungloved hand, sliding over yours and squeezing, once. "I told you. We could get much done between us, if we only talked."

You knew, one way or another, that simply talking with the Eye was going to destroy you, one way or another. And when he succeeds in it, Silco doesn't win with a knife jammed into your heart, like you had always suspected.

He wins, by simply gazing at you with that ever-present question in his eye, as he raises your hand to brush his lips along your always-bruised knuckles.

Join me.

It's a question you always see, rather than hear. He never says it, but it's spoken in his eyes all the same. With every smile he shows as he silently files one of your complaints for later uses, with every press on his fingers brushing, resting along your skin, and eventually, becoming a constant that warms your skin every time you sit at the bar, a single palm flat on the counter, with his own coming up to cover it with his own. 

Joined, rather minimally, by body. But with every passing meeting, every glance you spare out of the corner of your eye to him between conversations of work, of the Undercity, of histories, of yourself and than one-another, you know what Silco’s asking.

He wants you to join him, and with every passing meeting, you’re finding it harder and harder for your own eyes to keep telling him no.

Unfortunately, you’re so worried about the conversation going on between your gazes, that you neglect the fact that Silco is not the only Eye in the Lanes, and that the Firelights have some of their own. 

There’s no warning, and like you and Silco, that rather important conversation is not spoken through words, but fists, and the venom-filled look that’s given to your crumpled, broken and dangerously-prone body in the alleyway, before you are left for crows. 

“Nngh... g-gotta give them props,” You manage between red-lined teeth, swallowing back another whimper at the delay of local-anesthesia as a needle works to stitch up the brand-new slashes that will leave scars on your side. Diluted or not, assurances that it was wholly medical and not the recreational brand, you’d rather bleed-out than take the Shimmer. “They... they didn’t waste much time.”

“No, they didn’t,” Silco murmurs, green and red following the doctors hands as he works. The flight to the metal-table, or even the discovery of your body in the alley, is something you can barely recall as you struggle just to keep your eyes open. What you do recall, is that you were only about an hour later than the silently-agreed upon meeting time at the bar. 

It should infuriate you, that Silco so-clearly assumed that you would always be there, to arrive at his side so readily, when in reality you owed him nothing. 

There’s a warmth instead, in your chest and around one of your hands as you watch Silco’s expression. Natural-brow furrowed, face stony and unreadable, save for eyes that flicker to watch every movement of the doctor’s work. Eyes that are barely shielding the unspoken emotions finally glance up to you, and that curtain fades to show his dark-rage, fury, promise and...

Yes, and worry. Worry for you, and you know there’s little point in denying or admonishing him for showing you such weakness.

Instead, you simply croak out one request. “Don’t.”

His jaw twitches with the way his teeth grind in seething fury, before motion stills entirely from him as you squeeze his hand, not entirely out of pain as a needle digs into your skin to close the gap in your side. “Silco,” You murmur, voice growing weaker, and also stronger, with how apt his attention is fully-directed onto you. “Please. Spare them.”

“I should. It would send a message.”

“Exactly, you wanna... p-paint bigger target on my back?”

You held his hand until darkness at your vision blurred and faded him from sight entirely. But though he says nothing, the small, tiny points of seagreen and red remain in your sight long after blackness fills it’s edges, and the words in them say more than enough for you to slip into slumber without fear for your now ex-comrades.

There’s also that familiar question in his eyes. It seems ever-present now, from the moment you awaken in a bed far too fine, in a location far too panic-inducing that you instinctively reached out, and wrap tightly around an awaiting hand of the man at your side. 

From that moment, the moment he guided you up to limp your sore, aching body into sitting up, and soon standing. A question radiates in his gaze, with every moment you spend in the snake’s den, and every moment where instead of restoring your demolished honor with the Firelights by ending him, you stay close to the side of the serpent.

And like any other charmer, Silco speaks in words swear and alluring, unhelped by hands easing away the pain of re-opened stitches. “We could do well, together. We are well together.”

