I want someone to make a fanfic or headcanon or both of Dottore x Reader where the reader is like a robot maid (like Ineffa) for Dottore. I have not seen a fanfic or headcanon like that like can someone PPPLLLLLSSSSS write it 💔💔💔💔
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(Genderbent Mal x Fem!Reader)
I’ve had this idea of a genderbent Mal falling in love with Ben’s sister running around my head for days. It was just begging to be written. I have a few more thoughts on this, and it was a faster write than I was expecting.
You face away from him. “You don’t want me.”
“I do.” He reaches out for you.
You slap his hands away, hugging yourself. “No, you don’t. You want the crown. The magic wand. That’s what you came for.”
“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, it was. But I stay for you.”
“Oh please, don’t lie. It doesn’t suit you.” You didn’t meet his eyes.
“Why would I lie about this? I’ve always been honest with you.” His hands hang limply at his sides.
“You—you didn’t want me.” Frustration bubbles in your throat.
“I do.” He swears by it.
“Stop saying that!”
“Why?” His tone is harsh. “So you can go back to lying to yourself? You weren’t happy when we met.”
“But I was fine. I could deal with it by myself.” You were fine. You’d dealt with it before.
“You weren’t fine! You were drowning and no one noticed!” His words cut deep.
“I was fine!” You deny yourself the hurt. “I survived! For 16 years, I have survived. I don’t need you.”
“You don’t have to need me.” He doesn’t want you to need him.
“Well good, because I don’t. You’re free to go. Don’t stay on my account.” You cross your arms.
“Do you want me?” He closes the gap between you with a step.
“Wha—what?” You lean away from him.
“I do. I want you very much.” His eyes bear into your stare, dredging up the jagged edges. “I want the princess. I want the messy bedhead; an-and the drool on the picnic blanket; and the obsession with having books from floor to ceiling; and the ugly, snorting laughs that no one else hears.”
“Stop it.” You pull back more.
He grips the sides of your arms. “I want the girl who told me she was terrified of messing up her first date. I want the girl who admitted to still sleeping with stuffed animals by her bed.”
“Stop it.” You struggle against him.
“I want the girl who’s afraid of her crown erasing who she is.” He finds your eyes, imploring you to understand.
“Shut up!” You push his chest. “What do you know? You’ve had it so good! Neither of your parents wanted anything other than for you to be a horrible person, and you’re doing great at that!”
“I wasn’t happy.” He shakes you gently. “You make me happy. I got you to laugh. I like being around you. It’s like this cavity in my chest is finally full, and I can breathe when I’m with you.”
“You lied.” Your vision blurs.
“I did.”
“You lied to me.” Your nose itches.
“Yes.”
“From the beginning, you lied. About everything.” Droplets slip past your cheeks without permission.
“Not about you. Never once about you.” Oh, your knees are wobbling.
“How can I trust you?” You’re begging for scraps.
“You can’t.”
“Then why? Why do this to me?” He must hate you. “Why are you still here?” He must love you. “Leave.” Don’t.
“I can’t.” He’s squeezing your heart now, and he doesn’t even know it.
“Why are you doing this?” It’s cruel.
“Because I love you.” He braces your back, taking the hits of your anger. “I love you so much that your tears rip at my heart. My scaly, monstrous, rotten heart. You’ve made me yours, princess, and no one else can have me.”
“You’re horrible.” You’re hitting his chest.
“I know.” He gives you a half-smile.
“I don’t forgive you.” Your nose is runny. It’s embarrassing.
“I hope not. You own me. Make me beg for your heart back.” He’s smiling at you.
“I don’t want that.” You pinch his side.
“Then, I’ll beg regardless.” He nuzzles your temple.
You cover his lips. “You’re infuriating.”
“And you’re kind.”
“What do we do now?” You kick the ground, leaning against his chest. Just a little bit.
“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” His arms hang loose at your waist, hands holding your body.
“I don’t want you to go.” It’s a quiet confession.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He’s not leaving you anytime soon.
“Thank you.” It’s like a weight off your shoulders.
I know no one else probably wants this, but I wanted it, so here it is. Ah, one of the few joys of being a writer. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
Finally, thank you rmstitanics for the dividers.
Tap tap. You tap your machete on the door frame. You wait. No growls or glass is cracking underneath some feet. Carefully, you step inside, followed by David.
