#still side eyeing amc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewritersaddictions · 6 months

Text

(TWD) The Law: Daryl Dixon- Holy Innocence

Pairing: AU!Priest!Daryl Dixon x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Pov: Reader

Summary: You first meet Father Daryl while in confession, by the second time you go you can't help but expose your deepest secrets, and the third time Father daryl helps you with your secrets.

Warnings: Smut, AU, virgin! Reader, innocent reader, a teaching moment, dirty, rough, sex, pinv, unprotected sex, blowjob, (M Receiving) (F receiving), a little dirty talk, Masturbation, nicknames, Father Daryl kinda hot, confession, the church of god, godliness is next to cleanliness.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers, this came from watching the new AMC series The Walking Dead (Daryl Dixon) when one of the characters says that Daryl is a father Daryl from far away. (I don't really know how confession booths work, so work with me here)

WC- 13.1k

The Walking Dead Master List // The Law Master List

First Meeting

The pure girl had nothing on you. You were refined to the bone, with white lace on the edges of everything you wore around town. Your small town knew all about you. You were the good girl who worked in the soup kitchen and helped your mother with the PTA at your younger sister’s catholic school—the sweet girl with a good life ahead of her. You were adorable. There was nothing against that, and your parents were just so happy with how your life turned out that when one of the choir boys had asked to take you out for a church together, your parents had let you walk out of the house with the boy’s hand interlocked in yours.

That had been months ago. But every person has a different side, and that other side has made its first appearance in your relationship. You were sitting together on the loveseat in your living room. Bible study with your boyfriend while your parents were out of town. You’re so highly in tune with your reading of Leviticus that you first don’t notice the slight touch of his hand on your knee—pulling the cap off the highlight and holding it between your teeth. You read back to ensure it’s the line you want to highlight. The brush of his fingers on the tops of your thighs indeed should have pulled you from the page at hand, but it doesn’t, so he advances even further. You cap the highlighter and flip the page to make sure you haven’t caused a bleed of yellow highlight through to the next page when you feel the edge of your skirt pushed up past your thigh and a heavy hand resting on your warm skin.

You swallow thickly before gathering your voice, “What are you doing?” You ask, still timid, “Don’t worry about it, baby.” Your boyfriend mutters softly as he inches his hand up further; he’s nearly touching where your hip dips into your stomach. “You should stop that.” You say, “We are together, aren’t we?” He asks, almost sounding offended that you don’t like how he’s touching you. “We are together, but.” You close your bible with the bookmark as a reminder of the page you’re on and wiggle your finger in your lap. The shine of the purity ring caught the light of the overhead light and the sunshine coming in through the window. “Oh, the purity ring, I see.…” You think you’re in the safe at his words, but then he grabs your hand and slips the ring off your left ring finger. Letting it clang onto the side table next to him. “It’s off now, baby, so no harm done.” He murmurs into your heart. It sends a round of shivers down your spine.

You just get out of his hold, pushing yourself off the loveseat and standing with your hands behind your back. “I think we are done doing bible study. You should leave. My sister and parents will return very soon.” You blubber out. You are swallowing hard when he gets up with a rage you’ve never seen behind his eyes. You lick your lips and watch as he angrily shoves his bible into his backpack and walks out the front door. He was slamming the front door behind him. You stand there with shaky hands. Slipping your purity ring back on your left ring finger. You smooth your skirt and slip on your shoes before grabbing your keys and driving down to the church.

You need to go to confession and talk to your priest.

The drive to the church is a short one, having that you practically live right next to the church. You’ve been coming here for years. Good Word Catholic Church, your childhood church, and now the church you go to for confession. You’ve never been to the confession booth before, never really had anything to confess to god back. You were the good girl, the one that stuck to her road—towing both sides of good and evil, staying neutral through almost everything in your life.

You parked the car, turning off the engine. Were you scared to go to confession? Was it a good idea? Had your boyfriend been proper, if you had just let him… Your thoughts are drained out when your eye catches a new priest—bounding out of the side door of the church. Shaggy brown hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it in years, a beard growing whiter by the second. Shaking myself from the thoughts of this priest, I finally manage to get the courage to get out of the car, slamming the driver’s door as I lock the car and walk inside.

A few pews have people sitting in them towards the back of the church. People sitting on their knees praying and hoping for the words they speak to god to become the much-needed reality to save their lives. Your small kitten heels click on the marble floor of the church confession booth. That’s what you’re eyeing for. You’ve never had to go looking for it, but you gather it would be in the front of the church, away from prying ears.

An older woman stands at the front of the church. Lighting a few small candles, “Oh sweetie, what are you doing here?” She asks. Her voice is calm, and she’s always been like a second mother to you at the church. “I’m looking for the confession booth?” You ask her, and the shock is visible on her face. She swallows hard as if pushing back what she wants to say. Pointing toward the booth, “You’ll take the first right and then a left, alright, dearie.” You can just imagine the rumors that will spiral around your church. “Thank you so much; I just needed to talk to someone who could help me with my sister’s issues.” You say the relief is also visible on the woman’s face.

Your sister was the trouble child; you only ever got one good kid, is what you had heard around town. She was a part of all the wrong things: boys, parties, and everything else that seemed to have a lousy mark stamped on top. “Well, I’ll pray for your sister.” You nod and thank her again as you move through the halls to the confession booth. But now that you’re standing infront of the booth, you’re starting to get worried; the hesitance is just on the nips of your heels. It told you just to get back in your car and drive home. Forget about all of it together. Forget how your boyfriend touched you, how much you liked it. How it had sent shivers down your spine, and you weren’t sure what it meant at all. You swallowed hard and opened the door to the confession booth.

The booth is small, no bigger than a phone booth you used to see has a young child. You sit on the plush multi-colored cushion, and the door shuts behind you. You put your pocketbook down on the floor. That’s when you hear the click of the other door before you say a word to the priest on the other side. You form the cross against your chest. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, and through the mesh window, you hear a heavy sigh. “Is this your first confession?” The man asks you, and it doesn’t sound like the regular priest you see every Wednesday and Sunday. You don’t ask the question that’s now poking your thoughts, “Yes Father.” You answer the mysterious voice on the other side of the mesh. “That’s okay. Do you need a moment?” The father asks you. You shake your head and then remember the mesh between you. “No, Father.” You answer him. “So tell me why you are here.” You swallow, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; this is my first confession.” Your voice feels like it’s echoing in the wooden booth.

You twirl your purity ring on your finger. “I have… well, I need some advice, Father,” I tell the Father on the other side of the booth. He hums, “Tell me what worries you?” His voice is so soothing to the bone that I can’t imagine anything else. “I have been with my boyfriend for less than a year. He was so sweet and godly, but today… oh, Father.” You mutter over your words, “He touched me, and I… he took off my purity ring. I don’t know if it felt wrong and so right at the time. I think, no, I know that I’m scared. I don’t want to do anything wrong in God’s eyes. Please, I just need help with how I’m supposed to feel about these feelings?” You beg the Father.

He hums once more, and the sound calms you. Your ring still takes swirls and twirls around your left finger with ease. You worry for a moment when the silence is too grave for you. “Don’t worry about your purity; you will stay pure as long as you resist the urges that your boyfriend is pushing onto you. But don’t forget to trust in God’s plan.” The Father says gently. “Yes, Father.” You mutter, and before you can get up to collect yourself and your purse on the floor, the Father says something else that settles in your stomach in an oddly comfortable way.

“Before you go, Miss, I’d like to see you in my office after Sunday’s service. Don’t worry about repenting just yet.” His words tickle your skin in a new and exciting way you’ve never felt. You nod and gather yourself. You grabbed your purse quickly before leaving the booth and the church altogether. You barely manage to get to your car before the heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding let go. That heavy sigh made your shoulder lighten.

His voice flits in your mind for hours after you visit the church. ‘Don’t worry about repenting just yet.’ It bounces from one side to the other. It makes you dizzy as you sit there in your kitchen with a glass of ice-cold water soothing you out of your thoughts. Your mother and father will be back with your sister in hours, so for now, you’ll push his words out of your mind.

You shift off the small bar stool and hop into the kitchen, ready to make dinner. At least once a month, you make your family dinner to show appreciation for everything they’ve done for you. You get to work immediately. You were slipping on your apron and tearing through the fridge for fresh vegetables and a good hearty piece of protein. It doesn’t take long to get in the groove of the night. And while you wait for the last of the dinner to finish in the oven, you even manage to set the table with the fine china that your mother and father had received on their wedding.

You even make a sweet treat for your family before they enter the driveway and park in the garage. Your mother is the brightest person you’ve ever met. Nothing dims her shining, happy light. The one that burns just like you in your chest. “Oh, sweetie, you made dinner for us.” Your mother says if she doesn’t know, it’s always on the same day. “And she even brought out the good china from the cabinet.” Your father adds. Coming around the island to place a sweet kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He says warmly before setting his bags down at the bottom of the stairs. “It smells wonderful, baby.” Your mother mutters as she repeats her husband’s steps.

“So, what have you been doing while we were away?” Your mother asks sweetly before cutting into her food. The four of you sit around the table, mostly enjoying each other company. Your sister is the only grouch at the table. She’s the opposite of you, and sometimes you question if she’s even your sister; her only saving grace is the baby pictures in your family album. Black, filthy, and dirty to the bone. “I went to the church today.” Your mother lights up with excitement as she asks about people there who are her friends. “No, but I did bump into the older woman who lights the candles for afternoon mass.” Your mother hums, “What were you there for, darling?” Your father asks, his eyes boring into you.

“I went to ask the priest for some help. I just…” “For help with what?” Your parents ask in unison, worried about their first and best daughter. “I’m just getting a little worried about um…” your eyes skit over to your younger sister. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, sweetie. We know you care a lot about us, but let us deal and worry about your sister.” Your father says as his knife digs into the china, earning a slap from his wife.

Second Meeting

The full-length mirror on the back of your bedroom door shows your outfit off—the pink mesh flare of the sleeves and the pink bodice. The gold cross sits underneath the bow that is tied around your neck. Your hair is pulled up and away from your face, showing off the little makeup you’ve placed onto your face: light mascara and a tint of pink lipstick. You can hear your mother yelling from downstairs in the early morning. “Coffee is ready, and we are leaving in ten!” She screams from the bottom of the stairs.

You don’t scream back like your younger sister, her voice echoing through the upstairs hall. You grab your purse and slip on your small white kitten heels. Take one last look at yourself in the mirror before going downstairs. Your mother hands out a coffee as the three of you wait for your lazy sister. You can hear your father scrambling around in the living room, “Honey, where’d my jacket go?” He yells to your mother; she sighs and rolls her eyes with a faux annoyance. “It’s on the coat rack.” There’s a pause and a few loud footsteps before you can hear your father’s voice again. “Thank you, honey.” He says as he walks into the kitchen.

“Is she still not down from her room?” He asks us, “No, Daddy, she hasn’t come down yet.” He groans with frustration and walks out without another word. The loud, hammering footsteps as he climbs the stairs are my mother and I’s sign to gather ourselves before he can even come down.

Your mother takes one last sip of her coffee before rinsing her cup, grabbing her purse, and getting her coat. “Come on, honey.” She says to you. You repeat her actions, sipping your last coffee drop, grabbing your purse, and slipping into your black coat. Your father and sister both have the same look on their face. Annoyed, bothered, and irritated. Your sister is rolling her eyes with frustration.

The slam of both the driver’s and back passenger doors tells your mother that an argument was most definitely had. With that out of the way, the car is reversed, and your whole family goes down the driveway. The further you get from your house, the more the usual chatter between your mother and father begins. You aren’t listening, but the music fills the rest of the silence.

That is, until your phone dings within your purse. The smile on your face disappears; in large text, your boyfriend’s name is on your screen. You click on the text message and unlock your phone to see the entire message. Which is shorter than you think it probably should be. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’ve got to work with me here.” You roll your eyes. ‘Work with you like that will never happen again.’ You think to yourself; you scramble to finish your message as you see the car lot of the church just ahead of the stoplight.

–

It had only been two days after your family had come home, two days after your confession to the new and mysterious priest. Your boyfriend was back at it; it happened in your room this time. Somehow, it felt filthy and unholy. Not a bible in sight, not that there wasn’t one stuffed in your side table. It starts innocently, the knock on your door. “Hey, baby.” His voice is laced with sugar, sending a smile onto your face. “Your dad said I could walk up.” He says as he stands there at your doorframe. Waiting to be let in. You eye him up and down. A blue polo shirt, a pair of dark-washed jeans, and some black socks. You watch as he wiggles his toes on the hardwood floor. “Come in.” You say, opening the door and moving out of the way. He takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

He’s been in there once or twice, always with the door open. But now, with the door closing, he climbs onto your bed to sit next to you. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. It seems like hours pass between you as he sits there with his arms draped ever so nicely over your shoulder, legs tabled as you press your hand and head into his chest. The air is calm all around you. You can even feel a hush heartbeat, a slow and steady beat against your ear. The movie plays with the words filling the bottom of the screen.

Everything is copacetic. Nothing out of line happens as you give the remote to him to select a new movie. For a fleeting moment your mind travels to the week prior. Maybe his actions were one out of yearning. Perhaps it was just one little outlier in your relationship; everything is going on just fine, so there’s no reason to believe it would go awry. You snuggle deeper into his chest, breathing him in with every breath taken.

Then, the bubble you have so extensively created shatters like a stained glass window pane. All your thoughts pause, your mind frozen in the blimp of time, your heart skipping a steady beat with your breath. The hand resting on his chest so nicely is being picked up and transplanted. You barely even registered it at first; you focused on the movie. It’s not until his giant hand is pressing your smaller, softer hand into the fabric of his jeans. The zipper leaves indents on your skin. It doesn’t hurt by any means, and when you finally look away from the screen, the shock is written on your face. “What are you doing?” The beautiful glass wall you’d built was crumbing rather quickly once you made eye contact with him. An evil grin was present on his features, a different sparkle in his eyes—a wicked grin. Making you shriek and run away, or worse, not move at all.

“Nothing, baby. Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart.” He muttered into your hair, never once looking down at you. His eyes stick to the TV screen, but when you try to move his hand away. The veins within his hands popped, and his grip on your hand worsened. “Don’t. Move. Your. Hand.” His words are sharp, and you know for a fact he means every single word, even if you weren’t not looking right at him.