“Could name a few that don’t think so. Think you might know them, kicked my ass a few times for that very reason that we were seen together?” Your sarcasm is unappreciated, but you are only admonished with the pressure of his hand squeezing around yours as he raises a brow. Your voice catches, because while he also looks unimpressed, Silco also looks firm in his conviction, making your own waver.

“We... I shouldn’t.”

Your voice is growing weaker. Resolves are crumbling quickly, as Silco only continues to stroke his thumb over the edge of your lip, and gaze down into your eyes with that same, ever-present, never spoken question.

“We can. You can.” A beat, and then he leans down, hand slipping from over your side, your body, until it’s soon tracing the contours of your face. A face you know he’s memorized in it’s entirely, but his eyes drop briefly from yours as his thumb, ungloved, traces along your bottom-lip. Taking in the sight of them parting, before his eyes jump back to yours, only that one question in his eyes as he murmurs quietly, “Look how far we’ve gotten already just by talking. Imagine how much more we could achieve.”

You swallow. His fingers don’t leave your bottom lip and chin. “You... Shimmer’s always going to be a problem.”

“Undoubtly.”

“My... The Firelights...”

And then, with the quietest breath of your name, washing over your face in a warm breeze, he simply asks it:

“Join me.”

He speaks with his mouth; finally giving voice to the question he’s been asking for a long, long time with his eyes. Eyes that have never wavered in his conviction, not from the moment he saw the willing-nature you showed, and the willingness you showed to talk.

It’s not enough, what he’s done already. It’s different, but you know it’s not nearly enough for what the Undercity needs. Silco on his own is not enough to inspire change, but, selfishly, you’ve started to believe that perhaps the two of you together, can make a better effort.

You also have selfish reasons. It’d be silly to lie and pretend they were all noble and thinking only of Zaun’s best-interests, and not just what you want. 

From there, it’s an easy decision, and one you don’t verbally respond to. Instead, you answer the once-silent question with a silent-action of your own, and you push yourself up onto your elbows, matching his hand on your face with one of yours on his own.

In the end, you imagine a verbal-response is unnecessary. Silco can surely hear the yes, in the way you kiss him then. 

-

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#I put this into a plagiarism-check and it gave me a link to Squeeze rip- #my enemies-to-lovers sense has been WAITING to write one #might just be one of my favorites #arcane #arcane fanfiction #silco x reader #silco #arcane silco #firelight!reader #slow-burn #request #fanfiction #silco x gender neutral reader #my writing #angst #romance #enemies to lovers #lol arcane #one shot #fanfic #literature #firelights #arcane firelights #request fill #complete #lit

[saioumaarchive]

Oh, he's dangerous, all right. This man is a thrill he hasn't experienced in ages. Kokichi finally feels forced back on his toes, taut and responsive, documenting every strength and weakness. The intensity with which Shumai scrutinizes him as well when he thinks Kokichi's not looking makes him think he's feeling the same way. Shumai isn't careless; every move he makes, every option he chooses, is done with deliberate motions. The menu timer almost feels slow compared to how fast his brain is going, and he feels like he's been thrown into an alternate dimension where time isn't quite the same and boys like Shumai are actually real life.

~ unhappyrefrain, "(i want to be) brilliant to you"

One thing I admire about this fic is how unhappyrefrain approaches the subject matter. The Dance Dance Revolution community and Danganronpa fandom don't seem to intersect much, but clearly DDR is something the author is very passionate and knowledgeable about, and they don’t shy away from talking about it. They don’t doubt their writing for a second, and because of that, it’s impossible for their readers to doubt it. On top of that, in case the terminology becomes confusing, there’s a handy DDR glossary linked in the notes! The story itself is as engaging as it is hilarious. You’ve got Kokichi, champion DDR player who’s seen so much competitive success that tournaments have become boring, finally meeting a worthy opponent in the form of Shuichi, who walks into the arcade one day and beats Kokichi’s record for the first time in years. There’s banter, a great homoerotic rival dynamic, and enough sexual tension to redefine the phrase “disaster gay”— and still room for mind games between the two of them! It's a lot of fun and I highly recommend it. If we ever see another update, I’ll be first in line!

