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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 15 “I’m fine.” | No. 17 “Leave me alone.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic, pre-relationship)

Setting: Post Prison/Pre Alexandria

Warnings: Animal bite, Injury, Illness, TWD Violence

“Thanks,” you muttered while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You extended the bottle out to Glenn but he shook his head.

“Try to get Daryl to drink when he gets back.” You cast him a curious look but he only smiled and shuffled forward to catch up with Maggie.

The sun was beating down violently on your little group, no reprieve from the clutches of its heat. Just like yesterday. Just like the day before. The bushes rustled to your left, but you were too weary to be afraid. You simply rolled your head toward the sound and watched Daryl emerge from the foliage. You gave him a quick once over as he fell in stride beside you but saw no injuries and also no kill to call dinner.

“You okay?” You offered the water bottle, but he pushed it back to you.

“M’fine.”

“I haven’t seen you take a single sip in two days, Daryl.” You were trying to scold but your voice only sounded dry and tired.

“You need it. Lil Asskicker needs it.” Right on cue, the baby on Carl’s back began to fuss. You glanced behind you where Sasha and Michonne were bringing up the rear. The group of walkers were still a ways back but if you stopped, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up.

Your attention was brought back to Daryl when he stumbled, hissing through his teeth before getting his balance. You said nothing but watched him carefully. He was slightly favoring his right leg. While you could see no blood, you did notice that the red rag that usually hung from his back pocket was wrapped around his shin, just above his boot.

“Daryl.” You called to him carefully when he looked up from his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. He grunted in reply, and his gaze dropped again. “Are you hurt?” He grunted again. “That’s not an answer.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it.” The archer looked over at you, one eye closed and the other squinted. “Ain’t a big deal.”

Before you could press him on it, Rick called out for everyone to stop at a bridge. It was time to handle the walkers.

It didn’t take long. Not a single person was injured and you were back on the road. Daryl was in front of you now, and you were watching him like a hawk. Other than a slight limp, he seemed okay. No better or worse than anyone else right now.

The group had stopped to rest once the scorching sun had lowered, and Daryl had disappeared to hunt. With a nod to Carol, you ducked away past the bushes to join him. You weren’t great at tracking but he hadn’t been gone long and you had learned a thing or two from him.

It didn’t take you long to spot him. There was a small cabin that looked like it had been abandoned since before the dead rose. Daryl was standing next to a tree close to the structure, leaning his shoulder against it. You smiled, and quickened your pace until you noticed his crossbow was on the ground at his feet. His right boot wasn’t touching the ground, and he was bent at the waist with his eyes screwed shut and teeth clenched.

“Daryl?” You called out but he didn’t respond. He was sweating and pale, and as you neared, the smell of sick lingered in the air. “Hey, are you okay?” You placed your hand on his bicep once you were close enough. The archer reacted violently, catching your wrist and slamming your back against the tree with his hunting knife at your throat. Had he really not heard you approaching? His breaths came hard and fast. Those pretty blue eyes of his were filled with pain and anger. “It’s me, Daryl.”

You watched recognition set in, and he released you with a huff. “The hell ya followin’ me fer?” You let your gaze follow him as he replaced his knife and reached for the crossbow. On the ground, near the weapon, was a puddle of vomit. Your eyes narrowed.

“Daryl, what’s wrong with you?” You pushed away from the tree and jogged to cut him off. “Really.”

“Leave me ‘lone!” He made to go around you, but you moved to stay in his path.

“You sick?” He tried the other way with the same results. “Hurt?” He growled deep in his throat, closing his eyes in what appeared to be restraint. You weren’t sure that was really the case.

“Jus’ lay off, would ya?” He snapped harshly. You reeled, face contorting in anger, but just as you opened your mouth, Daryl’s eyes widened. He listed to the side, crashing hard onto his left knee and began to retch violently. With nothing in his stomach, he only managed to bring up a small amount of bile throughout the ordeal.

“Daryl!” You grabbed hold of his shoulders just in time to stop him from keeling over into the mess. Falling back onto your ass, you managed to pull the man up against your stomach. He was panting with his eyes screwed shut. “Daryl, what’s going on? The truth.”

It took a moment but the archer finally managed to open one eye and seemed to study you before you felt him simply deflate in your hold. “Snake bit.” You quickly glanced at that old rag around his lower leg.

“You moron, that’s serious! You could die!” Your hand connected roughly with the front of his shoulder but then held him fast where he was when he tried to struggle away.

