⸝⸝ “You were chased by the cops, got in my car, and just yelled ‘drive!’”
pairing;; daryl x librarian!reader.
w/c;; 2.4k
notes;; inaccurate pre-outbreak setting, young!daryl— around mid to late twenties, merle dixon(should always be a warning), a little ooc dixon brothers. brief mention of blood and drugs. lmk about any mistakes you find!! english is not my first language. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
A/N;; weird ass meet-cute... re-uploaded from @ajaxgulp !! I rewrote some stuff I didn't like anymore, thank you so much for all the love you gave drive in my other account. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) expect drive pt.2 soon, sorry for taking so long!
→ ao3 here
Daryl Dixon had innocently hoped for a calm day.
Merle Dixon knew how to keep him on his toes.
Because believing a lil’ bit of alcohol and a lil’ bit of passing out on the couch would’ve made Merle leave him alone for a day was the dumbest thing that had crossed Daryl’s mind in a while.
Merle had gotten up suspiciously early. And immediately, he'd decided to wake up Daryl with the shittiest shit eating grin, and that could only mean trouble. Kind soul he was, he gave his little brother barely enough time to pull on some pants and a hoodie half-eaten by moths. Then, they were out the door.
He should’ve known he’d be roped into this again.
"This" meant him sitting on a couch that reeked of sex and weed in the back of a sketchy downtown bar, next to all the storage boxes. His own belt was wrapped tight around his bicep as a makeshift tourniquet, and a needle pierced his skin unapologetically, again and again, until the scrawny guy in front of him—too wasted to function—finally found a good vein to fill up the bags.
Soft suction noises filled the room, too loud with only the groan of a barely functioning air conditioner for company, until the click of a lighter interrupted and smoke filled the already dense air.
Merle leaned against the wall beside the couch, spluttering nonsense about the payment. Daryl wasn't listening, but his brother plopped down on the couch next to him anyway, cigarette in between his lips, as soon as the scrawny dude—who was so washed out on cocaine he was as thin as a paper sheet and also didn’t pay Merle any mind—took the needle out of his arm.
Daryl hastily undid his belt then, unwrapping it from his bicep, and leaned his head back when everything started swirling around. It had been a while since he had last done this, and while he attempted not to make it noticeable, he felt dizzy. Of course, Merle smiled mockingly once he saw him breathing out.
"What's wrong, little brother? Gonna pass out on me like a lil’ girl?" Daryl didn't respond, sending his brother a glare which was received with a bark of laughter, a heavy arm landing around his shoulder. "Yer softer than a baby's butt." He cooed.
That earned him a grunt, and Daryl was about to tell him to fuck off when the storage room door opened with a creak. The bartender came in, recounting some bills, then threw three wads of cash on the table in front of them. "Three hundred," the man said, his tone bored, revealing just how common this was in the place.
Before Merle could even reach for the money, the bartender dropped another thing on the table: little Ziploc baggies, five pills each, if Daryl was counting right. Colorful and bright. "And the X.’’
Merle's grin was so wide he might as well have cut up his cheeks to show more of his teeth. His hand slapped heavily onto Daryl’s chest, one of the rolls between his fingers. "Cheer up, Darylina! Yer blood's gonna save some fool's life out there, and we get a little somethin' for ourselves!"
After being dragged to a cheap diner with food so greasy only the nastiest hangover would make someone crave, they were back at the garage.
An old lady came in shortly after they opened up, dressed in clothes too damn fancy for it not to be performative. She had a stick so far up her ass that Daryl swore she even walked weird. Merle, of course, was no help; just laying inside the house. Not that he was ever much help with clients, but he was way more… extroverted.
…
He was gross, and he loved hearing the sound of his own voice so much that he never shut up, yet, oddly enough, it worked with customers like this. Merle would've sent the hag to hell the first chance he got—or maybe driven her away with creepy compliments or by "sweet-talking her," as his brother would've said. Either way, it would've gotten her out of the garage, but Daryl, with his lack of personality, was stuck listening to a story he couldn't give a rat's ass about.
The lady kept talking, glancing around the garage with a critical eye and making snarky remarks about the mud, his clothes, and everything else. They were so discreetly hidden in her story that Daryl wouldn't have noticed even if he wasn’t busy trying to make her explode with his mind.
"Anyway," she finally wrapped up her story, and Daryl snapped out of it. "That's it, do you think you can fix it?" He chose not to dwell on the condescending tone of her voice. It was an easy fix, just something up with the battery.
Wiping his hands on a rug, Daryl gave her a rough explanation of what he was going to do and then muttered the price.
He should've really kept his mouth shut until the repair was done.