Rated M (Nothing explicit, but I wouldn’t recommend this to a minor) 14,000 words, 3/? chapters (incomplete) Last updated 23 April 2022

~Mod Equinox

#Saiouma #Oumasai #Fic recommendation #Multichapter #Incomplete #M rating #Rivals to lovers #Slow-burn

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Spell your last name, please.

What -- Daryl's back at the Green's farm after falling down the ridge twice, hallucinating you and Merle, then making it home only to get grazed on his head by a bullet. In this chapter, he wakes up after losing consciousness. S02E05 Chupacabra

Who -- slow burn Daryl x Reader

When -- ten minutes after Daryl gets grazed by that bullet courtesy of Andrea following Invisible, tugging strings, Part 2. <- Read this chapter first!

Perspective -- 3rd person Daryl

Reader's pronouns? -- neutral again, slowpokes, they/them

TWs -- a few cusses in Daryl's perspective

How long will it take me? -- 7-10 minutes

Specific chapters to refresh your memories with -- How's your head? Part 2, Invisible tugging strings, Parts 1 -> and 2 <-

The title of this chapter is weird -- I know, y'all XD. It's in reference to a common (medical) trauma question to check cognition

Where's your Masterlist? -- official one here, chronological one here.

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for better context, reread Invisible, tugging strings, Part 2 here. It's got the word-for-word part of S02E05 Chupacabra with Merle before Daryl makes his way home and sees an angel you.

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Hm? Where in the—where is he and what’s warm stuff he just swallowed? Who the hell's this holding hi—

A bunch of voices start saying stuff, and all he sees is brightness and the outline of faces.

But there’s one, familiar voice closest to his ear that soothes, “Shh, sweetheart, you’re safe. Close your eyes awhile, it’s bright in here.”

...oh shit, is this heaven? It's real? I made it?

“Oh man, sorry,” the voice chuckles. “You’re just so hurt, pet names are floppin’ out of my mouth. Which is what some of your tea just did, too. Here, I’m gonna give you the straw. You’re in the Greene’s house.”

He starts to open his eyes again as he sips down more of the warm, peachy drink through the straw. Once he’s aware of it hitting the back of his throat, he starts to slurp it down because hot damn, he’s thirsty.

Finally, he’s able lift his eyes to see the angel his friend beside him, holding a mug.

Y/N.

“It’s from the box of peach tea we found yesterday,” Y/N happily tells him.

They look miles better than they did a few hours ago. He’s relieved.

Awareness of what’s going on and what happened snaps into gear and he tries to look behind him at his side that’d been gashed open, but doing that makes his head spin.

Also he’s—got a tube in his arm?

Y/N notices his confusion. “You need fluids, dude. Maggie suggested I rub your throat to get you take the drink down while you were half-conscious. It was workin’, too, just like for a cat. You’re on your second IV bag already, the first one went in right quick.”

Not to mention, what’s left of the peach tea in the mug is empty within seconds.

“Don’t worry, there’s more of that. You weren’t out too too long,” they mumble, setting the mug down. “We already checked you over for bites, now we’re disinfectin’ your side wound. Mr. Greene and Patricia are gonna resume that, okay? Then Maggie and I are gonna clean up your head.”

The best he can do is grunt in acknowledgement. He’s tired as fuck. Mumbling and quiet conversation fills the room.

“Daryl, spell your last name, please."

Spell his—huh? “Why’d d’you need my last name?” he slurs.

“To see how loopy you are,” Y/N dryly puts it. “I’m going to ask you to tell me the number ‘thirteen’ in a few minutes, deal? Thirteen.” They then uncap a—ha, orange gatorade? That’s their favorite—and place the straw in it and direct him to, “Hold this, drink, spell your last name for me.”

