#and other characters moments being taken or completely left out

[red-high-tops]

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Relistening to Checking Out, and I’ve always liked this scene in particular, as it is one that’s very open to interpretation.

I believe, from what I’ve seen personally at least, one or the most common interpretations is that Helen’s observation is either incorrect, or intentionally misleading, and that Jon’s response actually stems from touch aversion, or a degree of it, attributed to his trauma, particularly moments where he’s been left helpless and at the whims of others. E.g. Kidnapped by the Circus, almost killed by Daisy etc. And while I think this interpretation is both interesting and plausible, I don’t think I’ve seen much for the opposite interpretation, which is that Helen’s observation is correct.

It can be difficult to talk about Jon’s humanity sometimes, as there’s a lot of nuance and layers to cover. The fact is, Jon, especially in season five, does not completely think like a human. He is simultaneously a painfully human character such with deep compassion and guilt and self-loathing, while also being a being of immense knowledge who sees and understands the world in a different light, and in a way no one else can possibly comprehend, which has to be very isolating all things considered.

As with everything in TMA, Jon makes a choice, and his choice is to end the apocalypse, to stay with Martin, and to stay as human as he possibly can. We know from Annabelle that had she have taken Martin, who is presumably acting as one of his main anchors to humanity, Jon potentially would have snapped completely, the final push over the edge as she puts it. It has to be a difficult thing for him, to try and balance his existence when he is so fundamentally changed, and when this world naturally feels right to him, and you could argue that him snapping at the mother here is simply his instinct, being what he is.

He is The Archivist, the meant-to-be Pupil of the Eye, one of the most important beings present, and so it makes sense there’s almost an instinctive detachment from the victims. He is meant to Watch them, and Watching means no physical interaction. By touching him, the mother has broken this barrier, and so, instinctually, he reacts — with anger, notably.

I’d say it’s meant to contrast how we see him acting prior to the touch, where he seems genuinely sympathetic with the mother, and he is trying to help in what little way he can. Because before she touches him, that gap between Watched and Watcher is still firm in place, and so he can handle that.

Bearing in mind, I haven’t re-listened to the rest of season five with this, so I may have missed something.

I also think both interpretations can co-exist too, and that could be just as interesting to explore. Either way, I find that, with Jon, it’s important to consider his status in the Eyepocalypse and his nature vs his choices, although, his nature vs his choices goes for the whole series I think, as choice is such a consistent theme in TMA and in the Avatars.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: The birth of his first child changes everything for the rough around the edges military man. A small glimpse into his life now as a father.

Word Count: 3 k

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of being pregnant, just sweetness.

Heavy eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness flooding the room, Simon drifted back into consciousness. Intaking a full, deep breath, he filled lungs with the calm air around the bedroom as he came back into his body from out of sleep. Turning his head towards the nightstand besides the bed, sight searching he finally found his target. Bright red numbers glared back at him from the cheap alarm clock sitting on the top as they cut through the night to tell him the time: it was still the middle of the night.

He was no stranger to insomnia and had made peace with it long ago. It was just a part of his routine now, though these days it seemed to benefit him more than hinder as his life was changing. Another deep breath he inhaled as he rubbed his bare chest with his hand, itching a place between his pectorals; he was completely awake now. 

Turning back over, a muted smile spread across his lips as he caught your form laying next to him in the bed under the covers. Your body was faced towards him, head buried in your pillow with the covers pulled up to your chest, your hair laying haphazardly around your face like a veil. Gentle eyes watched your shoulders move ever so slightly up and down with the slow, steady pattern of your breathing. He always looked on you as if you were the only reason he knew what love was.

Because you were.

A rushing swell of emotion filled his heart as he looked upon the best fucking thing that ever had happened to him resting so peacefully. It made the hardened military man happy to know that he could create an environment where you felt safe enough to sleep so deeply, not a worry on your mind because you knew he would be there if anything happened. With careful fingers, Simon reached across the minuscule distance to tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and out of your eyes.

You did not even stir as he grazed those rough fingertips across your delicate cheek; the past couple of weeks had been a whirlwind of excitement and chaos and even though he knew you wouldn’t change a second of it, it still left you exhausted. Even more careful, he leaned his face in and gave your temple a quick peck, letting his lips linger against your silky skin a moment to breath in your scent before rolling back over to get out of bed. 

Each step was strategic to be certain that you didn’t wake; you needed to rest and he wasn’t about to disrupt that. He had just made it out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him when he heard a rustling and the beginnings of a small cry coming from the other room. Quickly and silently he moved through the hall of your mid-sized flat, over to the other bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar.

“Shhh… hey now,” Simon whispered quiet words of comfort as he moved into the room and towards the crib that was situated against the far wall where a tiny bundle that lay inside was just stirring from sleep. Again his heartstrings were plucked as he peered over the railing to what lay inside, his gaze falling upon a little girl- his little girl.

Scooping the infant up into his protective arms, his skin still nice and warm from sleep, he brought her up and cradled her snugly against his bare chest. “Let’s let your mum sleep, yeah?” he smiled down at his daughter. “You’ve taken a lot out of her the past several days, luv, but don’t worry, dad’s gotcha.”

Soon it’d be time to feed the little one and Simon would have to bring her to you, but right now all he wanted was to sit with the only other being in his life that had a permanent place in his heart. Grabbing her a blanket, they both moved over towards the rocking chair where he gingerly took a seat while making sure he had her secure in his embrace. There he sat, the tiny babe curled up on his bare chest under her blanket as he rocked them both back and forth.

One large hand on her back while the other cradled under her bottom for support, Simon delicately stroked his sweet girl’s back to sooth her sad whimpers. Slow, even caresses helped her to relax in his arms and a low hum that vibrated through his chest from some tune soothed her the rest of the way down. It wasn’t long before the motion of the chair and his tender touch lulled her back into a calm and he leaned down to place a kiss to the top of that small head as she let out a quiet coo like a dove. 

“See? I told ya; dad has ya, princess,” he murmured against the few strands of hair that covered her head. 

His touch was so gentle with her, so painstakingly careful as if he were afraid that one wrong move and he would break her. Those hands had touched so much death, dealt so much too, and he worried that he could never hold something so precious within their grasp without destroying it or tainting it in some way. And each touch of his hand had to be with a heart full of love for the little girl; that was the only way.

Anxious thoughts secretly kept him up at night for months before she was born, worries that somehow he would turn out to be just like his father, that he would somehow look at this tiny thing and transform into a monster. But the minute he heard that cry as she took her first breath in this world, all those fears seemed to evaporate into thin air; he was completely smitten with her and knew he would do anything to protect her. She would want for nothing, not as long as he was around.

Moving the baby off his chest and into his hands, he cradled her so that he could look into her face. So much of himself he saw in her tiny features it nearly brought him to tears: she had his nose, a halo of wispy blonde hair, his amber eyes. As he looked down at his little girl, so small and fragile, his could feel his heart nearly burst at the seams with all the love her had for her; his heart was so full of her that he could hardly call it his own anymore. It was like someone had taken the best parts of him and the best parts of you and made a perfect doll that he would get to cherish for her whole life.

How could something as pure as this come from a part of him? It was like magic, that somehow out of all the chaos and loss and struggle he had endured over his entire life she came, like a being made out of starlight that would always help him find his way out of the darkness. She was his miracle that came without warning, that he never knew he needed until he had her.

“I can’t believe you’re mine, princess,” he whispered lovingly to her calm, sleeping face as she snuggled into his hands. “Even when your mum told me she was pregnant with ya, I couldn’ believe I played a part in making something so damn wonderful. I mean, me with a kid? It seemed such a crazy thing. No one would have believed it, especially me, but now that you’re here I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Ya deserve everythin’ in this world, luv, and I promise I will work my whole life to give it to ya.”

Wherever life took him, whatever he had to do, there would be nothing that would stop him from giving everything he had to this little slice of heaven he created here with you. This was the only thing he could ever want now and it all started when a girl with a smile that could rival the sun took a chance on a man that felt like he had died long ago. You brought him back from the brink and now he had an abundance of reasons to keep on living. 

In the middle of his chaos were you and his child and that was enough.

Picking up his daughter, her little legs scrunching up against her tummy, he brought her face to his lips and kissed her chubby cheeks before he rested her back over his heart. “I love ya, my little princess,” he said, “and I always will.”

***Over a year later***

A little chubby-cheeked girl sat on the floor of the living room playing with her toys, her wispy blonde hair tied up into mini pigtails on top of her head. It was getting late, but she couldn’t go to bed just yet…there was one more thing that waited for her to end the day. Joyfully she babbled away to herself in her own little world as she went about stacking and destroying a set of blocks until the sound of the front door opening caught her attention.

Immediately those autumn-colored eyes shot straight up as her sparcely-toothed smile lit up her entire face and spread from ear to ear for the person who had just walked in came into her view. 

“Dada, dada,” she babbled excitedly as she struggled to her roly-poly short legs to toddle towards the sound. Her tiny arms reached up towards the figure, hands clasping together open and close repeatedly as a nonverbal request for the tall, hulking man currently setting down his things before crossing the floor to come and pick her up.

“ ‘ello sweetpea,” Simon’s gruff voice greeted her while a smile to match her own hit his lips the moment he caught sight of her. Quickly he bent down and scooped the child up into his arms, holding her in his full embrace. Instantly she wrapped her own short limbs around his neck and held him with all her tiny might as if transferring all her love into him.

“Tiss, dada, tiss,” she bounced up and down in his embrace and he was more than ready to oblige, kissing those rosy, flushed cheeks over and over to make her squeal excitedly with laughter. That didn’t take much since her favorite person in the entire world was home and that made her so giddy she couldn’t stand still.  

“How’s my princess today, hmmm? Did ya run mum ragged?”

Oh boy did she have a lot to tell her father about the goings on of her day, rambling on in her limited vocabulary as Simon listened attentively, nodding along as she spoke animatedly about how she saw a dah-ug (dog) today when she went with you in the tawr (car) to the staur (store); from the moment she said her first word, which could have been nothing else than ‘dada’, she had to share her entire day with him and he was more than thrilled to hear it all every single time. 

God, the way that little girl looked at him like he set the stars made all the stressors of even the most miserable day instantly melt away. He was her whole world in more ways than one. Who knew something so small and fragile could have the most significant impact on his life? Who could have ever know that when she came that he would get such a wonderful gift to cherish?

As she finished up her tirade, his eyeline was drawn over to you as you slowly and carefully moved up off your place on the floor and onto your feet to come stand beside him and your daughter. One of those big, strong arms meant for you latched around your waist and pulled you towards him where his lips were waiting to place a kiss to your own; both of his girls safe in his protective grasp. 

This, this was home.

“Was she good today?” he asked as your mouths parted. 

There was mischief in your eyes, your mouth tightening to not give you away by spreading into a smile. “Oh she was an absolutely…terror,” you picked, laughing as you watched that pronounced scowl furrow his brow and instantly cloud his features as his eyes narrowed. No one was to talk bad about his little girl and how dare you even try to suggest that she was anything other than perfect. 

Turning back to his daughter, he situated her better upon his hip. “Mums lyin’ on ya, ain’t she?” he asked, ignoring your smirk and eye roll as he gave her another slew of kisses across her face that sent her squealing again. “I know my sweet Anna would neva be anythin’ other than a perfect princess.”

“Pincess,” Anna repeated through her giggles as she patted her chest. “Dada pincess.”

A phrase she heard so often from him throughout her short year and some change on this earth that she already recited it perfectly and Simon’s heart nearly burst at the seams every time she uttered it because she was and would always be his sweet princess, the one who came to save him, the one he would move heaven and hell for without a single qualm. 

“That’s right, ya are dad’s princess,” he smiled as he had to swallow back the lump of emotion in his throat. 

The way she could always immediately and consistently break down those walls that he had kept up for so many years was a thing of magic. There was no possible way for her to know the amount of struggling it took for him to become this gentle after all he had endured, how he had to burn himself nearly whole and rise anew from the ashes, but by God he would do it all again just for her and for you. 

Silently you watched the two of them interact, the love pouring out of Simon like a fountain, and your breath hitched as you realized how lucky you all were. He held on to that little girl the same as he always had: as if she were the most sacred thing in the whole entire world and to him in his world she was just that. Breaking you out of your thoughts, he pulled you back in for another quick kiss; there were things to get done as it was already getting late. 

“You ready for a bath?” he asked Anna and she happily nodded back.

“Baff, baff,” she repeated. 

She was probably the only kid in the world that looked forward to bath time and bed because that was the time she got to spend with the person she was always missing the most. There was only a few more days till the weekend when Simon could spend more time with her, but for now these little moments were just enough to get them both through.

The sounds of splashing and laughter wafted from the bathroom as you took a tired seat on the sofa: Simon’s low gravely, subdued chuckling being accentuated with Anna’s light, higher pitched squeals of glee. There was no better sound in the whole world than the two of them together and you prayed that no matter how old you got or how your memories faded, that the music of them would remain something locked up tight that you would always be able to recall.  

“ ‘ere she comes,” Simon called out to you as a naked baby wrapped in just a towel toddled her way over to you and jumped into your arms to tell you ‘noo nie mum’ (goodnight mum) before that burly man came after her, scooping her up and whisking her away to get dressed so that she could start to get sleepy.

Picking out a pair of pink footie pajamas with little flowers on them, he grabbed her blanket and a picture book off the shelf, making sure the lights were low before making his way with Anna in his arms to the rocking chair in the corner of her room. 

Back and forth, back and forth, he slowly moved them as he read aloud about a very very hungry caterpillar, letting her chubby fingers glide over the pages as he laid out the story just as he had done countless nights before until her little head began to bob and her eyes flutter. 

Setting the book down he held her against his chest, letting the rhythmic beating of his heart along with the rocking of their bodies in the chair to lull her into deep sleep. It seemed like only yesterday she was able to hold her in just his hands and now she was big enough to lay across almost the entirety of his chest. 

"You're growin' up so fast princess," he whispered so softly it was barely audible. "I wish I could just stop time for a bit."

It stung his heart how sad it was that time seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand through a sieve, but in the same breath he had to remark on how wonderful and breathtaking it was to see all the best of him and you reflected in the amazing little girl she was growing in to. 

As he laid her down into her bed, he gently moved the fine strands of hair off her warm forehead to place a delicate kiss to her temple. “Sweet dreams, my sweet princess,” he whispered against her skin as her chest rose and fell at a slow pace while she drifted off into dreamland. “Remember, dad’s always here to keep ya safe.”

With quiet, easy steps he walked out of her bedroom and closed the door, another day that made it all worth waking up for. Sauntering back into the living room after having changed his clothes, he took his place beside you on the couch, pulling you into his arms and against his chest; he could always shower later, time spent with you both was far more important than all that.  

“I think I’m gettin’ the hang of this,” Simon smiled against your lips, letting them linger over the soft flesh a moment more. “We did pretty fuckin’ good with our little girl, didn’t we luv?” 

 You turned your head and held his soft gaze. "We sure did," you agreed. 

Taking his hand and placing it to the back of your head, he brought your face to his to rest your forehead against one another. "It was all because of ya that I have all this fuckin' happiness," he said with eyes closed as he breathed you in. "Ya both gave me a life I never thought I deserved."

"You deserve it all, Simon. Every once of it."

Leaning in the miniscule distance between your mouths, you met his lips with your own and he embraced them back as if to say 'thank you'. 

“Think we can do it again?” you asked, breaking the kiss gently.

Simon lowered his gaze and moved his hand to your abdomen, cupping over the small swell of your belly and giving it a loving rub. You had just barely started to show as this second little surprise still had some time in the making, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t excited to see what this next chapter would bring. Was it a little sooner than expected? Sure, but Simon knew now that there was nothing the two of you couldn’t face together or that he would do for the ones he loved. 

“Aye, I think we’ll manage just fine, luv.”

[buckets-and-trees]

Bird Home in the Darkness

Characters/Pairings: Mean Mafia!Bucky x curvy!Millennial Female!Reader x Mean Mafia!Steve Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Your introduction to your new life has been relentless. Night and day, you're theirs. Period. Sequel to Little Lark and Bird on a Wire.

Content/Warnings: dub-con, explicit smut, somnophilia, oral (male receiving), PIV sex, vaginal fingering (male receiving), double cream pie, overstimulation, use of pet name (little lark), light degradation

Author Notes: Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend continues! Late, but I'm determined to finish, so this is week ten of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer - using the SOMNOPHILIA prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

They’d only been back in Brooklyn for two days, but earlier tonight Steve had already had to go deal with a business matter. Things were quiet in the penthouse when he got back, but that was to be expected since it was well past midnight.

He made his way through the living rooms and back to the bedrooms.

He was not shocked to find Bucky in the room they’d given you.

Bucky looked up briefly when Steve entered, and Steve surveyed the scene before him. The sheets were pulled back, leaving your body fully exposed. You were wearing a silk camisole, but your bottom half was laid bare, and Bucky’s hand was working between your thighs.

Steve narrowed his eyes as he gave your form a once-over again. “Is she…?”

Bucky nodded, “Sleeping. Out cold.”

Steve chuckled. “Not a surprise. We’ve certainly kept her,” he paused, and licked his lips, considering the best word to describe the last two days in their company, “immersed in her new life.”

Kidnapped, extracted, procured - your opinion differed from that of the two men as to you being brought into this new life. But Steve and Bucky had been forthcoming with what they wanted from you in their world, and over the last two days, they had proven how serious they were. Your role was to please them in whatever way they needed, and their appetites were abundant. Although you weren’t with Steve and Bucky constantly since they’d taken you away from your old job, you had not had a moment alone, one of them always with you - sleeping, eating, showering.

And the sex.

There had been so much sex.

Your body was beyond spent and exhausted.

But although you were completely overtaken by sleep, even now you weren’t left alone, nor could they leave your body untouched.

Steve quickly undressed down to his briefs, then got up onto the bed, kneeling on the other side of you from Bucky.

Steve watched intently as Bucky's fingers worked your slick folds. Even in sleep, your body reacted, your hips shifting subtly against Bucky's hand. A soft moan escaped your parted lips.

He could smell your arousal, a scent that had become intoxicatingly familiar over the past days.

Steve watched intently, his eyes darkening with desire. He leaned in closer, mesmerized by the glistening moisture coating Bucky's fingers as they glided over your sensitive flesh.

"How long have you been at this?" Steve asked, his voice low and husky.

Bucky smirked. "About an hour. She's so responsive, even like this. Watch."

He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just so, and your back arched as another moan slipped out. Steve's breath caught in his throat at the sight.

"Let me," Steve whispered, reaching out to trace along your inner thigh.

Bucky shifted slightly, making room for Steve's hand. Together, they explored your body - Bucky's fingers circling your clit while Steve's dipped inside, curling to stroke that spot that made you whimper even in unconsciousness.

Your breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the thin silk of your camisole. Steve's free hand moved to cup your breast, thumb brushing over a hardened nipple through the fabric.

"God, she's perfect," Steve murmured, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body. "I can't get enough of her."

Bucky nodded in agreement, increasing the pressure of his fingers against your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the sensation even in sleep.

"Think we can make her come like this?" Steve asked, voice thick with arousal.

"Only one way to find out," Bucky replied with a wicked grin.

They worked in tandem, fingers moving in practiced synchronization. Steve curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot while Bucky circled your clit with increasing intensity. Your breaths came in short gasps, body tensing as pleasure built.

Suddenly, your back arched sharply off the bed as a cry escaped your lips. Your inner walls clenched around Steve's fingers as waves of orgasm washed over you.

Steve and Bucky continued their ministrations, drawing out your climax until you fell limply back onto the bed, chest heaving.

"Fuck," Bucky breathed, withdrawing his hand. "That was gorgeous."

Steve nodded, slowly removing his fingers from inside you. He brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence off his digits with a groan of satisfaction.

"She tastes even sweeter when she's sleeping," he murmured, eyes dark with lust.

Bucky watched intently, his own arousal evident in the tenting of his boxers. "Think she'll wake up if we keep going?"

Steve considered for a moment, gaze roaming over your still form. Your chest rose and fell steadily, face relaxed in deep slumber despite the intense orgasm you'd just experienced.

"Probably not," Steve replied with a smirk. "She's completely out of it. But even if she does..." He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. It didn't matter if you woke - you belonged to them now, to use as they pleased. “I'm not ready to stop yet. Are you?"

A wolfish grin spread across Bucky's face. "Not even close."

With practiced ease, they repositioned your sleeping form. Bucky slid behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest. He hooked one arm under your knee, lifting your leg to open you up. Steve settled between your spread thighs, his large hands gripping your hips.

"Ready?" Steve asked, lining himself up at your entrance.

Bucky nodded, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "Do it."

Steve lined himself up and slowly pushed inside your slick heat in one slow, smooth motion. Your body yielded to him easily, and a low groan escaped him as he bottomed out.

Steve paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you. Your warmth enveloped him, still pulsing slightly from your earlier orgasm. He began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm.

Bucky's hand roamed over your body, caressing your curves and kneading your soft flesh. He paid special attention to your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers through the thin silk of your camisole. His other arm kept your leg hitched up, giving Steve better access.

"Fuck, she feels amazing," Steve grunted, picking up the pace slightly. Your body rocked between them with each thrust, still completely lax in sleep.

Bucky hummed in agreement, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder. His own arousal was evident, pressing insistently against your lower back.

Steve's grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the pace, driving into you with increasing force. Your body rocked between them, completely pliant in your unconscious state. Soft whimpers and moans escaped your parted lips with each thrust, your body responding instinctively to the pleasure even in sleep.

Your brow furrowed slightly, the first signs that you might be stirring from your deep slumber.

"I think she's starting to wake up," Bucky murmured, nipping gently at your shoulder.

"Good," he growled, snapping his hips forward with renewed vigor. "I want to see her face when she realizes what's happening."

As if on cue, your eyelids began to flutter. A low moan escaped your lips, louder than before. Your body tensed slightly as consciousness slowly returned.

"That's it, little lark," Bucky whispered in your ear. "Come back to us."

Your eyes opened slowly, blinking in confusion as you tried to make sense of the sensations overwhelming your body. Steve's thrusts became more forceful, deliberately pushing you further into wakefulness.

"Wha-" you started to mumble, voice thick with sleep. But your question was cut off by a sharp gasp as Steve hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

"Wake up, little lark," Steve said with a predatory grin, never breaking his rhythm. "Sleep well?"

Realization dawned in your eyes as you became fully aware of your position - sandwiched between the two men, Steve buried deep inside you while Bucky held you open for him.

"Oh god," you whimpered. Your walls clenched around Steve as full awareness crashed over you. A mix of shock, arousal, and resignation flashed across your face as you took in the scene.

"There she is," Bucky purred in your ear, his hand sliding down to circle your clit.

You gasped at the added stimulation, your hips bucking involuntarily. "I... what... how long...?" you stammered, struggling to form coherent thoughts as pleasure overwhelmed your senses.

"Shh," Steve soothed, never breaking his rhythm. "Don't worry about that now.

We already made you come once while you were out."

Your mind reeled, trying to process the situation. But coherent thought was difficult with Steve pounding into you and Bucky's clever fingers working your sensitive bud. Your body responded eagerly, already primed from the earlier orgasm you'd experienced in your sleep. Every nerve ending felt electrified, hypersensitive to their touch after being worked over for so long without your knowledge.

"That's it," Bucky encouraged as your breathing quickened. "Let go for us, little lark."

You whimpered, torn between giving in to the pleasure and resisting on principle. But your body made the decision for you, waves of ecstasy building rapidly under their expert ministrations.

"Oh god, oh god," you chanted, your back arching as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your orgasm crashed over you.

Steve groaned, feeling your walls clench and pulse around him. He gripped your hips tighter, driving into you with renewed vigor as you writhed between them. "Take it all," he growled.

Bucky's fingers never stopped their relentless assault on your clit, drawing out your climax until you were shaking and gasping for air. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all.

As the last tremors subsided, Steve's thrusts became more erratic. With a guttural moan, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, spilling his release deep in your core.

For a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your respective highs. Steve carefully withdrew from you, eliciting a soft whimper at the loss.

But before you could catch your breath, Bucky was already maneuvering you.

He gently and swiftly rolled you onto your back, positioning himself between your thighs. His eyes roamed hungrily over your flushed skin and heaving chest.

"My turn," he growled, voice thick with desire.

You whimpered softly, still sensitive from your intense orgasm. But Bucky wasn't deterred. He lined himself up and pushed into you in one powerful motion, groaning at the feeling of your slick heat enveloping him.

"Fuck, so wet," he grunted, starting to move. "All filled up with Steve's cum."

You gasped at the vulgar words, fresh wave of arousal and humiliation washing over you despite your exhaustion. Bucky set a punishing pace, driving into you relentlessly.

Steve moved to lay next to you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other caressed your cheek, and then his thumb pressed at your lips. "Open up, little lark," he commanded softly.

You obediently parted your lips, allowing Steve to insert his thumb. “Now suck,” he said.

You complied, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on Steve's thumb. His eyes darkened with renewed lust as he watched your lips work around his digit. Meanwhile, Bucky continued his relentless pace, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

"Perfect little slut," Bucky grunted, his hands gripping your soft thighs.

Your mind was hazy with pleasure and exhaustion, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of Bucky pounding into you and Steve's thumb in your mouth, pressing on your tongue. Soft whimpers escaped around Steve's digit with each thrust.

Steve leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. "You're being such a good girl for us," he murmured. "Taking everything we give you."

You moaned around Steve's thumb in response, your body betraying you as it responded eagerly to their ministrations. Your hips began to move of their own accord, meeting Bucky's thrusts. Bucky groaned in response, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he redoubled his efforts.

"Fuck, she's close again," Bucky panted. "I can feel it."

Steve removed his thumb from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a bruising kiss. He trailed his hand down your body, pausing to tweak a nipple through your camisole before continuing lower. When he reached the place where you and Bucky were joined, he pressed his fingers against your clit.

You cried out at the added stimulation, breaking away from Steve's kiss. Your body tensed, hovering on the edge of another orgasm.

"That's it, little lark," Bucky growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me one more time."

Steve's fingers worked your sensitive bud in tight circles, perfectly in sync with Bucky's powerful thrusts. It was too much - the dual sensations, the exhaustion, the overwhelming pleasure. Your back arched off the bed as you came undone, walls clenching around Bucky's length as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

Bucky groaned, burying himself deep inside you as your climax triggered his own. He pulsed inside you, adding his release to Steve's.

For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of heavy breathing. Bucky carefully withdrew from you, eliciting a soft whimper at the loss. You lay boneless between them, completely spent.

Steve's hand gently caressed your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. "You did so well, little lark," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you against his chest. Bucky pressed up behind you, sandwiching you between their warm bodies.

You felt yourself drifting off again, utterly exhausted from the intense session. But before sleep could claim you, Steve's voice cut through the fog.

"Don't fall asleep just yet, little lark," he murmured, his hand trailing down your side. "We're not done with you."

You whimpered softly, your body trembling from overstimulation. "Please," you whispered, though you weren't sure if you were begging for more or for mercy.

Bucky chuckled darkly behind you, his hand joining Steve's in exploring your curves. "You should know better than to think we'd let you off that easy."

Their hands roamed your body, reawakening nerve endings you thought were spent. Steve's fingers found your breast, kneading the soft flesh before pinching your nipple. Bucky's hand slipped between your thighs, gathering the mixture of fluids there before bringing his fingers to your lips.

"Clean them," he commanded softly.

You obediently parted your lips, allowing Bucky to slide his fingers into your mouth. The taste of your combined essences flooded your senses as you sucked.

Steve's hand slid down your body, fingers trailing through the wetness between your thighs. You whimpered around Bucky's fingers as Steve began to circle your oversensitive clit.

"So wet," Steve murmured. "Our perfect little slut, always ready for us."

Your hips jerked involuntarily, caught between wanting to pull away from the overwhelming sensation and pressing into his touch. Bucky removed his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down to join Steve's between your legs.

"Please," you gasped. "I can't... it's too much."

"Shh," Bucky soothed, nipping at your earlobe. "You can take it. You're going to take as much as we decide to give you.”

You felt Bucky's length hardening against your lower back as Steve's fingers dipped inside you, gathering more of the mixture of fluids there before returning to your clit. The dual stimulation had you writhing between them, soft cries escaping your lips.

Steve captured your mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing your moans as he worked your sensitive bud. Bucky's fingers joined his, sliding inside you and curling to hit your g-spot, making you go rigid.

You could only moan in response, your body betraying you as it responded to their expert touch despite your exhaustion. You could only hope they would yield to sleep soon, unsure how much more your body could take. They certainly seemed determined to carry on all night.

Would you survive them?

Would you even refuse them if given a choice?

You wanted to protest, to remind them that you weren't some object to be owned. But sleep was already pulling you under, your mind hazy and unfocused. As consciousness slipped away, you felt a mix of emotions - resignation, arousal, and that grudging sense of belonging.

You don’t know how many more orgasms they exacted that night, but you felt them over every one of your muscles the next morning. Blessedly they were both asleep, but even in sleep they each had a hand somewhere on your body.

Theirs.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

DO THESE TWO HAVE ME IN A CHOKE HOLD? YEP. AM I COMPLAINING? NOPE.

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!human!reader, leviathan’s envy, sensory deprivation ( blindfolding ), mentions / suggestions of mindbreak, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day thirty-one ( we did it !!! ) [ leviathan + sensory deprivation ( blindfolding ) ]

“Leviathan,” your voice is soft and needy, and your hands reach blindly for him. you could hear his breathing, feel the furious heat of it against your neck, tickling your earlobe, setting all of your hairs on end. “— let me see you. Please.” you choked the plea out, coupled with a stuttering breath. he was so beautiful, you could only imagine how sinful he would look right now, his tight, lean form drenched in sparkling diamonds of sweat. howlite eyes heavily lidded, glowing with desire, and his cherry-stained cheeks fanned by thick, fluttering blonde lashes.

but, there was an obstruction. satin obsidian, a necktie, bandaged around your eyes, keeping your vision dark and abysmal. if you didn’t gaze upon his perfection while he ruined you, you thought you might be driven to madness.

