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dixons-sunshine · 28 days

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The Archer's Girl | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the world ended, you and Daryl narrowly escaped the clutches of the dead and found yourselves in a quarry camp with Merle and some other people. Unwanted, someone in the camp takes a weird liking and disliking to you, and it made you extremely uncomfortable. Luckily, Daryl was there to stand up for you.

Genre: Fluff, some angst.

Era: Outbreak day; The Quarry.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU but can be read as a standalone.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of morning sickness.

Word count: 4.4k.

A/n: Damn, I love when two requests correspond with each other and I can get them both into one fic. It's my favourite thing in the whole world. However, I feel like Daryl is kinda ooc in this, but I tried to imagine how he'd be with a woman he just met at the quarry and started forming a relationship with vs how he'd be with someone he's been with since he was a teenager, and in my mind, he'd totally be softer regarding someone he already knows and loves vs one he's just getting to know. So soft!Daryl in this, it is! Also, Carol is being a supportive queen in this because @celtic-crossbow's Blood Ties series has made me appreciate Carol more and made me realize that she would always be so supportive of someone who's pregnant. Anyways, I hope you like this!

(specially dedicated to @mydearestdaryl because we planned this fic in my comment section a while ago and I'm only getting to it now.)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl!” you called out, trying to push past the stampede of people trying to hurriedly evacuate the store you were in. You were abruptly shoved into one of the shelves, a sharp pain shooting up your side. A loud curse escaped your lips as you clutched your side.

Barely one minute ago, you had strayed from Daryl's side to go grab some milk. You had told him that you would be right back, but with all the chaos that suddenly unfolded in front of you, you highly regretted leaving him at all. With everything going to hell, you could be separated from the man you loved. That thought terrified you.

However, as you turned around, nothing terrified you more than the sight that beheld you.

On the floor, a woman was screaming in pure, unadulterated agony. On top of her was a man who's body appeared to be decaying, and he ripped a huge chunk of her flesh from her chest. His grimy hands were clawing at her stomach, and with little to no effort, he tore her stomach open. The sight was truly mortifying, and it would never be erased from your mind.

A hand grabbed your wrist from behind. You flinched and tried to rip your hand from the person's grip, but the familiar voice of your husband calmed you down. However, when you looked at him, you were surprised to note the splatter of dark blood all over his clothes and face.

“S'me! S'jus' me!” he hurriedly explained. He cast one glance to the horrific sight before you before dragging you along with him, the two of you moving quickly. He stopped momentarily in front of one of the shelves to grab two knives, carefully pushing one of them into your hold. “Ya see one'a these dead motherfuckers, ya stab 'em in the head, alrigh'? S'the only way they drop dead.”

“What? I don't—”

“Dun' think 'bout it, peach!” he cut you off, pulling you with him out of the store again. “They ain't alive. The news weren't lyin' to us 'bout the dead risin'. We got a real fucking problem on our hands now.”

Choosing to trust his judgement, you nodded and hurried next to him. The two of you ran down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of your apartment. As you continued onward, you highly regretted deciding to walk to the store instead of taking Daryl's truck. It would've been a whole lot easier to escape the mess surrounding you if you had a vehicle.

Just as the two of you arrived at your apartment building, about a dozen of the undead people were stumbling out of the door. Daryl quickly pulled you with him to the parking area instead, making a beeline for his truck. However, more of those things flooded the area and a couple of them were heading straight towards you, and it was clear that the two of you weren't escaping without a fight.

“Ya got yer knife?” Daryl questioned, shooting a glance at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you told him, gripping the knife so tightly, your knuckles started turning white.

“Good,” he replied, stepping forward to plunge his knife into the skull of one of the monsters. He withdrew the knife, holding it ready to use at a moment's notice. “Ya gotta stab 'em in the head as hard as ya can, alrigh'? Dun' think 'bout 'em bein' alive. These assholes ain't alive.”

“Don't worry about me trying to talk them out of eating me or something,” you scoffed, replicating the way he was holding his knife with your own. “I'm not that stupid. All these fuckers are getting from me is a fatal blow to the head. They're not touching me.”

“Atta girl,” he praised with a small smile. However, his attention soon got diverted back towards the flood of the undead stumbling around the parking area.

As the two of you continued onwards, Daryl repeatedly stabbed the heads of the monsters. By some miracle, the two of you made it to his truck without you having to do anything. However, just as Daryl was getting into the driver's seat and you were opening the door to the passenger seat, a slimy, blood covered hand gripped your arm tightly in its clutches.

You let out a small cry of terror, instantly alerting Daryl to your horrifying predicament. However, as you struggled against the literal death grip of the monster, its teeth trying desperately to take a chunk of your flesh, you realized that you couldn't wait for Daryl to come to your rescue. By the time he managed to make it towards the other side of the truck, you would already be doomed. You had to take matters into your own hands.

Shakily, you drew your hand that held the knife back and plunged it deep into the thing's skull with a sickening force. The monster miraculously fell limp with the first blow, its hand falling from your arm. However, before you could fully process that you had just killed something that was once human, Daryl took your face in his hands and checked you over, his eyes filled with fear. You had never seen him with as much terror in his eyes ever before.

“Are ya okay?” he asked in a hurried manner, his voice shaky. “Please tell me the prick didn't get ya. No bites, scratches, nothin'.”

“I'm okay,” you assured him, watching him calm down somewhat. “But we have to leave. Right now.”

“Yeah, let's g—”

The deafening sound of a gunshot echoed through the area, followed closely by the rumble of a motorcycle. When the motorcycle came into view, you were both simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see none other than Merle Dixon. He stopped his motorcycle once he saw you, an exasperated look on his face.

“Y'all jus' gon' stand there and get eaten or get in the fuckin' truck? I did not risk my life gettin' here jus' to watch y'all get eaten alive.”

Daryl opened the door to the passenger side and quickly ushered you in, shouting over his shoulder at Merle. “Wha' the fuck are ya even doin' here?!”

“Helpin' yer sorry ass!” Merle exclaimed, shooting at another oncoming monster. “C'mon, let's go!”

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. He rushed to the driver's side and hurriedly got in, starting up his truck and speeding out of the parking area, following behind Merle's motorcycle. With all the chaos that unfolded, the two of you hadn't even managed to go grab some clothes from your apartment. However, by some stroke of luck, as you glanced towards the back of the truck, you noted that two duffel bags were resting there, as well as a bag with everything needed to construct a tent and Daryl's crossbow. You thanked your lucky stars that the two of you had gone camping for his hunting trip two days prior, and forgot to remove everything from his truck. The clothes were dirty, sure, but once you found a body of water, you'd be able to wash them. And Daryl's crossbow would more than likely come in handy.

“Are ya okay?” Daryl asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was nervously chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes darting between you and the road.

You nodded at him, trying to calm your racing thoughts. In a matter of thirty minutes, your life had flipped upside down. You had killed someone, whether they were dead or not. The blood from the kill coated your skin and made you feel sick at your actions, but you tried to remind yourself that the thing you killed wasn't human anymore. If you didn't kill it, it would've killed you. It would've killed—

Gasping, you sat upright and clutched at your stomach. Daryl looked at you worriedly, his eyes trailing to your stomach. His eyes widened in terror, his grip on the steering wheel tightening even more, if possible.

“Wha's wrong?” he questioned. “Oh, god. S'somethin' wrong with Peanut? Did those pricks—”

“No! No, nothing's wrong,” you reassured him, your hand resting on your stomach. “It's just... With everything going on, I forgot about the baby. I forgot about my own child, Daryl. What kind of future mother does that make me?”

Daryl moved one of his hands to rest on your thigh, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the fabric of your jeans. He sent you a small smile, hoping to bring you some comfort.

“S'okay,” he told you. “Yer not gon' be a bad mom. With everythin' goin' on, yer body went into fight or flight mode. S'cause of it tha' ya managed to keep the baby in yer belly safe. And once they're here, I know yer gon' do yer absolute best to protect 'em.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, resting your hand that wasn't on your stomach over his hand. “I really hope so.”

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

One month had passed. One month since the dead started walking. One month since everything you knew got destroyed. One month since you had stumbled upon a quarry camp filled with other survivors with your husband and brother-in-law. One month since your life turned upside down.

You sighed as you washed one of Daryl's jeans, subtly listening to the other women's conversation, the other women sitting quite a distance from you. Most of the women in the small camp you were in tended to keep their distance from you, deeming you damaged goods because of the people you were with. Well, more so because Merle was your brother in law. You and Daryl tended to keep to yourselves, with Daryl only speaking to others when absolutely necessary, but the same couldn't be said for his hotheaded older brother. Merle had made quite the impression, and not a good one. And automatically, by mere association, they had deemed you and Daryl the same. Most of the women simply referred to you as the archer's girl, and you were pretty sure they didn't even know your actual name.

Most of the women didn't even bother acknowledging your existence most of the time. The only exception was a sweet woman named Carol Peletier, who offered you her kindness whenever she talked to you. She offered you tips on how to properly scrub stains from jeans, on how to fix up the holes in your husband's socks, and so much more. She was the only one who you'd felt comfortable enough sharing the secret of your pregnancy with, so even though she promised not to tell anyone, she silently offered you her support, and gave you advice regarding your pregnancy by telling you stories about her own pregnancy with little Sophia. Carol was your only true friend there, and you deeply appreciated her.

Without her, you probably would've snapped at the other women there for the judgemental looks they threw your way, so you cherished the friendship you had formed with her.

The touch of a calloused yet gentle hand drew you from your thoughts. You looked up and locked eyes with your husband, his blue eyes staring down at you with a softness only reserved for you. You sent him a smile and dropped the pair of jeans you were washing on the ground, standing up to face him better.

“Ya know all'a tha' washin' s'now ruined 'cause ya dropped it in mud, righ'?” he told you playfully, sending you a small smile.

You smiled and shrugged. “It's your jeans. I've never heard you complain about a little mud on them before, considering those kills you have to skin that stained these jeans in the first place.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, yer righ',” he replied, before his smile fell and he adapted a more serious tone. “I have to go huntin'.”

“Again?” you asked incredulously, your mood visibly deflating. “You went on a hunt not even two days ago.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl sighed, fidgeting with his hands. “But tha' Shane prick demanded tha' I go on another hunt again fer some reason. I dun' know why, 'cause we have 'nough meat to last us another week or so, but he threatened to throw us out of the camp if I didn't go now. We can't leave. 'Specially not now.”

Your lips formed into a small smile as Daryl's eyes trailed down to your stomach, his eyes softening slightly as he thought about the life that fluttered there, the life that he had helped create. His very own son or daughter. A small being that he would go to great lengths to protect, even if they weren't born yet. His little Peanut.

You stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek, before withdrawing again. You giggled at the blush that spread across his face, and didn't miss the way his lips twitched up into a small smile. He could say whatever he wanted, but he secretly loved your little public displays of affection. It was never something big, like some passionate kiss or a full-blown make out session. It was always something small and sweet, something quick to show your affection without drawing too much attention to the two of you. A subtle graze of your hand against his, quick pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, you name it. You knew how to show him love in public without making him uncomfortable, and he loved you for it.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

Daryl noticed and subtly took your hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Ain't no tellin'. Walsh demanded tha' I find some venison, and tha' might take me a while. Dun' even know if there are any deer here.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

Daryl nodded. Stepping out of his own comfort zone, he leaned down and pressed a feathery light kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he gently caressed your cheek. “Always am. And I love ya more, sunshine.”

With that, he turned around and left, leaving you standing alone with the unfinished laundry. Watching his retreating figure, you smiled fondly, completely missing the envious looks the other women were sending your way.

They hadn't heard your conversation, the two of you being too far away to overhear anything, but they did see the way the archer interacted with you. It was so vastly different from the way he talked to anyone, including his own brother, his own flesh and blood. It was clear there was a lot of history between the two of you, good and bad, and it made the two of you a strong couple. From what Merle had let slip in his high state once, the two of you had been together since you were both merely seventeen years old, and by the looks of it, the two of you were still going strong. The two of you radiated love for one another, and that's more than most could say about their own past relationships.

It was clear the two of you shared something special, and it was unfair to them that they couldn't find love like that. And with the world ending, they doubted that they ever would.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Three days had passed. Three days where Daryl was nowhere to be found. Three days where you had to deal with Merle's disgusting attitude on your own. Three days where you had to sleep alone in your shared tent, wishing he was there.

It seemed like baby Dixon noticed their father's absence, and they weren't happy about it. For the past three days, you hadn't managed to keep anything down in the depths of your stomach. Any and all food you ate came right back up again a few hours later, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. Thankfully, nobody saw you whenever you rushed to the bushes behind the RV to spew the contents of your stomach out, so nobody knew of your pregnancy yet.

And you had Carol by your side whenever your stomach rebelled against you, so that was a major plus.

“God, I hate this so much,” you groaned in frustration, eliciting a laugh from the woman gently rubbing your back.

“It's what comes with the joys of pregnancy,” she laughed lightly, continuing the circular motion on your back until you felt better. Once you stood upright, she handed you a bottle of water, encouraging you to drink as much as you needed to. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”

Once you had enough to drink, you handed her the bottle again. “Thank you,” you thanked her, giving her a small smile. “How'd you handle it? The morning sickness, I mean.”

“I was lucky enough to only experience a mild case of morning sickness,” Carol explained, wrapping her arm around you and starting to walk with you back to the main campsite. “You know, and I'm not saying this to pressure you at all, but maybe you should tell everyone about your pregnancy. It would be good for Glenn to be on the lookout for prenatal vitamins.”

“I can't,” you denied. “Then everyone will look at me like I'm carrying the plague and see me as just another liability. I can't have that. Daryl and I can handle things on our own until we absolutely have to tell everyone.”

“Okay,” Carol replied, before shifting the conversation away from something that quite obviously stressed you out. “I drank a lot of herbal teas when I was pregnant. That seemed to really work for the nausea.”

“Just great,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Where the fuck are we supposed to find that?”

Carol smiled and gently rubbed your shoulder. “I'll see if Dale has some. I remember him mentioning something about ginger tea.”

“What if he asks why you need it?” you asked hurriedly, worry lacing your tone.

“Don't worry, I won't tell him,” she reassured you. “I'll just tell him I'm feeling nauseous. That something I ate isn't corresponding with my stomach. Trust me, he'll believe it.”

You sent her a smile. “Thanks, Carol. I mean it.”

She smiled at you before disappearing into the RV, on a search for Dale. You stood waiting outside, staring ahead at the treeline. You hoped that by continuously looking at it, your husband would appear from the trees with a deer over his shoulders, dirty but unharmed. Alas, as you had learned over the last few days, that didn't work, and you wished you could go out there and look for him yourself, but you knew he'd be extremely mad if you did.

No, your main priority was your baby at that moment. Your husband had shown time and time again that he could take care of himself, so you chose to believe that he'd be fine. You had to believe that, otherwise you'd spiral into an abyss you didn't want to go down.

The feeling of somebody standing next to you startled you. You stumbled and nearly fell, but the hands of the mystery person caught you. Looking up, you locked eyes with the self-appointed leader of the group, Shane Walsh. His brown eyes were staring down at you, a small grin on his face.

“Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to startle you,” he apologized, slightly rubbing your arms.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, you shrugged his hands from your arms and took a step back, putting some distance between the two of you. You sent him a tight-lipped smile.

“It's okay,” you replied, hoping that he would end the conversation with that. However, the man had other plans.

“What's your story, lady?” he asked curiosly, leaning back against the metal of the RV, his eyes trailing over you in a way you didn't like.

“My story?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “What's a pretty girl like yourself doing with a lowlife nothing like Daryl Dixon? I mean, you could have anyone you want, but you chose him, the redneck. Why?”

“Because I love him,” you stated matter-of-factly, sending him a harsh glare that only seemed to spur him on even more.