The shop is dark. Boards loosely cover the windows, with sun rays slipping through the cracks. A desperate attempt to protect the goods from vandals, probably.
Clearly an unsuccessful effort.
You begin to look through the dusty and empty shelves, holding onto the hope you might find something.
“It’s a miracle if we find anything…” mumbles David.
You sigh a little. “Just a can could do us good.”
“We’re almost there now. We will be fine even without.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah, can’t believe we’ve managed to keep up such a good pace.”
“They’re stronger than they look.”
“They really are.” You turn to him and slightly shake your head. “I hate the way you trained them. But seems that your methods can work.”
He huffs, “I knew you’d come around at some point.”
“Okay, pipe down, I didn’t say I agree with those.”
He smiles at you before his face turns stoic. “y/n, you didn’t tell me much ‘bout Alexandria. What should we expect?”
Your eyes widen a little at his question. “I mean… I only saw snippets of the place.” You mindlessly push a mouldy box of crackers away. “But it’s very different from Richmond.”
“Elaborate.”
“The place is pristine. As if nothing ever happened out there.” Your brow furrows a little when you remember the people you saw. “And the people that live there… they aren’t survivors. I bet most of them haven’t set foot outside their walls in years.”
David turns a box of cereal in his hands. “Kinda worrying.”
You nod once: “Yeah, I am not sure they’re up for a fight against what’s awaiting us.”
“Hm. Can’t risk it. We’ll do things our way then.”
“David, you need to understand that things will be fundamentally different.” You turn to another shelf. “We’re not in charge of anything. It’s not just us. We’re joining a whole existing and working community.” You shrug. “Whatever we’re told to do, we’ll do. Simple as that.”
He snorts, “We don’t have to stay there anyway. We can find a place for us to start again.”
Your heart aches a little at his words. He isn’t wrong. You don’t have to stay. It could be temporary. At least until you’ve dealt with the Saviors.
“Yeah. Not until we’re done with the Saviors, though.”
“They’ll need us.”
“They do. And I don’t intend to be passive.”
David keeps quiet for a minute. His fists close tightly. “They’ll pay for it. A fucking heavy price.”
You bite the inside of your cheeks. You wish you were stronger than that. Stronger to not run after vengeance. Because what’s the point of it? You know already it won’t fill the hole that Javi’s death has created. It never does. So, you try really hard not to think of this whole venture as revenge.
What matters is to eradicate them. No. The word is unfamiliar to you. You’re trying so hard to not let hatred overpower your mind. Hatred can confuse one’s logic. A mistake that can cost a lot of lives in this situation.
You cross your arms. “Anyhow, once we get to Alexandria, we won’t have the time to idle for too long. We need to act fast.” A small smile blooms on your lips. “We’re a step ahead of them, we’ll make sure to take advantage of that.”
“Ah, here’s the spirited y/n I know. Glad to have you back with us.”
Daryl delicately bandages Jesus’ wound. It’s looking better. Though it hasn’t healed yet.
“Will definitely leave a scar.” He says.
Jesus nods, “One amongst the others.”
“Hm. You should get it checked by Alexandria’s nurse when we’re there.”
“Will do.” Jesus pulls his shirt back on. “I can’t believe we’ll finally be there tomorrow.”
Daryl takes a seat on the sidewalk next to Jesus. “Yeah.” His eyes fall on the couple of Richmond survivors standing in the quiet street. “Didn’t think they would make it that far.”
“You think they’ll be fine in Alexandria?”
Daryl shrugs. “Guess so. Will be a change, though.”
Jesus nods. “Undoubtedly. But y/n will make sure things will settle nicely.” He shakes his head slowly. “I am worried about David, though. Something is telling me he won’t make it easy for any of you…”
“Hm… Rick ain’t gonna like him…” Daryl mumbles.
“He won’t.” Jesus frowns when he sees you and David come out of the shop. “He isn’t a bad man. But I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.”
“Will do.”
Balancing your machete from one hand to the other, you move your lips downwards. The weight of your bag hasn’t changed since your search through the shop.
“Fuck all in there. Any luck on your side?” You ask tiredly.
Jesus shakes his head. “Nothing too.”
You turn your head towards the Richmond survivors.
“Well, we’ll finally reach Alexandria tomorrow anyway!” You nod firmly.
“We’ll get plenty of food then.” Jesus smiles.