“Leviathan…”

a soft, pleased grunt accompanied by a gust of hot breath fills your ear. “I might get jealous.” he whispered to you. it was half a threat, but there was an inkling of excitement to his words. as if teasing his envy would thrill him, too. “If you see how beautiful I look while I fuck you. Or… If you see other things that only my eyes are meant to see… the way your back winds like a serpent, hips pushing back to take my cock in,” Leviathan lets out a heavy breath, one gloved hand grasping the flare of your hip and pulling you into his rutting. you cry out, feeling his cock feel you to the hilt. your mouth hangs open, strangled pleas dying on your breathless lips, and he moans again. “The way you drool and babble, just for me. Each and every goosebump that raises on your skin as I touch—“ the digits left unveiled by the leather glove are warm to the touch, and gently rub your skin, massaging the beads of your own perspiration into it. “These things that are only meant for me to witness. I don’t even want you to see how I can make you writhe with lust.”

your hands fumble towards him again, over your head. behind you. trying to grasp his horns. you needed something to hold on to, to squeeze. and you knew his horns were extra sensitive the moment his cock slid into you. “F—feels good..!” you gurgle, swatting haplessly towards where you pictured his horns jut upwards towards the sky. you anticipated feeling the antlers against your finger pads, but your desperate grappling is met with nothing but air.

was he angling his head away, keeping his horns just out of your grip?

“You want to please me more.” he mutters, and it his rumbling baritone is laced with a faint amusement. “To make me cry out and cum so quickly. Is it because you can’t handle me? Is my lovemaking too delicious for you? Does my cock make you so weak and desperate?”

a flustered nod, and a helpless babble of his name. it’s enough to curb his desire for praise for the very small moment. your fingers curl, expecting to do so around air, but there’s a faint jingle. cool metal tickles your knuckles, and you realized that you’ve taken the dainty, silver chain connecting his horns in one, weak fist. “N—need… t-this—“ it’s almost nonsensical, blurting out words that are mere pieces of a complete thought that’s been fucked out of you. “Nee—eed you!”

“You’re enjoying yourself immensely. It feels so good, yes? To take my cock deep and hard, push your limits. I’m being so generous to you, pouring so much pleasure- euphoria, into your sensitive, human body that you can hardly contain it all.” Leviathan sighs, nipping at the edge of the blindfold with his sharp canines, tugging ever so slightly, as if teasing that he might take it off. “Your feeble, mortal psyche might break if I’m too magnanimous. How troublesome it is to be delicate with you, when what I really want is to decimate you completely. Ah, I’m jealous that you can be broken so beautifully.”

“T—the blindfold…” you mewl again, leaning back against his deep, slow thrusting. it feels so good that you can only slump against his chest and hang on to the chain. your jaw hangs slack, tongue dangling against your chin. “Please, Leviathan!”

but you hear a soft clicking, his tongue against his teeth as both of his hands now envelop you— careening upwards to encase your breasts against his palms. he squeezes, thumbs and forefingers pinching your sensitive nipples until you let out a pathetic squeak. “Stay in the dark…” he demands, low and sultry, his tongue slithering out to trace his name over your neck and up into your ear, where he huffs, “I’ll get jealous if you witness this glorious destruction with me.”

[shadowdaddies]

hi! i firstly wanted to tell you how much i love your writing and how perfectly you write every character. you’re so talented😊

i was wondering if you could write an eris x reader where it’s at the high lord meeting or some other big event and reader is part of the night court, maybe related to one of them, but mated to Eris and nobody knows. maybe something happens like Beron insults her or one of the Inner Circle insults him and they accidentally reveal the bond by getting protective? it can have like soft, comforting smut as well if you’d like but either way, i trust you completely :)

thank you so much! you are so kind, this ask made my day. and I love this prompt, I had a lot of fun writing this💜

Heated Admissions

Eris x Reader

warnings: none

Shoulders rolled back, you schooled your features into your practiced Night Court facade. A deadly glimmer shone in your eye, confident smirk on your lips as you followed you High Lord and Lady into the chambers where the other High Lords were gathered. 

Heart pounded, nostrils flaring slightly the moment you entered the room, your mate’s presence intoxicating despite your best efforts to ignore him. Like a moth to the flame, you allowed your gaze to flick to Eris’s as you took your place across him at the long table, each of you standing behind your High Lords. 

Amber eyes were already focused on you, Eris’s eyes raking over you as though he were sizing up an unworthy opponent. But behind his piercing glare, Eris sending a wave of admiration and encouragement down the bond. 

You flashed him a cocky smirk, appearing taunting to everyone else around you, all the while sending him your own love as you leaned against the wall, arms crossed as you looked down your nose at Beron.

Azriel grew tense at your side, your hand finding your friend’s arm to give a comforting squeeze, internal satisfaction seeping through you at the confirmation that the tonic had worked. Unwilling to take any chances of your hidden mateship being discovered, you and Eris had each taken a tonic to dilute the scent of the mating bond - but you had never tested it until now.

While Azriel relaxed next to you, Beron’s murky brown eyes stayed trained on you, his gaze assessing in a different way as Rhys introduced you to the room. 

“This is my Military Advisor. She will be explaining our strategy against Hybern moving forward,” Rhys drawled, a lazy smirk settling over his features, violet eyes alight with challenge as Beron and Tamlin visibly tensed.

You stepped forward, hands clasped in front of you, nodding a polite greeting to the High Lords as you prepared to lay out your proposal for a joined strategic effort. 

You’d hardly opened your mouth when Beron guffawed, allowing himself a loud, mocking laugh through his sneer. He did not address you, not Feyre, instead looking to Rhysand. 

“You think that I care what proposal some young, lowborn female has to offer? Surely, Rhysand, things cannot be going so poorly for you in the Night Court that you’ve resorted to such sad excuses for leadership and guidance.”

Rhys’s power rolled off of him in dark waves, cutting off Beron before he could continue further. But it was too late. Eris’s eyes were glowing with barely contained fury, flames sparking at his fingertips as his gaze flicked between his father and you.

Azriel tracked Eris’s reaction as well, the Illyrian’s siphons glowing a bright cobalt as he misjudged your mate’s protective instincts as a threat. Wings twitched, your only hint before Azriel lunged across the table towards Eris.

Time seemed to slow as your adrenaline kicked in, hand flying for the collar of Azriel’s leathers as you pulled him back. Hazel eyes found yours, the spymaster uncharacteristically startled by the feral anger that left your entire body shaking. “Do not touch my mate,” you growled before you could register the words.

Gasps sounded throughout the room, Azriel’s jaw slack while he relaxed, nodding at you in understanding. You flashed him an apologetic smile before turning to face the rest of the room, bracing yourself to stand against Beron’s wrath.

Instead, a frightful smile spread fully across the High Lord of Autumn’s face, a wicked gleam in his eye as his eyes roamed over your body in a far different light than earlier. “Well, my son, it seems that you have more interests in the Night Court than I’d gathered.” 

The tension grew unbearably thick, Autumn and Night Courts poised to jump at each others’ throats in the blink of an eye. 

But it was Helion who cleaved the silence like a spell, the rich timbre of his voice blanketing the room in a sense of calm. “How wonderful that two Courts so often at odds with each other would find the greatest common ground, love.” The wink he sent your way before continuing sending a furious blush over your cheeks, “but I would love to continue the conversation which so many have journeyed here for, if our lovely Military Advisor would continue.”

No one dared to question the High Lord of Day, settling in as you spoke. Leaving the meeting, you felt surprisingly optimistic from the High Lords’ reactions to your plan, Feyre and Rhys encouraging you that you would debrief further in the morning. You didn’t miss the pointed look that Rhys gave you - one that would strike fear into most anyone - indicating the debrief would include divulging of information from you about the mating bond.

Bidding them good night, you turned on your heel towards the room in which you were staying, shoulders slumped as exhaustion and anxiety weighed you down. You shouldered the door open, thinking of your mate as you stumbled through. You had wanted to see him more than anything, but after the Inner Circle’s reaction tonight, you didn’t dare seek Eris out.

Spinning around, you locked the door behind you, letting your head rest against the wood as you sighed, mind reeling with the potential ramifications of that meeting.

“Something on your mind?” a familiar voice purred from behind you, your spirits instantly lifting as you turned to see Eris��s red hair glowing in the dim faelight. A feline grin graced his lips as the Autumn Lord sprung gracefully from the bed, the smell of cinnamon invading your senses as he strode closer.

“Are you alright?” you whispered, hand finding his sharp jawline as you searched whiskey eyes for any sign of worry. Eris simply chuckled, mirthful gaze set on you as he tilted his head into your palm.

Tongue flicked out against the skin there, to be swallowed by a warm, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. “I am just fine, my love. I am assessing my father’s stance on us, and will adjust my plans accordingly. For now, all I want is to be with you.”

His eyes were soft at the admission, unguarded emotion that he only allowed to you see giving you the peace you needed. “I’m all yours,” you promised, pulling your mate in for a searing kiss before you led him towards the bed.

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (2/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, the angst, woman on the rape pill, suicidal thoughts, therapy ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The memory of that holiday haunted her for many years; a mixture of sadness, melancholy, regret and longing blended into one in her mind making her live in the past and present at the same time.

Although she had trouble remembering what she had been doing the day before, she remembered perfectly the expression on his face that day when Jace had taken his boxers from him – she saw the exact moment when he closed his eyes, heartbroken, and burst out sobbing like a small child.

Although he pretended to be an aloof boy who was unaffected by anything, in that moment his mask broke before her eyes showing how vulnerable he was.

The fact that he pushed her away after she helped him hurt her, but it didn't stop her from doing what she did next either.

"What is this? Are you still sleeping with the light on?" Jace asked, looking in her backpack for his book that he liked to read before bed.

She pressed her lips together, covering herself more tightly with the duvet.

"Yes." She muttered.

Jace snorted and shook his head.

"Only babies sleep with the light on. You need to get over your fear. You're already big." He said finally, unplugging her lamp, taking it with him.

"– n-no – I –" She whimpered, but her brother simply turned off the light and left her room.

"– you'll be fine –" He called out, and she hid under the duvet, panting heavily.

Her imagination always caused her clothes lying on the chair or various objects standing on the desk to remind her of disturbing, frightening shapes in the dark.

She was very afraid of them and of the fact that if she closed her eyes and just lay there, the monsters would slowly approach her until they devoured her.

She pulled the duvet slowly off her head and swallowed hard, seeing that the wardrobe was ajar, one of the long dresses spilling out of it like a glistening black ooze. She thought she heard a rustling sound and jumped when something hit the windowsill.

She thought she couldn't stand it – she burst out crying, pulled herself up and ran out of the room.

She didn't know where to go, afraid that if she complained to her mum about Jace he would later tease her even more or that worse, Rhaenyra would admit he was right.

That's why she stood in the corridor, terrified of being surrounded by darkness on all sides.

She walked to his door, knowing he would be furious, and opened it, breathing heavily – she heard him rise on his arms, his sleepy face with furrowed brows directed towards her.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled, trying to calm her breathing. "– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He said impatiently.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She confessed with shame, feeling like all those children who wet their bed in their sleep and had to wake their parents to change their sheets.

Her uncle looked at her for a long moment before giving in, agreeing reluctantly, threatening to kill her with his own hands if anyone found out. She climbed onto his bed with relief and, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, slept peacefully that night and all the nights that followed.

Despite his initial frustration with her daily nightly visits, he eventually allowed her to read books with him or even cuddle with him.

She noticed that the fact that she didn't tease him like her brothers did made him calmer around her and therefore, in essence, nicer.

She liked the fact that he stopped avoiding her, taking her along on his expeditions – they searched in the sand for unique treasures: old coins, unusual stones or shells, cartridges and other objects of interest.

They invented their own missions and tasks, pretending they were great explorers of ancient temples hidden under the desert sands, and dug deep holes hoping to really find something.

Usually they discovered beer bottles, however, it was all about the whole process, not the result, pretending that traps, poisonous insects or great windstorms lurked everywhere to force them to turn back from their path.

She enjoyed the way he made her feel with him as if they were characters from a book or a film: as it usually happened, although typically the partners didn't like each other at first, later they became inseparable companions, and each new day was another episode of the series in which they played leading roles.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking side by side with her by the sea shore – they were just returning from an expedition where she had found lots of beautiful, large shells in which she believed mermaids' songs were enchanted.

She wanted very much to be a mermaid and hoped they would help her succeed.

However, his question turned her thoughts away from the matter, making her heart beat harder in her chest.

"No. And you?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle pressed his lips together, looking everywhere but at her.

"No."

They were silent for a long moment, embarrassed to be talking about such unusually adult matters.

She wondered if he wanted to ask her for advice on some amorous matter, to make her help him win the heart of the girl he secretly fancied, and she felt a twinge in her stomach at the thought.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked further, startling her. She blinked, looking at him with amusement.

What was he getting at with these questions?

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She said truthfully.

"Do you like me?" He muttered, and she giggled, feeling a pleasant, warm sensation spread through her heart.

"Yes."

"So?"

"What are you asking?"

She saw him press his lips together, clearly not wanting to appear a fool if there was a misunderstanding between them.

She thought she would take pity on him.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said warmly.

Her uncle looked at her, his eyes shining in hope, embarrassment and disbelief. He hummed, pondering her words, terrified and excited at the same time.

"…but only when we're alone." He muttered.

"Alright."

Later that night he kissed her for the first time and did so repeatedly for many days afterwards.

His lips were pleasant to the touch, warm and moist, his hands touching her face full of delicacy and tenderness.

Years later, she realised that their kisses were a simple pressing of one lips against the other, without finesse or tongues, the way one would kiss an aunt or a mother on the cheek. There was nothing ambiguous about them – it was just that adults did it too, and it made them both feel more mature.

And then he came to her, pale, and although they had arranged another trip, neither of them had gone to the beach that day.

"– I'm breaking up with you –"

She shook her head, feeling her heart stop for a moment.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, feeling the cold sweat on her back, her throat squeezed tight while her eyes filled with burning tears of disappointment.

He had deceived her, used her, played with her to frustrate her brothers.

And then Luke hit him on the head with a bottle, and its shards smashed into his face. As Aemond and Alicent drove to the hospital, her grandfather, Viserys told her mother to return home.

"– it was an unfortunate accident, but it would be better if you left sooner – your presence will only make things worse, Alicent needs to cool off –" He said, her brother, Luke, as she did, sat on the couch and was shaking, whooping with tears.

Despite her desperate pleas and her attempt to escape, her parents locked her in the car saying it was better that way and drove off, without goodbye, without explanation, without compensation.

All the way home she cried, clutching in her hand a piece of paper with his phone number on it, which she found slipped under the door of her room that same morning.

She spent the next few weeks pretty much just crying and sleeping, refusing to eat or drink, feeling that her life was over before it really began.

The boy who broke her heart had been hurt by her family and she didn't know how she was ever going to look him in the face at the family table again.

It turned out that her mother had simply only been in contact with her grandfather from then on, saying that perhaps it would be better that way.

That maybe this would separate them from this world.

At the time, she didn't understand what she meant.

The first text message she sent him was when she overheard her brothers talking, saying that her uncle would now have an artificial eye like a terminator.

The sense of guilt and regret that he was left alone with this didn't give her peace that night, and although she hadn't slept with the light on for a long time, she liked to imagine with her eyes closed that he was lying next to her.

It calmed her down.

She took her phone in her hand, chose his number in her contacts and began to text everything that was on her heart.

But he never wrote her back even though she sent him hundreds of messages: ones about her daily life, what she was doing, reading or listening to.

She send him Christmas and birthday wishes, asked about his health, how he was doing at school, but never got any response from him.

Many times she thought about calling him, but she still kept the card he had left her, which said under his number:

CALL ONLY IN A LIFE-THREATENING EMERGENCY.

She was afraid that if she called him saying that she simply missed him, she would anger him even more. Her parents no longer spent Christmas with his family, and after her father was shot dead, presumably for trying to escape the mafia life, she completely broke down.

Her mother decided to send her to therapy when she started high school.

She remembered clearly the smell of that clinic and the doctor who sat in front of her: a middle-aged man with round glasses on his nose, his voice calm and quiet, full of patience and understanding.

All around them were plants in pots and it made her feel a little cosier.

"Tell me about the friend you mentioned to me on your last visit." He started and she pressed her lips together, feeling cold sweat on her back and discomfort in her chest.

She was afraid to tell him what they had done, who he was.

She was afraid of his appraising gaze, of the fact that he would think she was disgusting.

"He was… my uncle."

The doctor corrected his glasses on his nose, intrigued and concerned at the same time.

"How old was he then?"

"He's two years older than me."

"Oh. I see." The man smiled, as if with a kind of relief that surprised her. She grunted quietly, twisting in her seat.

"He really is my uncle. My mother's brother from the second marriage."

"I understand, however, your age has surely made you treat each other more like cousins. Am I wrong?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No."

"You said that when your brother took your lamp, he let you sleep in his bed. Something happened then?" He continued and she shook her head, horrified at what he might have implied.

"N-no. I… we just slept next to each other. Sometimes I'd cuddle up to his arm or his back when I was scared. It made him angry that I was coming to him, but he felt sorry for me."

The man nodded in understanding and smiled.

"You felt safe with him."

"Yes." She confessed with shame, looking down at her hands, feeling her heart in her throat.

"Are you two still friends? Are you two supportive of each other?"

She pressed her lips together, feeling tears burning under her eyelids, unable to get the words out for a moment.

She couldn't even look him in the eye.

"No."

"Why? What happened?"

"He lost his eye because of my brother."

"Does he blame you for that?"

"No…I mean. God." She muttered, burying her face in her hands, feeling like she was about to vomit or pass out.

This had been weighing on her heart for too long.

She needed to confide in someone.

"He, during that holiday… he asked if I would become his girlfriend. We kissed. Fuck! I didn't know about it, neither of us knew we shouldn't do it! That it was wrong, that we were too closely related." She exhaled with difficulty, finally bursting out crying, feeling hot, overpowering shame flowing in waves through her body.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How long were you two together?" He asked.

She wiped her red cheeks with her palm, trying to calm and focus.

"A few days. Maybe a week."

"Why did you stop being together?"

"Because he broke up with me. He told me we couldn't be together." She mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. "It wasn't until later that I realised what he'd found out, what incest was and what we'd done."

"There is a seeker nature in children. They watch adults and want to behave like them. Until their parents introduce them to the rules of the world it seems to them that the world doesn't have them. Even more so when it comes to social norms. Neither you nor your friend knew at the time that such relationships were not universally accepted. Up to that point you were family to each other, but also girlfriend and boyfriend. Looking at a child's decisions from an adult's perspective is ineffective."

He explained, making her, for some reason, feel better. She looked at him and shook her head.

"It's just… he was close to me. He was a good looking boy. He was kind to me. I felt safe with him. He didn't want to take advantage of me, I know that."

"So why are you creating a situation in your mind that what you did was the result of your premeditation when neither of you knew then what you know now?"

He asked, and she remained silent, not knowing what to answer him.

"It's just… ever since then I've felt a constant, heavy, overwhelming shame, crushing me like a stone." She muttered without strength, feeling that she had probably expressed the core of her feelings in this.

The man nodded at her words.

"It's natural. Shame accompanies us as a regulator of decency in our lives. I once read about a theory that God, when he banished Adam and Eve from paradise, did not make them bare: they were like that, they just realised their nakedness, and original sin made them feel shame for the first time. It is shame and fear of punishment that make us not walk naked in the street, that we guard our intimacy."

On the bus ride home, she reflected deeply on his words, feeling as if she had awoken, as if her senses had sharpened, allowing her to see the world again as it was.

She realised that all her life she had been punishing herself for feeling something for him and that it felt good, even though some part of her was telling her that she should be disgusted with herself.

She decided to forgive herself.

She felt much better and even started dating, trying to forget what had happened, to create a relationship that wasn't stigmatised.

Although she was smiling, she resented herself for looking at those boys, hearing the sound of the sea in the back of her head, his voice coming to her as if from afar.

I'm afraid of monsters too.

Everything changed when one day she received a message that made her heart stop.

She had no idea what she should be thinking: only a year after her father's death, her mother had begun dating Daemon, who had at first frightened her, and although Rhaenyra had said she wanted to end with the mafia half-world, the man she had married shortly afterwards had drawn them even deeper into it.

Daemon was an unpredictable and dangerous man, but loyal to his principles, his family and above all – her mother.

In some strange way, incomprehensible to her, they truly loved each other.

What she appreciated about his character was that he gave her and her brothers a choice: he said he did not intend to condemn them to sink into his world, but if they chose to go their own way, they were to devote themselves to study and education.

She and Luke chose to study, but Jace, to her and her mother's despair, wanted to be like him.

They eventually moved into his large house on the outskirts of the city together with his daughters from his first marriage – at first it was quite strange and awkward, even more so when they ate all together, but then Baela and Rhaena opened up to her, becoming, in her eyes, part of her family.

Daemon could sense when she was lying: he would then look at her with furrowed brows and say that he wanted to talk to her in private, which always made her heart pound like crazy with fear.

She was genuinely scared of him.

"I know you're hiding something inside. I can feel it and I don't like the fact that you're not being honest with me." He said coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette, standing with her in the garden.

She lowered her gaze, pale, not knowing what to answer him.

"I won't play your father, but I can see that you are lost. You isolate yourself, you rarely see your friends, you're still studying. You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it and you'll regret it one day."

She couldn't describe how much his words hurt her.

They hurt her because he saw right through her and described her life in a few simple words.

You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it.

It sounded better than the thought that she had no desire to live at all.

She felt that something had been missing inside her since that holiday, some part of her heart had been ripped out and thrown into the sea, and she felt defective, her interior filled with an emptiness.

Despite being surrounded by many people, she was lonely.

For a long time she wondered what to make of the message she had received: its tone made it seem as if there was something she and her siblings had not been told about her father's death.

She feared it was some sort of mafia hijacking, a trap for Daemon and one of her brothers – she decided she would tell Baela where she was going so that if she didn't return someone would start looking for her.

"Heavenly Beach? It's a dangerous place. I'll go with you." She said, concerned.

"No. I was supposed to come alone. It's just… if I'm not back by three o'clock wake up Daemon and tell him where I am."

"Do you have your pocket knife?"

"Yes."

She told Daemon and her mother that she was going to a friend's for a sleepover: the frustrated look on her stepfather's face told her that he didn't believe her, but apparently even he, knowing her nature, didn't suspect what she wanted to do.

Heavenly Beach belonged to his rival.

To her father's brother, Larys Strong.

She arrived by taxi, surprised at how large crowds stood waiting to enter the club. She wondered if she should wait in line with them, but after a while her phone vibrated and she got another message from an unknown number.

So she did, and the broad, bulky man told her to open her backpack and show him what she had inside.

She thanked God that she had hidden her pocket knife in her bra.

The man nodded for her to follow him and together they went down the stairs to the underground consisting of several large rooms in which music was booming, the flashing coloured lights around her made her feel as if she had gone blind. She swallowed hard, spotting her uncle in one of the VIP boxes.

Larys Strong had indeed greeted her with a bouquet of roses.

The thought that he was the one she would be talking to reassured her, and that was her mistake.

"I'm very glad you came. Sit down, please." He said softly, his smile warm and welcoming while his hand pointed to the other side of the couch, a safe distance away. She smiled too and sat down where he indicated to her, sighing in relief.

"Forgive me for only contacting you now, but this matter keeps me awake. I know you are the most cautious of your siblings, which is why I preferred not to take the risk and invite your brothers. I fear they would take it badly and it could lead to some…complications." He said, making her feel an unpleasant squeeze in her stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. But first, let's order something to drink. Would you like a vodka and coke?" He asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, thank you, I don't want anything." She muttered.

Larys nodded at a man standing nearby, who approached him after a moment.

"Ned, get me a whisky and a glass of water for this young lady." He said calmly. The man nodded and disappeared after a moment, heading towards the large bar behind her.

"Back on topic: I am in a very difficult situation. Unfortunately, the person who was involved in his death is also a close associate of mine, which makes everything very complicated. However, I believe that my brother deserves for at least one of his children to know the truth." He said, getting serious suddenly, and she listened to him in suspense, horrified.

"Otto Hightower ordered his murder. Harwin was still snooping around, looking for hooks on them, even thinking of co-operating with the police."

She stared at him dully, feeling a complete void in her mind.

Otto Hightower had ordered his murder.

What?

As the man placed a glass of water in front of her and a whisky in front of her uncle her mind was in a state of complete panic. It made her forget what Daemon and her father had always told her.

Never drink anything that has not been poured into a glass in your presence.

"Easy. I know this is difficult for you. You have to be careful with these people, they are dangerous. Drink some water, it will help." He said, and for some reason she listened to him, grabbing the glass, taking a few deep sips from it, feeling that she was trembling all over from nerves.

Viserys's associate was her father's murderer.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" She muttered, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling strange, as if her head was spinning.

"You have to be careful. Anyone who enters this world once will never leave it again. Don't try to cooperate with the police." He replied with a smile, his tone slightly changed, as if what he saw before him and her reaction pleased him.

It seemed to her that the music around her had begun to quiet, as if it was coming from far away, she tried to focus her thoughts but was unable to.

The cold sweat of terror and fear ran down her neck as she realised what had happened.

What she had done.

"I'm sorry, I feel sick from what I heard. I'm going to go… to the toilet." She muttered, getting up from her seat with difficulty and walked ahead towards the sign she could see from afar.

She was dizzy as if she had drunk ten shots, the burning tears of despair making her barely see where she was going.

The light in the bathroom almost blinded her – she locked herself in one of the cabins and slumped to her knees, breathing heavily, pulling her phone out of her backpack, thinking with horror that if she called Daemon and Jace and they raised hell in here, they might shoot them.

She needed to call someone they wouldn't hurt and then it dawned on her.

Aemond.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

The screen of her phone seemed blurry to her as she struggled to type in her code and began searching for his number in her contacts. When she finally saw his name she clicked on it and put the phone to her ear, leaning her head against the wall, feeling the cold tiles under her buttocks, the female voices coming from behind the door seemed to her to be just a dream.

"– please – please, please, please –" She muttered, hearing that there was a signal, that he hadn't thrown or blocked that card.

She swallowed hard when the sound silenced and she heard a noise on the other side.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled in a trembling voice feeling tears of terror, helplessness and fear run down her face, her body numb and heavy.

"– what is it? –" She heard his voice, cold and matter-of-fact, and although he sounded very different from when they were children, a wave of heat and a familiar, pleasant sensation she hadn't felt in years ran through her body.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She cried out, bursting into sobs, thinking about the fact that she was about to lose consciousness and they would do whatever they wanted to her and her body.

Daemon warned her.

Never lie to me.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –" She heard his voice as if in the distance.

She furrowed her brow, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, where she was, and what she wanted to do.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered finally, looking around her thinking that indeed, this room looked like a toilet.

She felt that she was very tired and just wanted to sleep.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked further, his voice sounding as if he was furious.

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, feeling her mind drifting away and remembered that she had seen palm trees before entering this place.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She muttered, and then her mind enveloped in complete darkness.

She thought she felt the touch of someone's hand, heard someone's voice, but she wasn't sure if it was a dream or reality.

When she woke up, she was blinded by the light – she hissed and covered her face, only realising after a moment that she was lying in her bed, in Daemon's house. When she turned her face she saw her stepfather sitting in a chair, looking at her with eyes she knew well.

He was furious.

"I asked you. I thought you were a smarter girl, but you are clearly just a plain, naive idiot." He hissed, as usual saying exactly what he was thinking.

She pressed her lips together, feeling pain in her heart at his words, realising that she had a huge black hole in her memory.

"What happened?"

"You called Aemond. They could have raped you there, and instead of calling me you called the person who could have helped them." He scoffed, raising his voice, annoyed.

"He was here?"

"And how do you think you got here? That you were brought here by a fairy?" He sneered, and she swallowed hard, looking at him with wide eyes.

Even though she should have felt horror at what had happened to her, all she could think about was feeling his hand, hearing his voice.

And then she remembered.

His voice.

His words.

You don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

We Were Built to Fall Apart and Fall Back Together

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria (pre-Saviors war) Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood, injury, illness; allusions to self harm; canonical character death Summary: After Denise's death, you notice something is terribly off about Daryl, but he won't let you close enough to find out what. A/N: This novel was written for @darylssunshine and my lord, I'm worried that I got too carried away and that's just a ton of rambling and ooc Daryl. 😢

*gif is not mine

Something was wrong with Daryl.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you just knew he wasn’t himself. Well, completely himself. He was amped up and ready to fight, ready to take revenge. Everyone seemed to understand why. He had watched Denise die, harbored that guilt upon his own shoulders alone. He had conceded and let her go with him and Rosita. It was his fault that she had been taken from the community, taken from Tara. Of course, that wasn’t true. The blame lay solely on the Saviors, but Daryl was nothing if not self deprecating and stubborn. That—the willingness to take full responsibility, to beat himself down—was commonplace. However, there was something else.

Something in the way he communicated, a quieter tone than usual. Of course, no one else picked up on it. No one else spent 99% of their time with him. No one else had conversations with him in bed, heard him vent or laugh or just talk when everything else was still and quiet.  Not like you. No one else heard the different octaves, the slight trembles. To everyone else, he was just talking. 

Something in the way he carried himself. Daryl had a specific gait. Nearly silent footfalls when stealth or care was needed but in everyday activities, his boots pounded the ground. He walked with purpose, long and even strides. Not with a slight drag of his left leg. So minuscule that no one seemed to notice. Except you. 

Something in the way he ate. Daryl had a healthy appetite. He shoveled food into his mouth like someone would take it from him at any moment. Maybe someone had before. He gave it up willingly when supplies were scarce and he feared the kids would do without. Supplies weren’t at a surplus but no one was starving, yet no one seemed to notice that Daryl wasn’t eating. No one except you. 

You had reasons to worry that others had no way of being aware. Daryl wasn’t coming to bed at night. Two nights in a row. You found him on the couch the next morning. That was concerning in itself. Daryl up at the ass crack of dawn Dixon was still asleep when you came downstairs. Once he was awake, there was no conversation. Not a word spoken. He’d forego his coffee and anything to eat and just trudge out the door. 

“So.” You leaned back against the wall next to him, narrowing your eyes when he moved to the side just the slightest bit. 