“Bullshit. There's gotta be something to it,” he disagreed, chuckling at the glare on your face. “There's no way that a guy like that managed to pull someone like you. It goes against all the laws of the universe. So tell me, what's he got to offer? Is he paying you? Are you some prostitute he keeps around for his own pleasure or something? You certainly look pretty enough to have a guy pay you for something like that.”

Before you could stutter out an angry reply to Shane's deprecating accusation, a hand gently gripped your shoulder and pulled you aside. Looking up, you saw Daryl, an angry look in his eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and viciously connected his fist with Shane's nose, hearing the satisfying crack of the bone there.

“Son of a bitch!” Shane exclaimed, bending over to clutch his nose in his hands. “What the fuck, Dixon?!”

Daryl gripped Shane by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the side of the RV, a threatening glare on his face. Terror filled Shane's eyes, something unusual for the for the man. Everyone started gathering around the fighting pair, and Carol, who had rushed from the RV once she heard the commotion, pulled you back from the battle ground, holding you firmly against her side.

“Listen'a me real fuckin' close, Walsh,” Daryl spat angrily, his voice dangerously low. “I dun' care wha' ya say 'bout me, but if ya ever talk 'bout my pregnant wife like tha' again, I'll do so much worse than jus' break yer nose. Ya dun' talk to her, ya dun' look at her, ya dun' even breathe the same fuckin' air as her. If ya do, I'll skin ya alive and feed the remainin' pieces of ya to the walkers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Fuck you,” Shane groaned out.

“Yer venison's on the table. Next time, go hunt fer it yer fuckin' self.”

Without waiting for a response, Daryl shoved Shane harshly and turned around, meeting your eyes. Instead of finding fear in your eyes from his actions, he found adoration instead. You stepped out of Carol's hold and took Daryl's hand in your own, dragging him to your shared tent. You didn't even spare a glance at the people, so you missed the way all of their eyes widened at the realization that you were pregnant, that they had been unnecessarily rude to a pregnant lady that had done absolutely nothing wrong. They had been harsh to an expecting mother and father, for no reason at all. Everyone felt guilty, but the groan that Shane emitted caught their attention once again.

Back in your shared tent with Daryl, you were stood busy gently cleaning the blood from his split knuckles while the man sat on the cot. Daryl was avoiding your eyes, feeling ashamed of his actions. In all the years that you had been together, you had only seen him lash out like that once—one time when you were drinking together in a bar when you were twenty-four, a guy had grabbed your breast without your consent, and Daryl had completely lost it. After that, he swore he'd never act like that around you ever again, but Shane made him break that promise.

“I'm not mad, you know,” you finally broke the silence, watching the way his ocean coloured eyes flickered over to you, the confusion evident in them. “Shane got what he deserved. Quite honestly, I planned on punching him, too. You just beat me to it.”

“M'sorry,” Daryl mumbled, ducking his gaze to the floor. “I know ya can fight yer own battles. S'jus'... Hearin' the way he talked 'bout ya, like ya were some object who's worth he could judge... I dun' know. It made me pissed. Ya dun' deserve to be treated like tha'. 'Specially not when yer carryin' a baby in yer belly. Speakin' of, m'sorry I revealed yer pregnant. I know ya wanted to keep tha' hidden.”

You smiled and gently lifted his chin with your finger, gazing deeply into his eyes. “It's okay. They would've found out eventually,” you told him, gently cupping his cheek. “Look at you, always so considerate about everyone else except yourself. You're amazing, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl blushed. “Yer the amazin' one,” he countered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your stomach. He placed a small kiss to the clothed skin. “Peanut's gon' have one hell of a mama.”

“And one hell of a daddy,” you replied, bringing one of your hands to thread through his hair. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Love ya more, peach,” Daryl murmured, closing his eyes at the comforting feeling. “Love ya too, Peanut.”

The serene moment was soon interrupted. The soft calling from Carol grabbed your attention, and you giggled at the groan Daryl let out.

“Y/n?” she called out. “I've got that ginger tea I promised you.”

“Ginger tea?” Daryl questioned, looking up at you.

“Yeah. I got a bunch of morning sickness without you around for some reason. Seems like Baby Dixon doesn't like when their daddy's not here.”

“Good,” Daryl chuckled, rubbing your stomach affectionately. “Then I guess ya won't mind if I stick 'round.”

“Hm,” you hummed, pretending to think about it before letting out a slight giggle. “I guess I'll keep you around.”

“Tha's real good to hear.”

Before you could respond, you heard the bellowing voice of your brother in law. You groaned in frustration, praying that Carol had gotten out of the line of fire, because your tent was about to become a war ground.

“When the fuck were ya plannin' on tellin' me ya got yer whore pregnant?”

Daryl visibly tensed up at his brother's words, anger flaring up in his eyes, and you knew that another beating was about to commence. “The fuck did ya jus' say, Merle?!”

“Ya heard me, boy.”

God, you hated Merle with a fiery passion, and you doubted that would ever change. But you loved Daryl, and you knew that as long as you had him by your side, you could face anything.

Yeah, your little Peanut was gonna have the best father ever.

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ynscrazylife · 6 months

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THE BAT IN THE SHADOWS 🦇🕸️ — CHAPTER THREE

Summary: Bruce Wayne is the happiest he’s ever been in a while. He has a beautiful wife, amazing children, and is stopping crime left and right as Batman. All that shatters when you, his wife, mysteriously disappears.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader, Batfamily x Batman!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Series Masterlist

It takes quite a lot to confuse Batman. Yet here he stood, reduced to speechlessness, as he stared at the odd group in front of him. The woman called herself Black Widow, said she was looking for his wife. Bruce thought he would’ve remembered if you mentioned anyone like this before.

“Then you’ve come to the right place. I’m also looking for her. How do you know Y/N?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms. They didn’t seem to be . . . Evil, but he had no clue who the hell they were or what you had to do with it and that was very annoying.

Black Widow glanced at her friends and another one of them, a man in bulky, flashy red armor, stepped up. “We used to be on a team together. Years ago. Until a mission went wrong and . . . She disappeared. I guess she landed here,” he said.

This did not help at all. In fact, it only made Bruce more confused. He was positive that you never mentioned working on a team before. “How long ago is ‘years ago’?” He asked next.

“About five now,” Black Widow answered.

Bruce felt like he was being slapped in the face. He had met you five years ago, when you were a rookie officer. You and he dated for two years, then married, and you were so skilled that you made detective within four years. Could this really be true?

“How can I trust you?” Bruce asked.

The group all looked at each other, seemingly coming to this conclusion that this masked man had a connection to you. Then, the archer pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, passing it to Bruce. He stared down at it, shocked to find that it was a photo. It was all these people, at some party, and . . . You. You were definitely younger, but it was clearly you, smiling and holding a drink.

Willing his hands not to shake, Bruce looked up at them. “I have a lot of questions,” he said bluntly.

“So do we,” the armored man said. “What do you mean that you’re also looking for her? Isn’t she here?”

Bruce took a deep breath, thankful that the mask covered his face, otherwise they’d see the tears pooling in his eyes. “She was abducted a few days ago,” he replied, forcing his voice to be steady.

“That explains the weird signal I detected,” another man said. He had a beard, a cape and looked like some sort of wizard.

Yeah, Bruce had a shit ton of questions.

It took some time for parties, the Avengers and Bruce, to get to really talking. They both had to give up information they’d rather not to learn more about the person they all cared about. The Avengers explained that you used to be on their team, until you went missing on a mission like they mentioned earlier. They said they scoured the world for you, until consulting with the wizard guy over here (who called himself Doctor Strange, Bruce didn’t comment on the weird name).

Doctor Strange said that he detected a signal not long after you had disappeared and, with his magic, found out what it meant: you were off-world. In a whole other universe. They’d been scouring the multiverse (which Bruce almost needed to sit down for a second after hearing), until finding a similar signal a few days ago which led them here.

So that meant . . . Both signals gave your last known location, told them that you had been taken. The first one was from the universe that the Avengers were from and the second was from this one, the one where Bruce made a life with you.

He was still utterly perplexed and didn’t completely trust them, but that picture . . . The timeline . . . It was tugging at something inside him. Bruce admitted that he had known you for these past five years, though he didn’t outright admit that you two were married. He was going to hold that fact close for as long as possible.

Finally, the Avengers led Bruce back to the point of origin, where they arrived in the forest. The masked man turned it all upside down, sadly not finding anything that could help.

But . . . He did have something they could help with.

“I don’t really want to do this,” he admitted, turning back around to face them. “But this is my only choice. My only clue to find Y/N. If I find that you’re messing with me . . .”

“We’re not,” a man, about Bruce’s height, looking like the American flag, said sternly.

Bruce sighed, forcing his shoulders to drop. “I have some footage to show you,” he said, really hoping that he wasn’t going for regret this.

As soon as the Avengers saw the footage of the store from earlier, Black Widow went pale.

“No, no, no . . . This . . . They’re inactive. This is impossible,” she said, gritting her teeth. Hawkeye placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as all eyes turned to her.

“What?” Bruce asked, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Play it again,” she snapped, leaning in close to the computer.

Bruce glared, but complied, restarting the video.

She took in a sharp breath, crossing her arms. “These people . . . Their uniforms, their behavior. It has the Red Room written all over them,” she said, as it dawned on the Avengers how serious this was.

“The Red Room? What the hell is that?” Bruce asked, his patience wearing thin.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne angst #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #dc batman #batman fic #batman fluff #Batman #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x you #avengers fluff #avengers x reader #avengers #dc marvel crossover

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shadowdaddies · 7 months

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I’m so sorry but these are not gonna stop anytime soon 😭😭 I have so many ideas for stories and I love seeing how they turn out and you’re the only writer I trust to do it. Feel free at any point to cut me off! Could I get one where the reader and az are in battle and one of them jumps in front of the other to save them and end up getting very seriously injured but they survive. And when they wake up the other can’t belive it and is still upset so they kiss all over them to prove that they are okay. Can I also get a little bit of worrying from cassian and Rhys in there too! Maybe if the reader is the one to get hurt they are worried about her and if it’s az then they’re the ones to comfort her. Thank you!!

lol keep em coming, love! I'm always happy for the requests💜

The Greatest Casualty

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: depictions of battle, blood, injury and death

A storm personified, you surged through the battlefield, cutting down enemy after enemy in a blur of clashing swords and blood. Azriel fought alongside you, the two of you working in tandem as you fought in a darkly beautiful dance together.

As you moved forward, you caught the archer’s bow directed at you, cutting her arrow down effortlessly with your blade. What you didn’t notice in time was the archer lined next to her, firing their arrow quickly after, aimed straight for your mate. You didn’t have time to calculate the swing of your sword to deflect another arrow in time, adrenaline taking over your thoughts as you pushed Azriel out of the way, diving in front of the arrow yourself.

As your flesh began to burn, excruciating pain spreading through your veins as the world blurred, you realized the arrow was poisoned. Azriel’s raging scream was the last thing you heard before your vision faded to black.

Fading in and out of consciousness, you were unaware of how much time was passing as your body warred with itself to stay in this world. There were occasional muffled voices, some you recognized and some you did not. You once thought you could hear Azriel crying as a voice that sounded like Cassian’s comforted him, but when you tried to send reassurance to him through the bond, the connection was weak. All that you could feel from his end was a maelstrom of emotions, swirling torment and agony. Your heart broke for him before drifting back out of consciousness.

Another time, you could hear Rhys and Feyre, more clearly than you had heard other voices before. They were speaking in hushed tones, but the words you heard were enough to build a fire within you. As your High Lord and High Lady discussed what would happen to your mate should you never wake up, you felt a fire in your veins. You crawled out of that dark place in your mind where you had been resting, clawing your way towards the light in front of you, that golden mating bond tethering you to this life.

You grabbed that thread and tugged it with all your strength as a blinding light overwhelmed your senses. Your eyes shot open as you gasped for air, the blinding light you saw proving to be daylight shining through the window of your room. Rhys and Feyre turned from their conversation, shock and awe in their expressions before Feyre burst into tears, running to you from across the room. She brought you in for a gentle hug, the ache of your joints eliciting a wince from you regardless. She turned and directed Rhys to get Azriel and a healer, refusing to leave you now that you had awoken.

You nearly sobbed as you heard Azriel’s voice coming closer as he argued with Rhys that they shouldn’t have made him go downstairs to eat, because he missed his mate waking up. The door burst open, Feyre stepping aside to let Azriel settle next to you on the bed. You tried to speak, but the words came out raspy as if your voice hadn’t been used in too long. Feyre and Rhys left you alone with Azriel, heading downstairs to greet the healer whenever they arrived.

Az studied your face, pressing kisses to every part of you that he could reach. He brushed your hair from your eyes, aiding you as you sat up against the pillows. He helped you drink some water, making it possible for you to speak well enough to ask, “how long was I out for?” Azriel’s face crumpled, sighing as he clutched your hand as though if he let go, you might disappear. “Ten days.” Your lower lip wobbled as you attempted to hold back the tears, Azriel gently shushing you as he held you close to his chest. “You dove in front of an ash arrow with a poisoned tip.” You heard his voice break as he whispered, “We didn’t know how you could survive.”

Azriel pulled back to look in your eyes, a scarred hand stroking your cheek. “Why would you do that, love? I waited for you for nearly six hundred years. I didn’t know - I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” You took Azriel’s hand in your own, pressing a kiss to his palm. “The arrow would have hit you. I can’t lose you either, Azriel. I would take an arrow for you again without thought. You are my mate, and I would give my life gladly knowing that I will find you in the next.”

Azriel laid down next to you, the two of you enjoying each others’ presence as you began to drift off to sleep. You were startled from your peaceful state as the door was bust open once more, Cassian running in to bring you into a bear hug, your stiff joints protesting as you winced at the overwhelming affection. Azriel pushed him off of you, snarling, “you’re hurting her, Cass.” Cassian pulled away apologetically. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m just happy to see you. The healers are here, by the way.”

Madja entered with another healer who apparently specialized in poisons, the two of them examining your injuries as Azriel kept a protective arm around you the entire time. They left, clearing you for light activity until your next check-up, and Azriel carried you down to have dinner with your family, the both of you overflowing with love and appreciation for each other and the others in your lives.

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sourpatchys · 8 months

Text

Title: Warm Showers

Rating: fluff! 15+

Word count: 1.6k

Setting: The early days of Alexandria

Summary: Daryl Dixon isn’t afraid of anything. At least— he’s not afraid of anything physical. However the thought of belonging, that chills him to his core.

Basically! My friend asked me if I could write up something fluffy regarding Daryl’s lack of hygiene in Alexandria, and I simply couldn’t resist.

The first night you were able to sleep in your own bed was one you cherished more than anything.

Never in your life did you think a mattress could, or would ever, make you feel so utterly blissful. The soft sheets against your newly cleaned skin felt like heaven.

Of course, you weren’t alone. Daryl had stayed with you.

Your relationship with the archer was never a spoken fact, neither of you confirmed or denied your closeness to one another.

You supposed it started after the prison fell, maybe even before that. When he saw you were alive, with nothing more than a few nicks and bruises— he ran to you.

Of course he ran to Carol as well, but Carol didn’t get a tearful kiss on the forehead.

The one and only kiss the two of you had ever shared.

Even sleeping right next to one another, your lips never met, not each others, and not the skin between.

It was nice in a way, having someone all to yourself with no expectations. Especially being on the road as you were.

Every night, he sat by you until you fell asleep, and every morning he was there— ready to start the day with you.

He had held your hand on the way into Alexandria, dangling his dead possum in the other. You supposed he’d always been a bit feral.

The first few nights, you hadn’t showered. You were too afraid of having to leave again, you didn’t trust the water, you didn’t trust the food, you weren’t even sure if you could trust yourself.

Once rick had given the go ahead however, you took him at his word, and finally, even a bit reluctantly, you dropped your guard.

It had been a few days since then. And you didn’t know being a person could feel so good.

The hot water seared through your skin like cotton, the food felt like a warm hug, and you— for better or for worse, felt like you again. Albeit a different version of you, but it was still, undeniably, you.

