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peachessndreamss · 5 months ago

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Private Bennett's Lover - Part 1

Summery : When Tom sneaks into a party he's not been invited too he meets the wife of the Vice Admiral of the Fleet and starts on a path that can only end in heartbreak.

Characters : Tom Bennett x Married!Female OC Mrs Randall

Warnings : Canon typical language

Word count : 5K

A/N : I cannot tell you how long I've been working on this and how unfinished it still is. But I wanted to share at least some of it, ideally this will be a three part series so watch this space! Much Love to @a-fall-of-stars who knew this story when all I had was an idea and a screenshot of a gif set

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Through the tiny crack in the barely open office door it couldn’t have been more obvious that Tom Bennett was completely and utterly out of his comfort zone, and Tom was the sort of person who prided himself on being able to be comfortable just about anywhere. But the view this evening had sweat gathering at his hairline and under his collar and had created an uncomfortable burning sensation in his throat, but he didn’t dare try to clear it for fear of being caught.

When Private Bennett had seen the line of large and shiny cars rolling past the barracks towards The Big House his interest had been piqued and when a fellow private explained the Vice Admiral enjoyed throwing lavish parties in the house, despite there being a war on, Tom felt his feet itching and his mind ticking and before he knew it he was crossing the dark expanse of the lawns toward The Big House and slipping inside through a window with a broken lock.

Once inside he’d crept through the darkened passages toward the sounds of music, clinking glasses and the rumble of polite conversation. The house was, by a mile, the grandest home Tom had ever been in. The carpet on the floor was so thick he’d felt his shoes sink into it as he walked, every wall was hung with paintings, endless landscapes and portraits watched Tom as he moved between the shadows, being drawn toward the party that was taking place in the ballroom.

Tom found an open door along a quiet corridor that led into the Vice Admiral’s study, the room was richly furnished, the walls covered with bookshelves and the space dominated by a desk Tom was fairly certain was bigger than his childhood bedroom.

Tom cracked the second door to the study which opened to the house's main hallway and gave him a view of the party while remaining unnoticed by anyone else. He watched for more than half an hour as the party carried on, the champagne was flowing freely as the guests talked in small groups or dipped in and out of the ballroom. Tom could only see a small portion of the ballroom but was able to catch sight of couples dancing to the music of a quartet.

Tom had been to a fair number of parties and dances in his life but this was something else, like something from another world or a bygone era. In the village, only a mile away, he knew people would be going to bed hungry and in the barracks just over the crest of the hill, young men were waiting for orders that might end their lives but in The Big House none of that was real and the only thing that mattered was a full glass of champagne.

Tom could feel his skin starting to prickle with anger when the door behind him creaked open and the room was briefly filled with light. He whipped around, his eyes wide and his mouth dry, his heart thundering as he stared like a cornered animal, finding himself no longer alone.

Mrs Randall had expected to find her husband's, the Vice Admiral of the Fleet’s, office empty. In truth, she was hoping to find it empty, she wanted to find a quiet and dark space in which to gather herself and take a much needed rest from the party taking place in her home.

However the study wasn’t empty and an icy chill ran down her spine as her eyes met those of the stranger’s.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a horse whisper.

She stared at the man, too frightened to take her eyes away from his face. If she screamed she knew she’d have help before the stranger would have a chance to cross the room to do her any harm but the thought of screaming was far from her mind as she saw her own fear reflected on his face.

When he didn’t reply she straightened her back a little and spoke in the voice she’d been trained to use on badly behaved staff members.

“Why are you in my study?” she demanded.

Tom couldn’t help his face breaking into a grin when he’d seen the woman stand up a little straighter and use a harsher voice on him. He realised he wasn’t in immediate danger of being discovered by anyone that scared him so he decided to fall back on his charm to ensure he got out of the house with minimal trouble.

“Jus’ wanted to see ‘ow the other ‘alf live,” he replied with a shrug, playing up his northern accent which was in complete contrast to her own voice.

She scoffed quietly before she moved further into the room and flicked on a small desk lamp.

“Have you come from the barracks?” she asked.

The electric light was dim but golden and the room suddenly glowed, the light bouncing off the brass fixtures and the highly polished dark wood furniture. The man stood on the edge of the pool of light but it still caught his features, revealing a sharp chin and soft lips. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and his golden hair glinted in the light.

“How did you get in here?” she asked when he remained silent.

He shrugged again and moved his head from side to side, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the woman.

“Broken lock,” he admitted before pausing briefly, “window on the east side, three from the kitchen door,”.

She nodded, the two of them still not taking their eyes from each other. They were like two nervous animals, not willing to look away out of fear and out of interest. Tom let his eyes flick up and down her body.

The long gown she’d worn was nothing like he'd ever seen before. He'd seen his fair share of girls in and out of their best frocks at the dances he used to attend back home but she was something else. He might have mistaken her for royalty, there was a small jewelled tiara on her head after all. Other jewels sparkled at her neck and wrists and the fabric of her dress caught and reflected the light right back at him.

“Well, thank you for letting me know,” she replied softly, “But perhaps it's best you go back now."

Tom's eyebrow quirked upwards, surprised by her quickly she'd gotten control of herself and retained a cool head and calm demeanour.

Tom would have guessed that before she’d been married she’d never been alone with a man, and could probably count on one hand the amount of times since, if she were scared you gave no outward indication.

“Or I could stay a while, we could ‘ave a chat?” He offered with an upward quirk of his lips.

She gave a quiet laugh and a small shake of her head before stepping further into the room, closer to where Tom was standing by the main study doors. She could hear the music from the ballroom and the soft, lilting laughter of feminine voices.

"And what would we talk about?” she asked.

He shrugged again.

“Perhaps we should start with introductions? Name and that?”

She smiled and gave him her first name before adding “Mrs Randall, the Vice Admiral's wife,” she stepped forward offering her hand out to him to shake.

Tom nodded and took the proffered hand, instead of shaking it he brought it up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to it.

“Private Tom Bennett,” he said, “Pleasure to meet you,” his lips still almost brushing the soft, warm back of her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Private Bennett,” she replied, pulling her hand out of his grip. The place his lips had touched her skin felt burnt, like if she looked at it, she’d still see the shape of his kiss marking the skin.

“Please Mrs Randall, call me Tom,” he smirked, “All my friends do."

“Then please, let us both use our first names, like friends,” she replied.

“Not “my lady” or anything like that?” He teased with a smile.

“Certainly not, I'm not a Lady." She said with a firm shake of her head. The movement caused the diamonds sitting in her hair to flash and sparkle as they caught the soft light.

Tom ran his tongue over his bottom lip and he took in her appearance again. At a glance she would have easily been mistaken for royalty and wouldn't have looked out of place in Buckingham Palace.

“So, how come you're hiding in the study rather than out there?” He asked.

“I needed a moment alone,” she replied, touching her cool hand to her flushed cheeks and forehead, “There’s only some much champagne and small talk I can take."

“Well please accept my apologies. For both disturbing your peace and for the hard times you find yourself suffering through,” he replied dryly with a roll of his eyes, watching as her whole body stiffened and her eyes narrowed on him.

“Apology noted,” her voice was icy.

Tom chuckled and shook his head, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and a lighter.

“May I?” He asked.

“Only if you share,” she replied, the ice appearing to have melted from her tone, she stepped closer again to take a cigarette from the packet he held out.

She placed the unlit cigarette into her mouth and Tom flicked the lighter on, touching the flame to the tip of the cigarette while she breathed in. Her husband considered women smoking to be offensive and unbecoming, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She took a drag as Tom lit his own cigarette. Her husband smoked cigars in his study so the smell would go unnoticed and there was an ashtray at hand.

“I've seen you, you know,” she said, flicking ash in the general direction of the ashtray, “The assault course you boys run, it runs along the garden wall and from my dressing room I can see everything."

Tom opened his mouth to speak but she continued, looking between the burning tip of the cigarette and the man in front of her.

“You know some Privates bring girls for the village round there? There's a little shady spot just a few meters back from the path I've seen them disappearing into,” her eyes fixed on him, “I wonder what they get up to back there?”

Tom swallowed and flicked the ash off the end of his own cigarette.

“Wouldn't know,” he said with a shrug, “But I heard there's a lot of poison ivy in the bushes, next time I see someone scratching, I'll ask."

“And ‘ow are you so certain you've seen me out there?” He asked after a beat of silence, “Surely us lot all look the same to you?”

She shrugged and took a drag, smoke curling out of her mouth and disappearing into the air above the two of them. “Some of you are more memorable than others.”

Tom grinned before crushing his finished cigarette in the ashtray. He lifted the heavy piece of glass and offered it to her. She crushed her own cigarette beside his. From outside the study the sound of her name being called reached her ears.

She recognised her husband's voice and felt her heart rate increase. She took hold of Tom by the sleeve of his jacket and dragged him deeper into the room, flicking off the desk lamp and plunging the room into darkness again. Her husband's voice grew louder as he moved nearer the door, he seemed to stop right outside to speak to someone before moving off again and in the direction of the kitchens. Of course that was where he thought he'd find his wife, it's certainly where he believed her and the rest of her sex belonged.

She suddenly became aware of how close she and Tom were, how his breath was ghosting past the shell of her ear as the two of them stood silent and still in the darkness.

“I take it he wasn’t your choice of, um, dancing partner?” Tom whispered.

She looked into his piercing blue eyes, it could have been a perfectly innocent question, if it weren’t for the crushing weight of the true answer. She felt her body chill and a familiar mask of cold indifference fell over her features. She straightened up again, pulling her body away from his.

So little of her life had been of her choosing. As a child her father had ruled her life with an iron fist, and like iron he had never once bent or broken once his mind was set on something. From her schooling, her summers and her friends, her father had controlled every single day of her life until he'd handed her over to a husband of his choosing at the altar.

A man 25 years her senior who had effortlessly replaced her father as the single most influential person in her life. From the wine they drank with dinner, to her allowance for clothing to how often she could drive the car, every choice was made for her by the Vice Admiral, as if she were simply a sailor in his navy.

“Not always,” she replied, her voice haughty than it had been before, “but I make do,”.

Tom quirked an eyebrow toward his hair line before stepping back with a grin and sitting himself on the edge of the large mahogany desk, the old wood didn’t bend or groan under his weight like the cheap furniture in the barracks. A thought flickered across his mind that his desk probably cost more than his family home.

“How long have you been married?” he asked, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of himself and crossing them at his ankles.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she replied coldly, before crossing her arms over her chest and hugging her crossed limbs against her body.

“Come on now, I thought we were friends? We’re on a first name basis after all.".

She narrowed her eyes at him, she was usually an exceptionally private person, after having grown up with very few friends she’d never learned to gossip or grown accustomed to sharing her thoughts and feelings with a close knit group and as an only child she hadn’t even had a sibling to confide in. But tonight, as if gripped by madness she found herself answering, her usual withdrawn nature opened up by this handsome stranger.

“18 months,” she told him.

“Not quite the fairy tale you were expecting?” He asked.

“I never expected a fairy tale,” she snapped, drawing her arms even tighter to her body, her hands gripping the opposite elbow.