“D-I, um, X-O-N.” Ouch, his voice sounds like he gargled with pebbles. Feels like it, too.

“Did you take any kind of drug this afternoon, mushrooms?”

He makes an nuh-uh type of groan in response, and mumbles, “Tossed Merle’s hard stuff this mornin’.”

He feels whoever’s cleaning his gash pause, then continue. There’s extra hushed whispering, too.

“Th-that’s, um, very good! Ohh my.” His friend clears their throat. “So I guess we’ll only clap you in irons over charges of grand theft horse,” they snort. “Now, did you get mugged, did you fall, what happened to you out there, man?”

Whoever’s cleaning out his bolt wound, they’re pouring liquid stuff and dabbing at it, and shit it is stinging like a mother-fucker, ow!

“Rough afternoon,” he groans. Then, Daryl remembers the most important thing and slurs out a rushed, “Th’doll!” while opening his eyes again and trying to sit up. Pain stops him from moving much.

“Yes!" Y/N giggles. "Straight up, everybody here could’ve kissed you when we saw you’d found it, Daryl. Can you tell us where you found it?”

This rush of heat from outta nowhere zaps his cheeks as he rests his eyes again and relaxes down onto the pillow. “Bottom of the ridge,” he tells them.

“Clever man, you said it would be the best vantage point. Now, about those injuries, what made your afternoon ‘rough’ specifically?”

“…Fell down it.”

A small noise left Y/N’s mouth.

It's the old man’s voice who asks, “Is that how you got the wound to your side, here?”

“Happened th’first time I went down. Bolt.”

“The 'first time.' Y-you fell down it more than once? That’s—” squeaks from Y/N's mouth, then some babbling. “Oh m—does he need a traction collar or, or—”

“You said ‘bolt.’ Would that be from your crossbow?” comes the old man's voice again.

“Mm.”

“It’s remarkable the injury didn’t perforate any organs, passed clean through,” he comments. “Do you have any numbness or a tingling sensation anywhere on your appendages?”

His negative groan was hopefully sufficient. He kinda wishes he had numbness, because all he feels now is sore. It’s like he got whumped by a Mack truck.

“Tap your fingers to your thumb,” the old man then orders.

He does.

“Did any of that hurt?”

Another negative groan. He tries to shake his head, too.

A woman’s voice he’s unfamiliar with hushes, “Y/N, he’s okay for now, just keep checkin’ his cognition and feeling his head. Ears and nose, too, for fluids. Maggie, sweetpea, you check his toes for movement and sensation.”

He liked the sound of the woman’s voice. It was down-home twangy and no-nonsense, in a good way.

Now his shoes are getting untied, which must be Maggie. That’s the short-haired chick, if he’s remembering it right?

His friend sighs. “That guardian angel of yours is having a very busy day, Dary-bear.” There are some rustling noises near his head. He opens his eyes to see them pull what looks like a very skinny flashlight from the first aid bag. “I’m going to use this penlight, now. Can, um,” they pause and look around the room.

Wait, how many people are in here?

“Teddy, please hold the drink for him?” they call behind them. “Let’s get that bottle drained.”

Sure enough, T-Dog walks over from wherever he was, crouches down, and holds the bottle by Daryl’s mouth so he can sip from the straw.

“Sorry you had to wake up to all this fussin’ and chaos, man. But, you heard ’em, drink this down.”

“Wiggle your toes, please?” the short-haired chick calls, similarly twangy like the blonde woman and Y/N.

He wiggles his toes.

“Now point, then straighten your feet and toes for her,” Y/N murmurs.

He does.

“Straighten, then relax your legs if you can.”

He can, and does.

“Any of that hurt or feel tingly?”

“No,” he grunts again.