Daryl however, wasn’t adjusting. Even as he slept next to you, his mind never stopped racing. His clothes stayed dirty, his food was only what he could find, and he wasn’t sure who he was supposed to be. Let alone how he should feel.

Sleeping next to you was the only thing that kept him there. Knowing you would wake up in the morning, with the same warm skin and glowing eyes as always— that’s what he looked forward too— that was his reason to live.

He didn’t need to understand himself, he didn’t need to feel a certain way, because he had you by his side, alive and breathing.

Slipping into bed that night, he felt you tense, and he heard a sharp nervous breath come through your lips.

“Why haven’t you showered yet?”

It was a question at the forefront of your mind, you knew why you took so long, you knew it was an adjustment. You wanted to know his reasoning though, if he even had one. Surely he felt that same itch under his skin that you had felt, that need to be clean but the fear of losing what you’d come to know.

He turned his head to you, his narrow eyes holding something you couldn’t place.

“Don’ need to.”

It was a very simple answer to an otherwise very complex question.

You turned your body on its side, curling up into yourself, your head flush against the soft cotton of the pillows.

“Are you afraid?”

Even with your relationship developing past more than just an average friendship, this was the first time, in all your time together, that you had ever pried into his mind.

Usually, if he wanted you to know something, he’d just tell you. He trusted you in a way he’d never felt with anyone else. But after Beth’s death, he stopped sharing. You really couldn’t help but voice your questions out loud anymore, otherwise you’d be in the dark forever.

He scoffed, turning his head away from you, a visible frown on his face.

“Ain’t afraid of nothin’.”

He was. And you knew that. He was afraid of being alone, yet afraid of being a part of something at the same time.

“I— I could help. I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine?” You let out a nervous laugh, your humor was never in good taste.

You didn’t get an answer. His eyes just stared at the ceiling, counting any crack or imperfection he could find. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t cleaned himself.

At the beginning, he felt that same distrust that you had, that same fear of the unknown.

But now that everyone was adjusting, now that everyone had a job— even him. He just didn’t understand himself.

He could make a snippy remark about how he’d just get dirty again, he could snap at you and curse you for being too trusting too soon. But he didn’t want to.

Maybe a part of him just didn’t want to be vulnerable. The thought of himself enjoying hot water, enjoying fresh home cooked meals— while everyone else was out being productive— protecting what you’d found. It genuinely made him sick to his stomach.

Why hadn’t he showered?

He was afraid. He didn’t want to belong, he didn’t feel like he deserved to belong. He had to protect. Caring for himself didn’t fit into that role.

So after he was done searching the ceiling for answers, he turned to you again.

“M’ fine with that.”

Your eyes widened a bit, searching his for a moment.

“Fine with what?”

“You helpin’.”

If he was going to be vulnerable— he would only ever do it with you.

The trip to the shower was a strange one. You never expected your attempts at humor to get you anywhere in this world— but there you were— sneaking around the house with a man made of stone.

The two of you (just you) had decided a bath was the easiest way to go about it. Even with the hot water being limited during the day, you couldn’t imagine anyone else would be bathing at this hour. And you weren’t sure if the steady stream of the shower would hold its temperature long enough for the task at hand.

For a moment, you had tried to turn around, attempting to give the archer his privacy as he undressed— but it was quickly shadowed by the realization that you’d have to see him in the tub anyways.

The scars on his back were visible to you for a few seconds before he plopped himself in the warm water, leaning against the back wall. You decided to store that particular memory for another time, you’d asked enough questions for one night.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by a very familiar gruff voice.

“You commin’?”

Daryl was leaning against the back of the tub with his knees raised and his arms on either side— he had made room for you.

You couldn’t help the surprised noise you made as you pointed to yourself in disbelief.

“Me?”

“You said you’d scrub me down— so hop to it then.”

The whole ordeal had become routine. You really couldn’t say you minded.

While being alone was nice, you’d become accustom to being in a pack of several— and now, it was a pack of two. You were alone together, even on your most vulnerable moments.

Every night, once everyone had gone to bed, the two of you would sneak away to bask in the hot, cotton like water. And once finished, Daryl would let you brush his hair, and you’d sneak right back into bed.

Carol had noticed the change. She had asked you how you’d managed to get him to shower, cracking a joke about how she was debating downing him with a hose.

You just laughed along, not giving her an answer. No one needed to know about your nightly exchange.

Tonight was no different than any other. The scratchy, but soft, soapy rag dragged along your skin. The rose scented suds carving their way down your body by the second as the hot, blissful water rained down on your bodies.

This was what heaven felt like— you were sure of it.

Rinsing out your own rag, you turned to grab another, sudding it up with the charcoal scented body wash sat by the faucet. You’d suggested that soap for Daryl after he made a remark of ‘not wanting to smell like petunias’, he seemed to enjoy it.

Raising your rag covered hand, you brought it up to his chest, taking your time cleaning any nook and cranny you managed to find. He had been building a bike from scratch, and as you were starting to learn, motor oil was not a quick and easy wash.

Daryl hummed at your touch, his own, newly cleaned hands, coming up to massage shampoo into your tangled hair.

The hair washing, would always be your favorite.

Drying off after the shower was always the same ordeal. You would put on fresh pajamas, and Daryl would put on his same shirt from the day before with a fresh pair of boxers. You’d given him grief over washing his clothes— but he wasn’t budging in that regard just yet. You decided it wasn’t worth the hassle as long as his skin was clean going into them.

And then finally, you both plopped into the freshly made bed. The silk sheets always gave you chills, their cool caress sending shockwaves up your spine. He seemed to feel the same.

Tonight should’ve been like any other night.

Tonight was like any other night.

Apart from the feeling of scruff against your freshly washed face, and chapped lips brushing against yours.

You decided then and there, you were definitely in love.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #twd #I never know how to properly write people speaking #please help

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cultofdixon · 5 months

Text

People change, it takes time to prove that

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Not every Savior is bad. Some were stuck in the Sanctuary because of Negan’s manipulative ways. You wiggled your way into the archer’s heart and understood why he didn’t trust you right away. But when the war was over, he would do his best to get his family to accept you • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Scars / Suicide Mentioned

Requested by: Anon

“I met someone”

The declaration only brought a confused expression onto Carol’s face when her best friend said such. Met someone? In the middle of a war?

“Who is this…someone?”

“Her name is Y/N” Daryl picked at the soup that Carol made for him when he came to check on her in the house given by King Ezekiel. “She is…something. Definitely another made for a world like this”

“Like you?” Carol smiles resting her head in her hands. “So she’s a perfect match for you already. Tell me more”

“She’s a savior”

That was pretty much the end of that conversation because who wants to hear Carol tell Daryl how wrong that is? Or that she could be manipulating him for Negan’s gain? He’s going to hear this from more than just Carol so it doesn’t need to be told now.

When the final fight came and the Saviors were lined up on one side of the field with their weapons full of ammunition made by Eugene. The second they triggered their guns, the ammunition backfired against the few. Daryl immediately tensed to the action searching through their lineup for her and noticed Eugene quickly helping Y/N to her feet as she noticed Negan booking it.

“Eugene someone—-“

“No one is going anywhere” Rosita caught the two off guard by pressing a gun to Y/N’s back after taking out a few saviors to save Eugene.

“Rosita. She ain’t a threat”

“You’re on thin ice, Eugene. But I know you, I don’t know her” Rosita frowns debating on taking out the Savior for what she indirectly has done.

“Drop it.”

The stern gravely voice that came from the archer took all three off guard to the point that Rosita listened. But to the degree that she knocked Y/N onto her knees making her crawl to the other Saviors they were holding hostage until Negan met his end. Even then, some expected to bring out revenge on the saviors that caused them trouble but they were met with a second chance.

Especially…Negan.

When the crowd dispersed back into the communities for the night knowing tomorrow will be the start of the rebuild for every community. The Sanctuary especially.

Before Daryl could even think about making his way to Y/N, Jesus had stopped him asking to come with him and Maggie back to the Hilltop to talk about the decision Rick made that is supported by Michonne and a few others but not immediately.

“I have to check on someone”

“The Savior?” Jesus questioned only for confirmation by a nod. “I know what she did for you, but tonight is a lot. Especially on Maggie and you’re the closest thing she has to a brother. For now just. Please stick with your family”

The archer didn’t even give it another thought, but that didn’t mean she left his. Just meant that late in the night when Y/N found herself in the loading dock of the Sanctuary taking care of another pile of dead walkers, she didn’t expect to hear his bike rolling in. Daryl brought his bike closer to the building to avoid the fire pit that the now ex-Savior had made to contain the blaze keeping it from catching onto the main building.

“Why’re you up?” Daryl asks as Y/N fiddles with a matchbox but her hands were shaking too much. “Hey…I’ve got it” he reaches to take the box noticing her wounds from before weren’t treated. He tosses the box down quickly making her turn toward him to find she bled through the bandages that were covering the shrapnel pieces that embedded in her when the ammunition backfired. “Why haven’t you changed your bandages? How’d yea even—“

“Please stop asking a lot of questions…I’ll just tell you what you want if you re-dress it” She sounded defeated and granted she was. That day was a lot and not just for the victors.

As Daryl got out his bandages that he started carrying on his person, Y/N started to talk about what happened after Rick practically dismissed everyone.

Those from the Sanctuary returned home, but as for those who were more of the civilian variety were given the opportunity to disperse into the other communities. Some stayed to help rebuild it, given Rick checked on the place once Siddiq and Jerry took Negan back to Alexandria with Michonne’s supervision. He’s going to have to have one of his own watch the Sanctuary and it’s rejuvenation because he doesn’t trust any of the soldiers of the Sanctuary. He even snapped at Y/N when he heard about her association from Carol, because she offered to watch the rejuvenation but he took that as her possibly becoming the next Negan.

But she left out that part when telling Daryl. Rick is his brother who already made a terrible decision by letting Negan live and that took a toll on his image. She didn’t want to make it worse, though she’s still a bit confused on why he cares so much for her.

She may have not done any of the killing…but she was still a part of the wrong side.

Daryl tossed the lit match onto the pit watching it burn for a moment before returning to his spot right beside Y/N. He kept his eyes on the fire for a moment longer before bringing his attention to Y/N who seemed to be watching him.

“Somethin’ on my face?”

“Besides sadness? No”

“I ain’t sad” He scoffs. “Disappointed more so.”

Y/N frowns bringing herself closer to him and gently taking his hand feeling him squeeze it instantly. She brought both hands to hold his one gently tracing her fingers against his knuckles.

“I’m sorry”

“None of this is your fault, sunshine” Daryl reassures with a squeeze of her hand. “I just…wish for a few things and time can only really make them happen”

“Anything I can help you with? Any wish to make come true” Y/N chuckles lightly, being taken by surprise a bit when Daryl pulled gently on their conjoined hands bringing her close enough to bring his lips softly onto hers.

It lasted for just for a second and as Daryl slowly pulls away he couldn’t help the small smile to grace his lips when hers finally returned to her features with a hint of a blush to her cheeks.

“Let me take care of yea, like you’ve taken care of me”

________

“Y/N? The fuck are you doing here?”

“Was asked by Negan to check on his new prisoner. To make sure you haven’t killed him”

“That son of a bitch has zero faith in me” Dwight scoffs as Y/N rolls her eyes to his words. “I haven’t even touched the man. All I did was do the usual for our prisoners. Hose them down and strip them”

“That’s…we do that?”

“You’re lucky you’re not that important”

Y/N was struck by such but it doesn’t entirely matter. She wished she was the one to die at her line up. Instead Negan took her as collateral that eventually had her become one of his men and her old group perished.

“Negan is the one that asked me to check his injuries given our doctor is currently with one of his wives” Y/N gestures to the medical bag she had as Dwight’s expression fell instantly.

“You can handle this by yourself?”

“I knocked Negan on his ass once, yeah I got socked after but I think I can handle myself”

Dwight gave her a certain unreadable look before swinging “his” crossbow over his chest. “I’ll be back”

The second he left, Y/N approached the door unlocking it from her end as she opens the door she noticed the naked man flinch to the sound.

“I’m sorry” She frowns hesitantly approaching setting her bag on the floor and while she knelt by her stuff she pulled out a pair of clothes which Dwight didn’t know about.

Daryl didn’t say a word only grunted when this woman he barely knew asked if she could take a look at the bullet wound amongst others. He felt a bit exposed half way through the whole check up but Y/N kept her attention where it needed to be.

Once he was patched up, he noticed her quickly glance back outside before reaching into her bag for a few more things. A water bottle and a sandwich wrapped it paper.

“I’ll come back in after thirty minutes to clean up so it looks like I didn’t give you these. The clothes are also meant to be spray painted, I can’t control that”

“Why are you doing this?” He finally spoke in a whisper loud enough for Y/N to hear.

“Because I can. And I’m going to help you out of here” She whispered the last part and with that took a step out closing the door but left a crack for him to be able to see what was in his cell.

________

It’s been about a little over a week since the war ended.

Y/N stood outside the Sanctuary amongst other Saviors listening to Rick’s list of items from their place and where they were going into the other communities. Hence the three cars behind the man. A few of the people protested but he of course offered sanctuary in the other communities as long as they help with their rebuilds just like they were doing with this community. It honestly felt like they were purging the Sanctuary and who could blame them? Who else would want a physical reminder of where the dictator used to call home? Well then you remember all the places your history teacher talked about and it’s really saying nowhere is a good place for most glorified individuals.

“Y/N.” Rick caught her a bit off guard and granted a few of the men that Negan had favored as well. “You’ll be in charge of seeing everything on the list make it to the trucks while I scout out the place with a few others”

“Seriously trusting this woman?”

“Yeah she could never follow an order correctly back during the Savior days” Savior days…gross.

“Negan only had her in his arsenal of command for the woman vote type shit” a third made the final comment as Y/N was both tensed and defeated, but she was feeling the second one already today.

She was supposed to go hunting with Daryl but Michonne and Carol had asked to join him when they came with Rick to the Sanctuary, where he’s been staying. He told them he already had Y/N, but Michonne argued saying it could benefit the other communities if they caught more game and Carol added the “you need people you can trust to watch your back” hence why Y/N didn’t go. Daryl trusted her, but Y/N knew they didn’t.

“I don’t trust her with my life but I trust her enough to get this shit done and since y’all seem to like to poke the bear—-You’re comin’ with me to see the integrity of your gates and scope out what y’all have to add to the place” Rick gestures for them to follow and of course they did, meanwhile the others followed Y/N’s lead hesitantly.

A couple hours went by and Y/N found herself in their infirmary putting away what was almost ransacked when they came through. It really did feel like they were purging when 90% of the equipment is gone to replace most of Alexandria’s and give one to the Kingdom. 80% of their pantry and artillery was split between the communities. Then a few more people left entirely or into another community.

Daryl had returned to the Sanctuary in hopes of finding her but instead found Rick loading up the last vehicle, the Alexandria one.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Giving back to the communities. What else would I be doing? I told you this the other night”

“Yeah but looks like you’re liquidating”

“Five dollar word coming from the man that barely shared more than three words with me when we first met” Rick jokes and it obviously didn’t reach. “They’ve lost a lot of their people to the other communities. For the most part it’s those who have grown to live in the sanctuary or ex-Saviors that need to be monitored if things go south”

“Is Y/N still here?”

“Who? The ex-Savior that a lot of the men don’t like?”

“Who doesn’t like Y/N.” Daryl said with a bit of sternness in his tone taking that more as they are messing with her. And he’s not far off on that note. “You’re dodging—-“

“She’s still here. Cleaning up the mess we made when shifting shit around.” Rick states shutting the trunk. “You coming with or what?”

“Or what” Daryl scoffs about to head inside when he heard Rick mumble to himself. “What’d yea say?”

“Carol told me you fell for a Savior and I’m sorry that my immediate thought was she manipulated yea”

“Are you—-Is she fucking endorsing that thought when she’s never met the girl completely?! How’d yea think I got out of this fucking hell hole?”

