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retrievablememories · 8 months

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cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he��s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh. while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader #black reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #fem reader #female reader

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silassinclair · 3 months

Text

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CW// Possession, Obsession, Yandere Behavior, Jealousy, Suggestive Content, Gaslighting, Maddox has a housewife fetish (16+)

Masterlist

When Maddox first saw you hiding in your wardrobe after having killed your Father he was shocked to see such a pretty woman inside. He knew your Father had a daughter but he didn't know she'd be a fierce and beautiful young woman.

Maddox knew he had to have you. No way was he going to leave you in this bumfuck town in the middle of no where. You're too valuable.

He ties you up and takes you away from your hometown. You're his now so he's taking you with him wherever he goes. Having a pretty little accessory like you will give him bragging rights after all.

He takes you to saloons while he plays cards with his buddies. Has you sit still and look pretty on his lap while he drinks and plays. His friends say dirty things about you. Commenting on how submissive you are for Maddox. Maddox eats their comments up like a full course meal.

"You boys wish you had this fine piece of ass. But she's mine."

When you're at his temporary house he has you play housewife. You cook his food, clean his laundry, and most importantly you take him like a good girl and let him use you to pleasure himself.

"You like that yeah? You don't? Then shut your pretty little mouth n' take it anyway. Don't make me mad now."

But over the course of a few months and after spending more time with you he sees you less as an object to brag about and more as a companion. He sees you everyday so of course he develops feelings. Feelings he denies of course.

"You think cus' I'm being nice lately you can just skip doin' laundry? Well you've been a good girl this week so I'll let it slide... But you're doin' it tomorrow! No excuses!"

Maddox takes you to the saloon with him again as usual. This time the sexual comments his friends say make him see red. He draws his gun and shoots them all dead where they sit.

"I should have never let em' say that vulgar shit bout' you. Shoulda never let you in that shithole in the first fuckin' place. C'mon, we're goin' home."

Fucks you gently this time and prioritizes your pleasure over his. You're so cute mewling beneath him. Praises you instead of degrades you.

"You can take it princess, c'mon! Don't tell me to slowdown when I can feel how good you feel on me. Yeah that’s it, good girl. Doin’ so good for me… Ya’ feel divine~"

He slowly starts bringing you into town less often. When you ask why you can't come with him he simply says that you're safer at home.

A month goes by and you're tired of being holed up in his house. So you take the risk and leave while he's taking his afternoon nap.

Bad Choice….

"You thought you could leave me?! Baby I love ya', I really do but sometimes you're real fuckin' stupid."

Locks the doors, windows, and always has his eye on you. When he has to go out he keeps you tied to the bed by the ankle.

Every night he holds you close to him. He's a light sleeper, he'll feel if you move and try to escape him. If that happens he'll embrace you in a nearly bone crushing hug.

He’ll wrestle with you if you try and fight him, but he’ll never strike you. He’d never do that after seeing the abuse his Mother endured from her customers at the brothel.

Comes home one day with two golden rings. He wears one and forces the other onto your ring finger. It's a perfect fit.

"You're my wife now and I'm your husband. You'll address me as such, got it?"

No wedding, no priest, no judge, no documentation. He says you're his wife now and that's that.

"There's names engraved inside the rings.? That's just the name of the jeweler I got it from... Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

You two never get to settle down. You hop from one abandoned home to the other. After all he needs to always be on the run from the law. It's a stressful but exhilarating lifestyle. Danger lurks at every corner.

Loves calling you by his last name. Though your last name is still legally L/n; Maddox says that since you’re his wife you have his last name. After all you two are wearing the rings to prove it!

"Thank you for the meal Mrs. Graves, God you're perfect. Where have you been all my life?"

He adores your body. Doesn't matter what body type you have. Chub? He's kneading it with his hands while he praises you like the goddess you are. Insecure about how the outline of your ribcage is visible? He traces his fingers down to your tummy and then goes even lower... He can't keep his hands off.

Favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and just press your backside against him while you do chores. It feels so domestic and it makes him feel like he isn’t a wanted criminal for a moment.

Kisses? He loves to kiss you! His favorite spots are your ankles, tummy, and forehead. And your lips ofc!

Whenever you have to slip your stockings on he swats your hands away and does it. He’ll pull them up sensually and slowly, trailing kisses from your ankle up to your thigh as he does so.

“Your skin’s so soft princess, just wanna take a bite. You’ll let me right?”

He loves animals. His horse Jasper is his best friend. Jasper won't let anyone ride him except for you and Maddox. Anyone else gets thrown off and stomped on.

Since this is the 1800’s people don’t really bathe as often. But Maddox is different. He can’t stand having grime on him for too long after you called him stinky once. So now he bathes more often than most. And you bathe with him too. You have no choice in the matter.

“Mmm love it when you wash my hair sweetheart… Ya’ fingers feel like heaven..”

Maddox is a tough guy. He's taken bullets, stabs, you name it. He even survived a hanging once. If anything happens to you he'll fight God himself just to keep you safe. Even if it costs him his life.

"GET YA' MEATHOOKS OFF MY WIFE YOU FUCKIN' ANIMALS!"

Tells you he loves you everyday. And if you don't say it back? Well he'll just bug you until you say it. After your "marriage" he doesn't really punish you anymore. You’re his partner for life, you deserve the world.

Respects women. His Mother worked in a brothel so he witnessed how men mistreated women. He could never do that to you... Even though he did early in your relationship. But he'll never admit that! Bring it up and he'll call you crazy.

"Sweetheart I never harmed a hair on your head, quit talkin' nonsense."

Teaches you how to fire a gun just in case. Hopefully you'll never have to use the skill though.

Spoils you whenever he can. Maddox has a decent amount of money but it's still pretty tight. Buying you things isn't an option because being on the run means you need to have minimal baggage. So he treats you to dinners and cute little dates.

Overtime you get used to this life. You forget he ever even killed your old man.

Anyone is free to request anything! Don't be shy! I'm hyperfixiating on this oc so I'll happily write anything for him. As long as it isn't blatant NSFW :-)

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #obsession #headcanons #yandere headcanons #maddox graves #western #fem reader

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suzukiblu · 2 months

Text

WIP excerpt for Jan; the Gotham Kid.

“Alright,” Pete says, then drops back down to the floor, rolls his shoulders back, and cracks his neck. “Mike, Lou, you’re going left. Vito, you’re on the right. Don’t worry about covering me. Kid–what the fuck’s your name, kid?”

K-i-d, Kid signs. Pete gives him a dry look.

“Very funny,” he says. “Alright, fine. ‘Kid’ it is. Kid, get your ass out there as soon as you see an opening and don’t get killed before you do something useful about it.”

yes, sir, Kid signs instead of bothering to waste time explaining it actually is his name, or at least the closest thing to one he’s got, and Pete snorts.

“Uh, boss–” the guy Pete called “Mike” starts, sounding wary. Lou and Vito are already drawing guns, looking resigned.

Kid finds out why about half a second later, because Pete throws open the bolt on the main doors and kicks them open into the faces of the bodies outside without another damn word before charging straight into them.

Okay, then, Kid thinks. That’s . . . an approach, yeah.

Admittedly, more planning was involved than Kid tends to use himself. But Pete probably isn’t bulletproof.

Kid doesn’t have time to figure it out either way, since Lou and Vito are already out the doors too and Mike is running after them with a string of curses.

“Kid, don’t be a–!” Candi starts to hiss warily. He doesn’t look back at her or anyone else in the building; just runs out too and slams the doors behind him.

And flips the bolt back shut with his TTK, too.

It is Clayface, apparently, because the bullet holes Pete just put in the lead guy’s face are full of clay, and so are the ones Lou and Vito put in the others’ chests. Mike yelps in alarm; Kid runs straight past him. If he gets shot, well–they won’t know the difference, as long as he hides any holes in his clothes.

Worst case scenario, it’s not like they’re from around here. Nobody’s got any reason to care what they say. And a lot of people out there are bulletproof, anyway. Nothing about getting shot a couple times and not dying from it is identifying information that’d ever leave Crime Alley anyway.

And Kid’s not even really bulletproof. He can just pretend to be.

He’s always pretending, after all.

“Jesus, boss!” Mike yells as Pete jams a taser into the clay-spattered mess of the guy in front of him’s face and fires it. All of the fake Falcones fall at once, thrashing and twitching, but only the first one screams.

And then they all collapse into roiling, thrashing brown clay, and start rippling and crashing towards each other. Lou nearly gets knocked off his feet and Vito goes down with a sharp, bitten-off curse, hitting his back on the gravel and concrete. Pete jams his taser into the nearest massive lump of clay as it lunges past him and it splatters everywhere.

Pete bares his teeth in a vicious, grim imitation of a grin, like an old habit he hasn’t quite shaken.

Superman’s memories tell Kid to expect something else from him, again, but that’s what he gets.

#jan #wip: the gotham kid

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sawturn77 · 5 months

Text

𝑶𝑪𝑬𝑨𝑵 𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺 (𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

02: somebody I used to know.

MASTERLIST.

january 1st, 2018.

----

suguru saved me from the awkward silence and wiggly eyebrows from satoru. "y/n! come help me set up the table, please!" "coming!" i bolted out of there. phew, at least im free from embarrassment now. . once i got in the kitchen, yuji and nobara were arguing about who was going to eat the most food. suguru handed me the utensils that went on the table. i realized hadn't talked to him since i got home. he gently patted my head instead of ruffling my hair like satoru. "how was your visit to the ice rink?" he asked, gently smiling at me. "It was good, until i hit my head and fell on my butt." suguru chuckled at my defeated tone. i started to set the table, placing the chopsticks, spoons, etc in front of every seat. i watch as yuji and nobara approach him, talking to him comfortably. i didnt know they were friends with megumi. he seems like the closed off type, especially now.

----

soon, shoko arrives and everyone eats. i have to admit, my brother sure can cook. im starting to think hes like satoru's malewife..anyways, after everyone finished eating, we had a drawing, and whoever drew the short stick had to wash dishes while everyone else got to play uno. God was NOT favoring me today. there were two short sticks, and guess who got them! me and megumi. FREAKING MEGUMI. you know what? it cant get more awkward than this.... right?

wrong.

here, we stood right beside each other, shoulder touching shoulder, leg touching leg. i wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear. the worst part was, he wasn’t even bothered by it! he didn’t even acknowledge it! surely, if i was him, i’d at least be stealing glances! oh, well, maybe he isnt that kind of guy. he was never interested in stuff like that. the two of us stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. the entire time, i was wondering how to start a conversation and barely got anything done! megumi had done most of it. now he probably thinks im useless! he’ll never associate himself with someone so unhelpful. “so,” i started, lips trembling. he glances at me. how come his eyelashes are so long? does he use mascara? “how..how have you b-been lately?” i wanted to curse myself. who the hell stutters nowadays!? “alright. what about you?” i could feel my shoulders tensing. i had heard his voice earlier, but now, im really paying attention to it. just thinking about it makes my stomach do axles. “good, actually.” i smiled, desperate to keep myself from squealing. minutes past, he hasnt said anything after that. okay, you dont wanna talk to me, cool. fine. whatever. (squealing) part of me wanted yuji and nobara to come in and start being annoying to break the ice. hell, maybe even satoru would do. after what seemed like decades, we finally finished washing the dishes. i sighed in relief, but i couldnt have a moment of grace before my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. i felt a napkin on my cheek, wiping soap off my face. “sorry,” he muttered. kill. me. please. “you had soap on your face.” i laughed awkwardly while he just looked at me, “really? i-uhm, i didn’t know! thanks.” what the hell, y/n?? what is your problem??

yuji and nobara ran towards me and megumi, bombarding us with a fury of words i didnt understand. something along the lines of, “guess what?? i won against mr. gojo!” “no, kugisaki cheated!” “the hell? i didnt cheat! all of you just suck!” “cheater cheater, pumpkin eater!” “grow up!” megumi frowned at their antics. “idiots” he muttered.

an: hey guys sorry for the short chapter😔i kinda rushed bc i have to gts early bc i have school tmrw. but i will be posting tomorrow or the day after that! it normally takes me two days (4 hours total) to write this much anyway

TAGLIST: @fillmeup6969 @morgyyyyy @kasumitenbaz (OPEN)

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nobara kugisaki #yuji itadori #fushiguro x reader

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pedgito · 2 years

Note

“want me to model these for you?”

Eddie plis 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

author's note: for my 1k celebration. i could've gone so dirty with this, but i tried to constrain myself lmao. plus, this was too funny of an idea not to write it.

cw: literally none, other than a very, very flirtatious eddie, fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

“I’m pretty sure you have it the wrong way,” You mention to Eddie, watching as he turned and twisted to fit the costume the correct way, getting tangled in the harness, the weak leather snapping apart from the resistance of Eddie’s broad shoulders. He freezes immediately, eyes locking with you from behind his arms, still trapped. You nearly combust on the spot, “I’m gonna kill you, Munson.”

You breath out sharply through your nose, rounding the long table to meet Eddie, helping his arms out of their uncomfortable position. “You didn’t mention you were making these for people the size of literal hobbits.”