“You’re dressed like one,” Tom said, letting his eyes travel up and down her body.

She scoffed, feeling her skin prickle under his brazen gaze, she knew she was attractive enough and with the right outfit and a touch of rouge she was pretty but 18 months in a loveless marriage had shown her nothing of desire or need but she felt sure there was something of those foreign, base instincts in his blue eyes. Desperately needing something, anything to do with her body she leaned past him to pick up the packet of cigarettes he'd placed beside him on the desk. She took another one and lit it.

“You'd find me quite dowdy if you went out there and saw some of the other wives,” she took a long drag on the cigarette, falling back on the self deprication she’d learned pleased her father and husband, “out there you'd never know there was a war on,”.

“I was thinking the same about in here,” he said, glancing at the opulent surroundings.

“Well, it’s you who wanted to see how the other half lived after all,” she replied, the corners of her mouth peeking up as she fought to keep her icy demeanour.

“And I think I might have seen enough,” Tom said with a smirk as he stood, gathering his cigarette packet and giving it a small shake, the cigarettes inside bumped onto the side of the packet and each other, “and you're about to finish me fags,”.

“You'll forgive me, I'm sure." she replied, letting her arms fall down to her sides again.

“I'm sure,” Tom agreed as he stood, taking a small step to stand in front of her.

He reached down, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of her hand in a soft caress.

“Til the next time,” he said, his voice soft and low, “My lady,” he added with a wink before slipping past her and out the door she'd entered in.

The scent of her lingered like a fog around Tom as he slipped, unseen through the corridors and passages back to the broken window and out in the cold night air. From either side no one would ever know the window was broken and he found himself hoping Mrs Randall wouldn’t be rushing to get it fixed.

He made his way back across the lawns toward his barracks. Tom had been stationed at this stone frigate for 3 months and each and every day he had hoped to get orders from the Vice Admiral they would be going out to sea, to one of the great grey warships he could see from the back of the barracks, sitting in the harbour mouth.

There was no moon in the sky that night and Tom had to make his way back to his quarters by starlight, he hoped the extra darkness would mean less of a chance to be caught out of bed quite so late.

Luck was not on Tom’s side that night and the moment his foot crossed the threshold of his quarters a bright beam of light shone directly into his face, Tom squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his forearm up to shield his eyes from the burning beam.

“Well, well, well Private Bennett,” a cold voice spoke from the darkness, “now, where might you have been?”

Tom lied of course, claiming he’d been in the village having a drink in the local pub, while his Lieutenant Commander didn’t believe him for a moment and he couldn't prove Tom was lying or offer another more plausible explanation for the private being out of bed so late.

Tom’s punishment was being confined to the stone frigate for the next month, he would not be allowed to enjoy any shore leave, which meant no trips to the local village and no chance to chat to the local girls. He would instead be given menial tasks to complete, usually something pointless that no one else wanted to do.

The first weekend of his punishment he was called to the Lieutenant Commander’s office. Tom held a deep dislike for the pinched faced, grey coloured man sitting behind the desk

“They need some help up at The Big House,” the Lieutenant Commander started without preamble, “I seem to recall you being fairly useful with your hands, so I thought you could go up there and, well make yourself useful,” his clipped accent made the hair on the back of Tom’s neck stand up.

Tom nodded in acknowledgement and opened his mouth to speak but the Lieutenant Commander continued as if Tom wasn’t even in the room.

“Report up at The Big House today and tomorrow for your tasks. Ask for Bill,”

“Yes, Sir,” Tom said before saluting and leaving the room.

He took his time making his way up to The Big House, stopping by his bunk first to collect a fresh pack of cigarettes before making his way slowly toward the house. The day was bright and Tom was enjoying the sun on his face as he walked over the immaculately kept lawn. He wondered as he walked if he'd be fixing the very window lock he’d used to break in a few days before, thinking of the window led him to thinking about the lady of the house and he hoped he might run into her again.

He wanted to know what she looked like when she wasn’t wearing jewels and silks. He wanted to see if he could make her laugh, he wanted to know if she made a habit of sharing cigarettes with strangers or hiding from her husband.

At the back door of the house Tom asked a kitchen girl where he might find Bill and was directed to one of the low outbuildings that made up a small courtyard at the back of the house. Bill was a grizzled old man with a voice like tires crunching over gravel and one hand missing.

Bill wasted no time in telling Tom he’d lost the hand during the Great War and how the navy had taken care of him since, not that Tom had asked.

Tom was quickly put to work in a large, empty room on the west side of the house. The room’s ceiling was at least 12 feet high and had floor to ceiling windows that gave a sweeping view of the green valley and glittering open sea beyond. On the water, small boats dashed back and forth across the mouth of the harbour and large grey warships sat further out to sea. Beyond the warship the sea and sky merged into one at the horizon.

After enjoying the view for a moment Tom set to the list of tasks he’d been given, the work was mindless and menial, oiling locks, cleaning and buffing brass work and a few minor repairs.

Tom was winding the grandfather clock at the far end of the room when the double doors at the other end opened, the doors moved almost silently on the hinges he’d oiled but the sudden movement made him look up and he couldn’t stop his face breaking into a grin when he saw who stood between the now open doors.

“We must stop meeting like this."

He watched with rye amusement as Mrs Randall fought the smile that played on the corners of her lips.

“Shall I bother asking you why you’re in my ballroom?” she asked, “Or how you got in here?”

“’m being punished,” Tom replied with a shrug as he closed the door on the grandfather clock that was now ticking merrily, “And I used the back door. You can ask your handy man if you want.”

“And what are you being punished for?”

“Caught out of bed after ligh’s out,”

She laughed quietly, the old floorboards creaking under her feet as she made her way further into the room, letting her feet carry her towards one of the large windows. As she gazed through the glass Tom allowed himself a moment to look at her. The dress she wore today was far more practical and ordinary but the dark green colour suited her, she wore shoes with small heels that tapped on the floor as she walked and no diamonds to be seen.

“I hope you feel it was worth it,” she replied, stopping at the window that gave the most central view of the valley below. She crossed her arms over her chest, curling her palms over the opposite elbow, Tom recognised the gesture from the previous night they’d met.

“I’ve had worse evenings.” Tom replied with a shrug and grin.

“I should apologise,” she started, turning toward Tom, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, “I spoke out of turn the other night and I don’t want you to think I’m… ungrateful for the position I find myself in."

He shrugged before taking a tentative step toward her, not wanting to scare her into bolting from the room. There was something intoxicating to Tom about being alone with his woman, she should have been as unattainable to him as the moon was but she was right here, in the same room as him, barely 6 feet away.

“We don’t 'ave to like the hand we’re dealt,” Tom said, the softness in his voice surprising even him, “but you can make it up to me with an invite to your next party,” he added with a grin and a wink.

Tom was thrilled when she gave a small chuckle, the sound making the hair on Tom’s forearms prickle and stand to attention. She dropped her arms away from her middle, looking a little more relaxed than she had the moment before.

“Somehow I think my insisting you receive an invitation to the Admirals next do might raise more than a few questions and cause even more trouble,” she replied.

Oh, what’s life without a little bit of trouble?” Tom teased stepping closer again.

“I take it you’re no stranger to trouble then Tom?”.

“No, I’m just a bloody nuisance,” he grinned.

Mrs Randall chuckled again, her eyes moving slowly and shyly over Tom’s face, taking in his features in the bright light of day. In the dark of the study he’d been handsome but in the sunlight filled ballroom he was beautiful, the type of face that Michaelangelo would have immortalised in marble.

“I can believe that,”

Tom leaned casually against a small section of wall that separated two of the windows, the wallpaper was a creamy colour with swirling patterns picked out in pastel shades of gold. He half expected her to reprimand him for leaning his dirty shoulder on her wall but she didn’t comment, just kept her eyes on him.

“What does the lady of the ‘ouse do at the weekend then?” he asked.

“I’m balancing the books today,” she replied, “it’s dull work and I’m dreadful at it,”.

“What no garden party to attend? No invite to Buckin’am Palace?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, her lips turned up into a smile that made her eyes sparkle.

“Just me and the accounts today, Buckingham Palace is next weekend,” she replied with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“‘S’pect those books might be better company than that lot at Buckin’am Palace anyway,”.

“They certainly talk less, but they still manage to give me a headache either way,”.

From behind them the grandfather clock Tom had service chimed 4pm, reminding the pair of them of the world outside the peaceful room they found themselves in.

“I must be going,” Mrs Randle said reluctantly, “It’s been a pleasure to see you again Tom,”.

“Pleasures all mine,” he replied with a wink and was thrilled to see her cheeks staining bright red as she turned toward the still open double doors of the ballroom.

He stared after her for a few seconds once she disappeared from his view and he felt a familiar tingling of anticipation. When it came to women he enjoyed the chase almost as much as he enjoyed his prize at the end but there was something different about this and about her and while Tom had no idea what that might be it excited him all the same. He found it very difficult to return to the list of tasks he still had to complete but forced himself to continue, if for no other reason than to ensure he’d get to return next week.

After excusing herself, Mrs Randle headed to the privacy of her study to continue her mind numbing task of ensuring the household ledgers balanced. The windows of her study offered a panoramic view of the west lawns and the gently sloping valley beyond. In the distance she could see the small houses of the village, smoke curled out of the chimneys and she could just make out a few sailors making their way back to barracks after their Saturday trip to the pub.

After an hour or so of looking over the accounts the numbers in the books seemed to start to wriggle about on the page and no matter how carefully she totted up the totals she couldn’t make the books balance. After rubbing out another incorrect total she finally admitted defeat and slammed the heavy, leather bound book closed and stood up.

She’d already decided to ask the housekeeper to go over the accounts and didn’t see any point in torturing herself with the fruitless task any longer. She knew it would be alright as long as the books were balanced by the end of the month when the Vice Admiral got his hands on them.

She took hold of the book and headed toward the staff quarters; there was a concealed door in the library that took her down a short flight of steps and along a cool, dark corridor to the housekeeper's office.

The sound of excited young voices could be heard from the staff dining room and she slowed to listen to the conversation. There was a pang of jealousy and longing as the voices of two of the young housemaids chattered and giggled behind the door.

“Did y’see him? He was up in the ballroom?” one voice rushed.

“He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” another voice continued with the longing sigh.

“I saw him wink at Mrs Randall! Twice! Can you believe the cheek of him?!” the first voice said incredulously.

“I hope he comes back, I heard Bill saying he wasn’t allowed off the frigate for 3 weeks,” the second voice said in the same dreamy tone.

There was another round of giggling before she stepped away from the door and carried on toward the housekeepers office. Mrs Randall had no problem believing Tom Bennett would be exceptionally successful with the female members of staff, he’s already proved himself to be fairly successful with herself after all.

She knocked briskly on the housekeeper's door, the large book still clutched to her chest with her other arm and her mind full of Tom Bennett.