“Next, look at my nose, please,” his friend says. They guide his left hand in theirs and position it so it makes a wall between his two eyes. “Keep your hand there and repeat the months of the year. I’m going to shine this near each eye a few times, just keep starin’ at my nose while I do.”

As he recites the months in between gulps of the gatorade, he notices by the time he says “October” that he’s been staring into their eyes and at their lips instead of their nose.

When they gently take his hand and lower it back down, he gets a rush that helps him feel more awake.

“Now let’s have the months backwards,” they instruct.

He does his best.

“Let me know if you feel anythin’ off,” the blonde older lady says to Y/N. “I’ll palpate when you’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am. Okay, please tell me what memory came into your head when you saw the orange sports drink,” Y/N asks him next, their hands lightly pressing around his head, almost in a massage type of way. He doesn’t know what it is or why they are doing it, or why he isn’t flinching at someone touching him, but here he is. It feels really nice—OW!—except that spot didn’t feel as nice, that hurt!

“I, um,” he croaks. For real, his voice croaked. Rough afternoon. “It’s your favorite.” He rests his eyes again and remembers how Y/N’s floppy sandals squeaked as they’d walked to the wash area together. He’d been holding their bucket. That memory helps him relax more…

“You rememb—um, y-yeah, it’s my—sorry, you remembered that?”

“Give the man credit, Y/N,” T-Dog says under his breath in a way that sounds like he’s joking.

“Theodore,” they whisper back. “He’ll think you’re serious.”

Daryl isn’t sure what that was about, his eyes are still closed and heavy.

Y/N clears their throat. “Anyway, here I thought you’d just mention that you’d given me a bottle, friend. Um, ten points if you can state the name of the generic gatorade?”

T-Dog has tapped him with the straw to get him to drink more, so he opens his eyes and manages a grunt in response while he sips, then closes them again.

“Eh, you’re right, that’d be a stretch even if you didn’t just go through the wringer. It was Sportsman’s Signature Electrolyte Rehydration Beverage,” Y/N fills him in. “Now, I’m gonna check both nostrils and both ears for stuff coming out them, just bear with me, I’m usin’ a gauze square for it, I’ll be poking it into those places. How about you remind me the name of your favorite uncle.”

“Uncle Jesse,” is his answer before Y/N even finishes saying ‘uncle.’ The tickling feeling of the gauze in his nose almost makes him sneeze, then the feel of it in his ears is just uncomfortable.

At least his eyelids and his body don’t feel as heavy as before.

He open his eyes again. Sees Y/N is scribbling something down in a notebook.

“And what number did I ask you to remember, sweetheart?” Y/N checks. “Ugh, there I go with the pet names again. Sorry, honey, ain’t nothing, please tell me what that number was?”

Number? Number, um, uh, honey…um…three…thirteen. “Thirteen.”

“High-five, perfect recall!”

He finds himself tapping his palm to theirs and almost smiling.

Whatever they’re talking about now, though, is going right over his head. He’s gonna rest his eyes again…

“GCS is a solid 14, I think? He’s oriented, it’s just takin’ him slightly longer to get his words. Long term recall was good, short term he passed, too. Seems like he’s wakin’ up. What’s your take, Miss Patricia? Do y’all even use GCS in real life?”

“Ain’t heard ‘GCS’ since workin’ third shift ER for my first job. Oh, that was years ago,” came the twangy woman’s voice. “But it’s used a whole lot. 14 means he’s doin’ pretty good now. We’ll check it again later, I’ll teach you all about RLA scoring.”

“What’s RLA stand for?”

“Rancho Los Amigos, right?” is what Daryl thinks he hears T-Dog answer, but it makes zero sense so he must’ve heard wrong. “A few buddies of mine got concussions back in the day,” T-Dog explains, but it still doesn’t make sense. He opens his eyes as if that’ll clear things up.

Lucky for him, his friend repeats “Rancho-Los-Amigos?” which really is the damn name, the woman assures them both.