“These were for Dustin,” You say through gritted teeth, tossing the destroyed material to the floor, back to the drawing board. It had taken you nearly two weeks to gather all the costumes together—two very long, painstaking weeks, your fingers ready to fall off at any moment, “who, if I remember correctly, is half your size, Eddie.”

“But, you didn’t—“ Eddie begins, silenced by your finger pressing to his lips.

“No. Sit.” You ordered, pulling your finger away from his mouth to point at his velvet lined chair—his throne, he called it. Fit for one person only, the prestigious Dungeon Master…yada, yada, whatever. He was always just Eddie to you.

“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t try it on.” He argues anyways, once you’re a sufficient distance away.

“No,” You say pointedly, “But, I did tell you to be careful with it—which, I figure, you get halfway through putting it on and realize it doesn’t fit, that you would take it off, not force it on.”

Eddie shrinks in defeat, guilt flooding his system. He did feel bad but he couldn’t hold in his excitement, too eager at the prospect of costumes for the extravagant session they had planned at the end of the month. Halloween night. He’d been planning for weeks.

It was destined to be the most insane campaign he had ever created. Everyone had their costumes planned out, ready for full immersion. But now, poor Dustin would be carrying his weapons around, rather than having them holstered away.

“You might’ve just cost Dustin his life now,” You comment, sifting through the pile of clothes, “he was really excited for that piece.”

It wasn’t as hindering to his character as you were making it out to be, but teasing Eddie was just too easy.

Eddie sighs softly, flicking at your small pile of dice on the table, a translucent cherry red with white detailing. Eddie was the one who had bought them for you, when everything was still new and you didn’t understand a single aspect about the game. Truthfully, he was just appreciative that you had given them a chance, being as open-minded as you were and all.

You were always incredibly talented with a needle and cloth, always making your own handcrafted, personally styled outfit pieces for school. You even taught him how to sew the custom pieces on his jacket—and he was forever indebted to you now, or so he said. Eddie was a fan of dramatics and while you never really took any of it to heart, it was still endearing.

“Aha!” You shout, holding up the dark cape that you had crafted for Eddie. He wanted something dark, dreadful, and a little terrifying in hopes of scaring the boys shitless. “Oh, and I can’t forget the horns.”

Eddie perked up quickly, flexing his hands excitedly in your direction, grabbing at the crafted horns, still smelling of polymer and paint. “These are so cool,” His voice is raw, fingers dragging along the ridges and dips of the carefully crafted piece. You smile at his astonishment, flipping the hood of the cape over, showcasing the two carefully cut holes, “no way.”

“Yes—so that way, you put those on,” You grab the headband, slipping it into place under the hood, “and you can’t even tell that it’s not already a piece of the costume. Sick, right?”

Eddie laughs in disbelief, eyes glancing up at you. The grin on his face is just the answer you need, but he nods, “Hell yeah.”

“Plus, with the whole lighting situation we’ll have going and the music—I think it’ll scare the crap out of those kids.” You add, helping him into his costume, securing the front of the cape around his neck. “Voila.” You sing, fingers moving fancifully, like you were crafting a bit of magic.

Eddie’s eyes wander to the table, stopping on one particular piece in question. A black and red corset, decked to the nines with lace and hooks and all the necessary components. It wasn’t hard to deduce who it was for, his eyes shooting back to you, wide as ever.

He plucks it up delicately, before you can protest. “Huh,” He nods, “What about this?” Eddie asks, Cheshire grin on his face, “Want me to model these for you?” He’s holding the corset to his chest, glancing up at you with faux innocence.

You scoff, yanking the garment from his grip and shoving at his face playfully, doing nothing to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I think you’ve already done enough damage for one night.” You remind him, flipping the corset back onto the table. “Besides, I don’t think I could handle you in a corset.”

It’s not meant to sound as flirtatious as it does, but Eddie picks at it, not allowing you to wiggle out of this one.

“Oh,” His voice raises, pulling gently at the string of the cape until it falls from his shoulders, “so what is it—the tattoos, or wait—is it my shoulders, are they just that distracting?”

It was a bit of both, but he didn’t need to know that.

You slip the headband carefully off his head, peering directly into his eyes. “Count your days, Munson.” It’s a warning.

“And why is that?” Eddie urges, forcing his way into your space, but you don’t back down.

The back and forth between you two was ridiculous, a constant bickering mess, always chomping at the smallest bit of whatever you could, just to get each other riled up.

It worked so well.

“Because I know the second I walk in here, in that,” You bite back, eyes locked onto him like he was your next target, “your entire campaign is going to fall to pieces.”

Eddie wouldn’t be able to focus, let alone direct an entire campaign, not with you sitting directly across from him, staring him down like you wanted to swallow him whole. You were just as enticing as you were terrifying and you heard it from Eddie constantly—“You really know how to work ‘em.” He’d told you, having somehow managed to scare Jason off enough from asking you on a date, yet still leaving his friends in awe at how easily you handled the situation, giving him a small taste of his own medicine.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Needless to say, it was the quickest campaign in Hellfire history.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #my writing #1kfc #i hope this isn't as all over the place as i feel it is lmao

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mydetheturk · 11 months

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Title: Hell, I'm Dead Anyway

Author: mydetheturk

Rating: M (for safety)

Word Count: 2,710

Warnings: Vomiting, Panic Attacks, Crying, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Wolfwood's Going Through The Horrors, Hallucinations

Summary: Wolfwood cracked too many ampules. Meryl and Vash can only keep him comfortable while he recovers.

Day 3 of @mashwoodweek! I chose "Ghosts" for reasons that will be Revealed in the fic. There's also a sprinkling of the poetry prompt "Tell me every terrible thing you've done, and let me love you anyway."

Title is from The Dark Tower Vol 2: The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King

(read on AO3)

There's some content warnings in the replies, if you're reading in the dash view and want to have some idea as to what's going down.

Meryl worries, when her boys get into gun fights. Vash can dodge anything when he wants to, but Nick… Nick tends to soak up the bullets and crack an ampule and chug whatever serum is in them. And this last gun fight had been. Bad.

It'd been bad.

Nick had cracked the glasses at least twice that Meryl had seen, and Vash admitted to seeing another two, not to mention what might've happened when the three had been separated. When Meryl had found Nick again, he was leaning against a horse hitch and standing over black sludge, surrounded by bodies of some of the bounty hunters after Vash.

He'd thrown up black sludge before collapsing, all before Meryl could finish calling out to him.

Meryl's panicked scream had brought Vash running.

That was a couple of hours ago.

Meryl isn't sure how they got Nick in their motel room without anyone seeing them or Nick getting covered in vile, black goop. Meryl's been holed up in the bathroom with him, making sure he doesn't die. Vash hasn't been allowed back in since Nick looked at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes and stopped breathing out of panic. It took about thirty seconds of stillness before Nick sucked in a ragged breath and vomited up more of the black goop, the tears in the corners of his eyes spilling over.

Vash had bolted, and he's been pacing back and forth in their motel room since, bringing Meryl whatever she's asked for. She's only seen something like this once out of Nick since they stuck together after July. It almost killed him then, and it feels like it's killing him now.

It's been a while since he last coughed up the black, rotten goop, and while his vision isn't totally clear, Nick actually looked at her when she called his name, so Meryl's taking it as a win.

“Nick? Baby?” Nick's so pretty eyes blink at her, unseeing. Meryl puts her hand on his cheek, and he pulls back weakly. “I'm going to have to get Vash in here. I can't move you myself. Okay?”

“Shl'dn' touch… hurt you…” Nick wheezes, and Meryl's heart cracks.

“You can't hurt a kitten right now, baby,” Meryl says. She kisses his sweaty forehead.

Nick's too hot, but they don't have a tub with their room, just the tiny closet that holds the toilet and sink. Meryl and Vash will have to get whatever they can to get him cooled down. She just needs to get Nick on the bed, first.

Nick hacks up another lungful of bile into the toilet, wheezing weakly. Meryl runs her hand across his shoulders until he slumps back.

“'m good. Be good. Won't run again,” he whispers. He's staring out past Meryl, at something only he can see. “'m sorry.” His hands keep clenching and unclenching and small shivers wrack his frame.

“Child assassin, made to grow up too fast,” Nick had told her, drunk on bathtub gin and grief. Meryl's put those words in a little box to examine when she has moments to herself. Trying to demand anything of Zazie doesn't work, but what the Worm's Voice has implied has been horrific.

“Vash!” Meryl calls over her shoulder. She doesn't want to corner Nick in the tiny bathroom, but they've gotta get him cooled down.

Vash nearly runs Meryl over in his haste. He's glowing slightly, whorls flickering into existence from his eyes outward. “Is he–”

“He's too hot. It's making him delirious,” Meryl says. She tries not to think about the couple of pictures of tiny baby Nico Miss Melanie had shown her with golden eyes too old for his soft baby face. She doesn't know how successful she is with controlling her voice, given how Vash pales with her words.

“Will – will he let me touch him?” Vash whispers. He hovers at the door, not wanting to put more stress on Nick.

“I don't think it's gonna be a will he, Vash. I think you’re just going to have to,” Meryl says, just as quiet. Nick's lips are moving but no words are coming out, and he's staring not at her but past her. His whole frame trembles and his breath keeps skipping. “We need to cool him off.”

Vash takes a couple of deep breaths and steps in, deliberately making noise. Nick twitches back, eyes flicking in Vash's direction. He's ashy under his tan, the ever so faint freckles just darker than his normal skin tone standing out.

Meryl doesn't know what ghosts he's seeing.

But she wants to find the remains of Millions Knives and use the Punisher's laser to make sure he isn't coming back. She wants to find whoever Legato is and hurt him for hurting Nick.

“I'm so sorry, Nicholas,” Vash says. He kneels down, and Meryl scoots out of his way. She can't really haul Nick around the way he can her – he's too dense and she's too short. “I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe.” Vash keeps his words low and soft and unhurried as he carefully takes Nick in his arms. Nick tries to get away, flinching and spitting and full of panic, but there's only so far he can get in the confines of the bathroom.

Nick's crying silently by the time Vash gets his arms around his torso.

“I know, I know,” Vash says. “I'm sorry.” He presses his cheek to Nick's. “I'm standing up now, Wolfwood. There we are.” Vash rolls to his feet, dragging Nick with him. Meryl moves up as well, drawn to them magnetically. Nick can barely keep his feet under him, he's shaking so hard. Vash keeps murmuring to him and there's a sound Meryl can feel coming from Vash's chest. “We're gonna walk now. I've got you. I'll let you go in a moment.” Vash backs them out the door, staring forward at the back wall of the bathroom the entire time. He keeps going until the backs of his legs hit the bed and then Vash turns, shifting Nick until he's the one with the mattress in the back of his knees. Meryl helps Vash manhandle Nick into the bed proper; Vash's hands don't linger the few times he touches Nick's skin.

“Can you run water as cold as the sink will get it, Vash?” Meryl says once they've got Nick as comfortable as they can. There's an expression on his face that says he can tell more about what's happening than Meryl can. She's not sure he'll say anything, though.

Vash uses his prosthetic fingertips to shift Nick's hair off his forehead. Nick’s eyes scrunch closed and he tries to pull back, but he doesn’t make it far. Tears streak in varying directions across his face, across the bridge of his nose when he looks away from Vash. “Yeah. Just a second.” With a heavy sigh, Vash grabs up some fabric – a towel, a spare shirt, things like that.

Meryl takes a moment to get Nick's shirt the rest of the way unbuttoned, exposing his torso to the hotel room. Placing her hand over his heart, she feels the way it jumps a little and his breathing catches. He’s scared and verging on passing out from his panic and what he was seeing.

Meryl's breath stutters on an exhale.

He's so stupid.

She lost Vash once, no matter that he came back; Meryl can't lose Nick too. Her breath hiccups and she chokes back a cry.

“Hey.” Vash taps her shoulder with his flesh hand, the glove off so she can see his hand fully when she turns her head to look at him.

“Yeah?” Meryl hates how small her voice is.

“Nicholas is stubborn,” Vash says. “I'm sure he'll pull through.”

Meryl wants to believe him. She does.

But the sense-memory of when Nick killed the man that had been the boy Rollo to save Vash's life rolls through her bones anyway. She doesn't want that for Nick.

Instead of voicing this, she holds out her hands for whatever Vash had taken with him to the bathroom. The fabric in her hands isn't super cold, but it's cooler than the air around them. Carefully, Meryl drapes the smallest pieces of fabric over the pulse points of his head and arms, saving the wet shirt (which is one of Vash’s) for Nick's torso, folding it in half and laying it across his chest.

It's not heat exhaustion or stroke, but she's not sure how else to handle it. They'll have to try getting some water in him at some point so he doesn't get dehydrated.

For now, it's all she can do.

“I'll make sure the bathroom is clean,” Vash says. “We don't want the lady at the desk getting angry with us. Innkeepers talk.” He says this lightly, but there's a look in his eyes. Meryl's sure the same look is in hers.

She pulls her eyes away from Vash's far too blue ones and casts a glance around their room. Something is missing. With a second, more thorough look, Meryl realizes what it is.