“I’m sorry Daryl, but you keep comin’ back cuz she’s here. You sure she’s not trying to make you into the next Ne—-“

“I’m not”

Y/N just had to walk into the wrong moment of the conversation as she held herself with this disappointed look on her face toward the retired sheriff and a bit toward the archer but more in a different sense.

“Daryl doesn’t have to be here if he doesn’t want to. Besides, you should’ve tried harder to get him out instead of sitting on your hands.”

“Are you seriously gonna go that route with me? You have no idea how much we’ve lost because of that bitch dog you called a leader”

“Rick—-“ Daryl was about to cut in when he watches Y/N hop down from the platform she stood on bringing herself up in Rick’s business. Then suddenly her fist met his jaw knocking him off balance as he quickly collects himself. The shock stunning him.

“HE KILLED THE ONLY FAMILY I HAD LEFT TO BEAT ME INTO SUBMISSION IN THE BEGINNING. KILLED MY ONLY BROTHER IN OUR LINE UP. TORTURED MY FATHER TO HIS BREAKING POINT AND HE GAVE UP ON HIS LIFE. HE DID UNTHINKABLE THINGS TO MY BEST FRIEND THAT SHE DIDNT WANT TO LIVE ON THIS FUCKING EARTH ANYMORE” Y/N shouted in Rick’s face making him retract but she kept on. “HE BROKE MY NOSE—-BROKE MY RIBS—-…” she hesitated and fell the hot tears get the better of her. “I wouldn’t let him use me and he wanted to kill me because of it. Instead I watched his prisoners, made sure they were taken care of while their main watcher did all the dirty work. I never killed a single person while as a savior, expect for another savior when it came to getting Daryl to escape….Ive lost enough and I lost myself.”

Daryl felt the blade dig deeper in his chest hearing all of that come from her as she’s never shared so much all at once. He tried to bring himself to her and all he wanted was to engulf her in his embrace but Y/N stepped away wiping away the tears that just continued to fall.

“I wasn’t going to let him kill another of your family…and I wasn’t going to let Daryl never see his again.” Y/N frowns turning to Daryl and feeling the tears come on strong. “You don’t have to keep coming here. Trust me I get what it’s like stepping in that building…It’s just been my home for too long. I can’t go anywhere else without being labeled a monster”

And with that she headed back inside but after cleaning up the mess, Y/N went outside with her pack and lighter to have a smoke before turning in when she noticed Daryl sitting on the platform in the loading dock with his pack beside him. She brought herself to sit beside him at a respectable distance but he closed the space between them bringing his full attention onto her as she didn’t utter a word only felt more tears spring on feeling his rough calloused hands gently brush away the tears.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re a part of my family now whether you like it or not” He states feeling a small smile grace his features when he heard her laugh escape her lips. “Rick’s gonna talk to the others about yea and thinks you’d be more comfortable in Alexandria…plus you can stay with me”

“Daryl…I…“

“You saved me, and…I love you for that” Daryl gently pressed his forehead against hers. “It’ll take time for them to get used to yea, yeah. But they’ll eventually love you almost as much as I do”

Y/N felt an old warmth return in her chest after so long of not feeling it as she brought her arms around his neck pulling herself into his embrace feeling him pull her into his lap keeping her close as humanely possible.

“I love you too, Daryl”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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killerlookz · 1 month

Note

Hello my fellow Criminal Minds fan! 😊

May I please request headcanons for Spencer falling for a female agent who’s cynical about love and relationships due to being hurt in the past?

a/n: thank you sm for the request! i'd be happy to write this for you! :-)

Falling in Love Again | Spencer Reid Headcannons

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

content: mentions of reader having been cheated on in the past, uhhhh that's really it haha

word count: 1,478 (sorry she's so long)

Spencer Reid had always been excited about falling in love, the thought of being so close to another person- to share so much with someone was such a wonderful thing to him.

Especially after watching his mom and dad growing up, and the way his father treated her-Spencer was dead set on never becoming anything like him, he looked forward to treating a woman right and spending the rest of his life with her.

But, for as excited as he was he was probably 20 times more nervous about the whole falling in love thing.

So when you came around, and he started to experience that warm, creeping feeling in his chest- he felt a little bit like his world was going to end.

Spencer had never made a move on anyone before, sure he did make out with Lila Archer that one time but he didn't exactly initiate it.

Spencer decided just to channel all of his romantic interest in becoming friends with you, at least he got to spend time with you, that's what really mattered to him. Maybe one day it would turn into something more.

Well.. he hoped until he couldn't help but overhear...

"I went on my first date in months last night, and all this guy did was talk about himself the entire time- didn't let me get a word out, I mean, can you believe it?" Emily says, exasperated

You look up at her as she stands in front of your desk, "Oh, trust me Emily, I can believe it." You shake your head

"I mean," She throws her hands up, "What is it with men? What's wrong with them."

"Everything," You smirk, "They're men. I can't remember I had a good experience with one of them- never maybe?" You laugh. "I've given up on dating."

Your words sunk into Spencer's brain, leaving him with a heavy feeling all around he felt awful- not just about the fact that his chances with you seemed to reduce to zero right there in that moment, but because of how upset you seemed under your sarcastic exterior, he could tell you'd really been hurt before.

A few weeks later you're out for drinks with Emily, Penelope, Morgan, Spencer, and JJ. Amidst the loud, drunken conversations and music at the bar- you can hear the faint chiming sounds of your ring tone, Who would be calling this late?

As you take your phone from your pocket, your stomach drops when you see the number flashing on the screen. The mere sight of those 10 digits making you want to throw your phone to the ground and stomp on it until nothing remains.

"Ooooh, who's that calling." Morgan smirks

You look him dead in the eyes and respond flatly, "My ex."

Morgan's smile doesn't fade instead his smirk seems to deepen, "You two got a little thang goin on?"

"No," You shove your phone back in your pocket, "More like he's trying to get back in my pants after cheating on me- twice."

"Ooh!" Morgan responds, wincing, "So he's a dog."

"A pig is more like it." You scoff, "Who does he think he is. I can't even imagine giving my time to another man again, and even if I could- what makes him so confident I'd give him the time of day."

That familiar heavy pain hits Spencer again.

He's staring at you, and it's like the rest of the bar doesn't even exist. Only you, as you bite your lip, trying to hide any emotion in your face.

Spencer has become good at reading your emotions, maybe it's because he spends so much time with you- maybe it's because of how often he finds himself staring at your face. As much as you try to seem nonchalant, he could tell how upset you are.

Spencer would spend more time than he wanted to admit fantasizing about treating you well, about giving you the love you never seemed to have.

Every time you made a snarky comment about love, or how men had treated you in the past Spencer would want so desperately bad to just tell you about how well he would treat you, how he would never ever hurt you, how he would spend his entire life taking care of you.

The words were practically scratching up his throat, begging to be let out. But still, he would just swallow them down, and give you a sympathetic look, he couldn't muster up being able to do anything more.

At the very least, Spencer's plan of becoming friends with you was working.

The two of you would become very good friends.

Spencer would learn everything he could about you, he would want to know as much as possible.

Not in a weird creepy way- but in a he just thinks you're so amazing he can't get enough of you sort of way.

Every time you and Spencer hung out he wouldn't be able to ignore that nagging feeling, the thought of putting an arm around you and pulling you close, of holding your hand in his, or placing a delicate kiss on your cheek.

The thoughts would eat away at Spencer, and he would only fall more, and more in love with you.

Still, he would lose more hope every time you divulged information about your prior encounters with love. He couldn't blame you for feeling so cynical it, not after what you'd been through.

Spencer would think about his mom, about all the wives Rossi had been through, about Hotch and Hailey, about you- he would wonder why love had to be so painful for some people. He was sure he would never hurt somebody he loved.

One day you're over Spencer's apartment, watching a rom-com, and you make a snide remark, "Oh, real love isn't like that." You scoff and roll your eyes.

Spencer doesn't know what it is, but something in him makes him respond, "It could be." He says meekly

You look up at him, caught off guard at his disagreement, "Hm?" you hum

Spencer wasn't able to take it any more, he hated hearing your cynical nature. He would need you to know how you deserved the entire world.

"Love- It can be like the movies." He affirms his stance.

"Not in my experience."

"I would give you love like that." Spencer would tremble as he makes his confession, so unsure of what would happen next.

He would be terrified of your reaction, scared he was about to mess everything up, ruin any future the two of you had together, and even worse, lose your friendship.

"W-what do you mean, Spence."

"I mean, you always talk about how you've been hurt before, and it just-" He takes a deep breath in, contemplating what he's going to say next, "I love you, y/n," He looks down at his lap, then back up at you, "I would never hurt you."

Despite the obvious passion in Spencer's voice, you were still hesitant about it, but everything inside of you told you to give Spencer a chance.

Spencer would insist on taking things slow, you were his first real relationship and he wouldn't want to rush things, for both his and yours sake. He wouldn't pressure you to put a label on things, or even say you're "dating"- those would come on your own time.

Spencer was determined to make you believe in love again, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you knew without a doubt how he felt about you.

Spencer would often get to work before you to surprise you with coffee and a breakfast sandwich, or a donut on your desk in the mornings.

He would insist on having a date night at least once a week, even if the two of you were on a case, ordering room service or finding a local pizza restaurant way late at night was sufficient, as long as the two of you got to spend time together.

Spencer would be hesitant about PDA or really moving too quickly into being too affectionate, still, he would frequently hold your hand, squeezing it tight when he could tell you were stressed or upset- either by a case or by life in general, he just wanted to give you that extra reassurance that he was there for you.

Spencer would really put the work in, he'd exert more effort than you had ever seen from any past relationship into even the tiniest things.

Spencer wouldn't mind though, anything he could do to reassure you that he loves and cares about you, he would do it.

Every little act of love and gratitude would be worth it to him.

He would savor and cherish every hug, every shared glance, every peck on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips.

It was all worth it to him, every second of it- all he wanted to do was make you smile, to make you fall in love again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid headcannons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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taylormarieee · 9 months

Text

~She looks like lust and smells like desire~ ft. Daryl Dixon

Summary: You come to deanna's party dressed all hot and sexy for your two favourite boys knowing exactly how the nights gonna end.

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Pure filthy smut

Pairing: Rick X fem!reader X Daryl

Warnings: Threesome, PiV sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral(F&M), Daryl and Rick do not kiss or do anything of the sort they just please the reader, Dom/Sub dynamic, Pussy drunk Rick, Cock drunk reader, Reader rides Daryl's face, Cream-pie, Breeding kinks, Mentions of alcohol, Doggy style, Just pure and filthy smut! Enjoy!

You and the group were a little bit skeptical of Deanna and her ways, especially Rick and Daryl considering they don't trust so easily. Rosita and Carol had there suspicions but decided to brush it off for the good of the group.

For the most part everyone was happy. No problems yet at least.

Deanna says she's throwing a little welcome party for you guys. Typical. Of course she would throw a party like it's the real world again, like we're friends. But, you went on a run with Rosita and found this gorgeous black dress that fits your curves just right.

It was sure to be the dress to make everyone swoon and drool over you. Plus you wanted to have fun and feel pretty. You haven't felt much like that in a long time. So you slip on your dress put on these pretty black stilettos you found as well.

You make your way down the stairs and is met with rosita.

"Girl you took like two hours! What were you doing?" She says with a slight chuckle. "One, I did not take two hours Perra! And Two I was making sure I look good. Haven't felt like this in a while. Feels like prom all over again." You say sadly looking down at your dress.

"Its ok girlie, let's go shall we!?" She says with a smile holding out her arm for you to take. You gladly take her arm and walk out the door.

You both arrive at deanna's house together and knock on the door. There's music playing but someone heard the door. Glenn.

"Hey guys! You guys look great come in!" He says smiling. "Thank you Glennie boy!" You say hugging him.

"Stop! You've been calling me that since the farm!" He says chuckling. You and Glenn have known eachother since Atlanta, you guys were the closest.

You two were like brother and sister. You guys never left one anothers side. You ofcourse was like his little wingman when he met Maggie.

He was so shy but you helped him anyway. You walk through the crowd losing Rosita to Abraham. You make your way to where the drinks are and you see Carl. You wave at him and he walks over.

"Hey! I see you got all dressed up!" He says smiling while hugging you.

"Yea I did! Haven't felt like this since before the end of the world came you know? So I thought when I heard party why not dress up!?" You say hugging him back.

You see Enid walk by and that's when Carl says, "Uh I gotta go see you at home?" He asks. "Go get her Carl! I will see you at home!" I say smiling. He chuckles and puts his head down before walking the way Enid went.

You feel a pair of eyes on you but you don't know who's watching you. You look around getting that feeling of chills on you body only to see Rick Grimes staring at you while seductively taking a sip of what looks like whiskey, could be bourbon but you don't really care.

You smile and you do a cute little wave at him and he smiles back. He turns away to talk to Deanna again.

Yet, you still felt a pair of eyes on you and to your surprise, it was your favourite Archer. Daryl Dixon.

You and Daryl were close but not as close as he was with Carol. Him and Rick were still your boys though.

Following you everywhere to make sure no guy in Alexandria tried anything.

The possessiveness and need to protect you was cute. But you always thought they should know by now that half of Alexandria either hates us for being here or is scared shitless of us. Plus you could take care of yourself.

You always thought Daryl had a crush on Carol and always tried to set them up together. Like going on runs.

You would always partner up with Carl, Tara, or Rosita first so that Daryl wouldn't choose you and end up being with Carol instead so they could get some alone time.

What you didn't realize is that Daryl actually had a crush on you. But you were always so oblivious that him and Carol were a thing or could be a thing at least.

Maybe part of it was his fault for always being around Carol but he only had eyes for you.

And so did Officer friendly. But you always had a crush on Rick. He was a very attractive man, so who wouldn't.

There were always glances that lasted to long or touches that lingered longer than they should have. So you decide to walk over to him.

You almost make it to him except your stopped by deanna's son Spencer.

"Hey, You look nice tonight. Care to join me for a drink?" He asks with a smile. You being the nice person you are didn't deny a nice drink.

Sure I'd love to. Do you have whiskey though? I'm a whiskey girl!" You ask him. He chuckles and looks at you.

"What!?" You say laughing and smiling.

"You have this energy about yourself. Your fun and happy! Butt yea we've got whiskey!" He says holding out his hand, "Shall we?" He asks smiling.

Ha! We shall my knight in shining armour!" You say laughing. Rick and Daryl stood next to each other and they both saw this interaction and boy were they pissed.

They both knew that Spencer was only trying to get in your pants but you were of course to oblivious to notice that.

You were always so sweet and innocent and that's what made Rick and Daryl so obsessed with you. They wanted you all for themselves.

Daryl hated sharing and Rick was just so obsessed with you. Together they were the most toxic duo. And they were planning on taking down their prey. You. There one and only.

After some drinks later you two get more comfortable with each other. Joking around, Laughing, even some friendly touches were made.

Daryl and Rick didn't like this at all but Spencer wasn't exactly doing anything inappropriate with you so all they could do was sit back and watch the painful show in front of them.

"You really funny! How come we weren't friends sooner?" You say chuckling. You pat his shoulder and he chuckles.

"I honestly have no Idea. I don't really like Rick or Daryl and i don't know, maybe its affected the way I look at the rest of the group." Spencer says twirling his drink in his hand.

"Speaking of them, I can feel there eyes on you all night. You must be extremely special." He says smirking and nodding his head in their direction.

As soon as you look over there you are instantly met with their death stares watching the entire interaction. Heat rises to your face and ears as you look back at Spencer.

"Look Spence, I am so sorry but i should probably go. See you around sometime?" You ask pointing your finger out to him as you ask slowly walking away.

He smiles at the nickname and nods, "See you around sometime Aphrodite!" He says laughing and holding his drink up. You laugh and walk away.

The boys look defeated. Maybe Spencer really was just trying to be your friend. They hadn't seen him do anything really. He joked with you and touched you appropriately, in friendly ways. Who were they to take away a friend from you.