The moment he mentioned money, the lady's eyes nearly popped out of her skull, and she instantly started yelling at him as if he had strangled her dog or done something equally terrible. "I came to this garage because it looked cheap!" Daryl stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do, because it certainly wouldn’t be proper to punch an old lady (or any client) over something like this– Even if his brother would have claimed otherwise.
The only quiet moment Daryl got all day was when he took advantage of Merle's ’recreational time’ to finally work on a car that had been sitting in the garage for a little too long.
When he finished, Daryl re-entered the house, covered in diesel. Merle was there, half-assedly watching a TV show, but he perked up as soon as his brother walked in.
"Darylina!"
Ten minutes with his ass perched on a barstool, and Merle was already into his fourth drink. Daryl held his own, one forearm resting on the wood counter of the bar— a different one, because who does illegal shit at the bar they frequent?— as he stared down at the foam of his beer.
Merle was trying to sweet-talk the new bartender with the usual mess of yarns he liked to spin when he got to drinking. The woman simply ignored him and refilled his glass. His brother seemed entertained enough that Daryl, once more, believed he could actually enjoy himself, even if that just meant quietly glancing around the bar and hearing his brother tire his tongue out.
He could not have been in the bathroom for more than five minutes.
But when he got back, Merle was on the ground, getting his ass kicked by some bald guy with a patchy beard. Daryl didn't even know what started it, but the cops were already on their way, so he had to pull his brother away.
After getting his fair share of punches, he only managed to grab his brother because the cop siren could be heard in the distance— the other guy scrambling away as he should be doing, but it was hard with around two-hundred pounds of weight laying on his shoulder.
Both brothers scrambled out of the place as they could, Merle’s arm heavy on Daryl’s shoulders, drunk and beaten enough not to be able to walk without support. Their bikes were out front, but so were the cops, so without hesitation, Daryl pulled him out through the back. They’d pick up their bikes another day.
Meanwhile, your day was actually great!
The week had been rough. You might think that working at a small library was calm and if so, a little rewarding, and it was! For the most part. Clients varied from respectful, shy teenagers who didn’t want to study at home, or actually enjoyed reading, to office workers that came by with their laptops and sat at the corners, drinking coffee out of the old machine that was just barely working.
Yet, for some reason, the week had been awfully busy.
The new stock had came in too soon, and you didn’t have the time to let your regulars know you were going to close for a day like you usually did. You also didn’t have the heart to do it without telling them. The boxes were stressing you out so much by just being there that you actually stayed after closing hours.
That type of stuff happens! No biggie! Right?
Except teenagers—loud, disrespectful, not shy, and definitely not your regulars—had been coming by a lot lately. Yelling, laughing… one even had the nerve to flirt with you! Arguing that you looked ‘very young’ when you rejected him– rather softly, you may add, with how much he had annoyed you, laughing with his friends.
Going back to the subject, the problem was that those teenagers were not only obnoxiously loud and confident, but also obnoxiously messy. They left stains of grease and crumbs of whatever they had been eating, even though you had repeatedly asked them to please not eat. They left the books scattered everywhere, messing up the shelves you had spent so many hours organizing. Not bothering to put them back from where they took them.
Then, the coffee machine broke on you, spilling coffee all over your clothes.
Seriously, you had never missed your usual routine more.
The library smelled of coffee and books instead of sweaty teenagers and chips. Your most loyal regulars were perched at their usual tables, and you had found a brand new coffee machine for sale with free shipping!
You would appreciate these days even more from now on, you thought.
Even the weather was nice, once you got out of the library. The sun had just finished setting, and the stars were glimmering just a bit more than yesterday. (Not really, you were just being dramatic).
You were so ready to get inside your car, drive to your apartment and have the nicest, longest night of sleep you've ever had, just as you deserved! The mere thought of the coziness of your bed made you let out a dreamy sigh.
…That didn’t happen, at least, not quite. The moment you settled in and put the key into the ignition, you heard sirens at the distance. A guy you hadn’t ever seen before opened the back door and practically threw a passed-out guy inside your car, then got in himself and closed the door too aggressively.
"Drive!"
…What?
You didn’t even have time to give it any thought. The sirens and the guy’s desperate gaze in the rearview mirror made you react before your brain did, starting the engine and driving off out of pure panic.
It was only when the sirens started fading further into the background that you realized just what you were doing.
These guys were running from the law… Were you an accomplice now? Shit! What if the other guy wasn’t passed out, but dead? He was clearly beat up! What were you going to do? Could you get arrested for this?!
You were tempted to stop the car and demand explanations, maybe plead for them to get out, then your brain started rushing again.
…What if he was armed? It would make sense, right? He had practically demanded you to drive; he wouldn’t have gotten inside a stranger's car if he weren’t sure they’d listen, right? He couldn’t have possibly taken such a risk!