“We left the Punisher,” she says with dismay. It's been a few hours – she hopes no one stole it since they retreated to the motel room. Honestly, she's not sure how someone could; the gun so full of what Nick claims is mercy but is in actuality a horrifying number of bullets weighs more than Nick and Vash combined.

Vash's face falls, empty.

“I'll get it,” he says. “Stay here, I'll be back soon.”

“Hurry,” Meryl replies. She doesn't think the hunters who'd been after Vash earlier would strike again, but she doesn't want to risk it with Nick as bad off as he is.

“Of course. I always do.” Vash grabs the coat Nick's been wearing since July, sliding his arms through the sleeves like he never left it behind. Running his hand through his hair, it spikes up slightly. With his hair back and Nick's coat, he doesn't give off “Vash the Stampede.” It should hopefully be enough.

Nick's breathing evens out while Vash is out getting his gun. When Meryl checks on his pulse, it's still a little off, but going stronger than it had been.

Meryl drops her face into the mattress beside Nick's hip. “You're an idiot,” she whispers. She refuses to acknowledge the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. “You stupid idiot, you can't do this to me.” She takes the closest hand in hers, threading their fingers together. Nick mumbles something incoherent.

Meryl's still refusing to cry when Vash comes back with the Punisher slung over his back. He looks a little worse, eyes red rimmed and tear tracks through the iridescent scales that show up when he starts glowing.

“How's he doing?” Vash asks. The Punisher makes a soft thump when Vash sets it down. The belts aren't quite right, but Meryl knows Nick will want to make sure his gun is fine when he wakes.

“Better,” Meryl says. “His heart though...” she trails off, biting her lip. There's nothing she can do; she's not a doctor, and Vash's 'profession' when he's going undercover is a Plant Engineer. Not to mention whatever he's got going on inside of him isn't going to be the same as Nick, who's definitely got something going on that a normal, unmodified human wouldn't have. There's no scars, but Meryl watches how he stretches his back, and it's unsettling to see how flexible it is. Sure, Nick broadened over the last couple of years, but there's something going on underneath.

Vash furrows his brow and moves to the other side of the bed they have Nick on. He places his ear to Nick's chest, eyes closing as he listens.

Vash blinks up at her after listening to Nick's chest for a moment. “I don't know if I can do anything for this, Meryl. His best bet might be...” Vash trails off.

The doctors at the Eye.

“Fuck,” Meryl says.

“Yeah.” Vash swallows. “That. That about sums it up.” He lets out a little giggle. It sounds about how Meryl's feeling.

Meryl laughs, a little hysterical thing. “It's going to be so fucking hard to make him not drink that fucking serum.” She's not even sure if there's a single member of the Eye that Nick trusts. From what Vash remembers of the fight on the sand steamer on their way to July, they were holding Nick's brother hostage as a way to make Nick work with them. Most of the people experimented on straight up die.

Vash stands back up and walks around the bed to wrap Meryl in his arms. She finally lets herself cry over the whole situation. “We'll let him heal,” Vash says. He's got that blank tone to his voice again. The one that makes Meryl sad and pisses Nick off. “If he gets worse, we'll head Home. Luida might be able to do something.”

Meryl's met a couple of the doctors on the ship. She hopes someone there can help.

At the moment, all they can do is wait and periodically cool the fabric they draped over Nick.

Meryl gets out her stack of reports and settles herself in the chair beside the bed. Vash cleans the bathroom within an inch of its life and then methodically cleans the Punisher before doing maintenance on his Colt. Both of them keep a desperate eye on Nick while they work. Its a little while longer before he finally slides into proper sleep, his breath deep and even. Something in Meryl's chest untangles at that. She hopes he's not having nightmares. Nick had looked at Vash and seen someone else. Meryl's pretty sure she knows who, since she sees blond hair and a beauty mark on the wrong side in her nightmares too.

Setting aside her reports, Meryl leans on the bed, pillowing her head on her crossed arms so she can stare at Nick. She loves an idiot with a sacrificial streak an ile wide and another idiot who has no sense of self-preservation when it comes to the people he cares about.

She closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

A shaky hand petting Meryl's hair makes her jolt up. The hand in her hair falls.

“Ow.” Nick's awake.

Nick's awake.

Meryl dives into his stomach, not giving a damn that she's sobbing all over him.

“Ow. Shortie, what's–”

“Don't do that to me again!” Meryl sobs.

The door creaks open, Vash stepping through. “I'm back,” he calls quietly. “The innkeeper was kind enough to give us something when I mentioned Nick's not...” He trails off, finally processing the scene before him. “Nicholas,” Vash breathes. The bag in his hand clatters to the floor and he joins Meryl in clinging to Nick. “Wolfwood – Nicholas, Nick.” He keeps repeating Nick's name, as though his brain has gotten stuck on Nick and Nick alone.

Nick makes a noise but doesn't shove either of them off of him. Not that he could at the moment, not with the grip Meryl's got in his shirt and the almost bruising clutch Vash is using.

Meryl sobs herself out, Vash close behind. Nick shakily holds on to both of them, bewildered.

“You can't do this to me – to us,” Meryl croaks when she thinks she can talk a little bit without bursting into another round of tears. “You could die and I can't lose you too.” Her voice cracks on her words and Meryl clings into Nick's chest again.

Vash pets Nick's cheek with his flesh and bone hand, thumb going through tear tracks and giving Nick a watery smile. “I can't lose you either,” he says. “Please. Don't make me lose you too.” He buries his face in Nick's throat.

Nick makes a noise at both of them. “'m sorry,” he rasps. “Didn't mean to scare you.” He doesn't say it won't happen again. Meryl knows it might.

He didn't promise her this after that time when they were without Vash, either. As long as people he cares about could be in trouble, Meryl knows Nick will do whatever he has to to keep them safe.

She just hopes it doesn't kill him in the process.

#trigun #mashwoodweek #mashwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #meryl stryfe #not sure what else i need to tag #babies are having A Time #like all the major warnings i was worried about are at the top of the post and there's more details in the replies #-shrug-#idk if im missing something tell me i guess #vash the stampede #forgot that tag apparently aaahhh #myde writes

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stesierra · 11 months

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@yesireadbooks tagged me! My words are water, purse, bottle and glass. I'm drawing from Cast Out.

I'm leaving an open tag and also tagging @elizababie and @macabremoons with the words sprint, fire, dirt, and cut.

Water

I came back outside half an hour later and found Thesil and Sefi sitting together, Thesil's arm thrown across the goose's back. Sefi was snoozing in the sun, her head tucked into her own feathers. I smiled.

"What did you run off for?" Thesil said.

"I wanted to see how many days we can afford to hide out here, in quarantine."

Thesil's mouth shut.

"I presumed you didn't want to run on to the next city. Not when you think we might carry the disease."

"No." She looked away from me. "I thought you might insist we do."

"Why? Because I wouldn't kill myself? We told Abursa we could quarantine ourselves. I meant it."

Her nod was slow in coming. "So. How many days can we stay here before we die anyway?"

I sat on her other side, the one not occupied by the goose. "With the small well near the crossroads, we won't run low on water. But I don't know how far our food will stretch."

"We can eat small meals."

"That will help. But how long is the journey to the next imperfecta camp? If we guess wrong–"

"Starvation," she signed, and looked pleased at herself when I nodded. She was picking up sign so well. Then her smile faded. "We have to risk it. We can't carry the disease to camp."

"No," I agreed. "Are you still convinced we'll be dead in a few days?"

She nodded.

"Don't think like that. Think what we'll do afterwards, instead."

"Walk a long way, I guess."

I nodded. "We'll need to find a new troupe as well."

"Why? You could make a good trade off your paintings without one. Paint a few rocks, and we'd be in business."

"Who would buy a rock?"

"If you put holy symbols on them, the pilgrims will."

"They're already starving."

"Soon so will we."

Purse

The perfectas reached our troupe at mid-day, driving a wagon pulled by donkeys, their necks straining against the weight. A tarpaulin covered the wagon bed. The drivers wore laborer's wool and no jewelry. But Abursa wheeled to greet them anyway. One perfecta tossed her a fat coin purse and drove the wagon into our camp.

I rose from under the shade tree where Thesil and I had taken shelter for the afternoon rest. Thesil was rubbing at her eyes as though an eyelash had lodged itself under her eyelid and multiplied. I left her to it. If the perfectas had brought us an automa, then I would need to paint it.

I reached the wagon at the same time as Abursa. She nodded to me and turned to say something to the perfecta man. He pulled the tarpaulin off the wagon bed with a flourish.

A wooden donkey lay on its side in the wagon, its legs longer and more graceful than any real beast's, its ears feather-plumes, its eyes balls of swirling glass. Its torso shattered by some massive impact that had smashed wood and cut a hole as long as my arm.

I caught a glimpse of the exposed core, glowing a subdued ugly yellow, before the scent of the oracle ore hit me. I staggered forward, visions creeping in at the edge of my sight, and fell to my knees beside the wagon.

Bottle

My gaze was on my little house, my refuge. Another step, and my foot glanced off something hard and round. I stumbled, kicking the obstacle out of my way, and wobbled upright. For once my balance had saved me a trip to the dirt.

The tripping hazard was a brown glass jug, its top tightly sealed with wax and tar. It lay on its side a few feet away until an unremarkable brown hand righted it. I shook myself out of my concerns about Grandmother and blinked at my surroundings. I'd nearly stepped on Tamorin and Gadara. They sat on a folded grass mat just beyond the line of automas, a healer's bag and a book open at Tamorin's side. Bandages and bottles stood out clearly against the bag's black weave. Blankets were folded neatly beside them.

Tamorin was holding the jug carefully and checking it for damage. His sister glared at me. "Watch where you're going."

"Sorry," I signed back.

"You're lucky you didn't break that. Then you'd be sorry."

"Was that a threat?"

Her lip curled. "If you want naphtha all over your legs, be my guest. But you might want to avoid the cookfire."

Glass

The house was beautiful. Some builder had stacked slabs of stone into walls and counters inside, and thatched the roof in bark thin enough that the breeze blew in and the sun stained the edges between strips pale. It had a stone floor, the same flagstone that made up the walls, but the windows were free of glass. Instead, someone had glued sheets of mica together to form a patchwork glaze across the view of the town. In points, it was nearly invisible. In others, it was layered thick enough to tint the world golden as honey.

#tag games

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meatriarchived · 8 months

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❛ You have to live. ❜ | @lifesver

:) me when i slide over a perfectly normal-sized response- cw of course for death & guns & sad & hoyt and yknow yknow.

( it wasn’t supposed to be like this. )

air was harsh to draw in and push back out — fire burned in her lungs while they ran, aimless, along tunnels and rooms that seemed to never end. leading to large, heavy, locked doors barring their way out of this fucking hell of a maze.

( they were never supposed to be here. )

his hold on her hand, pulling her forward with him, made her stumble over her own feet every few steps. desperation was settling into him. desperate, determined, pleading for a fucking way out, a door, a lockpick, a ladder, any of the others — just fucking SOMETHING to give them both HOPE of getting out of there.

( HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. )

the puncture wound she’d gotten from the huge one — the one called thomas - when she had tried to wriggle away from him, hours before she had run into her friends and sister, before she had been restrained onto butcher block, had arm and leg carved into…

( WHY DID HE COME HERE? )

the wound, of point of hook that curved through her stomach and inward, just missing bottom of lung…it was getting to her, slowing her down, dizzying her. blotches of black and stardust clouding her vision as she felt piercing pain within her ribcage as she struggled to catch her breath. and by the time she could manage to speak, her voice was nearly wheezing out of her - strained, quiet, hoarse.

it was his name wretchedly stumbling past her lips that reached him, from frantically looking around them in every direction, mind racing and eyes studying every possible nook and cranny he could as they ran to find something, just, fucking SOMETHING-

“ lee — leland, plea- i ca- ”

his name in her voice broke his concentration, enough for him to look back over shoulder to her, beginning to ask her what was wrong, but instead stopped dead in tracks when he realized he’d been dragging her along with him — how she heaved to breathe, sweat coating her face and shoulders and collarbone, how pale she’d become.

( he needs to get out, he needs to find the others and they all need to get out. )

curses and apologies flood out from him immediately, concern and worry sticking to his features like the sweat on his skin stuck clothes to his back, as he turned and took her by the shoulders, easing her to a crate nearby and having her sit to catch her breath, to rest for as long as they could manage to do so.

his sorries poured from him still, as she breathed raggedly, trying to focus eyes on him but everything was swimming around them — she felt nauseous, lightheaded, there were three, two, four of him distorting as he knelt beside her, trying to speak to her, waiting for responses, but all she could offer were incoherent stammers between lungs working to steady between the pain, between the heat and the chill fighting one another in her chest and skull.