“You can’t go running, Daddy, and you can’t yell for him to come up here. What would he think about seeing you with your hand halfway down your boyfriend’s pants?” His tone sets it all. Fear boils in the back of your throat as you try desperately one last time to pull your hand from his grip. He looks down at you for the first time. His eyes are dark, and the fear at the back of your throat comes up. Squeezing your throat, making you mute and malleable to all of his actions. “Unzip my jeans.” His voice is controlled and quiet. It sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine, shooting throughout my body. “Be a good girl and do what I’m tellin’ you.” Your boyfriend’s demands. You swallow hard and wiggle your hand out of his grip, cold metal touching the tips of your fingers as you drag down the zipper.

The bulge your hand had been sitting over was even more prominent now. Hot even through the jeans and boxers that protect you from the inevitable, dangerous thing you are being pushed to do. “Now pull my cock out, baby, I know you wanna.” He whispers into your forehead. “What… I don’t….” The words get stuck—the air passing through your lips. “You don’t what? You don’t know how to jerk a cock? You need me to teach you, baby?” He sounds so cocky.

You don’t say anything, so he takes it as a hint. He moves quickly, shifting just enough to pull down his jeans and boxers. Then he manhandles you and places you on his thighs. You’re staring. What else does he expect you to do? “Oh, you like what you see. I knew you would like what you saw once you saw it.” Your thighs burn as you try to balance yourself upon his lap. He grabs you sweetly, cupping your much more petite in his large one. “We’ll take it slow, baby, I promise.” His voice is slick with honey as you lean into the touch of his warm hand against your skin. “Okay.” You whimper out, and he grins like the Cheshire cat. “I’ll take of you, and you’ll take care of me, right?” He asks you; you bite the inside of your cheek. You were trying to understand his meaning for the last time and nod your head.

It’s only until you’re walking down the stairs with him two hours that night that the horrible feeling begins to pit at the bottom of your stomach. You’ve done an awful thing. Your boyfriend had promised that nothing wrong had happened. Had you thought that because all you did was touch him and content that you were in the clear? But when he kissed your cheek and walked down to his truck, his words left no comfort in his wake. That crumbling sense in the pit of your stomach only grew as you washed your hands in the bathroom. The sticky feeling of his release is still all over your hands. As you slipped your purity ring off, the pit grew larger, threatening to swallow you whole. The banging on the bathroom door was the only thing that managed to drag you out of your quicksand thoughts. “Are you almost done in there? Mom said… oh you don’t give a shit, just can you move quicker.” You can hear your sister through the door and dry your hands off before slipping the ring back on and taking one last look at yourself in the mirror.

You don’t look any different, but the feeling in your stomach and mind has you feeling differently. You feel like the minute you get downstairs, everyone will know because, well, doesn’t Christ already know you’ve sinned?

–

This Sunday church service starts like any other, gathering with the many of you through the doors. Your mother sets her purse down as if anyone will steal her spot and goes to talk with her friends before mass starts. Your father does the same, gathering to speak with his golf buddies in a small circle. Your sister and you sit side by side in utter and complete silence. The squeeze of your mother and father alerts you that the service is about to start.

“I know I’m not your typical priest, but I hope I’m a suitable replacement. I’m Father Dixon. Most of you will worry about Father McPhobe; he has taken ill but is doing great. If you want to send anything to him, take that up with the director at the end of this service. Now let us get into today’s sermon.” The new priest spoke, his voice echoing off the walls. I opened my bible and went to listen. You heard your mother, for a moment, whisper to your father. “I hope Father McPhobe is okay, but I already like Father Dixion.” Your father hummed and looked down at his bible in his lap.

You don’t think about it now. It’s just muscle memory for you, the standing, sitting, standing and singing, the sitting. At the same time, you pray with your family, the collection bowl going around to collect for whatever the church is sponsoring, and the eventual blood of Christ. Regardless of sitting and standing, you always get up to take the blood of Christ. You squeeze past your sister and a few others before getting in line. It’s not until you’re standing in that line that the voice bouncing off the walls and stained glass windows hit you like a freight train in your mind.

It’s the same voice. The same voice from the confession booth. He knows your little secret and wants to see you today—your heart races against your breastbone. And when you’re finally in the front of the long line, the father gives you the cup, his finger grazing over yours, sending shivers down your spine and your sipping. His eyes never leave yours. “And the body of Christ, miss.” You take it and walk away. With every click and southern draw of his voice, it’s sure him. It’s him, for sure. You almost hope and pray and forget that he wanted to see you. He hasn’t heard you talk, so there’s no way he could know that it was you in the confession booth. You wonder if he even knows who you are?

That thought gets answered quickly as you gather yourself together—your purse in one hand and your bible in the other. Your family walks down the aisle towards the door. The priest, the dark-haired priest, is standing there, greeting every single person, shaking their hands, and introducing himself just a little bit more. “Father Dixon, that was just a wonderful sermon today. I can’t tell you how sad it is to hear that Father McPhobe is ill.” Your father’s voice travels for every ear to hear, and as you try to hide behind your mother and father, it’s hard not to be recognized by others who work at the church. “My wife will be talking to the director to get a fund together for whatever Father McPhobe might need.” Your mother grins and nods her head along with her husband. “And this is our daughter.” Your father says, dragging you from mostly behind him.

“You must be the one everyone is always talking about around here in all the support groups and even a part of other things. You are a true representation of a good Christian girl. You’ve raised her well.” Father Dixion says to your mother and father. Your mother bursts into a full grin, and your father laughs. “She’s the best.” “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her. I have a few new ideas concerning the Toys for Tots Christmas donation.” Your father shakes his head. “Just call me when you need me to pick you up, okay pumpkin.” He grabs your neck and kisses your forehead before ushering your family out.

Now, the two of you stand there, alone yet crowded by the people still around. “Father Dixon?” He hums as he grabs someone’s hand and shackles, thanking them for coming to the service. “We’ll go talk after I’m done here, alright? Just take a seat other there, and I’ll come get you when I’m done.” His voice is thick southern and makes you wable as you walk towards a bench lining a wall not far from him. Not only does the thick southern accent have you drowning in an emotion or feeling you’ve never felt, but the authority in his voice is no different than in the confession booth.

Time passes by slowly, but when the Father is done, you feel the smallest of taps on your shoulder. Bringing you out of your dozing-off state. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” The father says, his hand resting on your shoulder. You look around to see that most people at the service have abandoned the main hall. “Everyone’s gone home?” You ask; he hums and walks towards the last two open doors. You quickly follow him down the hallway that turns into turns of rights and left until you’re closer to the staff section of the church. The walk back there is met with silence, neither one of you talking, and as much as you’d like to hear his voice more as you wander down the halls, you’re glad there aren’t words yet spoken.

Because the reality is you don’t know what you would even say.

When you do finally manage to get to his office, he opens the door like a gentleman, and you enter. “Excuse the boxes. I’m still trying to get settled.” He says with a chuckle. You take in the room, spacious and filled with a few boxes, most of which are already torn down and staked in the corner of the room. A large black desk sits in the back of the room, two chairs in front of it. You take it that he might have already had a few meetings. You’re too far distracted by looking around to notice that the Father had stripped himself of church attire or that he’s shut and locked the office door. Trapping you in the room with him, and no eyes on you.

“For a Father, you dress surprisingly casually.” The words blurt out before you catch them and shove them deep down in your tummy. He shrugs his shoulders. A pair of dark-washed jeans that hold everything in just the right place, and a white button-up. He looks like he just got back from a work trip. You suppose he did. “Is this your normal church attire, seeing as I haven’t seen you here for the past two weeks.” His eyes rake over your frame. You had hoped the dress would work, but you wish you had gone for something less eye-catching. You look down at the dress and smooth the fabric on your lap.

Father Dixon moves, resting his behind on the edge of the large desk, his ankles crossed as he stares down at you. His gaze was hot, and searing you. The silence grows, and of course, the father is the one to break it. “You don’t have to look so damn nervous and worried.” You hum, not listening to his words by any means. Relaxation doesn’t come easy to you as you sit there, fiddling with your thumbs, you get more and more nervous.

You sense the shift in the room as the Father moves, taking a knee in front of you. He clears his throat, “Listen to me, yeah, take a few deep breaths.” His face is so pretty this closeup. Fluttering lashes, a set of beautiful sky blue eyes staring deep into your soul, and a set of very kissable lips, so puffy and pillow-like from this closeup. His hands ghost over your own, and it only makes you want to grab it. To ground yourself, of course, not because you desperately want to feel the way his hands feel in your own, or anything like that. “Breathe with me, in and out.” He coaches you, taking a deep breath in with you and exhaling with you.

When he’s satisfied that you aren’t about to explode with anxiety, he gets up from his kneeling position, and grabs you cold water from the mini-fridge. “Gotta keep the lunch cold.” He says as if he needs to explain why he’s got a mini fridge in his office. You watch him the entire time as he bends over to grab the water from the bottom tiny shelf how he rounds out the jeans in a most perfect way. How long his large and imposing frame truly is. You have to move your eye quickly when he shuts the door to the fridge and swings around. You take the water from his hands, fingers grazing over the top of his hand. You swallow and unscrew the lid like you’ve been stuck in the desert without water for days.

He watches out; you can see him out of the corner of your eye. Biting his bottom lip, and for a moment, you wonder what he must be thinking about. You wonder what goes through the mind of a priest. You don’t get the chance to ask him because he’s back to controlling the conversation, not that you mind. Too fear you might stumble over your words without a topic already at hand. “You’re the young woman from the booth a few weeks ago, right?” He asks, you nearly squeeze the water bottle and get ice-cold water all over yourself, but you don’t Instead, you gag a little and cough before screwing the cap back on and staring up at him for the first time and really staring at him, not looking at him but over his shoulder. His eyes tear you apart in a way you’ve never felt before. You nod still not trusting your voice, and now your words.

“So everything has been going well since your last confession?” He asks, as if it’s a casual conversation you would have a person on the side of the street. You manage only a quiet mumble of a “Yes, Father Dixon.” He chuckles, “When it’s just the two of us, you can call me Daryl, ya know.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the other chair. But he does light up at your response. “That’s wonderful, so I shouldn’t be hearin’ your voice in my confession booth ever again?” He asks, the authority all coming back. Demanding me never to come back, but something is growing deep down. It’s been growing for the past few weeks.

You smile, but it’s brought with a shrug of your shoulders. Making the see-through fringe crinkle as your shoulder bobbed. His brow raises like the Father is about to be disappointed, instead, he just wants to know what’s been happening. “So something did happen? For a sin for lying and one for whatever you’re about to tell me.” You swallow down hard, making your throat bob up and down. Your head shakes, as if you’re just a puppet on someone else strings.

“We… and he… it was going so normal and innocent, but then.” You fumble over your words. A large hand comes over to rest on your much smaller one. Rough calluses on the pads of his fingers and palm bring you out of your rambling state and gets your attention back on him. “You can tell me. Just take your time, sweetheart.” His nickname makes you shiver as you try to grow the confidence to tell the Father now everything that happened without the mesh wall in the way, and while his hand is wrapped in yours. Supportive or not, it drives you crazy. “He, um finished. Made it to the end of the line, all over us.” You’re trying your hardest not to cring at your own words.

Then, something passes over his face—hate, disgust, embarrassment. You can’t read him well enough to understand what it means, but he ends up repeating his previous words. “So one sin for lying, and another sin for whatever the two of you got up to together.” his voice is dripped with authority, and his grip on your hand loosens before eventually drifting away. A large part of you wants to drag his hand back, but you don’t. “I have sinned, Father Dixion.” You say, blush creeping up from nowhere onto the apples of your cheeks.

Father Dixon shifts in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and letting the almost consume you. “I don’t think asking for forgiveness will wash away your sins this time, sweetheart.” There’s that damn nickname again. It sweeps across your mind like a broom, leaving nothing behind in its wake except thoughts of what other nicknames he might call you. What nicknames you would call Father Dixon or Daryl? Or whatever you’re supposed to call him. The words rush from your mouth, “I’ll do anything!” A seductive smirk grows on his face, inching closer and closer to his ears. “Anything?” He echos. “Yes, anything. I promise anything.”

“Will you show me how he made you touch him? Because I know you didn’t start all that inappropriate touching. You’re too good to be groping men while behind closed doors, right?” Your eyes shift towards the closed doors, and you swallow hard. Your gaze travels back to Daryl, your priest. Father Dixon. The minute your eyes meet, the fear and worry wash away. Something about him is so dominating and calming at the same time; it confuses you and sets you on edge. “I’ll do anything if it will wash away my sins. I’ll do whatever you want, Daryl.” The minute his name leaves your mouth, his hands are on you. He’s up in a matter of seconds, and manhandling you to place you on the sturdy desk beneath you.

Your dress hikes up with the movement; Daryl slots himself between your open legs. Hiking up the skirt even further. “So what did he do first?” He asks you. The heat radiating off his body fries your brain for a moment before your senses pick up on the cologne that’s now wrapped around the both of you. He smiles like fall nights when the leaves are crunchy, and the sandalwood. It lulls you further into a calm state, “We were laying together on my bed; he was holding me so gently at first.” Your words come better now, and for whatever reason, you continue. “Then he was moving my hand, the one that was resting on his chest down further. Pressing it into his jeans.’ You swallow and watch as Daryl tries to mimic the movements.

He grabs your hand, dragging it down his chest and towards the buckle of his dark-washed jeans. You can feel the familiar heat, the tent in his pants more significant than your boyfriends. He’s slow with every movement. Taking baby steps. “Then what?” He asks once he’s trapped your smaller hand between his own and his jeans. “He pressed my hand into it; I tried asking him what he was doing, but he said he wasn’t doing anything.” He rolls his eyes but presses your hand softly into the tent of his jeans.

Voice low and raspy. “This right here is how turned on I am right now. The tent in my jeans right here. That’s the cause of you, sweet girl.” Darly murmurs sweetly into your ear. You shudder as his words send shivers down your spine, and his confession takes you aback. “What happened after, huh?” He groans out as your hand wiggles under the pressure. “When I tried to move my hand, he got angry, tried yelling at me, then switched tactics.” Darly stares deep into your ear, nearly noses brushing together. “Do you want me to tell you what to do now, too?” The question throws you way off bases nearly out into the empty field. “Yes, please, Daryl.” You say under your breath. He gives you a moment before pressing you for more information. “He made me unzip his, um… his jeans, and he called me a good girl.” The last part of your sentence is hushed mostly under your breath, but because the two of you are so close, it’s not that hard for Daryl to hear you.