“So?” He crossed his arms, hands tucked away in his armpits. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You pressed, forcing yourself to keep your distance. He angled his head toward you but kept his eyes on the meeting. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” He rasped in a whisper so quiet that you needed to lean closer to hear him properly. You answered with a simple mhm. There was no point in pursuing the conversation there. 

“Has anyone taken inventory since—” Rick let the words filter out, dropping his head with a sniff. “Tara isn’t up for it but we need to know what we’re running low on and—”

“I can do it.” Carol volunteered, standing and smoothing her pants and shirt. “I’ll go now. We know there was quite a list when she—” Even Carol couldn’t seem to muster the words. 

“Died.” Daryl finished, his voice rough. Everyone looked at him, a variety of expressions. “What? No one else seems to be able to say it. She was murdered. Killed. Dead.”

Rick was quiet for a moment, as were you, waiting for the next thing someone would say. 

“That isn’t on you Daryl. It was the Saviors, and she wanted—”

“The hell it ain’t.” The archer snapped, pulling his body from against the wall with the slightest stagger. You squinted, surveying the room. No one noticed. Of course they didn’t. “I took ‘er out there. Knew better but did it anyway.” He was challenging them, daring anyone to try and take some of the weight of guilt from his shoulders. When no one spoke up, he tapped his fist against the side of his leg and stalked out of the room. 

Then it was all eyes on you. A wordless game of who’s gonna check on Daryl was set in motion. 

“I’ve got him.” You nodded and left the room. He wasn’t in the foyer and unlikely to be upstairs in a house that wasn’t his own, so you opened the door and traipsed down the porch steps. “Daryl?” A look to the left and then to the right revealed nothing but empty evening streets in Alexandria. 

You knew almost everything there was to know about the archer. Including that if he did not want to be found, you would not find him. 

You did the only thing you could. You sighed and headed home, hoping just maybe he’d be there, though the odds were against you. 

The house was dark when you got there, which was nothing new. Even if he was home, he could move around in the shadows like a ghost. Opening the door, you stepped inside and closed it behind you, opting to leave the lights off for the moment. 

“Daryl, are you home?”

Nothing. 

Another sigh as you removed your boots and padded into the kitchen, this time, turning on the lights. Coffee would have been the better option but your nerves won out with their persuasive argument for alcohol. You had two bottles of wine that you used in cooking—well, that was the intended use. 

Glass poured and book in hand, you turned off the light and perched yourself on the couch, lighting a candle to illuminate the words on the pages while you waited for him. Even if you fell asleep, you’d know if he came home.  If the apocalypse had made you into anything, it was a light sleeper. You’d know the moment that door opened. 

It never did. 

When morning came without a trace of your boyfriend, you passed into another level of worry, the part where the scenarios came intruding upon your usually levelheaded thoughts. 

What if he had gone after the Saviors alone? What if he had been hurt? What if he had been—

No. That thought, you simply refused to entertain. Boots on and weapons holstered, you stepped outside. Carol was walking toward your house, but before you could ask if she had seen the missing archer, she was looking up with a hand hovering over her eyes to block the sun.  A glance toward you but she remained silent. 

Jogging down the steps, you joined her, shielding your eyes and looking toward the roof of your house. 

Daryl was perched there, knees drawn up with his arms wrapped around them. He was just watching the townsfolk move about without a word or movement. You worked your jaw back and forth to stifle the annoyance of having him above your head all night while you waited for him until the candle had burned out. 

“I got this. Thanks, Carol. Did you need anything else?”

She was still watching her best friend but reluctantly turned to you. “We’re running low on nearly everything in the infirmary. Gauze, gloves, ointments, antibiotics, painkillers, and the meds some of the people need to manage health issues. Would you—”

There was a loud thud several feet away, Daryl straightening—staggering and tilting but yes, straightening—from his jump. “I got it. Make a list.”

“Daryl, maybe you should—” Carol started. 

“Make a list.” Was all he said before walking up the steps and into the house. 

You started to speak but the other woman was faster. “Something’s not right with him.” She had crossed her arms and was staring at your front door. “He isn’t eating. He’s walking differently and there’s something about his tone.” You blinked at her. “What? Just because you’re sleeping with him, you think the best friend doesn’t notice these things too?” Carol smiled, squinting against the sun. 

“Touché.” You conceded with a nod. 

“I’ll make the list but go with him. You and someone else. No matter what he says.” Her hand came to rest on your shoulder and squeeze. 

“You know I don’t listen to what he says anyway.” You placed your hand over hers and brought it down with a squeeze of your own, separating as you walked toward your house. 

Your bag was on a hook by the door, all unused necessities still inside. You merely needed to replenish and pack up some extra clothes. As your boot touched the bottom step of the staircase, you heard the tap begin to run in the kitchen. You carefully hung your bag on the banister post. 

Rounding into the room, you found Daryl grasping the edge of the kitchen island, arms outstretched with his head hanging between them. His hair was draped like a curtain, shielding any view of his face. The glass he’d filled sat untouched in front of him. 

As you approached, it became apparent that he hadn’t realized you were even in the room. That was beyond concerning. Daryl had an eagle eye and the hearing of an owl. He should have heard you the moment you entered the house. 

“Daryl.”

He didn’t startle, just simply squeezed the countertop’s edge. “Take it you’re goin’ too.” He rasped, his words followed by a harsh sniff. 

“Of course, I am.” You stepped closer and reached for his hand, your fingertips barely making it halfway before he moved. “Daryl, wait.”

“G’on an’ get ready. Wanna head out, maybe be back ‘fore dark.” 

“Listen, I know someth—”

“Take whatcha need in case we gotta make it a overnight thing.” His own bag was on the hook beside where yours had been moments ago. Daryl snatched it as he opened the door and headed outside. 

“Stubborn fucking mule.” You grumbled, jerking your bag from the post on your way up the stairs. 

You had been in the car for 45 minutes and Abraham had not stopped talking. You loved the big red gorilla but sometimes, he needed several layers of duct tape over his mouth. From the way Daryl was massaging his left temple as he drove, you would need to find that tape or the other man would be riding in the trunk very soon. 

“Really puts a burr in my saddle what they did to Denise.”

Shit. 

Daryl’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. The fingers rubbing his temple clenched into a fist. His jaw tightened and ticked. Abe had already been grating his nerves and it seemed the other man had severed the last one completely. 

Time to defuse. 

You cleared your throat. “So, according to the map, we should take the next right.” With a grunt, the archer followed your directions. 

By the time he shifted the car into park, your worry for his well being had reached a crescendo. His eyelids were drooping. A thin sheen of sweat was glistening on any patch of skin you could see. And when he opened the door, he put his boots on the ground and sat for a moment before grasping the top of the door to pull himself up and out. 

Something was definitely wrong with Daryl. 

He opened the back door and grabbed his bag, slamming it before Abraham could even blink. 

“Alright, little lady. What seems to have his panties in a bunch?” 

Maybe you really could find some duct tape. 

“I have no clue.” You watched Daryl light a cigarette behind the car while he scoped out the strip mall for any signs of danger. Even while standing still, he listed sideways and struggled to right himself. “But it’s nothing good.”

“I’m gonna go on ahead. You check on your dreamboat. See if he needs to sit this one out.” The large man nodded, climbing out of the cramped backseat. 

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Cause that’s gonna work.” Abraham just grinned at you and got a clear view of your middle finger in return. Your eyes settled on your archer once again, now leaning against the trunk much as he had the counter that morning. Abraham stopped without getting too close, cracking some joke that at least made himself smile before moving on. Daryl simply shook his head. 

Your lips trilling, you finally opened the door and climbed out. Working your arms through the straps of your bag, you closed the car door and rounded the back as Daryl’s hand fell away from his stomach. He caught your narrowed gaze and grunted, pushing himself away from the car. 

“S’get this over with.” He grumbled, stalking away at a slower than usual pace. You didn’t even have to walk briskly to catch up as you normally would. 

“You—pulled a muscle?” You said in your best game show contestant voice. The man didn’t stop but his eyes slid over to regard you quizzically without turning his head. 

“What?”

“You have a migraine?”

“Y/N.”

“Indigestion?”

“Stop.”

“Stubbed your toe?”

“Y/N.”

“A goddamn splinter in your left asscheek? Would you just stop and tell me what’s going on?!” You reached for his shoulder but he sidestepped straight into a graceless stagger, expression pinched and angry. 

“Told ya already! Ain’t nothin’ wrong! Just wanna get this done so we can get back to focusin’ on those assholes that killed ‘er!” With a groan of frustration, he pulled his gun from the holster, but you didn’t miss the pain that flashed across his face. “Would ya just—just go that way? Ya got the list. M’gonna see if there’s anythin’ else we can use.”

“Daryl, I know you. Would you please—”

His arm straightened out past your head, pointing a finger on the direction Abe had gone. “G’on.”

Your nostrils flared but you spun on your heel and stomped away. The insufferable archer couldn’t possibly understand how well you knew him if he thought he was hiding anything by being a jerk. Daryl had three types of anger: angry, homicidal rage, and—the one you and everyone else saw the most—deflection. He would use the fear of provoking his ire to keep anyone from detecting that something wasn’t right, whether that be physical or emotional. 

Daryl was grieving and guilt-laden. No one could ever make him feel worse than he could on his very own, but per your observations over the last couple of days, that wasn’t the entire issue. There was a physical ailment of some sort. Precarious steps, sweating, exhaustion, poor appetite. 

Your stomps slowed to a crawl before your feet were just no longer moving. Abraham had caught sight of you by then, nodding that he had located the pharmacy, but you didn’t notice. 

“Oh, my god.” He would have told you, right? You, of all people. There’s no way he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t have risked everyone. You were already running back to the spot where you had gone your separate ways, the tall redhead’s boots pounding the pavement behind you, but Daryl was no longer there. Not that you thought he would have just stood there anyway. 

“What’s all hubbub, bub?” Abe called from just behind you. 

You didn’t answer. You continued to take corners and weave in and out of alleys between shops, your gun drawn but not even poised to aim. “Daryl?” You called near frantically. The groans and snarls of hungry corpses grew nearer, sending your heart pumping into overdrive. “Daryl?!” 

Rounding into an alley, his name was on the tip of your tongue when a tight grip on your bag yanked you inside the door you had nearly passed right up. With a squeak, you made to raise your weapon only for an overly warm hand to push it back down. 

“Y’soundin’ the dinner bell out there or somethin’? S’gotten into ya?” Daryl snapped in a harsh whisper. His face was inches from yours, his hand still folded over your own. His skin was on fire.

Oh god, no. 

Abraham’s shadow blocked most of the light from outside the storage room, your words spilling into the shadows. “Daryl, are you bit?” His hand was snatched away as if you had slapped it. 

“The fu—no, I ain’t bit. Y’think I wouldn’a told ya?” Daryl hissed, turning to head further into the building. 

“I’m beginning to wonder.” You laughed wryly. He just kept walking. “Then you’re sick.”

There came a frustrated groan from the silhouette walking in front of you in the poorly lit area. “Give it a rest, would ya?”

“You have a fever. I felt it. You’re burning up.”

“S’my blood pressure hittin’ the roof cause you’re pissin’ me off!”

You bit your tongue when Abraham chuckled from somewhere behind you. “Who needs the good ol’ boob tube when you’ve got relationships in the end times?” You barely stopped yourself from aiming your gun at the man. There’s a time and a place was a concept with which Abe was drastically unfamiliar. 

“Would you stop waking please? I know you’re sick or—or you’re hurt. Just talk to me. I only—”

“M’a grown ass man, Y/N! Don’t need ya tryin’a be my mama!” He grabbed the handles to a set of heavy metal doors, but didn’t try to open them yet. “Get on back an’ find the pharmacy. Gonna meetcha there.”

“Daryl—” 

A large hand came to lay heavily on your shoulder, fingers squeezing with a tenderness that brought tears springing to your eyes. “Come on, chickadee. I think we should get on over to that pharmacy.” Daryl was still gripping the handles, his head bowed, the door remaining unopened. “Come on now.”

You swallowed hard with the first step back, wiping angrily at your eyes as you turned to push past Abraham. “Let’s get the shit and go home.” Stepping outside, you squinted against the sun and glanced to your right where the walkers shuffled by in the back alley. They hadn’t noticed you. When a solid thud sounded from behind you, there was no hesitation in rolling your eyes. “Jesus, Abe. Be quiet.”

“Wasn’t me.” 

You twisted to regard him, finding thick eyebrows raised while he shook his head. “Daryl.” His name came out across a breath. You pushed past the large man for a second time and navigated through the dimness to where you had left the archer at the door. A dark heap laid against the bottom of the entryway, unmoving. “Daryl? Oh god, Abe!” 

“Ssh. The walkin’ uglies are gettin’ closer. We should—oh, shit.”

You were already on your knees, feeling the dry heat of fever in Daryl’s skin when you took his face into your hands. He was no longer sweating; simply burning.  “Daryl. Daryl, please open your eyes.” With frantic movements, you started patting him down, moving clothing to examine his skin. “Abe, the flashlight.”

The redhead scrambled to shrug off his bag and pull the device from the side pocket. He clicked it on. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hold it steady.” Parting Daryl’s vest, you began unbuttoning his shirt. “Turn your head.” 

“I’ve seen a man’s chest before, darlin’.”

“Turn your fucking head, Abraham!” You shouted, flinching when you heard a snarl that was much closer than the rest. “Give me the light please.” Your left hand held Daryl’s shirt closed, the buttons undone, while your right hand extended and gestured with urgency. “Please, Abe. Give me the light and go see how many there are—if you can handle them.”

He glanced between you and Daryl, obviously not understanding but did as you asked. Once he had walked out of sight, you lowered your head with a long exhale. Over the months you had known him, Daryl had allowed himself to feel less and less defined by his scars. That didn’t mean he wanted to parade them in front of everyone, even if the individual had already seen them. You and Carol seemed to be the only exceptions to that rule. 

The flashlight held beneath your chin, you parted his shirt, the culprit for his symptoms staring you in the face. A bandage covered the lower left side of his abdomen. It was clean but the skin just around the edges was an angry red. Nostrils flaring, you peeled away the gauze and then let go, the tape resticking to small areas. The flashlight fell to the concrete floor. 

“You are un-fucking-believable, Daryl Dixon.” 

The bullet wound was still open, torn and gaping from his own success in removing the slug, lined with crusts of yellow and a sickly shade of green inside. You knew what this was, this was his punishment. For himself. The burns for Beth. An untreated bullet wound for Denise. He wanted to hurt until he made it right.

“Goddamn you.” You sobbed, removing the bandage entirely. Bowing over him, you let your forehead drop against his chest, shoulders shaking with tears you no longer cared to suppress. No. No, you couldn’t break down. Daryl needed help. 

Abe wasn’t fighting. Aside from the distant snarls and scrapes of shuffling feet, you heard nothing. 

“Abe?” You called as loudly as you dared, sniffling, your face wet with tears and snot. “Abraham?” 

“I’m here, girly.” He appeared within your sight, gore-covered knife in hand. “Got the ones outside. 

“He was shot. It’s—it’s infected.” You scrambled to close Daryl’s shirt and picked up the flashlight, the beam trembling. “Would you—I need to go to the pharmacy. We’ll need the meds—everything that’s there. Can you stay with him?” He was shaking his head before you even asked. 

“I’m gonna take care of that pharmacy. Then we’ll load up tall, dark, and broody. We’ll go home and get him all fixed up, you hear me?” He called your name quietly and crouched down when you just kept staring at Daryl. “He’s gonna be just fine. He’s got you lookin’ after him.” Your wet gaze fought to meet Abraham’s, finally succeeding even as your eyes danced and darted in a valiant attempt to maintain it. 

The inhale trembled just as harshly as the exhale. “Okay. Okay, take our bags, too. You’ll need the extra space. I’ll, um—I’ll barricade the door after you go. Shave and a haircut when you come back?” 

“Two bits.” He grinned, rising to his full height. Your fingers grazed over Daryl’s jaw as you stood, loath to leave him for even that meager amount of time. Abe checked outside the entrance, each way, and turned around to walk backwards as you started closing the door. “If I’m not back in five minutes, just wait longer.” You rolled your red-rimmed eyes and shut him out. 

Searching the room with the flashlight lifted, you found a desk. It looked sturdy, heavy. You really weren’t even sure you could move it alone. Placing the flashlight on the floor, you pushed against the side, grunting and huffing between your sniffles and hiccups, but it was all for naught. The thing didn’t budge. 

“Fuck.” Spinning, you pressed your back against it and used your legs, finally getting the damn thing to slide, albeit noisily. You couldn’t manage getting it firmly against the door, but nothing was getting by it and that’s what counted. Snatching up the light, you grabbed one of a stack of metal folding chairs and ran back to Daryl’s side. He hadn’t moved an inch, but his head was rolling back and forth against the concrete. 

“Y/N—”

Longing to just sit next to him, you stood the flashlight on its end next to your feet and jammed the chair beneath the door handles. The dead weren’t coordinated or cognizant and could only open the door by accident but it was possible and you were taking no chances. 

Back on your knees, you leaned over him, smoothing back his sweat-slick hair. “I’m here, love. I’m mad as hell but I’m here.” The heat radiating from him made your stomach churn. You pressed a palm to his cheek, his forehead, flipping your hand over to do the same.  

“S’my fault. She’s dead—gone an’ s’on me.” He started to sit up, finding he couldn’t, either too weak or in too much pain. Daryl had a high tolerance for hurt, so it was likely the former. 

“Ssh. Stay still.” His hand moved toward the exposed wound. You caught his wrist and brought his palm to your lips, kissing and lowering it back to the floor. “Nothing’s your fault.” 

“You’re s’posed to say that cause ya love me.”

You laughed quietly. “Maybe, but I mean it. She wanted to go, Daryl.”  Petting his hair in tender strokes, you watched his eyes struggle to remain open. They were only slits of bloodshot and blue as it was. There was a thud scrape thud outside.

“You’re pretty.” Daryl slurred, head turning to chase your touch when you pulled away to twist toward the alley door, blocked by several shelves and other junk. No coordinated knock, no light seeping inside. Walkers. 

“That’s the fever talking.” Out of an unfortunate practiced habit, you checked his pulse, finding it thready, too fast. 

“Nah. Always pretty. Even when I ain’t cookin’ from the inside out.” His eyes were closed, rolling beneath the lids. 

“And you’re handsome. Even when you are cooking from the inside out.” You mused, tracing his jaw with a fingertip. The corner of his mouth ticked, as close to a smile as you were likely to get. “Abraham went to clear the pharmacy. Gonna get you all cleaned up. Head home. You’re gonna be in a bed for a while.”

“I like the bed.” You were wrong. Now, he was smirking, eyelids fluttering. “‘Specially when you’re in it too.” His hand left the cold floor and landed lightly on your right hip, fingers weakly flexing. “Could take advantage’a me right now.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed in earnest, “now I know it’s the fever talking.” It was a true statement. Daryl almost never initiated physical intimacy, but he also never turned you down when you craved it. 

When your relationship entered into sexual territory, you thought he was only doing it because he wanted you to be happy, guilt had consumed you. As if his Y/N sense had tingled, he had reassured you, promised that he wanted it too but just didn’t know how to show it, how to come to you with his own needs. He was a patient and gentle lover, contrary to his rough and rugged exterior. He was comfortable showing you that side, that affection, behind closed doors. That’s all you could ever ask for, ever would ask for. 

“Wanna kiss ya.” His hand carved a trail up your side, fingertips grazing your breast but not lingering. His hot palm settled on the side of your neck. “I love ya. Gimme a kiss.”

Smiling brightly at this vulnerability and feverish show of true emotion, feelings that would never receive a voice— even with you—you leaned down and brushed your lips over his. His mouth trembled as he began to shiver, chills setting in from his body fighting the infection, fever burning unchecked. “Easy, tiger.” You cooed against his mouth. “I love you too. You stay in bed when we get back and I’ll give you whatever you want, but for now, I just need you to rest for me, okay?”

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He grinned, silly and lopsided, as you pulled away for a clear look at his face. Even in this state, you had not a single doubt that if Abe returned at that very moment, Daryl would morph into a scowling, grumpy asshat. Oh, how you were going to tease him later. He deserved it for hiding that injury from you.

Minutes ticked by, and it felt like hours. How long had Abraham been gone? Daryl was trying to roll over, attempting to curl in on himself, but you managed—with frighteningly little effort—to keep him on his back. When he groaned, arching his upper half with a hand trying to press against the wound, you caught his wrist again. “Ssh ssh ssh, leave it alone. I know it hurts but it’s infected enough as it is.” He didn’t appear to have any walker blood on his hands from what you could see with the dim flashlight beam but you’d take no chances.

“M’sorry I lied to ya.” Now he just sounded miserable, your heart clenching and aching despite your frustration. 

“I know you are. You can make it up to me later. Right now, I just need you to rest and hang on, okay?” Your fingers carded through his hair, catching on tangles and snarls. You’d help him wash it later, give him the sweet attention he so desperately needed while hurting so deeply, physically and emotionally. 

He went quiet after that, still trying to reposition, whimpering when you wouldn’t allow it. 

“I know, baby.” His pain so bare, ailing from the infection, you could hardly find it within you to be angry with him. He had punished himself enough. He didn’t need the weight of your irritation on top of it. You would need to talk to him, but you’d have to hold back, douse that flicker of anger that he didn’t allow you to help him carry the emotions that were weighing on him so heavily. 

Knock knock, na-knock knock. 

“Abe.” You whispered, beginning to rise to your feet when you felt a weak tug at the bottom hem of your shirt. Daryl’s eyes were wide and unfocused, the pretty blue dull from fever. 

“Don’t go.” 

With a sorrowful look of apology, you worked his fingers loose, lifting his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back. Not even leaving this room.” He didn’t respond, but allowed you to lower his hand back onto the floor. Standing, you quickly crossed the distance to the door, placed your back against the desk to slide it away. You barely achieved it, feeling wrung out from Daryl’s openness under the influence of his feverish state. 

“We hit the jackpot.” The redheaded man held up two bags, the contents nearly spilling out. The one on his back was equally as full. 

“Did you see fever reducers? Tylenol? Ibuprofen? Aspirin?” You grabbed the side of the bag closest to you, nearly tipping it too far in your haste. Abe was talking behind you, reblocking the door while you walked back to Daryl, your hand sifting through the bag. Come on. You weren’t looking while you walked, your body on autopilot while your mind concentrated on getting your boyfriend what he needed. When you could see a yellow label toward the bottom, just barely visible beneath the tubings, fluids, and other pills, you nearly shouted in relief. Bayer Genuine Aspirin. “Thank god. Abe, your canteen.” 

You were already opening the bottle, punching through the seal. “Here.” Abraham tapped the container against your shoulder. With two tablets already in your hand, you took hold of the canteen and motioned for him to unscrew the lid. 

“Thanks.” In the moments of your absence, Daryl had finally succeeded in turning onto his side, legs drawn up, body quaking. “Daryl.” There was no room on his opposite side. He was too close to the doors. “Daryl, I need you to take some meds for me.” The only reply was a groan while he pulled his knees closer to his chest only to jerk them away with a choked off shout, the movement aggravating the wound. “Daryl.” 

“Need me to, uh—” Abe waved a hand toward the whole of Daryl. You knew what he meant. Even as you nodded, you could already hear the grumbled complaints about you allowing him to be manhandled. “Okay, Prince Charming, just need to sit you up a little for these pills. Then we’ll get the fuck out of here.” He started with the left arm, sliding a hand beneath it to roll the archer just enough to work his other hand underneath the opposite arm. “Upsy daisy.” Abraham moved slowly, his eyes telling a tale of worry when Daryl grimaced and groaned. “He’s hotter than a jalapeno’s ass.” His voice was quiet but there was an urgency there. “Give him those pills and then we gotta go.”

He was right. If the fever continued to climb, there was the risk of febrile seizures. No one wanted that to happen. “Here, take these.” You pressed one of the pills to the archer’s bottom lip, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

“Ain’t takin’ your stupid pills.” Daryl snapped—damn near literally—jerking out of Abe’s hold just to fall back into it. You reeled back, just from the sudden movement, not out of fear. Never fear. Not with him.

“Daryl, stop.” You walked on your knees to get a little closer, trying again. “I need to get started on getting that fever down.” Chapped lips pulled away from teeth in a snarl, his hand coming up to slap yours. The tablets disappeared into the shadows. “Daryl, what the—”

“Said I ain’t takin’ your fuckin’ pills, Merle!”

Your breath stuttered, saucer eyes flitting up to Abraham and back down. “It’s Y/N, Daryl. Merle—Merle isn’t here.” The canteen was placed next to the bag of medical supplies, keeping a few feet of distance between that and Daryl, in case he lashed out again.

“Think I dunno s’goin’ on?” Your eyes slid up to Abraham as he lowered himself behind your archer, large hands relocating to grip Daryl’s biceps. “I take the drug’a the week an’ you steal the rent money to get more! Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’!” 

“It’s just aspirin. And it’s just me and Abe here with you.” He tried to lean toward you, halted by the other man’s strong grip. He was too weak to do much about it. “Merle’s not here. Do you remember where he is?” You risked reaching toward him, fever-bright eyes tracking every movement right up until your palm rested on his shin. 

His breathing picked up as he lowered his head. It hung forward with his hair acting as a protective curtain. “Dead.” He rasped. “Merle’s dead.” You would have asked Abraham to let him go but he’d likely topple over without the support. 

“I’m sorry.” You squeezed his leg, tilting your head when his whole body tensed. 

“I hitcha.” The tone of his voice was both incredulous and remorseful. “Y/N, m’so—”

“Mm mm. None of that. You’re hurt. You’re sick. You’re burning up.” There was a sound from behind the double doors. “Daryl.”

“I’ll take ‘em.” 

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Shaking two more tablets from the bottle, you ducked your head to encourage him to look at you, the small white tablet was pressed against his bottom lip again. “Come on, love.” The second pill was behind your other three folded fingers. That left your other hand free to grab the canteen. 

His lips parted just as the first walker scratched against the other side of the doors. With time quickly running out, you pressed the pill past his lips, following it up with the second. You rapidly opened the canteen and brought it to his mouth before he could attempt to dry swallow the meds, smiling approvingly when he tilted his chin upward to allow you to help him. That in itself spoke volumes about his current state.

“Let me just rinse the wound and put some gauze over it and we can go.” Another thump had both you and Abraham looking at each door. “Shit.”

“Shit’s right. I think we’re boxed in.” He was careful when easing Daryl back into a supine position, hovering to make sure you asked nothing else of him. “Take care of him. I’ll go take a look at how deep the shit we have to wade through is.”

“Okay.” You nodded, digging through the bags. If there was nothing else, the water from the canteen would have to do until you could get him back to Alexandria. The wound needed disinfecting horribly, but your options were limited. Your lip was becoming sore, indented from your teeth pressing into it while you searched. “Please, please, please.” When your hand wrapped around the bottle of rubbing alcohol, you could have sobbed. Daryl was barely holding on to consciousness when you turned to him, breaking the seal on the bottle cap. “This is gonna suck, baby.”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t really expect it of him. What you did expect was the almost violent reaction the moment the cold burn of the liquid washed over the wound. His eyes flew open with a scream that you were likely to hear in your nightmares. It was easy to catch his shoulder with one hand but keeping him there was another problem entirely. His hands scrambled toward his stomach, fingers clawed as if he could scrape out the lingering sting of the alcohol. Forced to sit the bottle aside, somehow carefully enough not to spill it, you caught his wrists, one and then the other, alternating back and forth to keep his hands away from the festering wound. The doors trembled with the renewed efforts of the dead following the noise. 

“Daryl. Daryl, listen to me. I know it hurts but I just cleaned it. It’ll stop soon.” His head fell against your collarbone with an accompanying whimper that made your eyes burn with moisture. “It’ll stop soon.” He was at least cognizant enough to heed your instructions, his hands falling limply to the floor, only for his nails to scrape back and forth over the concrete. “I need to put a dressing over it, cover it until we get home.”

“We’re boxed in.” Abraham said before even rounding the work table that blocked your view of him. “We need to wait it out and hope they move on.”

Your head was shaking back and forth, chin bumping into Daryl’s temple. “We can’t wait. He needs help now.” You had, at some point, wrapped your arms around the shivering archer, rubbing his back as he panted against your neck. 

“M’okay.” He whispered, likely not loud enough for Abe to hear.

“No, you’re not.” It wasn’t supposed to come out as authoritative as it did but it had the desired result. 

“Okay. M’not.” Daryl agreed, rubbing his fiery forehead against your skin. “M’sorry.”

“Stop it. It’s done.” You let your tone soften. He didn’t need anymore weight on his shoulders. “We just need to get you outta here.”

“You could find a way out. Leave me here, come back for me.” He rasped. You weren’t even sure he was entirely grasping reality at that point. He couldn’t be if he thought that you would ever leave him behind.

“We’re not doing that.” Abe interjected before you could even summon a refusal. “We’ll find a way. Just hang tight, man.” With another glance toward the door you were perched in front of, he looked at you. “You too, buttercup.” With that, he stole the flashlight and began searching the room.

You turned your full attention to Daryl. You couldn’t see enough to cover the wound but maybe you could still fumble through it. Reaching into your bag, you dug through the newly acquired supplies to find the few things you had brought with you. He was moving against you but you thought nothing of it until you heard the distinct clink of his zippo. His hand was vibrating when the flame lit up the small area around you.

“Thank you.” A kiss was pressed against the crown of his head while you relieved him of the lighter and placed it on the floor. The shivering had worsened and you worried again about seizures just as you found the gauze and tape you had brought with you. The rolls were almost spent but you likely had enough to cover the wound at least. “Will you lie back for me?” Daryl nodded silently and let you guide him until he was on his back, body jerking as the cold of the floor seeped through his clothing to cool his feverish skin. His eyes were barely slits. 

It was a quick process, the bandage taped down and his shirt buttoned up. Replacing the lid on the bottle of alcohol, you crawled up to sit above him, pulling his head onto your lap. He turned his face against your stomach and sighed as your fingers carded through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“You’ll be okay.” You have to be.