( you’re slowing him down, hisses her mind. you’re going to get him killed. he needs to leave you here, save himself. you won’t make it anyways. he needs his strength to get out — not to keep worrying over or carrying you. )

he lets her stay there, on the crate, as he takes off to scour around the rooms nearby - maybe in hopes of finding a bottle of antiseptic, maybe for some kind of water and rag to wet and cool her off.

either way he kept coming back to the alcove of the tunnel they holed up in, checking in on her every other minute it seemed. he was growing more antsy with every time he peered to make sure she was still fine, worry deepening the furrow of brow when he would ask her if she was feeling better, and all he got in return was a faint nod. unconvinced. before he finally came back — empty-handed — and knelt beside her once again.

he lightly pushed strands of her hair from her face, ignoring the clamminess of her skin, holding palms to her cheeks as he looked at her, pleading for her to say something, tell him she was alright, apologizing yet again for running her for so long-

“ stop- lee, plea- please… no sorries, you- you have nothing- nothing to say sorry for… ”

her voice spilled out of her not without consequence. the pain shot right up her spine, radiating across nerves with every word, making her wince with every one she spoke, but she couldn’t listen to him apologize to her — not when she was the cause of everything, why they were even there in the first place, why they were all going through this shit,

“ you need, lee, you just have to- to go, okay? ”

her eyes lift to meet his, blurred his face quickly becomes from tears that film over pleading hazels. “ please, i’m slow— i’m slowing you down, i - i can’t, i can’t run— keep up, i’m gonna get you, get you hurt even more, ” hands reach up, taking hold of his, squeezing them lightly, reassuringly she hoped in some kind of way, and her head shook side to side as she watched his expression fall, staring back at her in horror, in shock.

“ i’m, begging you lee, please… ” maria choked out, as tears began to streak down her face, “ you have to, to get out, leave me here o - okay? ” her head gives him a small nod, as if solidifying this compromise — as if she believed he would have ever listened, like he would ever agree to such a decision, “ th - the others, they need you more, i - i don’t think i can make it — i’m sorry, for everything, all, all of th - this, but, y - you have to leave me, o - okay? please— ”

“ no. ”

a word so simple, so short — said with the most certainty — as he cuts her off, head shaking as he pulls his hands from hers. i’m not leaving you screamed from his expression, his eyes, as hands fiddled behind his neck, unclasping cross necklace from his throat and reaches over, ignoring her hands as they try to stop him, as she asks him what he’s doing.

he doesn’t answer immediately, not until he’s fought with her hands trying to place chain loop into clasp at the back of maria’s neck, as hands move to cup her face again, brows pinched together, eyes not straying for a second from hers, " i am not leaving you here alone, to die, maria. you have to live. we’re going to get out, i promise. you hold onto that for me, alright? "

before she could protest, he is knelt again with back to her, twisting to take her hand and pulls her, gently but still urgent, up off the crate. maria could feel her heart drop to her stomach.

( she knew he wouldn't listen — she still had to try- )

reluctantly she obliged him, letting him hoist her onto his back. standing with her, arms hooked under legs to keep her up as he continued through the tunnels. she may as well be useful, she thought, and look around for a sign of anything helpful...

it took some minutes, walking in silence, before maria spotted a container through the gaps of wood to their left, and pointed it out to him. " m - maybe there's something in there? " he nods as his gait kicks it up a notch to find a door, a gap — no, a crawlspace to slip through around the corner, kneeling to set her down. glancing back as sheet metal CLATTERED AND ECHOED throughout the otherwise silent tunnel. he told her to stay there, on the other side, for now. he was going to dig through the box, and then look around for a way out real quick — to call out to him if anything happens, but to take it easy for now.

maria simply nods, not willing to protest, not with how heavy the air felt at the moment.

and so she had watched him, disappearing through gap by the floor, and she found herself lowering down, to watch him through it as he made his way cautiously to the toolbox, opening and as quietly as possible dig through it.

maria watched his face, as he mutters curses and pleads to himself, watching his features as he dug as quiet as possible through random shit that probably filled that container, like the others before it. watching his expression sour as mouth moves, muttering curses under breath as he searched and dug until finally — features softened into relief, into hope, and leland turns to the crawlspace, to her peering up at him through it, and flashed her a grin — still trying to be reassuring, still trying to instill some kind of optimism for them that they truly could get out.

as he, attempting to lighten the mood, holds up lockpick in hand triumphantly and starts to proudly tell her that see? they've got this! does he realize her face has twisted into horror at something behind him, and as she shrieks for him to RUN, the butt of shotgun cracks into the back of his head, knocking him forward face first into the ground.

maria dives forward, grabbing leland's hands and tries to drag him closer toward the crawlspace as he lifts head in a daze, as charlie — 'sheriff hoyt' — steps closer, unnerving grin plastered on face as eyes linger on maria grabbing at leland, nearly sobbing and desperately trying to pull him through to her side.

charlie leans down, grabbing ankle and yanks him right back — a feeling that seems to bring clarity back to leland's face as he twists to look back and with other leg, KICKS at charlie's arm, at his chest, his face, forcing him to let go. he scrambles to hands and knees, and leland looks at maria through the crawlspace.

and in that moment of eyes meeting, of apologetic sadness flashing in his eyes, in his smile, maria stares back — horrified, as she reaches for him again, grabbing his shirt, tugging him, pleading with him to come over as he in turn rips her hands off him, softly telling her that she had to live, to please give his mother his cross when she gets out, please. i'm sorry.

and then he leans forward, and with one good shove to the middle of her chest, she's sent tumbling back into the tunnels behind her, and the clattering of sheet metal falling — closing up crawlspace between them — traps him in there, with charlie.

the wind was knocked from her as she tried to scramble back to feet, ignoring blistering pain in her chest as she grabbed at the base of metal, frantically trying to pull it back up — hearing the sounds of struggle on the other side, of pained grunts, of muffled taunts and laughter, of leland cursing the old fucker out, of him shouting for her TO JUST RUN FOR IT.

and just as she manages to pull metal back up, part of the way, can see their shadows on the floor. she hears leland stumble back, closer to her, and then a click-

and then the metal, the walls, her ears SHAKE with the sound of SHOTGUN BLAST cracking through the air.

and she sees blood spurt across the floor.

and watches one of the shadows stay still as the other stumbled, and then a loud THUD as it hit floor — just out of sight.

she froze at the silence that followed, the dread that settled in her chest. she heard footfalls, slowly walk closer, stopping just beside body. and then she heard a sneer, and a taunt, from the old man...

and maria knew, as she stared at the ground, at the blood that pooled across it, inching closer...

was leland's.

she heard the bastard looming over him, kicking at him, spitting vitriol down at unmoving body, before the amusement of it faded, and charlie's footfalls finally left the fucking room, and in the distance, hears the sound of door opening and slamming shut.

maria stayed still. afraid he would come back, yes — but mostly? afraid of what she was about to see on the other side.

but she knew she had to.

and when she finally gathered herself up, through shedding tears, trembling hands, does she take hold of the metal once more, and pulls it up, letting it jam back open before dropping to hands and knees, peering through at leland as she slowly crawled back through.

and when she could look down at his face, she simply broke.

his jaw shattered and hanging off. cheek shredded by shotgun shell. all crimson all gore and little remaining of one side of face that remotely resembled the friend she knew. if he had lived any point past the shell hitting him, surely the amount of blood that haloed around his head, soaking brown locks, seeping into fabric of his shirt, did him in.

either way, his remaining eye — at least from what she could tell — held no sign of life, no shine save for what tears had seemed to have welled in them during his stand-off with the old bastard.

and maria had no idea what to do. what to say. she couldn't carry him. she had to leave him there, in this hell — leave him to rot, leave him to these fucking people to do god knows what to his corpse...

it wasn't fair. that he laid here lifeless, and this fucking family got to live.

it wasn't fair that HE is the one dead on the ground — it should have been HER.

HE SHOULDN'T HAVE EVER BEEN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

maria crumpled into herself beside him as she wept, with head placed gently against his chest, with cheek pressed against marigold embroidery, as now her own useless apologies bubbled and spilled past sobs to him — for getting him into this whole mess, for him feeling like he had to play the role of a HERO for any of their sake, let alone for her.

he didn't deserve this.

she wished the tears that soaked through threaded petals would bring him back, entice his soul to return to him...so he could go home to his mother, rather than her simply getting a cross in his place.

#lifesver #[ mf ] ── * 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. { maria flores. }#death cw #gun mention cw #injury mention /#violence cw

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lampmanliveblogs · 2 years

Text

Uncle Belos is unhappy with Hunter.

Hunter is surprisingly chill with Kikimora considering she did try to kill him. Then again his Unca Belo nearly stabbed him in the face and he barely moved, so maybe he’s used to it. I am now picturing Hunter constantly dodging Belos’ outbursts and Kikimora’s increasingly convoluted assassination attempts and find myself slightly amused by it.

Anyways, here’s Hunter’s room.

We see several thick books, papers, notes and maps. On the left, leaning against the corkboard are at least two wooden staffs. On the wall next to the bed there’s what looks like some newspaper clippings, a flask of some yellow liquid, a shelf with some wooden carvings. Notably, there’s what looks a bit like a giraffe and… some doll. Above the bed, there’s some kind of diploma from the Emperor’s Coven. On the bed under his pillow we find… another Amphibia reference?

Huh.

I swear, the theories I’m gonna be able to make linking these two shows once I get around to watching Amphibia are gonna be wild.

His window is open, so the bird palisman can fly in and leave us with a somewhat happy ending.

Called it

Well, ”happy” is maybe a too strong word to use, but, uh… it wasn’t all bad. There’s hope, as Hunter looks out through the window, perhaps glimpsing freedom lying there on the horizon. Be it that one day he can be that free, free as a bird.

And with the conclusion of episode six we now have a bit more context for this image in the ending, showing the Golden Guard beginning to remove his mask.

As per usual, here are some things I missed or didn’t talk about initially:

•First off, and I can’t believe I forgot to mention this but Amity’s new hair is in the opening. It is honestly baffling to me that I forgot to check for that specific detail considering how big a deal it was in the previous episode. Similarly, I also forgot to mention Eda’s new dress that she got in episode four showing up in the opening. Whoops. •During the palisman adoption ceremony, the little red bird tries to escape through a hole in the enclosure, but Principal Bump puts it back. This shows the little rascal has a rebellious nature and that it craves freedom. And then it decided to bond with Hunter. Hmmmm…. •One of the kids at the palisman adoption ceremony is Viney from The First Day. In that episode, she wanted to study Healing and Beast Keeping. In this episode, she says she wants to open a veterinary clinic for mystical pets, a combination of the two magics. •I really like Luz pajama pants. They’re cute. •In past episodes, Luz has carried with her a seemingly endless pile of glyph cards already drawn and ready to go. But in this episode, she left those at home, which forced her to use the environment, like drawing glyphs in dirt or on a leaf. It’s an interesting twist and shows off just how clever and resourceful Luz can be. •I didn’t acknowledge GG licking Luz’ hand because I couldn’t think of a funny joke to make. •Speaking of which, I don’t think I mentioned just how funny I thought some of Golden Guard and Luz’ interactions were before Hunter decided he had Feelings to talk about. •Some of the animation on the… hand dragon thing when Kikimora is riding it looks a bit… rough. I point this out mainly because this show has very good animation in general so I’m wondering what happened for those few seconds. •Hunter has a scar on the cheek and a chunk missing from one ear. Considering the way Belos lashed out towards him at the end… it might be his fault. •Hunter also has these really dark bags under his eyes. He look more sleep deprived than Alador.

Overall, this was a very enjoyable episode! It helped set up some internal emotional conflict for Luz and it gave some supporting characters their palismen. We got to learn more about the Golden Guard, even learning his name and seeing glimpses of the conflict underneath the mask. We got see some intrigue within the castle, with conflict among the ones closest to Emperor Belos, ensuring that his plans do not go smoothly. We learned what the Day of Unity will entail and that the Coven Heads are in on it (and will likely be important later on). We learned Belos is suffering from some form of condition that transforms him into an uncontrollable beast unless he consumes palismen. We got some nice action and problem solving by Luz and that she will eventually get a palisman all her own.

A lot happened in this episode, is what I’m trying to say.

I wanna talk a little bit about masks. Masks are a reoccurring motif with characters associated with the Empire.

Regular goons, the guards and foot soldiers of the Emperor’s Coven are always seen wearing their masks, showing the Emperor have complete control over them. Lilith in season one sometimes wore a mask, but would more often than not abandon it, showing that while she was under the influence of the Emperor, she was not completely under his control. Kikimora doesn’t wear a mask, but keeps part of her face covered, perhaps indicating that while she works for the Emperor, she is not under his total control; as we see in this episode, she takes initiative and even tries to kill the Golden Guard. And the Golden Guard himself appeared to be the perfect obedient servant of the Emperor. In episode one we saw him follow his orders without hesitation or question. However, once his mask is knocked off in this episode, we start seeing the real him, the person beneath the mask. We see the golden Guard open up and talk as Hunter.

Just a thing I thought about.

One last thing: I mentioned that i already knew Hunter’s name. I didn’t know this was the episode it was revealed or how though, so that still came as surprise. One interesting thing I noticed though. As I watched the episode, I referred to him as Golden Guard, GG or Brass Watchman. But once he started opening up to Luz, I nearly slipped up a few times and almost called him Hunter (even though I wasn’t supposed to know that yet). That really does say it all, doesn’t it? The Golden Guard is a persona, a front, mask. The real person, the one we got to meet today was Hunter.