“Did you like it when he called you a good girl? Do you wanna try and be a good girl for me?”He asks you, and without hesitation, you’re nodding. Pleading him practically to tell you that you’re doing a good job even if it’s him guiding your hand. “Well then, unzip my jeans, and I’ll treat you like a good girl deserves to be treated..” He whispers into your ear. His nose brushed up against the top of your ear. You do as you are told, unzipping the zipper. The only sound you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears and the erratic breathing of Daryl in front of you.

The weight of his cock sits heavy on your hand. His red and angry tip leaking pre-cum all over your fingers and hand. Your stare is serious yet it seems that Daryl isn’t bothered by it. The two of you are so close, somehow inching closer together. “God, you’re hands are so soft and tiny…” Daryl groans as you try to wrap your hand around the girth of his cock but fail. You barely manage to get your pointer finger and thumb to touch, and that’s just around the head of his cock. “What else did he ‘teach’ you, huh? Did you tell you how fast to jerk his cock off? Did he have to edge him until her busted all over your hand and pretty little fingers?” His questions are sent into a hot flash. You don’t want to remember what your boyfriend asked you; you care that right now you’re jerking off your priest cock in the church you’ve been going to since you were a child, and you feel no remorse at all. It makes you feel giddy, and with that comes more confidence. Fast and sloppier strokes to Daryl’s cock cause his head to fall forward. Bumping into yours, you breathe him in as if you’ll never get another chance. His grains turn into breathy moans as you swipe your sticky thumb over the tip of his cock.

“God, you’re so good at this, and I can’t… “ He bites his lip to cover the words at the back of his throat. Trying not to take advantage has turned into taking advantage of you. You seem to be playing along for now, and as long as you are playing, why not have fun with it as well? One of his hands falls to the wooden desk next to one of your hips. He’s desperately searching for a grip on something. “Are you gonna cum, Father Dixon?” You ask him, you’re soaked, dripping in honey. He nearly moans when your other hand rubs his balls, “Say my name!” He demands it of you, and you oblige happily. “Cum all over my hand, Daryl… Please, I want to see what you look like when you cum. Please won’t you cum for the innocent young women, Daryl.” Your words make your stomach do flips, so you can only imagine how to push him over the edge as he grains and tries not to shout your name for the whole church to hear.

It’s not til after Father Dixon had cleaned himself up and stuffed himself back into his jeans that he looks up at you. Still sitting there on the edge of his desk, you’re so fucking pretty. Innocent is wrapped around you like a halo glowing brightly in the background, but he fears he might have awakened something within you. “You’re a picture, a beaut.” He mutters under his breath as he presses his lips into yours. You frozen for a moment, and he worries he’s crossed over that line but not so many others. Then you’re melting. Melting into his lips, his touch, and his hold. You’re melting into him. Your lips are delicious, tasting of cherry lip smacker and a ting of coffee still left from your morning before church. Daryl tastes just as good. A minty freshness left behind, but there’s something else you can’t place your tongue on yet.

“What am I supposed to do now, Daryl? Have I been washed of my sins? And my boyfriend, what about him?” You ask the father; he closes his eyes and presses his forehead into yours. Thinking for a moment that seems to span on forever. “How about you wait for a good, right, mature man to come and take care of you?” he offers, “Someone who can take care of me, you say.” his words bounce around in your mind as you text your father that you’re meeting with Father Dixion had been eye-opening, and that you were done. Before Daryl allows you even to leave his office, “You should have my phone number just in case you need some help with the toys for tots,” Daryl says as he stops in his spot. When he turns, your phone is already out, and on your new contacts page, he names himself Father Daryl and proceeds to text himself. Daryl is quick to walk to the front door of the church. Waving at your father. “Come to me whenever you’re ready.” He whispers into your ear as you pass him and get in your father’s truck.

“That was a long meeting.” Your father comments, and for the first time since church ended, you look at the clock. Service had finished at noon, and now it was nearly three. You wonder where the time had escaped. “He just wanted to get to know me; I’m on all the committees here, so he managed to get a lot of information and help from me.” Your father grins at you. “You’re the best, you know that. The best daughter I could have asked for Pumpkin.” Your father’s words make you look back at your situation with the priest. Best is not what you would call it. Your sister wouldn’t call you that it, and neither would your mother, nor what you had done with the priest of your church. Your shrug the thought off, and think only of Daryl for the rest of the ride home.

---

Third Meeting

You aren’t sure where the sudden ache between your thighs is coming from you’re just sure that Father Daryl Dixon is all you’ve been able to think about recently. All you think about is the way his cock felt in your hand. The way it felt, how it pulsed in your hand as your words reached his ear with pleasure. How when you had finally arrived home you noticed just how wet your panties were, and wondered if there would be a next time.

Daryl had made it out to seem like there would be a next time, but you only wondered when you would be able to get your hands on him again. It seemed that your one ‘meeting’ with the father had changed your whole course of being. You had not changed outwardly into a different person by anymeans, but the things you thoughts weren’t what an innocent girl that went to church, and worked in the soup kitchen thought. Daryl, knowingly or not had changed you forever.

So, a few nights latter when the itch to feel the same feeling between your legs arised your jumped at it. Except what are you supposed to put into the google search engine. Confused you looked between your phones screen and your bedroom door, then back to your phone. Without a second thought you placed your phone down on your bed, and lifted the covers back to padd across your floor to your sisters bedroom door. You knocked gently before waiting for a response.

Nothing, so you knocked again. “I need to ask you something?” You barley whispered it through the wooden door. A few moments passed, and then it was opened. A begruded look on your sisters face. As if she was annoyed at your sudden knocking at her door. “What do you want?” She asked rolling her eyes at you. You cleared your throat. “I… how do…why…” You mumbling only caused her to get more aggravated at you. Grabbing your forearm she dragged you into her room.

In comparison her room wasn’t much different then yours. The shared bathroom between was the only room your both used on a daily basis but it was kept neutral. Posters, and othe things hung on the wall of her room. Darker sheets, and paint. “What do you need?” She asked again as she shut her bedroom door. You wiggled your nose trying to come up with some sort of words to express yourself. She stared at you for a long minute before shaking her head. “Are you in my room because mom and dad sent you in here to make sure I was still alive?” She asks venom laced around each word. “NO!” Shouting catching the both of you off guard. Then the words that you weren’t able to find earlier come all flooding out at once. “I wasjust wondering what that feeling you know between your thighs is? Also how do I get it back?” You asked her and as the words hit your ears and her the embarrassment came rolling back and the confidence went out the window. She gigglese and then laughs at you. Then notices that you aren’t joking or pulling her leg.

“Oh my god you’re serious?” She asks, you swallow and nod. “Oh you sweet child.” She mutters as she walks closer to you, your sister talks to you like your the younger sister sometimes. Regardless of that though, she sit down next to you on her bed. “What have you been doing with that boyfriend of yours?” She asls wiggling her brows at you, you shake your head, and start o confess to her but before you can get the words out of your mouth she’s ranting on about what you’ve got to do. “So you’re talking about that feeling between your thighs, that wet feeling that sorta aches right?” She asks just verifying, you nod unable to speak words at this moment. “So if you aren’ with your boyfriend then you can just look up something on internet. But make sure that your engine is on private, so if mom and dad go snooping they can’t that their perfect daughter is perfect anymore.” Your sisters last words aren’t filled with jealously or even envy. It’s almost sounds like she’s relieved that she isn’t the one that the sun shines on everyday.

“What do I search up?” You ask even if the embarrassment to crushing your lungs of oxygen. “Here I’ll show you.” She grabs her phone off the side table. Swiping through a few screen before landing on a search engine and then she clicks it over to private, “That button might be somewhere else if you aren’t using the same search engine as I am.” She notes, before continuing. In the private engine shetypes quickly, but the words are in big bold letters to your eyes. “Just look up porn, or maybe you’re an audio person they’ve got some of that too.” You sisters adds once again. Your cheeks feel as if they’re on fire, but for the first time you’re having a normal conversation with your sister its feels like years since you’ve talked like normal people to each other.

“Is this the first time we’ve talked in years?” You comment as you look around her room, she chuckles. “Probably.” Again she doesn’t sounds like she full of envy or that she’s even mad at you. “I’m just glad I’m not you.” Her words hit you in an uncomfortable way, “what do you mean?” You asks not fully understanding, “I just mean that when you fall, you’re going to land hard and fast on the ground that you’ve created.” You still don’t understand, “Mom and Dad seen a perfect girl, and when they learn of whatever is going on with you the world you’ve created for them of you is going to crash and burn.” It sounds like sound advice if you can call it advice. You nod, “Thanks.” Is all you say. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, before she groans out. “Get out of my room now, I was trying to sneak out before you rudely interrupted me.” You laugh and shake your head. “If you don’t tell mom and dad about me sneaking out I won’t tell them about our conversation.” She adds, “Sounds fair.” You say before getting up and walking out of her room.

The sun had already set byt the time you make it back to your bedroom, so you shift around to close your blinds. Before coming back to your door slipping the door locked before climbing back into your bed and grabbing your phone before getting under the covers. Your slick sleepwear isn’t that much of a barrier. As you settle under your sheet you get a message from your sister. “I’d wear headphones too, big sis.” She texts, sending a thumbs up before digging around in your side table for a pair of loose headphones to jack into your phone.

You follow your sisters directions with ease. Clicking on the search enegie, and maing sure that it’s in private mode before search those big bold words that are stucking to the back of your eyes. Your fingers are slowler then your sisters, but you get there all the same. You’re bombarded with images of naked women, and men. It causes you to panic for a minute, before you remember what your sister said to you. “Audio” That was also an option, so going up to the search engine of the dirty website you put something simple into the bar. “Audio for women.” It takes a moment for the spinning circle of death to stop spining but then a few video popped up. This time there weren’t naked women and men that filled your screen. Instead drawn images with much better working titles, with that one catches your eye.

You click the video the mans voice filtering through the headphones and right into your ears. It soothes you as his accent lulls you into a comfort. ‘You’re so wet for me love.’ the voice mutters into your ears. Starting off with no warning but it doesn’t matter as your set your phone and shift under the covers of your bed. Grabbing at the hem of your sleepwear shorts. The silk falls off your warm body to the bottom of the bed. ‘I bet you’re wet for me, being such a good girl for me.’ the man talks again, your moan lightly as your fingres graze over the wet spot that’s been getting wetter and wetter by the second. ‘You want me to play with your little clit, yeah I bet ya want me to make you feel good baby.’ as the man keeps talking the more you get into it.Your own fingers playing your clit through the soaked fabric, it’s not until the voice tells you that he wants you take off your panties do you. Kicking them to the edge ofthe bed under the covers.

‘Now I want you to sink to of your fingers in baby. Get them all wet and soaked.’ The voice says in your ear, you moan at the intrude of your own fingers at your weeping hole. You trying to widden your legs to get more leverage but it only leaves you open to more of a stretch and for a fliting second your minds travels to Daryl and his hands. How large just one of his fingers are in comparison to yours. How the stretch of just one of his fingers would feel like. ‘Now I want you to pump your fingers slowly, and then get up to speed that comfortable for you doll.’ You nod your head at the words of a stranger, the angle is a little odd for your hand but you get used to it as the two of your longer inch to places you’ve never thought you could reach.

The strange voice keeps talking walking you through the motion, then he tells you that he wants you to rub your clit. ‘Rub your clit for me baby, but don’t stop pumping your fingers in and out of your cunt. I know you wanna cum all over your fingrs baby and this is how you’re gonna get there.’ the voice murmurs. A vibration ringing through your ears as your cheeks feel as if they’re on fire like the rest of your body. An unfamiliar bubble rolls around at the bottom of the tummy. The ache returns and then you figure it out. If your circle your clit just as fast as your fingers leave and return to the wet walls of your cunt your vision will go blurry and you’ll finally reach that desperate high you’re aching for so badly. Second by second the pleasure grows until your eye rolls back and the urge to scream swallows you whole. Except nothing comes out at all, your breath is gone and your scream is silent. Your legs shake under the confindes of the covers and you’ve created a wet spot that travels through your sheet.

You remove your fingers from your cunt, and take a few longer moments to catch your breath. One full breath in and out doesn’t do enough to catch up with your heartbeat that’s been racing in one of your ears since one of the earplugs had come out with the trashing of your body. The video keeps playing until it ends and you’re quick to pulls away from the covers, and turns the video off and delete any trace of it off your phone. You reach down under the covers once you’ve gotten yourself stable, grabbing for both your panties and shorts. You opt for a new pair of panties and slip them on before the shorts. You fix your bed up with new sheets and comb a few stray hairs out of your face before returning back to your bed.

You’re drawn from your dizzying, comfortable haze when a message passes over your lock screen. You catch the time, nearly eight at night. You breath deeply before clicking on the message.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” The message reads. “I wasn’t meaning to, just have had a lot of things with church.” You type out and send to him, “Of course you have.” He response. “What do you mean?” You ask him, “I’m just sayin’ that you’ve never got time for us.” He’s got to be joking, you’ve always had time for him, he just never wants to do anything other touch you nowadays. “I always make time for you, but you never want to just hang out.” You type no anger just confusion is what bubbles up in your chest. “Of course I want to do more then hang out, we’ve been together for what like at least a few months now.” He sends back. You rolls your eyes at the redundant manner of the conversation. “We’ve already talked about this I’m not ready.” You respond, your response is point blank just like how it is when you’re talking to each other in person. “Yeah I figured as much when you’re acting like a tease but won’t put out for your own boyfriend.” He sends back and ou shake your head at the whole thing. “Well then maybe we should break up since you aren’t getting what you thought we were gonna get from me.” You send, without regret. A message is back in a matter of seconds. “Gladly, just know you won’t find anyone who’s willingly able to deal with your virgin ass.” He sends and then that’s it. Because what are you to say to that. He’s acting like a child, but you assume that’s no longer your problem is it.