“Ain’t gon’ die. S’jus’ a copperhead.” He tried to sit up again and this time you let him. He nodded gratefully once he was shoulder to shoulder with you. “Got bit ‘fore, when I’s ‘bout 10. It won’ kill me but it’ll suck fer a day or two.”

You stared at him, not sure what you were feeling. You were angry that he had hidden this from the group, from you. You were worried that he was or would become dehydrated or the wound would be infected, both were very likely and equally as dangerous. You were sad that he would rather suffer alone than worry anyone even when he was in such a state.

“Quit starin’ at me like tha’. Told ya, I’ll be fine.”

You nodded, looking down at your boots. You had to think of something. Daryl simply couldn’t keep going like this, disappearing ‘in search of water and food’ when he really just needed a break. You glanced at him again, leaning back on his hands with his head tilted toward the sky. His expression was riddled with pain, even though he was trying not to show it. You knew better.

Over his shoulder, you saw the little cabin. It wasn’t the ideal solution but maybe one you could make work. “You cleared that yet?”

Daryl followed your gaze and shook his head. “Nah. Didn’ have a chance ‘fore my stomach crawled outta my throat.”

“Wait here.”

“The hell ya doin’, Y/N?”

You pulled your knife from the sheath on your thigh and marched toward the structure. “Solving a couple of problems.”

The cabin had been blessedly void of walkers. It was small but large enough to shelter your family from the sun for at least a day or two. It was easy enough to talk Rick into stopping the fruitless march toward nothing. At least the group could stay put while you took care of Daryl, under the guise of being out for the night to hunt.

He had been surprisingly pliant when you dragged him away. Finding a spot to camp for the night was simple. Far enough away for members not to venture in search of you, yet close enough to run for help if things got worse. You had taken all of the water that could be spared, leaving enough for the proper care of Judith and Carl. You hated leaving so little for the adults, but Daryl would surely die without it, closer than anyone to dehydration with the excess sweating and vomiting.

You sat next to his outstretched leg, carefully pouring the smallest amount of water over the two punctures he had finally let you take a look at. Just to the right of his shin, the wound was swollen and angry, more in thanks to the venom than to infection. If you could manage to keep it clean, you could probably avoid that.

You taped a square of gauze over the bite, thankful that you had at least that in your own bag. Keeping it covered was best for the time being. It could get air when the venom wasn’t doing a number on the archer.

You worried about tissue damage, but that was a bridge you’d have to cross when you came to it. For now, keeping him alive was the most important thing.

“Drink.” You titled the canteen against his lips, holding fast to his chin with the other hand when he tried to turn away.

“The kid—”

“Has enough. I promise. I wouldn’t have taken it if it meant she or Carl had to do without.” He seemed to accept that, parting his lips for the smallest of swallows. You wished you had more and didn’t have to be so greedy with each offering. He had taken the ibuprofen you had managed to nab out of Michonne’s bag. That should provide a bit of relief from the pain while aiding in the reduction of the inflammation. It wasn’t much but it would have to do.

“You should get some rest.” You placed your back against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with him. He didn’t look very comfortable but it wasn’t unlike Daryl to sleep sitting up. Sometimes, you think he preferred it. Regardless, he was sick and in pain, so you tried to make him as comfortable as possible. “Why don’t you lay on my lap?”

Daryl opened one eye and rolled his head toward you, blinking away the sweat that burned and obstructed his vision. You thought he might argue or turn you down flat, but he instead shifted with a groan and pillowed his head on your thighs. A true testament to how horrible he was feeling.

“Better?” You questioned quietly, running your fingers through his damp hair. He hummed, his eyes once again closed. You could see the way they pinched at the outer corners and wished you could do something more for the pain. He’d been bitten while trying to find food and water for your group; trying to take care of everyone else. Always putting himself last.

There was a content sigh that brought you from your thoughts. You hadn’t realized that you had begun to scratch and knead his scalp, but the way he seemed to melt against you ensured that you continued. His shallow breaths evened out and deepened after a few more moments, an indicator that he was finally giving his body the rest it so desperately needed.

He would be okay. You knew that now. But if you could offer him some comfort and peace for just one night, you’d massage his scalp until your fingers bled. Daryl, rough around the edges and tough as nails, would bend over backwards to ensure the safety of each one of you. Anyone in the group would do the same for him if he’d allow it. But he didn’t. He chose to suffer in silence until you stumbled across him and forced his hand.

But he’d allowed you into his space and trusted you enough to fall into a deep, healing sleep while you watched over him. He would be safe and cared for, and you’d make sure he knew that he could depend on this— on you — and drop his walls. He could let you in and be vulnerable.

You’d be damned if you’d take that for granted.

