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seraph-starman · 2 months ago

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admit it | s.w.

pairing: sam winchester x reader summary: sam’s sleep schedule finally catches up to him word count: 1.9k remi’s notes: i had sassy, early seasons sam in mind for this (so you should too !) even though the plot doesn’t match <3 (-2 degrees celcius is close to 28 degrees for our american friends)

You had advised him to wear a jacket. It was raining, and -2 degrees outside as you trekked through the forest in an attempt to retrace your steps and find where the Impala was parked. You had gotten lost after the hunt for the burial site of an angry ghost. Usually Dean was pretty good at remembering where he parked his beloved car, but it was dark when you arrived and this forest was much bigger than anticipated. At the sound of sniffing behind you, barely audible over the sound of leaves crunching in your path and tapping of rain, you stop and turn to Sam. He shoots you a glare.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. And rain can’t even make you sick,” he says in response to your stare before continuing to walk past you.

“Sure, rain can’t make you sick. But being cold and wet for prolonged periods of time can. We’ve been out here for an hour. And you don’t get a healthy amount of sleep, which can put you at risk for illnesses,” you reply, paraphrasing the article you had memorized just for this occasion as you catch up with him.

“I get plenty of sleep. Trust me, I’m not sick.”

Dean then looks back to you both, shaking his head in annoyance.

“You two are being a real help here.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

The older Winchester stops and turns back, looking offended.

“Of course I know where we’re going!“

You both stop as you reach where Dean stood, eyes peering through the curtain of rain over the river that stood before you, to the trees that stretched for acres. The sun was rising over the tops of the woods.

“Here,” Sam says, sniffing between the actions of reaching into his pocket and then handing Dean a crumpled map. Dean groans, throwing his hands up before snatching the map from him.

“You had that this whole time?” He asks rhetorically before unfolding the map and turning to face the forest. Sam leans over his shoulder, before turning sharply into a forceful sneeze. Both you and Dean turn to stare at him. Sam wipes his nose as he’s met with both your looks, Dean’s grimace and your amusement. He frowns irritatedly before waving it off.

“I’m fine! Figure out where we are, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, gazing back over the map.

“I think… that we’re here,” he accentuates with a jab to the river on the sodden map, “so that means that we need to go that way.“

He gestures up a soft hill and begins walking again, you trailing behind and Sam bringing up the rear. You fall into step beside him, lumbering along in Dean’s wake. Up close you could see the dark circles under his eyes, the undeniable consequence of his sleeping habits. Hell, none of you had gotten good sleep in a long while. But you knew Sam had it the worst. Occasionally you’d hear his low-voiced discussions with Dean, spoken only when they thought you were out of earshot. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, not at all, despite the teasing and the way he seemed consistently annoyed with you. He hated talking about his dreams, feeling like he was burdening someone with his own issues. Even with Dean he struggled. You’re interrupted out of your psycho-analysis of Sam as he realizes you’re staring. Again, but this time he could see the subtle concern in your gaze. It bothered him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head as you turn back to look ahead. You recognize the pullout a few feet ahead, where Dean was already brushing leaves off the Impala. You’d never been happier to see that car, and Sam seems to have a similar sentiment as he sighs in relief.��

The ride back to the bunker was quiet. Dean was too tired to put any music in, and the rain had quieted to a gentle tapping on the hood of the car. Cas was waiting when you got back, offering a quick congratulations on your success with the ghost before baiting Dean into another hunt. Sam had relentlessly tried to convince all of you that he was functioning as usual, that he could go with Dean and Cas. He was soon after proven wrong by the hellish coughing fit that followed his lame debate. So now it was just the two of you, and Sam had locked himself in his room with a box of tissues. All the better for you. It wasn’t like you wanted to listen to or take care of an irritated, fever-ridden Sam. You’d offered him some tea to help with his throat before he left to sulk in his room, which he’d accepted begrudgingly. He still refused to accept the fact that he was ill. You had attempted to research for long enough, disrupted in your focus each time Sam came in or out of the kitchen. You finally decided to check on him, whether he liked it or not.

“Sam? I have soup,” you say through his door, bowl in one hand and the other on the knob.

“I don’t like soup,” he grumbled hoarsely from the other side.

“Too bad.”

You push the door open, receiving a huff from him. He was laying back, four blankets over his lap and a fan pushing cold air towards him from a few feet away. Empty mugs littered his bedside table, along with a bottle of aspirin and a half empty pack of cold medicine capsules. A few tissues had been balled up and tossed around the trash can. You held in a snicker.

“Oh, how the mighty fall,” you quote. Sam sighs again, exasperatedly. You set the soup (mushroom) on his bedside table before turning to the TV.

“Love Island? Seriously?”

He furrows his brows at your judgement.

“It’s really not that bad. I mean, obviously it’s fake, but it’s somewhat entertaining. Better than whatever’s on cable, I guess.”

You shrug, picking up tissues and tossing them into the garbage before gathering the mugs, Sam watching your tidying carefully.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he says, turning the volume down on the TV.

“It’s fine,” you reply, carrying the stack of mugs out of the room, when Sam’s voice stops you.

“Can I… have more of that tea that you made earlier? Please,” He asks. He much preferred coffee over tea, but ever since you had made him earl grey, (with a bit of milk and honey) it had become a quick favorite.

You turn and smirk.

“You like it?”

“It’s not bad,” he said, shrugging.

Your smirk remains as you walk to the kitchen and set the empty mugs near the sink, setting the kettle back over the stove. For some reason, you were happy he liked your tea. And that he wasn’t being as stubborn as usual. You had been slightly caught off guard with his change in demeanor, from irritated to benign. After a few minutes of breathing in steam, the kettle whistles, announcing that it was finished boiling. You pour the water into one of the only remaining clean mugs and follow the routine of what you’d made before, when a shadow moving in the corner of your eye almost causes you to knock the still-hot mug over. The thing clears its throat roughly and you realize who it is.

“Jesus!” You say, steadying the mug.

Sam’s eyes meet yours, expression shifting from hard-set to attentive, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

“D’you need help?” He asks, taking the mug and holding it in his hands, looking down into the swirls of milk in the dark like he was searching for an untold prophecy. You watch in amusement as he sips the tea, making a face as it burns his tongue.

“It’s hot,” you add, smiling as he scoffs and sets the mug aside.

“You need to get back to bed.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What, so I have a curfew now?”

There goes soft, polite Sam. You sigh. This was going to be a long night. You usher him back to his room and somehow convince him to more medicine. He lays back on his bed, observing you as you lean in the doorway.

“You just going to stand there?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug.

“I can leave. You need to sleep anyways.”

“I’m not tired.“

You roll your eyes, when a grin starts to spread across your face.

“Y’know, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you get sick. Between the awful crap you come into contact with and your sleeping tendencies, you’d think there would’ve been at least one instance. But no. Somehow you avoid any illness. How’d you do it? Bribe a god? Is it something in those so-called ‘health shakes’ of yours? Honestly, it’s a medical mystery. You should be studied.”

Sam listens to your slight ramble, face growing more and more skeptical.

“Those shakes are actually good for you,” he replies.

“Out of everything I just said, that’s what you choose to defend?” You say, resisting the urge to scoff.

Sam rolled his eyes.

You look him over for a moment, before walking toward the desk to pick up the few newer balled-up tissues.

“Seriously though, you should at least try to get some sleep now. Even if you don’t want to. And, you’re probably too fatigued for the dreams-”

As soon as it slipped out you knew you shouldn’tve said anything. Sam looks to you as soon as it comes out, narrowing his eyes.

“Lemme guess— Dean?” He asks, irritation flooding his tone.

“No, no. I’ve heard you talk about them. With Dean. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I swear,” you add, “but I’ve heard enough.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

“You could talk to me about them, Sam. If you wanted to. My opinion of you won’t change,” you say, voice much lower than it was before.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just not your problem,” he says, sucking in a breath.

You sit down in the chair, facing him but avoiding his gaze.

“It can be our problem. All of us. This is really corny, but you’re not alone, Sam. Really.”

He sniffs.

“That was corny,” he agrees, laughing and then smiling slightly, “but… thanks.”

The lamp light cast shadows over his face, and you could see the dimples of his genuine smile. You suddenly wanted to kiss them, a thought that a you’re alarmed by, before it slips away.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, leaning forward to press the back of your hand to his forehead. He looks surprised, eyes flicking up to yours. They stay there, his lips parted like he was going to say something but never does. You smile, and his smile returns, softer but still present. And despite his runny nose and fever-flushed face, you kiss him. It isn’t rushed, or passionate or lustful or wanton. It’s just a kiss. But it means so much. Finally feeling comfortable. Safe. Needed. He goes rigid for a moment, before finally catching up and kissing back. His lips are slightly chapped, but also soft. You kiss the sides of his lips, his dimples as he grins into you. Then he grabs your shoulders and pulls back slightly, breathlessly, still smiling.

“Fantastic… that’s how I feel. But also- sick. And I don’t want you to-”

You laugh, “Oh, so now you admit it?”

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester x reader #remitober 2024 !#flufftober #sam winchester #writing event #sam winchester fluff #sam x reader #sam winchester x you

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astralnymphh · 1 year ago

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just imagine ellie with a tongue piercing giving u head…. lord🤕🤕🤕

ran the fuck over when i saw this. lordd please pierced!ellie>>>>>

she would convince herself that going under the needle n getting her tongue pierced would make her head game better prbly. so it's half for her own ideals and half for you.

the way the cold ball would continuously hook under the hood of your clit, and with purpose. her wormy pink muscle would glide between your pearly wet folds and then plunge in just enough that the piercing would prod at your bud. and her head game is good.. so she knows exactly how to incorporate that little ball of steel while she toys with u, coddiling your clit. i just know she would slap her tongue down on ur clit, perfectly positioned so it would make contact each and every time, watching you jolt and tense up with a pride filled grin, ear to ear. she slinks her tongue out, and a husky voice croaks, "y'like that, huh? got' it done just f'you." and strains with pitch when you bear down in search of her tongue, "fuck, mhh– okay, okay.. i'll stop talkin."

has her eyes peeled constantly– eyeing your expressions over the hill of your crotch. it gets her own panty sodden with slick, her own pussy beating red wantonly, engorging and pushing on the inseam of her denim– watching your eyes wrinkle up in bliss and your jaw unhinge in release of those honeyed moans, mewling her name, "ellie, elliee– fuck, s'good.." you start to wriggle and writhe, pussy lips convulsing around her working muscles and she catches on– you're about to cum. so she flattens the plateau of her tongue and caves it over your bud– piercing jabbed to your clit, wagging her head with stifled gasps flowing through her open mouth, cracking a few chuckles feeling ur juices coat her tongue in delicious spurts. coos "fuuckk, keep cummin' babygirl, thats it– thaats it, don' hold back. m'wanna taste you." in a slurred flub cause she has her tongue unfurled and hanging out. after the last squirt of cum, she retreats her tongue, drawing webs of spit and serumy cum connecting from the head of her tongue– and the piercing– from your sloppy enraged labia, watching the strings snap or drape over her chin. goddess, if that wasn't electrifying enough, she glides up your body, gaining on all fours and swooping her head in for yours, damn near shoving her tongue down your throat so you can taste yourself, and feel the piercing screw.

this dork definitely got told it makes oral better

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams concept #pierced!ellie #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble

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thirteenducks · 1 year ago

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smoke and wine

(diluc x fem!reader) [suggestive, but SFW]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to as 'her'), some suggestive content, no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~4.7k

༻❁༺ tags: self indulgent stormfic, adelinde best mother figure AND wingwoman, flustered diluc supremacy, reader does not want to cause trouble for diluc, diluc desperately wants reader to cause trouble for him, diluc wears boxer briefs because i said so, rampant use of ellipses

༻❁༺ author's note: i am back to offer you this with my hands outstretched before i vanish into the void for another six months :/ regardless, thank you for reading! <33 this fic was inspired by this lovely art by @mmmairon https://www.tumblr.com/mmmairon/733185437964926976/hi-mairon-i-love-the-self-insert-comfort-you-did?source=share please go check it out!

Diluc is a simple man. If there's something he can provide, he'll go out of his way to do it. And if that means allowing you to stay at his home for the night during a fierce storm, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort.

Before today, you had considered yourself rather proficient in predicting the weather for your forays into the Mondstadt hills. Experience had given you somewhat of a sixth sense for which afternoons would yield sunny skies and which would leave you huddled under a tree during a downpour.