"Seriously guys? You scared my friend away!" You say with the pout of your lips. It's taking everything in them not to take you right here right now. Daryl just grunts and takes a sip of his drink while Rick just stares at you.

"Hello? Earth to Rick!?" You say waving your hand in his face. "I heard you, sweetheart. We're sorry. Right, Daryl?" Rick says not looking up from your body in that tight dress as he nudges Daryl's arm.

Daryl grunts and lowly says, "Yea." While looking at your eyes. "What'd ya wear that thing for anyway?" He adds.

"What this? Oh! I wanted to feel girly again! Did you know Spencer called me Aphrodite!? That was so nice of him but I just think he-" You state before being interrupted.

"I don't care what he said sweetheart, I asked you what did you wear that tight thing for?" Rick asks, his blue irises finally enchanting you. fuck.

Whenever Rick looked at you, you couldn't speak. No matter how hard you tried to think of a coherent sentence, word, or anything, it never came out. Damn you Rick!

You stutter trying to answer his question and Daryl scoffs clearly jealous at how you instantly get all shy around Rick.

"I-I wore it for you guys. Thought you guys would like it because your opinions matter to me." You say heat rushing to you face in embarrassment.

They look at each other and smirk. "Well Sunshine, yer lookin good if ya ask me." Daryl says with a smirk, winking at you.

You giggle and smile at him. You then look to Rick for his opinion on your dress.

"Darlin, you are gonna make me act up tonight. That dress looks amazing on you but trust me sweetheart it would look better on my bedroom floor." Rick says biting his lip looking you up and down.

You squeeze your legs together and bite your lip looking up at them with big doe, glossy, innocent, eyes.

Daryl mutters a 'fuck' under his breath and grabs your waist pulling you close to the both of them. "Damn doll ya really know how to push our buttons." Daryl says.

"Your lookin like lust on a plate sweetheart." Rick says biting his lip again.

"Well if you guys like it then it was all worth it!" You say twirling around and smiling. They both glance at you ass and admire you.

"It was definitely worth it sweetheart." Rick says biting his lip again. "C'mon, let's take ya home and show ya how good ya look." Daryl says smirking and grabbing your hand while Rick grabs your waist.

After about a 5 minute walk, you guys arrive at the shared house. You walk up the steps to open the door with Rick and Daryl behind you.

You guys walk in the house and Daryl is just itching to get his hands on your pretty little body. "Why are we here guys? Did I do something wrong?" you ask confused as to why they brought you here.

"Nah sunshine, you ain't do nun wrong," Daryl says getting closer to you. "Were here to show ya how special you are." Daryl adds.

Your eyes light up and your face contorts into a small little smirk. "Oh, I see. Well, boys don't just stand there," You say seductively "Fuck me."

Both boys are immediately on you growling in your ear and both trying to tear that dress off you.

They both successfully take your dress off and bring you toward the pull-out couch. Rick between your legs and Daryl in front of your face.

"Get on your knees, sweetheart." Rick orders sternly. And you obey him getting on your hands and knees while lustfully staring at Daryl. Daryl slowly unbuckles his belt and takes it off.

Rick unbuttons his pants and drops both his pants and boxers revealing his beautiful 9-inch aching cock, awaiting to be inside you. Daryl reveals his hard, 8-inch cock with protruding veins and already leaking pre-cum.

"God, ya look so pretty from this angle sunshine," Daryl whispers. The throbbing between your legs is unbearable and makes you extremely dizzy. You close your legs together to feel a tiny release only for Rick to yank your legs open.

"Nuh uh sweetheart, keep those prey little legs open f'me ok?" He whispers in your ear, his body flush with yours. You nod feeling his cock on your ass.

"Please... I wanna feel you, both of you. Please fuck me." You whine feeling helpless.

Daryl and Rick share a look before nodding at each other. Daryl looks back down at you and grabs your jaw forcing you to look up at him as he bends down to look at you.

"Beg for it, then maybe you'll get it. You've been a bad girl sunshine." He says in a singsongy voice.

"Please Daryl, please. I'll be a good girl for you, for both of you! Please R-Rick Please Daryl, I beg of you fill me up please!" You beg, pleading eyes staring into Daryl's lust-filled ones.

Rick nods his head of approval a Daryl and Daryl lets you go. "Alright sunshine, get ready."

"You asked for it sweetheart," Rick says grabbing your hips to push your ass against him. You whimper at the feeling.

"Open yer mouth sunshine." Daryl says.

You open your mouth and wait. Rick lines himself up with your entrance and at the same time, they shove their cocks into your holes.

Both thrusting at rough, fast paces. Nothing but skin slapping against skin and slobbering gagging noises filled the silent room. Your cries muffled by Daryl's cock shoved down your throat.

Your throat contracts in a way that has Daryl groaning loudly, "Oh fuck sunshine." He pulls your hair into a ponytail and starts fucking your face harder.

Rick plunges his cock deep inside you, it feels like he's hitting your cervix. His thrusts are rough and deep. You feel him all inside you. You feel his cock twitching, it feels so good you feel like you can feel his veins.

Both of them fucking you just right you feel euphoric. This feeling is better than anything you've ever felt before. Blood rushing through you, it feels amazing.

Your heart rate pumping faster than ever. Daryl pulls out to give you a chance to breathe and catch your breath but Rick's pace doesn't slow down.

You moan out as your body jerks from his rough thrusts. Daryl looks at your puffy lips and fucked out state. You feel your orgasm approaching and Rick's cock twitches inside you.

You both moan out loudly at the same time. Your body starts convulsing and shaking as you squirt all over the place. Your orgasm hits you so hard your eyes cross.

Rick shoots his warm cum inside you. The feeling of him cumming inside you is enough to have you cumming again. Daryl is jerking himself off at the sight.

"Where do ya want it sunshine?" He aska. "M-My mouth." You open your mouth for him and wrap your lips around his cock. Lips warm like a blanket.

He groans and shoots his cum straight down your throat. He gives one last final thrust before he pulls out. You stick your tongue out and show him the cum sitting on your tongue and you let it drip between your breasts before swallowing the rest.

You maintain eye contact through it all. Rick doesn't pull out yet, still breathing heavily as he comes down from his high. He starts thrusting again, "Wanna breed you so badly, wanna cum inside your pretty tight pussy again, want you to have my babies." He says.

You cry out at the overstimulation. And try your best to push him off you. Eventually, Daryl tells him to calm down but he just keeps mumbling at how good your pussy feels and how well you take him. Rick is so drunk off your pussy that it's like a drug. He wants more of it. More of you.

He pulls out though and falls onto his back. "Well, how good is tha pussy? I wanna try." He says with a smirk on his face.

Your body is limp but you still have some strength left. You get off your hands and lean back on your feet. Daryl picks. you up and lays. back and rests you on his stomach. Involuntarily, you grind on his stomach. You whimper and put your hands on his chest.

He lifts your hips closer to his face, "Want ya to ride my face, okay? Take it easy, wanna taste ya." Daryl says. You nod and he smiles. He lifts your body and slowly lowers you on his face, intoxicated by your smell he flattens his tongue against your slit.

You gasp and grab his hair. He starts lapping at your clit, licking from your slit to your clit. He moans into you and you groan feeling the vibrations.

Your moans start to get louder as he starts to prod and poke at your entrance. Haps up whatever he can, all of your juices flowing from your wet pussy. He loves how you taste and how you smell. You taste sweet like candy and fruity like strawberries. And you smell like peaches and whiskey.

God, you drove him crazy. You drove him absolutely crazy. He was so feral for you.

The things you do, the clothes you wear, how hot you are, how brave you are.

All those things always shot a spark down to his crotch every time. It drove him crazy.

Your pretty little noises grew louder and the pattern was all over the place. He could tell you were about to cum again. He continued to fuck you with. his tongue and lap up your juices.

You let out a long drawled fuck, with a cry of his name while you came all over his face. You rode and grinded on his face trying to ride out your high.

You scooted down from his face to his thighs and fell on top of him. He rested you on the couch and got up. He offered Rick a hand as he was clearly still fucked out.

Rick carried you up the stairs bridal style while Daryl got you a warm, wet rag to clean you off. The smell of sex, cum, and sweat lingering on your pretty body.

They wiped themselves off and got in bed with you. They sandwiched you in between them and kissed you goodnight.

A/N: Whewwww! That was hot! Personally, I enjoyed writing this one. It took me a while but I did it! I hope all enjoyed it! The longest fic I've written so far.

Taglist: @murdadixon @catt-leya @carlsdarling @carlgrimesenthusiast. @rickswh0r3 @sickyrat @sinsandsweetness @the-dixon-effect @number1gal @daryldixmedown @darylscvmdumpster @loveforcarl

#daryl dixon #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #twd rick #Rickly

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bunwritesss · 3 months

Text

Daryl dating the team's herbalist >>>

A/N: Just warning you, it's quite long this time! :')

He would have met you in the woods, during the prison era. You both went for the same bush of blackberries, the archer immediatly going for his crossbow. You rose your hands in the air, insisting on the fact you weren't a threat.

"I won't try to hurt you. Matter of fact, the only weapon I got on me is a knife, and that's for the eaters."

He usually wasn't this easy-going, but for some reason he trusted you. You watched as he put his crossbow back.

"Are ya alone?"

You nodded without thinking, getting some more blackberries in the pockets of your apron.

"And you, are you alone?"

"I got a group, a few miles from here."

He did not try and tell you where it was. To be fair, you did not really care. You only wanted to go home and make some blackberry jam with the sugar you had.

"Well, I wish you the best on your way back." You smiled at him, quickly getting away.

The apocalypse really helped you understanding the importance of the concept of "stranger danger". You quickly went back home, checking behind your shoulder a few times to make sure the archer wasn't following you.

○

A few days later, you came back to the same place, harvesting some plantain to make a homemade balm. You did not notice the eater slowly walking behind you, and when you finally saw him, it was too late. His rotten teeth kept clicking, and he was missing an eye. The view was truly horrifying, you could not help but let out a terrified scream, trying to get your knife in the large pockets of your apron. And as you could feel the creature's fetid breath on your skin, kicking his knees and stomach with all of your might, it suddenly fell down on its side.

You flinched as it touched the floor, and gave it a scared look. An arrow was placed in its head.

"Are ya bitten?"

You saw the archer, running towards you with a scared look. You could not respond yet, your heart apparently trying to get out of your chest. Trying to get a proper breathing cycle back was hard, and you felt tears on your cheeks.

"Are ya bitten?" He repeated, almost screaming at you.

You managed to shake your head, and he let out a sigh of relief. He kneeled at your level, seemingly kinder than before.

"Ya really should get some more weapon."

You let out a scared sob. The archer was awkward to your side, having no idea of what he was supposed to do. "Rick would have given them a hug", he thought. "And Carol would have tried inviting 'em home."

"Do ya want me to walk you home?"

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve, trying to gain some contenance.

"It's okay, I can do it."

You got up on shaky legs, obviously not fine. And Daryl let his inner Carol speak for him.

"If ya don't wanna be alone... I'm from the prison outside the forest, three miles from here... Our leader is nice and ya obviously have some plant skills, you'd be useful."

"That sounds great." You said with a soft, raspy voice.

Being alone was starting to get hard, and there was only so many books and magazines you could find during your short runs outside of the forest. You turned to Daryl.

"I live near here, I have many useful remedies that could be useful to your group. Will you help me bring them there?"

He silently nodded, and followed you home.

○

It took you a few days to be fully integrated in the group. Everyone deemed your skills useful, and soon enough you became Daryl's hunting partner. Your duo was cute, with him and his hunting gear, and you and your homemade apron filled with pockets, paper bags, and plastic containers. You would always come back with food for everyone, and your contribution to the medicine cabinet was appreciated by everyone.

○

It took two years for Daryl to dare asking you to be his partner. It was after the horrors of Terminus, and after seeing you almost get eaten by the cannibals. You obviously immediatly said yes, and nothing changed. He always teased you like he used to do before. The only slight difference was the few kisses you shared behind closed doors, and the numbers of runs augmenting.

○

Here's some small headcanons about your relationship:

You would have made him some relieving balm for his aching hunter muscle, and he would be so grateful for that. You would probably have to rub it on him yourself (just like you'd have to fight to patch him up, the man being a firm believer of the "it'll heal itself" theory), but after he saw how much it helped, he always remembered to carry some with him.

You taught him to recognize some important plants during your runs, and now, if for some reasons you cannot go with him, he would bring back handful of those plants to you.

If people are mean to Daryl or your group, you get them slightly sick. It took only one look at Spencer being a jerk to Glenn for you to give him a piece of vomiting-inducing chocolate that made him sick for the whole night. You're a healer first, but poisoner comes close second. And although Daryl is not feeling his best when you first arrive in Alexandria, the story would have made him snicker.

Daryl would be so comforted by your smell after a day spent making remedies. You smelled like the forest, and looked so cute covered in plant parts and berry stains. It was one of his favorite smells in the world.

Judith would look up to you so much!! She spent her whole childhood making remedies with you, or on your lap, listening attentively to your explainations of which plants are good and which are not. She would try and bring you some plants as well. And sometimes go on small runs with Daryl, and pick up some plants you mentioned you needed. It was so cute to watch her come back, her cowboy hat filled to the rim with herbs!

Daryl is also the one patching up the pockets of your apron!!! When you get caught in spiky bushes, or when you accidentally rip one of your pockets, you always somehow find it repaired the next day. One day, you finally catch Daryl on the act, a needle between his teeth as he would carefully examine your favorite apron, to see if anything needed repairing.

He's also so impressed when he sees you making up a remedy on the go. Once, he sees you scratch your knee after you fell down in the forest (and he laughed at you so hard, before even asking if you were okay), and immediatly make a remedy out of the plant you fell on in two minutes, and he had the most lovesick look on his face ever as he watched you apply it.

#he's so cute 😭😭😭#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead imagine #bun writes

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reticent-writer · 5 months

Text

Blood demon art: Botanical Garden P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, P6, P7, P8, p9(current)

demon slayer masterlist

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Once you got back to the Infinity castle you sought out the demons that matched the flower crowns.

"NAKIME-"

The sound of the biwa rang and you were teleported in front of the one-eyed demon.

"There is no need to shout Y/n. I can hear you even if you whisper."

"I have a surprise for you." You giggle as you hop around her. Once you faced her back you gently placed the mainly white flower crown on her head.

You then hopped around to face her with the brightest smile. You watched as she felt the crown without taking it off her head so she could see it.

"Thank you, Y/n." She gave a rare smile as she put it back on her head.

"Can you bring me to Daki and Gyotarou please."

"I'm sorry but they are busy at the moment. It wouldn't be safe where they are."

"Douma?"

"Not here."

"Akaza?"

"No."

"Hantengu or Gyokko."

"Both are out, I'm afraid. Your father is here though."

You pouted ever since you've been back you haven't been able to leave without a trusted demon by your side. Muzan had you under lock and key but he also changed his additude a bit.

"Do you know when anyone will be back."

"No." this time she didn't wait for you to ask another question and with the strum of her biwa she sent you to Muzan's study.

You pushed the door open to see your father at his desk with his eyes glued to a book.

"Hello Y/n."

"Hi father, I made you a present."

"Oh and what would that be." He acted surprised as he looked up from his book. This was the change, he was nicer to you and actually acted like a dad for the first time in a long time.

"A flower crown. Koku brought me to a flower field."

He had a look of annoyance on his face but he tried not to show it. (he was definitely throwing it away once you were gone)

He bent down so you could place it on his head, which you did.

"Y/n did you like your time outside."

"Yes, very much."

"Good, I-"

"Can I go out more?" You asked using puppy dog eyes. (they never work)

"Absolutely not." He said sternly. "You take risks just but leaving the castle, If you try anything It'll be you that gets the punishment."

You looked at thr ground in throught.

'Did Akaza get punished because of me, is that why I haven't seen him since I've been back. I don't want people to get hurt cause of me.'