#tom bennett #world on fire #tom bennett x OC #tom bennett fanfiction #ewanverse #ewan mitchell

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k-s-morgan · 11 months ago

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Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet

Thought to share a final snippet before the posting of the chapter! Have some protective Sebastian and unhinged Ciel)) Also, I have to say that when I'll be writing this chapter from Sebastian's POV, it will be probably creepier than anything that happened so far. He broke my plans and started getting a lot more physical than I expected, having a couple of unplanned realizations. Huh. I love the mystery writing.

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“Sebastian,” he barked. His commanding tone must have reached some part of Sebastian’s brain because he turned his head slightly, but he still didn’t let go, and this was infuriating as much as it was flattering.

Looked like not sensing his soul didn’t make Sebastian any less willing to protect him. He still got angry on Ciel’s behalf — angry enough to ignore his orders and common sense.

Good. But unacceptable. If speaking didn’t work…

Ciel stepped out from behind Sebastian and wrapped his hand around his wrist. Shivers of strange, heady heat blossomed all over his body when he sank into the inviting unnatural energy Sebastian was radiating, feeling it sing under his touch. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his head cool, but fortunately, Randall’s gurgling sounds helped a little.

And it seemed like he’d already succeeded in something — Sebastian was staring at him now, the deadly redness of his stare quickly softening to a more human shade. Holding his gaze, Ciel tapped against his wrist in rapid succession, recreating the secret language they had devised a long time ago.

Stop. This is an order. You’re still mine, you have to obey me.

He wasn’t certain it would work any better than his verbal commands did, but something about his new approach must have finally gotten through. Sebastian released his grip and let Randall crash to the floor like a sack of sand. He seemed far more interested in Ciel now — one of his hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and another one touched his chin, tilting his head back to reveal his neck.

The futility of this evaluation was blatantly apparent. Randall hadn’t managed to touch him, so whatever damage Sebastian was checking him for couldn’t be there. It was absolutely ridiculous, but for some reason, Ciel didn’t protest. He stood there patiently, allowing Sebastian to examine him to his satisfaction.

Finally, Sebastian hummed in contentment and let him go. Almost. His fingers slid down to Ciel’s wrist and stayed there, holding it firmly but unobtrusively. His attention returned to Randall’s panting form, and this time, Ciel caught the moment when the darkness flared in his eyes.

“Let me make one thing clear,” Sebastian uttered. A smile touched his lips, but it was as far from what a smile was supposed to be that even Ciel found it disturbing. “If you attempt to inflict any kind of damage on my Master again, the next time your family sees you, you will be chopped into more pieces than your daughter will be able to count. Perhaps I will feed your liquefied remains to her. Would you like that?”

The desire for something Ciel couldn’t identify took over his rational thoughts again. He almost swayed on his feet, his skin burning, his lips parting in a pleased sigh. More waves of joy crashed into him when Sebastian placed his shoe on Randall’s ankle and pressed against it carefully. His movements seemed feather-light, but the bone cracked anyway, followed by Randall’s pained shout.

“It’s not broken,” Sebastian noted disdainfully. “Consider it your warning. You will leave this house and you will not bring anything that happened here up with anyone. Because I know where you live, and I know how to slip into places unnoticed.” The sharp grin he gave Randall was downright frightening, but Ciel felt like he could drown in it. He shook his head, hoping it would be enough to sober him up. His body was behaving in an increasingly odd way, and it was getting tedious to make sense of its incomprehensive needs and demands.

Wheezing but trying to keep all the sounds locked in his mouth, Randall stood up. He nearly fell down, a pained grimace twisting his red face. What was even more fascinating was the wetness of frustrated tears shining in his eyes. The sight was completely unprecedented, and Ciel stared at it greedily, committing every inch of it to memory.

“You may not believe it right now,” Randall said, his voice hoarse, “but there will be a reckoning. One day, the both of you monsters will die, and I’ll become the last thing you see.”

#my fics #sebaciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive

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justkillingthyme · 5 months ago

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“Drop the mask.”

A simple slip of the tongue, nothing more. The dam cracked, allowed the phrase to slip through while his mind was too focused on keeping a tight grip on the falling man. He lost composure for just a moment, a mere few seconds, and his mouth betrayed him.

There was no mask, no ruin. It was an aftershock. They were 35, not 17. There were no glasses, no purple jacket. Just a cream suit and Hershel gripping his wrist like his life depended on it. It did. He couldn’t take losing Randall again. Not so soon, and not in such a way.

A mere minute, a slip of the tongue, but now Randall is across the counter, staring at him in a mix of pity and something guilty.

It’s not his fault.

If Hershel were honest, he’d say that he was feeling rather uncomfortable in the moment. The walls he’s spent years building up are crumbling down quickly under the man’s gaze.

But Hershel isn’t an honest man. So instead he takes a sip from his wine, and remains quiet.

#thwips #thposts #half writing

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sgiandubh · 2 years ago

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Jottings: Season 7, Episode 2. Nothing compares to them

A tiny, but welcome disclaimer: I have not read all the OL books yet, so do not expect witty repartees and connecting the dots with the current book follow-up by the series. In fact, I am still struggling right now with Voyager, after I gave a resolute middle finger and an excruciating amount of time to Dragonfly in Amber, which bored me to death with its sketchy depiction of eighteenth-century Paris. Unpopular opinion, I know: I can't help it, since I consider Paris, for many personal reasons, as my second, beloved home.

There go my two cents, with little to no spoilers. There is much to savor in there:

I thought I couldn't bear to watch one more single time Sinéad O'Connor's rendition of ye olde Skye Boat Song. I was wrong. I think it is exactly what this season needs: a bit bruised & battered & breathless. The perfect tinge of rough around the edges. This is no walk in the park and hers is the right cue, setting the tone for all the rest.

Vlachos. Excellent. Loved every second of it.

I suppose everybody will talk about the Look Jamie gave Claire right after Insufferable Bree gives birth to wee Mandy. I cackled all by myself, which is not even surprising. And so will you, Shippers United. Mark me.

SS upgraded a bit her game, to the extent she doesn't sound all the time like reciting United Airlines' flight schedule. She and Rankin finally manage to pull off a decent rapport (chemistry will always be at a deep-frozen 0). So, rejoice: at least they don't look like the mean troop leader forced them to share the same tent at Camp Sunrise. It's all fine and dandy, until she relaxes and slips back into that horrific, East Coast wannabe accent. Sorry, not sorry.

Did Lizzie say ”Fraser's Fridge”, when reading the birth announcement, or am I hearing things again? Now that's an earworm, sheesh...

Vandervaart looks promising enough, but what do I know, after a two-minutes scene with SS? Court is adjourned.

LJG & JAMMF, what a powerful, ambiguous, elegant scene. Tension is mounting, and this is when you crack open the Netflix & Chill'd ice cream bucket. It will come in handy, trust me.

The fireflies' scene was the death of me. There is something extraordinary about S's superb ability to speak volumes without uttering a single word. There is so much love and such despair to capture Bree's face, Bree's voice, Bree's alien joy when she mentions damn Mickey Mouse, and keep them forever. Did I ugly cry? I let out a sincere Fuuuuuck and couldn't help it. This is when the box of tissues came in handy, and you know, damn the consequences.

Dear (?) Diana Gabaldon: GET THAT WONDERFUL MAN THROUGH THE STONES, WHERE THERE'S PENICILLIN AND A HOT BATH AND A HIGHER AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY, STAT.

Yeah, sure. She missed that point five seasons ago, why do I even bother?

Spoiler: "What was it like.... there? It was.... magical". BOOO-HOOO-HOOO (I have no qualms).

Jeremiah's wooden toy plane in the streets of Wilmington and then the real thing across the sky, just after the little family gets through the stones. Clever reminder of that plane landing in Boston, with Claire, Bree and TMcG... ho-hum ... Frank Randall, after Culloden.

And finally, since I would really like to let you enjoy the wonderful last quarter of it, Jamie and Claire. That unspeakable tenderness that keeps us all completely spellbound. This is S&C acting, how could it be otherwise: and splendid, at that. But their acting, since that chemistry test, is informed by clear, present, deep feelings. We know. They know we know.

And they got their mojo back. I always hoped and prayed they will go out with a bang, not a fizzle. And it seems I was right. Fingers crossed. I trust them and, as always, I trust my gut.

#jottings

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funny-little-comics · 1 month ago

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Story Snippet 2 (MAW Spoilers)

It was just the two of them, now, in the office.

Fritz left first, giddy as can be since his daughter called asking to see him, her finals coming to an end.

Cutter had a date to catch with Sunny - David and his glorious mustache help you if you hold them up.

As for Duncan – Tylor thought it best he doesn’t involve himself as the winged-slug-like monster left, Roto barking after him, excitedly.

Especially given what happened not too many days ago. It was days, right? Never mind, now was the time for Tylor to strike - so to speak. "Hey, Roger?" His voice cracks, nervous, and he hastily clears his throat. "Yes?" The green-furred monster doesn't turn to face Tylor, humming cheerfully as he picks up the remaining papers on his desk, filing them away. Having five tentacles makes the process quicker than if he had only two. Tylor takes a steady breath. "About earlier?" He taps his claws on the conference table, free hand rubbing underneath wide chin. "I feel I didn't sit and properly tell you how sorry I am about -" "Oh that?" Roger chuckles and looks over, clicking the filing cabinet's draw close. "It's okay, really. It's like I said - if I heard someone exchanging some heated words -" "I know," Tylor interrupts, "but we were under pressure - with Johnny and Randall and that whole, uh -" "The combination of two sources of power that would inevitably overheat and combust, blowing us all to smithereens, leaving behind a crater that would burn for the next couple hundreds of years?" Roger suggests, his usual smile slipping somewhat. "Yeah, that." Tylor nods, awkward. Roger hums. "It would have been a nasty outcome, but thankfully we were able to stop that from happening." "Right." Just say it, Tylor Tuskmon. "I'm sorry, Roger. I had you pegged as someone to be suspicious of, that there was no way someone could be as nice as you have been. I was convinced that something was wrong, that you were up to no good." Roger sits, listening, that smile not quite as upbeat as usual. "Then when I found your record, read what was written in it, who you were -" Roger's smile falters. Tylor sighs. "I shouldn't have done that. I should have talked to you or to even ask you what was wrong when I and Val overheard you on the phone at the very least. I shouldn't have assumed you were as rotten as your -" He stops himself, in part not wanting to finish that vocal thought, but noticing the way Roger tensed up. Roger is silent for the length of a held breath. "Well," he says, a whisper, really, "like I said before, I couldn't blame you for thinking that way. How could you not?" He smiles tersely. "I'm his son." "You're not him, though. I recognize that, and the others do, too." Tylor points out. "It's like Sully said -" "Sully and Mike are a lot nicer about it, more forgiving than they should be after what happened between them and my dad." Roger turns away suddenly, running limited fingers over the propped-up ukulele's strings. "That said - there are some things that can't be shaken off when it comes to a name."

#monsters at work #monsters inc #monsters university #roger rogers #tylor tuskmon

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questionableratatouille00 · 1 year ago

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Random Ransoms and Randall

Pairing: Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Summary: This was not how you wanted to spend your winter vacation. But when your girlfriend decides to follow a fake ransom note, you decide it’s time to step in.