It had to be hours that had passed, Daryl’s skin cooling only to burn again. He was unconscious, restless and moving constantly; head tossing, fingers flexing, legs drawing up only to straighten. How could you have let him get this bad to begin with? You knew something was wrong and you told no one, thought you could deal with it on your own. He was your boyfriend, your person, and you allowed him to suffer.

“Found a air duct.” 

You startled, causing Daryl to flinch but not wake. “What?” Abe shined the light above your head, jerking it to have you looking up to a series of large ducts that likely led to other areas of the building, maybe ones that were not surrounded by the dead.

“We can crawl through, find an empty room. Go out a window or a door if there is one.”

The idea was sound except you weren’t sure Daryl could move on his own and dragging him would take longer than you were afraid you could afford. “What about Daryl? He can’t—”

“He’ll have to, or I could go. Bring back help, but those rotters are gonna take down those doors sure as my short and curlies match my head.”

I did not need to know that. Regardless, he was right. There was no other way. The doors beside you were trembling as hard as Daryl, soon to buckle under the weight and efforts of walkers seeking a meal. With a deep breath, you nodded. 

“Wake him up.” Abraham ordered softly. “I’m gonna get one of these open.”

Another nod but he was already walking away. Looking down at Daryl, his face completely hidden against your belly, you stroked his cheek. “I need you to wake up.” He shifted and groaned, but didn’t rouse. “Daryl, baby, you’ve got to wake up. We have to get you out of here.”

“M’awake.” His voice was muffled against your flannel, syllables jarring with the shivers wracking his frame. “Where are we?” He took a deep breath while he turned his head, as if he had been suffocating himself against you.

“You don’t remember?” Worry churned in your gut, crawling up into your chest with a sickening grip on your heart. 

“Can’t—can’t think.” His eyes struggled to open, face contorted in discomfort. He began trying to sit up, groaning and hissing through his teeth when you helped. His left arm wrapped around his middle as he looked around. “We—we went on a run.”

“Yeah, and we’re kinda trapped.” He snapped his head around to look at you, swaying slightly. “Dead at both doors. Abe found some grated ceiling ducts that run above. We’re gonna crawl through them and find a spot where we can get out.” You licked your lips and leaned toward him to catch his wandering attention. “Can you do it?”

“Ain’t got no choice.” Bracing his abdomen, he shifted to the side, slowly getting his knees beneath him. When you hastily stood, hands on his ribs, he said nothing against the assistance. 

“Abe, you get one?” You called.

“Almost.” There was a loud clang. “Strike that. Got one.”

“On our way over.” Daryl was on his feet but still doubled over, trembling so intensely that you weren’t sure his legs would hold his weight. “Let me help.” It wasn’t a request. Firmly taking the wrist of the hand he had braced just above his knee, you pulled his arm over your shoulder. The fever was raging beneath his skin, boiling his blood into vapor. He needed the infirmary. Carol could start an IV. You could wipe him down with cold cloths. He could get antibiotics. The wound would need to stay open until the infection was under control. You could do none of those things until you got him back home. “A little further.” You encouraged, barely looking away from him to where Abe was walking toward you.

“We gotta get while the gettin’s good.” He pulled Daryl’s arm away from you, barely letting the archer’s feet touch the ground as he hauled him toward the duct. There was already a crate waiting to give you all enough height to reach.

“Abe,” you said as you studied the escape route, moving around to gather your bag onto your back and toss Daryl’s up and inside. “I need to go first. Then Daryl, then you.” Daryl was dazed, staring at you but seemingly seeing right through you. “I can scout for a door or window. Daryl behind me. If he struggles, I need you behind him so you can push him along.”

His eyes focusing, the archer squinted. “M’fine. Don’t need no pushin’.”

You stepped forward, his slouch against Abraham bringing him to perfect eye level. “If you say m’fine one more time, you won’t need to worry about walkers, Daryl Dixon.” With a huff, you side stepped them and climbed up on the crate, grabbing the edges and hoisting yourself up. “All I’ve heard is m’fine and ain’t nothin’ wrong for days and now you’re half dead and surrounded by walkers. I swear to god, I’m going to throttle you.” You rambled, not really even caring if he heard you. 

Even if he didn’t, Abe did.

“Phew, man. I wouldn’t wanna be you when we get back.” He helped Daryl onto the crate, hands hovering to catch him as the archer began to pull himself up, his arms shaking violently with the effort. Abraham had to duck and let him use his shoulders and back to make it inside.

You crawled forward enough to make room for both men, turning on your side so you could look down to watch. Daryl made it onto his hands and knees, managing to crawl out of the way before he lowered himself gingerly, letting his forehead rest against the cool metal. 

“Alright, girly! We’re all in! Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You turned without a word, crawling forward. The ducting turned to the left and then the right, bringing you just above a herd, all trying to break through the double doors you had just left behind. Your movements were slow and careful, the drag of Daryl’s pack being nails-on-chalkboard loud.  You didn’t want to attract attention and have them trying to follow the sound. It was fortunate that the combined groans and snarls concealed the movement above but Daryl was struggling.

You looked back, lifting your arm out of the way to get a clear view. He wasn’t crawling. He was on his belly, hooking his fingers into the holes of the grating below to pull himself forward, pushing with his legs as best he could. Abraham was just behind him, telling stories and jokes with a few words of encouragement in between. You needed to move faster, leave them a little behind so you could find a way out.

“He’s flagging, Y/N.” Abraham called out quietly after a few more minutes of crawling and dragging. You stopped again, and looked back. Daryl was barely pulling himself along, his sick and injured body just having no more of it.

“He’s right here.” The man in question groaned. 

“Fuck. Daryl. Daryl, stop.” His body went limp with the exception of his heaving breaths, cheek against grating. “Rest. I’m going to find a way out and I’ll come back.” Abraham nodded from behind the archer, who merely turned his hand with a thumbs up. You left both bags and crawled with purpose, watching the areas below you for walkers, where you would slow down and minimize any sounds. Right, left, left. There were forks in the ductwork. You had to remember how to get back to where you had left the two men. Right, left, left. Your brain repeated as you headed straight. Looking below you, there was a well lit room. It was quiet aside from the distant groans blocked by a door. 

Bingo.

You crawled until you found the opening, lifting the thick metal and turning it so you could drop it to the floor with a clang. You stayed still with bated breath. The door did not jar and the sounds remained distant. Lowering to be flat on your belly, you peeked out to get a full view. The room was empty; an office. A decaying body lay in the corner, jeans and a logoed t-shirt with a gun laying on their chest. Poor bastard. The door would lead out into the halls but there were windows. No shadows passed by in the few minutes you offered. When you felt dizzy from hanging upside down, you wiggled backward. 

With three quick breaths you let yourself fall out and crash to the floor with a decent thud and a groaned ow. It took a moment to catch your breath, your back protesting as you levered yourself to your feet, quickly devising a strategy. The desk was just as heavy as the one in the warehouse area, sliding and catching on carpet this time rather than the smooth concrete. Somehow, you managed to get it in front of the door. 

Climbing onto the desk, you winced at what was bound to be a painful disaster. Keeping your eyes on the edge of the duct, you walked to the far end of the structure. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. The running start was minuscule but it proved to be enough. While one hand slipped, one latched on and you were dangling from the vent. With nothing and no one beneath you, you had to grab hold with your other hand and pull yourself up. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have faked cramps in PE class.” You grunted. The grates in the bottom of the duct made pulling yourself up a little easier once you could reach them. After what seemed like an eternity, you were finally inside and wasted not a single second, moving hastily, almost clumsily. Left. Right. Right. 

“Daryl. Abe.” You breathed once they were in sight. Abraham, however, stared back at you with concern, stricken. 

“Y/N, I didn’t know what to do.” You shook your head, clueless, and looked at Daryl. He was on his side, breathing in shallow pants. “Turned him on his side, that’s all—”

“Fuck.” Seizure. You crawled past the bags and brushed the hair away from Daryl’s face. The other man was talking, but you didn’t hear him anymore, feeling the inferno beneath the archer’s skin. “We gotta go. You push, I’ll pull.” With Abe’s help, you were able to maneuver the unconscious archer into his back. 

You had a bag hanging from each shoulder, giving you even less room to shuffle properly, but you kept moving, tugging under Daryl’s arms while Abraham pushed upward using the sides of the archer’s knees. It was a long and grueling trek with you whispering to him all along the way. 

“You’ll be okay.”

Just before you were set to pull him again, he groaned. “Y/N?”

“I’m here.” You let go and leaned over him. “I’m right here. Found a way. Just need to get you there.” He gave a noncommittal hum, blinking open tired eyes when a tear hit his cheek. You could have sworn it evaporated. 

“Feel like shit.” He grumbled. Your hands hovered while he made slow work of turning himself over, rising onto his hands and knees. 

“Look like it too, man.” Abe teased. Bless him for trying to lighten things up. 

“Thanks.” Daryl mumbled, raising his head to meet your eyes. “We goin’ or not?” His entire frame shook. 

You wanted to shove more aspirin at him, needed to, but letting him move on his own while he could would get you out of the ducts and closer to the car. “Uh, yeah—yeah, let’s go.” You were actually stuck crawling backwards but it wasn’t the worst thing. It gave you the opportunity to keep an eye on him. He seemed to be doing okay, moving slowly, clumsily, but doing so on his own. In the conscious back of your mind, running on autopilot, you kept up with the ducts. Right. Left. Left. “How’re you doing?” 

“Peachy, sunshine. Just peachy.” There was no bite to the words, just exhaustion and pain. “How much further?” He was tiring again, movements becoming even more sluggish. If he stopped for a break, it was likely you and Abraham would be dragging him again.

“Not much.” You looked over your shoulder, backing around the last turn. “Almost there.” The duct began to grow brighter with the sunlight from the windows below through the missing grate. You looked back just in time to not fall out. “Okay, let me go take a look.” Daryl nodded, remaining on all fours even when his arms seemed barely able to take his weight. 

You slid one bag at a time off your shoulder and out of the opening. Going out feet-first made it so much easier than the first time. You landed easily and pulled the bags with you toward the windows, checking outside and then listening against the door. You didn’t even hear the walkers from earlier. Maybe they had moved on to where the others were trying to break through. 

“It’s clear!” You called up quietly. Before you could offer any insight, Daryl tumbled out of the vent and landed with thud and a sharp exhale. “Jesus, Daryl!” Grabbing beneath his arms, you helped him move out of the way for Abe to tumble out in a similar fashion. “You okay?” You tossed over your shoulder, propping Daryl against the wall to look him over. 

“That was a bitch.”

You cracked a smile and nodded at the archer. “He’s fine.” Daryl snorted weakly. His head dropped back against the wall while you busied yourself with finding the aspirin and the canteen. “Here.” His eyes were barely open, reserves spent. “Come on, baby, work with me here. We still have to get you to the car but I need you to take these first.” Sucking in a breath, he raised his head and opened his mouth. He didn’t even try to take them on his own. This is so bad. You weren’t sure if he even knew what was going on, if he would remember anything after collapsing by the doors.

“Gonna need you to get the car, girly.” 

“What?” You turned, almost spilling the water on Daryl. “Sorry.” You carried on with getting the pills onto his tongue and holding the container for him while he took two long swallows, turning his head away to let you know he was finished. Brushing back his sweaty hair, you leaned in to kiss his forehead and then joined Abe at the window. “I’m not leaving him.” You focused on where the three of you were in proximity to the car, ignoring the look the taller redhead gave you.

“Listen, I know that, to you, no one will ever be better at taking care of him than you,” when you shot him a look, he held up a hand, “but you’re faster and you can get the car to right there at the end of the alley, I can carry him out. You can’t.”

Crossing your arms, you twisted to look back at your boyfriend. He seemed to be caught somewhere between awake and asleep. His skin was pale in direct contrast to the fevered flush on his cheeks and chest. His eyelids were purplish, lips nearly colorless. You didn’t like it, but it was the most logical option.

“Alright.” You whispered, nodding as if responding to yourself. “Alright.” Turning, you dropped your arms and crouched down beside Daryl, digging through his pockets for the keys. “Daryl.” He hummed but didn’t move. “I’ll be right back, okay?” When you stroked a finger down the edge of his jaw, he leaned into the touch, scowling when it pulled away. “I love you.” You wanted to make sure he knew, just in case; wanted him to hear it.

“Me too, sunshine.” He said breathily, face relaxing. You thought he had passed out but then he inhaled deeply and lifted his head, opening dull, unfocused eyes. “Where are we?” You didn’t answer. Keys acquired, you strode purposefully for the windows and opened the nearest one.

Halfway out, you fixed a warning look on Abraham. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout him. Just worry ‘bout me if he comes to his senses again and you’re not here. Go on, now.”

There was no way you couldn’t smile—because it was true. It didn’t matter what was happening to Daryl, if you were missing, he was razing everything in his path to find out why and where. He might not actually speak the words I love you but he would show you constantly. You were just fine with that. You didn’t need verbal declarations from a man that had literally almost died for you several times over and then shrugged it off like it was no big deal. 

It had been one of those moments that you had bit the bullet, so to speak, and flung yourself into his arms, kissing him breathless. He had turned several shades of red afterward but then things began to change. He was more open with you, wanted to be around you, wanted you to be around him. And then there you were, several months later, and he was yours. You weren’t sure he knew the name of a single woman in Alexandria that wasn’t in your group. He didn’t give any of them a second glance, regardless of how they swooned over him. 

Then your thoughts turned to Denise. She hadn’t really been one of your group, not in the beginning but her love for Tara and tenderness toward all of you had integrated her into the circle of survivors you called family. She had always been kind to Daryl. Making sure he ate and had vitamins—even if he said it looked like shit. She wasn’t afraid of him like so many others had been. 

It was why he was taking her loss just as hard as Tara was.

Your feet touched asphalt outside the window without a sound, something you had picked up from Daryl. Creeping forward, close to the wall, you leaned around the corner toward the parking lot at the same time as pulling one of your knives from the thigh-sheath. The car was within sight. A quick run over and you’d pull it around. You’d have Daryl home and hooked up to an IV before nightfall. Staying low, you continued to stick close to the outside of the buildings. You would only put yourself out in the open when you needed to make the last sprint. Unfortunately for you, you weren’t paying enough attention to the wall you were sliding against.

The open door caught you by surprise, the walker that stumbled out of it, even more so. “Shit!” The old man barrelled into your side, knocking you into a concrete beam and down to the ground, the side of your face dragging over the rough asphalt while your knife went careening. Using your knee, you kept the body held off of you, one hand smacking away the cold, slimy fingers trying to dig into your skin. Your other hand fumbled for your second knife. Abandoning that endeavor, you concentrated on getting the damn corpse off of you. 

With a swift movement, you grabbed the tattered jacket the body still wore and pulled sideways, using the momentum to swing yourself on top of the walker. Obtaining the upper hand, you were able to snatch your knife and drive it through the eye socket with a disgusting squelch. You sat straddled over the body for a moment, catching your breath. The right side of your face burned, the thick coppery scent of blood in the air. 

“Asshole.” You pulled the knife free and stabbed it one more time just for pissing you off. With no other immediate threats, you took the chance to snatch up your other knife and resheath it before your boots pounded the pavement all the way to the car. From over the top, you could see the split up sections of the herd wandering the different alleys next to the building. None of them seemed to be heading to where you had come from, but sometimes they were sneaky bastards and you didn’t know until they were on top of you. Glaring daggers at the body you had left on the pavement, you mumbled “case in point.”

Behind the driver's seat, you started the engine and immediately moved toward the alleyway you had exited, throwing the shifter into park. You heard him before you could even get out of the car.

“The fuck ya let ‘er go out alone?!”

“Calm down, amigo. She’s just gonna get the car and bring—”

“Why didn’t you go get the car?!”

“Someone’s gonna need to carry you when you end up eatin’ shit cause you won’t calm the hell down!”

“M’goin’ to get ‘er.”

“I promised her I wouldn't let anything happen to you.”

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep. Y’should know there ain’t many ya can anymore.” His voice had quietened but you could hear him moving as you got closer. The window opened just as you stepped below it. Grabbing the pane, Daryl started to haul himself out but stopped with a startled shit! and nearly fell back inside. “Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He hissed.

“Was it your turn to ring the dinner bell, loudmouth?” You grinned, only for it to widen when he flipped you off. “Abe! Toss out the bags. I’ll load them while you help him.”

“Ain’t needin’ no help.” Daryl argued, hand pressed against the side of his stomach while he struggled to climb out the window. Abraham was shaking his head fondly and tossing you the bags through the second window. You juggled all three bags at the same time, throwing them into the trunk. A group of two dozen or saw walkers had ventured out of the alley near the body of the one you’d encountered. 

“Shit.” You made it back just as Daryl’s boots hit the ground. He staggered sideways and bumped into the opposite wall, panting as if he’d run a marathon. “Idiot, you should have let him help.”

“I got it. M’good.” He straightened and put his hands on his hips then crossed them on the top of his head, trying to catch his breath. 

“Baby, you don’t look good.” He didn’t flinch away when you reached for him. It was likely because he had been avoiding your touch to hide the fever, but that cat was long out of the bag. He simply looked miserable, lowering his head when your palm rested against his cheek. “Come on, walkers headed this way.” 

Only then did he seem to notice the blood on your face. “What happened?” His overly warm fingers gripped your chin and turned your head while his other hand slapped flat against the wall to keep him upright. 

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Smiling gently, you turned toward the car, catching the concerned look that came over Abraham’s face.

“I don’t—well, shit!” He bolted past you and caught Daryl under the arms before he could hit the ground. “Open the door, get in the back and help me get him in.” You didn’t need to be told twice. With the back door open, you watched Abe scoop up the archer in a bridal carry that you’d have to remind the man not to tease Daryl about later. With a nervous glance through the back window, you whined at the closing distance between the walkers and the car. 

“Come on, come on.” Abe angled Daryl toward you so you could grab beneath his arms and pull him in with a little help from the other man. He arranged the archer’s legs to hang off the seat while his head was on your lap. The walkers were touching the back of the car by the time Abraham closed the driver’s side door. He said nothing but held a peace sign out the window as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Finally able to breathe, you kissed Daryl’s forehead and smoothed back his hair. “We’ll be home soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

You were sitting by the window in your room, drinking a hot cup of tea Carol had brought for you after the initial chaos of getting Daryl stable and settled had fizzled out.

There had been two seizures on the way back to Alexandria, his pulse hammering beneath the fire of his skin. Between you and Carol with Rick and Michonne grabbing anything that was needed, an IV was started, Daryl was stripped down and covered with a thin sheet, the wound was debrided, and you had cleaned his skin with cool cloths until the tea was ready.

Carol had gone to do inventory with what hadn’t been used or wouldn’t likely be needed in his recovery, leaving you alone with your archer. Your head fell back against the chair and rolled toward where Daryl lay. The sheet was just above his hip bones, letting air get to the freshly cleaned wound until the inflammation was down enough to be stitched—if it could be at all. His color was a little better, improved after only an hour of fluids.

He groaned, heading lulling toward you, a spasm of pain fluttering over his features before he relaxed again. Abandoning the mug on the window sill, you dragged your exhausted body to sit on the edge of the mattress and wrung out the cloth over the bowl next to the bed. The fever was still present but likely to improve now that he was resting and receiving antibiotics, the fluids keeping him hydrated against what the heat stole from him. 

He groaned again, eyelids fluttering but not opening. “Ssh.” You hushed, wiping down his face and neck. “We’re home. We’re safe.” He remained still, but you continued to soothe him. “I’m here, baby.”

He didn’t stir again until deep in the night, eyes blinking open to find you sitting in a chair next to the bed, thumb stroking the top of his hand. 

“Y/N.” He croaked, grimacing. Clearing his throat, he tried again with the same result. 

“Let me get you some water.” You used your free hand to push against the chair arm but his fingers tightening their hold brought you to a halt. Brow drawing inward, you sat back down. 

“M’fi—” He visibly choked down the words at your withering expression. “Yeah. Water, uh—uh, please.” He cleared his throat again and coughed. When his fingers loosened around your hand, you got up and went downstairs. 

Carol came in the door while you filled the glass, walking past the kitchen before stepping backwards to peek her head in. “Hey.” 

Tiredly, you returned the greeting, sitting the glass on the counter as she approached. With a gentleness that you needed, she rubbed circles on your back. 

“Go easy on him.”

You tossed your head back with a sigh. “I know.” Leaning forward onto your elbows, you rubbed your hands over your face. “I’m just so angry with him, Carol. He could’ve died.” Her soft ministrations continued. 

“You both need some rest. He needs to heal and you need to forgive him.”

With a smile that was hard to summon through your exhaustion, you picked up the glass and took her hand, squeezing it before letting go. “I already did.” 

Your feet dragged with each step up the stairs, finding Daryl still awake when you entered the bedroom. “Can you sit up?” 

“Think so.” His voice scraped across his vocal chords and he winced. His arms shook but you waited him out, letting him do it himself since he seemed to be fully aware. 

“Here.” His hand trembled but he managed to drink on his own as well. 

“Better?” You took the glass, sitting it on the bedside table. He responded with a quiet mhm and leaned forward so you could pile the pillows up behind him. “Daryl.” You could see the dread in his expression. 

“M’sorry.” He picked at the skin around his thumbnail, looking down at his lap. 

“I know. Daryl, look at me.” You caught his wrist as his thumb was in route to his mouth. Swallowing hard, he looked the other way entirely. “Baby, look at me.” The flush that was already present on his face grew darker, but he finally acquiesced to your request. “I’m not mad at you, but you scared me.”

“I know.”

You leaned toward him and brushed back his hair. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I know what happened, it—it hurt, but Daryl, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Why ain’t it, Y/N? Shouldn’a took her out there. Shouldn’a—” His voice cracked. 

“It was her choice to go. She wanted to go.” Your hand left his hair to rest against his cheek. He absently leaned into the touch but didn’t move when you saw the realization flitter across his face. “You took a bullet to try and stop them. You did all you could.”

“Wasn’t enough.” He whispered, turning his head away from your palm. You felt anger rising up, itching to crawl out of your throat in the form of harsh words. The silence was deafening, the tension smothering. With a deep breath into your nose and out of your mouth, you remembered what you had told yourself. 

“You don’t have to carry this alone. I know—I know what you do to—what you allow yourself to go through feels like a penance, but if you’d just let me, I can carry some of that weight.” He chewed his bottom lip, shifting slightly until he winced, his hand almost covering the open wound before he caught himself. “That’s what friends do, Daryl.” When he lowered his head, you ducked to hold his gaze. “It’s what couples do.”

When he released his lip, red and indented from the press of his teeth, his chin wobbled, nose twitching and eyes squinting against the tears that threatened to fall. “Ain’t—” he swallowed and sniffed, turning his head even further from you. “Ain’t yours to carry.”

You didn’t hesitate. “If it weighs on you, then it weighs on me. Let me help you. Let me be there.” Standing, you took the two small steps that brought you to where he sat, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek before you gripped his chin and willed him to look at you. “Let me love you right.”

You had only seen Daryl cry twice; when he lost Merle and after the self inflicted burns when Beth was taken too soon. He hadn’t yet cried for Denise or for Tara. You weren’t sure he ever would. 

Then the dam broke. 

It started as a shaky breath, a whimper, but then his head dropped, his shoulders jerking with each sob. You said nothing while walking away, placing a hand on the knob to close the door. Carol was in the hallway, a towel on her arm, heading to shower, when she caught your eye. Her smile was sad, tight-lipped but she nodded. You returned the gesture and closed the door. 

Daryl had drawn up his right knee, his elbow pressed into it so his hand was over his face. There wasn’t much room on the side he was occupying, so you lifted the tubing for his IV and crawled up to sit on the other side, pulling him against you without protest, his face against your collarbone. 

“It’s okay. It's just us.” You whispered into his hair. “It’s just you and me and I’ve got you.” It was impossible to hold back your own tears, listening to him release all that pain, everything the wound only delayed. So you held him tight, weeping into his hair and letting him cry until his energy waned, his breaths evening out. 

“M’gonna try.” He whispered suddenly, causing you to startle. 

“Try?” You brushed his hair back and angled your head to see the side of his face. 

“Try to—gonna try to letcha help.” He sniffled and nuzzled against your skin. “Letcha be there.”

“I’ll always be there. Promise.” 

His arm wound around your middle and held tight. “Don’t make promises ya can’t keep.” You laid your cheek on the top of his head. 

“I’m not, baby.” His head tilted back, forcing you to move, but your lips instantly pressed against his forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so tired, but yet so much lighter. “I’m not.”

[wosoamazing]

A New Chapter

Y/N Williamson Epilogue?? (My last fic before I refresh my page/content...)

IMPORTANT: This fic involves a heterosexual relationship between R and a Fictional character... If this is something you don't want to read I suggest you move on. WARNINGS: bad injury (hip), mentions of hospitals and surgery, moving away, rehab, heterosexual relationships, some swearing, periods, endometriosis, vomit/mentions of, being scared to return home, mild sickness, kids?, hints/links to miscarriage (not everyone will notice), suggestive?? - it's long so there are a lot, I have tried to list them in order, however if you do really want to read it but you can't bc of some of the warnings message me and I can see if I can cut that part of the story out for you. A/N: Not properly edited yet, I will edit it later - so sorry if any mistakes. Also sorry if the second half of it feels rushed, it was getting so long but I may have accidentally rushed it trying to make it not insanely long... (Word Count: 7462 - be prepared, hopefully it's not boring)

Your dream of playing in an Olympics Final came crashing down 15 minutes into the Matildas’ opening match of the tournament. A corner had been given, Steph kicked it in and the next second you were on the ground in agony, it seemed to happen in fast forward for you. However for Leah, who was watching at home, the moment unfolded so agonisingly slowly, she saw Frohms place a hand on your shoulder restricting you from jumping, as Oberdorf jumped into the air behind you, if it wasn't for Frohms’ hand on your shoulder the goal could’ve been yours, she was angry and hoped the ref had picked up on it, however she wasn’t angry for long, as she saw the trajectory Oberdorf was coming down on, her jump slightly too high meaning she lost control. Time slowed to an almost stop as Leah froze sat in front of the TV, watching as Oberdorfs midsection completely landed on top of your left shoulder, she almost felt her heart stop as she saw your left leg brace, watching as it popped out from the force of Oberdorfs head hitting your thigh, causing you to completely crumple onto the ground. Thankfully the players around reacted quick enough to grab onto Oberdorf and flip her, otherwise your injury wouldn’t have been the worst, and something unimaginable could’ve happened. She saw your body jolt as you were turned onto your back, the look on your face along with the scream you let out indicating your hip most likely popped back into place. The full weight of it all occurred seconds later when a phone was brought onto the pitch and steph did something on it, Leah’s phone started to ring.

“Leah, she,” Steph breathed out not knowing what to say

“I know. I saw. Can I talk to her?” Leah asked before hearing some shuffling from the other end, watching Steph crouch down next to you on the TV.

“Le-ah,” your voice came across the phone, it was full of pain and fear, Leah was honestly surprised you hadn’t passed out from the pain yet, but maybe you were running on adrenaline or shook, all she was certain about was that she needed to be there for you, in one way or another.

“Hi bug, you’re doing so well, being so brave. They are going to take good care of you, I promise. I love you so so much, and I’ll be there very soon, you’ve got this bug,” she told you before Steph took the phone back to her ear as the medics needed to move you, “we’re coming, our flight is in like an hour, we are actually about to leave now,” she informed her club teammate as she watched her fiance leave the bedroom wheeling a suitcase behind her.

______

You were immediately taken into surgery, where they did x-rays and scans. You woke up a few hours later surrounded by machines, unable to feel your left leg, but your left shoulder and torso ached badly, but quickly you noticed Steph, Sam, Leah, Lia and Alexia all sitting around the white washed sterile room. The people who you looked up to in your life and who inspired you, all in a hospital room, to be there for you, for some it meant taking time out of their teams olympic tournament. Maybe even risking unfair punishment and her mental health for one. For two others it meant getting on a plane last minute, dropping all other plans, including the IVF appointment they had waited a year for, not knowing when the next one would be, willingly letting go of their hope to have kids in the near future for you. In that moment you realised how much you meant to them, never before had the meaning of you to them been so tangible, they meant the universe and more to you, but maybe you meant ever more than that to them.

Leah noticed your eyes open and moved beside your bed, “Hey bug, how are you feeling?” she said ever so softly, and you just blinked groggily at her as she leant in to kiss your forehead mumbling “I love you very much,” before her hands moved to cup your face and her thumbs wiped away the silent tears that had started to fall from your eyes. The others all got up and left not only to find a doctor but give you two a moment of privacy.

“Hi, Y/N, nice to see you awake, I’m Dr NAME and this is Dr NAME, we were the two surgeons who operated on you,” one of the doctors spoke as they walked in, smiling at you, you kind of nodded at them and watched as their gaze turned to Leah before going through your chart, “and you’re Leah,” she nodded at them. “Okay so,” he started talking but you were too tired to listen and zoned out, hearing the words, dislocated, hairline fracture, Iliofemoral and Pubofemoral. You would eventually come to find those are the things that happened to your, during the fall your tore your  Iliofemoral and Pubofemoral ligaments, which then meant when Oberdorf’s head hit your thigh it was a lot easier for your hip to dislocate which it did, you had a hairline fracture in your femoral neck but it was unknown which mechanics of the injury caused that, sometimes they would insert a pin but as yours was only small and you were young, they didn’t, it also meant they likelihood of you returning to football was higher, however you still would most likely never return.

You were stuck in Paris until the end of the tournament, the risk of you flying back home versus the ‘risk’ of you staying there were incomparable and so you and your crutches, along with your bandaged hip, sporting the equivalent of a hinged knee brace but for a hip over your leggings, were dragged along to the final match, the first time you had been in the public's eye properly since your injury. You were dreading this match for multiple reasons. It meant you would be in the media’s sight, and you would also have to interact with the people you had been ignoring. But even more it meant you had to watch your teammates and ‘family’ get to do the one thing you had ever dreamt of, the thing that was almost never going to happen now. You stood alongside Sam during the national anthem, wearing an official match jersey, your own name on your back, as a tear rolled down your cheek, which after the anthem Sam wiped away before hugging you tightly. She understood the pain to some extent, however she knew well and truly before the olympics started the team could make it to the final and she would be standing on the sidelines, for you it was different, you should’ve been on that pitch today, if it wasn’t for your injury you would’ve been starting, as the main forward, but that didn;t matter now, you would probably never start for the matildas or any football club/team again, she knew it, the team knew it, the world knew it, you even knew it, you just didn’t want to have to face that reality.