There’s a whole bunch of other stuff i could talk about, like Hunter and Belos relationship with each other and whether they’re actually blood related. But i’m afraid that if I start going down that path, I won’t be able to stop and it’ll just result in an incomprehensible wall of text. So this is where I’ll leave it off for now.

Until next time, take care of the planet Earth and remember that anything can happen in space!

<--Previous Episode: Through the Looking Glass Ruins

Masterlist

Next Episode: Eda's Requiem-->

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #toh s2e6 #hunting palismen

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junkydrawr · 11 months

Text

OK, this isn't much of a scene but I haven't posted in a while. I'm working on a scene with Bunnie so that'll be next.

Anyway, in this scene, this is soon after Snively has let Naugus out of the Void. Naugus used his magic to temporarily bring his generator back online. It tired Naugus out so Snively had him brought to the infirmary.

(image is a SatAM screenshot with a filter, I didn't draw it)

Snively stepped into the infirmary. Naugus lay in the nearest bed.

Immediately, Snively was surrounded by the medibots, their cold hands reaching out to access him.

"Ugh. Get away. I don't need help."

The Head Medi, a robot taller and slimmer than the others, insisted on running a handheld scanner over him. He sighed and allowed it, staring over at the wizard.

Naugus had his eyes shut, an IV running into his hand atop the blanket.

"You do not require assistance at this point, Sir."

Snively pushed past and stood near the wizard's bed. "He still looks rather peaked."

"The patient refused nanites, Sir."

"Huh." Snively wondered why. The microscopic medical robots quickly repaired injuries and illness, with minimal side effects.

He examined the wizened wizard. What an ugly creature, he thought. He'd never seen a Mobian like this before. The mage seemed cobbled together from leftover parts. A horn, a claw, a human-like face but ears like a goblin. I wonder if he's even from Mobius originally. An alien, like me.

Julian's words needled him. Snively, you pathetic fool! You should've killed him! Uncle was right, of course.

He stroked the laser pistol at his side. The Securitybot behind him could make an even bigger hole with that laser cannon. With his eyes on Naugus, he clutched the pistol's grip, starting to withdraw it.

I can't take a chance. You don't seem the type who will be happy playing second fiddle.

Maybe Naugus wouldn't mind, though? As long as he was given a place to stay and do his magical research? He could be a fine weapon against the furballs.

I don't know what his goals are. And he's powerful. A threat. I can handle the flea-bitten scum myself.

He nearly had the gun out, his jaw set, when the wizard's eyes fluttered. He let go of the grip as Naugus peered up at him.

"Small One. You've come to check on me?"

"Yes." A fake smile, but not too overdone. "How are you feeling? The nanites work wonders, don't they?"

"Do you mean those invisible machines, injected into one's bloodstream?" The wizard sniffed haughtily. "I do not trust such things."

Snively didn't bother to surpress an eyeroll. "Or maybe you thought I was shooting you up with something else."

"Are you planning to shoot me up, Small One?" The orange eyes dropped to Snively's gun side.

"Of course not."

"Mmmm. The eternal honesty of the Kintobors." The wizard smiled slightly, showing just a peek of those jagged teeth. "You do not trust easily. But we will benefit from each other. I wish to do my research. You wish to rule Mobotropolis free of rebel resistance. I can help you, and you can help me."

Snively was quiet a moment before intoning dryly: "It's Robotropolis."

"Oh, you have not changed it to Snivotropolis?"

"Gods no. That sounds ridiculous."

The shark teeth showed more now. "You have more sense than Robotnik. I implore you, Small One, give me a chance. You could kill me anytime, I know. But you will be tossing aside what will be a great partnership."

Snively kept his face perfectly blank. His patented poker face. He'd heard the bullshit before. Trust me. Greatness together.

"What exactly is your research going to entail?"

"I am intrigued in testing my magic on the body and mind. Testing my own limitations. If I could borrow some of your myriads of prisoners, of course."

Snively didn't answer that. Naugus must not know their prisoners were all metal-plated.

"And there is still much to learn of the Void. I fear my crystal affliction is not completely resolved."

"You have Robotnik for that first use." Snively smiled crookedly. "If you don't damage him too badly, he'll last you a while."

"Oh, yes. I intend to use him. And he can work for you as well. He can take the daily menial burdens off you."

Snively didn't like this. The acquiescence inside him. Don't be stupid, Uncle hissed in his mind. Eliminate him!

Perhaps he spoke to defy Robotnik. Perhaps there was a chance this teamup could work. Perhaps he was just lonely.

"I haven't ended our partnership. You may stay here, and I will assist your research within reason. And you will do the same for me?"

"Of course, Small One."

Snively sighed. "It's Snively, actually."

A/N: that's it for now! I don't really want to post all the Robotropolis Sniv stuff at once because it has some 'plot points.' Lol. Even though a kindergartener could write a better plot than me.

#Junkysnivfic #snively #satam #Fanfic #Naugus

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kiddoryder · 2 years

Text

Imp-Adventures in Babysitting

Hey guys! I know it’s been a while since I wrote a story. Work has been killing me. Plus, I couldn’t come up with something new to write but now I’m back!

This story is my first Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss crossover fanfics. This would be about the Imps meeting my OC Sonya and Liz for the first time.

So, relax and enjoy a story!

In Imp City, there was an important meeting. Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie and Loona were in the meeting room. Blitzo was drawing some random stuff on the board.

Blitzo - “Alright everybody listens up! Thanks to the weapons we order thanks to Moxxie, we will able to kill motherfuckers even better and bloodier than before!”

Moxxie - *pleased* “Thank you sir. I have to admit using half of my paycheck was actually worth it. Especially how we were kidnapped by those so-called “Demon Hunters” and basically used all of our good weapons.”

Millie - “I’ll have to admit, it was one of my favorite fights! I've never chopped up so many people in my life.”

Loona - *texting on her phone* “Eh. It was whatever. But the fighting was pretty cool though.”

Blitzo - *excited* “Alright, let's test these babies out!”

Blitzo picked up a gun and was about to use it, but Moxxie quickly stopped him. He took the gun away like a parent taking scissors away from a child.

Moxxie - *sterner* “Sir! We can’t practice inside here. Somebody could get hurt and lose an eye or something.”

Blitzo - “Oh yeah that’s right. Plus, last time you nearly burned my office and killed my new pet Eels Alejandro, Folder, Fish, and Fluffycakes.”

Millie - *confused* “You actually names them?”

Blitzo - “Uh yeah? What was I supposed to call them?”

Moxxie - *sighs* “Look I said I was sorry about that Sir. How many more time you want me to say it?”

Blitzo - “When I forget. Anyway, where should we practice?”

Millie - “The parking lot?”

Blitzo - “Nah. Too many fucking cars. Plus, I just had my van painted. I don’t want any scratches on it.”

Moxxie - “What about the park?”

Blitzo - “Oh perfect! There are also a bunch of dick holes we can practice our new weapons on.”

()()()()()()()()

At the park, the IMPS was hiding in the bushes. Blitzo was looking around for targets like a cat. Then he found a perfectly normal looking one sitting on a bench with his girlfriend. Blitzo took out one of his new guns and cocked it.

Blitzo - “Okay you guys ready for some shooting target practice?”

Millie - “You betcha Boss!”

Moxxie looked over his shoulder to make sure no other demon was looking at them.

Moxxie - *nervous* "Um sir? Are you sure it’s appropriate to use our new weapons on people?”

Blitzo - *uncaring* “This is hell, Moxxie. Nobody cares if a weirdo gets killed.”

Millie - “He got a point Moxx.”

Moxxie - “But what if it's someone really important?”

Blitzo - *annoyed “Oh what royal fuck comes here?

Moxxie - “Umm maybe Stolas or the other overlords?”

Blitzo - *dismissed* “Oh please they won't come here. Besides, Stolas is with his kid seeing some movie.”

Blitzo then shot the victim and he kneeled in a bush. The girlfriend looked shocked and concerned.

Millie - “Ooh nice shot sir!”

Blitz - *proudly* “Thanks!”

Moxxie - *sighs* “Oh alright. As long it’s not an important demon.”

Moxxie began to take out a bow and arrow. He began to shoot random demons as well. He even caught one in the eye.

Demon - “‘My eye!”

Millie - “Ooh nice shot Moxxie!”

Moxxie - *happy* “Thanks Honey!”

Blitzo, Moxxie and Millie continued to shoot random demons. They were doing a good job and were happy that the new weapons were working. The best part was that nobody figured out that it was them shooting ransom people. Like Blitzo mentioned before “It’s Hell. Nobody cares.” Then Blitzo said:

Blitzo - *smug* “Watch this! I'm gonna shoot the new sleepy dart with my eyes closed. “

Blitzo closed his eyes and shot the dart gun. The gun ricochets to different things like a bench, flowers, birdbath and then it’s disappeared. Millie and Moxxie looked confused on how it missed someone.

Moxxie - “Uh sir? I think you missed?”

Blitzo - *opened his eyes* “Oh. Eh well must be a piece of shit, Anyways, who wants lunch?”

()()()()()()()()

Meanwhile, Charlie’s youngest cousin Sonya was on her skateboard heading to her cousin’s hotel for a visit. Sonya was looking down on her phone texting her cousin and finished.

Sonya - There! Now Cousin Charlie will know I'm coming.”

Then her twin sister Liz came out in shadow form. She was looking a bit annoyed.

Liz - *annoyed* “Ugh, why am I doing the work?”

Sonya - *annoyed* “Dude, you just moved our body so we don’t fall off on my skateboard while I text Cousin Charlie.”

Liz - *whine* “While it took hours!”

Sonya - “It was only a few minutes! Drama Twin. *Then she felt something hit her arm* Ow!! What the-? “

Sonya looked down and saw a dart in her arm. She quickly took the dart out and threw it aside. At first, she was worried if she was getting aimed, but then quickly dismissed it. Demons in hell are always throwing and shooting random things in the street. Not even caring that if it hit people.

Sonya - “Stupid demons…Always throwing crap around.”

Liz - “At least it was a gunshot.”

Sonya - “True that.”

Then a few minutes later, Sonya started to feel woozy and dizzy. Liz was starting to get worried for her twin.

Liz - *concerned* “Dude you don’t look so good.”

Sonya - *tired* “I know…I think it was from that dart gun.”

Blitzo was in his van singing along to Mustang Dong. Moxxie was covering his eyes cause of the terrible music and Millie was just happily looking out the window. Then all of a sudden, he saw a kid on a skateboard not going fast enough.

Blitzo - *trying to stop the van* “OH SHIT!!”

Blitzo not only spun the wheel, but hit the brake as quickly as possible. But as the van was stopping, it still bumped into Sonya. Sonya then fell off her skateboard and she fell on the ground. Just when she was about to get up, her skateboard hit her head and she was unconscious and facing down on the ground.

Blitzo - “Okay who did I hit?”

Moxxie and Millie got out of the van to see. They both saw Sonya face down on the ground with her hood covering her head.

Moxxie - *worried* “Oh crumbs! It’s a little kid!”

Millie - *concerned “Oh my! The poor thing!”

Blitzo - “So just leave it! I mean the kid is probably just an orphan or something.”

Moxxie - *mad* “Sir no we aren’t doing that! I’m gonna check if the little guy is okay.”

Moxxie ran toward Sonya’s body. He kneeled down and was relieved that he didn’t see any blood or anything. Moxxie carefully moved Sonya’s body and noticed something familiar. Then Moxxie moved Sonya's hair and noticed it was blonde. His eyes widened and recognized the red dots on her cheeks and Moxxie screamed in horror.

Millie - *concerned* “Honey what’s wrong!?”

Moxxie - *scared* “SIR! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DONE?!”

Blitzo - “What? It’s just a kid. It’s not dead…Wait, is it?”

Moxxie - *paranoid* “T-This isn't just any kid! This is the princess's cousin as in LUCIFER'S NIECE!!”

Millie - *shocked* “What?!”

Blitzo - “Oh. Oh...*slowly start to realize* OH SHIT!!!”

Millie - *try to calm them now* “Now now let's not panic.”

Moxxie - *freaking out* “THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO PANIC HONEY! *Start to hyperventilate* Her uncle is going to kill us!”

Millie - *trying to stay calm* “Come down Moxx, you're gonna have a panic attack!”

Moxxie - *freaking out* “I CAN'T!! THE KING GONNA MOUNT OUR HEADS ON THE WALL FOR HURTING HIS NIECE!!”

Millie - “Shhh Shh! Calm down sweetie!”

Moxxie - “WE ARE DEAD! WE ARE SO DEAD- “

Then Blitzo gave Moxxie a hard slap on the cheek. Normally Millie would tear somebody apart for hurting her husband, but she knows Blitzo was only trying to calm down Moxxie. The slap actually did work because Moxxie was actually calm.

Blitzo - “Calm your baby dick Moxxie! Alright look, it's no big deal. We will just take her back to headquarters until she wakes up. I mean what harm could it do?”