This storm, however, had truly come out of nowhere.

When your feet finally find the steps of the vineyard path ahead of you, you’re already too drenched to bother running from the rain. Your shoes, unfit for travel through the rain-soaked countryside, leave puddles behind everywhere you step; your dress is so soaked through that it must leave nothing to the imagination.

You shiver, thanking Barbatos that you seem to be the only unfortunate traveler caught in this downpour. At least the grates of the grapevines above you give you some form of cover from the lashing sheets of rain.

Through the raindrops in your eyes, you gaze at the herbs in your basket, their delicate leaves sodden and dripping. Once the storm has passed, and you've returned home, you doubt they will be much worth keeping. So much for freshly-gathered, you lament.

Distracted by your mournful predictions, you hardly notice the dirt beneath your feet has turned to stone and you’re suddenly before the imposing building that dominates the landscape. Above you, lanterns on posts swing wildly in the wind, illuminating the grand wooden door of Dawn Winery.

As you huddle beneath the scant protection of the balcony above, poised to knock, you’re inevitably reminded of the only other time you’d encountered the owner of this estate.

In the many months since, you’d learned which places to avoid in the Mondstadt countryside due to high monster traffic. That morning, however, the abyss mage had appeared out of nowhere in the sunny meadow of sweet flowers, leering at you and your lack of a weapon. You had barely gathered the presence of mind to drop what you were holding and run when the noise of boots, fast approaching, came from behind you. In another second, a blur of red and black had sped by and a gloved hand was pushing you down to the ground. Overhead, a blast of ice meant for your heart had split the sky above you instead.

Before you could regain your wits, the horrible sound of what you could only imagine were the monster’s last words tore through the air and flames, red and deep orange, surrounded you. The blue of the sky above you was ringed with fire.

Pushing yourself up by your elbows, you had scrambled to your feet, fear shooting through you like lightning as the flames licked higher and hotter around your boots -

And then they were gone, extinguished in an instant. Your breaths coming fast and shallow, you had inspected yourself for injuries and found nothing amiss but a few singed pieces of hair.

The gloved hand had appeared again in your field of vision, hovering hesitantly near your shoulder.

“Are you alright? That attack didn’t hit you, did it?”

The voice was low and unfamiliar, and you had followed the sound until your eyes caught a mane of red hair in a sea of black. He smelled like smoke; you could see it emanating off the massive sword he held in his other hand.

“I’m not hurt, thank you. I had no idea this area wasn’t safe...” You murmured, gazing at the now-scorched patch of flowers you had stood so peacefully in a moment before. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, sir.” You offered your hand and name in introduction, and he had taken both with a gentle grace. His questioning eyes alighted on your belongings, dress, and hair before returning to your face.

“Please, call me Diluc. Of Dawn Winery,” he answers, anticipating your question. “I’m the one who should apologize. This one -” he glances down at the ground in distaste, where a few shining leaves are all that is left of the abyss mage - “got away from me last night, and I’ve been chasing it down ever since. Really, it’s my fault.”

You duck your head in gratitude. “Thank you regardless, Diluc. I’ll make sure to avoid this area in the future...” You trail off sadly. This had been the best hill in the area to collect sweet flowers...

His face had changed a bit at your vow, so quickly you might have imagined it, before his handsome features returned to an unreadable expression. The exchange had not lasted long past that point.

“Keep yourself safe,” were his brief parting words, leaving you with a nod before starting at a brisk pace toward the building in the distance.

And now that same building is before you once more. Drawing your bag closer to you in trepidation, you knock, the sound barely reaching your ears over the roar of thunder overhead.

You don’t have to wait long in the harsh wind before the giant door swings open and you’re face to face with the same man from all those months ago, staring at you with his mouth slightly parted. You blink at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say, until a woman’s soft voice calls from behind him in the doorway.

“Master Diluc? Is there someone out there?”

A middle-aged woman with a kind expression peers over Diluc’s shoulder at you and gasps.

“Master Diluc! What are you doing, keeping her out here in all this rain?” she chides, pushing Diluc’s shoulder to punctuate her sentence, and he blinks as if coming out of a trance. He steps out of the doorway and allows the woman to grab you gently by the hand and lead you into the warm, carpeted foyer. The great door swings shut behind you with a soft thud and you allow yourself an exhale of relief at being out of the storm, if only for a few minutes.

“Goodness, you’re soaked through.” The woman, who wears a maid’s uniform, putters around you, taking your belongings from your grasp and hanging them on a stand next to the door. As she circles you, murmuring with concern, you take the opportunity to explain yourself.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, ma’am, I was just gathering herbs near Stone Gate when the downpour started...” You lock eyes with Diluc, who has not said a word yet. Your resolve wavers, but a drop of water cascading down your back causes you to shiver and you remember your situation. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I impose upon you until the worst of the storm passes?” Your teeth chatter a bit as a draft catches your soaked clothing. “I promise I won’t make too much trouble for -”

You’re cut off by the sensation of something large and warm surrounding you. It smells of smoke and wine and you look up in surprise to see Diluc, now bare to the arm, settling his overcoat on your shoulders. A light shade of pink dusts his cheekbones.

“This storm isn’t likely to pass before tomorrow morning at the earliest,” he rumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Adelinde, please tell Moco and Hillie to prepare a bath and fresh sheets in the downstairs guest room.”

The warm timbre of his voice is tinged with something you can’t identify. Before you can protest, the woman, who must be Adelinde, gives him a nod. She curtsies to you with a smile and takes her leave.

Now standing alone with Diluc, you hurriedly voice your objections and promise to be on your way after you dry off a bit and perhaps borrow an umbrella. The man in front of you, however, refuses to acquiesce.

“You’ll at least let Adelinde feed you dinner, won’t you? It’s quite late already,” he remarks, glancing out the bay window at the darkened sky. “Have you eaten?”

At your dissenting response, he nods as if all is settled. You stare down at your shoes in mingled embarrassment and relief, watching the pools of water sink into the rich carpet.

Diluc clears his throat and moves his hand to hover behind the small of your back as he walks towards the fireplace. “Please, wait here for Adelinde to return. I’ll speak to her about getting you some dry clothes to wear for the night,” he says, gesturing to the couch in front of the fire.

You grimace as you sit, the damp fabric of your dress sticking to you and probably ruining the plush velvet of the sofa. Not to mention Diluc’s coat...

Before you can dwell too long on that, Adelinde reappears with a steaming cup of tea that she sets in front of you. She appears to be in conversation with Diluc about something across the table as you sip your tea, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your bones.

“It’s awful luck that everything had to be taken in from the clotheslines when it started to rain,” she sighs. “There’s not a dry piece of women’s clothing in the house, I’m afraid.”

Diluc hums in contemplation. “I suppose mine will have to do, then. As long as it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, of course...” He trails off as he turns to you, his cheeks pink again.

You laugh a bit, good humor returning to your body as the warmth does. “I’ll take any clothing you have to offer, Adelinde. Truly, thank you.”

She smiles, and before you can say anything else, Diluc has gotten to his feet and is already halfway up the stairs. Your eyes follow him as he goes, afraid you’ve said something wrong, but Adelinde just laughs and gestures for you to stand.

“Don’t mind him. The young master’s always that straightforward. Let’s get you into a warm bath, hm?” She starts for the hallway at a brisk pace, ignoring your concerns about the water you’re tracking across the floor.

As the head maid leads you to the guest room, Diluc stands in his own quarters, staring at his bureau with a look of deliberation that a complex military maneuver might inspire. All around him, various pieces of clothing lay rejected. He’s glaring daggers at his pants drawer, which he now realizes contains only neatly folded black slacks and pairs of underwear.

Do I really only wear slacks and boxer briefs?

That’s a question for another day. For now, he lays out his options.

He can’t... he can’t offer you his underwear to wear. That’s out of the question. Few things could be less appropriate to lend to a guest, let alone a pretty...

He shakes his head. His face is burning just thinking about it.

But wouldn’t you be uncomfortable in dress pants? They’d hardly fit you, anyways, so you might have to wear a belt as well just to keep them up... And could you really sleep in them? You’d probably end up shedding them, right?

He shakes his head again before he can go any further with that... dangerous thought.

He huffs. This is going nowhere. He’ll have to bring them both to Adelinde and see what she has to say, he thinks as he descends the staircase with a stack of clothes in hand.

Meanwhile, you stand with Adelinde in the most lavish guest bedroom you’ve ever set foot in. The bedspread, softer than a lamb as you run your hand over it, matches the curtains of the four-poster bed it rests on and the wall behind it. She opens the door to the attached bathroom, where a steaming claw-foot tub stands in the center. The aroma coming from it is like that of the lampgrass you had been collecting that afternoon before the storm hit, and it draws you to it like a moth to flame.

Adelinde curtsies to you and asks you to simply leave your wet clothes by the door and she’ll send someone to pick them up and deliver dry clothes in a bit. With that, she shuts the bedroom door behind you and leaves you to disrobe in the sweet-smelling bathroom.

After so long with your soaked garments clinging to you, peeling them off feels incredible. The water is the perfect temperature as you slide into it, feeling the stress of the afternoon melt away from your shoulders. The soaps next to the bath are thick and luxurious, perfuming the air with a thousand faint floral scents.

You don’t know how long you sit there, half-awake and submerged to the nose in the sweet-smelling water, until a knock at the bedroom door brings you back to reality.

Thinking it to be Adelinde or another maid, you straighten up and stretch your arms. You’d rather not get up and let her in yourself, so you merely call out your permission to let herself in. After all, the water’s so nice, and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with but a towel, anyways.

The door opens quietly and a heavy step can be heard entering the bedroom and shuffling around a bit until it suddenly pauses.

That’s odd. “Adelinde?” you call, rising a bit in the water to peek into the bedroom through the open door. No answer comes.

Furrowing your brow, you move to get out of the tub when the panicked voice of a man rings through the room.

“Wait! Wait, please... Archons, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you were - the door is - ”

It’s Diluc. He sounds more flustered than you thought was possible of such a stoic man.

“I just came to drop these off,” he continues, voice discomposed, and there’s a sound of something being placed on a chair. “Please forget this happened. I- I apologize a thousand times. I’ll, um, wait outside - please, forgive me... I’m leaving now, I swear.”

And with that, the bedroom door closes with a thunk. You’re left frozen, your hands on the rim of the tub, your face a fetching shade of scarlet.

Diluc, on the opposite side of the door, is in no better shape. Not only had he walked in on you while you were- not only had he imposed upon you, but he had completely forgotten his objective of having Adelinde choose your clothing. Which meant, of course, that you were about to walk out of the bath and be faced with an odd selection of things to clothe yourself with.

It’s not like he can go back in and tell you it’s a mistake, though. Diluc sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, willing his heart rate to go down. Idiot. He’s an idiot.

Since the least he can do now is protect you from any further embarrassment, he thinks, he takes up a guard position outside your bedroom door.

It helps to know that at least it’s just him and the maids in the house, so you have no one else to worry about. It doesn’t help to know that you’re currently bare and covered in soap a scant twenty feet from him.

He buries his head in his hands again.

Meanwhile, you’ve removed yourself from the tub and are drying off while waiting for your pulse to return to normal. The towel in your hands is probably the fluffiest thing you’ve ever touched, yet it barely registers in your mind at the moment.

You weigh the ethics of telling Adelinde you’ve suddenly fallen violently ill and cannot come to dinner, but eventually you’ve gathered yourself enough to inspect the clothing Diluc brought you. There’s a black dress shirt, which is softer against your skin than it first looked as you button it up to your collarbone. Like his coat, it too carried a familiar fragrance of smoke and wine.

Turning to the rest of the stack, you’re confused to see a pair of dress pants and a pair of men’s... underwear?

They also smell like him… you think, as you pull them on.

Diluc, still fighting a blush, is leaning against the wall outside your door when Adelinde finds him. A hurried conversation ensues that you don’t catch much of from inside, but it’s clear enough that Adelinde is laughing at her master’s expense.

She knocks, asking if you’re dressed, and waits for your affirmation before she enters. You hold up the slacks to her, a question on your lips, but the head maid puts her hand on yours before you say a word.