You sit there for a long moment, figuring out what you’re supposed to do now. You were floating on cloud nine, and now you’re at the the bottom of the ocean. Deep in your feelings, your can’t swim and even if you wanted to you can’t image you would want to swim to the top that’s until you’re scrolls through your phone in your contacts, and see Father Daryls contact. No image associated with the contact just his name, and an idea strikes you straight in your heart. You click on his contact, licking your lips you breath in deeply before writing out a message out to him.

“Where are you right now, Daryl?” You send the message you wait for it to show that it been delivered and then that its been read. A few moments pass, and then you see those dots that dance at the bottom of your screen. “I’m in my office.” He response, when the dots finally stop dancing “Are you finally taking me on my offer?” Daryl asks you, your fingers move on their own accord. Typing out a message, exposing yourself to him. “I’m taking you up on your offer, Daryl. All I’ve been thinking about have been you. Your cock and how I want you to touch and make me feel like i felt when I leave you last week.” You type out, automatically there’s a winking emoji in your thread of messages. “You okay drive in the dark?” He asks you, “Yeah, let me just change out of my clothes.” You type out.

“Be here in ten.” Is the last message you get from him before your drop your phone on the bed, and shift around your room to grab something more appropriate to go for a late night drive. You go for a pair of yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. One that your father had given to you when it no longer fit him in the stomach area. Grabbing your purse, and phone to quietly walk down the stairs. Your mother and father sitting in the living, your mother is the one that sees you first. “Where are you going?” She asks, looking down at her watch. You had seen the time before you left your room. “It’s nearly 9 at night.” Your father looks up from the basketball running on the tv. “You know my friends who’s got some family issues?” You ask your mother, she nods and waits for more information. “She need somewhere to crash for tonight. Her parents are in a really bad fight with each other tonight.” I say. Lying to my mother, for a meeting with my priest. “Oh poor girl, well you go be a good friend sweetie.” Your mother says looking back down at her book. “Just be safe please.” You father adds before returning his attention to the basketball game.

You let go of the breath you didn’t realize that you were holding. You unlock the car door the minute you get outside. That’s when you see your sister climbing down the side of the house. You both eye each other and nod before looking away from each other. You get into the car fast, and turning on the engie and rolling down the drive way. The ten minutes are cutting it short when you get stopped at a few stop lights, but you still manage it. Pulling into the same spot that you had used when you had arrived at the church for your first confess. A ding rings through your car. You look through your purse for your phone. “Front door is locked, use the side door.” It reads. You nod to yourself as your cut the engine and grab your purse and lock the door before walking towards the side door.

It’s not until you’re opening the door that you realize how scary the church is when there’s nobody there and it’s dark. You travel through the halls some dark and some bright with overhead lights flickering on and off. When you make it to his office, the door only cracked a little bit you still knock. “Come in.” He answers. His office is different then just a few days ago. The boxes are gone, and the things that littered his floor are either put up on shelves or are on his desk. He’s wearing from where you can see him another button up. “Hello sweetheart.” His accent running through the words. You standing there with your purse in front of you, but there’s an excited smile on your face. He returns the smile, and the smile grows even larger when you the next sentence comes flowing from your mouth.

“I broke up with my boyfriend, well I guess he’s now my ex-boyfriend.” You say with a shrug of your shoulders. His eyes are huge. Large blue discs staring at you. “You said what?” He says to you as he caps his pen and places it in the pen holder on his desk. He pats his lap, motioning me over with that ‘Come here’ pointer finger motion. You move quickly over to him, dropping your purse in one of the empty chairs in front of his desk. He grins up at you as you round the daks and take a seat in his lap. “Tell me again.” He says as he wraps a arm your wasit to hold you tight on his lap. “I broke up with my ex.” “And how did he take it?” Darly asks, Your brows raise, and he manages to get what you’re trying to say without saying a single word. “Like a baby I’m guessing.” Daryl finishes, you nod. “His lost anyways.” Daryls adds, which makes your cheeks burn from the smile that hasn’t left your beautiful face since you arrived at the church.

“You know how beautiful you are don’t you?” Daryl stats as he sweeps a fewstray hairs away from your face. You blush hard as your ears and cheek grow hot from his statement and his stare. You shift in his lap, and try to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the tiny bit of ache between them. “I asked you a question baby.” He says more stern, you nod as you look away from him. “Maybe I should show you just how beautiful you really are. What do you think about that?” You can’t help the way your body runs with shivers of anticipation.

“Come on princess,” Daryl mutters as he shifts you in his lap and then swipes away from of the things on his desk to make a place for you to sit there. You wait for him to manhandle you and place you there. “Did you wear these just for me?” he asks you as his rubs his hands up and down your outer thighs. You hum with excitement and answering his questions. He looks down and sees that you wearing a pair of black flats. Slipping thoese off first before returning to the yoga pants. You help him as you arche your body, so he can slip them off just like your shoes. “You’re so sweet for me.” He says as he pushes your legs apart, and doesn’t lose time. He thumbs your clothed clit, you mewl at the sudden and strong attention to your starving cunt.

The longer he plays with your clothes clit the more the ache grows. Building and building until you feel like you’re about to explode but then he’s letting up, and leaving you there wondering what’s about to happen next. You beg him for more, for him to start again. “Please… oh please don’t stop. Keep touching me please Daryl.” You beg him from below him. The hardwood surface is the only thing keeping you cool. Your voice strains as you bed him even more. The little touches that he’s giving you between your thighs with little kisses and licks of your skin aren’t enough anymore not when he’s already teased you with his thumb on your clit.

“Oh princess I am touching you. I’m touching you right now.” Daryl chuckles, you roll your eyes and groan. “Be more specific love.” He says. There’s a sort of silence that takes the two over, not that he’s not touching you he’s just not where you so desperately want him. “Use your…” Your head falls back with pleasure as it hits the desk as his hand grazes up your soaked panties to lightly pass your clit. “I want your mouth on me!” You pratically scream out. He grins a devilish grin, “See princess that’s all you had to say to me.” He says beore he dropsto his knees and widdens your legs more but not before he slips your wet panties off. They land somehwere not that you care where they are right now.

His tongue is prodding at your weeping hole, while his thumbs stays on your now exposed clit. The touch intenisfies by a ten fold. Every rub and circle sends shockwaves through your body. One of your hands land in the messy bun of his hair as you direct him. He hums as you forced him where you desperatly need him. As he hums it sends waves of pleasure through your cunt “There she is, use me baby girl.” He mutters against your cunt. Daryl stay agasunt your wet cunt, and it doesn’t take long for you to be grinding up agasint his mouth. When you’re close you try to warn him, but he lets go of you with a pop. His chin and nose wet with your juices. “You’re so tight around my tongue baby girl.” He says as he make direct eye contact with you. He’s gasping for air, but seems to be enjoying himself between your thighs. “You cum whenever you to baby girl. I just wanna make you feel good.” he murmurs as he presses a few tiny wet kisses against your lower belly where the t-shirt had raised up.

Giving you promise and returns Daryl is back on your cunt, enjoying his meal like he’s about to get a death penalty. It’s when your legs start to shake, and your toes curl that you know you’re done for “OH…PLease don’t stop I’m so close!” You shout and tug at his hair and pull Daryl even further into your cunt as your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting out a silent scream has your lungs burning for oxygen when you come down from your long high.

“There she is.” Daryl mutters as you come too. His eyes are hooded with a dark pleasure. You body feels weak, but you want him all the same. “So pretty when you cum.” Daryl says as he presses his lips into yours. Oxygen be damned he consumes you and you like the taste of yourself on your tongue. When he pulls back you can see the evident hard on in his pants. You go to reach forward but are denied. “I want to fuck you don’t worry about that baby girl, but not here.” You notch your head to the side, as you look at around the office. “Then where?” You ask, he smirks down at you. “Good Girl” He mutters as he steps away from you to grab your discarded clothes and your flats. He helps you back into your clothes, and tells you to grab your purse. “Wait here while I lock the door and then we can leave.”

It doesn’t take Daryl too long to get everything together, before he’s back at your side. And in this moment and only thing moment do you notice the difference in your age. He’s got gray hairs the are filtering through his hair, and beard. The crow feet that lays between his eyes and his forehead. But it all disappears when he grabs your hand and take you towards the same door you walked into just an hour ago. “Your car locked up?” He ask as the two of you pass by it, you nod and for extra measure you lock it waiting for the beeping noise to ringin through the empty parking lot. “Good girl.” he says to you as he opening his passenger side door for you, and then walks around to get in the drivers side.

The drive to you assume his house is a silent one, the roads not fully empty but drained of life on a tuesday night. The stoplights cause a little panic to grow at he pit of your stomach. “Stop worrin’ baby girl.” He says softly as he reaches over and grabs your hand squeezing it gently. “I’m not worrying I just want you to get there faster, so you can fuck me already.” Your own words shock you and make you laugh. His eyes don’t leave you until a car behind you disturbed the silence of his stare on you. The light green Daryl decides it’s probably best to speed the ride to his house up a little bit.

He pulls into the drive way, and put the car in park. You’re to excited to wait for Daryl to be a gentleman and open your door for you. You bust the door open before manages to get to your side of the car. “Eager I see.” Thats all he magaes to get before you’re on his. Lips on lips. Teeth on teeth. Theres no fight for dominance you just want to taste him again. “Shit baby!” he mutters agaisnt your lips as he nearly stumbles over the steps. “I didn’t know that priest were allowed to curse.” You tease him. He rolls his, “There’s a whole lot of things you’re about to learn about me baby.” He says. Daryl practically shoves you into his house, there’s no tour not really. You might count it since you get a glimpse of most of the room, as the two of you shove each into walls to get your tongue and lips on each other. “No marks.” You remind him. “You’ve gotta keep looking innocent on the outside but nobody said I can’t ruin your insides.” Daryl comments as he opens his bedroom.

Your clothes are littering the floor, between shoes. Your back is arche down as your head lays into mattress. Your ass high in the air, wiggling it back and forth. “Come on put it in already, Daryl. I’ve been begging for hours now.” You beg him, he groans as he jerks his cock in his hand, You spent what felt like forever preparing. You had taken his tongue again, and then two rounds of his fingers. Sinking further and further into your wet cunt. “I just don’t wanna break you.” You hear him mutters to you from behind you. “You’re not gonna break me, now just fuck me already!” You beg him once more, and when you feel the notch of his head intrude your wet, and warm hole your eyes roll. You’re stuffed and he’s not even halfway in. He’s slow deliberately slow, letting you inch and inch yourself onto his cock. Taking everything you can get until you hit the hilt of his cock. Balls slapping againt your clit. You’re overfilled and overloaded with every sense. You can feel that you’re holding your breath, and so can Daryl.

“I’m not moving till you breath.” He says gently, that’s the last time you here a gentle demeanor come from him. Once you take your breath and let it go he’s slipping almost all the way out, and then all the way back in. A large hand grabs a fist full of your hair at the base of your neck and pulls your head of the the soft bed and up, arching your back to get even deeper and deeper within you. You moan out in pleasure, your sense are like fried wires. If anything touches you you think you might explode under the pressure. “Oh fuck sweet girlm sotight around my cock. Got me thinkin’ I’m gonna cum like a teenaged boy again. His thrusts are calculated and the way his hips hit you as you bouncing.

The other uncuppied hand finds your jiggling tits. Sqquzing and teasing your taught nipples. He rolls one between his thumb and pointer fingers. Your head hangs back over your shoulder, and lands on his shoulder. “Daryl, you’re so… fuck so big.… feel so full.” You babble on and on, it only encourages him further. Pounding into with vigour he hasn’t felt in ages. He changes tactics, removing his hand in your haid and placing it around your waist. His large hand finding it’s place against your clit, as he feels his cock pound in and out of your cunt. “You feel me? Pounding into you?” He asks, reaching for one of your hands to place where his was. Your shock is aduioable in your voice, you can feel him pressed up against your lower tummy. It all but pushes you over the edge. “There, cum all over my cock baby it’s alright love.” He whispers into your ear. Shivering you shake your head, and counter him “Together, please together!” You beg him. “You want me?” You don’t allow him to finish his sentence, “In me please Daryl. Cum in me.” It pushes him over a water falls edges and he takes you with him. He explodes with you, as he circles your clit and kisses you till you’re both fighting for air. You collapse together on to the bed. He can feel him leave you and as he does you whine with lose. What Daryl see is a sight he never wants to loose. A thick rope of his seed leaking from your cunt and onto his sheets. He wishes he could take a mental picture of it and keep it forever, but he can’t so he opts for something else. Grabbing your panties off the floor he slips them gently back on to your ass. “What are you doing?” You ask weakly. “Keeping you nice and stuffed that all princess.” He says as he leaves to grab and wash clothes and some water for both of you.

Breathless and tired, you look over at Daryl. “You’re so handsome.” You say shyly; even though you’ve been royally fucked within an inch of your life and cursed like a sailor, you’re still shy saying the simplest of words. “Oh, princess, you’re out of this world.” He says with a warm smile. Yet that smile is drowned out by his words. “I should be gettin’ you back to your car.” He turns to you, and you shake your head violently. “No, not yet.” You say, climbing into his lap. “Let’s just stay like this.” You mutter as you grind into him and lean down for another sweet kiss. He groans as his hands cup your ass and pull you forward. “Okay, but just a little longer, yeah.” He murmurs against your lips.

Completed on: 11/13/23

Posted on: 11/16/23

The Law-

208 notes · View notes

indigoraysoflight · 10 days

Text

Let's Talk About The Big F Word.

The word is "friend", and this is a rant. You've been warned.

If you genuinely love Caryl as a friendship or a ship, know that this rant is not meant to invalidate you. I'm merely trying to shed light on the marketing side of things and how some terms are being used to market the show.

I notice there is confusion festering about why AMC's official accounts continue to promote the "friends" narrative. Here's my theory from a marketing perspective.

If companies are worried about ROI (return on investment), they can either change the content to guarantee ROI or grow the audience to improve the chances of getting an ROI. The second part is easier this late in the game when a show is teetering at the end of post-production.

Every time the "friend" narrative is evoked or Carol is deliberately excluded or female characters are pitted against each other – engagement skyrockets. It festers toxicity in the fandom and encourages infighting. Hear me out.