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of skinning. ————————————————————————

“This is not how I wanted to spend my winter vacation.” You growled over your shoulder, your wrists tied to the back of your chair with a rope. You were back-to-back with Kate, who was in the same position as you.

She says nothing, so you continue. “I could be in my pajamas right now, watching fucking Hocus Pocus or some shit while inhaling old Halloween candy. But no, here I am, tied up in someone’s fucking basement, because you thought you were the main character.”

“It’s not my fault! We’re being randomed!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Y’know. Kidnapped for money?”

“…You mean ransomed?” You blinked.

“Yeah! That’s what I said!”

“You said randomed.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ye—what the fuck ever. You still got us into this mess!”

“How would I know that the ransom letter was fake?” She argued back.

“Because the word ransom was misspelled!”

“I can’t spell!”

“No shi—“ You noticed something in the corner of your eye. Water was dripping into the room through a crack on the wall.

“Kate. Kate. Look.” You tilted your head in the direction of the water. “Great. We’re going to fucking die in December.”

“You’d make a pretty hot ghost.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“How are we…” She trailed off, glancing anxiously around the room. “Oh, I got it. Do you have a pocket knife?”

“Yes. Are you sure you can—“

“I can do it. Promise.” She nodded eagerly as you slipped her the pocket knife you had in the thigh pocket of your cargo pants.

You slipped her the knife, and you let out a sigh of relief when you heard the sound of a blade sawing through rope. At least, you heard it until a clattering sound against the concrete floor.

“Tell me you didn’t just drop the pocket knife.”

“I didn’t just drop the pocket knife?” She responded.

“Get me out of here!” You yowled, writhing around in the ropes.

“I was trying to!” She howled back.

“How are we gonna get out now?” You whined.

Just then, a man walked into the room. “Ah, you must be Natasha and Yelena.” He said, seemingly proud of himself.

“Uh..no. We’re Kate and Y/n.” Kate said awkwardly. “Who are you? Wait, are you that Rumlow guy?”

“What? No. My name’s Randall. Who the fuck are you guys?”

“…Dude you totally got the wrong people.” Kate explained.

“Oh.” He replied, shuffling awkwardly. “Well..I’ll just untie you guys then.” He said, walking over and untying your ropes.

He lead you through the front door, waving goodbye as you stood on the sidewalk together.

“Goodbye! Tell Natasha and Yelena that I’d love to hang their skin on my wall!” He shouted as he waved.

“We will!” Kate responded cheerily.

“No the fuck we won’t.” You muttered.

“No the fuck we won’t.” She echoed. ——————————

a/n: dude this has been in my drafts for so long I forgot about it

#kate bishop x reader

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samaraxcross · 5 days ago

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who: self para where: randall's funeral (contains references to death)

There was no one lonelier than the widow of a dead man. Though, Samara wasn't quite sure if the term applied to her seeing as she hadn't been a wife at the time of Randall’s death; the ink had barely dried on the page when Randall had gotten himself killed. So, naturally, suspicion had fallen on the most obvious of suspects -- the spurned ex-wife -- because, of course, she was angry enough to kill him after having given so much of her time and energy to seeing him through his struggles only to later find out that he’d been a cheater. Samara sighed. She hadn’t wanted to attend the funeral, unsure of if the finality of it all would trigger a rush of grief or rage. She’d wanted to stay home and spend this day in isolation, but she’d known that that decision would have only fed the rumor mill. Though, she was positive that her appearance today was feeding it anyway.

She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t, it would seem.

She’d arrived just as the service was beginning, a hat pulled low over her face, and had taken a seat as far from the casket and the grieving family as she could manage. As the service had progressed, Sam had kept her gaze low, refusing to make eye contact with anyone around her. She’d opted to attend this particular event alone, and now, she was regretting that choice. If anything, it would have been nice to have someone’s hand to hold.

She listened to the eulogy, followed by other accounts of the man she'd known, and felt the first prickle of tears pierce her eyes. It was difficult to remain impassive when surrounded by so many people who had loved Randall. For so much of her life, he had been the most important person, the one around whom everything else had orbited. For much of her life, it had seemed as if Randall had hung the sun and moon, but then, almost inevitably, Sam had noticed the cracks. Then the cracks had grown larger and the man who’d hung the sun began to look like every other person – flawed and broken.

Sam wanted to scream that that was why she’d loved him, why she’d held his hand while he’d walked the road to hell, and had tried desperately to pull him back when it had all gotten too much. Even now, after everything that had soured between them, Samara loved him. Unconsciously, a tear slipped down her cheek. Sam raised a hand to swipe it away and sniffled, the sound causing those around her to stir. For the remainder of the service, she sat as still as possible, silent tears tracking down her cheeks.

When it finally ended, Sam expelled a sigh, relief palpable. It was as if a vice grip had loosen around her heart. She stood, ensured that the hat remained low on her brow, and made her way out. Maybe in a few days' time she'd reach out to the Kastings' family. Maybe she wouldn't. She wouldn't watch the man she love be buried, wouldn't close the few feet between herself and his casket to look at him one last time. Randall Kastings was dead and the chapter of her life that had featured him was over. In time, Sam would find some way to move forward. Now, though, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in the safety of her dark bedroom and mourn the life she'd imagine for herself.

#self para.oo1

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theheadlessgroom · 6 months ago

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@beatingheart-bride

"I felt like I had sworn in front of a princess!" Randall admitted with a shy laugh, the rest of his family laughing along as he rubbed the back of his neck: Though he would freely admit he could cuss a blue streak with the best of 'em, he tried to keep his mouth clean in public, and certainly keep it extra-clean in the presence of an upper-class young woman like Emily. Needless to say, his failing to do so absolutely mortified him in the moment, though he could certainly laugh about it now.

"I, uh...I didn't want to sound like I had no manners," he continued sheepishly, adding, "It, uh...it did take a while for her to convince me that she wasn't offended by my cursing-I felt awful, I really did, in the moment, though, I felt like it made it seem like I was born in a barn..."

"Awww, reminds me of when August and I first started getting to know each other," Josephine giggled amusedly, seeing a lot of similarities between her husband and grandson in the moment as she went on to explain just how nervous her future spouse was in the early days, very flustered being around such a confident, forward, and scantily clad woman (which quite flattered her, honestly).

"I used to have him over for coffee after performances, and bless his heart, he was so nervous-the only thing louder than his racing heartbeat was the way his cup used to clatter against his saucer! Well, one day, he got so wound up that he dropped his cup and spilled coffee all over the rug (which didn't bother me much; if anything, the coffee stain made that cheap ol' thing look better), and between his very rapid-fire apologies, I could hear him cursing under his breath, and that only made him apologize even more!"

"I'm not usually one for vulgarity," August admitted bashfully. "But I was just so frustrated and embarrassed by my inability to sit still that it just...slipped out, and I felt awful, just awful, swearing in the presence of a lady!"

Most people wouldn't bat an eye at swearing around someone in her profession, but he was a consummate gentleman to everyone he met, and so he didn't think twice about apologizing to her (even though, as she told him, she'd heard worse).

#((it would be *very* different! they really have brought so much warmth; there's been so many heartwarming moments))#((that have come from their presence on this blog and their appearances both in this series and in other au's!))#((i wouldn't trade it for anything! randall reconciling/having a better relationship with his father))#((emily having supportive parental figures in her life; june and wilhelm getting to be a part of their grandchildren's lives))#((so much good has come of it; and it's been so wonderful to explore!))#((and i agree; i think the burkes are an absolute shoe-in; and i'm so glad you've enjoyed getting to know them))#((AND i'm delighted to have sprung that on you out of the blue! i had it in my notes about august being a teacher))#((and it's been mentioned that josephine worked with fabric; but i just thought it would be really fun))#((if-keeping in the trend of the pace family being full of odd couples-if she had a wild streak))#((while august was more buttoned up and reserved! i admit i was watching 'abbott and costello meet dr. jekyll & mr. hyde'))#((and the leading lady in that film is a chorus girl as well as a suffragette in victorian-era london))#((which certainly ruffles a LOT of feathers and gets her in quite a bit of trouble; which doesn't faze her))#((and that gave me the idea of josephine being an ex-burlesque performer; i thought that would be really fun))#((and i knew it'd get a big reaction from both you and from emily! i'm absolutely DELIGHTED by the response to that! XD))#outofhatboxes #beatingheart-bride #V:Two Worlds; One Family

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starrywangxian · 1 year ago

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coran coran the gorgeous man, randall "slip in the cracks" randall and stede bonnet the gentleman pirate all live in my head rent free

No but like its so weird to watch rhys go from being the comedic relief in voltron legendary defender and infinity train

to then being the badass dramatic protagonist in our flag means death

like this man HAS RANGE and I literally didn't realize until i finally watched our flag!

#they're all neighbours actually 🥰🥰#the way that vld infinity train and ofmd are all hyperfixations of mine lmaooo #the rhys darby affect fr #rhys darby #ofmd #vld #infinity train

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advisorykitty · 4 months ago

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Cat-Nap

Nyen x Reader x Robert

The Ivory Household was as quiet as it ever got, which was still not quiet at all. The sound of scurrying footsteps echoed through the walls as Sebastian and Randal did whatever gosh knows what. Meanwhile, Nyen, the house’s resident grump, was pacing the halls with a string of curses muttered under his breath.

“That fucking traitor,” Nyen snarled, his tail flicking with irritation. “One of our own, siding with those rats. Damn bastard.”

He stalked down the corridor like a predator on the hunt, his boots hitting the floor with a menacing thud. He could already feel his blood pressure rising at the thought of it—a cat—giving food to those scrappy little rats. It was a betrayal of the highest order, and Nyen wasn’t one to let things slide.

Nyon, the quieter of the two catmen, stood awkwardly to the side, watching his fellow feline work himself into a rage. His eyes blinked slowly, not quite understanding why Nyen was so furious—again.

“They’re... nice?” Nyon mumbled, but his comment barely registered. Nyen was too busy plotting what he’d do when he caught you. Spoiler: it wasn’t going to be pretty.

---

Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the brewing shitstorm. As a catperson yourself, you knew Nyen had a short fuse, but today, you couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Instead, you were curled up in one of your favorite napping spots: a cupboard. Not just any cupboard, though—a small, cramped one in the pantry, filled with jars and cans you used as makeshift pillows.

The ratmen had grown on you in a way you hadn’t expected. At first, you were just indifferent. They were scavengers, scrappy and a little annoying, but after spending enough time around them, you realized they weren’t all bad. Plus, they were always in need of food, and you didn’t mind slipping them a loaf of bread or some cheese every now and then , also do you mention how good their taste was??Anyway.

Nyen would lose his mind if he found out—again—but that was a risk you were willing to take.

Today had been one of those days. You’d helped Robert grab some food earlier, and now, after your little good deed, you’d settled down for a nap, feeling pretty good about yourself.