"Where's Akaza?"

"He's busy." He said going back to his book.

'he wouldn't notice if I went looking for Akaza would he?' You thought as you walked to the door of his office.

"Before you go I want you to know that I'll be checking on you every few hours, troublemaker. If you try anything I will know."

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Tag list: @american-idiot21, @unhappy-filling, @lenasvoid , @abbylouamanda, @muichirolover , @sylum , @crazycatlddy , @tempest1art , @abandonedhhearts , @atwerkingbee , @yuna-senpaii , @darkcastle167 , @kiraisastay , @thatelizabethaftonfangirll , @legendaryflowercheesecake, @archer-fb, @xbieditz, @acoffeeaddict0-0, @1s3v3n1,

#male reader #female reader #gn reader #child reader #x child reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x child reader #demon slayer x child reader #muzan x child reader #platonic #reticent writes #reticent writer

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xjoonchildx · 1 year

Text

kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

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Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course.

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.

There is no sign of Lord Jung.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face.

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.

In spite of the heat, you shiver.

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.

But can you reach it?

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.”

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands.

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ”

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Chapter 11

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA. Please venture forth with caution. Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; injury.

A/N: I don’t know why but I feel like Daryl is extremely OOC in this chapter. Maybe I’m just being a bully to myself. I’ll try to rein him back in with future chapters. I’m sorry.

Daryl’s feet carried him at a slow pace, seemingly knowing where he was headed. He ended up outside of the cell Hershel would use for medical purposes. Reluctantly, he tapped his knuckles against the bars and waited for the veterinarian to invite him inside.

The curtain was moved aside and Daryl noticed the absence of you and Carol immediately. “She okay?” He asked gruffly, not willing to show any fondness toward you. You likely knew exactly how he felt, at least in a physical sense. He didn’t need everyone else donning those knowing smiles like they had any clue of the turmoil he was battling inside.

Hershel stood with the help of his crutches and hobbled his way to the archer. “She’s just fine. A little shaken up but that’s to be expected for someone with her background. She said she was going back to the fences.”

Daryl nodded. “Okay then.” He turned to leave— to find you —pausing when a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“She trusts you, you know.” Hershel said with his gentle smile. The hunter enforced his unreadable mask. “She has a lot of fear and rightfully so. But she trusts you.”

“She shouldn’.” Daryl replied, blue eyes dropping toward the floor before he presented another nod and left the cell. It wasn’t that he didn’t want your trust. He didn’t deserve it. The archer knew what had been done to you, yet when he lay awake at night, it was you that he envisioned while stroking himself to the precipice of pleasure.

It was wrong.

It was immoral to fantasize about how it would have felt to have you that night beside the fire. You were willing but it wasn’t real. You wanted him because of obligation, not because you felt anything toward him. Not even because you just needed to be fucked. But because you had been brainwashed to think that was what you were supposed to do.

Guilt sat like a stone in his gut and he didn’t know how to process it; how to move past it. Maybe training you— building you up to take care of yourself —would absolve him. He could give you that, asking for nothing. You could move forward with knowing that someone could show you kindness with no strings attached.

Daryl heaved an intensive sigh and stepped outside. You would be waiting for him with those wide, pretty eyes. When he was closer to his destination, however, he found that you weren’t there. He continued regardless and collected your knife, slipping it behind his belt. You had probably wandered off with Carol when he didn’t show. It was probably for the best.

He was about halfway back to the prison door when he saw Carol exiting. Alone. Something didn’t sit right. “Hey!” He called out, waiting for her to find him when she began looking around.

“Hey, yourself!” She shouted back.

“Y/N with ya?”

“I thought she was with you.”

Fuck. Carol’s expression mirrored his own, communicating without speaking as they often did. “I’ll check the cells.”

“I’ll check the towers.”

Daryl hated running. It was all he had done since the world ended. He ran for his life or someone else’s. The latter only amounted to anything half the time. “Y/N!” He yelled the minute he stepped foot inside the prison walls.

Beth stepped up to the cellblock door with baby Judith in tow. “What’s the matter?”

“Y/N been in there?” He asked breathlessly.

“I haven’t seen her. She doesn’t spend a lot of— Daryl! What’s going on?” The young blonde yelled at his retreating form.

He didn’t answer, didn’t even stop when he snatched up his crossbow and sprinted back outside. If you had gone beyond the fence, you were as good as dead if he couldn’t get to you in time. Carol had forbidden you to enter the tombs. Surely you wouldn’t have. Would you?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the door. Either scenario would mean death if he didn’t act quickly. The thought alone left a hollow ache in his chest that he was too panicked to give any attention.

You stood less of a chance in the tombs. He would start there and pray to some deity that he made the right call. His fingers had hardly brushed the door when his keen hearing picked up a sound. A shout. Daryl froze, tilting his head to listen. There was no other noise but his gut told him he needed to go investigate.

He kept his steps light but quick, crossbow loaded and ready to aim. The closer he got to the opening in the outer wall, he could hear voices. Two males.

“Don’t fuck it up too much, man.”

“Looks like someone already did that.”

Daryl’s back was pressed to the wall, about to lean around the corner for a look. The voices belonged to two men that had been allowed in that very day. Lonny and Marvin. He hadn’t felt right about them but Rick vouched for them along with the rest of the group. They could be engaged in innocent conversation, but something about the whole thing was making the archer’s teeth itch. As discreetly as possible, he peered around.

In a span of mere seconds, Daryl went through an onslaught of three intense emotions. Firstly, he was in shock. You were facedown on the concrete, blood pooled around a portion of your head while your nails scratched at the concrete. Then came the guilt. There was the smallest whimper accompanied by an utterance of ‘ow’ that made his eyes sting. Lastly, came the anger. No, it was fury. The men had ripped off the clothing from your lower half. Marvin had a hand pressed hard into the middle of your back while his other hand moved aggressively between your legs. Lonny stood just behind him, stroking his cock with the most vile expression Daryl had ever witnessed.

He didn’t hesitate to step around, crossbow level with his eyes. The weapon trembled in his grip. His blood was boiling just underneath his skin. “Ya got less than one goddamn second ta move away from her ‘fore I put a bolt in yer brain.” The low growl of his tone added intent to an already very clear threat.

Lonny moved first, releasing his dick to put his hands in the air and step back a few paces. Marvin hadn’t moved, actually smirking at Daryl. The archer gritted his teeth, really really restraining himself.

“Daryl.”

It was the tiniest whisper of a breath and the anger disappeared in an instant, his expression shifting, softening. “M’here.”

“This here your pussy, man?” Marvin’s arm moved, bringing three blood-coated fingers to his lips. “I mean, maybe we could work something out and sha—”

The bolt pierced through the side of his middle finger, into his mouth, and out through his cheek. The screams were bound to bring reinforcements, not that Daryl needed them. His blue eyes shifted to Lonny. The man hadn’t moved and continued standing stock still while another bolt was loaded.

“Ya got any propositions fer me, asshole, cause yer givin’ me a helluva target.”

Lonny shook his head vigorously.

Daryl glanced down, wanting nothing more than to run to your side but he couldn’t let his guard down. Not yet.

“Both’a ya, back the fuck up.” The archer stepped forward and Lonny stepped back while Marvin continued to scream.

“Oo choht ee ehn uh ouhth!” He attempted to complain while using the hand that wasn’t bolted to his jaw to clamber to his feet. Daryl took another step forward.

“I said BACK!” He roared. His patience was wearing thin. Marvin finally reacted and stumbled away.

“Daryl!” Carol called from just around the corner.

With help so close, Daryl abandoned the crossbow and dropped down beside you, stripping off his vest to at least provide a little coverage for you.

“Hey, ya with me?” He placed his hand on your back as gently as possible, bending forward so you could see him without the need to move. Carol, Rick, and others had arrived and were handling the men but the archer was paying them no mind. The moment your eyes blinked open, you were his sole focus.

“I… I…” You attempted before your face contorted in pain.

“Need ta getcha inside. Getcha ta Hershel.” He was trembling again, anger threatening to resurface amidst all raised voices. Keeping his hand on your back, his wild gaze searched out Rick in the flood of people. “Get ‘em the fuck outta here!”

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Carol kneeled on your other side, sweeping your hair away from your face. It took Daryl a moment to realize she was talking to him. He nodded, gaze back on you. You hadn’t moved but your eyes remained open. “I’m gonna get a blanket.”

The archer nodded again, leaning back down after she had gone. “Yer gon’ be fine. Yer safe.” A broken sob escaped from your lips, the sound ensnaring his heart and squeezing. You moved as if you were going to push yourself up, sending Daryl into a panic. “No, don’. Stay still. M’a getcha there. Jus’ another minute.” You didn’t respond but the quiver of your lip told him you were still conscious.

The hunter heard the pounding of Carol’s boots well before she appeared with an off white sheet. His vest was tossed aside, giving him the briefest look at the blood smeared on your inner thighs. He knew then that he would murder someone that day. But you came first.

“Roll her this way.” Carol instructed, helping him move you into a position from which he could easily lift you. “Easy, easy.”

You gasped and whimpered and tried to curl in on yourself. It was all Daryl could do to keep you still. Once you were on your side, Carol brushed your hair back again. You flinched at her touch.

“You…you promised.”

His friend looked as if you’d punched her in the gut, a hand flying to her mouth; her eyes heavy with gathering tears. “Get her to Hershel.” She commanded softly.

Daryl slipped an arm under the curve of your neck and slid down to your shoulders while his other maneuvered under and around your thighs. When he lifted you, a broken cry worked its way from your throat. He was left cradling you awkwardly but you were shielded by the blanket and he could make the position work in order to get you inside. His feet were moving before his brain even registered he’d given the order.

“Daryl.” You whimpered. Your fingers, with their broken and bleeding nails, curled into the front of his shirt. “Hur…hurts.”

“I know.” He didn’t know how to reassure you; how to make this better. Carol had promised you a better life there. He had brought you there under the same assumption. If he was honest with himself, he took you out of the frying pan and tossed you right into the fire. His pace continued to increase only to slow when you’d start to cry harder. “Jus’ a lil’ further.” Was that for you or himself? He didn’t know.

When Carol caught up, she didn’t touch you. Daryl knew it wasn’t out of anger or cruelty. She felt as if she had failed you. He knew that because he knew her better than anyone.

He knew that because he had failed you too.

Daryl sat on his mattress, legs outstretched and arms lying limply in his lap. It had been hours since he’d found you. He’d taken you to Hershel and was quickly ushered out due to the location of your injuries. Carol had remained, although unsure if you even wanted her there.

The archer, with nowhere to release his guilt and anger, had headed straight for the cell where he knew Lonny and Marvin would be kept. Rick had temporarily taken his keys after the former sheriff and Glenn had finally managed to drag Daryl off of both men.

At least he had retrieved his bolt from Marvin’s face. It was now lying on the floor below his feet.

He was told to stay back when Carol had come from the medical cell and a decision was made on the fate of the two bastards. They counted his vote which was just shy of flaying them open and tossing vital organs over the fence. He had wanted to ask about you but there was no time. Everyone wanted the issue dealt with and the perpetrators out of the prison, one way or another.

In the end, they were stripped of their clothing and put outside the fence. Carol wanted them to suffer as you had suffered. Rick had disagreed but was outvoted.

Lonny and Marvin would now be two more walkers snarling at the fence.

It wasn’t enough, in Daryl’s opinion. He would have tortured them, willingly chipped away at his humanity to hear them scream; to watch them writhe and see them bleed. Regardless, the anger had given way to all encompassing guilt. He wanted to blame Rick for bringing the assholes in based on the answers to three questions that anyone could respond to with a lie. But he couldn’t.

He was the sole reason you were even there at the prison. He had gone against Rick and traded valuable assets to free you. He’d never know what would have been the better option for you. Still…

He selfishly wanted you to stay.

It would never be worth the risk of your wellbeing to explore the urges he had been feeling. He’d never put you in that position; subject you to that confusion. He just wanted you to stay for reasons he couldn’t even grasp himself. What was wrong with him? He didn’t do emotions. It was always easier to remain closed off.

Footsteps echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Carol. Daryl pulled himself from his defeatism, only to see your blood dried on his arms; his busted up knuckles.

“Hey.” He didn’t look up. “Brought your vest and crossbow.”

He still didn’t acknowledge her. He wasn’t angry with her in the slightest. He just didn’t know how to verbalize all he was feeling. He didn’t want to. So, when the mattress dipped beside him, he sighed.

“Hershel says she’ll be okay. There were…lacerations that will take some time to heal. And she has a nasty concussion.” Carol fiddled with the hem of her shirt for distraction, allowing silence to permeate the room. “She won’t talk.”

Daryl scoffed. “She thinks ya broke a promise.”

“No.” She countered. “She won’t talk to anyone. Just lays there and stares at the wall.”

He hated how that image settled in his chest, causing an unfamiliar ache. How could Hershel say she’d be alright when she had been subjected to behaviors straight out of the hell from which he’d taken her. He couldn’t do more than hum in reply.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Nah.” He lied. “Jus’ wanted her ta be safe.” That much was true, at least.

“I’d like to think I know you better than anyone.” Carol whispered sadly. “And everything in me says that you like that girl.”

“Wha’s it matter?” He would usually snap at her, but he didn’t have the energy; lacked the bite. The memory of you lying there, broken, had stripped all that away.

“It matters.” She squeezed his shoulder and stood, dragging her feet toward the stairs where she paused. “You should go see her.”

“I ain’t what she needs righ’ now.” Or ever.

It was her turn to hum. “Maybe you’re exactly what she needs.”

He listened to her steps fade the further she walked. Carol did know him better than anyone, but that didn’t make what she knew right. He needed to stay away, for your sake and his own.

So why did he find himself taking a shower to scrub away the blood you didn’t need to see? Why did he walk to the medical cell? And why was he standing in the doorway, staring at your back?

Now that he was there, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. ‘Hey, sorry ‘bout those two dickheads that took advantage of ya’? Eventually, he chose just to seat himself in the chair behind you and remain silent. He couldn’t be certain if you even knew he was there.

You looked so small on that table, the thin blanket pulled up to your shoulders. The sheet he had wrapped you in was wadded up in the corner, the crimson splotches scattered like a grizzly design. Daryl’s hands curled into fists. He wished he could have watched the walkers tear into those two depraved assholes.

He remained that way— a coiled spring of anger and self-loathing —until you stirred. It was the slightest shift accompanied by a nearly inaudible mewl. The archer straightened his spine but otherwise remained still. He still couldn’t understand why he was there; couldn’t even attempt to sort through the sentiments stirring inside. They were slowly consuming him, confounding and confusing in their ambush. All he knew was that you were there, breathing and heart beating, and the sight of you provoked the overwhelming emotions. They threatened to swallow him whole. He’d gladly allow them if it meant he’d gain understanding.

You shifted again, turning your head slowly to peer at him with tired eyes from over your shoulder. Daryl felt his lungs attempt to freeze while his pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. Carol had said you refused to speak. He wasn’t refusing. He simply couldn’t. He settled with offering a slow nod.

His breath stuttered when you responded— not verbally —but with a small smile. It didn’t meet your eyes, but it was new and not unwelcome. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, knuckles white. He wanted to run. This wasn’t him. For Rick, for Carol, he’d do this. He’d stay. They had become friends. No. They had become family. You? You were different. You weren’t an enemy. You weren’t really a friend. You were a stranger, a newcomer. Yet somehow, you had managed to slither your way right under his skin.

That was terrifying. He’d rather be thrown into a pit of walkers with only a toothpick to protect himself than deal with matters of the heart. He was out of his depth, alone in unfamiliar territory. And at that point, it was sink or swim.

Daryl cleared his throat. “How, uh, how ya doin’?” He managed to relax enough to free the chair from the death grip. The corners of your mouth turned down, your eyes beginning to shine with moisture as you looked away. The archer didn’t know how to interpret that. “I should go.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, finding himself hesitant to leave you alone. But it was for the best. He shouldn’t have come in the first place. He wasn’t sure what else to say. The silence made him feel even more awkward.