“You don’t have to wear those unless you want to. I know they’re far from the most comfortable pants in the world. Besides, it’s only Master Diluc and us maids here,” she assures you. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. It’s up to you.” You return her smile and fold the slacks, passing them to her waiting hand. “Why don’t you come sit by the fire while I set the table?”

Thus assured, you leave the safety of the guest bedroom in only Diluc’s shirt and boxer briefs. Outside, the lord of the manor himself is standing in the hallway with a look of contrition on his face.

He turns at the sound of the door and his eyes meet yours.

It’s fatal. You offer him a smile, hoping to pretend the earlier situation never happened, but you’re met instead with a blank stare that makes you falter. Was he… angry?

Archons, did he think you had let him into your room on purpose while you were undressed? The thought sends you spiraling. This was bad. You have to fix this. You fiddle with the hem of the dress shirt and prepare to apologize.

Across from you, Diluc is fighting an uphill battle with his self control to keep his eyes on yours as you stand before him in only his underwear.

You were supposed to be wearing pants. Not… fuck, you’re staring at him like he has three heads. He has to say something. He has to set your mind at ease. He has to be a gentleman.

Think of Varka. Think of Seamus Pegg. Think of fucking Barbatos. For the love of Celestia do not think of anything else. Now SAY something.

“...How was your bath?”

You blink. “It was… lovely, thank you.”

DO NOT THINK OF HER IN THE BATH.

By the grace of whatever archons are watching over him, Diluc manages to carry a stilted conversation with you in which he apologizes profusely for his behavior earlier.

You do your best to reassure him that it was an honest mistake and no harm was done (except to your heart, but you’d hardly admit that). You soon find that he’s also asking your pardon for the “inappropriate” selection of clothes he brought you, however.

“Please, don’t apologize. They’re very comfortable.” You smile at him and Diluc feels his heart skip far too many beats. “Thank you again for your kindness, Diluc.” Archons, he loves the way you say his name. You’ll kill him at this rate.

Soon he’s falling into step behind you as Adelinde leads you into the dining room and seats you by the fire with a blanket. Satisfied that you’re comfortable, he turns and prepares to return to his study for the evening.

Before he can, though, he’s arrested by your voice, innocently asking if he wouldn’t be joining you for dinner.

“I’m afraid I have… work to attend to,” he murmurs, glancing up to his office. “My apologies. I hope you enjoy- ow, Adelinde -”

The maid in question has two fingers wrapped around Diluc’s ear and is wearing a look of exasperation as she tugs on it, ignoring his words of protest. In a voice that suggests this is a common occurrence, she strongly forbids him from doing any more work tonight.

“Is it not the job of the master of the manor to keep his guests company?”

“Adelinde...”

“Master Diluc.”

He sighs, meeting your eyes with a sheepish look. “It appears that I’ll be joining you after all.”

With that, he settles himself in the armchair adjoining your couch, allowing his large frame to relax into it. A pleasant quiet descends as you watch the fire, listening to the maids readying the meal in the kitchen and the storm as it continues to rage outside.

You’re brought out of your reverie by Diluc’s voice, softer than you’ve yet heard it.

“May I ask how you found yourself out in the downpour this afternoon?”

You smile. “For the same reason I was out the first time we met.” He nods in recognition, glancing at the gathering bag and basket that still hang by the door to the winery.

“So, you’re a botanist, then? Or maybe an herbalist?”

The two of you continue this way, Diluc asking you questions about yourself in a low voice, and you answering them in the same soft tone. You lose track of time in the easy back-and-forth.

After what feels like only a few minutes, a maid alerts you that dinner is ready; you rise and stretch, the blanket falling away from where it covers your bare legs. Diluc pointedly looks away, but you’re too distracted by the lovely smells coming from the table behind you to pay him any mind.

Walking ahead of you, Diluc draws out the seat adjacent to the head of the table and waits for you to sit before taking his own seat. The maids have been busy: a pot of tea, a bottle of sparkling wine, plates of roast beef, green beans, buttered potatoes, and stuffing, a tray of candied pecans, an apple tart, and a myriad of smaller dishes all line the ornate table. For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to take a portion of anything.

Fortunately, Adelinde appears beside you and asks which and how much of each dish you would like, and soon your plate is as full as it can be.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you eat. The food is beyond reproach. Either the maids and Adelinde have pulled out all the stops tonight for you, or wealthy estate owners eat like this every night. You’re not sure which makes you feel more out of place, but the food is too delicious and you’re too tired to dwell on such things now.

Periodically, Diluc asks how you’re liking a certain dish or if you would like more of what you’re drinking. As the maids top off your glass of wine and you begin to feel the day catch up with you, however, your responses to Diluc get slower and shorter until you can barely keep your eyes open.

Through your lowered lids, you’re graced with the sight of a rare smile as the man next to you takes you in. He stands, offering you an ungloved hand in a silent offer to escort you to your room. You’re too exhausted to notice the color that comes to his face when you gladly take it and get to your stumbling feet.

By the time you’ve reached the door to your room, you’re leaning more on him than you are on your own legs. Offering Diluc a drowsy smile, you bow a little and thank him once again. He returns it in kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit. He’s never looked more handsome.

“Have a restful night. With any luck, the storm will abate by morning. Please, if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to come ask me.”

And with that, he leaves you to the plush sheets of the guest room. You’re asleep almost before your head hits the pillow.

You dream of smoke and wine.

In the small hours of the morning, you awake to a cold draft that makes you shiver and a mind fuzzy from sleep. You try in vain to return to sleep, the soft silk sheets beckoning to you, but a peal of thunder seems to shake the house every time you close your eyes.

Sighing, you sit up and rub your eyes. It’s almost pitch black in the room; the sun won’t rise for several hours yet.

Maybe you could make yourself a cup of tea? You shiver a bit, drawing the covers tighter around you. Sitting by the fire doesn’t sound bad, either.

Your feet are quiet on the carpeted floor as you gently open your bedroom door and step into the hallway. Sure enough, there’s a flickering light from the main room; the fire must be still alive in the grate.

You gather the blanket around you and hurry towards the warmth, only to stop short at the silhouette of a figure sitting where you were earlier. You take another tentative step onto the floorboards, but a creak gives you away. The figure stiffens and turns to face you.

Diluc’s face and frame relaxes when he sees you, but there is still a hint of worry in his tone when he asks, “Is there something wrong? Are you warm enough in your room?”

You nod, stepping gingerly around the couch to sit next to him. He shifts a little to give you more space as you pull your legs up beside you. “Everything’s fine. I just went to bed a little too early,” you assure him. “Could I trouble you to let me into the kitchen? I’d like to make myself a cup of tea, if it’s alright.”

“Please, allow me,” he murmurs, producing a pot and a second cup from the table next to him, where he was apparently enjoying one himself.

You sip it gratefully, allowing the taste to linger in your mouth. “May I ask why the esteemed Master Diluc is still awake at this hour?”

He smiles a bit at that and mentions that he never sleeps well during storms.

The two of you watch the flames as you sip your tea, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Even at this hour, the fire is still going strong. A thought strikes you and you turn to Diluc’s lap.

Sure enough, his vision is glowing, pulsing in a gentle bump-bump pattern that you’ve heard matches the wielder’s heartbeat. It relaxes you to see it so steady and dependable.

Before long, the warmth of the fire and the tea have lulled you back soundly to sleep.

For the first time today, Diluc allows his gaze to rake over you unhindered.

You, asleep on his couch in his manor. Smelling like him. Dressed in his shirt and underwear.

In only his shirt and underwear, the least helpful part of his brain reminds him, and he has to stare at the fire for a while to curb that train of thought. It’s difficult when his gaze keeps flickering back to you anyway.

He counts himself lucky you’re not awake to see how the fire in the grate has grown in size and intensity, or how the vision on his hip is flickering in a wild bmp-bmp-bmp.

After reciting everything he knows of Mondstadtian foreign policy in his head a few times, he’s able to tone down the blush on his face enough to be manageable. As for the familiar, tight ache in his pants, he regards it as a lost cause. For now.

Diluc stands, stretching his arms with a quiet groan before turning to your sleeping form. He gently scoops you up into strong arms and wraps you tighter in the blanket you’re still clinging to, careful not to wake you. As he begins the slow walk to your doorway, a small smile adorns his face.

Upon ducking into your room, careful not to hit your legs against the doorway, he frowns. It’s much colder here than it was in the living room. He’ll have to do something about that.

As he places you under the covers, he unclips the vision from his thigh and folds it into your hand, where it thrums with a gentle rhythm . You drift awake for a moment, recognizing the red mane that hangs over your chest as Diluc tucks in the blanket around you.

Seeing your eyes flicker, he calls your name gently. “Are you comfortable?” You nod with a smile that hurts his heart in the best way.

“Thank you, Diluc,” you murmur blearily, and he laughs a bit. You have just enough consciousness left to decide it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard as you slip back under the blanket of sleep.

That night, as the storm continues to rage outside his bedroom windows, Diluc sleeps better than he has in a long time. Downstairs, his vision pulses in your hand to his steady heartbeat.

You dream of warmth.

#diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #fem!reader #genshin x reader #flustered dilu.......#pls let me live at the winery i swear i'll be good #dilucposting

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perseruna · 7 months ago

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Endiness made a beautiful long post with all his quotes on that topic that I think is very informative and worth looking at, so here’s a link to that. And with that already discussed, I thought I’d make a thread of all his changes that we are aware of, because when you look into them, you find that none of his “book accurate” changes are actually book accurate.

His decision to make Geralt grunt and cut his lines.

HC: "All the grunts, I either added or I didn't say anything and just grunted instead. It was often up to the other actors to go, 'I think he's not gonna say anything now.'"

JB: "Henry likes to cut his lines, 'cause he's lazy. No, he literally just likes to cut them. He likes to do more up here [frames his face with his hands] and just with face and hmms and grunts. There's a lot of hmms, and so I often have to take a lot of his lines and turn it into a lot of my stuff so that the plot happens."

So, as everyone who has read the books knows that Geralt is and always has been a yapper. Gerakt often talks or thinks in monologues, and definitely not in short grunts.

Of course when the audience started making fun of Geralt for not being able to speak in full sentences Henry promptly went back on admitting the blame and instead said that the big bad writers were the ones who didn't give him lines, and now it was his life’s mission to fight for a book accurate Geralt who speaks.

Roach’s death scene

After S2 came out, Lauren received a lot of backlash for Roach’s death scene, with multiple sources citing that she wanted the moment to be more “comedic” before the brave Henry Cavill stepped in and refused to participate in such horrible anti source material activities.

LH: "Henry was so unhappy with the line. Finally I said, 'You know what, you come up with something. I trust you, you know this material so well, you know the book so well, you don't even have to pitch it to me.' And he came back the next day with a beautiful speech that's at the end of 'Sword of Destiny' when Geralt is facing death.”

This is the line he ended up using:

“Enjoy your last walk across the meadow and through the mist. Be not afraid of her for she is your friend."

This was Lauren’s response AND the original line.

LH: “Here's what was scripted, in homage of the fact that a previous Roach had existed, and another one will exist soon. It's hardly a joke. Henry wanted a longer, more emotional moment, which I was more than happy to give him. Don't create drama where none exists.”

So in S2 Geralt ends up quoting a part of his monologue from ‘Sword of Destiny’ when he’s at his lowest after thinking that Yennefer had died at the battle of Sodden Hill, and he has nothing left to live for. Which to me doesn't work that well with Roach at all. That line was a response to Geralt thinking he's lost the love of his life, not his horse. In my opinion, the original line Lauren penned out is more heartfelt and actually more emotional and more book accurate as well.

The absolute removal of any Triss and Geralt “romance”

This one we don’t have that much information on in comparison to others. But there were multiple reports that at the beginning of S2 Triss and Geralt were supposed to have some kind of a romantic scene with each other which then was cut during production, and it was largely speculated that it was due to Henry Cavill.

“Several months ago we reported on a sex scene happening between Geralt and Triss, sometime in the first half of Season 2. That didn’t happen, as we all saw, but here’s what we know about the original plan for that: Geralt and Triss are in a room together, they seem friendly at first. They are playing some kind of weird game. Whoever wins a round, gets to ask a question. We’re not privy to the exact flow of the conversation, but it eventually leads to both of them ending up in bed. We can only guess why this was cut, but perhaps it was thanks to Henry Cavill.”

Now, irrelevantly on your feelings on book Triss and Geralt you have to admit that that short-lived “romance” is indeed a part of the books and therefor book accurate. So the removal of it would go against Mr I’m fighting to make this show as much book accurate as possible.