---

Robert, meanwhile, was already sneaking through the pantry again. He hadn’t planned on making another trip today, but when the others had drawn straws for who had to go scavenging, he’d come up short. So here he was, slipping through a crack in the wall, looking for food—and not expecting to find you curled up in the cupboard, fast asleep.

He stopped, hands on his hips, staring at you with a look of disbelief. “Really?” he muttered to himself. “Of all places...”

“Hey,” Robert said, giving the cupboard a light knock. You didn’t stir.

“Oi. Wake up,” he said, louder this time, tapping the wood with his foot.

You let out a sleepy groan, your ears twitching as you blinked yourself awake. Slowly, you lifted your head, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Oh, hey,” you mumbled, stretching out your arms. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Robert crossed his arms, giving you a flat look. “You always pick the weirdest places to sleep.”

“It’s cozy,” you said with a shrug, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for food, what else? We need it,” Robert replied, raising an eyebrow.

You sat up a bit more, realizing he probably wasn’t in the mood for your usual laziness. “Right. Let me help, just give me a sec”

With a quick stretch and a few groggy blinks, you hopped out of the cupboard and began grabbing things off the shelves. Within minutes, you handed Robert a couple of loaves of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a small block of cheese—your usual haul for the ratmen.

“Here,” you said, flashing him a sleepy smile. “This should hold you guys over.”

Robert gave a small nod, his way of saying thanks without actually saying it. “You’re alright,” he muttered. Quickly running over to the whole he made earlier to prevent from potentially dying, again.

“Don’t tell Nyen,” you replied with a chuckle. “He’ll lose it if he finds out I helped you again.”

---

Unfortunately for you, Nyen was already hot on your trail. His temper had only gotten worse over the last hour, especially when he noticed the pantry door was cracked open. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught sight of Robert sneaking away with food—again.

“That fucking traitor!” Nyen hissed, storming toward the pantry. “They gave food to those rats again! Unbelievable!”

Nyon, who had been trailing behind, watched with his usual wide-eyed expression. “Maybe... talk first?” he offered weakly, but Nyen was already too far gone.

He shoved the pantry door open, tail lashing behind him as he glared around the small room, his eyes finally landing on you. You were sitting on the floor, leaning against the cupboard, looking a little too comfortable for someone who had just committed high treason in Nyen’s eyes.

“You!” Nyen growled, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. “You fucking rat-loving bastard! Again? Really?”

You blinked up at him, still half-asleep. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Nyen snapped, his voice getting louder. “I saw you! You’re helping them, aren’t you? Feeding those filthy little rodents like some... some traitor!”

You rubbed the back of your neck, shrugging. “I mean, they were hungry. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Nyen’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head at this point. “You’re supposed to obey Master Luther! And here you are, handing out food to the enemy like some kind of—” He struggled to find a word foul enough, so he just settled on more swearing. “Fucking rat-loving piece of shit.”

You sighed, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Look, it’s not like I’m giving them gourmet meals or anything. It’s just bread and cheese. Calm down.”

Nyen looked like he was about to explode. “Calm down? Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down when you’re over here making nice with rats? Do you have any idea how much I hate those little fuckers?”

You glanced over at the door, wondering if you could make a break for it. Nyen was worked up, but he wasn’t exactly quick on his feet when he got this angry.

“Just... take a deep breath, okay?” you offered, trying to deescalate the situation. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack at this rate.”

Nyen took a step closer, his claws twitching at his sides. “I swear to god, if you don’t stop helping them, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nyen paused, his mouth hanging open as he tried to come up with a suitable threat. Finally, he just growled in frustration. “I’ll make your life a living hell, that’s what! You’ll wish you never set foot in this house, traitor.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied casually, stepping around him. “Anyway, I’m going back to my nap. Try not to lose your mind while I’m gone, okay?”

With that, you sauntered out of the pantry, leaving Nyen standing there, fists clenched, seething.

Nyon, who had watched the whole thing in stunned silence, finally spoke up. “They... nice?”

Nyen threw his hands in the air. “Nice? Nice? They’re a fucking menace, that’s what they are!”

Nyon just blinked.

---

-----

The days after you’d helped Robert and the rats were blissfully uneventful—at least, for you. Nyen, on the other hand, was stewing in his rage. He’d caught wind of your little act of "betrayal," and it had only added to the fire already burning in him. You could almost hear the distant thumping of his heavy boots as he stalked through the corridors, looking for you, no doubt.

And here you were, curled up comfortably in a cupboard, dozing off again. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep in weird places. If anything, it was your signature move, and if Robert or the other ratmen needed something, they’d know exactly where to find you.

But right now, you were far from the safety of your cupboard dreamland. The sound of furious footsteps stomping down the hall woke you from your nap, and your ears twitched as you lazily blinked your eyes open.

“Fucking... rat-loving... traitor.”

You recognized the voice immediately and groaned, pulling the cupboard door open just a crack. There, standing in the hallway, was Nyen, his eyes practically glowing with fury.

He spotted you in an instant, his expression twisting into something between disgust and rage. His lips curled back into a snarl, and he marched over to your hiding spot, yanking the cupboard door wide open.

“There you are, you lazy piece of shit,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “Thought you could hide in here forever, huh?”

You stretched lazily, completely ignoring the murderous look in his eyes. “Hide? Nah. I was napping.”

Nyen’s claws twitched dangerously, his tail lashing behind him. “You think this is a fucking joke, don’t you?”

You shrugged, sliding out of the cupboard and dusting yourself off. “I mean, you’re the one who keeps getting worked up over a few crumbs of bread.”

Nyen’s eyes widened in disbelief, his anger boiling over. “A few crumbs? You’ve been feeding those disgusting rats for days! You’re practically throwing them a fucking banquet in there!”

You grinned, leaning back against the wall. “They were hungry.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF THEY’RE HUNGRY!” Nyen roared, his claws slashing through the air as he stepped closer. “They’re rats! They steal, they spread disease, they’re filth. And here you are, playing house with them like some sort of... fucking rat sympathizer!”

Your grin widened. “Well, when you put it like that—”

Nyen snapped. His kinfe swiped at your face, and you barely dodged in time, the tip of his kinfe grazing your cheek. You winced, more out of surprise than pain, but you stayed where you were, refusing to back down.

Before Nyen could lunge at you again, a soft voice interrupted the tension.

“Nyen... please... calm down.”

It was Nyon, standing quietly in the hallway, his wide sherbet pink eyes blinking at the scene before him. He looked worried, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

“They... not so bad,” Nyon mumbled, his thick accent making his voice sound even softer. “They... just hungry.”

Nyen shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut steel. “Shut the fuck up, Nyon.”

Nyon, as usual, didn’t flinch. He just kept blinking, his expression one of quiet confusion. “But... they not hurting anyone.”

Nyen let out a snarl, his patience snapping completely. “I SAID SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!” With a quick, furious motion, he shoved Nyon hard, sending him stumbling back into the wall. The impact wasn’t enough to hurt him seriously, but it was enough to make Nyon’s eyes widen in shock, his usually calm demeanour faltering for a split second.

Your jaw tightened as you watched Nyon stumble. “That was unnecessary.”

Nyen turned his glare back to you, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Don’t fucking lecture me. You don’t get to act all high and mighty when you’re the reason this shit’s happening.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve hated those rats long before I got here.”

Nyen’s eyes narrowed, his claws flexing again. “Yeah, and I’m this close to getting rid of the whole fucking lot of them.”

You frowned. “You’re not seriously thinking about...”

“I’m fucking done with this,” Nyen hissed, stepping closer until his face was just inches from yours. His breath was hot, and you could see the raw, unfiltered hatred burning in his eyes. “If I catch you giving them so much as a fucking breadcrumb again, I’ll make sure you regret it. I don’t care if you think you’re being some kind of hero, feeding them out of the goodness of your heart. You’re not. You’re just a fucking idiot who’s making everything worse and cant respect their masters orders.”

You held his gaze, refusing to back down even as his claws hovered dangerously close to your throat. “They’re just trying to survive, Nyen. They’re not the enemy.”

“They are the enemy,” Nyen spat, his voice dripping with venom. “And if you keep helping them, then so are you.”

For a moment, the air between you was thick with tension, both of you locked in a silent standoff. You could feel Nyen’s fury radiating off him like heat, his every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But you didn’t flinch. You never flinched.

After what felt like an eternity, Nyen let out a sharp breath and stepped back, his claws retracting but his eyes still burning with rage.

“You’ve been warned,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Next time, I won’t be so fucking nice.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the pantry, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared from sight.

Nyon, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, finally stepped forward, his eyes still wide with concern. He didn’t say anything at first, just blinking at you as if trying to process what had just happened.

You let out a breath, rubbing the back of your neck. “You okay?”

Nyon nodded slowly. “Yes. But... Nyen... very angry.”

You snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Nyon tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why... you help rats? You know.. he hate them.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall again. “Because they’re not bad. They’re just... doing what they have to do to survive. Same as us.”

Nyon blinked, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the concept. “But... they steal.”

“Um.. that's kinda true.. but I give it to then so I wouldn't say they steal??"

Nyon was silent for a moment, his pink eyes studying you carefully. Then, after what felt like a long pause, he nodded again, as if something had finally clicked in his mind.

“I see,” he said quietly. “You... kind.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess so.”

Nyon didn’t say anything else, just gave you a small, shy smile before turning and following in Nyen’s footsteps, disappearing down the hallway without another word.

As the tension in the room finally faded, you leaned back against the wall again, your mind already drifting back to the idea of another nap .

You rest your eyes for a bit, fatigue overtaking your senses. Man it would be nice to sleep..

But this time, as you settled back into the cupboard, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Nyen came after you again.

Something told you it wouldn’t be long.

(P.s this was a request on ao3 , also this isn't proof read so sorry for errors (；へ：) )

#ranfren x reader #nyen catman #nyen ranfren #nyon ranfren #fanfic #nyon and nyen #ranfren ratmen

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starlessea · 4 years ago

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Here Comes the Sun: XI. Time is Running Out (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7954

Chapter Warnings: Language, Implied trauma, Violence and injury.

You were running. Every corridor connected into another one, each less familiar than the last. The muffled groans and sluggish footsteps got louder with every passing minute, as you felt yourself lose energy. You slammed another door open and ran down the next dark hallway, squinting as the lights flickered dimly to illuminate the dead.

Eventually, you reached a set of double doors and flew through them, not stopping to look back. Your lungs burned as you panted, and your legs felt unstable under you. Quickly, you turned the corner, only to see the dead end it concealed. Your knees buckled beneath you as you let out a sob, hands trembling uncontrollably. The undead closed in on you, swarming the doors and creeping through the crack one by one.

You pressed your back against the wall, scurrying to crawl away as you watched them approach. It was then that you spotted the first walker break through, trudging forward with its legs dragging behind. It was a man. It had been a man. It was tall and large, with a build nearly double your size. Despite the pale greyness of its eyes, you swore that its gaze leered over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

It gurgled as it got closer, blackish blood coming up from its mouth and splattering the floor by your feet. You noticed the wound on its chest, like a gunshot, that oozed each time it took a step. It got closer, reaching out a grubby hand and gripping onto the collar of your vest. You let out a scream as its snapping jaws hovered above your face, almost as if trying to say something. Yet, all that came out was watery groans as the blood spattered onto you. Despite it being dead, you almost felt its breath over your cheek before it lunged.