The whistle blew and every single member of the Australian’s on the sidelines got up and sprinted onto the pitch, except you, every single A.O.C football personal was on the pitch celebrating, but you weren’t. You couldn't, you couldn’t get up, but that's not the reason you were not on the pitch, you didn’t want to be, you didn’t deserve to be.

The next second the whole bench shook, Kyra had catapulted herself into the row of seats in front of you, you looked up, her face shiny from sweat, holding the world's biggest grin, “come join us,” you just shook your head, “I can help, I’ll be sensible and careful. Please?” she begged, causing a tear to roll down your cheek, causing her face to quickly drop as she moved to hug you, making you cry more, causing more girls to start to filter over to you, all leaving with dampened moods, all having failed attempts at cheering you up and failing to convince you to join them. All celebrating as they walked across the stage receiving their medals, whilst they lifted the trophy, but the pain in their eyes was evident, you watched Kyra bite her nail nervously as she looked into your direction, you were still sat in you seat, having refused to collect your medal, you played 15 minutes you didn’t deserve it. You burdened the team, Steph spent way too long laying awake in her bed, the moment replaying in her head everytime she closed her eyes. Kyra cried herself to sleep almost every night, she missed you, you might’ve been with them physically but that was it, she knew she would have to go back to Arsenal without you and most likely never play with you again and that hurt her. Macca couldn’t shake the feeling of horror that ran through her body as she heard your scream so loud and clear from the other end of the pitch, she hadn’t even had her hearing aids in and yet it sounded like you were inside her ear. If anything the team had won in spite of you, you had in no way helped them get there, you were the cause for their pain, you didn’t deserve a medal at all.

“Bebita,” Alexia said softly as she bobbed down in front of you, “No,” you harshly snapped at her, “Et mereixes una medalla, les vas aconseguir aquí i vas formar part de l'equip sigui el que passi. (You deserve a medal, you got them here and you were part of the team no matter what),” you just shook your head at her, “Bé, doncs, almenys deixa'm agafar el teu i guardar-lo segur per a tu, per quan el vulguis després. (Well then at least let me take yours and keep it safe for you, for when you want it later.)” you shrugged your shoulders and so she placed your medal around her neck, for you. Before pulling you into a tight hug and not letting go for a very long time. The no you said to Alexia had been the last word you spoke to anyone before flying back under the intense supervision of the medics to England, where Lia and Leah meet you at the airport, taking you home.

______

“What’s wrong?” your sister asked, having put up with your attitude for way too long knowing you needed to break and rather than continuing to walk on eggshells waiting for you to break she decided to do it the hard way, allowing you to use her as a punching bag until you broke.

“What’s wrong, you’re fucking joking right, are you somesort of imbesile,” you sneered at her, “Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact I’ll never fucking play again, my career is over at 18, the rug has literally been swept out from under my feet, and none of it was even my fault, noone even got a fucking red, for ending my career, the ref decided that a career ending injury didn’t equate to a red. I had to watch as my friends my family lived out my dream, my fucking dream, I’m olympian, but am I really, 15 fucking minutes out of a minimum 540 minutes, I’m 2% of an olympian, I suppose that 2% counts though right? It’s not like I helped the team, I made it harder, I don’t deserve a medal but everyone else seems to think otherwise.”

“But you do bug, you were there, you got your team there, you were going to be the best young player of the year,” Leah tried to reason with you.

“Going being the key word there, I was going to win a Balloon d’or, I was going to be in the fifa best 11, I was going to win a golden boot, I was going to be and do so many things, but going is past tense, it’s never going to happen, I’m never going to get any awards ever again.” You shouted at her.

“Where are you going?” Leah asked as she watched you stand up, the room having fallen to silence moments ago.

“Away from you, I-, I-” you shook your head trying to clear your mind, Leah stepped closer to you, knowing your walls were about to crumble.

“What am I meant to do now, Le?” you asked, completely and utterly broken, “What happens now?”

Leah swallowed back her emotions “I don’t know bug, I’m sorry,” you collapsed into her and she picked you up being mindful of your hip, before lying down on the couch, your body on top of hers. You buried your head into her neck as you sobbed, your whole body shook, and all Leah could do was hold you, and try and comfort you and reassure you in a moment where there were no answers, how are you meant to comfort someone and give them reassurance when the doctors don’t even know. How are you meant to tell someone it's going to be okay when the only way to know what will happen is for them to go through an excruciating rehab process only to then very likely be told they could never play again.

____________________________________________________________

You were cleared to fly long distances 3 months after your surgery, 2 months since you returned, so that’s what you did. You flew to Australia, bought an apartment and started a new life essentially, one that not everyone knew your past in intricate detail, however being a Matilda most people knew who you were but it was different.

Charlie got Lachlan to keep an eye on you and so you did things with his friends and sometimes even his team. You found yourself getting closer to one of his friends in particular, he always made sure you weren't left behind because they were walking too fast, he was ‘coincidentally’ at the same rehab gym you went to when you first put weight on your leg still relying on your crutches heavily, he celebrated for you but quite, not to make you uncomfortable, he offered to drive you to your appointment the one where you were allowed to use only one crutch, he celebrated for you then too, a bit more openly but not nearly as enthusiastic as he would’ve liked. You invited him to the appointment where you would start walking without any assistance, he celebrated quite loudly for you that day, insisting he needed to take you out for dinner, you accepted it, hoping it would lead to something more, and it did. You quickly found yourself spending more time at his house than yours, more of your belongings there than you had at your own home. He was honestly perfect, and for whatever reason you had this feeling that a shoe would drop any second. 

— FLASHBACK — 

One night he woke up to you crying in your sleep, sitting up slightly he noticed there was blood on the sheets underneath you. Shaking you softly, he woke you up, before quietly saying “Baby, I think you’ve come on.”

“Shit,” you sighed out before curling into a tighter ball, “Why don’t you go have a shower and I’ll change the sheets,” He offered as he kissed your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, rolling over to your back, “why?”, “because I’ve bleed all over the sheets, sorry,” “Baby, it's just a little blood, it’s okay, don’t worry,” you nodded before getting up and hobbling to the bathroom.

“Hey, babe you okay?” he asked as he approached the bathroom door, having finished changing the sheets, you didn’t reply to him, but he heard the muffled sounds of you crying, “I’m coming in okay,” he told you before softly opening the door, seeing you on the floor, your legs curled underneath you, as you sobbed, he bobbed down next to you, placing a hand on your back, “Do I need to take you to the hospital? I don’t think this is normal,” you shook your head as you reached to grab his hand as another wave of pain washed over you, taking a deep breath you fought off the nausea before blurting out “endometriosis,” hoping he could make conclusions from that.

“Do you need your tablets or something?” he asked and you looked at him confused. How did he know?

“My sister's girlfriend has it, I don’t know much about it but I know some things. Are your tablets in the drawer in the kitchen with the tape and stuff, are they the things in the arsenal pouch?” He asked and you nodded, being in too much pain to talk. He quickly left and returned, with your tablets, some water and heat packs.

“Not blue box,” you told him and he nodded before popping out some of the other tablets as per the labels and handing them to you.

“Do you want me to hold you?” he asked as a tear rolled down your cheek, “But-” you tried to protest weakly.

“I honestly don't care. I just want to help, I want you to feel better,” you nodded shyly at him and he picked you up placing you in his lap as he handed you a heat pack, you curled up and hid your head in his chest, falling asleep eventually.

— END FLASHBACK — 

You met up with some of the Matildas’ for coffee during one of their camps, and he and Lachlan came, him on the basis he was Lachlan’s friend.

“How long?” Steph asked as she walked alongside you, both slightly behind the others.

“What?” “You know what I mean, how long?” “I don’t know, it started as friends and then the lines blurred and then somewhere along the way he asked me to be his girlfriend,” she hummed in response, “Have you told Leah?” “What do you think,” you asked her before Harper ran up to you.

Later that night you were lying in bed next to him, head resting on his shoulder as his finger drew soft circles on your hip, over your leggings, when your phone buzzed.

Steph: You need to tell Leah. I know you don’t want to, but just think about it this way, at least you won't be telling her in person. But no, I seriously think telling her sooner rather than later would be better.

You sighed after reading her message dropping your phone on the mattress next to you, you dreaded telling your sister, especially when you already barely spoke.

“What’s wrong,” he asked as you rolled on top of him, letting out a heavy breath.

“Steph figured us out and is insisting I tell Leah,”  “Oh, why don’t you want to tell Leah?” “Do you want to tell your brother?” “Shit no,” “Exactly,” there is a pause,  “but I do need to tell Leah, especially if I am going to go back when you go on holidays,”

“You can stay here, you know that right?”

“No, I have to go back. Barça wants to announce my departure officially anyway. I don’t have a choice,” you sighed out, “what if I messaged and then just threw my phone out”

“You know you can’t do that,” he chuckled softly, causing you to groan as you rolled off him.

“I don’t want to have to face them all, I ran away, they probably want nothing to do with me anymore anyway,”

“I don’t know if that’s true, Steph and Kyra were so happy and excited to see you today, so was the rest of the team but especially them.” he said and you nodded before he spoke again, “Well I don’t know about Charli, she was too busy catching up with Lachy to even notice you were there I think,” you laughed at his comment, you turned the TV onto the Arsenal match which was about to start as the pair of you feel into silence.

“Would you ever want kids?” he asked you out of the blue.

“Um, yeah, most likely, especially now it won’t be interrupting my career,” you tried to joke, “why?” “Oh, just curious, you were just really good with Harper and her little brother today, and I don’t know why but that thought came up. Also, doesn't Steph have a kid?” 

“Yeah, he stayed in London with Dean for this camp,” he just nodded as your attention both went back to the game.

____________________________________________________________

“What do you want for lunch?” Leah asked as you sat down in one of the kitchen stools as Leah and Lia walked into the kitchen. Leah had picked you up from the airport but as Harry was actually on holiday with his friends you went your separate ways, however you had a lunch planned for tomorrow with him, you, Leah and Lia.

“Not eggs,” Lia injected before you could answer, you were confused about her answer but just nodded anyway.

“Um, I don’t really care, I’m not that hungry anyway,”

They decided on Ham Sandwiches for lunch and as you ate you caught up with them, before ending up on the couch watching TV with them, they were still talking however you had fallen more silent, leaning into Leah’s side for a hug, “You okay? You’ve just gone a bit quiet and look a bit pale,” Leah asked looking down at you.

“Mmm, I’m just a bit tired,” you admitted.

“Why don’t you go up to sleep, we have no plans until tomorrow.” you nodded before moving to go upstairs.

______

“Bug you okay?” Leah asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing her hand over your face causing you to stir slightly.

“Mmmm, sorry do you want me to go?” you mumbled half asleep.

“No, it’s okay, you can stay in here, just wanted to check you were okay,” you nodded slightly before letting out a rather chesty cough, “you sure about being okay?” you just groaned at her before rolling over, feeling her slip in behind you and pull you in for a hug, it felt just like old times.

“What are you doing in here?” Leah asked as she entered the bathroom, obviously just waking up from her midday nap.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” you informed her.

“Oh, scoot forward,” she instructed you and you moved away from the wall. She sat behind you before pulling you onto her lap, you collapsed back into her, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said breaking the silence as you turned your head on her shoulder so you could look at her, “I should’ve told you, you did some much for me, you were there for me my whole life and then I just up left, no warning, nothing, and then I basically ghosted you,”

“It’s okay,” she told you

“But it wasn’t, I even told you about Harry over text, the first thing I told you in months after not even telling you I could walk without crutches was that I had a-” “Boyfriend,” “Well yeah,”

“I understand, and I understood, it was hard, don’t get that wrong, but it isn’t the only time one of us has just upped and left, I think you’d remember how once I got my professional contract and I had to move, I didn’t tell you, I couldn’t bare to see your sad little face when I told you, so I just left, at least you had a reason, I didn’t have one at all, and you technically had two reasons, the injury and payback,”

“I forgot about that, but thank you for reminding me, I will use it if Mum or Dad get angry at me,” 

“Please don’t, but I do understand. You did it for you, you needed to find yourself, figure out who you were without football, which meant you needed to be separated from everything that reminded you of what was once, of what you loved and still love, and that included us, and it;s okay. I was never angry, I just really missed you, you’re still my baby sister, and no matter what happens you will still be the most important person in my life.”

“Oh,” you felt your gut sink at her confession, suddenly the feeling of being sick became very real, “I’m sorry,” you replied quietly as you moved your head back flat against her shoulder, staring at the ceiling. You felt your mouth fill with saliva and closed your eyes taking some deep breaths.

“Should we cancel lunch tomorrow?” Leah asked as you continued to take deep breaths knowing why you were.

“No,” you said as you shook your head, the nausea having finally passed, “I’ll be fine, I just need to sleep more,”

“Okay, also Lia has an appointment with the medics tomorrow just so they can do some checks and stuff, it's before lunch but you’ll probably have to come and just hang out at the club because otherwise we might be late to lunch,” you nodded your head before you felt yourself dozing off.

____

“Hey, how are you?” Aaron asked as he walked into the gym followed by Declan, you had decided to do some of your rehab exercises while you waited for Lia and Leah.

“Yeah, pretty good. You?” You replied kindly

“Alright, know much about your prospects yet?” he asked, referring to your hip, you froze, not knowing what to say.

“Um, not yet, still another month until I find out,” you lied, you had already been told, but you weren’t ready to tell anyone else yet.

As you continued with your exercises, you couldn’t help but notice your heart rate get faster and your chest get tighter as time passed. When you felt yourself slightly shaking you slipped out of the gym, sliding down the wall in the hallway, your actions didn’t go unnoticed by declan who quickly followed you out but walked past you down to the medics office. He returned following behind Leah, who bobbed down next to you before looking up at him.

“Please don’t tell anyone about what we were speaking about in there,” she asked him

“Of course I wouldn’t Leah, it’s your own personal information, I’m sorry for interrupting, it’s just that,” he gestured towards you, “and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“No thank you,” she said before shifting her focus to you.

“Hey, what's going on? You okay? Do you feel sick?” she asked in a soft, concerned voice, you couldn’t manage to speak so you just shook your head, “Take some deep breaths, you’re okay, it’s okay, nothing happened, you’re safe.”

“I can’t play,” you managed to get out after some deep breaths, the words almost immediately lifting a weight of your chest, “I’m never going to play again, I can’t,” you told her before breaking down into tears.

“Oh Bug, I’m so sorry,” she said as she pulled you in for a tight hug.

“How much longer are we here for?” you asked as you pulled away, having calmed down slightly.

“Probably ten more minutes. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

“A little, once I was out long term the offers started to come out anyway but I haven’t really considered them. I’m thinking of coaching though, I just can’t decide,” Leah hummed in response to you, and you sat in silence, just embracing her presence until Lia came out.

____________________________________________________________

After you spoke with Leah and Lia about not playing it was decided you needed to ask someone who wasn’t affected by your choice in any way. So you decided on going to Barcelona at the same time as Harry, for different reasons though. Hoping Alexia could help and give you some guidance.

So that’s how you found yourself sat in your seat on the plane as it sat on the tarmac waiting to disembark, your right knee bounced up and down uncontrollably as you nervously looked up and down the aisle. When you felt a hand placed on your knee, you jumped slightly before relaxing into the touch slightly, “It’s going to be okay, stop worrying, from what you’ve told me they will only care that you are okay and safe, they might be slightly annoyed but they’ll understand.” You nodded whilst stilling looking around, “and remember you can call me at anytime and I can come to you at anytime you want me to, the boys won't mind, they might just make a condition that they have to meet the team if that occurs,” you both let out a light laugh at that.

As you walked out of customs his hand slipped into yours, and you dropped your head onto his shoulder, causing him to kiss your temple. Just ahead you saw Lucy, who had raised her eyebrows, ignoring her you turned to him and hugged him. “I’m going to miss you so much,” you mumbled into his neck, “Same, but remember you can call whenever you need and I’ll call every night,” you nodded before you pulled your head out of his neck and your lips connected, your legs lifting to wrap around his waist as he wrapped his arms around yours.

“All right you two, stop sucking face, we need to go,” Lucy said interrupting you.

You huffed at her and she gave you the same look she would give you when you huffed at her for not getting you second ice cream when you were younger at England camps.

“Didn’t take you as someone who would be into PDAs Mini Leah,” Lucy teased you knowing the nickname would set you off.

“Well Lucy, when you’re in love, those things don’t matter,” you replied to her dramatically as you followed her out of the airport.

____

Its safe to say walking into the place you called home two years ago was emotional, and as you stood there waiting for Lucy to get everything she needed out of the car, Alexia and Mapi walked by, however Mapi halted, she was stopped in her tracks, as she was behind alexia who hadn't noticed you, and kept walking.

“Ale, Alexia,” Mapi stood there calling for her, “Alexia” she shouted,

“Què (what)”, Mapi couldn’t do anything other than gesture to you with her head, Alexia came running back down the hall and froze when she saw you.

“What’s wrong with them?” Lucy asked as she finally walked through the doors.

They stuttered, not being able to get words out, Lucy just ignored them and pulled you along behind her, to the pitch, where everyone was celebrating. Making your way over to where Ingrid, Frido and Ona stood, all giving you a hug, before a small girl came running up to you, “opp, Klem,” she said whilst she made grabby hands at you, she was Ingrid and Mapi’s daughter.

“I’m sorry, I can’t pick you up because I have an ouchie hip,” you said as you looked at her softly before looking back up at your old teammates, who all gave you sorry looks.

“Please don’t do that, that’s not why I came,” you sighed out before walking over to where Olga was standing by herself.

“Hi,” she said as she smiled and hugged you, you caught Alexia looking at you with a concerned look from the corner of her eye, Lucy and Kiera were talking to her and Mapi, most likely about how you didn’t want to be treated differently etc.

“Hi, is she mad?” you asked Olga, stepping away from the hug slightly.

“What?” “That I didn’t come to the wedding?” “A little upset Si, but not mad, more concerned, but we understood.” you nodded at her “it did take a week to calm her down after she found out you left England, she wasn’t mad though, more scared of whether you were safe or not,” you nodded weakly as you bit your bottom lip.

“Bebita,” Alexia said as she came up to you hugging you, before standing between you and Olga, almost the whole team following behind, creating a circle as they all started talking, it felt just like old times, like no time had passed, but it had almost been two years, you were struggling to follow the conversation like you used to, having not used your spanish in so long, everything was bringing back old times, old memories, memories you wished you could keep living, but this chapter of your life was over now, you moved to stand in front of Alexia and hug her, she wraps her arms around you whilst continuing her conversations, your shoulders started to shake softly as you started to cry and everyone looked at her concerned however she shook her head, indicating for them to continue and ignore it. After a while you seemed to have managed to calm down and you pulled away from Allexia slightly, she cupped your face in her hands, “Whatever happens, it's going to be okay.” you gave her a weak nod before moving to stand next to her.

“We are going for dinner at Ingrid and Mapi’s tonight, most of the team will be there and I think Harder and Erikson are coming too, you can come if you want.” Alexia said as you entered the ever so familiar house.

“Um, okay,” you said as you placed your phone on the table and went to grab a drink from the fridge before hearing your phone ring, Alexia caught a glimpse of the screen as she handed it to you. She knew exactly who it was from the look on your phone, not who the person was but who they were to you.

“Don’t tell anyone please, not many know yet,” she nodded, “do I get to meet this boy?”

“Alexia,” Olga called out sternly from the living room, clearly she still was in charge, something that hadn’t changed.

“Maybe, I think his friends and him are going to the game this weekend,” you said before you answered the phone and retreated to the spare room noticing how it was still your room and not a spare room at all.

____

You were sitting on the floor with Hailee, having been dragged away from your conversation with Mapi, Ingrid, Alexia and Olga by the small girl into her playroom. Not that you really minded though.

“They’ve told you you can’t play again haven’t they,” you were startled slightly by the unfamiliar voice, looking up to see Madga leaning on the door frame.

“How did you know?”

“I don’t know, I just could tell, maybe because I only knew you as football, where as they knew you as football and you, so they can’t see it. Does anyone know?”

“Yeah, Lia and Leah, and someone else, and now also you supposedly,” you flatly replied.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” you looked at her blankly, “I’ll take that as nothing, what if you came over to Frido’s while the team is at training and Pernille and I help you decide, we have no connection, it could help,”

“Bayern don’t need a new coach?” she shook her head, and you just nodded slightly, “okay so it’s settled then,” she said before turning around, “Frido, do you have a big whiteboard at home? If no, we need to buy one before tomorrow morning,” you heard her yell out as she walked away.

____________________________________________________________

Having made your decision with the help of Magda and Pernille you returned to England with Harry. To tell Arsenal, after it was official, just not yet announced, you went for lunch with Leah, Lia and Harry to tell them all, Lia and Leah took it well however Harry jumped out of his seat saying he needed to be somewhere, and since he wouldn’t return your calls, so you had no clue if you would see him or not, maybe he was leaving you.

“Turn around,” Steph said as she saw Harry running to the facility doors where you were waiting for Lia and Leah to get out of the car, having a chat with Steph.

“Will you move in with me?” He blurted out, slightly puffed as he reached you.

“What?” You questioned not understanding what he meant.

“I didn’t answer your call, or your message or your subsequent calls because I was doing something, for you, for me, for us. Remember how I played Rugby Union in high school,” you nodded, “well, I wasn’t ignoring you because I was mad you took the job, I wasn’t ignoring you at all, I was trialling for a rugby club, so we could be together, I love you too much and you mean too much for me to go back halfway across the world from you. They offered me a contract, it isn’t the greatest, but it will do, anything that means I can stay with you is perfect,” tears started to fall from your eyes, “I’m sorry,” he said slightly panicking, questioning if he said something wrong.

“No, no,” you said as you shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and picking your legs up “Thank you,” you mumbled into his ear before placing your head on his shoulder, not believing it.

“I’m assuming it worked?” Leah asked as she walked towards the three of you, he nodded in her direction as you let go, “ready to do this?” your sister asked as she looked at you and you nodded, starting to feel nervous agin.

____

“I’m coming back to Arsenal,” you told everyone as you stood in front of them, Harry standing on the sides, Jonas inisting he come in considering he was there already, they all cheered slightly before you interrupted them, “but not in the way you probably all want, I’m going to be part of the staff, the coaching team, I-,” your voice cracked, as you took a shaky breath “I won’t-, I-I can’t ever play again. I will never be able to play again, it’s uncertain whether I will be able to run without pain, let alone play,” you sniffed, you felt panic rise within you, “I’m sorry,” you said quietly before walking out the door tears streaming down your face, trying to ignore the looks of sorry, disappointment or confusion. Leah’s immediate reaction was to stand up and go to you, but Lia tugged her arm forcing her back down in her chair, gesturing to the figure that was rushing out the door after you. 

-

“I’m sorry, I-'' you blubbered out as someone came towards you, “Hey, none of that, baby none of this is your fault, and you literally have nothing to apologise about,” he said as he stood in front of you, you immediately fell into him at the sound of his voice and felt his strong arms hold you tight as you buried your head in his neck, he started swaying you and gave you a small kiss on the side of your head every now and then, trying to calm you down, knowing that was probably one of the hardest things you had to say, he knew you always wanted to finish your career at Arsenal, and now that was never going to happen, at least in the way you wanted, you would never be a Matilda again, you would never walk out onto a football pitch in the same way again, your goals were changing and you were struggling with that. He knew that, no matter how much you tried to hide your feelings.

The door creaked as it opened and Harry looked over to it, seeing Steph walk out, who handed him a water bottle as she gave him a soft smile before walking back into the room. He continued to sway you both slightly, keeping one hand around you as he took a quick sip from the bottle.

“Baby, do you want some water?” you nodded, taking the bottle of him and drinking out of it.

-

Leah was still inside crying into Lia’s shoulder, most people had left the room now giving everyone a bit of space. “Do you want to go home? Is this about what just happened or this morning?”

“All of it. It’s stupid, I just feel like I’m losing her now too, and it’s dumb, she was never mine in the first place but-” Leah confessed, before getting cut off by Lia.

“It’s not stupid Le, we have a lot of things happening in our life, a lot of news, and not a lot of time to process it all, it’s hard, and I know you feel like you have to be strong for her, for me, for us but you don’t, it’s okay,” Lia tried to reassure her.

“I shouldn’t be upset, I mean you're the one going through it all, and here I am complaining about my life.” Leah hiccuped.

“Hey, I might be the only one going through it physically but mentally we are both going through it, and you have more on your mind then I do, I understand, you don’t have to apologise for being upset, no matter if I’m experiencing worse, we are a team forever and always no matter what happens, no matter whether we have an addition to our team or not.” Leah nodded before pulling away from her and standing up noticing you had come back inside.

She pulled you towards you and wrapped you in a much needed hug, you didn’t want to let go, and neither did she.

____________________________________________________________

2028 Olympic Games

As the final whistle blew your players immediately ran over to you and your staff, celebrating as a team. 

Commentator One: And they’ve done it, the Matildas have won the Olympics for the second time in a row. 

Commentator two: Y/N Williamson has led the Matildas to victory after a drought, a much needed piece of silverware for the team that was starting to lose the country's hope.

It was a risky decision for Football Australia to choose you as new head coach, even you knew it, especially as you would only be joining the team in person at camp three weeks before the Olympics started, due to circumstances, but you started work much earlier than that, much to everyone's disbelief. You were however quickly ushered away from your team for a post match interview, causing you to catch sight of your sister who has collapsed onto the floor in tears. Taking a mental note to go over and comfort her later.

“Do you want to go see your Auntie?” You said to the two small people who clutched onto your hands as you walked onto the pitch.

“We-ah,” “we see Weah,” they piped up at the mention of her and you let go of their hands, “go on then,” you watched as they ran over to her, smiles bright, not knowing the meaning of the moment that just happened, them being so happy just to see their Aunt. 

“Alessia, hand the baby over,” you said to her as she held the newest addition to the Williamson family.

“Do you want to go say hi to your Mummy?” you asked the 3 month old as you placed her against your chest.

Leah’s face softened even more as she watched you approach her with her daughter, “you know, I’m never going to be able to thank you enough or repay you for this,” she said as you passed Lilly over to her, “but maybe you taking the gold away from me, means I don’t have to.”

“I told you, it’s nothing, honestly, you don’t have to repay me, buuut…..” you dragged on, she raised an eyebrow, “can you take the boys tonight, I have some celebrating to do,” you told her as she rolled her eyes.

“You literally carried our baby for us, I do owe you, and yes of course I’ll take the boys tonight, I need some quality time with them before they leave me for Australia,” she replied.

“It’s only two weeks, it's just a short camp, and it’s time we went on one of Daddy’s camps and meet all their uncles, but they honestly think they are meeting Kangaroos, they don’t quite understand that Wallabies is just the name of the team” she laughed at your comment before pulling you in for a hug. It sounds cliche but you knew in that moment your life had turned out perfect, it is nowhere near what you imagined but you honestly couldn’t have asked for anything better.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Hi! I’m new to your blog and have been loving all of your works!

If you’re comfortable with it, I was wondering how you think Astarion would react/feel about a virgin tav/reader who went through SA when they were younger, and wish to wait until they are both completely ready and comfortable with being intimate?

Hii, I can definitely do it, though i will merge it with another ask I received- asking to write hcs about Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

I will say, making it with the hc has been a little easier on me, usually when i write about SA i spend an insane amount of time making sure i'm comfortable and you (readers) are as well, and i hesitate a lot before publishing it *(queue up scars and blood, that I wrote on an impulse after a nightmare, and it took me a solid week before publishing it)*

ANYWAYS.

ofc I hope this will be of comfort to you, and it won't trigger you.. sometimes all we want is to find solace into our favourite characters, so i wish tonight this will in a way comfort you...

and if anyone needs to vent, or talk, feel free to hit up my dm's, they are a safe space for anyone and i'll always offer up comfort.. we don't need to struggle alone, and sometimes being heard is what we need to make a new step forward<3

As always, my little stars, excercise kindness! we don't know who's gonna pass by this, and we don't know how hard it can be for them.

This being said, I hope you'll like it!

Headcanon: Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

Pairing: Astarion x reader. Warnings: mentions of past trauma and SA. wc: 1.7k

-He starts suspecting something about it around the time of the tiefling party. He had offered to sneak out while everyone was asleep to "enjoy yourselves", but you refused right away. He definitely picked up some involuntary movement you did that told him there was more to the "I'm not ready". You probably flinched or jerked away, usually it would go unnoticed, but Astarion could recognize the subtle harshness hidden behind your reaction.

-He doesn't want to pry into it, as much as he needed to know as much as possible about you- he says for the sake of his undead skin- he wasn't entirely confident you trusted him enough to share your past. Also he wasn't sure he could handle someone confiding in him, but he would never admit it. At the end of the day, all he knew about social interaction were faint memories of his magistrate life, or means to survival. He simply wasn't sure he could have the empathy to deal with someone else's emotions, both in good and in bad.

-When you meet the gur, and you start peering into his past, he can't hide the very obvious rock in the shoe, Cazador and his spawn life, and it is because of the gur that you actually open up to him. When he starts going deeper and deeper into Cazador's orders to him and his repulsion towards sex, you do feel like you can share something so intimate, that's been heavy on you, well since it happened. 

-The first time you mention it though, you are very blunt.

-"And honestly I don't know anything else besides disgust for it" He'd admit as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Astarion" You'd start, you wanted to hold his hand to comfort him, cause that kind of pain you knew. "I understand how you feel though. If you need—" He cut you short, anger was bubbling quickly in his stomach. You swore his face almost reddened in anger as he raised his voice.

"No, you don't" He was one sound shirt from hissing at you. "You cannot understand what it feels like" He'd sneer at you. "No one can understand what it feels like to be stripped of your bodily autonomy". In a way the harshness in his voice was like a slap to your face, cause you did in fact know. From the other, you didn't expect your brain to beeline directly towards that sealed drawer in your brain where you tried to hide the haunting memory. 