You whistle, calling for everyone’s attention. The Richmond survivors move closer to you, and the little Arthur tucks his head against your hip. You put a hand around his head.
“Sorry to disappoint, but some of us won’t be able to eat tonight.” Your voice dips quietly. “But we’re reaching Alexandria tomorrow. So, hold on one last night. Please. We’re almost there.”
Distributing food is different from rationing. It is a difficult task to decide who gets to eat and who doesn’t. But your people make it easier, as they don’t protest or futilely fight your decision.
However, you do feel guilty as you’re nibbling on the miserable portion of canned butter beans. Though you didn’t want to take away someone’s food, you weren’t given a choice by David. And you feel terribly embarrassed. While you get to have some food, some people aren’t eating because you’ve said so.
So, you’re eating slowly. Terribly slowly. So you let your stomach take in the food so it can digest and feel full with a little portion. You hope you’ll be able to save some for someone else.
Dimly lit candles light the room. Tucked under worn-out duvets, quiet voices rise. The air is soft, calm. As you approach the end of your journey, their shoulders and chest have already begun to relax.
Daryl is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, legs stretched. He notices the way you slowly bring the fork to your mouth. And the slow motion of your jaw. He sighs to himself when he sees you put the bowl aside: it’s not empty.
You slowly stand up from the floor and walk towards Jesus. You hand him the unfinished bowl.
“Here, have the rest.”
Jesus lifts an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
You nod. “Yeah, I am not hungry anymore, and we can’t afford to waste.” You smile.
He smiles back at you. “Thank you.” And takes the bowl.
You sit back down on the floor, your eyes falling on the people in front of you with care.
“y/n, look at what I found.”
You turn towards the voice. David is holding a guitar and hands it to you.
“Oh, nice!” You say, carefully taking it between your fingers.
Light steps approach you.
“Are you going to sing?” Arthur asks softly.
You look up at him. “You want me to?”
He nods shyly.
“Alright, just for you.” You wink. “Come here.”
You open your legs to let him rest against your chest. You set the guitar against his little body.
“You have a request?”
“The one you sang on mommy’s birthday.” He says, eyes filled with exhaustion, but still alive.
Your chest tightens a little. You remember that day. You always made sure to organise something for every resident's birthday. Whether it was just a cake, a movie, or a simple card, you always made sure to let your people know that their existence matters. Their lives matter.
Some thought it to be futile. That a birthday didn’t mean anything before, and it still doesn’t. But not to you. It’s a celebration of life, and one during which our existence is celebrated by those who love us. And that is something precious, particularly in this world.
“Okay, I’ll sing that one.” You faintly smile.
You adjust the cords. It’s off-key. You’ll have to transpose the song to two semitones.
You huff a little, “Excuse the terrible pronunciation…”
As you play the first notes, the world stops. The survivors drop what they’re doing, their eyes magnetically moving towards you.
“Foi numa tarde de domingo,
Que alguém perguntando por ela, chegou.”
You could have played something else. But Arthur made a good choice. A softly lively song. One that brings a bit of warmth to a group of exhausted and broken people.
Daryl’s eyes widen. Your fingers move naturally on the strings, up and down. A couple of days ago, you told him that your brain is broken. So, he can’t help but be impressed by the ease of your fingers' dexterity. As if it were muscle memory more than your brain working. His lips faintly move upwards: your brain might not be as broken as you think it is.
“Pensados nos beijos, nos carinhos dela
Carolina, Carol, Carol, Carolina bela.”
He doesn’t understand what you’re singing. He doesn’t even know what language it is. But he knows your voice is filling the hollow spirits of the people in the room. Everyone’s eyes have softened. David is slightly smiling, taking in the delicate harmony of the strings and your voice.
Daryl’s heart twitches a bit. His eyes don’t leave your fingers and mouth. Because neither your brain nor your humanity is broken. But he fears that your spirit is. And there’s no telling if you’ll be able to piece it back together.
The final notes linger in the room. No one claps. Not because they don’t want to. But because safety is still fragile. However, the survivors gently say thank you. Arthur lifts his head, his eyes staring deeply at you. You set the guitar next to you.
“You chose a good song,” you whisper to him, landing a peck on his head. You look up at the survivors. “Get some rest, guys; we’re going to leave as soon as morning rises.”
You gently nudge Arthur away, and he hops to his sleeping bag, tightly tucked between the other adults.
As you stand up, David pats your shoulder.