Daryl tries to look back again to see his gash. He doesn’t feel as dizzy as bef—where’s his shirt?

His pulse starts to pound in his ears.

He’s got no shirt on. In front of all these people?

Cold chills and a hot waves pelt through him at the same time. If, if his shirt if off and all these people are in here, that means they saw it. His back.

“Please stop trying to twist around,” comes the voice of the old man from behind him. “The wound is clotted and I want it to remain that way before I stitch you up.”

Y/N chirps in like an oblivious damn canary before he has a chance to react or think. “Oh, Daryl, would you mind if I watched? I wanna see it done as much as I can so I can learn.”

Turns out, this was a good thing. Him not being able to react to realizing he’s got no shirt on gave him time to see that a clean towel was bunched around his stomach, as well as positioned over his back shoulder; most of him is covered.

He’s shirtless, yeah, but covered.

And he now sees that his position on the bed means that, although the door is behind him, he’s blocked by the angle and by the blonde woman with the twangy voice and the old man.

“You just paled like you seen a ghost. Brother, you feeling okay?” T-Dog whispers.

Daryl meets his eyes for a second. How is he supposed to admit to not wanting anyone to see him without his shirt without sounding like some priss?

It’s just that—he’s shit at lying and the scars he’s got are kinda obvious. He’d tried to lie to a doctor once about it, the guy saw right through it. Daryl had been over 18 by then, so none of that CPS stuff happened, but still. The look on the doctor’s face made him feel like some pitiful kid and it made him feel small and weak and like he’d done something wrong.

“Y/N, can you check his blood pressure?”

It’s pointless for Daryl to try to say it was nothing, because Y/N was beside him again and pumping up that cuff thing within half a damned minute. He ends up officially meeting the owner of the twangy, no-nonsense voice, too. Patricia.

“He’s 108 over 64, Miss Patricia. That’s good, though, not too low. Oh.” Y/N’s face drops and they pause removing the cuff. “But he is a smoker, d-do you think that means it’s-it’s too low? I-I don’t know his baseline! Honey, what’s your baseline?”

“Daryl, spell that last name again for me?” the woman asks, and way calmer than Y/N.

He spells it again. “D-I-X-O-N.”

“14 times 2 is?”

“Uh, it’s, uh 28.”

“Five squared is?”

Squared is multiplying a number by itself, so…“25.”

“Your older brother’s name was?”

‘Was?’ What does she mean ‘was?’

He perks all the way up, and with a vengeance. “His name still is Merle,” he pretty much snarls back. Merle ain’t dead.

The woman makes a one-sided smile at Y/N and T-Dog with a brow raised. “He’s definitely awake now, doin’ just fine. Hersh, I’m gonna check his skull for any issues, then let’s double check if he’s got spinal damage. Did you check his nose and ears for CSF, Y/N?”

“He’s clean.”

“Anythin’ feel off on his head?”

“Some goose eggs, especially by this area here.” Daryl feels the warmth from Y/N’s hand as it hovers over the area he’d winced at. Their fingers trail along his hair for a sec, if he didn't just imagine that... “But no wiggly bits or step-off. His pupils were good.”

“After I get a good feel for his skull and neck, Maggie and Y/N, please give his hair a quick wash before cleaning and bandaging his graze. Then which of us is gonna stitch him up, you or me, Hersh?”

“I think Mr. Dixon here would prefer fewer people in here. I’ll do it.”

Those words are music to Daryl’s ears. So many damn people fussing over nothing. Patricia is done checking his skull or whatever, now she's poking around his neck.

“How many people are in here, anyway?” he asks whoever will answer.

“Mr. Greene, Patricia, Maggie, T-Dog, Rick, and me. Carol, Lori, Shane, Andrea, Dale and Glenn and Jimmy are out in the hallway,” Y/N tells him. "Carl's still in bed, of course, so Beth's with him."

…The whole group? Even the teenage kid?

What’s he supposed to, um…why the hell are they all crowding around and waiting? For him?