The removal of the Yen and Geralt sex scene in S2

"We just wanted to be very careful that it was true and real, and it didn't turn into something that we, as actors, didn't believe it should be," Cavill stated. When Yennefer and Geralt unite, they embrace, but it doesn't go further than that. He continued: "We wanted it to be emotional rather than sexual. It was really, really important, and we had to lean away from what was originally on the page." Initially, Geralt and Yennefer were written to have a more passionate night. Henry Cavill and Anya Chalotra went to "The Witcher" producers and explained why they thought a steamy evening was not the way to go. "These are people who believe one thing about the fate of another and then find out something else is true," Cavill said about Geralt believing Yennefer was dead. "That's not how they behave," the actor added. "How they behave is they just want to be with the person and emotionally recognize their existence again in that shared space.”

This one is a bit tricky because I am willing to get behind an actor who doesn't want to do a sex scene out of comfort reasons or whatnot, but Henry saying that "That's not how [Yennefer and Geralt] behave”, is quite absurd in my opinion. Because that is very much how Geralt and Yennefer behave, especially in the short stories and ToC. They are inherently a very sexual couple who come crashing in and out of each other’s lives while having very passionate sex. But I can understand wanting this scene to be more “emotional” (as if sex isn't emotional), so this one I am willing to give him a bit more leeway on. (But then again looking at the blinds saying that he refused any sex scenes because oh his “ideals” and was allegedly really nasty to Anya about it, well..)

Geralt being the perfect father figure to Ciri with no flaws and no struggles (which inevitably snowballed into the Yen Betrayal Arc)

This one I don’t see talked that much at all, and to me this one is his most detrimental one.

@LHissrich: “In interviews, Henry explains how he felt strongly that Geralt NOT be bumbling, nor a struggling father figure. In fact, a lot of S2 is about how Geralt does come from a loving (albeit unconventional) family. Henry was passionate about this shift, and we discussed it a lot, and ultimately thought it was wonderful for his character development. But it also had the domino effect of changing what Ciri needed from Yen when she entered the picture. Thus, introducing the idea of balance.”

So I don’t know about you, but I love when characters have flaws and naturally progress be it for good or bad, some would say that that's what story telling is about, well that someone wouldn't be Henry Cavil. Geralt being a struggling father figure at first, someone who makes mistakes and learns from them and tries is very much a prominent theme in Blood of Elves and is actually very real, people make mistakes! Especially in huge shifts such as “becoming a father overnight’ but we didn't get that because Henry refused to play it that way. What we got is Geralt who already basically knows exactly how to parent, he always knows what to say, what pep talk to give and also doesn't hold any resentment and any negative feelings towards Vesemir at all. It's all one dimensional happy family here! Which goes against not only the books but what he preached about fighting tooth and nail to make the “forgotten” male characters three-dimensional as well because the horrible feminist Lauren only thinks about female characters.

Lauren then goes on saying that “it also had the domino effect of changing what Ciri needed from Yen when she entered the picture. Thus, introducing the idea of balance” So, it is fair to speculate that Henry’s refusal to showcase Geralt having any flaws at all and act book accurate snowballed into The Controversial Yennefer Betrayal Arc.

These are the ones that I can remember off the top off my head, so there might be more, there’s probably more that we aren’t even aware of. I think putting them all together showcase a very interesting picture. One of Henry Cavill never actually understanding who Geralt fundamentally is as a character, and of him not being a team player at all. I just hope that more and more people are aware of the insane PR his team did for him when it came to this show, and that more people are able to see through it.

#anti henry cavill #the witcher #long post #i do believe that i have an interesting vintage point because ive been in this fandom since the show premiered so some people might not be #even aware of these things when ive lived them and have an archive of them in my head lmaoo #i don't like the formatting of asks when you reblog them so im making this a separate text post

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rorylovesangst · 19 hours ago

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A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is Exit Music (For a Film) by Radiohead

tws: sexual harassment (kissing), workplace abuse, ableism, emotional manipulation, self-harm ideation

previous chapter -> chapter 2

word count: ~1.3k

The diner was quiet—it always was past midnight. The dishwasher's hum filled the silence like static, aside from the clink and clatter of dishes as Tony piled them on the shelves.

Tony had given you a sideways glance as you pleaded behind him to take the check, food searing on the grill before him. Please, Tony. Please give them their check. I had a tic, and I—I made this weird fuckin’ noise in their face— Your voice cracked, juddering as you streaked your sweaty palms down your leggings, the words tumbling out too fast and too busted to sound like anything but desperation.

He sighed, deep and heavy, like you were asking him to carry the weight of the world instead of a receipt. Without a word, he thrust the spatula into your damp palms, the handle tepid from his grip. Don’t burn my shit, kid.

Johnny and Riley had lingered in their booth until a little after eleven-thirty. Johnny’s guffaw had rung out a few times, raspy and booming, cutting through the stillness. Riley, on the other hand, had been quieter, his voice hardly audible whenever he spoke.

When they left, Johnny waved his hard hat at you with a smirk. “See ya ‘round, bonnie,” he’d called, his Scottish brogue thick as honey. You nodded, pushing a small smile to your mouth, already halfway through wiping down the counter.

Riley spared you a glace as he ducked his head through the doorway. His gaze caught you mid-motion, eyes biting but tempered with something you couldn’t quite place. Pity, maybe. Guilt. He dipped his head slightly and trailed behind Johnny out into the night.

The ever-present scent of lard and coffee clung to the air as you finished stacking menus at the counter. The day had dragged, each moment sticking like syrup, but now it was over. You were so close to slipping out the door unnoticed when you heard it.

“Blue!” Ronny’s voice hit you like a slap.

You froze, your fingers clutching the last menu, your breath seizing in your throat. You did not turn around fast enough for him, and his voice came again, sharper this time. “You deaf? Get in here!”

Your body moved before your brain could protest, legs carrying you toward his office like they had a mind of their own. You kept your head low, peering over as Tony glided out the back door. Just you and Ronny now.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, his hand clamped around the back of your neck. The thick, meaty grip sent a jolt through your body as he hauled you fully into his office, your feet scuffling on the linoleum. The motion tugged at your shoulders, your chest tightening like a Venus Fly Trap snapping shut.

“Wh-what did I do?” you stammered, your words uneven and small as he thrust the door closed.

Ronny didn’t answer right away. He clasped the scruff of your neck, the heat of his palm bleeding through your skin. Bent close, his whiskey-sodden breath fans your cheek, his eyes narrowing.

“The fuck is wrong wit’ you, eh?” His voice was low, the anger coiled tight, shaking your neck. “Burning yourself like some damn rookie and making a scene? You think I’m running a charity here?”

“It—it was an accident,” Your words are catching on the hot lump in your throat.

“An accident,” he mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. His fingers tightened briefly before easing up, a mockery of comfort. “How many of those do you think you get, huh? You’re lucky I’m the only person in this town willing to hire someone like you. No ID, no papers, no nothing. A ghost.”

Your head twitched sharply to the side and a lamentable groan tumbled through your wire-tight lips. You gulped down the shame, keeping your eyes on the floor.

Ronny groaned like he was dealing with a disobedient child. “Jesus fucking Christ, Blue. That little head thing of yours? Y’know it freaks people out. Makes it look like I hire the freakshow.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it.” You're squeezing your eyes shut, hoping he will set you free, to stop holding you out to the flame like a moth he wants to watch burn. But his grip stays firm, and you can feel the heat licking closer. It’s almost poetic, the thought—how he might be the one to end you. A mercy, maybe, sparing you the trouble of doing it yourself. “How could such a sweet peach come to rot on the branch? Hm?”

Then, like it always does, his tone softened. Not with kindness, but with a twisted familiarity, like the sickly sweetness of fruit hiding a bitter pit. You knew what came next. You pushed yourself to stay still, fixing your eyes on the water-stained ceiling. The constant drip of a faucet teased you from the kitchen, syncing with the rhythm of your throbbing heart. Tears obscured your vision, but you refused to let them escape.

The hold on your neck eased as he angled your head slightly, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He wasn’t even looking at you, just the side of your neck, hunting—predator, prey.

“Don’t make me regret hiring you,” he muttered before pressing a wet, hard kiss to the column of your neck. His stubble prickled around your skin. You held your breath, your fingers curving into fists at your sides. It didn’t matter how many times he did it—it never got easier. But you didn’t recoil, didn’t pull away. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

When he finally let go, the shove forward was almost a relief, even as it sent you stumbling toward the door.

“Get out of here,” he said, already turning back toward his desk. “And don’t screw up again. I’m not running a soup kitchen.”

You nodded, the burn of tears threatening your eyes as you shoved the door open and stepped into the pouring rain.

The cold rain hit you like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the feel of his lips, the weight of his words.

The rain soaked through your sneakers almost immediately, squelching with each step, your chest burning, your throat tightening around a sob you refused to let out. Your jacket was no use either, your clothes clinging to your frame You kept your head down, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, praying the rain would wash away the grease and Ronny’s slobber and the feel of too many eyes on you.

It didn’t.

By the time your little ranch came into view, your legs were aching, fingers numb. The house stood in the shadows, its paint peeling and wood splintering, but it was yours. Or as close to yours as you could get. The wooden boards creaked under your weight as you trudged into the small space, kicking off your wet shoes, peeling off your jacket, and tossing it onto the nearest chair. The bandages on your chest itched. You winced as you pulled your shirt over your head.

The opaque mirror in the bathroom reflected a version of yourself you barely recognized. Tired eyes, pale skin, hair plastered to your face in damp strands. You looked away quickly, rummaging through drawers for your toothbrush.

By the time you crawled into bed, the rain had lessened to a soft drizzle, tapping gently against the windowpane. You pulled the thin blanket up to your chin, trying to block out the cold seeping through the walls and cracks.

The memory of Riley’s glance lingered as your eyes closed, a susurrate of something you couldn’t quite name.

thanks for all the love on the previous chapter! im trying to get them out pretty quick so hopefully I don’t lose the spark for this. oh, and there will be a sick trope soon…hehe

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thisisourlovestory · 10 months ago

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Everything Has Changed

part 1- the chronicles of a stargirl and her sun masterlist

Luke Castellan x reader

Summary- you travel to camp and end up meeting a certain someone for a brief moment but it's enough.

Word count- 5k

Notes- my first Luke fanfic! It's going to be a series of sorts with each part based vaguely off a different Taylor Swift song. I was not planning on it being this long, I thought it'd be max 3k but no the gods of creativity struck. Thanks to @imaginingmoonlight for the beautiful vibe up top and also to @fangirlfreak08 for helping me choose the song. I love you both mwah

“Run!” A voice yelled from behind you, a hand placed on your back to push you forwards even as your legs started to give out beneath you. Rain poured down around you, soaking through your clothes and making the muddy ground harder to run on. Your hair fell in a limp curtain around your face, raindrops catching on your lashes and obscuring your vision. The sun had set and you had only the pale light of the moon to guide you up the hill and towards the pine tree at the top of it. A roar echoed from in the trees and you whipped your head around in a panic. The trees were falling, hitting the ground hard, the thundering noises rippling through the air. That was your mistake. Within a second you tripped on a tree root protruding from the soil, tumbling to the sodden grass, scraping your knees on the rocks hidden underneath moss. Then you heard the roars again. Closer this time. The trees continued falling, crashing down with louds boom, and with them fell your hopes of survival. your scrambled to your feet and started to run. But they were faster. So much faster. The loud thudding as they lumbered after us made your heart race. You looked to the side to see Ash limping beside you, his hooves sinking into the hillside and a gash on his leg leaking blood. He was pulling along Maisie, her green eyes wide with fear as her little legs struggled to keep up with him. you stopped in your tracks. Ash turned to you quickly.

“What are you doing? We have to run.” You shook your head, shoulders slumping as you whispered.

“We won't make it,” You gestured to the falling trees, the monsters coming closer with each second, ”Go Ash, you'll be fine.” Your voice was small and unsure, barely a whisper but you smiled and looked him in the eye. “You'll be fine. Get her to safety.” He opened his mouth to speak but the last tree snapped and they stood there, waiting.