“Thank you, y/n.”
You smile. “Thank you, I’ve missed that.”
“Wake me up when I need to take watch.” He says.
You nod at him as he moves away from you. While everyone is getting ready to sleep, you grab your machete and head outside. You’re the first one to take watch tonight.
The forest is quiet. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, the moonlight offering a serene atmosphere. Pulling a cigarette out, you light it, slowly inhaling the smoke.
Through the window, Daryl peeks at you. Your fingers are lingering on your machete as you stand still in the night. He hesitates to come to you. But surprisingly enough, he could do with some company. Your company. Your quiet but warm presence. When he sees all the sore bodies, close to each other, breathing deeply, his own shoulders relax.
By tomorrow, this journey will end. He’ll be back in Alexandria. He’ll see his people again. Things will get back to normal. But something in him, which he cannot pinpoint, has changed. And it’s this change that pushes him to join you.
He quietly pushes the door and stands next to you. Your eyes don’t move, though the horizon is still. His eyes fall on your hand, moving closer to him. You hand him your cigarette.
Without a word, he takes it. His fingers brush yours. They bear a couple of blisters from gripping your machete tightly every day.
“Didn’t know ya could do music,” Daryl says while exhaling some smoke.
“Never thought about saying it.”
“Hm.” He hands the cigarette back to you, and finally, your eyes find his face. “What language was that?”
“Portuguese. I didn’t do it justice, though.” You huff.
He hesitates carefully before speaking. Sharing bits of his past is not easy. He is almost afraid of vulnerability. But through you, he has been learning that maybe those moments of honest intimacy can help.
Finally, he speaks up. “Had a friend who liked singing too. She was good.”
“Yeah? What did she sing?”
“Can’t really remember.” He shrugs, “but I know she made people calm.”
You smile at his words, “What was her name?”
“Beth.”
You nod to yourself, “I am glad to know that she kept singing then. That some people haven’t lost their voices.”
“You haven’t lost yours too.”
You pinch your lips together; your eyes move away from Daryl’s face.
“Hm. I guess.” You huff drily and put out the cigarette. “Though if I keep smoking, someone will have to replace me.”
“I won’t give you cigarettes anymore” Daryl says, his lips slightly moving upward.
You frown at him. “Okay, give me a couple of years, and then I’ll stop smoking.”
“How long ya been sayin’ that for?”
You shrug. “Ah, maybe over twenty years?”
“Damn, you started smokin’ when you were five or somethin’?”
Finally, you laugh and slowly shake your head. “Fuck no, how old do you think I am? I started smoking when I was about twelve or thirteen.” You smirk at him. “I bet you were born a cig between your lips.”
Daryl huffs, “Kinda. My mum smoked when she was pregnant.”
“No wonder you’ve got such insane cardio.”
He huffs. “I guess.”
Gently, you nudge his leg with your foot. Jerking your chin towards the door “Come on. Get some rest.” You say.
He looks at you, and before he can open his mouth, you continue.
“If anything happens, I’ll call out for you.” You nod at him.
Giving him one last look, your eyes move back to the forest ahead of you.
You let a deep breath out when your feet finally reach the cracked asphalt. On the horizon, on your right, you can faintly see the gates. The group moves behind you.
“Last push, guys.” You simply say.
As you move ahead, you hear the steps of the survivors fasten. Giving their bodies their last bits of energy to reach safety.
Daryl, who was at the tail, moves beside you. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is worried. A bit. He’s been away for over a month now. But it feels like he left everyone for longer. And after what he has seen in Richmond, his chest is tight, afraid he’ll see Alexandria in the same state.
He lets out a breath of relief when he sees an Alexandrian at the gates, which are still standing, untouched.
At the sound, you discreetly peek at him and smile. Alexandria still is.
With a holler, the man shouts “Daryl is back!”.
The slow metallic sound of the gates opening echoes in your ears. You walk to the survivors behind you and gently pick Arthur up in your arms.
“We’ve made it guys.”
Hesitantly, you enter the community, the survivors naturally congregating closer around you.
Alexandria is still pristine and lively, like you remembered. Everyone is still holding their breath until the gates close.
You look at Jesus, who’s slowly coming closer to you. He gently wraps an arm around you and Arthur, whose little arms hold onto your neck.
“You’ve done an amazing job.” He whispers to you.
As he says so, people come running to you all.