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jasmines-library · 6 months

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Baby, It's cold outside.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 17. Prompt: Hypothermia Fandom: The Witcher.

Summary: On your way back to Kaer Morhen, the perilous weather manages to get the better of you, leaving you in a vulnerable state. it is upto Geralt to get you back back to the keep before it is too late.

Warnings: Hypothermia, taking off clothes (non-sexual).

Word Count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

It was cold.

That’s all you really had to say about the weather. The snow had settled on the ground like a blanket and the frost crawled up the trees that scaled the mountains. The snow was thick and seeped into your clothes as you trudged alongside Geralt who sat proudly upon Roach, who seemed to be coping much better than your horse was against the conditions. A few miles back, she had spooked. Her sudden jerk threw you from your back, tossing you onto the ground. Your body collided with the snow with a thud. You groaned and pushed yourself to your feet, gripping onto Geralt’s gloved hand. After that you had opted to walk alongside him as he kept a steady pace, claiming that it would be ‘good for you to stretch your legs.’ Geralt seemed hesitant to let you walk, as he offered you a seat on his horse multiple times, but you still relented. You were beginning to wish you had taken up his offer though, as the cold sank through your clothes and bit away at your skin.

Geralt frowned deeply when your trudging began to slow and the prints you left in the snow shuffled closer together. His forehead wrinkled together as he suddied you. You had pulled the edges of your coat closer to you, though it wasn’t very effective as it was soaked through. It was a deep blue decorated with hand stitched embroidery. The inside was lined with a thin layer of fur. Geralt had brought it for you at a local market when he noticed the way you kept turning back to awe at it. His ‘reasoning’ for buying it after you had relocated after reading the price tag and checking your coins, was that it was practical. Your old cloak had been falling apart and would soon be useless against the conditions, especially when the two of you reached Kaer Morhen at the heart of the blue mountains. Your violent shivers didn’t go unnoticed by the Witcher as he looked down on you. He couldn’t see your face because it was sheltered by your hood, but he could vividly picture your trembling lip.

His worry really peaked when you stopped to lean against the tree, just a few miles short of the keep. You could see it now in all of its glory, peaking through the snow tipped pines. The two of you had been travelling a while, and it was a far from easy trek- particularly without your horse. Your eyes drooped and you slumped entirely against the frost-riddled bark.

“Y/N?” He asked tentatively, steering roach around to a halt besides you.

“I’m okay, Geralt. Just tired is all.”

That was an understatement. Each step felt like you were wading through tar and the burning in your fingers and toes had begun to become unbearable in the exposure. You were hunched over like your body had completely forgotten how to function. Each of your limbs ached and your joints stiff as you fumbled with the latch on your coat, trying to pull it implausibly closer. When you took a step forward, your knees buckled and you crumpled to the floor.

Geralt all but flung himself from his saddle, dropping to his knees besides your trembling body. Ignoring the icy dampness that dug into his knees, he swiped the hair that had fallen over your eyes and pushed back the blue hood. He was startled by how alarming your skin felt. Your face was pale and your eyes were hooded, though he could still see them moving around, struggling to focus on anything for too long.

“You’re freezing.” He muttered.

You made no move to reply, watching him vanish into your peripheral vision. He returned only moments later, reaching an arm behind you back and under your knees to lift you effortlessly. The movements made your joints protest as he lifted up onto Roach before climbing up onto her behind you and securing you in front of him. You hardly spared your mount a second thought, consumed only by the never faltering winter, although Geralt had tied her reins to Roach .

Bringing your icy body towards his, he hoped that the closeness would allow your body to steal some of his. It radiated off of him like a wave, but did little to soothe you. With a quick snap of his reins, Roach raced forwards before settling into an even pace which would get you to the keep in adequate time.

You were quiet. Too quiet. Normally, you would be talking nonstop with Jaskier, feeding into his fantasies or singing along to one of his songs; often just to spite the Witcher. Geralt didn’t like your silence. It felt wrong. So, he tried talking to you. He knew that he had to keep you awake long enough to get you back to the keep.

“Y/N?”

It was faint, but you hummed against his chest.

“Do you remember that Bruxa we fought a while back?”

You smiled weakly at the memory. “Scared the shit out of me and Jaskier.”

“That's right.”

“I’ll never forget… the look on his face when she flew out of nowhere.” Your words were slow as you thought hard to form them on your chapped lips.

“He didn’t sleep for a week.”

You chuckled softly, but then drifted back into that perilous silence as Geralt continued to try and get you to talk to him. Your mind was hazy as the cold consumed you; made your body numb.

“Y/N?” Geralt called out to you again at your lack of response.