You were so engrossed in your thoughts that when he spoke again, you didn’t hear him.
"Here's good…" It was a rough murmur, as if he were embarrassed, but you should’ve caught it. You could only trust in yourself to get distracted in such a situation. "Here's good," he repeated, just a bit louder, and you finally snapped out of it.
Clearing your throat, you nervously nodded and pulled to the side, your knuckles tight around the steering wheel.
As soon as you parked the car, the guy was out the door and pulling out the other, bigger dude, who groaned, barely conscious. Not dead, then, good. You weren’t an accomplice. He leaned the burly man on your car and knocked on the passenger window, which you reluctantly rolled down.
"Hey, uhm…" The guy’s voice was raspy, and he sounded as reluctant as you felt. With him leaning there, you finally got a good look at who had gotten into your car.
A man, as you had known, in his mid to late twenties, with blond hair that had started to turn brown with the years, or maybe it was the lack of light making it look darker. Whatever. All you could focus on were his eyes, blue, yes, but it wasn't the color that made you stare.
There was a hesitation to them that instantly made you feel drowned in guilt. He was also beat up.
You must have been staring for a bit too long, because he murmured something under his breath before turning to you again.
"...Thanks, for—you know, gettin' us outta that."
Telling him that you did it out of pure instinct and that you had been scared for your life for most of the ten minutes you drove away would’ve made you feel even worse for the guy, so you just nodded slowly. "No problem…"
Both of you fell silent then, and he bit his lip, unsure.
"Can I… uh. May I ask what happened? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…" You dared to break the silence, then instantly trailed off, motioning with your hand mindlessly.
"Nah, 's fine... Merle got into a bar fight. Didn't feel like sittin' at the station all night."
"Oh," you said, then felt even more embarrassed about what you had thought before— Had you been watching too many movies?
Then again, this whole situation seemed straight out of one...
Your eyes trailed to the back of who you assumed was 'Merle’, pressed against the backseat window, then came back to him. To make up for a guilt he didn’t even know about, you continued. "Do you need help with getting him home..?"
He shook his head, and you consequently nodded, assuming that was the end of the interaction, but he didn’t move from where he leaned over the window. After pondering something, he sighed to himself, licking his lips.
"If ya' ever... uhm, have trouble with yer ride, just drive over to the garage a few blocks from 'ere. 'S the only one nearby. I can... give ya' a discount, or somethin'..."
The offer made you smile, just barely. "I’ll take you up on it…"
"Daryl," he finished.
N/A;; pls tell me if you think there's something I need to improve!!
Daryl Dixon, who isn't big on physical contact yet never ever denies you a hug.
It starts with hugs after not seeing each other for a long time. It follows with hugs after he notices you feeling slightly under the weather. Then, it was whenever you asked for one.
If time passes and you both become even more acquainted? He'll even start asking you for hugs. Well, not outright asking you, but hinting at it. Eyes lingering on you for a moment too long, hands twitching at his sides, his body inching closer.
Then, when he notices you don't mind it, he's all over you. Not 24/7 and absolutely not in front of everyone, but he'll hug you whenever he feels like it. He's always gentle, bordering on hesitant. One arm slowly coming up to wrap around your shoulders and pull you in with a sigh. Hands exploring over your waist gently before he pulls you against his chest completely. And when you both lay in bed? He has to be tucked under your chin.
a prince!tartaglia x knight!fem!reader longfic / series
⋆𐙚 ̊. synopsis : When a fragile alliance demands that Prince Tartaglia arrive to wed the princess, Lumine, you are appointed as his reluctant escort, balancing courtly duty with a second life spent safeguarding the city under the cover of midnight. What begins as an exercise in restraint—guarding an insufferably charming prince through banquets, hunts, and whispered scandals—slowly unravels into something far more dangerous. As politics tighten their grip and the line between obligation and desire blurs, you must decide whether a heart sworn to duty can survive being seen at last.
cross-posted on my ao3 !! @/viviennesque
⋆𐙚 ̊. content warnings : prince!tartaglia x lowborn knight!fem!reader, NO lumine slander, unwanted arranged marriage between tartaglia n lumine, class differences, discrimination, slow-burn romance, court intrigue, violence and combat, assassination attempts, injuries, reader is secretly a hero (think smt like diluc being the darkknight hero), moral conflict, secrecy and deception, emotional repression, romantic tension, themes of duty versus desire, mild angst with a hopeful ending
⋆𐙚 ̊. started : 1 / 24 / 26 ⋆𐙚 ̊. ended : - | ⋆𐙚 ̊. current wordcount : -
╰─ ♡ chapters : prologue , 'a knight to remember' .
titsay
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