Carol, Rick, Aaron, and others you haven’t made the acquaintance of, jump on Daryl. Hugging him, welcoming him home. You notice how big Daryl’s smile is. And you can’t help but melt emotionally. He’s finally back with his family. Those who make his existence meaningful.
“I am so glad to see you all. I didn’t realise how long you would be.” Aaron smiles.
“Neither did we.” Jesus adds.
Aaron shakes your hand tightly and looks at the Richmond survivors.
“Are they your people, y/n?” He asks.
You nod, “Yeah. The Saviors took them. Thought it would be safer to bring them here than to Hilltop.”
Rick comes to you and shakes your hand. “You did well.” He faces the survivors who are standing still. “Welcome to Alexandria. I am Rick. Aaron, settle them in one of the houses. Get them food, clothes, first aid, anything they need.” Hands on his hips, he stands tall and proud “You’re safe here.”
You drop Arthur on the ground and hear quiet sniffing. One of the survivors is feebly weeping.
You turn to them. “Go with Aaron, I’ll be with you in a bit, okay?” you gently say.
At your words, they finally move, an adult holding Arthur by his hand. But David doesn’t follow them. Of course.
“I am staying with you.” He says steadily. You read the wariness on his face. Brows close together, his arms firmly crossed.
Rick notices Jesus holding onto his side. “Hurt?”
Jesus nods, “Yeah, gunshot wound.”
“Daryl, take him to the infirmary.”
Daryl nods at Rick and leaves his friends. His eyes are soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen.
“I’ll come by later.” He quietly says to you before walking away with Jesus.
Carol comes to you and gently hugs you. “Glad to see you safe.”
“So am I, I was worried about you.” You simply say. Turning your face to David, you introduce him. He shakes Rick’s hand tightly, and you bite the inside of your cheeks. As usual, he believes a handshake is enough to make people feel belittled. But not with Rick, who’s unimpressed.
David snorts, “What kind of place is that?” He asks, his eyes judging the normalcy of the Alexandrian.
“A community. Like any other.” Rick answers drily.
“Doesn’t look like any other to me.”
“Some people are lucky.” Rick says before jerking his head towards a house, inviting you to follow him.
With your elbow, you hit David in the chest. You glare at him, silently ordering him to shut up.
“So, did you find out anything?” Rick asks, walking ahead of you.
Carol presses the gauze against a cut. Daryl silently winces a bit.
“You could have stayed at the infirmary,” she says.
“Hm. It’s just bruises.”
“If you say so…” mumbles Carol while applying a plaster to him. “Those people you came back with… who are they?”
“Richmond survivors.”
“So, y/n’s people?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like they’ve been through a lot…” she sighs, putting away the medical material.
“They have.” Daryl takes a sip of water and scratches his throat. “Those Saviors, they fuckin’ massacred them.”
Carol slowly nods at his words. “You found out much about them?”
“Yeah, enough to get us started.”
“Good.” She gently ruffles his hair. “And you made it back. That’s what matters the most.” She smiles.
He smiles faintly and stretches his legs over the coffee table.
“And y/n, how is she?”
Daryl lifts an eyebrow at her question. He doesn’t know how you are doing. He has never asked you. But he has seen it. Weak, but resilient. Your will to bring your people to safety drove you through the toughest moments of the journey.
And you haven’t lost your voice.
“Tired, I think.” He sighs when he reminisces about how you seized on the ground a week earlier. “She had a seizure in the middle of a horde”
Carol’s eyes widen “why?”
“She’s got epilepsy, like… she’s got meds to take an’ all.”
“Poor girl…”
“She didn’t tell me ‘bout it.” His fingers tap the couch. “T’was scary. I ain’t ever seen somethin’ like it.”
“Bet it was… but she’s safe now, they all are.”
“Yeah.”
Daryl slowly stops tapping his fingers, steadying his hands. Carol’s right. You are safe. But his brain still hasn’t registered it. Your absence is heavier than he expected. So, he stands up from the couch. He needs to make sure, with his own eyes, that you’re safe and resting.
“I am gonna check on her.” He mumbles and walks towards the front door, leaving Carol alone in the house.
Alexandria is slowly turning its lights on, the night settling quietly. In the middle of this normalcy, Daryl feels odd. Like the first time he arrived. The lingering fear of being out of place. He wonders if that’s how you and the others are feeling right now.