Moxxie - *disbelief* “That’s your plan?!”

Blitzo - “Do you have a better idea?! *Moxxie stood silent* I didn’t think so!”

Blitzo picked up Sonya and slung her over his shoulder. Moxxie and Millie got back in the van as Blitzo carefully handed them Sonya’s unconscious body. Sonya’s head was now laying on Moxxie’s lap as Millie held on to Sonya to make sure she didn’t fall. After settling in, Blitzo started the car and quickly drove off. The only thing that was left behind was Sonya’s hat and skateboard.

Less than 15 minutes later, The IMPS made it to their building. Blitzo parked the van, and to the back where Moxxie and Millie were sitting with Sonya’s body. He opened the door, and carefully carried out Sonya’s body and slung her over his shoulder again. Millie and Moxxie got out and all three of them ran inside the building and to their office. They saw Loona on her phone texting and she looked up, and saw Blitz carrying Sonya over his shoulders.

Loona - *deadpanned* “You guys got a souvenir from the living world?”

Moxxie - *scared* “She's not from the living world! She's Lucifer's niece!”

Loona - *shocked* “Wait what?! How the fuck did you guys get her?”

Moxxie - “Because somebody hit her with the van!”

Blitzo - *defended* “Oh shut the fuck up! How was I supposed to know it was the head honcho's relative?!”

Millie - “Uh, Blitzo, you can easily tell from those cute rosy dot cheeks she has. Everybody knows that Lucifer’s relatives have those.”

Blitzo - “Big fucking deal! Look, we just had a little accident is all. We are all gonna be fine. We just leave the kid here and wait until she wakes up. If not, then we can always bury her. I know a good place.”

Moxxie - *appalled* “Blitzo!

Blitzo - “What?!”

Moxxie - “Take this seriously! Please! I don't wanna die!!”

Loona - *annoyed* “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

Blitzo - “Loonie's right we need to set this kid downand think of a plan.”

()()()()()()()()

Meanwhile at the hotel Charlie kept looking at her phone. Charlie was getting worried because it had been almost an hour since her cousin texted her back. She also knew that Sonya and Liz hates being late to everything.

Charlie - *worried* “Where could Sonya and Liz be? They should've been here by now.”

Vaggie - “Maybe They are a little late. It happens sometimes.”

Angel - *shrugs* “Or she gets a snack. Just give them a few more minutes Princess. You shouldn’t get your panties up your ass so much.”

Charlie - “Well alright. I can't help but worry though. I mean they are my baby cousins after all.”

Angel - *rolled his eyes* “They are not babies anymore Princess. What's like 12 now? That’s almost a teen.”

Husk - “Yeah the kid is almost reaching his manhood.”

Vaggie - *annoyed* “Womanhood!”

Husk - *rolled his eyes* “Whatever!”

Charlie - “Anyway, Sonya and Liz are only 11 years old, Angel. They are still little kids.”

Angel - *dismissive* “That is still close to almost a teenager. Beside when I was about their age, I already knew how to shoot some random fucks. Anyway, you shouldn't worry so much.”

Charlie - *relaxing* “Well...alright. I’ll give it a bit more time.”

()()()()()()()()()

Later back at IMP headquarters, Sonya slowly started to wake up and saw that she was on a couch with a pillow under her head, a blanket covering her, her sweater on the side of the sofa, her shoes next to the sofa, and an ice pack on her head. She slowly began to sit up, rubs her head and said:

Sonya - *sluggish* “Huh...Where am I?

How did I... get here?”

Loona looked up from her magazine and saw that Sonya was now awake. But she still looked sluggish and had some purple bags under her eyes like if she had raccoon eyes on her. Then Loona began to shout:

Loona - *yelling* “HEY DICKHEADS! THE LITTLE DEMON KID IS AWAKE!”

Moxxie begins rushing in and goes to see Sonya now awake. He was much calmer now then he was then the last hour. But he was still a little nervous about meeting the King of Hell’s relatives.

Sonya - *confused* “Who are you?”

Moxxie - *looked relief* “Oh thank goodness you're alive. I'm Moxxie.”

Sonya - “I'm Sonya. Sonya Morningstar.”

Loona - *to Sonya* “We already know your last name, kid. I mean it’s obvious you are related to Lucifer. Even a blind asshole can see that.”

Then Blitzo and Millie came in. Millie was relieved that Sonya was awake. So was Blitzo. However, with Blitzo, he was just happy that now he won’t get in trouble with Lucifer.

Millie - “Oh thank goodness the little sweetie alright. I'm Millie, I’m also Moxxie’s wife.”

Blitzo - “And I'm Blitzo. The O is silent by the way.”

Sonya - “What O?”

Blitzo - *happy* “Oh smart kid! I like that. Anyway, I'm the owner of IMP.”

Sonya - *confused* “IMP?”

Blitz: “Immediate Murder Professionals. We go to the living world and kill people.”

Sonya - “Oh! Like ninjas?”

Moxxie - *chuckles* “Well actually we are assassins.”

Blitzo - “Ya knows I originally wanted us to dress like ninjas, but I can’t wear those ninja clothes. I can’t fucking breath in those things and always make my dick itchy.”

Mille - “And people pay us to kill on earth. The killing is the best part!”

Sonya - “Oh that's cool…*realized* hey wait…I seen your commercial on TV! It’s really catchy and cool.”

Blitz - *prideful* You’re fucking right it's cool! *to Moxxie* Unless some less talent baby trolls, that music helped us on getting more assholes who want fucking heads to roll. We get to the living world and we killed those who are fucked!”

Sonya - *confused* “Is it like a revenge thing or something?”

Moxxie - *uncertain* “Well I guess you can say that. But just so you know, we don’t go to the human world to start a massacre.”

Loona - *rolled her eyes* “That what exactly what you guys do dummy.”

Sonya - “Look I appreciate you looking after me, but I need to go. My parents and my cousin must be worried about me and-.”

Sonya was about to get up, but fell on her knees and held her head. She still felt dizzy and sluggish from the dart gun. Moxxie and Millie quickly rushed to her side.

Millie - *concerned* “Oh honey are you okay?”

Sonya - *moans* “Kind of…”

Blitzo - *nervously* “U-Uh this doesn’t have to do with me hitting you with the van? Because when you think about it, I only bump into you.”

Sonya - *slowly shook her head no* “I got hit with this thing.”

Sonya took the dart out of her pocket. Moxxie took the dart, examined it and eyes widened.

Moxxie - “Sir! This is the dart that you shot. It must have hit Sonya.”

Blitzo - “What? How? She wasn’t even fucking there! Unless she could turn invisible because I know some royal chucklefucks have some strange ass powers.”

Sonya - “No…I was skateboarding. And then I felt something hit my arm and it was that needle thingy.”

Moxxie - “It’s a dart. These are specialized to knock anybody out, even humans. The effect of the dart is still in your bloodstream and normally it wears off in a short while. But due to you being a child, you have to wait until it is out of your system. Which could take a few hours.”

Sonya - *dismayed* “Oh man…”

Millie - “Aw don't worry honey we will take care of you! We'll be right by your side.”

Sonya - “Oh thank you. But I need to call my parents and cousin. They are worried about me and- “

Moxxie - “Oh don’t worry about it. We will take care of that. In the meantime, do you need anything?”

Sonya - *shakes her head* “No thank you, I'm alright. I just need to rest a bit. But I think I'll be alright.”

Moxxie - “Sir is there something you would like to say to Sonya?”

Blitzo - “No. I'm going to my office.”

He went to his office and slammed the door. It left the others confused since he never really acted like this.

Sonya - *confused* “What's up with him?”

Moxxie - *annoyed* “Ugh probably in another of his moods, I guess. Sorry about that.”

Sonya - “It's fine…I just need to rest more.”

Sonya fell back to sleep on the couch. The dart effect was still affecting her.

()()()()()()()()()

Meanwhile Charlie was still waiting for Sonya and Liz. An hour had pass and still no answer from both of them.

Charlie - *worried* “Where are they? I'm really getting worried now. I keep calling and texting but nothing.”

Angel - “Maybe we should call her parents or something?”

Vaggie - *impressed* “Wow for once you had a good idea.”

Angel - “Well I only said that to get the stick the princess has in her ass. Besides, Sonya and Liz could've gone home instead. Or got lost.”

Charlie - *anxious* “I'll call her parents right now!”

Charlie began to dial her uncle’s number. Vaggie punched Angel in the arm for making Charlie freak out even more. After a few minutes her Uncle Azrael picked up.

Azrael - “Hello?”

Charlie - “Hi Uncle Azrael. It’s me Charlie.”

Azrael - *happy* “Oh hello honey! What can I do for you?”

Charlie - “Did Sonya go back home?”

Azrael - “Actually no. We were about to call and ask you the same thing. We haven't received calls or anything. Zella and I even tried calling Liz and nothing.”

Charlie - *worried* Neither did I. I have no idea where they could be. I think they could be missing it in danger.”

Azrael - *determined* “Then we must find them! I’ll go tell their mother.”

Charlie - *determinate* “Yeah! I'll call you when I find them.”

Azrael - “Thank you.”

Charlie - “No problem. Call you soon.” *Hangs up* come on guys let go find them!”

Vaggie - “Of course! “

Angel - “On it!”

Charlie - *touched* “Aw Angel, it’s sweet that you care.”

Angel - *scoff* “I’m not getting soft Princess. Sonya and Liz are one a few people I actually like.”

Vaggie - “Well let’s go find them now!”

()()()()()()()()()

Meanwhile back at the IMP building, Blitzo smelled something was cooking and it smelled really good. He followed the smell and it was coming from the kitchen. Blitzo went to the kitchen and saw Moxxie was cooking some soup.

Blitzo - “Watcha cooking their Moxx? Is it lunch for all of us? Cause if it is, don’t add any peas in there. I fucking hate peas.”

Moxxie - *annoyed* “It’s soup. But it’s not for us. It’s for the little demon child. She woke up a while ago and said she felt a little hungry.”

Blitzo - *dismayed* “Oh. Well can't she get it herself? I mean you’re not her baby dick butler.”

Moxxie - *annoyed* “She could if SOMEBODY didn't shoot her with a dart and hit her with the van!”

Blitzo - *mad* “Oh will you shut up about that?! I only bump into her and I didn't know that was the big guy’s niece! You act like I committed a crime!”

Moxxie - *mad* “Sir, technically you did since we aren't allowed to kill or dangerously harm anyone of the head honcho's family. Anyone with a third-grade education would know that!”

Millie - “Moxxie is actually right Blitzo. You’re lucky it was just one of those sleepy darts. What if you accidentally shot her with real bullets?”

Moxxie - *paranoid* Or angelic ones?!

She could've died and it would've been on your heads!”

Blitzo - “But we could have buried her and not gotten caught.”

Both - *appalled* “Blitzo!!”

Blitz - “Oh come on! That's what we always do!”

Moxxie - *serious* “Sir, aren't you forgetting that she is Lucifer's niece? Even though she's a little kid, she still part of the royal family and we have to make sure she taken care of or else! I don't want to die from our king!”

Millie - “Hell, neither do I!”

Moxxie - “And please try to be nice to her. After all she's a little kid.”

Blitz - *mad* “Haven't you forgotten that the last kid we had was a complete asshole? And how he called me a greedy selfish clown? It still hurt me inside that he called me a clown!”

Moxxie - “That was one kid. Not all kids are like that.”

Millie - “Why don't you give Sonya a chance. She’s a good kid. She told me how she loves the Pain Games! *dismayed* Still wish I can be in it though…I only cause 9 funerals and I get banned.”

Blitzo - “That what she wants you both to think! Next thing you know she could either literally stab you in the fucking back or turn out to be some creepy adult who only act like a kid.”

Moxxie - *weird out* “You seriously need to lay off the coffee.”

Millie - “Yeah try to relax and actually get to know to Sonya.”

()()()()()()()()()

Sonya was now sitting up and was feeling better than before. She noticed Loona was drinking beer and was watching a video on her phone. However, she still felt a little sluggish and dizzy. Sonya took out her phone but realized that it’s broken. Even Liz’s phone was broken much to their dismayed. Liz came out in her shadow form said:

Liz - “You sure we can trust these weirdos?”

Sonya - “Sure I can. I mean they saved us. And they are taking care of us…Well me because I don’t want you suffer this too.”

Liz - “Yeah, I know. But I don't know about this. I say we should get out of here…After we still steal some stuff of course. see *Sonya gives her a disapprove look* What? It’s for souvenirs.”

Sonya - *rolled her eyes* “I can't. Not only that’s wrong, that dart really weakened me. Heck, my legs even feel like jelly.”

Liz - *concerned* “Aw man…That’s not good. Hey, what if you transform into me? I can get us out of here. *smug* I am strong after all.”

Sonya - *doubtful* “Guess it can't hurt to try.”

Loona - *confused* “Who are you talking to?”

Sonya - “Liz.”

Loona - *confused* “Who the fuck is Liz?”

Sonya - *pointed to Liz* “Her.”

Liz came out in shadow form and started to wave at Loona. Loona almost spit her drink from shock but luckily, she didn’t. Then Moxxie, Millie and Blitzo came out of the chicken. Moxxie was holding a bowl of soup on a table tray with a cup of juice.