“I went through it myself, you shithead” You got up, uncaring of whatever reaction he could have in that moment, and you just left.

-He was taken aback, on different levels, both because of your sudden shift in mood, because of the blunt reveal, and deep down because he was sorry, though again he’d never admit it out loud.

-You ignored him for the rest of the day, avoiding his stare and disappearing in your tent right after you were done setting camp, and that unsettled him so much that he was weighing the possibility of apologizing cause, of course, he didn’t know.

-You skipped dinner, and even when everyone else was asleep, you didn’t come out from your tent to take your usual nightly walk. The pang of guilt was becoming more like a stab as he saw the light in your tent still burning, and the faint shadow of you moving around restless.

-He prepared a peace offering, a bowl of the leftover stew, as he had to muster the guts to apologize. 

-”Sorry, I was an asshole earlier, I brought you food” He blurted out right after he knocked on the wooden support of the tent, and he was surprised when you still let him in.

-Initially it was awkward, cause you were eating and not saying anything, but after a while he mustered up the courage to offer his shoulder to you. “If you even wish to talk” He’d say.

-You told him a bit of what happened, without going too much into detail, since you were still shaken from the memories that resurfaced.

-Since then he started to learn your boundaries: how to catch your attention without startling you, what were triggering topics for you, how you liked physical touch, and how it triggered you as well.

-In a way he becomes very protective of you, especially if you open up more often about your trauma, and you can see it.

-He made sure everyone respected your boundaries, whether it was Gale with his weave thing pulling you too close, or a stranger breathing on your neck, he was always ready to remind them of their place. 

-”Don’t you see our dear captain doesn't want to be that close?!” “Keep your hands to yourself, they don't like being grabbed by the wrists” “Get away from her, before I stab you” 

-He noticed how you always double checked the perimeter of the camp before the sun would set, and before getting in your tent you’d always look around in the distance, trying to spot if something was out of place. So he joined you in your routine, helping you check around and make sure you were ready in case anything could have happened.

-As you get closer, and you both open up more to each other, he even suggests he moves his tent closer to yours. “I can keep an eye around” Was his explanation, when he first brought it up. 

-And it helped so much with your sleep, you felt a little safer.

-If you didn’t feel safe at night, he’d suggest putting your tents together into one. Maybe it was a way to keep you closer, or he needed reassurance, but he made sure you knew you could place your bedroll anywhere as far or as close to him as you liked.

-Eventually as your bond would deepen and deepen, and you’d grow fond of each other, you found yourselves rediscovering your touch together. It started with your fingers tapping on his arm as you were walking, or a strand of your hair being pulled behind your ear. Some nights you’d sit close in your tent, and would hold hands, caress each other’s cheeks, and slowly even reach out for a kiss or two.

-It was a slow process, where you really got to know each other like no one else ever did. You could read each other like a book, yet you never shied away from asking each other for consent for anything.

-”Can I hold your hand” “Can I kiss your cheek” “Can I rest my head on your chest”

-The thing you both struggled with the most, was falling asleep holding each other. You’d panic very quickly when you would feel your chest becoming tighter. He’d move away as quickly as possible, and give you the space you needed.

-When he confesses he has been falling for you, it’s time to approach the very delicate topic of sex. You opened up about the fact that you wanted to wait ‘till you were ready, and he agreed without hesitation. Of course because he understood where you came from, he never asked for any help either, if he’d feel like he needed some release, he’d disappear for a bit and deal with it himself, without making you feel like a burden.

“I just want to make sure we are on the same page on this” You’d say as you crossed your arms, almost as if you wanted to fold yourself in and away. “If you want to have sex, I can’t right now” You’d start saying, but stop on your tracks for a second. “Wait, not that I can’t. I don’t want to have sex at the moment” You’d correct yourself, confident in your statement, he wasn’t even thinking about it, though he respected completely.

“I get it, and it’s okay my love” He’d say, patting your shoulder, and wondering whether he wanted to hold your hand or kiss it, he wanted to let you know he truly understood. “I don’t want to either” He smiled, and in that moment it was like both you two finally breathed. You’d reach for his hand to hold it in yours.

“It’s not because of you though” You wanted to explain to him, you were so close it was something you were ready to share, especially since you were slowly walking towards a different level of intimacy together, he had to know. “I want to do it when we are both ready” 

“I understand, my sweet, there’s no need for explanations” He’d smile again, one of his fangs slightly poked out against his lip. “You said you don’t want sex yet, so it’s no” 

“I’m a virgin” You’d blurt out, and that was something he didn’t entirely expect.

“Oh” He’d say at first, but as he noticed your cheeks slowly warming up, he pulled you closer to him, his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, I don’t care about it” He’d exhale. “As long as it’s you, I don’t care about anything” 

-When you reach Baldur’s Gate and finally you settle in the elfsong tavern, you made sure you always had a corner of time dedicated to helping each other relearn touch. 

-You'd lay next to each other in different levels of nakedness depending on how you felt at the moment, and you'd spend your time tracing each other's features. Whenever you'd feel comfortable enough to venture into a new thing, he'd ask for permission. 

-"Would you feel comfortable if I touched your hips?" "Can I trace your scars with my fingers?” “May I pull you closer?”

-You didn't fight time, you didn't rush towards sex. It came slowly and it was a process full of ups and downs. Some attempts ended up with you both sobbing, too overwhelmed. Other's ended up with panic attacks. Eventually though, after a lot of work together, you reached a point where you'd be able to make love.

-it was a very soft moment between you two. It involved a lot of comforting, kisses and patience, but it was something so profound, it wasn't only about shared pleasure, but it was about connecting your bodies and your souls. In a way it was like a wedding for you two it was the peak of trust you could have with each other. 

-He'd whisper so many times how proud he was of you, how much he loved you, and how glad he was that you were the one that would spend their life with him.

-Tears eventually arrived, they were the tears of two souls that finally had reclaimed a bit of their freedom. It was the cries of someone that was finally healing. 

[tojisbestslut]

[ Curiosity killed the cat ]

summery: having to explore an abandoned mansion because of a dare with your friend, what could go wrong?

characters: Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Gojo Saturo

warnings: DARK, NON-CON, waterboarding (somehow), getting caught, escape attempt, bone breaking, screaming, no smut.

word count: 1132

part 2

"it's not even an scary dare I'd say, the house has been empty for years." your friend complained as she was trying to crack the lock with a crocked hair pin. you held the camera up for her taping the whole process, to have a proof of actually doing the dare to your friend group.

"I'm telling you right now, I'll be leaving the first moment i don't feel safe" you mumbled under your lips as she was scolding you to get the angels right. "such a kid you are" she mocked and ding, the door was open. you anxiously licked your lips and took a step inside the to be supposed empty house. it was full of luxury and expensive furniture all over the place and the face that none has been stolen by random thieves or troublesome teenagers sent a shiver down your spine. why'd people ignore this house?

you took small steps following your friend behind as she was curiously exploring every drawer freely. something didn't feel right, you had no idea what, but something was so fucking off. "hey um, I'll be waiting for you outside alright?" you tell your friend as you hand her the camera. she chuckled at how you were being a chicken and shrugged her shoulder, continuing to look around the house. you turned around and head to the exit, biting your lower lip from the sudden anxiety rushing over your body. what was this fuckin feeling, you kept wondering. as you arrived at the front door, the basement door that was stuck on the floor caught your attention. it was fucking open. you frowned and your heart beat started rising, were you not alone? you could swear it was closed the moment you entered. your body kept drowning in fear as you leaned slightly to look inside, only to suddenly get snatched by your ankles and being pulled in the basement, someone covering your mouth and the door getting closed before you even got the chance to scream for help.

fear, all you could feel was fear. fear of the unknown man covering your whole face with the palm of his hand as you could feel the coldness of the huge metal rings he was wearing. you kept trying to wiggle around and free yourself but it was no use from how strong the grip from his other hand was on your stomach, holding you to him. you tried to take deep breaths but it was hard to do from how tight he was covering your face. tears began to slowly run from your eyes as you realized there was nothing you could do in that situation, only being in the grip of a man you didn't even know, slowly crying.

"bruh, did you really leave?" you hear your friend yell looking for you as she was laughing at your scared ass leaving so soon. hope started to rise up again in your heart after hearing her voice calling you out, you started to struggle and kick around and tried to make some noise, but it all came out as muffled crying. you still couldn't see anything from the man covering your face, and your friend was really starting to think that you just left. your body goes limp as you hear her car engine start off and she starts driving away, the sound of the tires fading away as a drop of sweat drips on your back from the fact that you're now completely alone at the unknown man's mercy.

"stop it Fushiguro, no need to silence her now"

a second man speaks with a happy tone, you could tell he had a big smile on his face. the Fushiguro named man drops you on the ground at his legs, making your head hit it hard. you whince from pain and squint your eyes from the light suddenly hitting them, but it was soon taken away by 2 other figures standing right above you and covering the light, creating a shadow on your lying figure on the ground. Fushiguro sits on his knees right above your head, his tights and crotch covering your view of the ceiling. you instantly attempt to crawl back out of between their legs but the white haired men immediately steps on both of your hands, not bothering himself by trying to lower the pressure of his legs whatsoever.

the other man, having long black hair thrown magically around his shoulders, spills the drink he was holding right at your face in a slow pace, immediately silencing you as you tried to talk your way out of the situation. you coughed and gagged as you tried to move your head to get out of the direction the drink was flowing, but Fushiguro kept your head in place by putting one of his hands on your forehead, forcing you fo fight for your breath while the other man was pouring the liquid at you in the slowest pace possible known to man.

after what felt like eternity, the drink was finally finished. you coughed violently and tried to get the drink out of your nose as Fushiguro still held your head in place. your whole face was wet and sticky, as tears were running down on your cheeks. Fushiguro was looking at you with lust, like he wanted to devour you but the white haired, the way he was looking at you with no emotion in his eyes as he was putting all the pressure in his legs on your hands, looked like he just wanted to genuinely hurt you. the long haired man was just smiling with his eyes, looking the most trustable men among the 3.

"h-hey im- im s-sorry, i di- didn't wan-"

you tried to apologize, to do something for yourself, with the last bit of hope you still had. but your mumbling turned into a scream as the white haired man puts the last bit of pressure, breaking a bone in your palm. you screamed bloody as your shoulders were shaking from pain and fear, while Fushiguro was still holding your head. the sound of your bone breaking got lost between your screaming and you couldn't sense your palm anymore.

after a good amount of crying, he backs off and finally leaves your palm alone, as the two other start to get away too. the light is into your eyes again and you turn around, putting your knees in your stomach and hugging yourself, the trail of your bloody palm creating a pattern on the ground. you sobbed as you heard noises from the background. turning your head around, you saw the white haired man holding a chain in his hands with the biggest smile, his blue eyes glowing in the most terrifying way.

TAGS:

[genshin-scenarios]

the skip of a heart (lyney x reader)

Summary: Where you were picked as the volunteer of the magic show where things went Completely Wrong, Lyney is barely keeping it together during his trial. Thankfully, you return to the court safe and sound by the end.

Content warnings: Major spoilers for Fontaine's archon quest, Act 1. Do not read further if you don't want to get spoiled, this fic heavily references the main plot relating to Lyney. Angst, reader is fine but characters are going through it, thinking you might be dead.

Wordcount: 1733

Once upon a time, when Lyney was still telling himself that he simply wanted to befriend you, he’d invited you onstage during one of his magic shows and slipped a card into your pocket. You only noticed it after returning to your seat.

He made the card seem important enough that you’d stayed back to return it to him. Sly as Lyney was, he thanked you for being so vigilant before twirling said playing card between his fingers, only to turn into a Rainbow Rose.

You left the theater one rose richer and with butterflies in your stomach, not daring to touch your hair in case the flower he’d tucked behind your ear would fall out. You wonder what you looked like to Lyney in that moment, eyes wide and cheeks burning as he bore his gaze into you, watching for your reaction. 

He had the audacity to let his fingers linger against your face, hesitate, and then finally fall back to his side. He could tell himself that this was just a fleeting adoration, but deep down he knew his sister’s musings were right; he was a puppet that did not know how to attach his strings loosely. 

If he were to pick another that could move his heart, mind, or soul, it would be through meetings that made him smile like a fool until it was too late - tangled and inexplicably bound to an affection that was addictive as much as it was suffocating, after Lyney realized the extent of how much he’d grown to look forward to the next time he’d see you. If he went without it for too long, he might just forget how to breathe.

Breathe. He wills his hands from shaking, then crosses his arms when it doesn’t work. Lyney is trying his best to answer the officer’s questions, but the image of the water tank crashing onto the stage is seared into his mind.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Their body wasn’t found. They aren’t dead. 

If it wasn’t for Lynette grabbing onto him as soon as they were escorted for the investigation, Lyney thinks he might’ve been petrified even longer on the spot. Then their enemies - whoever plotted to sabotage and frame them - would see him. See the fear in his eyes. See him go from a capable, untouchable magician to a child lost on a dark, dark night.

He thinks he might’ve gone numb; a delayed reaction with denial and a racing heart, and something like fear but worse tightening around his chest. No one can tell except for Lynette, who covers for him. Who holds his hand between them so they don’t tremble. Who tells him not to jump to conclusions because he is not in control of everything, and this is not his fault.

The officer thinks it's about the show. Some others might know you were acquainted with Lyney. Only his family knows that he’s in love.

He hates it. He hates it. He tries not to think about you because if he did, his mind is only going to spiral, and that wouldn’t help with finding you. He’s not allowed to partake in the investigation because he’s a suspect. He can only rely on the Traveler to figure it out.

Lyney wishes it was him instead of you. An unreasonable part of himself just wants to set the theater ablaze. He hates always being the one that’s left in the end, the room losing its audience members. Why is it always everyone else that’s taken instead of him? Why does he always chase after the trails left by villains with the weight of the world on his back, praying he can rescue his loved ones before it’s too late?

-

When you finally come to, you realize you’re in an attic above the stage.

After entering the box and having water fall on you, you were understandably panicked and made a noise loud enough to alert Lyney’s assistant. As the story goes, you put up a fight and managed to knock Cowell out by hitting an item against his head. And just as you managed to shove him back inside the box to make sure he didn’t come and attack you again, you were searching for a way out before touching something in the room that teleported you to a foreign space; dark and dusty and cramped, before a wave of nausea from the teleportation device hit you all of a sudden. The next thing you recall upon waking up is hearing voices from the floor underneath you, quiet and tense.

“Can anyone hear me?” You try calling out for the tenth time, knocking against the wooden ground in hopes that it could be audible by whoever’s on the other side. The most you managed to find in the darkness was a door on the ground, the bolts and handle rusted shut with age. There are some pamphlets of performances from very long ago and many cobwebs, meaning that this place had probably been abandoned years ago.

If it’s between your life or your dignity, you’d much rather live to see another day. Bracing yourself, you start shouting at the top of your lungs, occasionally knocking on the ground in hopes the ruckus will alert anyone.

The voices of two men start to float to your ears, to which you desperately pause and rush closer to the bolted door. 

“I could’ve sworn I heard something here.”

“It couldn’t be a hidden assassin, could it?”

“Hello?! I’m trapped up here!” You call out, feeling lightheaded from all the shouting. Your body is starting to give into the exhaustion of fighting off Cowell and finding yourself up here, but you pray the adrenaline lasts just long enough for you to be rescued. “I’m the volunteer from the stage! Cowell’s in the box, isn’t he? He was acting really suspicious earlier!”

A shuffle can be heard from below, closer now. With your heart in your throat, you continue so that they can follow your voice. “There’s a doorway here that’s been rusted shut. I can’t open it from my side!”

Finally, just below you, the male voices yell back. “...Found it! They’re here!”

“Please move away from the door! We’ll try to force it open. Demoiselle, please cover your ears.”

“Are you… Oh, be careful!”

With four resounding blasts, you can see the metal ridges of the door bend against the bullets’ force. Then, with a resounding kick, a claymore flies from below and stabs through the wood, followed by the glow of geo that demolishes it into nothing. 

Greeted by the sight of Navia and her attendants, you’ve never felt more glad to see another person.

-

In hindsight, you’re sure the sudden sounds of gunfire from the back of the theater must’ve been a shock to those overseeing Lyney and Lynette’s trial. But honestly, with all that they’ve been falsely accused of, you can only hope they find some entertainment value in your dramatic entrance. 

Though Navia was doing most of the talking, you explained what happened and the mysterious trinket that might’ve been an old and forgotten device (or escape route for Cowell, you had no clue) - all the while trying not to glance over at Lyney too much in case the court would take that as bias. 

When the proceedings finally end and you’re reeling in the post-trial emotions of how it went, what you didn’t expect was for Lyney to practically barrel into you once the officials were out of sight, arms wrapped around your shoulders and clutching onto you so tightly, it was as if he was afraid you might disappear again.

The moment you feel his warmth embrace you, the strong front you put up finally melts away as your legs weaken and exhaustion hits the both of you. Hiding in each other’s arms, you squeeze Lyney back just as tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Lyney can’t seem to stop repeating those words, hugging you even tighter. You run your fingers through his hair to calm him down. “I thought you were gone.”

“And leave you with a criminal crawling in your midst?” You reply softly, a weak smile on your lips as you pull away to look Lyney in the eyes. “I was more worried about what Cowell might be up to. It’s a good thing I wasn’t Fontaine-born, huh?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He takes your hands in his, then reaches out to run them over your shoulders, and arms, lightly turning you around so that he could check over you. “Are you feeling okay? Do you have a headache? Fever?”

“You might be the one with the fever.” You place your hand on his forehead, watching him melt against you. It’s a little hotter than it should be, even with his pyro vision. “I’ll walk you and Lynette back, okay?” You plan to take care of them too, though Lynette might just appreciate a quiet teatime while her brother might be properly sick from worry. You haven’t seen him this disoriented before, too distracted for any semblance of his usual grandeur.

Though… From what you remember, you like this side of Lyney just as much, if not a little bit more. The side of him that’s just Lyney, behind the magic and charms worn on his sleeve. 

You make sure to be within Lyney’s line of sight while you’re at their home. While he doesn’t say it, you know it’s the next closest thing (other than physical contact) that reassures him you’re safe. So you and Lynette keep the door open while you prepare tea. And after Lyney’s recovered a little from sleeping, you spend the rest of the day just chatting and lounging around. 

Perhaps it’s because of the incident, but Lyney is a little clingier than usual. Within the safety of his own room, he tucks his head into the crook of your neck, arms hugging you from behind. You’re reading a book together, kind of. It’s your turn to grow sleepy after the long day with a human heater pressed against you, and Lyney’s more than happy to place a blanket over the both of you as you nap the evening away. 

You’ll be lucky if you can escape his arms the morning after. Lyney’s never been easy to wake up in the morning, especially if it’s to keep you in bed.

[ro-is-struggling]

The Ballad of Orpheus and Eurydice || Geralt of Rivia x nymph!reader

REQUESTED

Summary: Life was good when Geralt was by her side. They were in love and happy... Until they weren't and she was left alone once again. After spending so much time under his protection, she had forgotten how dangerous the world was for creatures like her. Sad and heartbroken, she was unable to defend herself when the men came for her. Now locked up far away from her forest, she only hoped that her loved protector would come to her rescue.

Warnings: angst (with happy ending), major character death, reader gets imprisoned by a evil dude (I don't know how to tag this lol but I think it’s important to mention that she’s forced to serve him), fluff (it’s not all sad, I promise), forest nymph!reader, fem!reader, let me know if I missed anything!

English is not my first language

Word count: 12.700 (it's a long one)

Notes: A few things to have in mind while reading: It follows the timeline very loosely, and Geralt and Yen's relationship never got to that solid point in s3 cause it's not real love, just the product of Geralt binding their fates together with that wish

She never imagined that her story would end like this, locked in a cold and humid dungeon far away from her forest. Nymphs were not immortal beings —something she had come close to verifying several times in her long years on the continent—, so the idea of her inevitable end was something that she had thought about from time to time. It was not something that haunted her obsessively, but every once in a while her mind would wander to the imagining of the end of her days. 

She lived a quiet life, making sure to be cautious around any unwanted people who passed through her forest. She had no enemies, at least not ones powerful enough to present a real danger to her. So she always imagined that she would die a peaceful death, slowly fading away as her birth tree withered away after having completed its cycle on this earth. If not, she imagined she would die a heroic death as she fought the greedy humans to prevent the destruction of her forest. Both scenarios brought her a sense of comfort in a way, because they showed that she had fulfilled her life's mission, the purpose for which she had been placed on the continent.

She never imagined that the end of her days would actually be so dark and torturous, forced to live in captivity away from her home and everything she loved. She never thought she would miss the feel of the wind on her face, or the warmth of the early morning sun, or the sweet scent of flowers in the spring. She had never imagined herself living anywhere but her forest, but that was an option that had been taken away from her the moment King Elian's men set foot in her home. 

She had heard rumors of his infamous reputation from the mouths of other frightened nymphs. His name inspired terror among magical creatures, who chose to call him The Hunter as if the mere mention of his name was a sign of bad omens. He was known for his obsession with magical creatures and what he did with them after capturing them. Despite what his nickname implied, he did not always chase a magical creature to kill it and display some part of its body as a hunting trophy. No. There was a fate far more horrible and obscure than that, and that was to end up as a piece of his collection, just another exhibit, forced to smile in his presence and perform for his entertainment whenever he wanted it. It was the terrible fate that had unfortunately fallen upon her. 

In the past she had not seen King Elian as a threat. His kingdom was on the other side of the continent and while he used to go on hunting trips when he heard rumors of a creature in his vicinity, he had never ventured this far before. Besides, she was under the protection of one of the continent's fiercest witchers, so she knew no one would dare mess with her. No one who knew Geralt of Rivia would dare to challenge him, and the poor bastards who, out of ignorance or arrogance did, usually didn't live to tell the tale. The bond they had was strong, a love unlike any she had ever experienced in her many years of life, so she never thought there would be a day when she would wake up without him by her side.

"The king requires your presence." A guard announced from her cell door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet reluctantly, stepping up to the bars so he could put the handcuffs on her before unlocking her cell. The dimeritium on her wrists was engraved with the same symbols as the bars of the box in which she spent her days. It was a powerful incantation that weakened her magic so that she could not use her powers to escape. It was painful since the metal burned her skin, but she had learned the hard way not to complain.

The guard led her to the throne room, where the king was shouting directions to the group of servants working on decorating the place, changing the curtains and adding chairs and tables to the sides of the room. She had been there long enough to know that the castle was being prepared for a feast, though she did not know what the celebratory occasion was.

She forced herself to bow when the king's eyes fell upon her figure, though her expression showed how little respect she truly had for him. "Your majesty." She murmured as a learned response as she lowered her gaze to the ground.

"I hope you used your time in the dungeon to reflect on your attitude." His voice was firm, almost as if he was still angry with her for refusing to comply with his demands almost a week ago when he had wanted to use her to entertain the king of the neighboring kingdom who had come to visit. "You have to understand that you belong to me. You are here to serve me and the only reason you are not dead already is that I find you useful. But that can change and it depends entirely on how you behave. Do I make myself clear?"

She clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to avoid causing a scene that would undoubtedly send her straight to the dungeon again. "Yes, my king." She wasn't able to look him in the eye as she spoke as she didn't want to see the satisfaction in his expression. 

"As a demonstration of my great generosity and compassion, I have decided to give you a second chance to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my mercy for stupidity for this will be your last chance to prove your worth to me. If you say or do anything out of place you will know the sharp blade of my sword."

After she submissively assured him that she understood the seriousness of his words, he explained that he needed her to take care of some of the preparations for the feast in honor of his daughter. During the week the entire kingdom had participated in the celebrations for the girl's fifteenth birthday, an event that would culminate with a grand banquet in the evening. She would be in charge of preparing the floral arrangements that would decorate the entire palace as well as being responsible for the main entertainment since there was nothing to match the singing of a nymph. But in addition, the king put her on a special task. He wanted to give his daughter a beautiful garden with different types of flowers —one for each year of her life—, and she was the perfect person for the job. She accepted without question, not so much because she valued her life or feared reprisals if she refused, but rather because after being locked up for so long she missed being in contact with nature. 

"If it's alright with you, my lord, I would like to start with the garden." She said in the most respectful way possible, explaining that with her powers weakened it was the task that would take the most work.

She was escorted by a group of half a dozen guards, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her through the castle corridors to the garden. Normally she would have complained about their mistreatment, but it all stopped mattering to her when she felt the gentle breeze hit the skin of her face. It was a wonderful feeling smelling the wet dirt in the air and hearing the birds singing after having spent so much time locked up in the deepest part of the castle. It almost felt like freedom.

Working in the garden awakened a bittersweet feeling in her. On the one hand, it was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived at the castle. Walking barefoot on the grass, feeling the earth between her toes and the flowers growing under her hands was as close to home as she had ever been. It was liberating in a way, putting her powers to good use and connecting with the nature she missed so much. But, on the other hand, it was also a reminder of all that she had lost, the life she would never get back. As much as she loved being outside after so many days locked up, she couldn't help but notice that nothing felt like home. The flowers didn't smell the same, the grass under her feet wasn't as soft, and even the birds didn't sing the same. That wasn't her home. This was not her forest. 

As she buried her hands in the ground, she couldn't help but question what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it. Sure, avoiding further punishment for disobeying the king's orders was a valid motivation, but was it really worth it? Why was she trying to preserve her life when the only future she had was to live locked up there forever? Was dying such a terrible fate when the alternative was imprisonment and slavery? A life away from her home, forced to indulge the whims of a power-hungry monster was no life at all, so why was she there obeying the orders of that disgusting man? 

Then she realized that she still held out hope of escaping. Her spirit wasn't completely crushed and her love for Geralt wasn't entirely gone, so even if it was foolish, she still hoped he would show up to rescue her. They hadn't seen each other for over a year, since that sad day when their story had met an abrupt end after he confessed to her that there was another woman in his life, but she still held out hope of seeing him again. She dreamed of seeing his long white hair move in the air as he skillfully knocked down the guards that separated them and freed her from her confinement. How could she not when he had been her savior on more than one occasion? In fact, that was how they had met.

She was frightened and hurt the first time she saw him, trapped in a cage with symbols carved into the bars. It was a powerful spell that weakened her powers just like the shackles of dimeritium around her wrists. The cage was too small for her, a confined space where she could barely stretch her legs or sit up straight if she wanted to. A group of well-trained men had managed to capture her, taking advantage of her distraction and temporary weakness to lock her up and take her back to their master. She was so terrified that when she heard Geralt's sword clash with that of one of her attackers, she curled up in a corner, her body folding in on itself in an attempt to make herself small and invisible to the group of fighting men. 

She recognized immediately that he was a witcher and that brought her no relief. While his kind generally didn't tend to see nymphs as dangerous monsters —as long as they behaved and didn't do anything to end up on their list, of course— she didn't feel completely safe in the presence of a witcher. She tended to hide on the occasions when one passed through her forest, believing it was best to stay away from people like that just in case. After all, they were monster hunters, a concept that, in her experience, meant something different to each individual and there was no way of knowing for sure if she fell into that category or not. So, even though he had overpowered her captors, she still felt fear when he approached.

Geralt felt that fear as soon as he took a step towards her, it was almost as strong as the power and magic that flowed from her being. Her beauty alone was enough to let him know that she was a nymph of the forest. Behind the earth and blood, hidden in a grimace of terror, were the delicate features that the witcher had only seen in the creatures of her kind that he had encountered in the past. The nymphs had a certain look, a special glow that distinguished them from the rest of the magical beings on the continent. They were also one of the gentlest and most peaceful creatures on the continent, focused only on protecting their homes and turning to violence only as a last defense mechanism. That was why Geralt did not sense a drop of evil in her. And that was also why he set out to free her from her confinement.

Even though her captors lay dead on the ground, she still looked terrified, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a sob. When he approached her, the nymph snuggled further into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest in a protective manner. He raised his hands in the air in an attempt to show her that he was not going to hurt her, walking slowly toward the cage so he could release her. It was then that he noticed the symbols on the bars and the dimeritium shackles, which helped him understand how she had ended up there and why she was so scared. She was in a position of extreme vulnerability without her magic and, despite having saved her, he was a complete stranger who could very well cause her more trouble. So the witcher made an effort to appear friendly and non-threatening.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her to try to calm her down, though it wasn't much help. She curled further into the corner of the cage, hugging her legs to her chest and looking up at him with watchful eyes from between her knees.

"I know what you are." She answered him, the fear clear in her voice. "You are a witcher, you kill-"

"Monsters, yes." Geralt spoke for her. "But you are not one of them. You're safe with me." 

At that moment she had no way of knowing what kind of impact those words would have on her life and how genuine they were. She accepted his help because she had no other choice, but time would show her how fortunate she had been to cross paths with Geralt. At first he played hard to get, barely speaking as she nursed his wounds once her powers stabilized. She'd had to resort to using her charms a little to soften that hard exterior of his, but once Geralt began to open up to her, she discovered the man he truly was. 

Geralt tended to lean into rumors about himself and his kind, pretending to be emotionless and not caring about anything or anyone but himself. But that was all an act, a protective shield. In reality he cared. He was capable of feeling emotions as deeply as any other being on the continent. He hated and held grudges, but he also loved and cared for those close to him just as intensely. And once she discovered that, she found it very easy to love him back. 

She was truly safe with him, and in the long years that their love blossomed he did nothing but prove that to her. Geralt was her favorite person in the world. He was her home, her lover, her protector... A love like that was not easily forgotten and no one could blame her for holding out even the slightest hope that he would come for her, that he would somehow sense that she was in danger and rush to her rescue. It had happened in the past, their connection was that strong, so it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea. It was just... naive of her.

Geralt had been traveling for days. He usually preferred to use alternative paths hidden behind forests or swamps, they were quieter and better for his business. Not many people used them so he didn't run into anyone that would bother him, and it was easy to run into the occasional monster roaming around, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. What he hated, however, was that most of the time it took him twice as long to get to some town where he could rest with minimal comforts and eat a hot meal. 