The curtains of the house you’re staying in are closed. A sliver lets a bit of light through. Daryl slowly approaches the front door. The porch creaks under his steps. He lifts his fist to knock but stops. He doesn’t know if you’re in there. But he wants to make sure you are, so he finally gently taps on the door.
The door opens. David keeps his hand on the handle, his face impassive.
“What can I do for ya?” He simply asks.
“y/n in?”
David frowns a little. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just want to check on everyone.”
David sighs. “Look.” He rubs his forehead. “I appreciate what you’ve done for her and the others. But we’re fine now. We just want to be together.”
Daryl scoffs “You don’t know this place.”
“We don’t. That’s why.” David answers drily.
Daryl clenches his teeth. But he relaxes when your voice rises in the background.
“David? Who is it?” You ask.
No answers. You roll your eyes and stand up from the chair you were lying on.
Daryl sees your exhausted smile. All the blood and dirt that has accumulated over the month has vanished from your face and your hair. The tank top you’re wearing reveals the numerous bruises you’ve gotten during the journey.
You pull David away from the door. “Come in” you say to Daryl.
David stares down at him, obviously annoyed by his sudden presence. For a minute, Daryl holds his gaze before finally walking through the door.
You walk towards the kitchen counter and open a bottle. Rum. You pour a glass and hand it to Daryl.
“Your friend Abraham kindly gave it to us.” You sit back in the chair, sipping on your own drink. “Best welcoming gift yet.” You huff.
Daryl brings the glass to his lips. The alcohol burns his dry lips. You jerk your chin towards the couch, inviting him to sit down. David sits at the dinner table, his eyes not leaving Daryl.
“How are ya?” He asks.
“Safe. Everyone is already asleep.”
“Good.”
You bend towards the coffee table and pick up a pack of cigarettes.
“Smoke?”
Daryl lifts an eyebrow. “Inside?”
You chuckle “Yeah fuck it. I think I deserve to smoke a couple in a nice chair.”
Daryl nods “You do.” And takes one out. He lights yours, then his.
“How’s Jesus?” You ask, exhaling smoke from your mouth.
“Fine. He’s sleeping over at our house.”
“That’s great. I didn’t get the chance to check on him.”
“Ya will see him tomorrow.”
“I will.” You nod once.
Silence falls. Not the usual comforting kind. Over his shoulder, Daryl feels the weight of David’s gaze. It is irritating him, and subconsciously, he drinks his glass faster.
You notice the hurry. You’re not stupid. You know David’s presence is making the air tense.
“David, you should go rest too. You’re exhausted.” Your voice is firm: it’s not a request, but an order.
David mumbles something between his teeth. The chair scrapes the floor with his movement.
“Goodnight.” He says coldly before walking up the stairs.
You let a sigh out and rub your eyes when you hear a door closing upstairs.
“Sorry about him… He’s been tense since we arrived…”
“Wasn’t expecting him to be all giddy ‘bout this place anyway.” Daryl answers.
You laugh through your nose. “He’ll adapt. Doesn’t have a choice. I am not risking his stupidity for their safety.”
“I know.”
You put out the cigarette in an ashtray and sip on your rum.
In the dimly lit space, Daryl sees you stare at him. Deeply. He lingers in your eyes. That’s when he realises he has actually never looked at them. There wasn’t time to. Surviving stopped him from noticing their colours and the size of your pupils.
None of you look away. As if you both were staring at each other for the first time.
You break the silence, your voice gentle, almost feeble “Daryl… I—“
He doesn’t cut you off. Giving you the time to piece a sentence together.
“I can’t thank you enough. For what you’ve done for us.” You don’t break eye contact. Keeping your eyes deeply focused on him. “For me.”
Daryl suddenly looks in another direction. His pulse slightly increases. He doesn’t want you to thank him. He has barely done anything.
“It’s nothin’” he simply says.
You shake your head. “No. It’s nothing.” Your voice is weak now, when you reminisce on the long and draining journey you’ve been through. “We barely knew each other and… you followed me. Into something that was… well, fucking dangerous.” You add.
You wish you could put into proper words the gratefulness you feel. Because he has stood by your side for over a month now. He picked you and the group up in tiny pieces.
“We wouldn’t have made it without you. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” You finish.
Daryl stays silent. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. Suddenly it all feels too much. Heat crawls into his body; his pulse rate increases. So he finishes his drink.