Hands on the wooden chair arms, he pushed himself up to stand. Grunting was apparently Daryl-speak for ‘goodnight’ or ‘feel better’ but that’s what he went with. It never failed him before. Quick to turn his back, he made it two whole steps.

“Daryl?”

The archer’s eyes closed, a curse sitting on the tip of his tongue. Of course he’d be the one you chose to talk to. Dixon luck at its finest. He turned his head toward his left shoulder, purposefully keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Stay?” Your request came softly, but powerful enough to shatter any resolve he had managed to muster within his inner battlefield. Daryl found himself easily turning back to you, taking back those two steps, and lowering into the chair.

“Okay.”

Taglist:

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vivacissimx · 3 months

Text

Theon's choice not to visit Alannys was not a choice

Cannot believe it took this long for me to get around to this meta—also, feel free to read my whole spiel about Theon's father figures in Ned, Balon, and Roose here, because it does inform my view.

OK, Alannys Harlaw hours.

The conception of Theon's motivations in the situation where he does not go to see his mother when he returns to the Islands is a bit harsh on Theon. It ignores that Theon has not been avoiding Alannys all these years: he has been kept from her. Theon's access to her has always been controlled by the NedBalons in his life.

I want to get into the idea that this is not happenstance. That Theon's father figures control his access to his mother, which is not even a novel concept in ASOIAF. Jon Snow, who is Theon's foil, also has access to his mother restricted by—woah! Ned Stark as well!! (And both Jon and Theon are expected to be grateful for this too.)

Theon's homecoming to Pyke does not result in him rushing triumphant as the prodigal son into his loving mother's arms because in fact Alannys is not even on Pyke (though Theon thought she would be). Nope, it's Theon's suspicious, resentful, and yes "homophobic" uncle as well as father who Theon meets. From here it is just assumed that Theon has perfect access to Alannys, and that him not hopskipping over to Harlaw is purely his preference. (Are you catching on to the idea that I disagree with this, yet?)

Getting into Theon as a character & how he acts under suspicious/mistrustful eyes:

As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. His wife was, if anything, even more distant and suspicious. [ACOK, Theon I]

“What I am about to tell you must not leave this room,” she told them. “I want your oaths on that. If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into deadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives.” “Lord Eddard is a second father to me,” said Theon Greyjoy. “I do so swear.” [AGOT, Catelyn III]

Ned turned back to his wife. “Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at WhiteHarbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father’s fleet.” [AGOT, Eddard IV]

Theon knows he is not trusted in Winterfell. Catelyn including Theon in this circle of ooh secrets is mostly due to the fact that Robb physically brought him & also because she knows that Theon does not really even have the ability to betray her on this front. He definitely knows that. Ned does not have a paternal relationship with Theon & does not perceive himself as Theon's father any more than Theon believes he is Ned's son (in the manner that Robb or Bran or even Jon is), so why does Theon lie here?

HE IS OVERPERFORMING HIS COMMITMENT TO THE PATRIARCH FIGURE IN WHOSE HANDS HIS LIFE/FUTURE LIES.

Theon predicates his vow to Catelyn with an affirmation of his willingness to do service to Ned, and in fact that's what his access to her relies on. That's probably why he makes such a production of incessantly flirting with her too; because of how it implies he is in Ned and later Robb's good graces! Of course AGOT Theon is also just a flirt for the purposes of producing his masculinity in general. But does anyone really disagree? Moving on.

The door was grey wood studded with iron, and Theon found it barred from the inside. He hammered on it with a fist, and cursed when a splinter snagged the fabric of his glove. The wood was damp and moldy, the iron studs rusted. After a moment the door was opened from within by a guard in a black iron breastplate and pothelm. "You are the son?" "Out of my way, or you'll learn who I am." [ACOK, Theon I]

(Even the damn door is in on it LOL)

Theon knelt. He had a purpose here, and might need Aeron's help to achieve it. A crown was worth a little mud and horseshit on his breeches, he supposed.

He was playing the part of a dutiful young prince for the moment, while he waited for Lord Balon to reveal the fullness of his plans. [ACOK, Theon II]

"My father gave me the command here, Uncle." "And sent me to counsel you." And to watch me. Theon dare not push matters too far with his uncle. The command was his, yes, but his men had a faith in the Drowned God that they did not have in him, and they were terrified of Aeron Damphair. [ACOK, Theon III]

THEON IS PERFORMING FOR BALON. His father doesn't approve of him and Theon is playing the part. He is making every overture and concession to obedience, or piety, that is asked of him. Balon, Aeron, Asha, even Victarion make sure he knows when he's failing—whether it's with an express disapproval or just a knowing laugh. Theon notes all of this because due to how he was raised he's extremely perceptive of how those with power over him regard him.

And Balon does not criticize Theon for not visiting Alannys.

"Will I find my sister and my lady mother at Pyke?" "You will not. [ACOK, Theon I]

Harlaw is only a day’s sail, and surely Lady Greyjoy yearns for a last sight of her son.” “Would that I could. I am kept too busy here. My father relies on me, now that I am returned. Come peace, perhaps...” [ACOK, Theon II]

Theon visiting his mother is not reliant on his own self-motivation, but on whether or not Balon grants him access to her. This is not to say Balon expressly forbade it or that there would have been any direct consequences if Theon had gone over... but it's about goodwill, not permission! What else changes between Theon asking about Alannys when he returns to Pyke and when he explicitly tells Asha that he can't go see her because Balon, because war? Simple: he needs to prove himself to his father as loyal and strong first. To make it explicit, Ned & Robb allowed Theon access to Catelyn in the same manner that Balon refuses (or, at the least, disapproves of) Theon's access to Alannys. Theon is sensitive to this disapproval and does not push the matter.

The only person who pushes Theon to go to Alannys is Asha. Asha obviously has Balon's trust, though, and it could be said she takes it for granted. Asha's level of understanding of Theon is complex; she recognizes him but she doesn't know him. When she says this:

You are blood of my blood, Theon, whatever else you may be. For the sake of the mother who bore us both, return to Deepwood Motte with me. [ACOK, Theon V]

it's actually wild how much is packed in here. For the sake of the mother who bore us both: Theon doesn't yet have the right to Alannys or even know how she'd receive him, given his other receptions on Pyke. Return to Deepwood Motte: the castle Theon believes he should have been tasked with taking above Asha, a concrete proof of his father's mistrust in him, which amongst other reasons spurs on his taking on Winterfell to begin with.

Personally I think Theon as a symbol of Balon's failed rebellion does make him, in Balon's eyes, also a symbol of his failed marriage. Theon does not confirm Baelon's masculinity as a son should, as Asha does. He is a reminder of the ways in which Balon lacks.

I also believe that Theon ~misses his mother, FWIW. He thinks back to his childhood sleeping in the Sea Tower while on his way to Pyke which is a mommy-coded memory; he expects to sleep in his old chambers again when he returns to Pyke—both that and his expectation of seeing Alannys are swiftly disabused. He will not be slipping into his old roles, Theon learns through the reunion with Balon which is violent in more ways than one. It's interesting because Theon actually expects to have to prove himself to his father (which is why he comes armed with a plan for taking Casterly Rock) but he doesn't expect to be punished for having been held hostage all these years.

If we are indulging in symbolism, though:

Above the Sea Tower snapped his father's banner. The Myraham was too far off for Theon to see more than the cloth itself, but he knew the device it bore: the golden kraken of House Greyjoy, arms writhing and reaching against a black field. The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted, like a bird struggling to take flight. And here at least the direwolf of Stark did not fly above, casting its shadow down upon the Greyjoy kraken. [ACOK, Theon I]

The Sea Tower where Theon's childhood memories & hopes for return to his family lie is dominated by his father's banner. At least it's Balon Greyjoy and not Ned Stark, Theon tells himself. Yet the result is the paralleled, mirrored, as Balon and Ned often are with Theon: under Ned's control Theon can't see Alannys because he is Balon Greyjoy's son, while under Balon's control Theon is discouraged from seeing Alannys because he isn't son enough. Perhaps Theon does prioritize the goodwill of his patriarch because he views it as an essential ingredient to his survival and success... but he's also absolutely aware of the role the wife/mother/lady/queen plays in the whole arena too. As power, as leverage. It's pretty plain when you consider that he tells Barbrey she could claim leadership over the North if she so desired. He took such pleasure in being relatively intimate with Catelyn as well.

So, he knows. Yet they're still all held above his head like a little treat. Delicious.

#theon greyjoy #alannys harlaw #ned stark #balon greyjoy #asha greyjoy #aeron greyjoy #text #meta #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #gender in asoiaf

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twdeadfanfic · 2 years

Text

We used to share a bed

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Inspired by the prompt “Sharing a bed used to be quite normal for us, when did that change?” Short and fluffy with little spoon Daryl and comforting reader.

You lay awake in the big, comfortable bed, staring at the darkness of your new, large bedroom in Alexandria.

You hadn’t expected you’d get to have something like that, considering the state of the world…A big, luxurious house, with several, ample rooms and a king-size bed all for yourself.

You wished it weren’t all for yourself, though, but that certain archer joined you.

Daryl had been acting strange since arriving at Alexandria. He was not the same after the prison fell, after the loss of many friends and companies, of Hersel and Beth, you knew it, but now, to all that, you had to add Alexandria.

It was not only that he didn’t trust it, you could also feel how uncomfortable he was, how he didn’t want to be there, how out of place and judged he felt… You hated to see him like that, you wished to help him, but you didn’t know how, and you also thought that Alexandria was a good thing, something that your people needed, especially the kids, a safe place with food, supplies…

But you hated to see Daryl so miserable and isolated.

You got up and decided to go find him, heading to the living room where you all had burrowed together to sleep the first couple of nights, until that evening Rick had said it was time you all started taking bedrooms.

Daryl was there, perched on the windowsill from where he could watch the dark street, and where he’d slept the last couple of nights. You had slept there too, lying against the opposite wall, your legs tangling with Daryl’s.

You walked until you were next to him, but Daryl kept looking through the window and into the darkness.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” You asked quietly.

“I ain’t tired,” Daryl muttered. “I’m good here,” he added when you didn’t say anything.

Still silent, you sat down at the other end of the windowsill, nudging Daryl’s knee with yours to try and make him look at you.

“I’m sure there's still a bedroom left. With a real bed with a mattress and everything…”

“Told ya I’m good,” Daryl murmured before he turned to look back through the window.

You leaned back against the wall, wiggling and trying to get comfortable, one of your legs placed between Daryl’s, who gave you a side glance but didn’t say anything. You both stayed silent and after a while, you began to fall asleep, but Daryl’s leg nudging yours woke you up.

“What?”

“Yer fallin’ asleep.”

“Yes, and you woke me up,” you whined, closing your eyes again. “Stop it.”

Daryl just gave you another nudge. “Go to that new bed you say you have.”

"I'm good here," you repeated his own words and Daryl rolled his eyes at you before looking through the window. You nudged his leg again. "Hey, what if we both go to sleep? In a bed I mean."

"Told ya I'm good here."

You let out a sigh. "I know you're not an idiot, Daryl, you know that sleeping on a bed is better than a windowsill." He just shrugged, stubborn. "Come on, we've been sharing a bed these days, it's the same."

"We've never shared a bed." Daryl scowled at you.

It was true, you hadn't strictly shared a bed, but two had slept holding each other on the hard ground of the woods.

You already had feelings for Daryl while you both lived at the prison, but you hadn't dared to act on them.

When the prison fell, though, and you ended up thankfully with Beth and Daryl, and you had witnessed how broken Daryl was, how devastated, beating himself with undeserving guilt, even more after Beth was gone, so you couldn't stop yourself from trying to bring him any comfort in any way you could, even if he tried to push you away.

On the rare occasions when he let himself rest, you were lying next to him, and soon enough, you were reaching out for him, pleased when eventually Daryl let you hug him to sleep, holding to you.

It might not have been a bed, but you both had shared sleep, and you missed his presence next to you. Besides, you couldn't leave him on a windowsill every night forever.

"Come on…you haven't had proper sleep in too long, and your back is going to end up hurting here," you tried again. "If you want to be on alert and ready in case something happens and we need to fight, you need proper rest...Come on, go to sleep in a bed…" You reached your hand to him. "You deserve good things too, Daryl," you whispered.

He looked at you at that, briefly, something going through his eyes, before he looked down again, swallowing hard. You thought he was going to ignore you and turn to look through the window again, but he didn't.

Instead, he took your hand, getting up, and you smiled, pleased.

"You don't need to come to my bed, I'm sure there's still a free bedroom, I think maybe in the basement." You wanted to sleep next to Daryl, but not if he didn't want to.

"Nah, uh…" He was still looking down, and you felt his fingers nervously twitching as he held your hand. "Yer bed is good."

Yout heart fluttered at that. "Are you sure?" You asked him gently and he nodded. "Let's go, then"

You walked to your bedroom, letting go of his hand when you flopped down on the unmade bed, and you shifted to the other side of the bed, leaving space for Daryl.

Silent, he lay down on his back, and you covered you both with the sheet. You waited until you thought Daryl was comfortable, and you moved a bit closer, carefully placing your arm over him.

"Is this okay?" You whispered. Daryl didn't answer, but you heard the rustle of the pillow and you hoped it was him nodding. As if to confirm it, he placed his hand on top of your arm, his touch ever so soft.

Slowly, you felt Daryl relax, until eventually, he turned around until his back was to you, still holding your arm so you were holding him.

A warm feeling spread through your chest and you smiled, shifting even closer to him so you could cuddle against his back, holding him to you.

After pressing a gentle kiss to Daryl's shoulder, you buried your face on his broad back, his body relaxing in your arms until you both fell asleep curled up together.

As always, excuse my English.

If you liked this, comments and reblogs are more than welcome.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon/reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon & reader

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dqryls-bow · 2 months

Text

I’m not going anywhere

Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: none !

You had been living in the prison for a while now, being on of the many that Rick accepted after Woodburys fall. You had made friends with a few of his ‘inner circle’ and you talked to the women a lot to help with different jobs such as laundry and cooking, or what was left to cook in the apocalypse.

At first, Rick was quite reluctant to let Woodbury join the prison, or what was left of it anyway, a few of Rick’s group had managed to persuade him saying everyone deserves a second chance, even though your community had done nothing wrong as it was all the governor, but who where you to argue? You were being offered shelter after all.

You had come to trust your new family, a few sticking out to you in particular, quickly becoming close friends with Maggie, while gaining Rick’s respect as the days went on, so much so he even trusted you with Carl and Judith, who you would baby sit every now and then. The baby would babble incoherent nonsense into your ear as she played with your hair absentmindedly, completely unaware to the horrors of the world while Carl would complain about your lame jokes (even though he laughed at them, they were unfunny according to him).

One particular hunter grabbed your attention as soon as you saw him. His closed of nature made you intrigued and curious about him. Although you had only had a full conversation with him once of twice, you’d exchange nods of approval and done him favors every so often. Even washing his vest when he would let you, Carol and Maggie found this amusing because if they were to touch the item of clothing, they’d have hell to pay. But they weren’t stupid, nor was anyone else in the prison. Rick continuously sending you both out on runs together, both oblivious to the obvious setup.

“Ask her out Pookie.” Carol quipped, playfully pushing Daryl’s shoulder.

You had also caught Daryls eye when you first arrived,not because of your looks, well partly, but because of your caring nature and personality.

He knew someone so caring couldn’t want him as an individual. You never really talked to him if he didn’t initiate it, which he thought was out of the fact that you didn’t like him. How wrong he was.

“Don’t like ‘er.” He sulked, brushing Carols hand off of his shoulder as they both watched you taking care of various duties around the cell block, picking up forgotten items as you went around, greeting people as they passed with one of your smiles.

“Mhm. So we’re both just watching her out of fascination? I’m sure she likes you too, that’s what Maggie said anyways, and I quote, it’s like both of them were hit with Cupids arrow.” The older woman faced him, her tight lipped smile mocking the archer.