There were more than you had thought there was. Or maybe they had just collected some more along the way you thought. They stood tall, ugly hulking builds covered with thin scraps of cloth, they locked on you and sped up, practically leaping closer. You pushed Ash forward and he started running again, looking back at you for a moment and you smiled at him before you ran sideways. They took the bait and chased after you, swinging clubs in the air and slamming them down so the ground shook. you dodged their blows that they rained down on you, darting over tree stumps lining the hillside. Your breath came fast and heavy, blood rushing in your ears, heart feeling as if it would burst out of your chest as you ran. Legs taking long strides like a gazelle, flying over the earthen ground.

Suddenly a club whizzed down past your ear and you let out a cry, slipping and tumbling to the ground. They surrounded you as you stumbled back up, slipping your hand into your pocket to grab your pocket knife.

“Well, well, well if it isn't a little demigod.” One of them sneered, their big round eye focused on you. “Unlucky for you we're hungry.” Your eyes flicked around taking note of the monsters, a few cyclops, some weird giant things that were just as disgusting but had two eyes, and a hellhound. All looking to eat you. One of the cyclops reached out to you eagerly. your slashed down on its wrist, drawing golden blood and it let out a howl of pain. Its face contorted and for a moment the rest of them took their gaze off you to focus on their injured friend. You took your chance and jumped to your feet, shooting into the woods. Branches scraped your skin and dirt stuck to your clothes, your felt warm blood dripping from a cut on your forehead and wiped it away with the palm of your hand. A large hand gripped onto your shoulder and lifted you into the air, dangling you like a ragdoll, shaking you viciously and sneering in your face. A sharp blade plunged into their arm and they disintegrated into dust, leaving the rest to gape at you first in shock then anger as they resumed the chase through the undergrowth. Lightning split through the air and thunder rumbled as you ran, it seemed never ending. Were you to be stuck in this circle until they finally caught you and ended your life?

One by one the monsters lunged at you, and one by one you swung your blade and they became dust. They apparently didn't learn that the knife was bad for them and they should avoid it. Eventually there was only one left but you were tired. So, so tired. You had been running for what felt like days and you wanted to give up. Your footsteps slowed down and came to a stop. In a flash the last cyclops standing snatched you up and began gloating. You tuned it out. Eyes barely staying open and brain fuzzy. You were bruised all over and your body was weeping red. This wasn't important anymore. It was done, your death warrant signed. You were done.

All of a sudden you were dropping to the floor, landing on your back and gazing up at the sky full of stars, your vision darkened blotting out the moon. A face appeared above you. Dark brown eyes and curly hair barely distinguishable in the dark, but the light grew. Closer and closer, brighter and brighter.

“-Hear me.” You made out as the buzzing in your ears grew louder. You turned your head to the side and reached out a hand to grab your knife laying just inches away. The cool metal was a comforting presence. In that moment you clasped it in your grip and looked up into the eyes above, a small smile on your face as you drifted into darkness, the boy's lips moving, yelling things you couldn’t hear.

You wake up with a start, laying on the floor, head resting on a mossy log. You pull yourself off the ground, looking around quickly. You stood in a clearing, bright green grass dotted with flowers of every colour, tall trees lining the outside, separating it from the dark forest beyond. Water rushes behind you, clear blue falling and gathering in a pool surrounded by rocks. You climb up and stare down at your reflection, a look of confusion paints itself on your face. You're wearing a cream dress with flowers intricately woven into the fabric and somehow the same flowers are twined into your hair, almost as if they were a crown. You reach down into the water as if to check it was really you and it ripples out from where your finger touched, the reflection changed to the hillside.

You hear the monsters again. They chase after you, teeth bared, eyes glowing red as they taunt you.

“You couldn't save them.”

“We ate them both.”

“The girl was especially tasty.”

You scream and they surround you. There is no end to the torment as the wind bites your skin and rain soothes the burn. They do not stop. Their growling voices stamped into memory as their claws start to tear into your skin. You scream and shout, arms waving around but this time there is no knife to help you. Blood gushes out of your body in waterfalls, staining the grass and mixing with muddy puddles that start to form. The pain starts to fade as you let go and a figure hovers over you.

Your eyes blink open, vision blurry and body aching. You turn your head and the boy is standing next to you.

“Go back to sleep.” He says. “You're safe.” You listen and slip back into dreamland.

This time you're at home. Your bedroom is cluttered with clothes and school supplies. Not a single part of the floor is visible. It's dark outside, snow falling, flakes spinning in the gentle breeze. You remember this night, the night you found out the truth. But nothing changed, you continued to live normally. Until now that is. You creep down the stairs and hear voices. Your parents, arguing over you. Their words are indistinguishable, muffled by a buzzing sound that covers your ears almost like a blanket. You sit halfway down on the steps, the wooden panels cold to touch as you tap your fingers on them. Your mum appears at the bottom of the steps and smiles, her brown hair tied loosely in a ponytail. She was at work all day and her eyes are tired but she holds her arms out.

“C'mere.” She says simply and you crash into her as she strokes your hair, whispering softly and planting gentle kisses on your hair. Soon your dad joins the hug, his large body smelling of chocolate and cinnamon as he encases you and your mum. You feel safe like this. As if nothing could ever hurt you and you sit on the couch in between them laughing at the TV as you sip on hot chocolate-your dads specialty-topped with whipped cream and marshmallows that melt into a gooey mess in the mug. And in that moment all is right in the world. But the universe is cruel and wicked and loves us just that little bit too much that it can never let something else have that which is theirs. Because that, that is the exact moment when you wake up.

Your eyes opened slowly and you stared up, nests perched on the wooden beams across the roof home to tiny baby birds that chirped demandingly for their parents to feed them. You groaned and sat up, the covers slipping off the bed, exposing your bare legs to the cold air that swept through the room. You shivered, pulling on the orange top with black lettering and a pegasus on the front that was definitely not yours and was way too big so it hung loosely on your body, a pair of black leggings-the only thing that fit right-and a hoodie next to your bed, again not yours, in fact the hoodie was so big on you that you had to roll the sleeves up three times, on the upside it was incredibly comfortable and it smelled nice, like freshly picked mint and lemon. Your clothes had been pretty ruined, you thought, it was nice of them to give you some new ones. You tugged on your pair of trainers that had been laid on the floor, the only things that belonged to you. No longer pure white, instead pretty much black. Standing up unsteadily you breathed deeply, fighting off the feeling of nausea and grabbed the glass of water on the side table, downing it in one, gasping at the coldness as it slid down your throat. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked horrible, pale with dark circles under your eyes accentuated by the shadow of a bruise on your cheekbone and a plaster stuck to your forehead. Your arms were covered in tiny scratches and plasters that had little pink hearts drawn on them with a shaky hand.

You walked over to the door and opened it, carefully stepping out and closing it behind you. You turned and took in the sight in front of you. It was a summer camp, kids roaming about in bright orange shirts, all laughing and joking together. Not one of them noticed you. You made your way to a conservatory type place and stopped dead in your tracks as you noticed a man sitting in a chair, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping, greying hair and beard looking as if he had been electrified. And he was wearing a leopard print shirt, bold choice but okay.

However he wasn't what stopped you. Not at all. That would have been the centaur, standing there dealing cards to the other man and Ash. Your eyes widened, that was an actual centaur, he was literally half horse, like in the myths. A quiet snort of disbelief escaped your lips, a hand flying to cover the noise. Ash turned around and saw you standing there like a bloody lemon. He stood up hastily, his hooves, his bloody hooves, clicking against the stones.

“You're awake.” He patted the chair next to him and you sat down hesitantly.

“What's going on here exactly? Is Maisie safe? What is this place?”

The centaur sent a stern look to Ash.

“You didn't tell her.” Ash smiled weakly.

“I didn't have much of a chance to. What with all the cyclops, hellhounds and gods knows what else that were on our tail.” The centaur sighed deeply, his bushy grey eyebrows drawing closer together as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No matter. I suppose I will just have to do the explaining now.” He smiled at me. “Welcome to Camp-Half Blood.” You nodded slightly and Ash caught the look of confusion that crossed your face. He pointed to the centaur and then the man.

“Chiron, activities director. Mr D camp director.” Chiron bowed his head slightly in greeting while the other guy sipped on a can of diet coke.

“Hi,” You muttered, “But I was serious, who's going to tell me what's going on here, and is Maisie okay? And when you say Chiron do you mean Chiron or Chiron?” You questioned, looking around, Chiron opened his mouth but Ash beat him to it.

“Maisie is fine. She's settled in pretty well here, everyone loves her so don't worry about her. I do mean Chiron Chiron, as in immortal trainer of heroes. As for the other question, that might take a bit longer to explain but I'll give it a shot.” Ash always was the confident one you thought as he stood up and went over to Chiron, always better than you in these types of situations. Ash clapped his hands together and took a deep breath before allowing everything to spill out in a jumble.

“So you know how you could see those monsters and they wanted to kill you?” You shivered and nodded. “Well the reason you could see them is because you're a half-blood. Half god half human, also known as demigods.”

“God? As in the Bible, Christianity and the Garden of Eden. That God.”

“Not quite.” Chiron answered. “Not God, the gods, the Ancient Greek Gods, the Olympians if you will, and one of them is your mother or father.” You stared at him blankly.

“What? But they aren't real, they were just stories.” The diet coke man sat up with a jolt and eyed me.

“The gods are very real and this one is trying to sleep.” You gaped at him, eyebrows furrowed as your mind worked.

“Mr D,” You muttered, “You're Dionysus, the god of wine and madness. And you're just here. At a summer camp?” The man grumbled under his breath.

“This is where chasing after one of dear old dads nymphs lands you. Looking after a bunch of teenage half-wit half-bloods. As if not being able to drink properly wasn't enough.” He lamented. You frowned and were about to ask before Chiron beat you to it.

“Lord Dionysus has been forbidden by his father, Lord Zeus, to consume alcohol as a punishment. His presence here is also part of the punishment. He must be camp director for 100 years before the ban is lifted and he can return to Olympus full time.” You nodded, not quite understanding but choosing to leave the subject at hand.

“So I'm a half-blood?” Ash shoved a metal can in his face and nodded.

“Yep, you wouldn't have been able to get past the boundary line if you weren't one, you wouldn't have been able to see the monsters and they definitely wouldn't have been trying to eat you.”

“How do they know?” You asked softly.

“Know…”

“How do they recognise half-bloods?” He shrugged.

“There have been lots of theories but the one that has been proven is that demigods have a certain smell, it's kinda in their blood. Obviously mixed in with the human there's a bit of godly ichor, only the tiniest of bits but it's enough, and when that kind of blood mixes with the human blood in demigods bodies from the mortal side, it creates a smell that only monsters can notice.”

“So like a chemical reaction.” You said quietly to yourself. Somehow the others all heard, Chiron chuckled and Mr D sent you a look of disdain while Ash contemplated the thought.

“That's not a bad way to describe it actually, I'll have to use that next time. But back to the monsters. Naturally they can smell demigods from miles away so they have a better shot at killing them and they always follow the smell because they know that at the other end of it is usually a snack for them, if not two. Of course some kids smell stronger, usually those ones are more powerful, so more monsters will go after them. And usually those kids die pretty quickly unless a satyr brings them here.” You glance down at Ashs hooves.

“You're a satyr.”

“Yes I am.”

“And your job was to get Maisie and I here.”

“It was. I'm your protector, my job was to watch you and see if you were a demigod then when I was sure I had to bring you here. I found Maisie as well by sheer luck, she probably wouldn't have lived much longer out there.” He picked up another can and bit into it.

“What do you mean?”

“Most monsters.” He started with his mouth full and you made a disgusted look. He grinned sheepishly then swallowed, “Sorry. Most monsters only start to really go after demigods when they're about the 5th or 6th grade. That's when the weird stuff starts to happen as they start to get more powerful.” I opened my mouth. “Before you ask no, I don't know why you've managed to last this long. There's only a few demigods who make it to your age without being found but they're typically the children of minor gods whereas you are definitely not.” You blinked.

“I'm half god, I'm constantly going to be running and trying to not die and you bring me to a summer camp.” You started, voice growing slightly louder with each point.

“When you say it like that it does sound a bit stupid.” Ash mumbled as Chiron clopped over and placed a hand on your back.

“Come child, take a walk with me.” You followed him out the doors, turning back to see Ash giving you an awkward smile and a thumbs up.

“Ash, get me another diet coke.” Mr D demanded and Ash jumped up, scuttling out of the room with the old can in his hand.