The old man saves his ass again. “Let’s leave dressing his head wound until after he’s stitched up. Everyone out, please.”

The name Sophia pops into the forefront of this thoughts. If they all acted fast, maybe she could be back by tomorrow morning! “I gotta talk to Rick.”

The old man's fuse is low, that’s obvious. “You’re the patient,” he responds.

“Then Y/N, you can stay, too,” is not what Daryl expects would next leap out of his mouth like a frog over hot tar, but there it goes. They wanted to learn, the old man better let them.

Weird part is, he understands that in offering that they stay, Y/N is definitely, 100% going to see the scars if they’ll be watching him get stitched…he doesn’t know, it’s just weird; he doesn’t have any kind of dread or nothing in the pit of his stomach about it. It's better when they're around.

He looks at them for a second, a bloody rag in their hand that they're back to pressing to his head. There's one, little tug to his chest in their direction, then it's gone.

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

> Masterlist link here

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayerer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs​​

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here!)  

#twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl twd #twd daryl #reader insert #reader-insert #canon compliant #slow burn #slow-burn #the Slowpoke Series #Patricia twd #Hershel Greene #Theodore Douglas #T-Dog #Theodore T-Dog Douglas #Maggie Greene #Maggie Rhee

[heavy-is-the-crown-if]

Which ROs are slow-burn? Can you tag this question as #slow-burn?

Good question Anon ! 🤔 hmm...

I think I can say with enough certainty that Merlin and Morgana path will be slow burn. But maybe other Ros will be added to this list...

#heavy is the crown #slow-burn #Merlin #Morgana

[womenusingwords]

The Apple Diary

The details… Title: The Apple Diary Author: Gerri Hill Publisher: Bella Books Publication date: December 19, 2023Available formats: ebook, paperback, audiobook Print length: 304 pages Audiobook length: 9 hours and 2 minutes (Tantor Audio, Narrator Abby Craden) Genre: romance Themes: women love women, romance, family history, family business, family loyalty, soul mates, love, apple…

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#apple farming #Bella Books #coming out #contemporary romance #family business #family history #family loyalty #friends-to-lovers #friendship #Gerri Hill #Lesbian Fiction #Lesbian Romance #Lesfic #loss #love #romance #sapphic romance #self-discovery #slow-burn #soul mates #toaster oven #women love women

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Bonus Tracks

Author: @hangonsilvergirl

Rating/Warning: Mature

Chapter Count: 2/6

Description:

When Chrissy suddenly slams flat against his ceiling, Eddie decides that wigging out is now a very appropriate response, and he rushes back and away from whatever bullshit this Wes Craven fever-dream is trying to snap his addled mind with. His own body smacks into the kitchen counter with enough force to knock him, literally, onto his ass, and to bounce Wayne’s portable radio off and onto the linoleum floor with a thunk.

In some overwhelming joke of deviant, karmic irony, it starts playing the local FM station, breaking through the buzzing electricity, supernatural tension, and Eddie's own panicked breathing, by introducing Billy fucking Joel to the moment.

And of fucking course he's singing "Uptown Girl".

Five times Eddie Munson didn't kiss Chrissy Cunningham + The first time that he did.

Tags: Alternate universe- canon divergence, alternate universe- everyone lives and nobody dies, fix-it fic, slow-burn, Eddie has a crush on Chrissy, Chrissy has a crush on Eddie, fluff, angst, confessions, probably at some point, Eddie POV, multiple chapters, status: WIP

#Alternate universe- canon divergence #alternate universe- everyone lives and nobody dies #fix-it fic #slow-burn #Eddie has a crush on Chrissy #Chrissy has a crush on Eddie #fluff #angst #confessions #probably at some point #Eddie POV #multiple chapters #status: WIP #eddissy #eddie and chrissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy deserved better #munningham #eddsy #chreddie #hellcheer #stranger things #chrissy cunningham