“Cold.” You could only bring yourself to say one word. It was slurred and barely coherent though your blue lips.

“I know.” He urged his horse to move faster across the last stretch of the rocky terrain. “Just hold on a little longer. We’re almost there.”

His words fell of deaf ears as you were pulled down into the warmth of unconsciousness. Geralt could hear your slow heartbeat.

Geralt barged through the gates of Kaer Morhen, riding much faster than he should have done. The sudden disturbance unsettled the horses in the stables and caused a sea of heads to snap in his direction. When Vesemir caught sight of you lying limply against his chest. He raced forwards and was by Geralt's side by the time he had slid out of the saddle. The two of them walked quickly, your head rolled against his body and your arm hung uselessly by your side.

“We need a fire.” Geralt told him. “And dry clothes. Blankets too. She’s hypothermic.”

The elder man nodded before speeding off to various places within the keep. Geralt urged his legs to move quicker down the hallways, until you reached a cosy room with a large fire. It crackled loudly and illuminated the room with a flickering orange light. When the doors flung open, Eskel, who had been seated by the fire, turned his head to find the source of the commotion. His eyes widened at the sight of your lifeless body in his arms, and was quickly helping his brother to get you settled on the sofa. Then, he left to go and fetch you a cup of something warm to drink once you awoke.

You stirred as Geralt began to strip you of your wet clothes. You whined at the loss of the fabric, clenching onto your top.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take off the wet things. It’s going to make it worse if I don’t.”

“Geralt?” You furrowed your brow.

He hummed.

“Where are we?”

This caused bile to rise in the back of his throat. “We’re at the keep, Y/N.”

You nodded and reluctantly allowed him to peel off the wettest outer layers of your clothes, leaving you in your undergarments which were dry for the most part. He covered you with his cloak and rubbed your arms to try to generate warmth.

Soon, Eskel returned with a warm mug of herbal tea. Geralt coaxed you to drink it. It offered blissful relief as it trailed down your throat and pooled in your stomach. When Vesemir returned with a handful of your warmest furs, Geralt tugged them over your body. You had begun to shiver again as the burning returned to your fingers and toes. He let out a breath of relief. It took a long time for your body to finally stop shivering and to fall into some sort of regular temperature. Sure, you were still cold, but it was nothing compared to the agony you had felt a short while ago. Geralt watched over you as you began to drift to sleep again; your exhausted body just couldn’t keep up with the demands of your brain. Although worry still tugged at his heartstrings, he felt some sense of reassurance that you would be okay, wrapped up within his arms. He wasn’t going to leave you anytime soon, that was one thing he knew for certain.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 16 ⛤ DAY 18 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

#whumptober #whumptober2023 #whumptober23 #no.17 #hypothermia #cold #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #roach #kaer morhen #whump #angsty #cold reader #hypothermic reader #hypothermic #fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction

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whump-side · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.” Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.” It's always hard on Caretakers when Whumpees don't want them around

#whumptober2023 #no.17 #leave me alone #oc #whump art #blood #bandages #whumptober

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whumpetywhump · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 17 - Touch Aversion

Awaken - Ep. 3

Legend Of Chusen - Ep. 8

Mad Dog - Ep. 12

Mouse - Ep. 5

The Defected - Ep. 5

#whumptober 2023 #no.17 #touch aversion #awaken #legend of chusen #mad dog #mouse #the defected #whump #asian whump #kwhump #cwhump #gifs

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adrift-in-thyme · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 17: “Leave me alone”

Read it on Ao3

- Fierce Deity & Mask

- Summary: Fierce cares for a wounded Mask

CW for blood and injury

———————————-

Link sits on the outskirts of the battlefield.

Fierce can see him from where he stands, a small, hunched figure silhouetted against a hazy blue sky and the remnant wisps of smoke. He starts toward him at a brisk pace, picking his way around the remaining bodies and rubble. He cannot help but wrinkle his nose at the conglomeration of unpleasant smells.

War god though he may be, he has never truly enjoyed conflict. At times it is necessary. But never is it enjoyable. The destruction it brings makes him ill.

Especially now, as he comes closer to the child and gains a better look at his injuries. He is bleeding. The emerald sleeve of his tunic has turned dark with the gory substance. A gash snakes its way from the very base of his neck down through his shoulder to end at his bicep. Its angry edges are coated in dirt and soot.

There is bruising too, peppering his arms and legs. And when he raises his head, Fierce can see that one of his eyes is swollen shut.

“Little one.”

He squats down, feeling abnormally large next to this tiny Hylian he has come to think of almost as his own child. Link looks up at him and sniffles. He raises a trembling hand, swiping viciously at the tears carving trails through the blood and dirt coating his face.