Soon enough you were out of sight, walking slowly through the camp.

“The life of a half-blood is never easy.” Chiron began. ”That is what this camp is for. It is a safe haven where you can live peacefully and make friends. We train you so that whenever you do go back into the mortal world you can protect yourself from monsters if they should choose to come after you. I have seen many a half-blood pass through here and each one has emerged with skills that help them survive. You may leave if you wish but you will always be welcome here.”

“What if I fail? What if I get someone killed? I almost got Maisie killed. ” Chiron smiled pityingly.

“You may fail over and over but you can only get better with time. The greatest heroes in the past never got it on the first try. They had to practise hard to get to the top, to be remembered. And so will you. You fought bravely out there, you have great potential to be a formidable hero and make your godly parent proud.” You stared at him.

“How will I know which god or goddess my parent is?” Chiron chuckled.

“They will send a sign and claim you if they wish.”

“You mean they might not even want me?”

“No but the gods are busy and they do not always have the time to claim all of their children.” His tail swished behind him and he led you over to a small girl, her long braids tied back in a ponytail. “This is Annabeth Chase. She will show you around and help you adjust, she was one of the campers who found you in the forest.” Annabeth scrutinised you, her large brown eyes locked on the way you twisted your fingers nervously. “She is one of our year round campers and has been here for almost a year now. I think despite her young age and apparent lack of experience you’ll find her very capable indeed.” With that he trotted away leaving you alone with Annabeth who merely remained staring at you. And more closely at the clothes you were wearing. You shifted uncomfortably at her unwavering gaze.

“So, Annabeth,” You began awkwardly, voice as quiet as possible, “Who’s your godly um relation?” She regarded you silently before sighing.

“My mother is Athena, goddess of wisdom. And I don't have to be a child of Athena to tell that you are very confused.”

“Is it that obvious?” You asked, she levelled a look at you that read really.

“Yes it is that obvious. Walk with me. I'll explain everything about camp that Chiron didn't.” She set off towards a lake, leaving you to trail behind her.

“You know we're demigods, half mortal half god, yes?” She nodded and continued. “And you know about monsters and all that? So you know when they're ready your mum or dad will claim you?” At your nod she continued. “While you're unclaimed you'll live in the Hermes cabin which I will show you later. It'll be our last stop so you can get settled in immediately and Chiron already had your stuff taken over so that'll be waiting.” She stopped in her tracks as we got to the beach. “This is the canoe lake. Watch out for the nymphs, they can get a bit violent sometimes but only if you do something stupid to provoke them.” She pointed to a wall dripping orange in the distance. “That's the climbing wall, the lava is an incentive to actually climb and not fall. But you'd be surprised at the amount of people who still end up getting sent to the infirmary to be treated for burns by the Apollo kids. Some of their stupidity astounds me, then again it is only ever the boys so maybe it's just that boys are stupid.” You smiled slightly at her logic, while not entirely true it showed a tiny crack in her otherwise unflappable exterior. She shook her head as if in disbelief of her own words. “Anyway, the amphitheatre is over there.” She gestured to a mass of stone and turned around, marching back up the sandy path. You both walked for about half an hour until she stopped. “Over there are the strawberry fields, that's what our cover is. Delphi Strawberries.” She grinned. “Can't have people knowing this is really a place where kids learn to kill stuff. Besides they can't see through the barrier so even if we did tell them the truth they'd just think we were lying.” Your face spoke for itself, yet another thing you didn't understand. “I'll explain another time.” She pointed to a huge stone structure that reminded you a little of the Colosseum, then two other much smaller shacks. “That's the arena, when you've learnt how, you can practise fighting with weapons there, that's the forge where the Hephaestus kids make the aforementioned weapons. Of course anyone can use it but they can get a bit territorial. And that there is the armoury where we store all the weapons and armour. We’ll probably take you there tomorrow and if not then it'll be sometime this week at least.”

“We?” You asked and she blinked.

“My brother and I. He's good with weapons so he’ll be able to help you find one that suits you. Better than I would be able to at least.” You nodded in understanding, looking up at the darkening sky and then the watch on your wrist, the strap barely held together. Annabeth followed your gaze. “It's getting pretty late. We've probably missed dinner but there'll be plenty of leftovers for us to just grab quickly from the Big House. But we should hurry up just in case.” She turned on her heel and started sprinting along the grass. You followed hurriedly, ignoring the pain that shot through your legs with every footstep. As you ran you looked around camp. Illuminated in the glow of the setting sun it was beautiful, the greenest grass you had ever seen and deep woodlands rich with vibrant wildlife. The strawberry fields seemed to be rolling and endless across the hills, pink dots seeming to engulf the green. Annabeth halted in front of the huge farmhouse you had come from earlier and brushed the dirt off her cargo pants and the same orange shirt as you before entering.

You both made your way to the conservatory area and as soon as Annabeth entered she piled up a plate with food. You followed suit, grabbing a few slices of pizza, some chips, cucumber and a chocolate cupcake. Your eyes followed Annabeth as she walked up to a bronze brazier and flicked in some food, Bowing her head and muttering something under her breath. She looked at you and tipped her head.

“Your turn. You just scoop in some food and say a quick prayer.” You raised an eyebrow and she sighed. “I'll…”

“Explain later, I know, I know.” You dropped a slice of pizza into the flame and mumbled.

“Whoever you are, accept this delicious slice of pizza and just yeah.” You finished lamely and stepped back, immediately biting into the pizza and marvelling at the taste. “No wonder they like burnt pizza, this pizza would be good even if it was charcoal.”

Chiron walked into the room unexpectedly.

“Ah, there you both are. I was wondering when I'd see you again. I trust Annabeth has given you a good enough tour.”

“She did.” You said in affirmation.

“Good. Well your belongings are all in the Hermes cabin waiting for you so off you go. And leave the rest of the pizza here. I haven't had it in months and I've missed it.” Annabeth dragged you out the door as you pulled down the sleeves of your new hoodie so they dangled down. She released your arm once you were outside and began to walk just across the path to a clearing full of cabins. You were startled as a blur collided with you, screeching with excitement. Maisie.

“You're alive!” She practically screamed in your ear and you laughed quietly.

“I am but if you keep being this loud I might not be for long.”

“I missed you. But I've made some new friends as well. Like Annabeth, we play hide and seek together and it's really fun!” You tapped her on the nose and crouched to look at her properly.

“Really now? What else has happened while I've been gone?” Maisie puffed out her chest proudly.

“I got claimed. By Dem-Dem-” She cut off unsurely.

“Demeter?” She nodded furiously.

“Yes! And big sister Rosie is teaching me to control plants.” She said the last part in a whisper. “I've got superpowers and it's awesome.” You smiled gently

“I'm sure it is and I can't wait to talk to you again Maisie but right now Annabeth and I are a bit busy.” You gave an exaggerated yawn and looked at your watch. “It is so late. Way past your bedtime missy so off you pop.” Maisie grinned toothily, planted a kiss on your cheek and sprinted off back to a cabin with a rooftop of grass. You looked over at Annabeth to see her smiling fondly before she shook herself out of it and stopped you in front of a different cabin.

“This is me. Cabin six.” She stepped into the doorway. “ Cabin eleven is over there.” She pointed across the clearing. “Since it's spring there's only two or three people staying there at the moment so you'll be able to grab a bed.” She hesitated for a second before giving you the briefest of hugs. “I think we’ll be good friends. You seem nice and Maisie has been singing your praises.” She flashed her white teeth at you in a small smile. “Night.” With that she disappeared from sight and you dawdled across the clearing, taking your time to get to the cabin and standing outside it for a good ten minutes.

Eventually you plucked up the courage and walked in. Immediately tripping on a loose floorboard and falling towards the floor, arms outstretched in front of you to try and break the fall when you hit the ground, bracing yourself for impact. But it never came.

Instead you felt a pair of warm hands wrapped around your waist, stopping you from falling. Pulling you away from the floor and turning you around as you tried to right your bearings.

“Hello.” A voice spoke, sounding amused.

Thank you.” You stammered, still slightly shocked as you stared down at the floor and shuffled your feet.

“Nothing to thank me for, I wasn't about to just let you faceplant. Funny as it might've been.” The person responded smoothly. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” You muttered, “Just a little embarrassed is all.” The boy laughed and you finally looked up. Your breath caught in your throat. It was the boy from that night. His curly hair messy and warm brown eyes sparkling as a small grin pulled at his lips.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He responded. “You must be Y/N. I'm Luke. Luke Castellan, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

All I know is we said, "Hello" Your eyes look like comin' home All I know is a simple name And everything has changed

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #annabeth chase #young annabeth being cute #but I might be biased #taylor swift lyrics #luke castellan imagine #pjo tv show #pjotv x reader #pjo x reader

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astaldis · 1 year ago

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Inferno - Fire and Doom

@whumpers-monthly

@whumpcember

@hurtcember

#whumpers-monthly #issue no 23 #inferno #the witcher netflix #the witcher season 1 #poem #fan poem #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #cahir #sodden hill #eamon farren #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember day 17 #fire #hurtcember 2023 #depressed

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southfarthing · 2 years ago

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Eowyn tells Faramir it isn't necessary to write all of Rohan's songs and legends in a book lest they be forgotten. The Rohirrim do not read and write: they are oral storytellers, and they have great respect for their minstrels and their history. They will not forget anything.

She says it to reassure him and save him the trouble, but it does not seem to soothe his mind.

He smiles quickly at her before turning to the window. He looks out at the hills of Emyn Arnen as though watching for a storm on the horizon, and then Eowyn understands.

She grasps his hand.

At his touch, an image rushes through her mind: a grey, mutinous sea; and among the froth and the fury – sodden books, orphaned heirlooms, and a tapestry that will never again be seen or re-made, with both story and skill lost to the devouring waters.

The water washes over them both before slowly receding, leaving only a mist that she blinks away, and the distant glint of the Anduin to the west as it flows down to the Sea.

'Have I ever told you of Eorl the Young?' she says. Her voice is rough; she clears her throat.

'We know much about Eorl in Gondor,' Faramir says softly. 'His friendship with Cirion and his aid in our time of need was great.'

'And what about after?' she asks. 'What does Gondor know about that?'

Faramir turns to her with a wry smile. 'Very little.'

'Would that you had someone to teach you a little history.'

The mirth in Faramir's eyes mirrors her own.

'Would that I did.'

#AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY SAD NUMENOR MAN #this was meant to be a text post idk what happened #faramir #eowyn #farawyn #tolkien #lotr #my fic #oneringnet #lotr: fic #*lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fic

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Words: 5,818 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: scary imagery, frightening scenarios A/N: This is part of a series! Find the rest on the Master List!

Summary: Escaping from the horde and leaving the ruins of the cabin behind, Daryl and Y/N head down the mountain and then must decide what happens next.

Previous Chapter

You cut the engine of the snowmobile and shut off the lights. The slope of the foothills behind you continued to carry you downwards toward the darker shadows looming, rising up in front of you like a tidal wave. The moon was bright enough to illuminate your way.

You were shivering, almost violently, and Daryl’s arms tightened around you. Your teeth chattered.

“What is it?” Daryl drawled over your shoulder.

“W—we’re almost there. We should f—find somewhere to leave the sled and g—go on foot. I don’t want th—the engine noise or lights to attract the dead or the l—living,” you stuttered. You both squinted ahead at the dark buildings.

“Yer frozen,” he said. The worry weighed heavily in his voice. “We gotta get ya warm and into some dry socks and shoes… Hopefully I can build ya a fire when we find a clear buildin’.”

“I’m—I’m okay,” you managed, though you weren’t sure you believed it. You felt as if you’d been in a daze since you’d woken up and seen the crowd of dead outside the cabin. You still had the fleeting thought that this wasn’t real, that this wasn’t happening, but then the bite of the cold on your cheeks and fingers would reassure you that it was. You were far past feeling anything in your toes, even the painful teeth of the frigid wind.

At last, you stopped the sled at the bottom of the hill and pulled it sideways along a row of brushy shrubs to conceal it. Daryl climbed off immediately and the dogs eagerly jumped out and began nosing around in the snow. Bear let out a few quiet whines, but they showed no sign of alert due to any nearby enemies, dead or living.

You climbed off the seat and staggered on your feet in the deep snow. Daryl’s hands seized your shoulders and steadied you. In the glow of the moon, you could see the frantic turmoil in his blue eyes. “Ya alrigh’?” he drawled softly. He was on edge. You could hear it in the flinty sharpness of his voice.