Carylers usually defend themselves, and people who hate Caryl with a burning passion use the narrative to harass and bully Carylers.

That leads the Carylers to double down on their undying devotion to Caryl because they want the world to know why this ship and these characters are important to them (which is understandable considering how difficult the last few years have been).

The official accounts then mine posts and track engagement for market research, which probably leads to the conclusion, "See? Carylers are still engaging and on board with the friend narrative."

And the cycle continues.

"But Caryl are friends! Why is that bad?"

It's not bad; their friendship is what makes this ship unique. Every Caryler cherishes their friendship because it is the foundation of their relationship. Whether you love Caryl as friends or you ship them, the word "friend" is used to encourage people to invalidate Carylers and the ship itself. And it's done in the name of "engagement".

If you don't believe me, go to these posts and see the ratio of comments, QRTs, and responses. "All publicity is good publicity", I'm sure you've probably heard that before. That's the essence of the strategy that is being utilized.

There is a section of the fandom that loves it when Carylers are "put in their place," if you will. They flood to every post that

Invalidates Caryl as a ship

Erases Carol or encourages fans to "erase her" in some way

Pits Carol against another female character

Calls Caryl "friends"

Includes ambiguous pictures/footage to invalidate Caryl/Carol

Because every one of these posts gets a ton of engagement from all sides. Even if a lot of it is negative, it's still talked about. The end goal is word of mouth so more people flock to see what's happening. More eyes mean they can promote their show to a bigger pool of audience, which increases the chances of getting a higher ROI.

"Why would they do that when they started the #TWDCaryl tag?"

My best guess is that the people in charge of running the official accounts are either recycling an old marketing strategy or trying to position Caryl as "friends" to try and attract the audience that is so thrilled by the idea of it on SM. Because Caryl are best friends, Carylers can't refute that or be mad about it, right? Only they're either unaware of the fandom dynamics or don't care as long as the posts get engagement.

Unfortunately, because TBOC hasn't been marketed heavily through official channels yet and relies mainly on pictures, videos, and content shared by cast, crew, or fans, Carylers are eager for any form of promo that gives them information about the show. And any posts shared by official accounts get a lot of attention.

But most of these posts don't hold space for comments about Caryl as a ship. People who see the post as a way of suppressing Carylers or "confirmation" that the ship is invalid harass these commenters.

I don't think the SM managers realize that most people who cheered for excluding Carol from posts are the same ones engaging with the "Caryl are friends" posts.

And anyone who hates Carol with a burning passion – enough to encourage toxicity against her and her fans – will never pay them a dime to watch a show called "The Book of CAROL."

They're stepping on the back of a huge chunk of their audience to get engagement from people who want TBOC to fail. Let them realize on their own that "all engagement is good engagement" until they get a big surprise of declining followers and ROI.

Melissa returned to Carol, and to us, she deserves A LOT better than a few posts that validate people who hate Carol, and recycled footage from the flagship show.

If you choose to take it, my advice is to stop engaging with the official accounts, stop validating them if you're feeling invalidated and disrespected, and use your block button generously. Continue talking about why Carol and Caryl are important to you. Finally, protect your energy and please take care of your mental health.

Thank you for taking the time to read my rant.

Stay safe, and be well. ❤️❤️

#caryl #caryl spinoff #the book of carol #twd caryl #marketing rant

43 notes · View notes

futbol16 · 1 year

Text

Your Four Tigers ・Barcelona Femení

Finally wrote this request! Hope you enjoy!

Request: "Could I request one where it takes place during El Clasico and the teams break into a fight, R usually the softest of the team but when she’s met with a heavy push and tries to stand up with a bloody face and concussed head, the entire barca team fires up especially mapi, alexia, amc and irene jdjhsgss your work is so good I’d die for this"

Part 2 La Princesa

Word count: 1,2k

Your team had been doing amazing in the Copa de la Reina so far, Barcelona leading 3-0 by the 52nd minute.

You have assisted two of those goals to Aitana and Mariona, Alexia assisting the first goal of the match to Lieke.

You’ve been on fire the whole game creating chances any second you got and racing past any and all of the Real Madrid players.

Perhaps that is why you had been targeted the entire match.

You’ve been tripped and pushed several times but you shook them off each time. You could see though that Alexia and Mapi weren’t taking it as lightly.

You were the most gentle and soft person the Barcelona team has ever played with and so a lot of your teammates often took it upon themselves to protect you, their Ángel.

You had four main protectors though, who took their job way more seriously than any teammate you ever had.

Mapi, Alexia, Irene and Ana-Maria, or your four tigers as they were often referred to by the spanish fans.

This was why as the game hit its 60th minute and Alexia was subbed off for Pina, Ana-Maria was jumping up and down on the sidelines, impatiently waiting for her number to be shown.

As she jogs onto the pitch she gives you a high five as she passes you, but the determined look in her eyes was hard to miss.

Your team’s next chance on goal arrives at the 67th minute and as you receive a pass from Asisat you neatly curve the ball into the top left corner of the goal.

Now that Barca is even more confident in their win, Real Madrid’s team seems to get more reckless with their tackles especially the ones directed at you.

It’s obvious that they are getting frustrated by your versatile gameplay.

You're somewhere near the halfline when Esther González corners you and tries to take the ball away from you, but you’re faster.

The next time you come face to face with the number 10, you end up on the ground.

You had the ball at your feet and as Esther ran at you, you attempted to nutmeg her which would have worked if you had watched out for the elbow coming at your face.

It’s too late though as her body turns, elbow smacking into the side of your head before she pushes you.

As she starts running towards your team’s goal the referee quickly blows her whistle as she realizes you’re still laid out on the turf and clearly in pain.

Sitting up you look up at the referee and see Irene running towards you out of the corner of your eye.

You’re still holding the right side of your head when she gets to you and she gently removes you hand allowing you to take a look at your palm. It only takes the sight of your own blood running down the length of your hand to get you panicking.

Irene immediately recognizes the look on your face and she moves closer to you, cradling your head and muttering gentle words into your ear. The referee is also calling for the medical team to get to the scene.

On the other side of the pitch, not too far from where you’re sitting with your bloodied face, Mapi and Ana-Maria are raging.

It’s not often that the two of them get along ever since their breakup happened, but your safety was always their priority.

They surround some of the Real Madrid players with your other Barca teammates and instantly get into a screaming match with Esther who is denying their accusations.

This only fuels their anger more and Mapi sends a shove to her shoulders, the girl stumbles back a bit and her teammates also join, pushing around the two blondes.

Mapi and Ana-Maria quickly turn it into a shoving-screaming match, yelling profanities into Esther’s face.

It takes a while for the referee to notice what’s going on but as she does, she starts separating the two teams, threatening anyone with a yellow card who would dare to move any closer.

Pulling out her yellow card she shows it towards Mapi and Ana and then she pulls out the red card writing Esther González’s name on it who’s then sent off the field.

The two blondes make their way over to you and Irene, the two of you now accompanied with three medics as they try to wash the blood off your face and check for a concussion.

One of the medics moves over to let the Barca players get closer to you and Mapi squats in front of you.

As your eyes focus on the number 4 you reach for her and Mapi smiles softly, taking ahold of your hand and squeezing it.

“I don’t want to go off, I wanna continue playing.” your voice comes out hoarse and Irene pushes a water bottle into your hand, urging you to drink from it.

“You have to go Y/N/N, we can’t risk you getting seriously hurt.” Crnogorcevic speaks up as she finally reaches you all.

It’s obvious to three out of your four tigers that you’re not done playing and Irene glances over to the medic assessing your cut. He shakes his head at her, indicating that you will not be allowed to get back.

“Come on cariño, let’s get you to Alexia.” Mapi tries and you reluctantly give in at the mention of your captain.

Mapi and Irene help you stand up and you lazily hold onto their waists as you’re led off the field, Mapi holding a rag to your head.

Reaching Alexia she studies your face a bit longer as the other two place a kiss on the crown of your head and get back on the field.

The medic from earlier approaches you two and informs Alexia that it would be best for you to be somewhere darker. The brunette hears your protests though and decides that the two of you would continue watching the match from the benches.

As you go to sit down next to her she pulls you into her lap to sit sideways and you automatically tuck your head into the crook of her neck.

For the last 15 minutes of the match she gently rubs a hand up and down on your back, Lieke also checking up on you every once in a while.

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep in Alexia’s comforting embrace and as she later gets on the bus with you still wrapped up in her arms, the three other girls start arguing over who you get to sit with.

Alexia rolls her eyes at their banter, though smiling at the care.

She decides for them however, and makes her way to the back of the bus, sitting down on one of the four seats.

The other three look after her before springing into action and claiming a seat each, eagerly waiting as Alexia lays you over the four of their legs.

You stir a bit as your head is gently placed on someone’s thigh and Ana leans down.

“Go back to sleep bébé.” she whispers then presses a kiss to your cheek as you bury your face in her stomach.

A few seats in front of them Lieke and Leila giggle softly as they film the five of you before posting it on their Instagram stories.

You and your four tigers.

#barcelona femeni #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #ana maria crnogorcevic #mapi leon x reader #irene paredes #futbol16

747 notes · View notes

nalyra-dreaming · 13 days

Note

Reading the S2 reviews (so beware spoilers ahead!). Wanted to get your take (and others’ if people have thoughts!), citing The Wrap’s review:

“Daniel might be the most radically different character from book to screen. He’s older, more pessimistic and utterly allergic to the allure of vampire life. Only now he is able to confront the deep-seated scars left behind after his night with Louis (although book fans might be disappointed to know that the show doesn’t tease out more of the romance he has with Armand in the books. Theirs is strictly an adversarial relationship in the series.)”

Other reviews confirm that S02E05/the episode about Daniel’s past is not romantic at all, rather a horror episode. Which I’m sure will be good (some describe it as the best episode), but I can’t help being a bit disappointed that they don’t seem to be doing DM - or at least not in this season at all. I think the reviews only cover episodes 1-6, but this reviewer seems so very sure… (also they seem to know the books so I’m guessing the episode won’t be too similar to the book either. Meaning it won’t end with “the chase” or will it?). So is there a real risk that no DM will play out?. The greatest hint of DM in my view was Zaman’s podcast appearance where he stated that Armand is curious about Daniel and that there is a history there. But this could just be referring to their horror-filled encounter in episode five. So I don’t know, I’m a little sad - was pretty excited for some f*cked up memory stuff (there is just something so compelling with the idea of discovering that there is a whole side of your life that you’ve lost - that this person you don’t know is someone you loved etc.). I wanted to see what it would do to Daniel and Armand respectively, and I wanted their dynamic to be as interesting as possible. Remember reading speculation that Daniel will remember more in the finale - maybe a romantic aspect but I think it was just pure speculation, no hints or comments from the cast/writers backing this up.

What do you think? Grateful to hear your thoughts! Also, I’m still psyched about this season of course, looking forward to the Armand/Louis romance, the Theatre! Hayles performance is supposedly going to be amazing, and I’m looking forward to more of Daniel’s snark obviously! It feels unreal that the season is around the corner!

It is!!! And I am also sooooo hyped, it's unreal *laughs*

Okay, so... first of all, it's always a thing of perspective with reviews. For example, there's this as well, after episode 1:

Now... that is no review, granted.

But it's perception. I... do not think that all of the "Devil's Minion" will be spelled out in the first episodes (nor do I think we will get all of it this season!). In fact, I think the horror that "he loved this monster" is part of the horror of it all, this realization. And that will very likely be in the last episodes, in whichever way.

So. With that in mind - btw, which review did confirm it's ep5? (I only saw that focused comment I think?) - I did not expect Devil's Minion to be "happy". In fact, I think it might have stalking, cages, attacks, and the beginning of the chase - and that chase does NOT start out as cute.

Daniel just gets used to it, over time. And then Armand falls in love.

Season 2 is going to be significantly darker. I bet it's also going to be a lot campier, if the comments to this hold true, with dark humor. But they're leaning fully into the horror aspects of this vampire world now, and the beginning of the Devil's Minion is exactly that - horrific.

The above review matches with what Jacob said about Louis and Daniel forming alliances... and I bet that alliance is indeed needed to drag the whole story out.

And when that whole story is out - that will lead to repercussions.

THAT in turn goes for Louis just as much as it goes for Daniel... because this second interview has just as much to do with him.

So... I would wait until you can see it with your own eyes?! :)

I mean... AMC's promotion(and pairing of the actors) speaks a very loud language? And Assad said he had chemistry read with "Daniel"... for reasons.

But it won't all be revealed in the screeners. I bet the last two episodes will pack a punch.

Maybe even literally. 😜

#Anonymous #sending you a hug nonny #we will get the whole story no worries #but we might not get it all this season #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #interview with the vampire #the devil's minion #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #iwtv s2

53 notes · View notes

the-name-is-z · 2 months

Text

SKELETONS | ch. 10

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: The group preemptively settles in at the farm. Iris finds herself risking her life once more, only this time it's a little more futile. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; surgery on a young boy, blood donation, memorial for a murder victim, iris drinks a lot of juice, planning search parties for a lost child, discussion of zombie contaminating drinking water

Chapter 10 - At What Cost

Hershel continued to check Carl’s vitals as the sun set. They were all holding off as long as they could, but they could only wait so long before Carl’s life was at risk.

“Pressure’s dropping again. We can’t wait much longer.” He warned.

“Do you need more blood?” Iris asked, offering her arm.

“No, you can’t give much more.” Hershel denied.

“I should go.” Rick mumbled.

“Go? Go where?” Lori asked, blinking.

“He said five miles. They should be long back by now. Something’s gone wrong.”

“Are you insane? You’re not going after them. Your place is here. If Shane said he’ll be back, he’ll be back. He’s like you that way.” Lori assured.

“I can’t just sit here.” Rick protested.

“That’s exactly what you do.” Lori snapped. “If you need to pray or cry or tell God he’s cruel you go right ahead, but you’re not leaving, Rick. Carl needs you— here. And I can’t do this by myself. Not this one. I can’t. I can’t.”

Hershel allowed each of them full access to their facilities, meaning soap and a hot shower, which they were grateful for. Rick told Lori and Carl stories as they waited for Shane to make it back. Iris ate, for Carl’s sake, even if she felt guilty for it. Maggie made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was the best thing she’d tasted in months, aside from the orange juice. She’d even slept.