Had he taken the main road he would probably already be at his destination, drinking in the dark corner of some dingy bar or locked in the room of some cheap inn, and not wandering the forest in search of an animal big enough to satisfy his appetite. He didn't mind being outdoors or having to hunt for his food on the spot —-in fact he was so used to that he almost preferred it—, but this time he was tired and couldn't wait to be anywhere but there. Perhaps that was why when he came across a king and his hunting party he accepted his offer to return to his camp to eat with him without putting up much of a fight. 

Geralt hated royalty and King Elian was no exception. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, just like the vast majority of kings, but there was something else about him that rubbed the witcher the wrong way. He tried to decline his offer at first, but he was unwilling to take no for an answer.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist. My camp is not far from here and my tent is big and warm. I have more than enough food and I would love to hear some of your stories while we eat." The king insisted, pressing Geralt to accept his offer. "My men don't make for good company and I'm bored. I'm sure a witcher like you has been involved in a good share of adventures that make for fascinating stories."

In any other circumstances, Geralt would have found a way to escape from there. The last thing he wanted was to be used as the personal entertainment of an arrogant king. But this time he decided not to resist too much. He attributed it to his tiredness, he had been traveling for a long time and at least it wouldn't be a sacrifice in vain since he could at least get food in exchange for entertaining him for a while. But perhaps there was something more than that playing a role there. Fate itself had crossed their paths for a reason, even though he didn't know it yet.

"It's not as interesting or glorious as one might think." Geralt said with honesty. 

In his experience there were two types of opinions regarding his people and what they did for a living. There were the people who despised them for what they were and believed they were no different than the monsters they killed and there were those who found them fascinating and longed to go on adventures like the ones they often experienced. To him both opinions were bullshit. He wasn't a monster, he didn't kill for pleasure or for fun as many people believed, but neither was he some kind of hero whose life was worthy of being immortalized in songs and poems. He was just a man who did what he knew best to survive, just like all witchers and all beings on the continent. He and his kind did not deserve hatred, but neither did they deserve to be crowned with laurels. They deserved to be left in peace, nothing more, nothing less.

"I have to say I'm grateful for the work you and your kind does." The king continued speaking without acknowledging Geralt's words. It was as if he was not there, his words were of little value to the king when they did not say exactly what he wanted to hear from him. "These creatures are dangerous and can't be left alone to live amongst us. Although some are fascinating creatures if given proper care and purpose."

Geralt looked at the monarch with a frown, unsure of what he meant by that. He said nothing, however, just remained silent for most of their journey to the camp, while trying to get a better read on the man beyond the typical arrogance of all of his kind. There was something about him that he did not like, something that caused a feeling that other kings and nobles did not. It was something more than his simple unpleasant personality, but he could not figure out what it was.

"You should come to my kingdom sometime." King Elian offered as they finally reached what appeared to be the camp where he and his hunting party had set up their base. "I have a collection of creatures I'm sure you would love to see."

The witcher halted his walk, looking at the king with narrowed eyes. "A collection?"

"Oh yes! I have the biggest collection of magical creatures in the whole continent." He admitted as if it was something to be proud of. "I have some pretty rare ones I'm sure you and your people would love to study. You're more than welcome to come over anytime! After all, we are all on the same side."

Geralt did not like the way the king referred to magical creatures and hated that he equated himself with witchers and the work they did. They didn't lock up monsters to brag about their large collection to strangers. They didn't see them as objects that gave them some kind of prestige. They saw them as living creatures, sometimes dangerous, sometimes misunderstood. Witchers did not enslave or kill monsters for fun as he seemed to do and Geralt was disgusted that he would even try to imply such a thing.

However, before he could voice his opinion, the king shoved him into his luxurious tent and the servants set a plate of food in front of him. It was filled with meat and potatoes and vegetables so colorful that they must have been freshly picked. It might have been the hunger talking, but it was the most appetizing food he had tasted in a long time. It was indeed fit for a king and Geralt thought it was definitely worth chatting with his host for a while in exchange for a share, especially after tasting the wine.

"It's good, isn't it?" the king asked him, studying his reaction as he lifted the wine glass to his mouth. "I have someone special that takes care of all the plants in the castle so I only eat the best of the best. It's actually one of my creatures. You can meet her, if you want."

Geralt let go of the piece of meat between his fingers and looked at the king with a frown. There was a subtle change in the air that made him instinctively tense, wondering what his host was up to. The king gave him a small smile before gesturing to one of his men, who left the tent without saying a word. The monarch's menacing aura put the witcher on alert, carefully watching his every move while he ate as if trying to predict what he would do next. His attitude had changed in a matter of seconds. Geralt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something about the way he looked back at him that put him on edge. It was almost as if he was waiting for something to happen —as if he knew something was going to happen—, the glow of anticipation clear in his eyes. 

He didn't understand his attitude, at least not until the guard returned to the tent. Only he wasn't alone, but was carrying a girl on his arm who was shuffling her bare feet across the ground hesitantly, as if she really didn't want to be there. Her eyes were downcast and her long hair was tangled over her face, so that Geralt could not see her features. Her dress, which seemed to have been a beautiful piece of art at one time, was now dirty and worn, with the fabric torn to shreds on some sides. Her hands were bound together at her wrists, trapped by shackles of dimeritium that marked her condition of slavery. It was a sad sight that became horrifying when Geralt smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

His heart stopped as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet smell of cherry blossom that he knew and had come to love. The world around him stopped as he was struck with the horrible realization of what was happening. He did not need to see the face of the captured young woman to know it was her. It was enough to feel her energy in the tent as he breathed in her characteristic sweet scent. 

Geralt jumped to his feet, hand gripping his sword as he entered a state of desperation. He wasn't thinking, he couldn't, he had been reduced to his most primitive instincts by seeing her there in that condition. She was weak and injured in a way that Geralt had never seen, her glow and warm, positive energy almost completely extinguished after being tortured for who knows how long. However, when her eyes met his, he noticed a slight glimmer of joy and hope. That only further increased his desire to protect her, the murderous urge growing inside him and urging him to crush anyone who stood between them.

"Let her go!" Geralt demanded firmly, turning his eyes away from his former lover to look the king in the eyes. 

He was furious and desperate, it was evident in his voice and in the hard expression on his face. Anyone would have given in to his demands if he looked at them with those murderous eyes, but King Elian did not flinch. He didn't seem to care that Geralt was pointing his sword at him or that he looked ready to take on an army on his own, he continued to eat as if nothing was happening while the tent filled with guards ready to defend him.

"Please, sit down. You barely touched your food." The monarch spoke in a calm, casual tone. But Geralt did not move, he stood his ground, sword held high and hate-filled eyes fixed on him. "Fate is its a curious thing, don't you agree? This invisible force pushing us to the right path so we might fulfill our destiny, making every little interaction, every little decision, integral... Take this as an example. This morning when I woke up I didn't think that I was going to cross paths with you and yet here we are."

"Let. Her. Go." Geralt interrupted the king's unimportant ramblings, pausing slightly at each word to emphasize his anger. He didn't care what the man had to say, he would slice him through with his sword right there if it weren't for the fact that his sweet nymph was bound and surrounded by guards who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her before he could get to her. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be my sword doing the talking."

"I don't want to fight you, Geralt. If anything, I want to thank you for helping me fulfill my destiny, my purpose of becoming the biggest collector of magical creatures in the continent... You see, if it weren't for you, I could never have captured a forest nymph as powerful as her. I admit that you ruined my plans the first time when you attacked my men, but in the end it was thanks to you that I was able to get my hands on her."

"What are you talking about?" the witcher asked, confused. It could be the adrenaline coursing through his veins and drowning out his thoughts —or the fact that his heart was beating so fast that it was pounding in his ears muffling all other sounds—, but the king wasn't making much sense to him. They had never crossed paths before, and if they had, he would never have helped him in something so horrible.

"I could never have caught her while she was under your protection. But when you left... well, let's just say she was withering away little by little, weakening day by day until she got to the point where she couldn't defend herself when my men came for her."

Geralt froze in place as the king's words echoed in his head. It was a lot of information to process and he was in no condition to do so. If he wasn't so devastated he might have reacted to the implication that the king had been watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike after he had saved her from his men the day they had met. But at that moment he could only concentrate on the feelings of guilt and regret that came over him. 

When he left, he never thought about the consequences his decision might have. He never thought about how his departure would affect her or if she would be okay. He knew she would be sad and hurt, just as it hurt him to have to leave her, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. So he focused on moving on, hoping she would too, without stopping to consider the consequences. He thought about her a lot in the time they spent apart —when he lay awake at night, admiring the stars and the nocturnal sounds of the woods; or as he dressed quietly after spending a night with Yennefer—, but in his mind he always pictured her happy. She was strong and had lived many years alone on the continent before their paths crossed, so he was sure that their breakup would not destroy her. He was sure that she would find a way to get back on her feet and that it would be better for the both of them to stay apart. 

Now he realized that was just an excuse. He was being selfish, protecting himself and running away from reality so as not to face it because it hurted him. It hurted to know that he was hurting her. It hurted that he fell in love with another woman behind her back. It hurted to have to leave her after all they had been through together, the love they shared, the moments of vulnerability and intimacy that had brought them together. It hurted because he had failed her, because he couldn't keep his promise to be with her forever. So he completely disappeared from her life, making excuses to justify his behavior and convince himself that he was doing the right thing even though he knew deep down that he wasn't. He ran away like a coward and she ended up paying the price for it.

The witcher's eyes searched the nymph's, hoping to find in them the answers to the questions he had not asked, some indication that the king was not lying. She escaped his gaze, feeling embarrassed and extremely vulnerable. But eventually their gazes met and Geralt knew the mistake he had made. He should have been there for her. He should have helped her when they came for her. He should have searched for her all over the continent once he noticed her disappearance. He should have protected her, just as he always had. He had failed her twice, but he would not let there be a third.

Geralt carried out his threat without hesitation, lashing out at the nearest soldiers in an effort to reach her. The clinking sound of clashing swords and the groans of his opponents were all that echoed in his mind, focusing on his enemy to keep his head cool and ensure victory. They were no threat to him. They were well trained and knew how to move around very well, but he was a witcher with decades of experience and unmatched reflexes and skills. He had defeated them once in the past and he would do it again now without breaking a sweat.

At least that's what he thought before he heard the voice of the young nymph in the distance calling out for him.

“Geralt!” She exclaimed his name for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her sweet voice traveled through the air, piercing through the sound of metal and the grunts of pain until it reached his ears. She managed to get his attention immediately as he recognized the hint of fear in it. As he buried his sword in his opponent, his eyes snapped up to her, searching for her in the crowd following the sound of her voice. 

When he finally found her, Geralt's heart sank as he discovered the reason for the fear in her voice. The king had his hands around her, holding her tightly against his body. His left hand was wrapped around her torso, restricting her movement, while his right hand wielded a silver dagger against her neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light, revealing the sharp edge that burned the girl's skin. Desperate, Geralt tried to lunge at the monarch, but he stopped him with a click of his tongue.

"One more step and she dies." He assured, firmly. Geralt noticed the honesty in his voice, so he stayed in place and slowly lowered his sword —though he did not drop it—, a desperate attempt to buy time to think of a plan to get out of there with her by his side.

"You don't have to do this." Geralt tried to reason with him even though he knew it was in vain. He didn't see her as more than an object, just another piece in his long collection of creatures, so it was safe to assume he didn't value her life very much. But still, Geralt didn't have much choice so he tried anyway.

"She has been nothing but trouble since the moment she arrived at the castle, isn't that right, darling?" The king grumbled, lowering his head just slightly so he could mutter the last question against the young nymph's ear. "Crying all day, disobeying my orders, upsetting the other creatures... and now your friend over here kills half my men after I feed him and show him my generosity."

"If we present so much trouble to you, why don't you let us go? I'll take her with me and I promise you won't hear from us ever again."

"You are ungrateful brats." The king continued speaking, completely ignoring Geralt's words. "You think you are special, important, and therefore above it all... but you are not. Your actions have consequences and I am the one who decides what they are... You do not deserve my generosity or my mercy."

Geralt didn't have time to think about the hypocrisy in the monarch's words because before he could process them his eyes watched in horror as he slid the blade of the dagger across his beloved's neck. Blood began to gush violently from the wound, the thick, sticky liquid sliding down the young woman's delicate skin, turning everything red. He screamed her name, his sword slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor with a muffled sound. He ran towards her, completely forgetting the guards he was fighting moments before. He only cared about her.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion, as if his feet were twice as heavy and dragging them along the ground was more difficult than usual. Everyone around him seemed to slow down, the men around him, the gentle breeze of the wind... everything but her. He watched her collapse to the ground, blood covering her chest as she struggled to keep breathing. But he couldn't reach her. All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms one more time, but it was as if an abyss was keeping them apart. It felt as if fate was mocking him, punishing him for his mistakes by allowing him to be there with her, but not letting him do anything to save her. 

He tried to stop the bleeding as he knelt beside her —placing his hands on her neck and feeling the blood gushing from the wound—, but it was too late. She was pale and weak, all the magic in the world could not have saved her at that moment. There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful green orbs that were fading with each passing second. She was scared, Geralt could see it in her expression. She didn't want to go, but she knew there was nothing else to do now.

"I'm here, I'm here." Geralt whispered in the calmest, most comforting tone he was capable of uttering at that moment. He swallowed his anger and pain, holding back tears so he could give her some peace. He cradled her face in his hands, fingers caressing the skin of her cheeks delicately as if he were afraid of breaking it. "It's going to be okay... you're going to be okay. I will fix this."

She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but instead of sound only blood came out. Geralt caressed her gently, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her hand around his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. She was begging him to understand her, to read in her eyes her thoughts as he had done so many times in the past. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand her, although in hindsight it should have been obvious to him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, to assure him that none of it was his fault and that no matter what had happened between them, he would own her heart forever. 

"I love you. I always will."

Geralt saw the reassurance in her face as the warmth of love enveloped her in her last moments. She gave him the faintest of smiles, an almost invisible sign of the peace his words had brought her. And then her grip on his arm weakened, her hand dropping to the floor as life left her body. Suddenly, that subtle smile, now permanently carved into her expression, was all he had left of her, of her life and the love they shared. 

Geralt did not fight when the soldiers dragged him and tied him to a tree to leave him there to die while they escaped, he did not have the strength to do so. He was numb to the world around him, consumed by grief. The sound of the king and his men preparing to leave sounded muffled and distant, as if they were far away from him. And in a way they were, for his mind was not one with his body, but far away. He was focused on the slowly withering body of his beloved, on the fear as she called his name and the terror in her eyes as the edge of the dagger sealed her fate. He could only think of her and all the time they had lost and could never get back, feeling the guilt slowly consuming him as her body transformed into a pile of pink petals.

Geralt admired her face in the dim glow of the candlelight, thinking about how beautiful she looked tangled in the sheets beside him. Her hair spread across the pillow like a halo around her head and her smooth skin was covered with a light layer of sweat that gave her an almost ethereal glow. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. He found it hard to believe he had someone like her lying next to him, looking at him with love in her eyes. 

It wasn't just her beauty. No. It was the peace her mere presence awakened in him and the void he felt in his chest when they were apart. It was the way he dreamed of her and her caresses every night he went to bed alone and how his longing disappeared when he felt her warmth against him as their bodies melted into one. It was the way her kisses made him feel like he was home, safe and away from the complications of the world outside the little paradise that was her forest. It was much more than physical attraction, more than the effects of her nymph charm, as he had initially thought. It was love. Pure, honest love, like he had never felt before. He was in love with her, and while he hadn't put it into words yet, he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Her fingers aroused a warm tingle as they caressed his cheek. Geralt leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the magic of the moment. It was amazing how such a subtle act, such a light touch, was able bring out so many emotions in him. It was something only she could do, a clear demonstration of how deep his feelings for her were.

However, when Geralt opened his eyes again, he didn't find the special glow he usually saw in them at intimate moments like this. She was looking straight at him, but it was as if she was looking right through him, as if her mind was lost in her thoughts. Something was bothering her, that much was clear in the green tint of her eyes. Her mouth would open slightly, almost in an imperceptible movement, only to close seconds later, as if there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't quite bring herself to say. So he decided to ask her about it. 

"What's wrong?" Geralt voice was low and raspy with sleep, looking at her with a slight frown in confusion. There was a moment of silence before she answered. Her eyes never left his, but her hand slowly slid from his cheek to rest on his bare chest.

"I'm afraid of losing you." She eventually said, her voice almost a whisper. "You travel across the continent, meet all kinds of people... I'm afraid one day you will get bored of me... find someone better and leave me forever."

Geralt could not believe his ears. It was ridiculous to him that she could have such a fear of abandonment when he felt the way he did. If only she knew how happy being with her made him... If only he could somehow transfer his emotions to her so that she could feel his heart race when they kissed, or experience the peace that filled him inside every night when he lay down next to her... If only she knew, she wouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts. So, he took her hand in his and pressed it against the left side of his chest, right over where his heart was beating with love for her. She needed to know that she was the only one who had a permanent place there. She was the only one he loved and he doubted that would ever change.

"Believe me when I tell you that there is no force on this continent that can keep me away from you." He spoke in a soft voice and watched as her eyes lit up full of illusion. "I love you, forever and always."

He sealed his promise with a kiss, showing her with his lips how serious he was about it. He loved her and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to be with her for the rest of his life, sharing intimate moments like this one and protecting her from any evil that might come her way. He felt complete with her and could not imagine how miserable his life would be without her by his side.

Geralt allowed himself to get lost in the passion of the moment, fingers tracing trails over his beloved's bare skin as he melted into the kiss. It was different this time, more intimate and charged with all the emotions that were left unsaid —it was their special way of communicating, one kiss and they knew what was going through each other's minds. The comforting warmth of love filled his heart, leaving him in a state of total bliss as she whispered sweet nothings against his lips. He was happy in a way he could not remember ever being before, in a way he knew he could only be with her. 

But suddenly that comforting warmth that flooded his insides was replaced by a paralyzing cold, an emptiness that pressed against his chest and took his breath away. Geralt could no longer feel his beloved's lips against his. He could no longer smell the flowery scent her soft skin radiated or feel the warmth of her body. He was trapped in a black void, in emptiness itself, all alone. And in the distance he could hear his name being called.

Geralt

Geralt

Geralt

It was a cry for help, the voice of terror of someone who had been confronted with their own mortality. The voice trembled with fear, certain of the fatal fate that awaited them. Geralt could not escape its shrieks, no matter how hard he tried. It was his own personal hell, a void where he was forced to confront his pain, his guilt, and to listen again and again to his beloved's voice filled with terror as she spoke his name for the last time.

Geralt woke up tangled in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and breathing fast due to his nightmare. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling as he tried to pull himself together. His beloved's voice was still ringing in his ears, only that with every waking second it became more and more distant until it became an almost unintelligible whisper. Anguish and guilt weighed heavy on his chest, but he was used to that by now. The emptiness inside him had accompanied him every moment of his life since that unfortunate day. He could not escape the pain and regret he felt, it haunted him even when he closed his eyes at night. He could not even enjoy the peaceful ignorance in the mornings, when one's mind is too sleepy to process life's tragedies, because his nightmares would remind him of every painful detail of that day so that he could not rest.

At a time like this, when life had become so overwhelming that he was unable to sleep, he usually reached out to her. With her gentle touch and sweet voice she was always able to calm his tormented self, wash away the anger and frustration and replace it with love and calmness. But now she was gone and he didn't know how to go on. He missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He missed the melodious sound of her laughter and the light in her eyes when she was happy. He missed waking up next to her in the mornings, feeling the warmth of her body enveloping him as she whispered good morning to him, her voice hoarse from sleep. He wished he could once again feel the soft caress of her lips on his and hear her say she loved him one more time. 

There was nothing Geralt wasn't willing to do to have her back with him, to be able to tell her how much he loved her and how he regretted leaving her. He had been an idiot to have given in to his desires for Yennefer. He should never have gotten involved with her, he should have let her own greed and obsession destroy her that day. He should have saved Jaskier and moved on with his life, after all Yennefer's problems were of no concern to him. But he could not resist his need to intervene, acting like a knight in shining armor instead of what he really was: a witcher. He made an impulsive decision, binding their destinies with magic and unknowingly triggering the death of his beloved. For if only he had been with her, if only he had stayed by her side to protect her as he had promised, he was sure things would be very different. She would still be alive and he would not be so miserable.

But Geralt was determined to make things right. He refused to let her die because of his mistakes. And looking at the cherry blossom tree growing outside his window, he knew the time was getting closer.

"I will fix this." He spoke to the tree, stroking the trunk with his hand as he sucked in a long breath of air. It smelled like her, a sweet scent mixed with the aroma of wood and wet earth. It ached and comforted him in equal amounts. "I will bring you back to me and I will keep my promise to you this time."

Geralt knew she was gone, but her essence was still alive in that tree. Born from the pink petals in which her body had withered when she died, it grew stronger with each day, keeping a fragment of her alive. Of course it was not her, but for now he was happy to make promises to the wind that its branches generated, clinging to the sweet scent of its flowers as the only sign that his words were well received by her. It was all he had, all he had left of her, and for now that was enough. He still wasn't sure how he would fulfill his promises or even where to begin. But he was sure of one thing, and that was that his love for her was stronger than fate itself and there was no force on the continent that could stop him from keeping his promise this time.

The solution to his dilemma presented itself almost by accident. And it came from the place Geralt least expected. He had spent the last few months visiting every library he had access to, reading every book and consulting with every expert he knew in his desperate search to find a way to bring his beloved back to life. But in the end, it was Jaskier who presented him with a solution in the form of a song. 

They were traveling on a back road after a successful job. The bard had offered to accompany him under the excuse that he needed new inspirations, but Geralt knew he was doing it because he didn't want to leave him alone. Jaskier knew the pain he felt and being the good friend he was he wanted to accompany him in mourning. Geralt appreciated him even if he didn't have the strength to say it in words. His light-hearted comments and meaningless ramblings were exactly what he needed to distract his tormented mind. Even his spontaneous singing at the worst possible moment cheered him up instead of irritating him as usual. Anything to help him concentrate on something else was welcomed.

They had been walking for hours, hoping to reach the next town before dark and sleep in a comfortable bed in a warm room and not in the middle of the forest again. They were quiet, only the chirping of birds and the sound of leaves crunching under their feet echoed in the air. They had run out of things to talk about an hour ago and Jaskier was starting to get bored. So he did what he always did when he found himself in that situation, sing. Only this time Geralt didn't recognize the verses as one of his own original songs. It was one he had not heard him sing before, so he paid attention.

It told the story of a young man that had managed to win the heart of a forest nymph with his beautiful singing. The connection they shared was so strong that they married shortly after meeting, in the same place where they first saw each other. Happiness and love filled their days for a few long and joyful months. That was until fate, jealous and bitter, stood in the way of their happiness. So, one morning, after being bitten by a snake, the young nymph died. Her beloved fell into a state of despair when he heard the tragic news. Unable to accept that his wife had been taken from his life without warning, he descended into the depths of the underworld to plead for her soul. The song narrated the difficulties of his journey and the perseverance with which he had faced each difficulty until he reached the lord of the underworld himself, to whom he tearfully begged for the return of his wife. The emotion in his words was such that he managed to move Hades, who gave in to his prayers. Although he imposed a condition: that he would not turn around to see his wife's soul following his steps until he left the underworld.

The story did not end well since the young man had been too eager and had turned to see his beloved before she was completely above ground. But Geralt didn't care about that somber detail. His attention was focused on the young man and his journey to the underworld, not only because he felt somehow connected to the emotions of sadness and despair he felt, but also because he was fairly certain he could recreate his heroic efforts.

"Are you crazy?" was Jaskier's reaction to hearing Geralt's idea, his voice raised in a tone of surprise and concern. "Haven't you heard the end of the song? Things go wrong! He doesn't get his wife back!"

“I know, but I don’t care.”

“Geralt, the story it’s just a myth… a tragic love story that one could say is a cautionary tale! You’re not supposed to follow in his footsteps, you’re supposed to learn to live with the grief, process your emotions and eventually move on… Look, I know this is hard for you. I miss her too… What happened to her wasn’t fair, but it wasn't your fault either. Blindly following the words of a myth is not going to change anything.”

“But it’s not a myth, not all of it at least.” Geralt recognized that the love story of the young man and the forest nymph might be an invention, but he knew of the existence of a door to the underworld. It was hidden and required great power and extensive knowledge of magic to be opened, but it was real. And fortunately for him, he knew one of the most powerful and skilled mages on the continent. Though convincing her to help him would not be an easy task given how things had ended between them.

"Why should I help you?" Yennefer said with annoyance in her voice when he showed up unannounced to ask for her help. It was clear that she did not enjoy the witcher's surprise visit and was not shy about showing it. "And more importantly, why are you asking for my help with something like this? I thought you of all people would know how dangerous opening the doors of the underworld is."

"Why do you care?" Geralt answered her with another question. To be honest, he didn't think the difficulties in getting her help would come from a moral issue. Yennefer was not the type of mage who cared too much about such things. "Are you in this or not?"

"That depends... what's in it for me? I hope you know I'm not going to waste my energy in helping you out of the goodness of my heart, not after all the shit you did." Geralt smiled at her remark, surprised that it had taken her so long to once again blurt out her complaints about him saving her life. She was still angry at him for linking their destinies with the wish to the Djinn and at this point he doubted she would ever get over it. 

"You get the once in a lifetime chance to traverse the underworld and possibly get knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension." He simply stated.

Yennefer was silent for a moment, watching Geralt intently, violet eyes piercing his yellow orbs. It alerted him to strengthen his mental shield to keep her from entering his thoughts. 

"When you live as long as I have, once in a lifetime opportunities start losing power and meaning."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to explore the unexplored and that's your answer? This could have all the answers you've spent years looking for and you're not interested?"

"Oh I'm interested, I just can't understand why Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher who prides in his indifference and ability to not intervene, would be interested in opening the gates to the underworld?"

"I have my reasons and they are not of your concern. Are you going to help me or not?"

Yennfer was silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, she smiled at him, and he knew he could count on her help.

Preparing for such an adventure was difficult. It was the first time in his life that Geralt did not know what to expect. He had no idea what he was going to encounter once they crossed the gates to the world of the dead. He didn't know what kind of obstacles he would encounter on the journey or if he would even accomplish his task. But he had to try. Even if it was the last thing he did, he owed it to her. 

It was difficult to prepare for the uncertain, so he tried to imagine all possible scenarios and prepare accordingly. He tried to be as meticulous as possible, but he knew it was impossible to stay on top of everything. What he never imagined, however, was that trouble would come from Yennefer's end. He always saw her as such a powerful and determined individual that he did not take into consideration that her energy could wear out and her magic could be consumed. Geralt had no way of really knowing how demanding the spell to open the gates of the underworld would be. He knew it was not something that just anyone could do, but he thought Yennefer could handle it without much trouble. He had never seen magic like hers. And what she lacked in skill, she made up for in stubbornness, so he thought that with her by his side things would not be so difficult.

However, the moment they took a step into the world of the dead, Yennefer fell weakly into the witcher's arms. She muttered something about having spent her energy and how the nature of the place did not allow her to pull herself together. Geralt suggested that she stay outside, after all, this wasn't her fight and she didn't have to risk so much for him. And at that instant, as if the walls were listening to them, the doors closed, leaving only one possible path.

The place was cold and dark, like a cave hidden deep in a mountain. There was not so much as a ray of sunlight, the little light that illuminated their way came from torches distributed along the stone walls. The air was heavy, stale, and it was hard to breathe. It was clear that this was no place for the living, but Geralt continued on his way despite the difficulties. He took Yennefer by the waist, letting her wrap one arm around his shoulders so she could walk, and followed the straight path that the torches seemed to indicate. At the end of the tunnel he came to a large river, and on the shore rested a boat. Inside it stood a hooded figure, long black robes covered its entire body in a way that Geralt could not see its face when it turned to look at them, only a void lost inside the hood.

"He's been waiting for you." The figure spoke, stepping aside so they could board the boat. Geralt hesitated, thinking back to all the catastrophic scenarios he had imagined in preparation for this moment. Surely that had to be a trap, things couldn't be that simple, could they?

"He wants to speak to you, Geralt of Rivia." The figure spoke again as it noticed the hesitation in the witcher's attitude. "He sent me to find you and ensure your safe passage through these waters." He did not trust it, but Yennefer pushed him into the boat with what little strength she had, so he had no other choice.

The dark figure did not utter another word. It went about its task in complete silence, paddling in the waters of oblivion until it brought them close to shore. It did not help them down once they reached their destination, nor did it open its mouth to give them directions. Just pointed a long, skeletal finger toward the horizon and set off the same way it had come. 

A dark, dead forest loomed before them. Long, thin tree trunks, nearly leafless branches and shabby bushes decorated the path. Everything seemed to be in shades of black and gray, though that was probably due to the lack of sun. In the distance a structure could be seen, a castle whose colors matched the rest of the landscape. Although the neat and polished appearance of its exterior contrasted with the disheveled and dead environment around it. It was clear that that was where they should go, so Geralt took Yennefer in his arms once more and set off on his way. 

There was not much distance separating them from the castle, but the witcher felt as if he had spent an eternity walking. And yet, at the same time, when he reached the large wooden gates, he was amazed to have reached his destination so quickly.  His perception of time was totally altered, affected by the atmosphere of the place.  Time did not flow there in the same way as it did on the surface. It was as if it was both stopped and accelerated all at once, as if each step took hours and at the same time a couple of seconds. It was more than the absence of sunlight confusing his perception. It was the way things worked in that place, a world separate from the one lying on the surface that he was not supposed to access.

The man who appeared in front of them when the doors opened on their own was imposing, but far less frightening than Geralt expected. It was enough to look into his eyes to know that he was the person in charge of the place. Power shone in his eyes in the same way the witcher had seen it in the kings in the world of the living. And yet, there was something unique about them, something that made it clear that he was no mere mortal. Geralt knew better than to challenge him, though he wasn't sure his emotions would allow him to be cautious if things didn't go as he hoped.

"I've been waiting for you, witcher." the god said in a loud, clear voice. "I'm surprised it took you this long to find me."

Geralt was not pleased to learn that he had been waiting for him. He had imagined it might be a possibility, but he thought the god would use that knowledge to stop him. The fact that he welcomed him without trials or difficulties, sending his people to look for him and opening the doors of his home to him without hesitation, made him suspicious.  For all he knew, it could all be a trap.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, witcher! I have far more important things to do than to set you up." The god spoke as if reading his thoughts. 