You gulped and nodded.

Your frozen fingers fumbled with your gear, pulling it clumsily from the snowmobile and shouldering it over the oversize parka you’d pulled on hastily on the mountain. Daryl popped open the storage container and began tugging more bags from inside, shifting them onto his back. Crossbow in hand, he was waiting nearby until you were ready, and then he began to lead the way to the closest building.

The night air was dampened of all sound from the blanket of snow. Somewhere among the buildings you could hear the occasional squeak of metal or bang, perhaps from some infected trapped somewhere, but the street seemed blessedly empty.

You were trying hard to control the violent shivering wracking your body, clenching your teeth and trying to focus on staying alert to the surroundings, but your feet had begun to burn again in your sodden layers. Daryl’s hand drifted along the painted cinderblock as he moved stealthily toward a heavy metal door ahead. You were at the back of some store, though you couldn’t say what it may have been a long time ago. There were no windows and Daryl heaved in a steadying breath when he finally stopped in front of the gray, metal door. He raised the butt of his crossbow and knocked it hard in the center. A hollow reverberation sounded and you could almost feel the vibration in your bones.

Both of you strained your ears in the silence. The dogs stood on either side of you, alert. You waited several long minutes, rigid with anticipation, until finally you wavered on your feet and Daryl almost dropped his bow in his anxiety to steady you again. His brow furrowed deeply. “I think it’s clear, but dun let yer guard down until we know for sure. We gotta check the whole building.” He reached out and tested the handle cautiously. It was loose. He turned it and pushed inside into the darkness, clicking on the light mounted on his bow.

You moved through the building efficiently, searching for any sign or people or infected, but the building was silent with its maze of shelves and newspapered windows. Part of the roof had collapsed at some point and pigeons took off and flew through the hole toward the inky night sky overhead. The dogs gave chase briefly but quickly returned to your sides when they realized the birds were far out of reach.

Daryl was shining his light around what must have been an employee break room at some point. “I think we’re good,” he drawled, heaving a relieved sigh. As if that was all you needed to hear to allow your body to finally give out, you collapsed in a heap on the floor. “Whoa—hey, hey!” Daryl rushed to you. Bear whimpered and licked your cheek. You were breathing hard, clearly exhausted and crashing after the highs of the adrenaline. “Hey—yer alrigh’,” he drawled, kneeling beside you and quickly dumping his gear down on the floor. He cupped your face between his hands and wiped at a spot of blood on your cheek from your fight with the walkers outside the shop. “We’re okay. S’gonna be okay…”

“I c—can’t f—feel my feet,” you said, reaching a still gloved hand toward your sodden feet. The slippers were blocks of ice and so were the socks beneath them.

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Yeah… uhh—yeah, we need fire. We gotta get ya warm. Lemme—” he glanced back at the hole in the roof, perfect to let the smoke escape. “Okay. I’mma make a fire. Lemme gather up some shit to burn. Just—ya peel off those wet socks and stuff and move your toes and feet, see if ya can warm ‘em a bit with yer hands. If ya gotta, wrap ‘em in yer coat or put your mittens on ‘em.”

You realized for the first time that he barely had any winter gear on either. “W—what ab—bout you?”

He gave you a half-smile. “‘M okay. Haven’t ya noticed ‘m immune to the cold now? It almost had me once, but ain’t gonna happen again.”

His cheeks were red and windburned and you frowned. “It’s n—not a virus. Ya don’t g—get immunity l—like that, Daryl,” you argued. “Ya can’t just—”

He suddenly cupped your face and pressed his lips eagerly to yours. Yours were chilled and tasted slightly salty, like tears, but you kissed him back hungrily, feeling a screaming welling up inside your chest—too close, it was too close, too close, that was all too close… “I’ve got this,” he whispered to you when he pulled back, brushing some strands of your hair that were sticking to your cheeks. “Just rest here and try to unfreeze them toes.” Daryl was here. Daryl was going to make sure you were okay. The scream lessened to a dull roar. You nodded and watched him step away into the darkness to gather dried bits of cardboard and paper and broken pallet wood to build a fire. The glow of his flashlight was a warm torch in the cold darkness.

You sighed and turned your attention back to your frozen feet. Bear laid down against your side, whining slightly. Strider walked calm patrol around you, on alert and staring and sniffing into the darkness.

When you peeled (or cracked may be more accurate) the sodden socks from your feet, the skin on your feet was so white it looked completely drained of all life and you thought that the tips of your toes were slightly blue, but it was difficult to tell in the warm, yellow light of your headlamp. You did as Daryl had instructed and tried to move and wiggle them, mentally trying to summon hot blood back into them. You finally took off your mittens and pulled them on over your feet. Slowly the warmth from your hands began to penetrate the iciness of your skin.

An orange glow flickered to life in the direction Daryl had gone and you watched embers lick up toward the hole in the roof. Daryl reappeared around some shelves and paced over to you. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get ya warmed up.” He glanced at your feet and nodded. “Nice socks.”

“Thanks.” Your shivering and stammer was gone. Being out of the wind of the sled and at least protected from the worst of the descending cold of night seemed to allow your body to make some headway toward warmth again. “It’s a new trend I’m starting.” You noted that his hand was chilled as you accepted it and he pulled you to your feet. Daryl gathered up the gear and hauled it along to the fire. The dogs trotted beside you.

There was already a happy blaze and you sank down beside it and warmed your fingers and feet, sticking them out toward the flickering flames. It wasn’t lost on you that you’d almost died in a fire not 40 minutes ago and now the same thing was perhaps saving your toes. The cabin—gone. It was hard to believe it was gone. Gone like your mom and dad. Gone like Brian. All of your old life was now behind, smoldering on the mountain, perhaps trampled under rotting feet. But you’d made it out. No thanks to your own obstinacy, you’d made it out.

Daryl watched you silently for several long minutes, warming his own body in the glow of heat and throwing on more pallet wood to stoke the fire as needed. Finally, he broke the silence. “Ya okay?” he asked. His voice was thick, worried.

But you looked up at him, your eyes a bit teary and sad at first, and then you smiled. It was small and tired, but it was there. “Yeah,” you said with a nod. “I am. Or I will be… I’m with you. The boys are here,” you said reaching over to pet Strider’s ear. “That’s all that matters.”

He nodded, and a wave crashed over him, nearly dragging him under. He tore his eyes away from you and blinked furiously at the tears burning in them, staring instead at the movement in the coals. “I—I really thought I might lose ya,” he admitted. “That fire—it was spreadin’ so quick. And then the roof fallin’ in—”

You hastily pulled off the puffy coat you still had on and laid it down on the ground next to him before sitting on it, scooting close beside him. You leaned against his side and slipped your arm through his. “Me too,” you said. “But then—I heard your voice on the other side of that wall—and I knew you would get me out. I just knew that you’d do everything you could to get me out. You saved me. Again. I can’t ever repay you for all you’ve done.”

Daryl looked over at you in surprise. “Repay me?” His blue eyes flickered between yours again, but you were relieved to see that they were less turbulent. “Ya dun owe me a damn thing.” He leaned in toward you then and kissed your cheek, but it was soft and lingering and it warmed you even better than the fire did.

You laid down close to the fire, tucked against each other that night. Daryl’s arm looped over you protectively. You felt the crash coming hard from the waning of your adrenaline, the terror of your ordeal. “What do we do next?”

Daryl was almost afraid to ask the question, but he did. Part of him still didn’t believe that someone as good as you could come to him and then stay… “Will ya come with me? Back to Alexandria?”

You turned over beneath his arm and leaned up on your forearm, your eyes flickering between his, seeing his fear and his nervousness. “Of course, I will. And not just because of what happened tonight. I—I would have made the same decision if the cabin and everything was still there. I don’t—I don’t want to be parted from you.” You pressed your hand flush to the center of his chest when you said it and Daryl felt a surge of relief and happiness and hope and—

He smiled at you. Just a small one, but it touched the corners of his eyes. “Everybody back home is gonna love ya. Just wait. Ya got a ready-made family waitin’ for ya back there.”

“Waiting for us,” you corrected him.

He nudged his nose up in a nod, that signature Daryl move. “Right. Us. Tomorrow, we’ll see if my bike is still where I left it months ago when I rolled into town—see if it’ll still run. If it ain’t, we’ll figure somethin’ else out. A car… somethin’. Or take the sled as far as we can. And we head home.”

You nodded, thoughtfully biting your bottom lip. “It’s a long fucking way. Do you really think we can make it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I know we can. The two of us together? Are ya kiddin’ me? Ain’t shit standin’ in our way.”

You let out a small laugh at that and then leaned forward and kissed him softly. His hand landed lightly on your neck. Then, exhaustion was winning and you lay down, tucked in against his chest, his arm draping over you again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Three Months Later “Hey—hey!” Glenn shouted down to Rosita who was standing by the gate. “Did anybody go out today on a run?” he asked, glancing back up to stare down the street in the distance.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Why?” Before he could answer, she looked out through the gate and saw the approaching truck too. She hurried to climb the ladder and stood beside Glenn on the guard platform. He had dug out the binoculars and raised them to his eyes.

There was a long silence where he just seemed to be staring, fixedly, at the approaching vehicle.

“What? What is it?” Rosita urged. The truck was still too far away for her to see much with no scope to aid her.

Glenn lowered the binoculars and looked over at her, his eyes a little wide. “Go get Rick—everybody, go get everybody!” he said, almost in a daze.

“What is going on?” she urged him. That’s when his face finally cracked into a wide smile, his eyes a little teary.

“There’s a bike in the back,” he said.

She knew what that meant. “Is it—? Can you see him? Are you sure?” she asked desperately.

Glenn nodded. “Yeah. It’s him. Go get everyone! Hurry!”

In the truck, Daryl glanced over at you in the passenger seat beside him. “Are ya ready for this?” he asked.

You shook your head and shrugged. “I—I dunno. It’s a lot of people,” you laughed. “But I’m—I can’t wait to meet them. Nervous though…” you added. Bear stood, sensing the end of the journey somehow and tapping his paws excitedly on the back seat, giving a big stretch and a loud yawn and whine. Looking ahead you could see the gate, just as he’d described it, and the sign posted on the wall: Alexandria Safe Zone. Mercy for the Lost. Vengeance for the Plunderers.

Daryl’s hand landed over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’re gonna love ya. Ya ain’t got any reason to be nervous. I know it.”

The brakes squealed as the truck came to a stop in front of the gate. Daryl flashed the lights three times, the old signal they’d always used that the coast was clear to open it. He nudged his head toward his door and you nodded. You both climbed out, the dogs jumping out after you, climbing over the center console to get outside. As the metal gate rattled, drawn back by someone you couldn’t yet see. It rolled to the side to reveal a small crowd gathering. More people were rushing up the street to join them. You met Daryl’s eyes again as he stepped around his door and gave you a warm smile. Home. He was happy to be home. And you were with him. You’d made it.

Daryl shut his door and strode forward. You stopped by the front of the truck, hanging back a little awkwardly. “Stay, boys,” you murmured to the dogs. They heeled on either side of you, but Strider was wagging his tail and Bear was whining a little, looking ahead at all the people.

“Move! Watch out,” a voice rose from the crowd and a woman with short silver hair burst through. A huge grin spread on her face when she saw him walking toward the gate. Carol. It must be Carol. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him in a huge hug, then pulled back to clasp his face between her hands before hugging him again, a teary, broad smile on her face, her eyes squeezed shut. Daryl hugged her back, but looked up as the crowd parted and a lean man with curly hair broke through with a little girl in his arms at a light jog.

“Maggie, would you hold her?” Rick murmured, almost not believing his eyes as he glanced back up at Daryl standing there, Carol now at his side. Maggie, happy tears on her cheeks already, held Judith. Rick’s eyes flickered over to you briefly but then landed back on Daryl again. His expression was almost disbelief at first and then it melted into emotion he was trying hard to hold back. He walked right up to Daryl and gripped his shoulder hard, looking him square in the eye and nodding, gulping emotion back. “Where the hell have you been?” he drawled, his face finally breaking into a smile touched with tears, and he pulled Daryl into a hug, clasping the back of his neck. “God, it’s good to see you brother.”