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, bringing a hand to your face and neck to check the skin there. Heaving, your chest swelled as you gasped for breath, and your ribcage felt like it might burst open from the force. You whipped your head around, taking in the surroundings of your tent. The yellow canvas walls remained the same as they always were, and your polaroid string hung above you like a faulty dreamcatcher.

As you tried to regulate your breathing, you wiped your forehead and the back of your neck, trying to soak up some of the sweat that had formed there. It was the same nightmares as usual. You'd been having them for a few days following the incident at the bar - especially since Randall still remained in the Greenes' barn, not even a few minutes walk from where you slept.

The light stung your eyes and you rubbed the corners of them forcefully. Your sleep was usually disrupted, and you'd wake up periodically in the nights - so you often slept in now as a result. You hadn't told anyone about it, but you didn't have to. Daryl had noticed. The two of you had become closer after the incident, with him looking out for you a lot more than he usually did. He made sure that you didn't go anywhere near the barn, and had a lot to say when Rick decided on sparing the boy held prisoner within it.

In truth, Daryl had been your comfort these last couple of days. On the nights where you woke up in tears, drenched in your own sweat, he'd be conveniently sat near the firepit when you came outside to get some air. He'd say that he was keeping watch, but wouldn't go back to bed when you offered to take over - always waiting until you left, first. Even in the daytime, after you'd come around following a bitter cup of coffee, he wouldn't push you away if you wrapped yourself around his shoulders or grabbed his hand excitedly to show him something.

Sometimes, he'd even let you crawl into his tent when you wanted to ramble, listening for a while before his patience met its limit and he kicked you out. Still, you weren't sure what you'd have done without him. The sight of that shy smile of his, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes when he thought no one was looking - that was enough to keep you going when you had your doubts. Before you knew it, you realised that you would give anything to hear one of his shallow laughs, even if it meant making a fool out of yourself to pay for it.

Once you had settled down a bit, you pulled on a pair of jeans over your legs, to go with the button-up shirt you had slept in. Your curly hair was matted from the sweat, so you tied it up and away from your face rather than even attempting to comb out the knots. You were sure that you looked a bit of a state, but you didn't give it a second thought as you unzipped the yellow submarine and stood out into the morning air.

It had started getting a little colder, the dew collecting on the grass and forming little droplets that wet the toes or your boots. There was a slight chill in the air, where the breeze had picked up, but it wasn't quite cold yet. Still, you huddled the material of the shirt closer to your body and folded your arms, looking at the archer who sat a few feet over from you.

He glanced up for a second and gave you a curt nod, drawing his eyes away from what he was doing.

"You look like hell." He noted, not even looking at you as he said it.

Daryl sat on one of the tree stumps near the fire pit, head hanging down to focus on his hands. He had a rusted pocket knife in his palm, and was using it to sharpen one of the arrows he was making. You'd seen him do it before, watching mesmerised as he worked with the efficiency of a master craftsman. His hair seemed to be getting longer, compared to when you had first met him, and now draped a little in front of his eyes when he looked down. A few nights ago you'd teased him and asked if he was growing a mullet, but in reality you rather liked it.

You shot him a wide grin, dusting off your jeans as you took a seat beside him, ruffling his hair between your fingers in greeting.

"Then you must be heaven, angel." You winked, hoping that the teasing would distract from the grogginess of your voice. "Good morning." You added, seeing him shake his head at you.

He didn't grumble nearly as much at your jokes anymore. Sometimes, he'd even make some back. You enjoyed the playful banter, and the way it made your heart race when he let out the occasional deep laugh at you.

"You still wearin' that?" He asked, not even looking up.

You realised that he was referring to your button-up flannel shirt - the one he had given you. Most nights you slept in it, but you avoided wearing it in the daytime in case people noticed who it originally belonged to. In your half-awake state you must have forgotten to change out of it.

"Problem?" You quipped back too quickly, and you saw him roll his eyes at your defensiveness. "You said I could keep it." You reasoned.

Daryl hummed in response, blowing the wood shavings away from the stick he'd been carving.

"Looks like a dress on ya." He drawled, finally shooting you a sidewards glance and raising an eyebrow as he did so.

You beamed a smile at him, running your fingers over the material that draped down almost to your knees, and remembering how it had looked on him.

"And?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's comfy." You explained, before asking why he minded so much.

He ignored you, continuing to shave down the arrow in his hands carefully. You didn't relent, standing up so that you were directly in front of him, and giving a small twirl to show off the shirt.

"Are you missing it?" You teased, trying to prompt him to look up. "Do you want it back?" You poked, walking around the log he was sitting on so that you were behind him while he worked.

Daryl let out a small sigh at your antics, putting down the blade and resting the arrow beside him. You didn't give him time to turn around and scold you, slipping your arms over his shoulders and around him before he could. Your chin rested just above the crook of his neck, and you could feel the wisps of his hair tickling at your cheek.

"What would you do for it?"

You'd wanted to joke with him, but it came out like more of a shy whisper as you lost your nerve. Your cheeks were nearly pressed together and you could feel the heat radiate off his skin. His heartbeat was quick beneath your palms where they rested, clasped over his chest. It felt like you had handfuls of butterflies, fluttering nervously there. You suddenly felt your own pulse pick up, as your playfulness started to seem a lot less innocent than it had only a few moments ago.

Someone cleared their throat from behind you, and you instantly flung yourself back from the man in shock. It was clumsy, and you'd almost taken the archer with you as you slipped on the damp grass beneath your feet. Daryl shot you a glare after he had recovered, grumbling about how you'd almost choked him.

You heard a chuckle and turned to see Glenn watching the exchange, his baseball cap in his hands. Quickly, you fumbled out an apology which sounded more like an excuse, explaining how he'd startled you. He shook his head before giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Sorry to interrupt." He started, looking between you and Daryl. The other man stayed silent, going back to his work like he'd never taken a break from it. "Could I borrow you for a minute?" Glenn continued, gesturing to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him before he explained. "I'm doing some work on the RV with Dale. We could use some help and everyone else is busy."

You looked over at Daryl, and then back at Glenn, before agreeing. You gave the man a small wave as you said goodbye, not really sure of how to act around him now. You didn't know whether it was what you had done that made you shy, or the fact that Glenn had caught you doing it. In truth, you hadn't really planned for anything to happen, but you got caught up in the moment without realising it. You tried not to think about what could have played out if Glenn hadn't showed up.

Daryl gave you a quick nod as you left, and you and Glenn started walking towards the RV. In the distance, you could see Dale lounging on the roof of the vehicle, under his parasol like usual. He had his binoculars in his hands and gave the pair of you a wave when he saw you together.

"So," Glenn dragged, catching your attention, "what was that?"

"What was what?" You bit back, feigning ignorance.

The man didn't buy it, knowing you better than your cheap lies by now.

"You know what." He said, with an air of certainty about him. "You and Daryl, just now."

You stayed silent, not wanting to give anything away. In all honesty, you weren't sure yourself about what had happened back there, and didn't really know how to answer. If you were being truthful, you definitely felt something for the man. You had done for a while. Daryl, on the other hand, you weren't sure about. How long had it taken him just to be accepting of your touch, and not shy away from your hugs? How many hours had the two of you spent together before he stopped looking at you with distrust, or flinching away if you moved too suddenly. At this point, you were content with what the two of you had. Or, you tried to convince yourself that you were.

"I saw that whole thing back there." Glenn carried on, catching you lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah?" You questioned, giving him a side-eye glance as you smirked. "Well I see you and Maggie sneaking off to the stables at night, but you don't hear me saying anything about it."

Glenn inhaled sharply beside you, seeming to choke on whatever reply he had planned. You let out a snort at his expression, and clapped your hand over his back as the two of you reached the RV.

"Choose your battles carefully, Rhee." You warned him teasingly, watching as he squirmed under your touch.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The three of you worked together on the RV for a while before taking a short break. It was mostly Dale instructing you to pass him tools and run to ask Hershel if he had the things you were missing. You were pretty clueless when it came to any kind of vehicle, so you tried to absorb as much as you could, mentally matching the names with all of the parts that Dale showed you. Glenn seemed to know much more, having spent a lot of time with the older man during the day. Surprisingly, you all got along really well and even cracked some jokes as you scrambled to remember which screwdriver head was which.

Glenn eventually excused himself to go and help T-Dog out with something, and Dale left you 'in charge' of the toolbox, as he put it, as he left to go with him. You hadn't been there long, sitting on the steps of the trailer in a daze by yourself, before Maggie had come out of the farmhouse with a pitcher of lemonade for you all. She sat down next to you, offering you a glass. You took a gulp, feeling the coolness run down the back of your throat as the ice cubes hit your teeth. It was really refreshing.

"Glenn told me about you and Daryl this mornin'." She looked over at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes at her, wondering when the man had even had time to say anything. He'd only gone into the farmhouse for all of five minutes to use the bathroom, before you all had started work on the RV. That boy never ceased to amaze you with his ability to run his mouth. You already felt exasperated by all of the questioning, and you hadn't even begun to start answering your own yet.

"There's nothing to tell." You corrected, but her smile didn't let up. "I already warned your boyfriend to worry about his own dirt, instead of trying to dig up other people's."

You shot her a look that you thought would tell her to drop it, but she didn't take the hint. Or, she didn't care to, more accurately.

"He thinks you're sleepin' together." She said matter of factly, taking a sip of her own lemonade nonchalantly and ignoring your expression.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, totally not expecting those words to come out of the mouth of a farmer's daughter. Then again, you knew what she and Glenn got up to when they thought nobody else was around.

"Maggie!" You gasped, slapping her shoulder.

The lemonade spilt out of the top of her glass slightly, and splashed onto her jeans.

"What? I didn't say it." She frowned at you, wiping the stain. "Can you blame him?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.

You usually felt like you could talk to Maggie about anything, and rarely got embarrassed at any of the details she shared with you, either. Yet, you couldn't help but feel a bit dumbstruck at the allegation. The thought of you and Daryl - sweet and shy Daryl Dixon - sleeping together had just tipped you over the edge like lemonade in a glass.

Maggie went on, ignoring your stunned silence. "The two of you got ya tents away from the rest of your group, and hang around each other most of the goddamn day." She pointed out, nodding her head in the direction of your camp in the distance.

"That's not fair." You pouted. "He's my friend, and I spend the same amount of time with you and Beth as I do him." You defended, but she crossed her arms and gave you a once over - making an obvious point of looking you up and down.

"You're wearing his shirt." She said flatly, glancing at it like she'd been waiting to bring up the observation for a while now.

"And some days I wear yours!" You retorted, raising your voice in desperation.

You stood up from the step, and Maggie laughed at how flustered she'd made you.

Before she could add anymore, you spotted Glenn walking back to the RV with a dumb smile on his face, totally oblivious of the chaos he'd caused. You shot him a glare, causing Maggie to look over in his direction.