Daryl rolled his eyes at her antics, continuing to watch you, admiring how you looked so effortlessly beautiful doing everyday activities. “Cupid must a’ messed up.”

Carol sighed at her best friend’s reaction, knowing that you liked Daryl back, it was infuriating that he wouldn’t grow a pair and just ask you out or at least exchange one non awkward moment. “Just ask her to help you with something, just make it up. You deserve to find someone too you know, just look at Glenn and Maggie. It all worked out for them, I mean, who would’ve thought Glenn had the guts? Anyways, go get the girl you’ll regret it if you don’t, then I’ll have to hear it all.”

With that the woman left him and his thoughts, different outcomes sweeping his mind of what could happen if he asked you. His friendship with you could end, or it could turn into something more? You could laugh in his face, not wanting to be with a redneck like himself.

“You ok?” You asked, walking towards Daryl after noticing him standing like a baby in a Cosco who had lost their mother and was on the verge of tears. His arms awkwardly hanging by his side, probably tired for how much he swung them.

“M’ fine.”

“If you were fine you’d of told me to go away by now, so no, your not fine. Wanna talk bout it?” You said, looking up at the archer, your voice dipping into a more worried tone, one he was familiar with as he had found comfort in you a few times before, but never about anything serious.

“Nah. I tell ya and you’ll go away.” He hung his head, avoiding eye contact as you raised your hand, moving the greasy pieces of hair that covered his eyes out of the way, your hand lingering there for a second.

“Daryl, I’m not going anywhere.” You smiled at him, standing on your tiptoes and placing a small kiss on his cheek, his face turning red from his nose to the tips of his ears, something you found adorable. “Cmon, we can go somewhere else and talk about anything you want, is that ok?”

Daryl nodded as he let himself be dragged away, your hand lightly hovering over his own, leading him to your cell, a knowing glance being shot his way from Carol, Daryl only rolling his eyes in response.

The cell was cold but was made to look nice by you. There was a few blankets scattered around, one for Judith who you had been babysitting for Rick earlier on in the day.

“That boy still come in here?” Daryl asked, looking at the scattered Lego bricks that where discarded on the floor.

“Who Patrick?” You replied, bending down to try clean up the mess that had been left.

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, he’s a sweet kid. Him and Judith don’t get along though, always fighting with each other, even though one is a baby and the other is a literal teenager. But whatever.” You laughed, not missing the was Daryl looked at you, his eyes shining diamonds that were worth millions, you could easily get lost in them.

“ ‘s sweet what ya do fer’ them.” He muttered, locking eyes with you as you smiled softly at him. Taking the time to admire his features.

“Thanks.” You mumbled “tell me if you want me to stop ok?” You tilted your head at him, moving closer, his body not flinching away like it would normally do out of instinct, instead it leaned into your advance, embracing you in his arms as your lips connected, a kiss full of love and passion, maybe a little bit of lust, but no one acted on that, yet…

Even Daryl shocked himself with how quickly he melted into you, your hand snaking behind his head. “Why would I say that?” He asked, breaking the kiss, being greeted with your eyes looking back into his own.

“Can’t believe all the time we’ve waisted.” You laughed, remembering both of your stupidity to not just talk to each other.

“I’ll make up fer’ it”

“Told you I’m not going anywhere.” You grinned up at your archer, interlocking your fingers with him as you both admired you newborn girl, her eyes an exact replica of Daryl’s while her smile replicated your own.

“Shes beautiful, looks just like ya.” His smile could be seen from miles away, spreading up to his eyes and his nose scrunching.

“I love you.” You spoke lovingly, rocking your baby in your arms slowly, as if she could be broken with how delicate she was.

“I love ya too.”

#the walking dead #norman reedus #daryl dixon #apocalypse #viral #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #twd daryl #daryl x you #imagine #reader x character #daryl x reader

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cultofdixon · 10 months

Text

You’ll always be important to me

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • When you and Daryl started your own little family, Judith thought that meant everything was changing. But she will always be a part of their family • ANGST/SFW • TW: Pregnancy & Birth Mentioned / Anxiety / Sleep Deprivation / Minor Injuries • Commonwealth canon re-written

Requested by: Anon

“Run that back?”

“I’m pregnant, D…”

Daryl looks at his wife a bit taken back by what she said. The silence ate Y/N alive when he didn’t say anything in response after she stated supposedly good news a second time.

Then she was suddenly brought into his embrace feeling the archer tighten his grasp on her carefully.

“We’re gonna be parents…holy shit. We’re havin’ a baby” Daryl lets out a chuckle as he held her close feeling her latch onto him.

“Our family is getting bigger…”

“She’s having a baby?” Judith questions once more to Daryl watching the man nod as she gave him a blank stare followed by silence.

Before he could even question what could be going on in that mind of hers, the young Grimes went in for a hug that he happily returned.

“You and Y/N are going to be great parents”

They kind of…already were because the two took in the Grimes kids when Michonne left on this unknown journey that only Judith knew was to find Rick. Daryl was always Rick and Michonne’s first option when it came to taking their kids in any way. Judith has always been the archer’s adoptive daughter in a way that everyone knew, and Y/N has told him every time they just thought about having kids of their own that he will be great because Judith was his first kid.

She always will be

Even when she has her doubts

The first two months into pregnancy were a bit stressful because Alexandria had just suffered a herd going through it and the news of this new community surfaced. Which lead to a possible ally ship that Eugene, Ezekiel, and Yumiko were being the voices for Alexandria to acquire such. Of course Carol will help in her own way to make sure this community wasn’t going to stab them in the back in any way, but for now their promise of helping Alexandria rebuild itself sounded promising. They even offered housing in their community for those who wanted it until their community is rebuilt. As long as they did their part.

Which is only fair. But it wasn’t going to be easy to try and convince an already anxious person to move into unknown territory.

“No”

“But Y/N—-“

“I’m pregnant! It’s an unknown community! My brother is here, my family is here, why would you—-“

“Jude and RJ are comin’ with us. And Aaron will visit but he’s takin’ lead from the Alexandria’s side on the rebuild”

“Why can’t we help—-“

“Because you’re pregnant and Commonwealth has the resources”

“Resources?! We have—-“

“NOT IF SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS TO YEA!” Daryl yells, which was met with instant regret given the flinch that he drew out of his wife. “I’m sorry…I’m really sorry for snappin’. I just. I can’t lose you…I can’t. Lose. You.” He tried his best to contain his anxiety that was picking at him to get him to sob as Y/N brought herself close bringing her arms around his middle.

“Daryl…Nothin’ bad is gonna happen to me. Or our baby. Or our kids…we’ll be safe…”

“Please Y/N…we don’t have to live there forever. Just until Alexandria is rebuilt…Aaron will come and get us when it’s done.”

Y/N held her husband while all his anxiety continued to radiate off him as she rests her chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Okay”

“Okay?”

“Yes…but I’m not raising our baby in the Commonwealth. Once we are both fit, and Alexandria is back in working order…we come home”

“I promise, sunshine” Daryl presses a kiss to her forehead before her cheek ending with one on her lips. But he wasn’t letting go of her anytime soon. “Yea think they’d try anythin’?”

“I trust our people who found the community when they say to put some trust in this place. But I’m just. If something were to happen, Carol won’t leave us in the dark. None of them would”

“I’ll burn the place down if anythin’ happens to my family”

His wife laughs to such even if it were true that the archer would do such if it came to that. But thankfully, the entrance into this new community wasn’t too bad and that they would be updated occasionally on the rebuild by Y/N’s brother Aaron.

Their temp apartment was a bit small, but once Daryl finished training they put the family of five (including Dog) into a bigger place. One where Judith and RJ shared the other room and the adults obviously got their own.

“I look ridiculous”

“I think…as long as it protects my strong handsome husband from walkers…I think you’ll look fine” Y/N smiles waiting for Daryl to step out of the bathroom in his armor while she waited, Judith came in in the new dress she picked out when getting clothing for school. “Oh my god. You look beautiful! Come here look in the mirror!” She got up from the bed directing Judith into the full body mirror smiling even more when the young child started to smile.

“You think I’ll make friends?”

“Of course I do! You are a wonderful, smart, creative young woman that who wouldn’t be your friend?” Y/N smiles holding Judith close as she held her arms until she felt safe to let go or at least until Daryl stepped out in his armor.

“I really feel ridiculous” Daryl states joining the two in the mirror watching them both look at him. “What? You agree?”

“You look like a stormtrooper”

“What’s a stormtrooper?” Judith questions making Y/N laugh to herself forgetting she was born in the apocalypse.

“It’s what Uncle Daryl is. But Uncle Daryl is on the good side while stormtroopers were bad guys”

“Yknow. There’s a rental video place. I bet yea they’ve got Star Wars…Aunt Carol has a TV”

“I swear. This is a rare sighting, Daryl actually offering to watch Star Wars” Y/N elbows the man while letting go of Judith a moment.

“Never said I’m watchin’. Y’all can watch it with Carol”

“Sounds good. Carol is a better cuddle partner anyway” Y/N playfully jokes resulting in a glare and a scoff from the archer.

“Nah. You and I only cuddle”

“Jealous aren’t we Uncle Daryl?” Judith giggles a bit before leaving the two to make sure her brother was ready to go. Daryl felt the embarrassment upon admitting such bring the heat to the tips of his ears.

The woman laughs herself before bringing her husband in the mirror with her holding him from the side. He wrapped his arm around her bringing his lips to her temple.

“Wanna see something amazing before you take the kids to school?”

Daryl felt her pull away he always hated that feeling and watched her pull her sweater back enough to show that she popped.

“Now how the fuck am I supposed to go to work and focus when that’s gonna be on my mind all day” Daryl instantly brought Y/N close listening to her giggle as he gently rests his hand on her bump.

“You make it look like nothing”

“It’s somethin’, sunshine” Daryl smiles bringing her back into his embrace as she kept her face away from the armor not liking the new plastic smell.

This was nice. Experiencing the good domestic life…something people since the outbreak happened have longed for. The kids were enjoying school, Daryl was slowly rising in his job resulting in his family moving at least two more times in the new place, and given all the medical resources Y/N was healthy and so was their baby girl. Carol did more research and learned that the community did have an intense leader type before they joined and she was taken down by her own assistant who now helps run more of a council system like what they had at Alexandria. So the overwhelming anxiety about their safety lessened but it was still there.

“You’ve been put on bedrest for a reason”

“Did Daryl tell you to come here and just to tell me that?” Y/N scoffs letting Carol into their place.

“I don’t think you should be questioning when you’re not listening to doctor’s orders”

“Daryl left early and forgot to make lunches for the kids…so I had to. All I remember him telling me was you were going to take the kids…now you’re back”

“Cuz well he told me to keep an eye on yea and make sure you were in bed”

Y/N started to ignore her as she tiredly sits on the couch resting her hands on her belly. Carol brought herself in the kitchen to grab Y/N a glass of water before noticing the letters on the counter from Aaron. They weren’t anything bad, just what was promised of him to update her on Alexandria. And updates on Gracie, Maggie and Hershel adjusting,…their family back home. She was getting homesick and didn’t tell Daryl about it because of how great this place is and how he at least wants the baby to be delivered in a place built for it because Commonwealth did have a hospital. She’s just been keeping a lot of her feelings to herself which led to her stressing and the OB telling her to stay in bed.

“You know once the baby is here we get to go home” Carol assures her as she hands the glass while sitting beside her friend. “Once you two are strong enough, we’ll pack up and head home. I know Aaron will be excited to meet his niece”

The silence was killer and Carol couldn’t help but sense there was much more to it.

“Y/N…I won’t tell Daryl anythin’ you don’t want me to” and that prompted Y/N to finally make eye contact with her before quickly looking away. “Hun…”

“I don’t…I don’t want our kids feeling like, we don’t care about them when she comes. I…I know she’s going to be a priority but I’m just worried…”

“Y/N…Judith and RJ are so loved by you and Daryl. It would take killing the both of you to stop such. Even then I doubt you’ll ever stop. You’re bringing a baby into the world. They know it’ll take time to go back to the old routine. But even then, you love so much and I mean so fucking much. They’ll never forget it”

When the baby finally came, Carol brought the kids to meet her once it was okay to do so. And of course Daryl was hogging their baby because when the three entered the room also being greeted by Ezekiel, they noticed Daryl protectively holding his baby.

“I swear D. Has your wife, aka the baby’s mother, even got a chance to hold her?”

“Yeah” Daryl scoffs. “When she came out” he adds and that led to a bit of laughter to fill the room as he brought himself over to Judith and RJ kneeling before them to show the little girl sleeping peacefully in his embrace.

“She’s tiny” RJ comments as he looks at the child shocked on how the fuck this little human came into the world.

“What’s her name?”

“Robin” Y/N tiredly replies from the bed as Carol approaches her side smiling and brushing the loose hairs out of her face.

“You did good, mama” Carol smiles sitting with Y/N on her bed watching the display of Daryl with all three kids. “They’re going to be inseparable”

Robin Dixon was SWARMED when they finally returned to Alexandria. For Daryl’s anxiety, they waited for her to be a month old before moving back. Maggie and Aaron instantly went toward the child, as Aaron took said child from Daryl and before he could even try and get his daughter back Maggie cut between them.

“It’s our time with the newest addition”

“But—-“

“No buts! You took my sister away for almost a year and now I’m making up for that time with my niece”

“You’re gonna take my kid for almost a year?!”

“No! An hour at most” Aaron scoffs followed by a smirk as he knelt down to show his kid her cousin while Maggie showed Hershel their new family member.

Y/N felt overwhelmed with joy, fear, anxiety…all kinds of things. But she was happy to be home…even if some part of her fear was triggered by worry. Especially when she noticed Judith try and get Daryl’s attention when it’s so focused on this little baby. His baby.

Hours passed…the Dixons and Grimes were back in their house putting everything away and Y/N was thankful for the nursery being finished when they arrived. By help of Maggie. As Daryl started to get Robin to calm down to sleep, Y/N went to check on the Grimes kids. Finding RJ already passed out in his own bed, leaving her to check on Judith who sat on her bed looking at Carl’s hat in her hands.

“You happy to be in your old room again?” Y/N smiles leaning against the door when she noticed a few tears in the young girl’s eyes. “Hey…” her smile faded as she brought herself in closing the door not all the way before sitting beside Judith. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“I miss my mom…my dad…Carl…” Judith sniffled as she carefully hugged the hat while Y/N wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “I know change is normal and all…but I just. It’s been a month already and I feel like I’m just going to be forgotten about”

New baby. New environment. Y/N was still in that weird haze of unwelcome emotions do to hormones as she brought Judith close resting her head on top of hers.

“No one is going to forget you. You are very important to a lot of us. You are so loved and you are a huge part of why a lot of us got together. You are a big piece in our family, Jude”

“Then…wh…”

“Hm? What is it?”

“I know she’s bright and shiny, and his blood…but I just. Don’t think I’m that important to Uncle Daryl anymore”

Right before Y/N can assure her of anything, the door pushed open finding a semi tired RJ that was eavesdropping but also the archer standing behind him. The display made both girls think that RJ heard Judith was in distress in some way that she needed an adult. Which was the truth but he was looking for Y/N first, and found Daryl.

Now they’re here and Daryl felt awful hearing such as he enters with RJ who instantly sprinted to Y/N when he started making his way in.

“You are very important to me, Jude.” Daryl brought himself to sit on the opposite side of her as all of them were on the bed now. “Yeah, I’ve got a baby now…but in a sense, she’s not my first kid. I helped raise yea. Took care of yea. Made sure you had some sense of a childhood in this hell of a world…and did my best not to let you feel an ounce of abandonment when Michonne left. Same for RJ. Yeah…your mom will come back after she finds whatever she went out there for. But you’ll always be my kid”

Judith couldn’t contain the tears anymore as she sobbed into Daryl when he brought her into his embrace. He held her protectively…the same feeling…

Like when he first held her

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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