At one point, Glenn and T-Dog showed up to get his wound treated and to bring a few antibiotics and pain killers they’d found.

“How you doing?” Iris asked as T-Dog ate across from her.

“We should be asking you the same thing.” Glenn stated. Iris shrugged, on her eighth glass of orange juice.

“Drinking them out of house and home.” She replied, wiggling the glass. He chuckled. “T-Dog?”

“I’m alright. It hurts.” He replied. Iris nodded. “You’re pale.”

“Thanks.” She replied, grinning.

“Iris!” Lori cried from the room. Iris stood abruptly, feeling her head rush.

“Woah.” Glenn helped steady her, taking her into the room. Carl’s blankets were mussed and Rick was straightening him back out across the bed.

“He needs another transfusion.” Hershel said quietly.

“Okay. I’m ready.” She agreed, sitting down in the chair.

“If I take any more out of you, your body could shut down. You could go into a coma. Or cardiac arrest.” Hershel explained. Iris didn’t have to look at Rick or Lori to see them staring at her. Neither one of them asked her to do this, nor did they want to ask her for more. But seeing Carl… He was such a hopeful kid. Happy. Eager. Despite everything. Iris didn’t hesitate.

“Do it.” She stated, offering her arm. Hershel set up the transfusion again, Carl’s parents at his side.

“He’s still losing blood faster than we can replace it. And with the swelling in his abdomen, we can’t wait any longer, or he’s just going to slip away.” Hershel explained after a while. Iris sat, staring up at the ceiling. “I need to know right now if you want me to do this, because I think your boy is out of time. You have to make a choice.”

“A choice?” Lori asked, horrified.

“A choice.” Rick nodded, turning to look her in the eyes. “You have to tell me what it is.”

“We do it.” Lori decided. They held each other tight, Hershel nodding to his daughter, Beth.

They moved Carl to a metal table, Patricia pulling a lamp close by, bringing the surgical instruments. Just as Hershel gripped the scalpel, Otis’ truck pulled in. Iris sat next to Carl, waiting as they brought the instruments in. Rick and Lori waited outside.

It was a couple hours before it was done, Hershel going back out to announce that he was stable. Iris was barely lucid in the chair beside him, but she was glad to be there with him.

“Iris.” Lori whispered, walking in.

“He’s doing good.” Iris whispered. She was white as a sheet, her lips paler than Carl’s. Lori sobbed, kneeling beside them and taking Carl’s hand once more. Shane appeared in the doorway, some sort of relief on his face. He looked up at her, nodding.

“Stay.” Lori whispered. Shane paused before nodding. When she turned away, he disappeared. Iris sighed, leaning her head back against the wall.

“Fuck me.” She muttered.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Lori whispered. Iris only nodded, and Lori took her hand, too.

By the time the morning came around, Iris was already feeling much better, though they wouldn’t let her help as the others collected rocks for Otis’ burial. Apparently something happened on the run, and Shane had returned without him. Wouldn’t be much of a burial.

Iris sat on the porch railing, watching the others work. The roar of Daryl’s motorcycle sounded in the distance, and she watched him pull up with the RV, a new SUV in tow. T-Dog went inside to get Rick and Lori so they could have a group conversation.

“How is he?” Dale asked, the lot of them gathering on the lawn.

“He’ll pull through.” Lori said, smiling in relief. “Thanks to Hershel and his people, and Iris.”

“And Shane. We would have lost Carl if not for him.” Rick added. Dale sighed in relief, bringing Rick in for a hug. Carol embraced Lori fairly quickly.

“How’d it happen?” Dale asked.

“Hunting accident.” Rick replied. “That’s all, just a stupid accident.”

“You look like shit.” Daryl said quietly, approaching Iris on the porch.

“Boy, do you know how to sweet-talk a girl.” She replied, looking up at him. He half-shrugged.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She huffed. “Just waiting for my body to make some more blood.” He nodded. He stepped forward, and Iris raised an eyebrow as he awkwardly patted her shoulder. She grinned, almost ready to bust out laughing.

“Alright.” He said simply, turning back to the others.

Once they were ready, they all walked a ways down the road to a large oak tree, where they’d brought the stones they collected. One by one, everyone placed a stone on the growing pile in memory of Otis, while Hershel read a funeral passage.

“Blessed be God, Father of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Praise be to him for the gift of our brother, Otis. For his span of years, for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child’s, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived. In Grace. Shane, will you speak for Otis?”

“I’m not good at it.” Shane mumbled. He wore Otis’ old clothes, his head newly shaved down to the scalp. Iris raised an eyebrow at his refusal, leaning against Glenn, who had offered himself for support. “I’m sorry.”

“You were the last one with him.” Patricia stated, through her tears. “You shared his final moments. Please. I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning.”

“We were about done.” Shane murmured. “Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limping. It was bad, ankle all swollen up. ‘We’ve gotta save the boy.’ See, that’s what he said. He gave me his backpack, he shoved me ahead. ‘Run.’ He said. He said, ‘I’ll take the rear, I’ll cover you.’ And when I looked back…” He paused, limping forward toward the wheel barrow of rocks. “If not for Otis, I’d have never made it out alive. And that goes for Carl, too. It was Otis. He saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his.”

Once the memorial was finished and the group dispersed, Rick gathered a few volunteers to talk about their search for Sophia. Hershel joined in, curious as to what the situation was.

“How long has this girl been lost?” He asked, Daryl, Iris, Shane, Andrea, and Rick all standing around the hood of the station wagon.

“This’ll be day three.” Rick replied. Maggie came over, laying out a map of the area on the hood of the car.

“County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations.” She stated, spreading it out. She placed stones on the corners to hold them down.

“This is perfect.” Rick murmured. “We can finally get this thing organized. We’ll grid the whole area, start searching in teams.” Iris opened her mouth, but Hershel pointed at her.

“Not you.” He said firmly. “You gave three units of blood. You wouldn’t be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out.” He turned to Shane as well. “And your ankle— push it now, you’ll be laid up a month, no good to anybody.”

“Guess it’s just me and Rick.” Daryl stated. Rick nodded. “I’m gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there.”

“I can still be useful.” Shane insisted. “I’ll drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back.”

“Alright. Tomorrow then, we start doing this right.” Rick nodded to Iris, who huffed.

“That means we can’t have our people out there with just knives.” Shane stated. “They need the gun training we’ve been promising them.”

“I’d prefer you not carry guns on my property.” Hershel stated. “We’ve managed so far without turning this into an armed camp.”

“All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here…” Shane warned.

“Look, we’re guests here.” Rick shook his head. “This is your property and we will respect that.” He looked at Shane pointedly, who exhaled sharply through his nose. Rick put his revolver on the hood of the car, waiting. Shane slammed his pistol alongside it but stared right through Hershel. Iris raised an eyebrow, carefully placing her gun down. “First things first: Set camp, find Sophia.”

“What happens if we find her, and she’s bit? Or… worse?” Iris asked quietly. “How… how do we handle that?”

“You do what has to be done.” Rick replied.

“And her mother? What do you tell her?” Maggie asked in disbelief.

“The truth.” Andrea replied. Hershel shook his head at Maggie as they exchanged a look.

“I’ll gather and secure all the weapons.” Shane offered. “Make sure no one’s carrying until we’re at a practice range, off-site. I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale’s got experience…”

“Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun.” Rick explained, looking to Hershel questioningly. The old man sighed, nodding. “Thank you.”

“That stuff you brought… got anymore antibiotics, bandages, anything like that?” Maggie asked.

“Just what you’ve seen.” Andrea replied. Maggie pressed her lips together.

“We’re running short already. I should make a run into town.” She stated.

“Not the place Shane went?”

“No, there’s a pharmacy just a mile down the road. I’ve done it before.” She explained. Rick turned around, motioning to Glenn, who was helping Lori set up her tent.

“See our man there, in the baseball cap?” He asked. “That’s Glenn, our go-to-town expert. I’d ask him along, just to be cautious.” Hershel nodded to Maggie, who nodded back as she walked over to him.

Iris made her way to where Dale had laid out a tent for her. It had belonged to Jim and Jacqui, but they didn’t really need it anymore. She took her time setting up the tent, sitting on the grass and enjoying the shade. She watched as Daryl and Rick had a brief conversation near the porch before Daryl stormed away, obviously mad about something, like usual. It was nice to have a moment to herself, a moment to relax.

But of course, moments like that were fleeting, and soon Dale and T-Dog came running from out in the field, where Maggie had directed them to the second of five wells on their property. The two of them led Iris, Maggie, Lori, Glenn, Andrea and Shane to the well, where the old wood boards had apparently rotted and broken, a few telltale raspy growls from inside the well telling Iris everything she needed to know.

Shane shone a flashlight down into the well, and for the first time in a while, Iris felt sick to her stomach at the sight of a walker. He’d been there a while, clearly, as his flesh had ballooned up with water, bloating in the most unsightly way.

“Looks like we got us a swimmer.” Dale mused.

“You don’t drink from here, do you?” Iris asked, glancing to Maggie. She shook her head.

“We use it for the cattle.” She muttered, scowling.

“How long do you think it’s been down there?” Glenn asked.

“Long enough to grow gills.” Andrea replied, cringing.

“We can’t leave it in there. God knows what it’s doing to the water.” Lori replied. Iris tilted her head, taking the offered flashlight from Shane and angling it downward.

“I don’t see any open wounds, but its hard to tell from here.” She pointed out.

“We gotta get it out.” Shane said plainly.

“Easy. Put a bullet in it’s head.” T-Dog replied.

“Well that’s a real quick way to contaminate the drinkable water.” Iris said, looking up with an amused expression.

“She’s right. Can’t risk it.” Shane agreed.

“So it has to come out alive?”

“So to speak.” Shane replied with a smirk.

“How do we do that?” Maggie asked. Within a few seconds, they had fashioned a rope with a loop at the end and a fishing line with a canned ham hooked at the end. Iris had plainly stated that this wasn’t going to work, but the rest of the group argued that they may as well try. The walker was very disinterested.

“He’s not going for it.” Dale observed.

“Because a canned ham don’t kick and scream when you try to eat it.” T-Dog replied.

“He’s right.” Lori agreed. “There’s a reason the dead didn’t come back to life and start raiding our cupboards.”

“So, what, we catch a squirrel or something for live bait? Where’s Daryl when you need him?” Iris scoffed, looking around the farm.

“Well, we need some kind of live bait.” Andrea said, turning to Iris. She looked up, glancing at her companions as they all nervously looked to her.

“Oh, really? I’m glad that I’m the sacrificial lamb in all of your eyes.” Iris grumbled.

“It’s not—“ Dale began, but Iris waved him off.

“You’re light and you don’t turn tail at danger. You’re a good fit.” Shane stated, shrugging.

“Gee, thanks. Just give me the damn rope.” She mumbled. They looped one end of rope around the metal spout of the pump and Iris braced her feet on the pipe spanning the diameter of the well. Shane began tying the rope around her legs in a series of knots she didn’t know the names of, assuring her they wouldn’t come undone. “Have I mentioned that I love the new look?” She joked, trying to brush off the nerves.

“Don’t stress. You got it, sweetheart.” Shane assured, patting her on the back.

“Yeah, I don’t like that.” Iris replied.

“Me either. Felt weird as soon as I said it.” He agreed, flashing her a grin. Iris smiled back, shaking her head.

“I’d like to be mostly unharmed when I go to bed tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dale offered a nervous smile. They all took their places along the rope, as if it was a game of tug-of-war.

“I thought you’d make me do it.” Glenn whispered to T-Dog over his shoulder.

“I guess you owe me one, Glenn.” Iris called, earning a nervous laugh from the boy.

“We got you.” Andrea assured.

“You people are crazy.” Maggie groaned, worried.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Iris challenged.

Taglist: @heidiland05

comment or send me a message to be on the taglist! <3

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #skeletons #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #thenameisz #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc

23 notes · View notes

taegularities · 2 years

Note

rid my dear if you’re not too busy, and still open for some drabbles, I have a request. All these amc on ry has me feeling soft and gushy, so my request is ry!tae and a!oc on their wedding night 🥹❤️🥰💍💐👀

fic: ruin you and ruined pairing: taehyung x reader (a!oc) genre: established relationship; pure fluff and smut warnings: confessions and a lot of love :(, they're simps for each other, bit of teasing, wedding talk; explicit sexual content: fingering, oral (f.), doggy and missionary <3, spit stuff, brief masturbation, biting (surprise), dom and big dick!tae (surprise pt2.), one pussy slap, he likes her ass, praising, so many petnames, he's actually SOOO fkn sweet :(, unprotected sex (condoms are cool), manhandling, multiple orgasms, lmk if i forgot smth <3 wc: 3k (u don't understand how much i miss them ok) a/n: i've not been feeling so well lately, so i was gonna say no to this request – but this ask stirred something in me, and now i miss them even more :') it's far from perfect, but i hope u still like it hehe i even made a banner !! :D lmk what u think <3 a/n2: the drabble belongs to my ruin you series (linked above), but if u'd like to read it as a standalone, that's totally possible, too! those are just newlyweds very very much in love 🥺

–

ask my character! (no drabble requests anymore, please!) <3

–

The sly smirk he shoots down to your awaiting body will never not feel new to you.

He towers above you, veined hands under his neck. His fingers slowly work at the buttons that yet keep his skin hidden, and your blood boils. Your heart vibrates. Your eyes dart back and forth between his gaze and his ring finger, now decorated with eternity.

With his shirt down and the melanin popping, he hastily removes his slacks; danger fills his words when his knees hit the mattress and he says, “You looked so gorgeous today.” You hold your breath, shifting back on the bed. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

“Liar. You were too busy admiring the castle grounds and the fairy lights.”

Your back hits the headboard of the bed, but you don’t remain in the position for long. His strong grip settles around your already bare thighs, pulling you down the bed until you’re flat underneath him.

Drawing closer, he breathes against your skin, hands crawling up from your legs to your tummy and then to your breasts. He’s an enchantment, every single time… and despite the years you spent together, tangled up in your room, you don’t know how your heart will handle his unending affection.

You’re officially his now, aren’t you? Officially officially.