"Glenn Rhee, get your ass over here now!" You yelled at him, and watched as his face fell.

He looked over at Maggie, who just shrugged her shoulders and collected the empty glasses. She gave Glenn a quick peck on the cheek before whispering something about him being on his own, before leaving to return to the farmhouse.

"Ah shit." He muttered below his breath, looking over at you with a sheepish smile.

You stayed by the RV well into the evening, after chewing out Glenn and sending him on his way. You'd offered to put all of the tools back since Dale wanted to go out for a walk and check on the fences around the area. He gave you a warm smile as he left, offering you a 'thanks, kid' that reminded you of your own grandfather. You didn't even try to argue back with him that you were in your twenties, just sending a smile his way in return.

It was already dark outside, since the seasons were changing and making the world seem more shadowy at earlier and earlier hours each day. You had borrowed a jacket from Beth the last time she came out, handing you a sandwich in place of the dinner you'd skipped. The air was chilly and you were grateful for the extra layer protecting you against the cool night's kiss. The breeze rustled the leaves and made a few flutter down to the ground, next to your feet.

It was peaceful, and you could see the warm light flicker through the windows of the Greene farmhouse. The rest of the group were out doing perimeter checks and mending some of the fences, so it was just you standing as the sole guard of a rundown RV. Once you had finished organising the array of screwdrivers back into their meticulous places, just as Dale had instructed, you closed the toolbox and secured it shut by the latch.

You sat back onto the step, rolling your stiff shoulders and wishing that Daryl was here to give you one of his Spartan massages that hurt so bad but felt so good. You scarcely had time to relax before a scream had you bolting upright and alert. It was in the distance, you could tell, but it was definitely a scream.

Immediately, you rushed inside the RV to retrieve one of the pistols from the gun bag there, before setting off running in the direction of the yells. It didn't take you long to notice the group that had gathered near the end fence of one of the fields, close to the woods. You kept your pistol lowered in your hand as you jogged towards them, still not able to make out what they were all crowded over.

As you got closer, you saw how Lori was shielding Carl from the scene and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to witness. It didn't take long before it came into view, the sight of Dale on the ground and the dispatched walker beside him. It was horrifically graphic. The man you'd been joking with not even an hour before now laid there with his entire chest cavity exposed. It was so violent that you weren't able to tear your eyes away as he gurgled the familiar sound of death from his throat, like the one you heard in your nightmares.

It looked as though his ribs had been pried open and you could only watch as the older man suffered. His eyes met yours, pupils wide and dilated as he tried to speak. You stared back helplessly before someone stood in front of you, blocking your view. The printed angel wings told you who it was before you even looked up.

You watched the ground as you heard the familiar cocking of a pistol, and your eyes rested on the fishing hat that had fallen a few feet away. Images flashed through your mind of Dale wearing it, and him putting it on Carl's head occasionally to swap it out with his sheriff's one. You kept your gaze on it, lying abandoned in the grass, as Daryl spoke to the man.

"Sorry, brother." He said, and pulled the trigger.

That night you returned to your tent alone, trailing slowly behind the others, and thought about that hat and the man who wore it. Glenn had picked it up and taken it with Rick and Shane, as they went to dig a grave for Dale. You kept thinking back to a few days ago, and how you'd all sat around the fire of the main camp, spread out on the deckchairs one night. Even Daryl had joined you, as you had bribed everyone to endure your company with the promise of Jack Daniels.

You brought the bottle with you in your satchel, taking a seat by the fire pit next to Dale, who shook his head when you took it out. You offered him a small smile and shrugged, telling him that you'd come across it whilst scavenging with Glenn and Maggie. As the others arrived, you poured some shots to whoever wanted any, and made them swear not to tell Hershel.

The night had been a small dose of escapism washed down with whiskey. There wasn't enough for you all to get completely drunk, but the tipsiness definitely settled in and got you all loosened up and giggling. At some point, Glenn had devised a game that resembled 'never have I ever,' but even got the people who weren't drinking involved.

Much to Dale's dismay, the slightly buzzed man had pulled the hat from his head and stated that whoever wore it had to answer one question completely truthfully. The fishing cap then made its way around the circle, as you listened to Shane talk about stealing a car, T-Dog's videogame collection, and how Carol had once put laxatives in Ed's coffee.

"You're kidding!" Andrea yelled in disbelief, when it was finally your turn. "There's no way you have a tattoo."

"I do." You smiled, taking a sip of your drink and feeling it numb the back of your throat. "And no, I'm not showing it to you." You winked at her, causing the group to laugh.

"It's in a risky spot, ain't it?" Shane teased, looking over his glass at you with a cheeky grin.

"No!" You shouted at him, which gained even more laughter from the onlookers.

Shane shook his head at you with a smile. "Yeah, whatever you say."

Lori piped up from where she sat. She wasn't drinking, now that she was pregnant, but she seemed content enough from the atmosphere.

"I can't believe you have one." She spoke, looking you up and down slightly as if trying to guess where it was. "I never pictured you the type."

You snorted at her words. "What? Just because I was a teacher for a short while?" You teased, crossing your arms.

People usually made the same assumptions about you, even before the world had ended. You had an education from a prestigious university, bright eyes and that naive look. It was only natural that most people didn't consider you as the type to hang around at rock concerts with your father or work part-time shifts at the bars he played at when they were understaffed.

"I have fifteen piercings, too." You added, feeling generous with your information.

Rick shook his head at you with doubt, and you found it refreshing to see the sheriff look so relaxed.

"What? Where?" He questioned, squinting his eyes at you. "How come we haven't seen them?"

"Because I keep my hair down most of the time." You explained, before tucking the strands behind your ears to reveal them.

A few members of the group came over to get a closer look, and you grinned like an excited puppy, showing off the metal jewelry to them.

"And I have my belly button done." You added, pointing to your stomach but not lifting your vest to show them.

T-Dog watched you with suspicion across the campfire, as if he couldn't entirely figure you out. His eyes were narrowed and you shot him your best grin as he stared you down half-heartedly.

"None of this fits my image of you." He admitted, and a few people agreed.

You shrugged your shoulders, pouring yourself another shot and not caring whether or not you should slow down. You felt better than you had in a long time. Even though your head felt a little fuzzy and your throat burned each time you knocked your glass back, you couldn't put a price on the laughter you all shared and the memories each of you recalled.

"What do you want me to say?" You asked sarcastically. "Pretend that I spent most of my time at libraries and not gigs, listening to Led Zeppelin?"

You heard a low chuckle beside you, as Daryl took the bottle from your hand and poured some more into his own glass.

"Thought you said you were borin'." He drawled, his accent even thicker from the whiskey.

"I am now!" You said loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat.

The others laughed a bit at that, before you went on, prying at the other man who had refused the hat of truth when it came his way. You'd tried to force it on that stubborn head of his, but had only succeeded in spilling one of the glasses and getting a scolding from Lori.

"What about you, Dixon." You eyed him where he sat. "I can't even imagine you existing before all of this." You admitted.

He raised an eyebrow at you, but you continued. "It's like you were built to survive an apocalypse."

You saw the others nod in agreement, staying silent to listen for the man's response. A few of them had seemed surprised that Daryl was even participating, and now looked even more confused at how the two of you interacted with each other.

"What d'you mean?" He asked, taking a swig from his glass.

You smiled to yourself before answering. "I don't know." You confessed, before addressing the rest of the group. "Can the rest of you picture Daryl Dixon mundanely watching TV, and eating pizza instead of squirrel?"

That joke got a lot of approval from them, as you saw Carol let out a snort in the corner of your eye, holding onto her own small drink with both hands.

"Shut up." Daryl grumbled in response, but you saw the slight smile that lingered on his face.

After that, you had placed Dale's hat back on the older man's head and gave him a hug before turning in for the night. You felt giddy from alcohol and good company, and had squeezed him tightly before telling him that no one else suited that old, raggedy fishing cap as much as he did.

The next morning after Dale's death was hard, but you'd all had practice in dealing with death by now. The funeral was carried out quickly, and Rick made a speech about how the group needed to honour Dale by being more in sync with their decisions - referring especially to Randall. You all then gave a few words, and said your goodbyes. Glenn had made a small wooden cross as a marker for his grave, and hung the fishing cap on top of it at the end of the informal ceremony.

After that, the Greenes had tried to distract you all by telling you to pack your things up and prepare to move into their farmhouse for winter. Given that they'd become a lot closer to you all in the last few weeks, and that Lori was now pregnant, they said that it was only reasonable. It would be a bit of squeeze to fit you all in, they admitted, but it would be better than freezing outside in flimsy tents exposed to the elements.

So, there you were, collecting your belongings and putting them into your worn satchel with care. You didn't have much, save for your polaroids, some clothes and your knife. The only things you had left to pack down were your sleeping bag and your yellow submarine, so you decided to go and check how Daryl was doing before you continued.

The two of you hadn't had much time to talk about the events of last night, barely exchanging a few glances and letting your palms brush against each other during the funeral. He'd gone through a lot in the last couple days, being left with the dirty work of torturing Randall and having to shoot Dale. Even if he seemed alright, you thought that he probably held some guilt for what had happened. You knew that you certainly did. You spent the night wondering why you hadn't gone with the older man, wishing that you'd gotten there sooner.

You clambered out of your tent with your satchel strapped over your chest, before walking a few steps over to Daryl's. His tent was unzipped, and you poked your head around the entrance to see him crouched inside, collecting his arrows and the few possessions he had scattered around. You watched him in silence for a moment, as if trying to find any sign of distress before he noticed you.

"Don' worry yourself, Sunshine." The man grumbled, sensing you.

He didn't even look up from what he was doing, which made you jump in surprise at having been caught.

"Jus' go pack down yer own tent." He instructed, folding up a pile of his clothes and stuffing them into a backpack.

"Sunshine?" You questioned, wondering whether or not the nickname was sarcastic, as you continued to watch him with suspicion.

You crouched down in the entryway, debating whether or not to go in.

"Look, Daryl-" you started gently, but he cut you off midway.

"'M fine." He said sternly. "Don't need no therapy session every time one of us kills someone."

You let out a sigh, deciding to go inside. You crawled your way past him, making yourself comfortable on top of his sleeping bag while he worked around you.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on making it a habit." You admitted gently, seeing him stop what he was doing and look over at you.

"Ain't about what ya want. It's about survivin'." He corrected gruffly, his eyes meeting yours.

You gave him a sad smile before responding. "I know. But I don't want to live like that." You said. "There's a difference."

He shook his head, sitting back so that he was opposite you.

"Ain't no difference when yer dead." He muttered, and you could make out the slight flicker of pain behind his eyes.

You looked down to your hands, gathering your thoughts. You weren't sure whether you wanted to make yourself vulnerable to man by telling him your true feelings on the matter, but you felt like you needed to. You owed him that much.

"When I was out there alone, before I found you that day-" you started, recalling the days that seemed like a lifetime ago to you now. "That was surviving."

The man listened to you silently, his stare heavy as he took you in.

"At first, I was just grateful to be alive." You admitted, feeling ashamed to say the words out loud. "My camp, they were the brave ones."