Moxxie - “Soup’s ready! I hope you- “

Moxxie's eyes widened in shock and saw Liz. The same goes for Millie and Blitzo who were also shocked yet confused.

Blitzo - “Alright I’m gonna be the one to say it: who or what the fuck is that thing?”

Sonya - “Well I tried to tell you guys earlier: This is my twin sister Liz. She and I share the same body. We were born that way due to being a Gemini.”

Loona - “Okay that's weird.”

Moxxie - “I guess that makes sense…Uh I made you some soup!”

Sonya - *happy* “Oh thanks!!

She started to eat some. The soup was helping her feel a little better. Plus, the taste was really good.

Sonya - “Wow this is really good!”

Moxxie - *proud* “Thanks! It's my wife's recipe.”

Millie - “So Sonya tells us about yourself and Liz.”

Blitzo - “Yeah because it doesn’t make any fucking sense. Like how the hell does she live inside you? I mean do you have to turn yourself inside out so she can come out?”

Sonya - “Uhh no? We just share the same body. We also take turns being the shadow. To get Liz out, I have to prick my finger with something pointy like a needle. To get me out, someone from my family have to hug and pet Liz’s head at the same time.”

Loona - “And being born a Gemini? How does that even freakin work?”

Sonya - “Well it’s a rare star in hell because it’s a pure Earth one. The rest are just copies.”

Moxxie - “Oh yes! I heard about that in a book I read. It only come out every decade.”

Sonya - *nodding* “Yeah. So, Liz and I were born during the time the Gemini star was out.”

Moxxie - “Now it makes more sense.”

Sonya - “Thanks. Not a lot of people believe it though.”

Millie - “Yeah some people can be stubborn assholes.”

Blitzo - “Yeah. Besides the magic stars, it must be REALLY cool living the royal life. Having all that money and that shit.”

Sonya - “Well not always.”

Moxxie - *confused* “What do you mean?”

Sonya - “Well Liz and I go to 666 Hellmentary school. We didn’t want to go to some fancy private or boarding school. Not only we would be away from our family, we would have to wear uniforms. And I rather wear a garbage bag.”

Loona - “You have good taste.”

Sonya - “And all of my cousins are complete assholes…Well except one.”

Moxxie - “Who?”

Sonya - “Charlie. She’s the best cousin I ever have. The rest didn’t like me or Liz for being born different.”

Blitzo - *scoff* “Oh please! Like I have heard that excuse before.”

Sonya - *offended* “Excuse me? Is there a problem you have?”

Blitz - *mad* “Don't act like you're some sad ass demon kid with a sad ass life! How could some kid come from a royal big shot family and have a sad story life.”

Sonya - *mad* “Shut up! Do you have any idea what I've been through?! I didn't exactly have a fairytale life you know!”

Blitzo - “How the fuck can you not have a fairy tale life?! You’re a royal hotshot!”

Moxxie - “Sir stop!”

Sonya - *mad* “You just don't get it. The only thing I get now that you're a big jackass!

Blitzo - *offended* “Excuse me?!”

Sonya - “If you don't want me here then I'll leave!”

Moxxie - “Wait you can't, the dart hasn't left your body yet! “

Sonya - “I don't care! If your jackass if a boss wants me to leave then I'll go! I'm not gonna be pushed around by some red dick face!”

Blitzo - “Oh fine go then get out!”

Sonya - “Gladly!”

She stands to walk away but her legs still jiggle like gelatin. She grabbed her sweater and left the door. Sonya was still muttering to herself on how Blitzo was rude to her. But she stops in the middle of the hallway to rest her legs a little. What she didn’t noticed was a Prince opening a portal to the building.

Sonya - *mad* “Stupid Imp...thinking I had a good life...Grr he’s such a jackass! I never want to near this place again as long I- “

"Excuse me"

Sonya turned around and saw Stolas. Her eyes widened, jaws dropped, and began to blush. Even her hands felt sweaty. She has never experienced such a feeling like this before. Sonya even felt her heart beating fast and was acting as if she lost her voice. Then she swallowed and spoke.

Sonya - *shyly* “W-Who are you?”

Stolas - “Oh I'm Stolas. The Ars Goetia Prince of Hell.”

Sonya - *nervously* “H-Hi. I-I'm Sonya Morningstar. I-It nice to meet you your majesty.”

Stolas - *smiles* “The pleasure is mine my dear. I'm just here to see a sexy little imp name Blitzo.”

Sonya - *upset* “O-Oh you mean that jerk? Go right ahead c-because he just kicked me out.”

Stolas - *surprised* “What? A little girl like you?”

Sonya - “Yeah...He’s a rude jerk.”

Stolas - *suspicious* “Hmmm. Maybe I should go talk to him. I don’t think it’s like him to do that.”

He went to the office and knocked on the door. Then Moxxie opened the door and saw Stolas.

Stolas - “Hello there.”

Moxxie - *surprised* “Oh hello your majesty! What can we do for you?”

Stolas - “I need to speak to Blitzy please.”

Millie - “Oh of course! He's in his office. But he’s not in a good right now.”

Stolas - “Don’t worry. I know how to handle him when he’s like this.”

Stolas goes to see Blitzo who was sitting in his desk. He was sourly playing with his toy horses.

Stolas - *cleared his throat* “Hello Blitzy.”

Blitzo shot up and fell out of his chair. He looked up and saw Stolas.

Blitzo - *annoyed* “Oh god what do you want?”

Stolas - *serious* “I need to speak with you.”

Blitzo - *annoyed* “Oh god is if about fucking me in my office you can forget it! I just had this table clean and I don’t want any feathers on it.”

Stolas - “It's not that and I wish you wouldn't be so rude right now.”

Blitzo - *sighs* “Fine sorry. What is it you want?”

Stolas - *sterner* “I heard you were very rude to a young lady just now.”

Blitzo - “Oh the Princess’s cousin? So what?”

Stolas - “You know Blitzy, I never imagine you being rude to a child. Especially one that belong in Lucifer's family. And why is she here anyway?

Blitzo - “Because she got in my fucking way for shooting practice. Plus, I accidentally bump into her with my van.”

Stolas - *shocked* “You shot her?!”

Blitzo - *defensive* “Not on purpose!

She got in my way! Plus, I didn’t fully hit her with my van, it was just a bump.”

Stolas - “You should be lucky she wasn't killed! And you should also be lucky that she’s okay because Lucifer would have made you into a new pelt.”

Blitzo - “Like I give a fuck!”

Stolas - *concerned* “I sense something bothering you. What is it?”

Blitzo - “Like I would tell you.”

Stolas - *teasing* Oh come on where's my happy Blitzy? You can be honest with me.”

Blitzo - *sighs* Fine. Last time we saved a kid he was an asshole. He insulted me and my staff. Even though he was the right target, he was still an asshole!”

Stolas - Oh I see. But just because one kid was an asshole doesn't mean all kids are. My point is that you can't just judge children. Well not all of them anyway.”

Blitzo - “But she tried to make up a sob story saying her cousins hated her.”

Stolas - “Hated her?”

Blitzo - “She was born as some weird shit because of a rare star.”

Stolas - “Oh! You mean the Gemini star? I seen it every decade. It’s so beautiful.”

Blitzo - “Well it made the kid share the same body with her twin. But what I don’t fucking get is that she come from a royal family yet she makes a sob story saying she wasn’t popular. Like how can you be miserable?”

Stolas - “Blitzo, you need to understand this: it doesn’t matter if you come from a rich or poor society. You can still be feeling sad and miserable. Trust me, she’s not the only one who felt like that.”

Blitzo - *eyes widen* “Even you felt like that? But you’re a rich asshole.”

Stolas - “Money doesn’t matter Blitzy. You can still feel miserable and alone. Trust me, Stella made me miserable for not acting like a “proper royal”.

Those words struck Blitzo’s head like a bullet. He never considers somebody like Stolas to be miserable despite being a royal member of a high-class family. Then this feeling he was having was telling him that he was wrong for treating Sonya and Liz rudely. It was guilt. Something that he didn’t like feeling.

Blitzo - *sighs* “I’m gonna apologize to the kid. Maybe I was a little hard on her.”

()()()()()()()()()

Meanwhile, Sonya was still in the hallway blushing and standing there. Liz came out and look consider for her sister.

Liz - *concerned* “Dude you, ok?”

Sonya - “Huh? Oh! Y-Yeah! I'm fine! I just never expected to meet a prince. And a cute one…”

Liz - *teasingly* “Oooh someone has a crush on a prince!”

Sonya - *denial* “What! No! What makes you say that?!”

Liz - “You never acted like this. I mean never in our life.”

Sonya - “Me either. I never even had a crush before.”

Then a door slam open and it was an angry client. The client was a big buff red and black bull. He was wearing a sleeveless brown shirt, jeans and no shoes. He even had horns and a tail.

Sonya - *confused* “What the?”

Client - *angry* “Where the hell is your boss?! He screwed me over, and I want my money back!”

Sonya - *confused* “Excuse me? I don't work here. I'm just going home

Client - “Then where is he?!”

Sonya - “How should I know?! Don't bit g at me about nothing

Client - *angry* “What did you say brat?!”

Sonya - “You heard me! Get out of my way!”

Client - *enraged* “You little fucking twerp!”

The client grabbed Sonya, and pushed her up against the wall. Sonya began to struggled but it was hard due the demon being strong.

Sonya - *struggle* “Let me go!”

Client - “Make me!”

Sonya - “I'll fight you! I swear I'll knock you dead!”

The Client laughs like if Sonya told a funny joke. It made Sonya and Liz even more pissed. Then the Client said:

Client - *smug* “You and what army?”

Sonya - “You asked for it!”

Sonya see’s a nail on the wall and she quickly pricks herself. She first passed out which left the client confused. Then Liz came out with her wild hair, red eyes and sharp teeth smile.

Liz - “Badaboom! Time to die bitch!”

Client - “Bring it! I can squash you like a bug right now!”

Liz - “Not without your hand!”

Liz took out her scissors from her pocket and stab the Client’s hand. The client screamed in pain and Liz was free. Liz quickly took off Sonya’s sweater to make sure she didn’t mess it up or get it dirty. Although she wishes that she had time

to change into her clothes but knew it’s not the time. The client looked angry and began to fight Liz.

Client - “You’re going down!”

Liz - “In ya dreams!”

The fight still continues on. Liz was starting to feel the effect of the dart, but didn’t care. All the noises and crashing were getting Millie and Moxxie’s attention. Loona was just getting annoyed by the sound because she couldn’t focus on her magazine.

Millie - “What is going on out there?!”

Moxxie - “Why is there crashing and screaming?!”

Loona - “I don’t know. Go check it out and tell them to keep it down!”

Moxxie and Millie left the office to see what was going on. They see Liz and the client in a fight

Millie - *confused* “Who is she?”

Moxxie - *worried* “Where's Sonya?!”

Liz - *as she was fighting* “Relax! She's in her shadow form. I got this bastard!”

Liz got the upper hand on the client. Even though the client was throwing some punches, Liz managed to dodge some. Liz would use her scissors to give the client some cuts and stabs. Moxxie and Millie were amazed on how a young child like Liz can fight.

Millie - *amazed* “Wow she's good!”

Moxxie - *impressed* “Yeah, she is. But should we help her?”

Millie - “I’m not sure I think she got this.”

All of a sudden, the effect from the dart was starting to take effect on Liz. She started to feel dizzy and sluggish. Even her vision was starting to be blurry.

Liz - *feeling dizzy “No... Not now.”

Liz legs began to wobble and she fell on the ground. She even began to pant. Moxxie and Millie looked concerned and began to take out their weapons to help her.

Liz - *sluggish* “Oh man…”

Client - *smug* “Ha! Look at your sad pathetic self! I knew you couldn’t defeat me.”

Liz - “Fuck you dumb-ass!”

Client - *angry* What did you say you brat? Not my fault your boss is a stupid asshole who couldn’t do a job right!”

Liz - “He may be a jackass, but he's actually a cool killer.”

Blitzo came to see what the commotion was and told Stolas to stay back so he wouldn’t get in the way. Then he saw Liz looking weak, bruised up but had scissors in her hands. Then there was a client who also looked beat up. He grimaced because he remembered that the client who kept calling him about a refund for killing the wrong person. Then he heard what Liz saying:

Liz - “Thanks to those two, *points to Millie and Moxxie* They told me how them and their boss go around killing people. I think it's pretty badass how their boss is with guns and killing people. He makes Imps sound cool.”

Blitzo - *touched* “Wow....maybe that kid isn't so bad after all.”

Client - “Ha! Keep talking and this knife will be in your throat.” takes out a pocket knife

Liz - *groans* “Fuck off!”

Liz used her strength she has left and kicked the client in the shins. The Client got angry and grabbed Liz and slammed her to the wall. Before he can punch her, or Moxxie and Millie can fight, Blitzo shoots him in the arm that was gonna punch Liz. The Client screamed in pain and even let go holding Liz in his grip and she limped toward Millie and Moxxie.