“You loved the lights and the flowers just as much, though, didn’t you?” he asks whenever his lips aren’t kissing down your neck and shoulders.

“I did…” you mumble, focusing on breathing, “didn’t expect anything else from us.”

“It was your idea.”

“No regrets.”

“No,” he places a hand on your cheek, brushing back your hair, “fuck no. Never any regrets.”

Taehyung is impatient today – and that says a lot, considering how he’s still moving slowly, carefully. The hour-long pleasure that usually keeps you awake at night falls away this time; his mouth journeys down your body and to your panties right away.

Wet kisses call goosebumps to the surface of your skin; he moans when you do. His fingers tug at the straps of your bra, pulling it down and freeing your perked nipples. The gust of wind through the open window makes you shiver.

“Today was really fucking long,” you murmur, whimpering when he bites your sides. “Fuck, I—”

“Yes. Yeah, what is it?”

“Can you hurry up?”

“You’re flattering me,” he laughs, hands on your hips as his face settles between your spread legs. “On our first day as a married couple, too.”

“Me telling you to hurry up is flattery to you?”

“Is it not?” He plays around the hem of your panties, and when his fingertips graze the spot near your clit, you almost shut your legs close. “You think hearing you beg for dick isn’t flattery?”

“Not begging…” you insist, though the both of you know just how fast he affects your mind. “Just—”

He slaps your pussy with a layer still inbetween; you yelp, looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows as he says, “I missed this.”

“It’s just been two days.”

“So? I miss you all the damn time.”

“Simp.”

“‘Kay,” he only voices before he buries his nose and mouth in your panties.

He inhales, lips toying with the fabric. Then, his tongue darts out, and you feel it subtly, slowly; your body reacts, and that’s all he wants.

Looking up at you, he finds your eyes closed in delight and lust. He dives in again – and this time, he flattens his tongue over your pussy, the material of your panties harsh against the wet muscle. You squirm, groaning, and your hands rush to his dark hair.

It’s still somewhat hard from the gel his tresses got styled with, but when you look at him, the damn loose strands send you into an endless spiral of craze.

“Taehyung—”

“Mmmh.”

His movements become more urgent; soon, he’s making out with your clothed cunt, nails digging into your legs and hips, and you squirm in his grip. Your reaction sends blood straight from his head to his cock, and when impatience wins once and for all, his face shoots up.

Your limbs are shivering already, your nipples impossibly hard. And with the look you wear, he can’t help but feel his underwear tighten. Nearly ripping your panties off of you, he throws them on the ground before finding his way back home between your thighs.

He doesn’t take a moment or two to prepare you for what’s to come; instead, he pushes your legs back immediately, starting to eat you out like a man starved. His tongue and lips feel soft against your pussy, and he keeps changing the pace.

From fast flicks to slow kisses, he doesn’t leave a spot of you untouched. His mouth glistens from your slick – you can see it even from here – and his hair tickles your pelvis. Nether lips spread, he brings a finger to your entrance, and when he teases it with circling motions, you shut your legs around his ears again.

“Fuck,” he says when he emerges anew for a breath of air. “One more time and I’ll leave you high and dry on your wedding night.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirks. “I wouldn’t, you’re right,” the shake and tilt of his head remind you of the devil; he will eat you alive, you know it, “but don’t you wanna come as many times as possible, baby?”

“Now th–that you say it…” you breathe out when he soothes the crescent moons his nails dug into your skin. “But hurry. Please.”

“‘Yeah, babe.” Taehyung’s finger pushes in between your walls, and your eyes roll back at the pleasant intrusion. “No need to worry at all.”

And then, he’s tongueing at your clit. Drawing patterns, watching you leak, his fingers drenched in arousal to their knuckles. He fucks into you slowly at first before he increases his pace, and with the tension already present in your tummy since dinner, you let go with a snap.

“Ohhhh, you— you fucking demon, I—” is all you manage.

He licks you through your high; you feel the smile against your skin. You might’ve remarked something snarky if he wasn’t robbing every little piece of your sanity.

Cautiously, he watches your expression, a deep crease between your eyebrows that relaxes bit by bit. You look drowsy, kind of hazy – the way you always do when an orgasm shakes your body.

“Baby,” he whispers innocently, and you almost scoff; though your reaction dies immediately when he adds, “Turn around.”

“Huh?”

Taehyung laughs, kissing your cheek, your nose, your forehead before he teases, “You really can’t think anymore, can you?” You let out a small snicker, shaking your head no. “Turn around for me.”

You attempt your best to do a 180, and his hands aid you, flipping you over before he lifts your hips. Balancing your body on your underarms, you throw the hair out of your face, and when you glance back a few seconds later, he’s… fully naked.

Pumping his cock.

Hissing, biting his lip. His jaw is clenched and sharp – you want it to cut you open.

You push your body back, wiggling your ass, but Taehyung’s free hand stops you in your tracks when he grabs a handful of your bum and squeezes hard. You let out a quiet vocal, and he says, “You wanna play with my sanity like that?”

“It’s what I’ll be doing the rest of my life, babe.”

“Good one,” he says, albeit not without a tsk and a roll of his eyes. You don’t see his pupils anymore – but you’re sure he did just that.

You feel the mattress shift when he moves closer; his cock rests between your ass cheeks, moving slowly. Leaking precum sticks hot against your skin, and he leans forwards until his chest almost touches your back.

“Here,” he voices, bringing his fingers to your mouth. “Need a good image of what you can do.”

You want to tell him that he knows exactly what you can do – pictures of his eyes rolled back, his cock throbbing in your mouth, your own eyes watering flash across your mind. The way he grunts and groans when he comes in your throat, his voice as deep as the ocean.

Fuck.

Words die on your tongue when he pushes the digits he fucked you with between your lips. It’s the same as always for you, neutral; your arousal awakens nothing in you. But you know he likes your fragrance, your taste, that it drives him crazy to feel you around him anyhow.

Like now.

You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head back and forth, eyelids shut as he moans. You imagine that he’s thrown his head back; feel how rockhard he is for you.

His cock shifts down and prods your entrance – you think he’ll push in when you expect it the least. But instead, he removes his fingers from your mouth and says, “Spit on it.”

Offering his palm, he breathes in deeply again, and you land a blob of spit on his hand before it vanishes from your sight. Craning your neck again, you watch as he spreads it around his dick; veins pulsate along his curved length, and you drool at the size, at the sheer delicacy that’ll ruin you all night.

And then, he moves on the bed again, and you avert your gaze, preparing your body for what’s to come.

Wet and filthy, his cock slides in. A loud mewl of his name falls out of you, and your upper body threatens to drop. He fills you up slowly, knowing you need a moment to adjust to him; and once he’s sheathed himself entirely inside you, he asks, “All good, my love?”

“I’m okay,” you assure, your head spinning, “go ahead. Please.”

And so he does.

Starts fucking into you gently, his hips moving in circles. He watches the way his cock keeps disappearing inside you; listens to the sounds that tumble out of you constantly; sees it when you grab the sheets above your head.

“Can I go—”

“Yeah,” you say, already aware of what he’s going to ask, “harder… faster.”

“Okay. Okay, shit.” He pauses, taking the moment to ram into you hard. “Are you even real? Gonna break the bed, I sw— swear.”

He would. It’s not like he has never torn up the pillows in your bedroom. But if he does it here, the hotel staff might complain, so he better practice control tonight.

Even if you don’t want him to.

Taehyung used to tell you how his biggest flex in bed was composure. How he always knew what he was doing, every move calculated – and how all of this broke once he met you. You’re a fog, he always says. You don’t allow a clear mind… don’t allow calculations.

And you notice it in the way his hips snap against yours; the way he forgets the world around him. You jolt forwards, your legs giving in. But the weakness of your limbs doesn’t discourage him; instead, he falls onto you, careful to not crush you under his weight.

Flat on your tummy, you’re caged between the bed and him, raising your arms higher. And before you know it, his hands have wandered from your waist to your wrists, pinning them down on each side of the pillow.

His cock, impossibly solid and wet, fucks you insane – your thoughts are scattered when the curve of it hits an especially sensitive patch inside you.

And he… not even he can believe that you’re real. His thrusts push your ass upwards, both your bodies sweaty; he loves how you feel wrapped around his thick cock. So he lunges in harder.

You nearly scream, “Taehyung—” Your heart thumps wildly, and his teeth nibble at the shell of your ear, his breathing shallow and irregular against you. “Taehyung, fuck, I…”

“Talk to me. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I love you… so— so fucking much.”

You do.

You do, right?

And suddenly… something seems to change in the atmosphere.

Your words trigger something in his heart. Something deeply anchored, yet easy to grasp. The wild hammering of his hips calms down, and the firm grip around your wrists loosens.

“Baby,” he whispers, and you hum, feeble in his presence. “I’m sorry, but… can you— can you turn around again?” You hum again, and he adds, “Wanna see you.”

So you do.

Slowly, with sugar and honey in your eyes. No matter how lewd your actions, your eyes are always deep and dreamy. He thinks he sees your soul through them – shiny and bright, like no one else’s ever.

God, he’s in love with you.

There can’t be a day without you anymore. By the laws of fate and love, there can’t be.

With the tip of his member spreading your pussy again, one of his hands wanders to the nape of your neck. His fingers bury in your hair, his lips grazing yours. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the very first time – sighs along with you when his dick has vanished inside you again.

And then, before he starts moving once more, he admits, “I love you, too. I love you so much, it hurts.”

It hurts.

Every moment without him. You hate being dependent on people – but Taehyung has a hold on your heart that will keep suffocating you in the most delightful way. If that’s the silent ache love and eternal fondness bring, you don’t ever want your heart to stop bleeding.

Your moans, your whimpers, the crying out of each other’s names continue. The yearning, despite the closeness, doesn’t end. But his ministrations are slower now, his eyes lost in you. He doesn’t stop looking at you.

Only fucks you deeper, his pelvis brushing against your clit, untying the second knot that forms in your stomach. And he says, “I can’t… I cannot believe this.”

“What, baby?” you whisper, pushing the stray hair behind his ears.

“That this is happening…” You know immediately what he means. Not sex. Not intimate moments. You’ve had so many of those. But. “My wife. Aren’t you? My—” A sharp breath falls out of his mouth. “My baby, right? My wife.”

You might tear up… here and now. Your eyes are already welling up, glassier than his – and when he buries his face in your neck, kissing your flesh, you throw your head back. Eyelids flutter shut. The one tear priorly attempting to escape rolls out of your eyes and down your temples.

And when the contact of your skins keeps toying with your clit, you let go again at one particularly effective thrust. His name is all you seem to know – the rest of human language doesn’t make any sense anymore. Your voice breaks, your arms around him so tight that your muscles hurt.

Your husband.

Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung – a man you’ll keep forever. His thoughts, his smile, his touch. A future with him and mini hims.

Yours.

“Fuck, I’m gonna…” he manages, but you barely understand. “I love you. Love you. You feel so good, f—”

You press your lips together, still keening – and when he muffles his sounds against your clavicles, you know he’s close, too. He moves inside you once. Twice. And half a minute later, he’s spilling inside you, his seed hot and plenty.

A palm of yours slides down his body, to the firm muscles of his ass. He raises his head, madness in his eyes; his hair is dishevelled, in urgent need of a wash. But you think he’s prettiest like that.

Drowning in you. Unaware of his surroundings.

Taehyung is in love with you, and you will keep repeating it to yourself until you understand this fact’s reality one day.

“You’re perfect,” he then says.

His cock softens, the sheets damp from your sweat and filth – but right now, you couldn’t care less. His eyes pull you in too much, hypnotising; who could care about anything other than him?

“You are,” you tell him, and he smiles. Pecks your nose, and then stares at you with a blush dusting his cheeks. “And today was perfect, too.”

“It was, yeah? I’m happy if you’re happy, then.”

“You know what I loved the most?”

“Mmh… Slow dancing.”

Your eyes blow wide along with your mouth, and you tilt your head in the pretty way he adores as you say, “How did you know?”

“I saw it the moment we started. I knew you loved it,” he pauses, licks his lips, and you look at his mole for a moment, “but also because it was my favourite part, too.”

You nod slowly, pulling him into you a bit more. “We should slow dance more often, I think.”

“We’ll do anything you like, okay? We have all the time in the world now.”

Once again, you nod, and your eyes shimmer with purity. You’re indescribable – a wonder of nature. One of Monet’s paintings, right out of his mind, personified.

Taehyung never questions where you were all his life. Never thinks you should’ve crossed paths before. Because recalling his past, he doesn’t reckon he would’ve gotten into your heart this deep with the personality he used to wear.

Love had its time – and when the first tries failed, you appeared with a halo over your head.

It’s perfect. Every moment, every kiss, every fight and every piece of you – perfect.

The corners of his lips drop, his eyes suddenly sober. Worry creeps up your heart, and for a second, you fear he might slip back into the anxious moods that used to plague him. So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

But in reality… he and his heart are calm. Pleasant waves of tenderness swim in his eyes. And then…

Then he says, “You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart stops for a moment.

You take a deep breath; your waterline dampens again.

And he continues, “Don’t you ever dare to leave, okay?”

As if anything was easier than that. A request so obvious that you don’t even need to think twice before you promise, “I’d be an idiot if I did.”

That’s what you vowed at your wedding today. That you’d keep the beats of your hearts synchronised. That you’d never let him feel the absence of your warmth. And that you’d keep your fingers tangled with his.

That you’ve fallen for him once – and that you’ll keep falling for him forever.

–

please lmk what u think and reblog if u liked it 🥺 !!

#it's not perfect since i wrote it in the last couple of hours but i still hope u enjoy!#*ryamc #fic: ruin you #notes for rid 🌹#anon #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #bts smut #bts fluff

463 notes · View notes

meerawrites · 11 months

Note

Share 10 facts about your OC!

I have so many, hmm.. I’ve already done my scandalous sex worker, rococo, late 18th century coquette, Audrey. X

Thank you, @arrthurpendragon. 💞

Here it goes: my first oc, ever, Catherine, also findable… here.

1. Haitian Creole, Black and Eastern European (Polish and Russian).

2. Born June 26, 1804 turned in a winter in the 1830s in New Orleans Louisiana, by a certain French thespian and disgraced bi blonde aristocrat of the late 18th century’s ancien regime. Lilian. (Yes Lilian is based on Lestat de Lioncourt 🤷‍♀️). Move over Lord Ruthven!