“Hm. Said I would help you.” He simply says.
A Daryl, you’re welcome. You know he wouldn’t have said it anyway.
Your eyes slightly widen when you see him stand up from the couch abruptly.
“I’ll leave you to rest.” He says softly, “Goodnight, y/n”.
And before you can say anything back, he closes the door behind him. Leaving you alone in that pristine and unfamiliar place.
Okay I know I know... Took me ages to publish Chapter 9. Between work and my account being terminated for two weeks for no reason, it has been a struggle... But I am back on track!! ♡
I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, I wish you all an amazing week! ♡
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The night lay in silence. Only the fine rain kept beating against the roof of the shinden-zukuri, as if it didn't want to stop. The oil lamp was dying slowly, spreading trembling shadows across the wall. He remained there, alone, in the same place.
Muzan remained in front of the bronze mirror fixed to the wall of the room for quite a while, with the kosode slipping loosely off his shoulders and being the only thing covering his body, while staring at himself like someone searching in vain for something that was lost.
There was pain deep in his gaze. His hands rose over his own body, growing paler by the minute, he was using the little strength he had left just to look at himself, his expression was no longer alive.
Y/n,
Só o nome, e seu peito apertou. Ele fechou os olhos, lembrou-se da voz e dos pequenos sorrisos, e do olhar que o atravessava como se soubesse de tudo.
Muzan let out a heavy sigh. It was as if only now the loss truly had weight.
It had been three months.
Três meses sem nenhum sinal de y/n.
There were no more moments of hearing you play your instrument. There were no more endless conversations with you. Y/N faded from his existence as if you had never been there at all.
He found out about the departure from a servant, the same servant whose only reason for existing was to serve y/n. And what importance did that have?... As small as a grain of dust lost in the sky.
What was his name? Ah, right. Rachel. Everyone at court liked Rachel. The ladies, the other servants, Muzan didn't understand why. His presence bothered him, Always, and he understood even less why y/n took him on that trip, the trip to look for the cure for him.
And that was what hurt the most.
How did Y/N dare to disappear? How did Y/N dare to leave such a void? Y/N had completely captured Muzan's heart, held it in their hands, and then, one day, decided to leave. Even if it was to seek a cure for him, Muzan would have preferred to spend those final moments by Y/N's side.
And Muzan always knew. He always knew how repulsive he could be, how hard and painful it was to love him, especially now in his last months of life.
But if not even y/n could stay... then that was it, no one would ever stay.
He moved closer to the mirror, closer and closer, Both hands resting on the wall. Muzan didn't want to be left aside. He just wanted to live.
Long, dark hair. Dull red eyes.
That was what set him apart.
Something that didn't stay only in memory.
It was etched into the skin.
In the blood.
In the surname.
And, above all...
Y/n was different from him.
Golden hair that Muzan was always searching for, every time he woke up.
Eyes that looked like constellations framing her face.
Y/n was a map.
A map that Muzan memorized, traced with his eyes so many times, that he already knew it by heart.
Muzan closed his eyes.
He pressed his forehead against the mirror, harder and harder, hands on the wall gripping with all his strength, to keep from falling.
He remembered every single word From Y/n. Before her departure.
-
"In my opinion... You would be beautiful even missing chunks of flesh, bleeding. Covered in blood, killing or dying."
To Y/N, Muzan's form didn't matter—even if it was opaque, even if it was disintegrating... Y/N would still be captivated.
-
Muzan felt his throat close, the weight of exhaustion and of his illness collapsing onto his shoulders. His eyes filled with tears for the first time in years.
He didn't try to stop them.
When he stepped away from the mirror, his legs were weak and his face ached from the impact against the bronze mirror. With slow steps, he walked across the cold floor of that night and, carefully, lay down on the futon. He sank into the soft blankets and took a deep breath, trying, in vain, to stop the tears.
Until y/n returned, Muzan would not forgive their absence.
This is the last part featuring Muzan (Muzan x male reader – "You are the end of my search"); he won't appear again until later on. From now on, it shifts to "Michikatsu x male reader" until the story takes its next turn.
note: same universe as the fanfic: Muzan x male reader - "You are the end of my search"
And a continuation of the fanfic: Muzan x male reader ~ "your long wavy hair"
(It's literally a continuation of the fanfic that I didn't finish; I decided to leave this fanfic separated into one-shots.)