"You knew I was coming?" Geralt managed to say and the god nodded.

"And most importantly, I know why you are here. I knew you were going to find your way here the second she came in."

The mere mention of his beloved in the conversation had Geralt's heart racing, a gesture of both love and anxiety. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him, watching him with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She knew of his former lover, the forest nymph he had abandoned after their destinies were linked, and he had no doubt that she would understand what was happening in just a second, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to have her back.

"So, I'm assuming you know why I'm here."

"I do, yes. And I will not be opposing to your wishes, Geralt of Rivia. I knew from the first moment that this was not her time and I am willing to give her another chance to live out her destiny without surprise interruptions from magic... However, I do have one condition."

"And you say it was not a trap..."

"It is not! It is just a simple... exchange."

"An exchange of what?"

The god paused, taking his moment to answer.

"Souls are complex things, Geralt. Very powerful, very strong... I can't just let one walk out of here."

"Why not? You have plenty here."

"It's a matter of balance, I don't expect you to understand that. But, if you want your dear nymph back, you'll have to give me a soul in return."

Geralt was silent for a moment, carefully analyzing his situation. After all the work it had taken him to get there, he didn't plan to leave empty-handed. But he also didn't want to condemn an innocent soul who had nothing to do with his mistakes. So he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Fine," the witcher agreed. "Take me then. My soul for hers, it's only fair."

Yennefer tugged on his arm, ready to argue with him —thinking he was acting like an idiot by offering his life as if it was nothing—, but was interrupted before she could open her mouth by the laughter of the god in front of them.

"It's a nice gesture, but your soul isn't nearly powerful enough. It's better than an ordinary human’s soul, I'll give you that, but she's a nymph. Do you have any idea how much energy her soul contains?"

"Then name your price." Geralt said. He wasn't necessarily going to give in to his demands, but he figured it didn't hurt to learn what the god's wishes were.

"To be honest, I don't think you can get a soul of such power... however, you do have access to one that is quite close." Geralt didn't like the suggestive tone in the god's voice. And he liked it even less when his eyes fell on Yennefer as he finished the sentence.

"No!" The witcher declared as he understood the intentions behind those words. He had brought Yennefer with him to help him open the portal and nothing else. He refused to sacrifice one more life. No one else had to suffer because of his stupid decisions.

"She wouldn't suffer." The god spoke after glancing at Geralt's thoughts. "She doesn't even have to be dead, she just has to stay here with me."

"I don’t care. We're not doing this."

"Why don't you let her decide?" The god said, resting his eyes on Yennefer's violet ones. "It is a good deal. You get your lover back and she gets-"

"She gets imprisoned here forever." Geralt interrupted and the god looked at him wearily.

"She gets to be the most powerful madge in history, sitting by my side ruling the underworld... isn't that what you always wanted, Yennefer of Vengerberg, to have power beyond imaginable? What's more powerful than deciding between life and death?"

Geralt snorted at such words, finding the god's tricks very ineffective. But when he looked back at Yennefer, she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt. "You're not seriously considering his proposal, aren't you?" he approached her, speaking in a lower tone of voice so as not to be heard by the god.

"If we leave now then we traveled this far for nothing. Don't you want to get her back?"

"No if it means hurting innocent people. You have nothing to do with this."

"Except I do since the moment you made that srupid wish."

"I didn't save your life then just to leave you here now."

"You're not leaving me, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't have to do this, Yennefer." Geralt's voice became softer. She seemed quite sure of her decision and he knew it would not be easy to persuade her otherwise, but he had to try. He didn't like the idea of leaving her behind, of sacrificing her in favor of his own happiness. 

"Oh, please! I'm not doing this just for you. I usually don't like to waste my time and energy just to end up empty handed. I came here because, as you said, it was an opportunity to find the answers I've been looking for. So why don't you worry about you and let me worry about myself?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. And while she wasn't lying and really had interests of her own in that place, Geralt really was a big part of the reason she wanted to accept the god's offer. There was something in his eyes, the sparkle of true love, that shone every time he thought of his departed lover. It was something she had never noticed in his eyes when he looked at her. It was clear that what they had was real, it softened her hardened and withering heart, and gave her hope that love was real. Though of course, she would never admit that to Geralt. 

The witcher growled under his breath, clenching his jaw. Even though part of him didn't like the idea of leaving Yennefer behind, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved to hear those words. If she wanted to stay there for her own selfish reasons, then accepting the god's proposal was much easier on his conscience. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her once more, giving her one last chance to back out. 

Yennefer shrugged. "I lived a long time among the living, had my good share of adventures... maybe it's time to try my luck in the underworld. "

That answer was good enough for Geralt. He accepted the god's proposal, exchanging Yennefer's soul for that of his beloved nymph. She would stay in the underworld with him and in return Geralt would get a second chance with his lover. The god instructed him to return home and assured him that when he arrived, her soul would already be back in her birth tree.

As he made his way back, the thought that the god was tricking him crossed his mind. He realized that he really had nothing to assure him that he would keep his word. For all he knew, this could have been a strange move by the god to get to Yennefer and her powers for some reason he did not know. Perhaps he was being used as a pawn in a larger chess game that he did not know he was part of. Perhaps he had unleashed a terrible evil upon the continent without realizing it.

But then he felt it. 

The sweet scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils the moment he set foot in the forest. It was strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. He noticed then that everything looked greener and more alive, every flower, bush and plant glowing in the warm sunlight in a way that they didn't when he left. Even the birds seemed to sing louder and more cheerfully. 

Geralt ran to the cherry blossom tree he had been tending for what had felt like an eternity. His heart was racing with every step he took, not from the physical effort, but from the anticipation. The hope of seeing her again was what had kept him sane since that horrible day he had lost her. All this time he had thought it was impossible, an illusion that only served to keep him on his feet until the pain subsided. But now it was a reality, and he had so many emotions swirling inside him that he didn't know exactly what to feel.

Suddenly, his eyes came upon a figure on the horizon. It was partially blocked by the rays of sunlight that kept him from seeing clearly, so he picked up his pace to get closer. Little by little the figure revealed itself in front of him, until it became clear to him that the one who was walking around the forest, picking flowers and petting the animals, was her. 

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, with her long hair blowing in the wind and a sweet smile on her face. It was as if time had never passed, as if that horrible day and the pain that her death had unleashed had been just a bad dream. It was as if he had never lost her.

Geralt stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on hers, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through him. All this time he had dreamed of this moment and now that he had her only a few feet away he didn't know how to react. His eyes blurred with tears, but he caught a glimpse of his beloved's figure running to him before he felt the warmth of her body in his arms. He held her tighter than he ever had, pulling her against his chest as a way of both making sure she was real and that she couldn't pull away from him.

"You came for me." She muttered, melting into the embrace. Her memory was somewhat fuzzy, but she remembered clearly the moment when the blade of the dagger had caressed her neck. She remembered how it had felt and the horror in Geralt's eyes as she fell into his arms, taking her last breaths. She remembered his words of comfort and his promise to make things right, as if he actually could. She still didn't understand how she was back there, but she knew it was Geralt she had to thank for her second chance at life. Somehow, he had found a way to bring her back, she was sure of that.

"I'll always come back for you." 

The kiss they shared was unlike any other. It was passionate and desperate, yet soft and tender. It was charged with all the emotions that had been left unsaid between them, sadness, regret, longing, but, above all, love. They felt that spark the moment their lips brushed, just like in the old days. Geralt hadn't realized how much he had missed feeling her soft lips on his until that moment. He allowed himself to get lost in the joy he felt, letting the warmth of her body against his slowly remove the traces of sadness and pain that had haunted him all this time.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, enjoying the moment they had both been longing for so long. It was just him, her and the chirping of birds in the trees. Breathing in the floral scent of her hair, Geralt knew that the gray days were behind him. Gone were the guilt and the pain, the sleepless nights and the cold mornings without his beloved. She was back by his side, just as she always should have been. And he was more than happy for the new beginning he had with her. A new chance to make things right, to honor his word and keep his promise, just as he should have done from the beginning. He was ashamed that he had had to lose her to realize how big his mistake had been, but now that he had her back he wasn't going to let her go. His love had proven to be stronger than everything, even death itself.

[fanaticsnail]

When We Wake

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,300+

Synopsis: Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

Themes: established relationship, sir Crocodile x reader, gn!reader - non gendered descriptors, suggested nudity, kisses, confessions of love, sir Crocodile is soft for you, romance, romantic imagery, morning kisses, lazy kisses.

Notes: @carrotsunshine wanted a lovestruck Crocodile to read when she finished work today. I had no choice, my hands were bound and I stayed up past midnight again getting it done. While Croco is not one of the regular characters to write for, I did find myself falling for him a little in this fic. @since-im-already-here suggested the song, because smol-snail is a queen. Was written on my phone.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @i-am-vita

Song: Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez, Em Beihold

Falling asleep, content within the arms of a lover is a luxury Sir Crocodile never knew he could afford. Although extremely wealthy, he deemed himself unworthy of such an exuberant opulence. For all his shortcomings in his youth, clawing with his right hand while grappling with his left hook to be within the lap of comfort all Berry could buy: this small slice of the heavens he carved for himself with you was priceless.

It was not so dissimilar for you. You had never known a love as passionate, as heated, nor as deep a connection as the one you shared with Sir Crocodile. He was your world, and you were his. These few moments together, before the world drew first breath and the symphony of birdsong would sing to welcome the dawn, you lay in complete syncronancy.

Your heartbeats would thump to the same rhythm, your lungs extend as you drew breath in the same soothing inhale before softly exhaling in unison. If one of you shifted to rotate, splayed fingertips would search in yearning to find each other's warmth within the night: shifting blankets to adjust the heat for one another accordingly.

If you fell out of rhythm together, after a night of sound, blissful slumber, and one of you woke first: the other would gaze fondly at the lover they had taken.

When Sir Crocodile awoke first, his right hand would rise from its position against your hip, slowly raking his fingers delicately along your skin. His calloused hand was coarse and rough, but his fingers were always soft and gentle for you.

Finally, as his fingers reach your shoulders, he massages your shoulder tenderly before raking his forearm over your body and tucking your slumbering form firmly secured against his chest. His eyes were half-hooded, gazing with the softest flutter of his lengthy eyelashes down at you.

“You are so precious to me, my moon,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a tender kiss softly against your hair, “A bright light that guides me through such horrors within my darkened past.” You barely stir within your sleep, unaware such deep, devoted confessions were being freely gifted from the smiling lips of your lover.

“You are the blood that swells my heart,” his breath tickled your temple as his scarred cheek nuzzled against the crown of your head, “It would be too simple a thing to kill for you, as it would be to die for you.”

Unconsciously, your body began to burrow into his chest within your slumber. A soft moan expelled itself from between your lips as you reveled in the contact of your bare skin against his own. His final confession was whispered like a prayer into your ear.

“You command my very soul, my spirit is yours to do with what you will,” he smiled as he felt you stirring within his arms, “Should you toy with me, torture me, or choose to trust me: either way, I am yours, and I will live my life for you.”

Upon hearing his words, your immediate response upon waking was to press a kiss within the hollow flesh of his jugular notch. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as a rumbled groan in bliss swelled within his chest.

“As I am yours, my beautiful Crocodile.”

Should you find yourself to be the first to rise, your breath would hitch as your eyes met with his face. Within his slumber, he managed to break away from your embrace. Lying on his back, his hair splayed down over his face, you notice the deep furrow of his brows and the soft shudder of a snarl.

Softly and cautiously, you draw up your hands over his broad chest to hover over his face. The bright lightning-sheen of his healed scar illuminated within the soft light of the morning. You slowly lean over him, your chest lying flush against his as you straddle his waist.

You splay your forearms over his chest, elbows barely reaching the shoulders of the large man as you lay your ear flush against his chest. The rapid beat of his heart began to slow, a deep, sleepy inhale of his breath sucked in through his lips and departed softly through his nose.

“You are the most precious thing to me, my beautiful Crocodile,” you confessed your deep devotion into his chest, “No gold, jewels, nor Berry could ever meet you as equal.”

Sweeping your cheek away from his chest, you brushed your nose against his chest before beginning a trail of soft and lazy kisses over his pectorals. For each kiss you planted, a confession was whispered into his skin.

“You are the greatest man I have ever known,” you pressed a deep kiss against his clavicle bone, “Your fierce devotion to me is only outmatched by my own to you.”

The swell of his chest beneath your body indicated he was beginning to stir within his deepest rest. He sighed as he raised his right arm to unconsciously pull you closer into his chest. You elevated your chin to gaze up into his dark, violet eyes that had barely split apart between the curtain of his eyelashes.

“You are my closest confidant, my most ferocious protector,” you pressed a lengthy kiss against his jaw before brushing the hair that shrouded his face from full view, “You are all mine.” His eyes were sleepily gazing down at you, feeling the shift of your body flush against his own.

“As you are all mine.”

But should you find yourselves back within that perfect synchrony, on very rare occasions, your eyelashes would flutter as the world around faded into view. The world, as both of you knew it within your souls, was within the arms of one another. The only world that mattered to you both in those fleeting moments, before obligation and commitments called to you; was only, and always, each other.

As your joint eyelids rose together, your glassy orbs found their peace within each others' gaze. You were always the first to smile, where he was always the first to reach out to pull your body against his.

It was always up for debate as to who uttered those sacred words first. The three sought after and holy words that bound you together as one life, one body, one heart, and one soul. Those simple words that had the most mighty and hardened soldiers stutter and stumble over them in their fluster.

Immediately meeting with your smiling lips, Sir Crocodile swooped down and captured them beneath his own. Always slow, the angle of his jaw would alternate with his chin extending down and rotating to depict his heated passion. The bridge of his nose brushed against your own, the rumble of his moan expelled within your mouth as yours fled into his.

Parting your lips, you sought out more contact with your body pressed firmly against your passionate lover. You hooked your arms over his neck as he braced his right arm and left forearm around your waist.

He rolled you over his chest, before using the propulsion of the swinging motion of your body to pin you beneath him. You squealed into his mouth in shocked joy, his lips never breaking their deep contact against your own. With your lover now between your legs, you clawed at his shoulders to tug him closer.

The deep furrow of his brow, and sharp inhale of breath through his nose, had you enchanted by his enthusiastic welcome to commence the day. Almost begrudgingly, he finally split contact away from your lips to smile down at your position beneath him.

Taking a moment to silently acknowledge each other, you slowly laced your hands within the ink-black strands at the back of his head just as he leaned down to press his forehead against your own. Your whispers were almost inaudible, this confession being so scared you both dare not present it to undesirable ears.

This confession was just meant for only each other, your lips brushing briefly as you both relayed your devotion in perfect, unified symphony.

“I love you.”

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Call Me When You Get Home - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: I decided to try my hand at writing based on prompts from these lists: one / two and my favourite characters from Top Gun: Maverick, so, here's the first one from my works list.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

prompt: no. 7 - "call me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.”

warnings/content: alludes to some spiciness, unlucky in relationships, ends in fluff. mild swearing.

word count: 1.9k

You’d never been one for relationships. You’d grown sick of broken hearts and forced apologies, and constant letdowns, and at this point in your life, you didn’t want to waste any more time being unhappy or anxious or scared that at any moment, the one thing you’d grown to rely on being there could be taken from you without warning. You were tired of the constant back and forth on holidays to visit family members neither of you could stand, and who frankly, couldn’t stand you either. You were sick of the way that everyone put relationships up on a pedestal, to be coveted and desired more than anything else in life. You were over it all, and you had convinced yourself it was for your own good, that it was better this way. 

That was, until you met him.

Lieutenant Jake Seresin had wandered into your life last fall. You’d been home to attend your aunt Penny’s wedding, her having finally gotten married to Captain Pete Mitchell, after several years of back and forth between them. At first glance, Jake was exactly the type of guy you’d go for - he was single, and preferred it that way. He never wanted to be tied down or have someone waiting for him at home - he claimed it was just “who he was”, but you knew there was more to it than that - he was afraid of the same things you were, in a sense. In Jake’s mind, if he had no one waiting for him at home, then he’d never have to worry about there being that chance of him not coming home from a mission. He wouldn’t have to worry about leaving someone behind, and that was just easier for him and his life as a Naval Air Force pilot. 

However, your cousin Amelia and your new uncle had different plans in mind. They saw the two of you as one in the same - you were both running and hiding from the same thing, in a sense. You refused to fall in love out of fear of someone getting hurt. They had “accidentally” seated the two of you at the same table at the wedding, side by side. Jake had been drinking a beer while you sipped a vodka-cran, the same one you’d been nursing for the previous hour since cocktails were served before the reception. His tall, tanned figure looked like heaven in his white dress uniform, his blonde hair gelled upwards slightly in the front, trimmed and neat in the back. He was gorgeous, and boy, did he know it. 

After countless drinks shared between the two of you (and you were eternally grateful that night for Captain Mitchell’s deep pockets and the idea of an open bar), a brief fling in the back of Jake’s truck, and an exchanging of phone numbers over coffee the next morning as you both sobered up, you’d found yourself wondering if, maybe, just maybe, you could be open to something with him - not a relationship, but an agreement of sorts. No dates to speak of, no pressure to label things, and no timelines forcing either of you to do anything - just, enjoying each other’s company on your own terms, without the awkward “I love yous” and breakups that you were used to, and without Jake’s fear of having someone be left behind if anything were to happen to him. Just...more than friends. 

It was a few months into your arrangement of “more than friends” the first time he said it. You were surprised it was Jake who said it first - you’d never thought of him as being the caring, thoughtful type, he’d always been so laidback and carefree, with a hint of arrogance to him and his teasing, that it completely caught you off guard when he said it after a night spent at his apartment off base. 

“Hey, just, you know…call me when you get home, ok? So I know you made it home safe?” he’d said.

His soft smile and the kind look in his green eyes, his hand resting on the door frame as he looked at you, standing there in a tight fitted white t-shirt and his sweatpants as he said goodbye to you before you headed back to your house that morning. Any other time, he would have just given you the same, standard, “I’ll text you later.” or a basic “I’ll call you, yeah?”. Normally, him saying he wanted to know you made it home safe would have sent you running - you knew what it meant, or at the very least, what it could lead to, and you didn’t want anything ruining what you  and Jake had together, even if it wasn’t supposed to be anything in particular.

The second time, you said it to him, and as you said it, you knew you were doomed. Doomed to be headed down that pathway of boyfriend and girlfriend, only to almost certainly be heartbroken in a few months when he decided that it wasn’t you, it was him, or that he’d met someone else. 

When you said it this time, Jake had been on his way back to the base for a mission last minute. He’d grumbled when his phone went off, interrupting a moment between the two of you, and you knew almost instantly what that meant - he’d be gone for an indefinite amount of time, and you’d see him when you saw him. He could be gone for a week like the last mission, or for months, depending on what it was and how long it would take to complete. It was always classified, and he never really had details until he was already in the middle of it. 

“Call me when you’re home, so I know you’re safe, ok, Jake?” You’d said, your voice low and soft, almost in a whisper as the words escaped your lips.

Jake frowned as he went to respond, almost looking as if he was at a loss for words, which was never like him. Instead, he sighed and nodded his head before heading out the door. A few weeks later, you’d gotten his phone call. 

“Can we talk about something?” he’d said, his normally overly self-confident tone was now quiet, and almost shy, like he was afraid to have this conversation with you. 

“Of course we can. Are you alright?” You’d asked as you absent-mindedly chewed on your bottom lip, anxiously running through all the different possible scenarios that could come from this.

“I’m fine, I promise, just…come over, please?” 

Within 15 minutes, you were on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. He looked exhausted, his five o’clock shadow was evident, the sign of him not having been home long enough to even shave or shower since he got in. That was your first clue that it was something serious.  Your next clue was when, instead of making a comment about how your ass looked in your jeans or how your shirt would look better on his bedroom floor, he gave you a hug. Jake was never a hugger - by all accounts from his friends and your own observations over the last half a year up to this stage, you’d never seen him hug anyone before, not even once. Usually the best anyone got out of Jake Seresin was a firm handshake and his million dollar grin. But this time, this time you’d gotten a full-fledged bear hug when he saw you - his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you in for a passionate embrace, as if he’d gone years without seeing you and finally found you again. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Jake? You’re…you’re kind of worrying me.” You’d laughed as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Right, that.” He’d begun, biting at the inside of his cheek as he mulled over the words he wanted to say, “I…don’t think our agreement is working out between us.”

You felt your cheeks turn hot and red, tears beginning to sting your eyes. Despite the boundaries in place, you fell for him, hard. You’d never tell him, and you didn’t even realize it yourself before now, but as he said that - those words you’d been trying so hard to avoid with him, you knew. You knew he’d reeled you in and there was no escaping it now. You were about to get heartbroken, again.

“Oh?” You kept your response cold and indifferent as you tried to mask your feelings as best as you could.

“Before you get upset with me, hear me out,” he started, holding his hand up to gesture for you to wait for him to collect his thoughts.

“Why, so you can give me the same old “it’s not you, it’s me” speech? So you can tell me how you’ve met someone else?” 

“No,” he said calmly, letting out a deep breath. 

“I don’t think it’s working because I think I’ve fallen in love with you anyways.” He sighed softly, shrugging his broad shoulders as he shot you an apologetic look.

“You...you’re in love with me?” You stammered and stumbled over your words as you spit them out.

“I think so. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time I was gone. I just kept thinking about how nice it’d be to come home and see you again. And despite how it scares the living shit out of me to think that one day I may not be able to come home to you, I also don’t want to spend the rest of our lives not telling you how I feel.” 

Without another word being spoken between you, you wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck gently and pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss. He placed his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you in towards him, his lips moving in sync with yours. After a moment, he pulled away, his signature grin now back on his face.

“I’m going to take that as a “I love you too, Jake”?”, he smirked as he brushed a piece of your hair back off your forehead. 

“Just shut up and kiss me again, Lieutenant.”

Now, nearly 6 months into officially dating, you found yourselves constantly reminding each other just how in love you were. Jake would send you texts throughout the day when he could, updating you on what was happening wherever he was at the time, and you’d respond with playful teasing. You’d make sure when he came home that his laundry was done for him, because otherwise, he’d never remember to wash it, and he’d signed into his food delivery account on your phone so you could always order whatever you felt like for dinner when he was going to be coming home. You’d cuddle on the couch watching movies together, sharing a bottle of wine as you both took the opportunity to relax and unwind together. And despite all of the domestic life you’d taken on together, you did manage to keep one boundary together.

You’d always call to let the other one know you were safe.

[electrosair]

Husband & dad headcanons dendro + pyro ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: al haitham + baizhu + kaveh + tighnari + diluc + thoma

tw: there's a headcanon in which the reader is pregnant, but the rest of it is completely neutral. you can skip that one if you want and imagine something else like adopting.

word count: 1.6k

Al haitham

how does he propose to you?

As much as he 'hates' Kaveh, he would ask him for help with this. And Kaveh being as original as he is would tell him to take you to all the important places you were together and then ask you in the highest area of Sumeru City. You can thank him.

where is the wedding taking place?

I have two options, the small island of Port Ormos or The Palace of Alcazaray. They are too beautiful locations not to use at a moment like this.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

My head tells me he's the kind of guy who wants to spend your entire honeymoon with you in restaurants and at the Liyue library. Take advantage of this and go right when the Lantern Rite Festival is taking place.

children before or after marriage?

Afterwards for sure. He would want to wait to have more time for you and his children, plus have a house just for you and not have to share one with Kaveh.

how many children does he want?

Maybe 2, but quite a few years apart I would venture to say. He would be busy enough to have multiple at the same time. "Let's get some rest for a while, those nine months and the ones we have left are already taken."

how is he during your pregnancy?

He definitely takes you to fancy restaurants and out for walks whenever he can, still being the cool guy and being able to show everyone how happy he is also with his favorite person and his future baby is a yes for him.

any memorable moment with his child?

Returning home after being outside and finding Al haitham with your child sitting on his lap and pointing out the words to him as he softly pronounces them for your baby to repeat after him.

Baizhu

how does he propose to you?

He would ask you to stay in the store during that day while he prepares everything to propose to you. A path with your favorite flowers when you leave the pharmacy and a smiling Baizhu waiting for you.

where is the wedding taking place?

On the outskirts of Qingce Village. I don't know your opinion about the scenery there, but it's beautiful, the area full of bamboo and the high mountain next to it. Any of the sites will do for him.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Sumeru, I accept no other option. Maybe Spinedragon. But surely he would go to Sumeru with you to enjoy the new greener landscapes and he would learn a lot on the trip.

children before or after marriage?

He wouldn't care, if you have them before then it's fine with him, and if you'd rather wait until you're married Baizhu will be okay with that too.

how many children does he want?

Considering the relationship he has with Qiqi and how he cares for her, treating her like his own daughter, I feel the more the better. He is definitely good with children.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He knows exactly how to react to your every complaint, whether it's pain, emotional or a simple craving you have. He would do checkups on you and the baby from home. "Take a deep breath, I want to see if we can hear the baby's little heart now."

any memorable moment with his child?

He would make the child believe that he is drinking candy or some juice while giving him the medicine and maybe from time to time he would do it with you too. But just until the child would realize it and refuse to take it or tell you that it was medication.

Kaveh

how does he propose to you?

Kaveh would design a building for a 'client' but in reality it's just an excuse to take you there when it's already built and ask you in the most beautiful room, clear water fountains and plants around the vividly colored walls.

where is the wedding taking place?

In Sumeru City it is the first choice. After the wedding he would like to have a small celebration at Lambad's Tavern with his favorite people as a thank you for going to the ceremony and to spend more time with you in your wedding attire. To him you look gorgeous.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Tell him a place, he will take you there. He will let you choose since he chose the wedding venue. He will be happy to see the different architecture and enjoy spoiling you during the whole trip.

children before or after marriage?

As much as he wants to have children with you, I think he also wants to spend as much time with you as possible, so he would prefer them later. "Can we wait a little longer? I still want us to remain each other's priority."

how many children does he want?

I can imagine him being a father of 2 babies. He would give them both all the love in the world, and they would probably end up spoiled because we already know Kaveh.

how is he during your pregnancy?

You would also be spoiled by him, buying you new clothes every time your belly grew. And of course giving you whatever treats you wanted.

any memorable moment with his child?

He would buy so many clothes when you didn't have the baby in your hands yet. You would end up with clothes that wouldn't even fit on the baby. Your children would be dressed in huge clothes because they saw them in the closet and liked them too much.

Tighnari

how does he propose to you?

I'm sure he'll take you on a walk through the rainforest, showing you plants and bird species you didn't know about and following a different route than the one you normally take so you'll be taken by surprise. I imagine a flower opening and the ring inside.

where is the wedding taking place?

At the Pardis Dhyai. Tighnari likes that place so much that I can't imagine you getting married anywhere else. He is always there when he is not at the villa and the greenhouse is beautiful.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

You may go to the desert for a few days, most likely to the oases to refresh yourselves. Then you would go to another destination, maybe he wants to go back to Mondstadt or take the opportunity of the opening of Inazuma's borders to visit it with you.

children before or after marriage?

My instinct tells me you would have them before. Maybe because I can't picture Tighnari getting married so early, you know how he is, challenging the academy and in the process also the rest of humanity.

how many children does he want?

Sorry about this but according to my google researches I'm forced to say 2 to 5. Army of mini foxes all over your house? Yes.

how is he during your pregnancy?

Home remedies with herbs that he knows will relieve any pain and colic. Mostly super protective of you when he knows that in addition to you he is taking care of your children at the same time. "Are you in pain? Come, let me massage you with this, I promise it will relieve it."

any memorable moment with his child?

He would show them every poisonous plant in the surroundings so they wouldn't go near any of them. I can also imagine him helping the older ones with the bow.

Diluc

how does he propose to you?

He will probably give you little hints for a month until finally proposing marriage, straight and blunt that time. There would be no middle ground, either he asks you after a romantic dinner or he asks you one quiet day when you go to see him at the tavern.

where is the wedding taking place?

At the Dawn Winery for sure. Have you seen how beautiful it is on the outside? I can just imagine a wedding arch between all the vineyards and a big walkway made of wooden planks so you don't stain your wedding clothes.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Literally anywhere you want, he has enough money left over to even take you to each of the nations for a week and spend more than a month on this trip.

children before or after marriage?

Probably after the wedding, he would want to have everything secured before finally having children with you.

how many children does he want?

Between 1 and 2 the perfect amount for him, 1 better than 2 if you ask him. But if you want a lot I would say 3 is all he can give you (and bear).

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would always keep an eye on you just in case you do something he considers bad for you or the baby. Normally he would give you a lot of freedom but if he feels it like necessary he will entrust one of the maids to take care of you.

any memorable moment with his child?

The day he caught your 3-year-old child about to drink a bottle of wine he had reserved for you and him. You certainly never saw another bottle in some unlocked place again. "Dear, are you finished with that? I'm going to put it back in the cabinet."

Thoma

how does he propose to you?

He would ask Ayaka or Ayato for help, all super planned and probably on some important Inazuma holiday or on some important date in your relationship. At night and with a romantic atmosphere, he would get down on one knee 100%.

where is the wedding taking place?

Thoma is originally from mondstadt so I like to imagine that he would take you there for the ceremony and meet his family.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Mondstadt, Mondstadt, Mondstadt. He would stay there with you and even introduce you to cousins he didn't even know he had. He would probably take you to see everything, Dragonspine included.

children before or after marriage?

I feel like he would prefer to have them after the wedding but really wouldn't mind if for whatever reason it ends up being before.

how many children does he want?

He would take your opinion very seriously, but have you seen him? I mean, at the very least he would want 3, maximum he doesn't have (my best friend told me that up to 30-).

how is he during your pregnancy?

If he normally does all the household chores, while you are pregnant with his children he won't let you touch even a simple mop. "You're already busy taking care of our baby 24 hours a day, leave the rest to me."

any memorable moment with his child?

The whole family got into the kitchen, your children wearing little chef's hats and aprons while Thoma gave them instructions on how to make 'the best surprise birthday cake for mommy/daddy/term you use'.