You bit your bottom lip, choking back your own emotion at the reunion, and feeling like you were intruding on something. After Daryl broke from Rick, he was quickly surrounded as his family came one by one to welcome him home—Michonne clasped his face and kissed his cheek, Eric and Aaron hugged him with broad smiles and pats on the back, Glenn gave him a hasty hug, Maggie pressed her palm gently to his cheek and Daryl stroked Judith’s soft blond hair. He was chewing on his bottom lip hard, trying to stop himself from completely going to pieces. Carol and Rick never left his side, but after a few minutes the rest of the Alexandrians who weren’t part of Daryl’s core group wandered away with plenty to talk about. Who was that standing there with the two dogs? Do you think its Brian’s sister? Did he really find her? He can’t have made it all the way to Montana and back!

Finally, he was able to gather himself and looked back at you still standing by the car, running your fingers through Bear’s thick fur nervously, biting your bottom lip. He cleared his throat and caught Rick’s eyes again. “Rick—uhh, everybody… This is Y/N. She’s—she’s Brian’s twin sister. And that’s Bear and Strider,” he said, pacing over to pat the big lab on his head and tousle his ears around.

For a moment everyone just stared at you, mostly good-natured looks on their faces, sure, but also some pity and grief and curiosity and wariness mixed in. Daryl met your eyes and gave a questioning look to ask non-verbally, are you okay? You nodded and managed a tight smile to tell him you were, though your nerves were fizzing.

“Well, what the hell are we standing around out here for?” Carol said finally, grinning again. “Come inside!”

There was some laughter and they all moved back in past the gate.

“I’mma drive the truck in, alrigh’?” Daryl said to Rick, who gave you another appraising look and then nodded. “See ya at the house in a few.”

Carol came and gave his arm a gentle touch. “We missed you,” she said. “See you in a minute.” She glanced at you and gave you a tight smile which you did your best to return, though you were so overwhelmed and nervous you weren’t sure it came off.

“C’mon,” Daryl said, nudging his head back toward the truck. He whistled and opened the passenger side door for you and the dogs. They bounded right back in and you slid in past him. The door shut with a snap and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

Daryl climbed in behind the steering wheel again and started the engine. “Ya okay?” he asked, shifting into drive.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just—a bit overwhelmed is all.”

He nodded. “Well, ya’d been alone up there a long time. I know this is a lot. Ya want me to tell everybody ya just need some space for tonight?”

“What? No! No, I want to meet everyone,” you argued. “I do. I just need to remember to breathe,” you said with a laugh.

He nodded and his eyes flickered over your face. “I’ll be right by ya the whole time.”

“I know,” you nodded.

“And if ya do need a break, they’ll all understand.”

“I’m good,” you said.

It was a quick drive to park in front of the group’s two houses. Maggie and Glenn were waiting outside when you pulled up, and you saw Rick on the porch, though he stepped back inside as you all were climbing out.

“Is this the same bike?” Glenn asked Daryl, looking at the motorcycle in the bed of the truck.

“More or less,” he drawled. “Lots of parts went to shit on the road and had to be patched up or replaced, but most of it made it.”

Maggie was grinning as the dogs ran to greet her and she bent down to let them lick her face and to give them lots of scratches and pets. “They’re adorable,” she said.

“I tell them all the time,” you said.

“We always had dogs on the farm,” she said, scratching under Bear’s chin. The next moment she stood up and pulled you into a gentle hug. You expected her to break from you quickly, but she didn’t. She really hugged you for a long moment, and you hugged her back through your surprise. “I’m so glad you’re here. We all are,” she said. Her southern drawl was sweet and warm. “We—we all loved Brian so much.” Tears bit her vision as she said it.

You nodded and swallowed at the lump in your throat. “I know you did. Thank you for that. Daryl’s told me so much about all of you and—and I’m so grateful to be here.”

“Well, let’s get you and these cute dogs inside. We don’t need to stand out here all night. Come on in and have something to eat and drink,” she said.

You glanced back at Daryl where he was talking with Glenn still and he started after you and Maggie up the porch steps and into the warm light.

Everyone was crowded around in the kitchen after you and Daryl had time to clean up and get some food and water into you. Now there was wine being passed around and the atmosphere seemed suddenly charged as a natural lull fell in all the conversation. You and Daryl looked up and met each other’s eyes at the same time.

“Well?” Carol snapped suddenly. “Tell us everything!” she laughed. “You’ve kept us waiting long enough!” The tension seemed to break and many of Daryl’s family laughed.

He let out a gruff laugh too. “I think both of us are a little too tired for everythin’ tonight,” he said. “But we can give ya a few bits from the journey back.” He glanced over at you beside him and you nodded. “We hit a blizzard in Wyoming. Literally couldn’t see yer damn hand in front of yer face. Got snowed in for six days.”

“Daryl killed his first elk in Wyoming too,” you added with a proud smile.

“We were ambushed by hunters in South Dakota. Was a bit touchy and go but we got the best of ‘em,” he went on. “Most of Iowa was a wasteland. We dropped south to avoid the Chicago metro area, but we still saw some of the biggest hordes I’ve ever seen. Had a car wreck in Indiana and then got attacked by some group of assholes—” He almost reached for your hand at that moment. It had been one of the most terrifying, lowest points of the journey back. He could still see the gash you’d gotten on your head and the cut on your neck healing. “Uhh,” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck instead of reaching for you. “After that, a lot of the roads were fucked or camped on by groups who didn’t look too friendly. We ended up going way south to Kentucky and trying to stay off the main roads after that…”

“Flooding in West Virginia,” you added. “We had to go way around.”

“Yeah. And then—somehow, we got back here.”

The silence settled thickly again until Tara suddenly raised a glass, a welcoming smile on her face. “To family, new and old,” she said.

“To family,” Rick echoed, giving the first wide smile you’d really seem him break into all night.

Carol raised her glass and cleared her throat. “May we look forward with hope and backward without regret,” she said.

“Hear, hear!” Abraham exclaimed, hugging an arm more tightly around Rosita.

Everyone drank, and you felt full in a way that had nothing to do with the good meal and everything to do with the warmth, safety, and welcoming company. When you glanced at Daryl at your side, his eyes were already on you.

The evening wore on and some people drifted away to bed little by little, but many of you were still gathered in the cozy space of the living room.

Daryl had stepped outside for some air and not long after Rick stepped out onto the porch and came to stand beside him, gripping his shoulder briefly and giving him a classic Rick Grimes smile. He glanced back in through the illuminated window at you sitting with Maggie and Glenn on the couch. Bear was curled up at your feet on the floor, content to snooze. Strider was hamming it up getting belly scratches from Carl and Abraham, thoroughly enjoying all the attention. Carol was cuddling Judith and seemed to be watching you closely, but not in a suspicious way—just taking you in. It wasn’t lost on anyone how you and Daryl seemed to relate to each other, his regard for you and yours for him, how he hadn’t left your side all night, the clear chemistry though no one had seen any sort of touch pass between you. “So, am I wrong or did you find more than just Brian’s sister in Montana?”

Daryl scruffed a hand through his long hair and nodded once. “Yeah… more than I bargained for, tha’s for damn sure,” he said, turning to look in at you and the warm scene with his family gathered around. He leaned back on the railing and drew in a deep breath of the cool spring air. “She saved my life,” he drawled. “I think in more than one way.”

Rick smiled. “I have a feeling you’ve done the same for her. She was up there all alone?” he asked. Daryl nodded.

“Yeah. And not just survivin’, but almost thrivin’ up there in a lotta ways. I know she left a piece of her heart back in them mountains. S’gonna be an adjustment here for sure…”

Rick nodded. “Well, it was for all of us. You especially,” he pointed out. “As for that piece of her heart, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to help her with that too. Give her a new one.” He sighed again. “It’s good to have you home, brother. We never gave up hope but we were worried—we were starting to think maybe you wouldn’t be coming back to us.”

He ducked his head and nodded. “Yeah… It was a long haul. Twice,” he said with a wry laugh.

“But worth it?” Rick asked.

Daryl looked up at you through the window again. You were bathed in a golden glow and surrounded by other people he loved. It was better than he ever thought he’d have, even before everything went to shit. “Hell yeah.”

Rick laughed happily. “Now, one more thing… You aren’t takin’ her down to sleep in the basement, are you?” Rick asked, cocking an eyebrow at him, an amused look on his face.

Daryl scoffed. “The hell is wrong with my room in the basement?”

“Well, there’s a washer and dryer in it for starters. Second, it’s a basement,” Rick teased him. “Seems like you aren’t a bachelor anymore, Daryl. Take one of the rooms upstairs. We’ve got spares.”

Daryl sighed. “We can—figure that all out tomorrow. I was thinkin’—maybe she and I would just get a place…” Rick smiled at this. “For tonight, we just wanna crash. We’ve been livin’ on the road so long now, few months. Ain’t been stayin’ in the same place more than a couple days at a time, ya know? Will be nice to put down roots again.”

Rick’s eyes were crinkled in a smile. “Can’t wait to see what grows.”

“Me either.”

Daryl followed Rick back in, and you looked up and gave him a tired smile as he came in, trying to blink the waiting sleep from your eyes.

“Whatcha think?” he drawled, leaning forward on his hands on the back of the couch just behind you.

“I’m exhausted,” you laughed.

“Yeah, me too,” he mused, looking around at his remaining family. Judith had fallen asleep in Carol’s arms and everyone was cooing at her. “C’mon,” he said, nudging his nose up. “Let’s slip away while we can.”

You happily agreed and jumped the back of the couch, but your sneaky exit was immediately ruined by the dogs needing to follow. Hoots and hollers rose behind you but the two of you hurried out anyway, calling back only a few goodnights. Daryl grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs. “We can crash in my old space tonight.” He could hear Rick in his head. “Uhh—but it ain’t much… s’just a mattress in the basement mostly,” he drawled.

“Better than we’ve had for a while. And as long as you’re there, I don’t care if it’s a moldy carpet on the floor,” you said.

Daryl snorted and looked down at you. “Moldy? Really?”

“Daryl, I’m so exhausted I could fall asleep standing up right now,” you said, yawning as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Well, ya dun have to do that,” he said. “C’mon. We can both get some deep sleep tonight… It’s safe here. Safest place I’ve ever had… ‘cept maybe for that cabin of yours.”

“More,” you said. “My cabin didn’t have big ass walls all around it.”

“This way,” he drawled, still holding your hand, fingers laced with yours. You followed him down the staircase and into a dim room. It looked like any normal basement; a washer and dryer on one wall, random boxes and storage. But there in one corner was a mattress, neatly made and piled with blankets and pillows. He patted a hand down on them expecting to see a puff of dust, but none arose. “Huh. Somebody musta made the bed up fresh while we were getting cleaned up.”

“My money is on Maggie,” you said, collapsing down onto the blankets and sinking in. “I like her,” you said, before another yawn interrupted you. The dogs settled on the rug.

“I like you,” he said, climbing toward you and caging you beneath his body. He stroked your hair away from your forehead and your eyes shut at his touch. “Maybe a bit too much…” he drawled, smiling. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, and then your lips. You were already drifting toward sleep.

“Too much? Not possible. And only like?” you smiled, opening your eyes again.

He gave you a look and you laughed. “Ya know—ya know I love ya,” he said. He still sounded somewhat shy when he said it… like he couldn’t believe he got to say it at all.

You gave him a sleepy smile. “I love you, too. And I’ll live down here in the spider webby basement or sleep on a moldy rug if I have to…”

He laughed and leaned in to tuck his face against the crook of your neck and breathe in your smell, his body now flush to yours. “Nah. We’re gonna build our own space together. You’ll see. But for now—my bachelor bed is the best I’ve got for tonight.” He lay down beside you and tugged you in against his body, much the same way he had by the fire that night when you’d escaped the flames and the horde. Your breathing was soon soft and deep.

“G’night,” you sighed, snuggling in, already falling into a warm, contented sleep you hadn’t had since long before, back in the cabin after you and Daryl had finally become something more.

“Night,” he breathed. Just before he fell asleep, he sent a thought to Brian, up into the ether, to tell him that he’d done as he’d promised, that you were here and you were safe, and he was going to make sure he protected you with his life… but better yet, that he’d build a life with you that he never thought he could have. I promise. I’ll do right by her. I swear on my life.

The End.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can’t wait to embark on a new series in the near future, and I have a lot of waiting one shots I have been holding off on until this was finished. And here we are! Bittersweet, it is.

#dead of winter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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