You saw as Daryl started to shake his head to disagree, but you didn't let him interrupt.

"I just ran away and hid." You confessed, voice small as you said it. "After that I realised how unfair it all was."

Daryl stayed silent for a few seconds, before responding.

"What was unfair?" He asked, his words gravelly.

You met his eyes, already feeling like you'd revealed too much to him.

"How us cowardly would always be the last ones standing." You said softly, looking back down at your hands and thinking of all the people they failed to protect.

This time, Daryl responded quickly, moving closer to you so that you heard his words clearly.

"Ya ain't no coward." He spoke, his face near yours as he tried to catch your gaze.

You met it, fighting the urge to look away as the intensity made you want to tremble.

"You're a force, Teach." He told you, like it was a fact.

He stared at you for a few seconds, as though waiting for you to accept it.

You nodded at him eventually, letting out a small sigh as you realised that you'd been holding your breath.

"I don't want to just survive anymore, Daryl." You told him. "I want to live. I want a life that I'm okay with fighting to protect." You continued, feeling your voice grow stronger with each passing second.

Daryl remained still where he sat, giving you his entire attention.

"I know you hear me at night." You confessed, thinking back on the times you'd woken up yelling at invisible figures, or panting to try and catch your breath.

You caught his eyes flicker, as he fidgeted a bit and stretched out his legs.

"You pretend like you don't, but I know you do." You went on. "When I wake up from a bad dream you've always got your lantern lit, or sometimes you'll get up just to toss a log on the fire, and make an excuse that you can't sleep."

You smiled to yourself as you watched him feign ignorance, as though he needed to keep up an act you both knew had broken. No matter the type of man Daryl Dixon pretended to be, you saw straight through him.

"I'm at a point where I don't regret it anymore." You continued, not really sure where you were going with your speech. "Killing those men." You clarified, seeing him tense as you did so.

"I know it makes me sound like a monster, but I'd rather let the nightmares haunt me if it means that my family won't."

You took a deep breath, wondering if you should carry on to the point where there was no turning back.

"If it means that I can sit here now, with you, and be thankful that I was the one who managed to pull the trigger first." You finished, afraid to look up and meet his eyes.

You felt entirely exposed to him, as you sat there on the scratchy material of his sleeping bag, running your hands over it for comfort.

"Is this it?" He asked after a few seconds.

"What?" You replied, watching as he shuffled about in front of you.

"Is this the life you want?" He muttered, his voice coming out strained.

You nodded your head. "It can be." You told him. "It is." You reiterated, more certain this time.

You felt like all of your thoughts and worries were spilling out before you, like tipped ink spreading over paper. You couldn't stop yourself from telling the man everything.

"We've lost people," you acknowledged, not missing the way he frowned as you said it, "Dale and Sofia." You continued. "We'll probably lose more."

"But, call me delusional, I still have hope." You said with a smile, wondering if you truly were fooling yourself.

Daryl seemed to think so too, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

"What're ya hopin' for?" He asked.

"I don't know." You answered.

"Some days it's for a cure to be found." You said, wistfully. "Others it's that we can all live peacefully on this farm until we grow old. Sometimes, I just want to find a matching pair of socks in my laundry." You finished with a slight chuckle.

"And recently, I've been hoping that it rains." You added, hoping that he wouldn't laugh at that one in particular.

He didn't, instead glancing out of the tent, towards the clouds gathered above it.

"Give it a couple days." He mumbled, and you didn't doubt him for a second.

"Yeah, I hope so." You responded, looking up at the sky, too.

You sat in his company for a bit longer as he resumed his packing like nothing had happened. He didn't seem to have much, either, but you still watched curiously as he went through it. After a short while you noticed him pick up a glossy magazine, and put it in one of the bags. You instantly recognised it as the one you'd given him before, from the gas station, about motorcycles. You were surprised that he'd kept it, since it had been a few weeks since then.

"Did you read it?" You questioned, before you even realised you had said it.

"Yeah." Daryl responded, matter of factly.

"And?" You pried, stretching out your legs to laze back further on his sleeping bag. "Got any tips for me?"

He scoffed at that, shooting you a glance as he zipped up the bag. "Don' fall off."

You rolled your eyes at him, before deciding to tease him back a little.

"Mark my words, Dixon." You pointed at him. "One day I'll be the one riding that thing and you'll be clinging onto me."

He didn't bite to it, sitting back down opposite you with a smug look on his face.

"You tryna give me nightmares now?"

When he finished, you reached for your satchel lying next to you, remembering one of the reasons you had come to see the man in the first place. You pulled out his flannel shirt from it, which you'd neatly folded earlier on, and offered it out to him.

"I was thinking that I should probably return this to you." You explained, as he gave you a confused look.

"Thought ya was gonna use it to bribe somethin' outta me." He quipped, snarkily.

You nodded at him, rubbing your thumb over the material.

"Yeah, I thought about it." You admitted. "But then I realised that we were all going to be staying in the Greenes' living room together from tonight. Practically on top of each other."

Daryl stared down at the shirt in your hands, but didn't take it from you. Instead, he leant back on his knuckles, as if moving even further away from it

"What's that have to do with 'nything?" He asked, and you wondered whether you were prepared to answer truthfully.

You thought back on the game you'd all played with Dale's fishing hat and wished that you were wearing it now, to be able to muster up some false courage.

"Well," you started, swallowing thickly, "then you'd realise that I sleep in it every night." You confessed, noticing how his expression changed a little. "And that would be embarrassing."

Suddenly, the silence started to seem stifling to you as you played with your hands in your lap, looking down at them. You felt your stomach flip as you awaited his response, but it never came. Instead of waiting any longer, you decided to get out of there before facing inevitable rejection. You cleared your throat and started packing up your satchel in a hurry.

"Anyway, I should go." You excused, trying not to appear flustered. "Got to haul anchor on the yellow submarine."

You picked up his shirt once again and held it out to him, looking over with pleading eyes and praying that he'd just take it so you could leave.

He didn't, shaking his head again at the gesture.

"Nah, it's yours." He said gruffly. "I don' care what ya do with it."

You spoke up, wondering if you were really willing to fight with this man over a shirt.

"You might not, but I'm sure the others would have something to say about it." You explained, thinking about how Maggie had picked up on it straight away when you'd worn it by accident the day before.

"Here." You said more sternly, placing it into his lap. "Back with its rightful owner."

Daryl took it from his lap and placed it beside him, as he fumbled around in his jean pocket and pulled out his zippo from it. He flicked it open with his thumb and you watched as the blue flame jumped up, before he closed it again.

"Got enough gifts from ya." He said, gesturing to the lighter before looking over to the backpack where he'd put the magazine earlier.

He then pointed to the shirt, laid out in the space between you like a bargaining chip. "What were ya wantin' for it?"

You realised that he was referring to what you had said earlier, before Glenn had interrupted, and recalled how dangerously close the two of you had been.

"Nothing." You choked out, but it sounded forced. "I was just teasing."

"Ya weren't." Daryl said with certainty, and you felt your resolve crumbling.

"You're right." You replied.

Your eyes flickered over the man sitting in front of you, at his skin that was glazed by the sun and how much time he spent outdoors recently, and at his pale, steely blue eyes that watched you, watching him. He seemed just as nervous as you were, as if waiting for something to happen - for either of you to make a move. Yet, Daryl Dixon was shy. He was a sweet man bundled up in layers of trust issues and insecurity, which sometimes reared their heads as anger and frustration.

You saw beneath that. You saw the way he looked out for the group, and how he was hurt more deeply than any of the others at the loss of one of them. You noticed how he'd be up earlier than anyone else, making sure it was safe, and then how he'd go to bed the latest, too. At the same time, you were almost certain that this wasn't the same man you hauled from the creek that day. He looked the same, give or take a few scars and want of a haircut, but he was different. You could tell how much he'd grown in just a short space of time. He was a good man before, even if people were often fooled by his abrasive exterior, but he was an even better one now.

You gave him a warm smile, and felt a lot calmer than you had done in a while. You knew it was now or never, and accepted that you were, in fact, willing to risk it all for Daryl Dixon.

"There's one more thing I've been hoping for, as of late." You admitted, moving from his sleeping bag to crawl over to where he sat.

He stayed still, watching with a shy look, glancing over you as you approached with caution. As you got closer to him, so close that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes lingering on you, you picked up the discarded shirt and showed it to him.

He looked down at it in your hands before meeting your eyes again. You let your gaze flicker over his face, taking in his shy expression, before settling on his lips. This is what you wanted in return for his shirt, and you needed him to realise that.

You noticed how nervous he looked, and how he seemed to hold his breath at the proximity you shared. You rested one of your hands over his, feeling how warm it was beneath your own, before asking him your question.

"Are you sure you still want it back?" You flicked your eyes to the shirt and back at him, making sure he understood what you meant.

His gaze rested on you for a few seconds, as you felt your breath catch in your throat waiting for his response. He nodded.

You smiled back, raising your other hand to cup his cheek gently, stroking over it with your thumb as you felt a wave of affection run through you for the man under your fingertips. They almost trembled against him, as you felt a mixture of nerves and pure, simple emotion swell to the surface. Though, you felt his hand squeeze your other one, where you held it, and relaxed into his touch that reassured you.

You closed your eyes and closed the remaining distance between you both, placing a chaste kiss on his lips that made you feel a lot more than you'd expected it to. He was warm, and sweet, and trembling slightly. It made you smile into the kiss, and press more firmly against his cheek to remind him you were there. Even though it was obvious that you were there, kissing him, you needed him to know that you felt the same as he did.

You pulled away slowly, trying not to push for more. Your hand left his face and rested back at your side, suddenly feeling empty. The silence was loud, but it was comfortable. Your ears weren't ringing as they usually did. Instead, you focused on the soft sounds of Daryl's breathing, and watched as his eyes flickered over you and down to your own lips with want, as you had done to his. Though, he didn't seem quite confident enough in himself to act on it, and remained still.

Your heart beat quickly in your chest from the adrenaline, and you decided not to tempt things any further with him, either. He didn't say a word for a few seconds, but you didn't feel any sign of rejection. You moved away from him a little, allowing him his space, before picking up his shirt for the final time and pressing it into his chest lightly.

"Now it's yours again." You offered him a warm smile, which you felt was perhaps too big for your face. He took it from you.

You found it hard to conceal what you were feeling, but the look in his eyes told you that he didn't mind all that much. You sat in wordless wonder for a few minutes, considering what to say or do next. The sky had darkened a little as the clouds blocked the sunlight, and you felt the breeze pick up as your exposed skin prickled at the chill.

Then, you heard footsteps as someone approached the tent in a run. You whipped your head over to see Rick appear, ducking his head through the entryway and looking at the both of you with wide eyes.

"I need you to come with me, now." He instructed. "Randall's escaped."

A/N ahhhhhhh. AHHHH. I was SO excited to write this chapter, I cannot even tell you. This is merely the BEGINNING - the first flicker of this SLOW BURN! Just you wait until that confession... I have big things planned ;)

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