“Where’s the captain?”

There is anger in his voice, but Fierce disregards it. He has known this little hero for years now. He can tell quite easily when his anger is merely a front.

“He is safe.”

He reaches out toward Link’s injured arm. Link backs away.

“You are badly injured. Allow me to help you.”

Link shakes his head, cap flopping, bangs falling into his face. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.” There is a pause, then, “and he doesn’t either.”

Fierce blinks.

Ah, so that is what this is about.

Though the captain had willingly given himself over to the Deity’s strength, Fierce should have expected this to be a struggle. After all, Link does not know the promise he had made to the older hero. And his fear of the mask has not yet vanished.

With good reason, Fierce thinks, bitterly. Every time the hero uses it, his immense power takes its toll. It is a price he wishes he could rid him of.

“He tasked me with protecting you when he could not,” he says, solemnly. “Helping you would be fulfilling my oath to him.”

Link’s head jerks upward. More tears stream down his cheeks.

“You wanna help me? Let him go!” A sob tears through him and he clutches at his arm. Crimson runs down his fingers. “Let my brother go.”

Fierce raises his hands, instinct crying out that he comfort the broken child before him. But when Link curls in on himself further, he stops short of touching the hero. With his strength he could simply scoop him up and carry him away. He holds back, however. He does not wish to force his way unless absolutely necessary. So, they simply hover uselessly in the space between him and Link.

“Allow me to tend to your wounds and get you to safety. Then, I will release the captain.”

Link hiccups, his grip on his arm tightening, and finally, Fierce reaches out. Slowly, he pries the tiny fingers away from the wound. The captain had had bandages in his pouch and though he had been forced to use some for himself, there is still an ample supply left over. He begins winding them around Link’s arm with as much care as his war-calloused hands can manage.

“You’re hurting him.”

He doesn’t pause in his work, but he does look up from it for just long enough to see the broken expression on Link’s face.

“No, I am not. The captain gave himself willingly. As you know, that is the least painful way to utilize my power. He is not fighting. He is at rest.”

Another hiccuped-sob shakes the hero.

“Why? Why’d he put you on?��

Fierce tears off the remaining bandages and ties them tightly. It is not a perfect job, but it will hold for long enough to get him back to camp. They can take proper care of him there.

“Out of necessity. He needed to win this battle and care for the wounded. He could not do so with the strength he currently possessed.”

Link hands curl into fists. “That idiot. I told him never to wear it. I told him it was dangerous. I told him…” His words dissolve into another sob.

Fierce rests a hand on Link’s uninjured shoulder and the hero looks up at him, emotions swirling in his eyes.

“I promise you, little one, I will release him once you are safe. I have no wish to harm the captain…or you.”

He holds his gaze for a moment more, then turns to place the bandages back into the captain’s pouch. When he reaches for Link, the hero doesn’t struggle. And when he scoops him into his arms, he slumps against him with a trembling sigh.

Whether he is simply too weak and tired to fight any longer, or he has decided the Deity’s words are trustworthy, Fierce doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter to him, either way. His responsibility is getting Link to safety.

“The captain knew that you would not approve of his use of the mask, you know,” he says, once Link is securely in his hold and he has started his journey back. Link blinks, slowly, like one of the puppies they saw so often in Termina, exhausted after a day of running, yet still fighting sleep. “But you are precious to him. No sacrifice is too large if it ensures that you are safe.”

Tears well in Link’s eyes once more and he turns his face away.

“Idiot,” he mumbles again.

But there is something in his voice that Fierce cannot identify. Something almost like the feeling of sunshine trying to break through the clouds. It seems, sharing the captain’s sentiments was the right choice.

Humans really are such curious beings, he thinks as he walks back toward camp with the child curled in his arms. They care and yet, see fit to pretend that they do not.

“Fierce?” The voice is small, hesitant.

“Yes, little one?”

“You really are gonna let him out, right?”

Fierce smiles, grimly. So trust is still a ways away, then. No matter. He will repeat his promise however many times is necessary to soothe Link's fears. Someday, perhaps the hero will know that he wishes no harm upon him.

“I give you my word.”

Link sighs. His hand is curled around his tunic sleeve, Fierce notices now. The realization ignites a curious warmth within him.

“‘K,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

#whumptober 2023 #no.17 #‘leave me alone’#legend of zelda #hyrule warriors #linkeduniverse #fic #blood tw #injury tw #trin writes #lu mask #lu fierce deity #fierce dadity #yay I’m caught up #now just to stay caught up XD

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