Blitzo - “Back off fucko!”

Client - “You fucked up my order!”

Blitzo - “How the fuck we were suppose to know that the target you wanted had a freakin twin?!”

Client - “You give me my money or else!”

Moxxie - “Sir just give him the money!”

Blitzo - “No way! I don’t give back money to clients who weren't specific on their target. *serious* And I especially don’t give back money to a client on hurting a kid.”

Blitzo shoots the client two more times in the same arm and leg. The client screamed in pain and was bleeding. He could see that Blitzo was serious and wasn’t scared at all. He can tell he made a big mistake.

Blitzo - “Either you leave, or you will have more holes in you than Swiss cheese.”

Not wanting to make this worse, the Client groaned and limped his way out the building. Liz, Millie and Moxxie were amazed at how Blitzo handled it on his own.

Liz - *impressed* “Holy crap...You save me and Sonya...But why?”

Blitzo - “Well lets just say I had some thinking to do.”

“Thanks to me.”

They all turned around and saw Stolas coming out the room and to the hallway.

Liz - “Really?”

Stolas - “I convince Blitzy to give you a chance.”

Liz - “You did? But why? I thought you didn’t like me or Sonya for having the fairy tale life.

Blitzo - Because I realize...You guys aren’t not bad. Anybody could have a crappy life even if they are rich.”

Liz - “Yeah. I mean no life is perfect.”

Blitzo - “Yeah like Moxxie’s. His wife pegs him like once a week.”

Moxxie - *embarrassed* “Sir!!”

Liz began to laugh. But then she started to cough much to the concerned of the others.

Millie - *worried* “You okay sweetie?”

Liz - *groans*That dart is taking its effect on me too even though I switched with Sonya…Oh god I feel like crap…”

Moxxie - “Here lets get you back to the couch.”

Blitzo - “Let me help out.”

They take her to the couch. Liz was sitting up but admitted, sitting down did help her feel a little better. Moxxie looked at her and noticed some bruises and cuts on her.

Moxxie - “Oh dear. *To Millie* Honey, can you get the first aid kit for bandages?”

Millie - “Of course honey.”

Millie went to the bathroom and got out the first aid kit. For once, it had some things like bandages, gauze, peroxide water, etc. Sometimes their first aid kit would be either empty, or full with random stuff like used condoms, trash or even left-over food. Millie bought the first aid kid and help cover up Liz’s wounds. Then she was all bandages up.

Liz - *sluggish* “Thanks...God that dart was strong…”

Stolas - “Also does your family know you're here?”

Liz - “No... My phone broke and so did my sister’s.”

Stolas - “Blitzy, why don't you call her parents or somebody to pick them up?”

Blitzo- “Right. We were suppose to do it earlier but some shit happened. *To Liz* “Okay kid, what's your parents’ number?”

Liz - “Uh some random numbers?”

Blitz - *deadpanned* “That's not helping, I know like fifty random numbers. We need a real number sweetie.”

Liz - *thinks* “Okay I think it's 666 902 3459.”

Blitz - “Okay thanks. *He dials the number* Hope somebody pick up.”

It rings until someone answers.

“Hello?”

Blitzo - “Yeah hi. Are you Liz Morningstar’s parents?”

“No. I’m Angel Dust. The popular pornstar in Hell!”

Blitzo - *surprised* “What?! No way! I seen your movies! You really have a nice dick.”

Angel - “Oh thanks! I been told a lot.”

Moxxie - *annoyed* “Sir! Call their parents!”

Blitzo - “I’m working on it! Hold your ass! *To Angel* Sorry, that was a pain in my ass.”

Angel - “How the fuck you got my number? Did you get it on the wall at 666 Styx Street? It has been written there a lot.”

Blitzo - “Well it turned out the Princess’s cousin knew your number and- “

Angel - “Wait, Princess’s cousin? As in the two little girls? Sonya and Liz?”

Blitzo - “Yeah! They are here with my and my workers in my office.”

Angel - *relief* “Oh thank God! We have been looking for them. The only thing we found was Sonya’s hat and the Princess along with their parents were getting worried about her precious baby cousins and daughters.”

Blitzo - “Well don’t worry. She’s with the safest assassins you've ever met.”

Angel - “Right. So, where all ya exactly?”

Blitzo - “Imp city. We are in a really tall fucking building called IMP.”

Angel - “Good. Coming in a few minutes.”

Blitzo - “Fantastic! Bye! *hangs* Okay the Princess and her buddies are coming to get you and your shadow sister.”

Liz - “Oh that's great!”

Loona - “You know, I’m surprised you knew Angel Dust. He’s like one of the most pornstar in Hell.”

Liz - “He’s, my bestie. Him and I go on turf wars sometimes and the only number that came to my head no thanks to that stupid darts.”

Moxxie - “Speaking of that, there is some good news. I look it up, that dart should wear off the next day.”

Liz - “Thank god because I feel like crap.”

Millie - “Well just sit here and rest until your cousin comes, alright?”

Liz - “Okay.”

Stolas - “Yes you deserve the rest. Especially with that fight you had.”

Liz - * smiles* “Thank you Space Prince. And you Imps too. You guys aren't that bad.”

()()()()()()()()()

After waiting 15 minutes, they saw a limo downstairs. The door quickly opened and it was Charlie who quickly grabbed Liz in a big hug. Liz was wincing a bit in pain and had trouble breathing due to the tight hug.

Charlie - “Oh my baby cousins! I’m so glad that you are okay!! I thought I lost you guys!!”

Angel - “Whoa easy Princess! You’re gonna really lose them if you keep squeezing them like that.”

Charlie realized that and saw that Liz was turning red. She quickly let Liz go and she began panting.

Charlie - *sheepishly* “Sorry about that. I was just really worried about you.”

Vaggie - *see Liz’s bandaged up and looked exhausted* “Whoa. What happened to you?”

Moxxie - *nervously* “Well um…”

Blitzo - “She got hit by a van and dart. Also, a client tried to kill her. But don’t worry, we took care of it.”

Charlie - “Well…I’m just glad that she’s okay. Thank you so much for looking after my baby cousins.”

Millie - “Anytime your highness.”

Liz - *to the Imps* “And thanks again for saving and helping me out. You guys’ rock.”

Moxxie - *smiles* “Thanks. You too.”

Blitzo - “And you and shadow sister can visit us any time you want.”

Liz - “Really? Can we?”

Blitzo - “Yeah cause for a kid you were freaking badass in battle! Never knew you can use scissors as weapons.”

Liz - “And fireworks. I love using fireworks. Plus, you are badass too! I'll admit I; I use to think of them as creepy weirdos but meeting you guys change that. I mean you are still weirdos but I really hope we can hang again sometime.”

Blitzo - “Sure I have no prob with that.”

Charlie - “Well come on, we better get you back home for rest.”

Liz - “See ya soon Blitzo!”

Liz got into the limo with her cousins and others and they drove out the city. Blitzo smiles as they drive us. He actually was glad he met those two kids showing that not all kids are bad or royal life is perfect. Blitzo actually like the good feeling he was having in his chest and hope he can see Sonya and Liz again.

Hope you all like it!

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #my fanfic #fanfic crossovers

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gantzxjoel · 1 year

Text

arrival. ft. moon siheon

well, this certainly is not the pearly white gates his christian upbringing had told him would be awaiting him.

it’s not the other place, either.

in fact, it seems kinda like a shittier version of his own apartment, with bare white walls and scuffed wood floors. except, unlike his apartment, there’s some people milling about, in anxious little bubbles here and there, chatting mildly while apparently waiting for… something, joel’s not entirely sure what.

the only person present who isn’t in a group is a small figure, seated against a nearby wall with knees pulled up, in a position far too casual for how short a dress they’re wearing. like they know where his gaze will be drawn, and sure enough, they’re right.

well hey, i’m already dead. what’s the worst that could happen? approaching the other - god, that’s a lot of pink. pink hair, pink dress, pink blush… wonder where else they’re pink too. - joel whistles lowly, putting on one of his more charming smiles as they look up. “i think i’m a little lost? i know there’s no way they let me into heaven, but if an angel like you’s around, then that must be where i’ve ended up.”

it’s cheesy, sure, but a pleased little smile crosses their face, so joel marks it down as worth the cringe.

“i’m joel.” he continues, tucking his hands into his pockets, aiming for something near cool despite the fact that he kinda looks like a hot fucking mess. his t-shirt is probably older than the person in front of him, a huge hole in one armpit, bearing the name of a band that broke up before he could even walk. he couldn’t bear to throw it out, same with his worn-out jeans and ratty ass sneakers. he feels comfortable, how he supposes someone should, right before they kick it, even if he kinda looks like an arctic monkeys reject. “can i sit?”

“siheon.” they smile, drawing his attention to their mouth, shiny with lip gloss. strawberry, if he had to guess. maybe cherry. “i was actually about to get up.” extending a small hand towards him, siheon entreats joel’s help to stand. dusting themselves off, siheon straightens their dress, watching joel as he watches them. “i know i’m short, but my eyes aren’t that far down. i take it you like it?”

“like is kind of an understatement.” he’d forgotten to pencil flirt with someone in purgatory into his plans for the day after kill yourself, damn. “what is this place, anyway?”

“not hell, but something close enough.” siheon sighs, idly checking their nails. “not everyone’s here yet, that’s why it hasn’t started. you’ll see once it does though. the boba,” they gesture behind joel, where there’s a large black orb that he hadn’t even noticed, too distracted by thirst, “will start talking, and we’ll be off doing god knows what. hopefully not more rats.” their nose wrinkles, evidently not a fan.

“rats?”

“yeah… there was like a maze, and rats… i don’t know. i’m probably the worst person you could’ve asked about what’s going on, honestly. when they explained it all the last time i was kinda having a breakdown. recently deceased and whatnot, y’know?”

oh, right. if he’s dead, that means siheon’s dead too. fuck. he wonders what happened. they look young, not like the kind of person who’d do something like he did. maybe drugs? either that or robbery. the charm bracelet around their tiny little wrist is worth more than joel makes in a year, at a quick glance.

“a maze sounds cool. not so sure on the rats bit, though. more of a snakes guy myself.” siheon shudders dramatically at this, making him crack a smile. “when’s the boba start talking?”

“once everyone’s here, i guess. we’re all supposed to be here by the hour. i don’t know what happens if you’re late, and i’m not exactly keen to find out.” shaking their head, siheon looks around, evidently observing the crowd. “watch out for that guy over by the door.” they nod off to one side, where a guy who looks like he could bench-press joel easily is stood, surveying the group. “he nearly killed me and one of the other players last time. you’ll know which one when you see him. the guy who looks like he’d be on the cover of men’s health.”

now that piques joel’s interest, more than rats or dudebros with anger issues. “you mean to tell me there’s not one, but two hot ass people here other than me? fuck, this really is heaven.”

siheon laughs, folding their arms over their chest. “this isn’t exactly a place to meet your next partner, unless you’re into trauma bonding. plus, captain korea’s a dick.”

“i love dicks.” double entendre, nice.

“i gleaned that much, yeah.” alright, call his ass out then, damn. “i’ll let you make your own decisions, but you can’t blame me if you waste your time with it.”

“sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” does siheon have tea? fuck, joel hopes they have tea. being dead kicks ass, so far.

laughing, siheon shakes their head. “i barely know the guy. like, literally, i don’t even know his name. i think we exchanged like, maybe 20 words to each other? not my fault most of his were rude. made a stellar first impression.” not the tea he was hoping for, but still spicy. hot people arguing? dinner and a motherfuckin’ show, if joel plays his cards right.

sucking his teeth, joel tries not to look too disappointed. “damn, and here i was hoping we were about to play house with some ripped daddy.”

this makes siheon pause in their fidgeting, glancing up from where they’d been absently picking at a loose thread in the bow on their dress. “are you always this insufferably horny?” insufferable, him? never. and here joel’d thought they’d been into it. hmph!

“mm…” joel pretends to consider, “nah, i think being dead is really doing it for me though. purgatory, giant talking boba… really gets the engine going.”

siheon hums. guess it’s not the craziest thing they’ve heard, all things considered. joel’ll have to try harder. “maybe get laid before the next time. last thing we need is some horny dog trying to hump our legs while we are in the middle of a battle. somebody’ll probably shoot you.”

skrrt, wait, back up. they get to have guns? forget getting laid. “we get to have guns?” the excitement must be visible on his face, as the look siheon gives him turns mildly concerned.

they seem to consider him for a moment, playing with their tongue piercing. not that he’s looking.

he’s kind of looking.

sighing, siheon rolls their eyes so hard he’s pretty sure they can see their brain, before shaking their head once more, as though disappointed. “i changed my mind. i think you’ll fit in just fine around here.”

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crossbowking · 3 years

Text

Honey & Whiskey

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

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

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

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

Happy reading!

xx Jess

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

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

He appreciated the quiet these days.

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

And then he thought of her.

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

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

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then suddenly, it stilled.

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

And then he saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not Daryl.

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

Little did he know.

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

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

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

“Need a hand?”

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

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

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

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

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

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

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

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

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

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

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

“Hey, wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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