3. Fluent in 4 languages, piano forte, dance, a diplomat and should’ve been Princess if her fathers noble title wasn’t challenged by changing times. Prefers diplomacy, can use a sword and a musket/rifle. Stole her fathers cavalry sword before running away with Lilian.

4. Bi-Demisexual (Gray ace)-polyam. Cis female (she/her).

5. Religiously Haitian Vodou, culturally Eastern Orthodox Christian.

6. Turned my self insert Marian in 1922. BFFs with Marian’s ex boyfriend Oscar, a werewolf.

7. An endearing sense of ingenue-ness and hope about her despite 100+ years of vampirism, as juxtaposed with Audrey, for example.

8. Full legal first name is Ekaterina. She prefers Catherine and only Catherine, “Cat” or “chérie” will gain you a haughty laugh and the subtlest of side eyes.

9. An heiress and free person of global majority (colour) through her maman, Noëlle, Nikolai “Kolya,” her father is most substantially broke, but possessing title.

10. My first original character ever and still going. Based of Dido Elizabeth Belle but, shares a handful of similarities with AMC’s Louis de Pointe du Lac, and Anne Rice’s Merrick Mayfair.

Haitian Vodou the short version.

Haitian Vodou Wikipedia.

Eastern Orthodox Christianity.

Polish Haitians.

#Arrthurpendragon #meera answers #oc: catherine #answered #meerawrites #bisexual #vampires #regency #gothic horror #writing horror #haitian creole #haitian vodou #black vampires #lgbtq+#queer #Nola #new orleans #long post #long post tw

52 notes · View notes

thatlongspringnight · 2 years

Text

Shades of Red (Vamp!Jungkook x Soft bodied!reader)

Tagging: @wwilloww @hesperantha @reliablemitten @dntaewithluv @sunshinerainbowsbts @xjoonchildx @vyduan @miscelunaaa @starlostjimin @sugalaritae @sahmfanficbts

Pairing: Vampire Jungkook/Soft Bodied reader

Rating: M for mature ;)

Genre: Smut, fluff, romance, established relationship

Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus, female receiving, blood, vampire feeding, Jk is a whiny boy and we love him for it

Summary: There are very few pleasures in this world as great and lovely as riling Jungkook up.

Word Count: 2137 Thank you to my darling @miscelunaaa for putting your magnificent orbs on this when I needed you most. Thank you to AMC for putting out a new interview with the vampire series. And thank you to JJK for deciding to put out an entire VAMPIRE THEMED PHOTO SHOOT LIKE A MAD MAN.

How his eyes shine against the ruby of the silk, an apt choice—it’s a dark musing from your position, lounging opposite of him on the chaise, sipping from the darkened wine he says makes you taste especially … divine.

Only he would give into his vanity enough to buy silken sheets the same shade as his eyes. Languidly, you reach down to pluck a grape from the silver platter … purple. Then it was good you had worn the burgundy dress this evening.

Since he so ardently was attempting to adhere to a color scheme. Reds, blacks, the deepest purples—everything as vivid a warning as a black widow before she strikes.

Yet it’s you that is smirking as you drag your finger across your tongue, savoring the sweetness—another thing he likes … when you’re sweet.

Between the two of you, you’re truly the deadly one, even if he has the fangs.

He’s watching you, gaze shifting from alluring, a look you’ve come to know all too well … to something more along the lines of petulant, something you’ve also come to know all too well, and it pleases you, watching his well-kept nails dig into those silken sheets as you grab the book sitting on the marble top side table, opening it to the spot you left off on.

How he hates it when you do this, and you have to bite back a genuine smile, and the urge to laugh, especially when he sighs, trying to play off his frustrations as desire—when the only thing he’s desiring right now is your undivided attention.

“Is something wrong, dearest?” You finally acknowledge him when he sighs again, going so far as to unbutton the already scandalously low dip of his shirt. “Are you not entertained? Should I fetch you a book?”

“No, I have no need of—of literature.” His eyes are shining, and you can feel the pull of them. “Why should I bore my fingertips with parchment when they could be trailing your skin instead?” It’s bold, meant to elicit a reaction, to tempt you to him, into his arms like a willing supplicant.

“Your pretty eyes don’t work on me, Jungkook.” You feign boredom, licking your finger to turn the page, eyes barely even skimming the words. “As haunting and desperate as they are.”

“I am not desperate!” He whines, sitting up, grabbing a pillow to hug to his form. “I’m beautiful, a darling, admired by all—”

“And desperate for my attention nonetheless.” You quash him mid-sentence. “Perhaps if you come to me as a supplicant, if you offer yourself in worship to me maybe I’ll want to play with you, maybe I’ll give you some of the attention you’re clearly thirsting for.”

“Shouldn’t you be worshiping me?” Jungkook is crawling to the edge of the luxurious bed even as he talks. “A creature of darkness, of eternal life, of power and pleasures … aren’t I the god worth worshiping?” And you laugh, languid still as you shift in your seat.

“If you wanted to be worshiped, you would have taken up with someone else, but you’re here—with me.” And for a moment you let your voice soften, knowing that more than anything what he wants is your love, your attention, your reassurance of affection. “And not out there cavorting with your brethren.” His knees have hit the ground, expensive cloth dragging as he makes his way to you till he’s crouched in front of you, in front of the chaise.

“Will you let me touch you, then?” He asks, wide eyes shining as spectacularly as the most expensive rubies. “May I worship you with my hands?”

“With your hands” you agree. “And mouth.” You tack on. “Perhaps even your teeth if your prayers are fervent enough.” And he’s groaning at that, the prospect of your blood just as delectable as what you’re asking him to do. For he does love to worship you, every piece of your lively, mortal flesh.

And God knows you have quite a canvas for him to paint in his touch, ample flesh to grip till bruising, to litter in love bites. Dimpled skin perfect for his fingertips, as he often reminds you, eyes darkened to an almost feral shade. And at this moment, you know he’s going for a place he especially loves.

“Right for my thighs?” You hum, calling him out, and his firm grip on your stockinged calves. “That’s a rather rushed trip to the altar I’d say.” It’s a tease that has him pouting, resting his chin on your knees.

“Perhaps I just want to give special attention to a particular area that should be especially worshiped—”

“You could have the decency to take off my stockings.” You roll your eyes and he flashes you a sheepish little grin, one that reveals just a little snag of sharpened tooth. Then, of course, he’s obediently doing as he’s told, undoing the ribbons that rest just above your knees, holding up the expensive stockings, smiling at the soft shade of blue.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had truly forgotten yourself and come completely in red.” He murmurs, gently sliding off your shoes, touches feather-light enough to raise goosebumps against your skin. “As flattered as I am, perhaps I think you look sweeter still in blue.” Your favorite color, the same as the softest sky. “It reminds me of when we met.” Shoes forgotten on the floor, stockings now neatly folded, his strong hands knead gently against your calves, drawing sounds from you that already qualify as indecent.

“Such a lovely little wife you’d make,” you tease him. “Folding my clothes, giving me massages—”

“Worshiping you,” he huffs, lightly pinching your ankle, just barely. “... Though—if I had to be someone’s wife, I’d like to be yours.” He kisses at the inside of your knee. Just the smoothing of his lips over your skin. You know he longs to disappear under your skirts, to have at you like a man starved. But for now, he’s taking it slow. Resting one of your heels on his shoulder as he kisses your calf, dainty little smooches growing more brazen and messy the further he works his way up.

“Ah.” Now, you’re helping him, or maybe yourself, gathering the fabric of your skirts and pulling them above your knees. Giving him a fair view of what he already knows.

That you hadn’t worn anything underneath.

“Better?” you question, but he only hisses softly, surprising you with the glint of his fangs. “Not better … ?” You’re shocked, a hand coming to card through his hair. “I suppose I can toss my skirts over your head if you’d prefer.” And you pull his hair, tipping his head back. “Or nothing at all if you’re going to be rude.” At that the feral glint in his eyes fades, just a bit.

“I’m sorry.” He rubs his cheek on your thigh. Your legs already parted for him. “I got carried away, I was so focused … you startled me,” he admits, reminding you again, that as pretty as he is, he’s still a vampire at the end of the day … and could drain you dry if he lost control.

Well, not quite, you think to yourself, you always have some tricks up your sleeve. Still—it would be a thoroughly unpleasant experience that would leave him in tears, reminded of your mortality—and how fragile you are, and feeling guilty about his nature.

“Try not to bite the hand that feeds you.” You settle on, stroking his cheek gently. “I want to watch you.”

“Well what I want—” Jungkook says, as though he’s been asked. “Is for you to be naked. Completely so.” His hand is on your bodice, intention more than clear.

“Jungkook—” you warn. “This outfit is expensive.”

“And it’s too red,” he declares, like you hadn’t gone through the trouble of matching his aesthetic. “I appreciate how you look … in my bedroom, but against your skin it’s too much like blood.”

“Isn’t that what you want from me? My blood?” you ask, earning a very fussy looking frown.

“I want so much more than that, and you know that.” Jungkook’s eyes narrow, and you resign yourself, knowing you’ve damned yourself to nakedness with your teasing.

“Fine, my love, but I only brought one outfit,” you warn, which only makes him laugh.

“As though I don’t have clothes for you here?” Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow, and there it is—the tear of cloth echoing in the room as he literally rips open your dress, and the layers beneath, leaving you bare and exposed in the darkened room.

“I hope you’re suitably proud of yourself,” you sigh, shrugging off the material as he grins happily from the spot he’s retaken on the floor. “Little demon.”

“I am.” Those strong hands are back on your legs, pulling them to part, so that he can sit between them, pressing a kiss to the roll of your stomach, rubbing his cheek against the soft flesh. “You’re so warm.” It’s pleasure, the sound on his lips as his hands go back to making indents in your thighs, as his head dips lower. “And here … so hot.” He has no sense of shame when it comes to your body. Seeking out the heat of your center, but still—still not giving you what you need, choosing instead to use his tongue for evil. To press kisses everywhere but where you want his mouth, his lips.

“Jungkook—”

“I’m worshiping you.” He cuts off your complaint before you can even make it. “Taking it slow just like you had foolishly requested.” Damn him for using your words against you, littering your inner thighs with love bites, promises of where he’d like to feed from you later on. Every so often there is a ghost of a touch to your core, tongue flicking against your clit, enough to set you on edge.

So you sigh, trying to feign boredom, going so far as to relax your body, lightly stroking at his hair. Humming a soft little tune that makes him grumble; his eyes meet yours, with an indignant sparkle.

“Hm?” And you’re grinning. “What’s that look for?” But he doesn’t say anything, shifting forward so—

Well … so he can give you what you want. Mouth around your pearl, and it’s hot, the way he sucks at it, his fingers coming to slide inside of you while you’re lost in the feeling of his mouth. “Ngh—Ah! J-Jungkook!” Now this, this is what you want, with his arms around your thick thighs, and your knees resting on his shoulders.

He eats you out like a man starved, and perhaps he is … starved of your attention from tonight’s teasing, eager to get back at you by tasting you on his tongue, by having you lose yourself to him.

Your grip in his hair tightens, your hips shifting to meet the thrust of his fingers as your eyes squeeze shut. He—he is skilled in your body, time has given him that, and he loves to learn. Every spot that makes you shudder, he’s found and memorized. Every way to crook his fingers and draw pleasure—

As he does now. And you don’t even bother to try and stifle the pleasured keen that leaves your lips.

He plays you like a musical instrument, like you’re his favorite piece—a song at its crescendo. Till you’re crashing around him, his name a dreamy sigh, as tense muscles slacken.

As he lifts his face up, mouth glistening with your essence. He is so beautiful, covered in the remnants of your pleasure, it makes you feel weak.

Weak for him.

“C-can I?” And before he can finish, you’re pushing his head down, letting him sink his fangs into your thigh—drawing a moan turned whimper from you, as a different kind of high takes over. That light, dreamy feeling—someone had once told you a vampire feed was like the most delicious opium, a soaked poppy dripping down your throat.

“Ah … Ngh … Jungkook—” And about the time you say his name, he takes the hint, quick to pull away, lapping at the wounds until the bleeding stops, until there is naught but bruised skin their stead. “Are you content ...?”

“You know I’m far more than that.” He’s resting his head on your thigh. And he rubs his cheek against your skin when you go back to playing with his hair.

“You’re right, you’re my spoiled little prince.” You are happy—happy at how he shifts to nip at your fingers, before wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you, face pressed against the soft flesh of your stomach.

“Still, at least I’m yours.”

“Mine to take to bed,” you promise. “Now. To destroy your sheets like you did my dress.”

#btshoneyhive #btswritingcafe #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook prompt #plus size reader #jjk fic #soft bodied reader #jjk vampire #jungkook vampire

303 notes · View notes

lilithdahobbit · 1 year

Text

Fuck it, more The Magnus Archives fancast...

Tom Sturridge as Gerard Keay

Let. Tom. Grow. Out. His. Hair! He did incredible as Morpheus in Sandman and I just know he could do that miserable monster manual justice.

Éva Magyar as Mary Keay

I'm not too familiar with her acting so I'm going by looks and vibes. She's got the cheekbones.

Lindsay Duncan as Gertrude Robinson

I have a good feeling about her. I only know her from Doctor Who and Sherlock but I feel she looks and could act the part of Gertrude. Put an oversized cardigan on her and a manipulative look in her eye and we've got a Gertrude.

Sam Reid as Michael Shelley

I was conflicted on this as for the longest time Cody Fern was my Michael fancast...but Sam Reid's performance in AMC's Interview with the Vampire changed me (in a lot of ways but anyway). Lestat and Michael tend to fall in the same category in my mind (manic manipulative blondes) and if Sam can play Lestat, he can play Michael. And my god can he play Lestat...

He does need to master the laugh though. It's no Michael without that laugh.

Claudia Doumit as Helen Richardson

Honestly I only know her from The Boys but I feel that she could body Helen. Put her in a pantsuit and we are ready to go spiralling.

Stellan Skarsgård as Jurgen Leitner

Stellan is a powerhouse of an actor and I believe he can do any role he is given justice. Villainous? He can do it to a T. Plus Norwegian and swedish aren't that different. They're neighbors...

Mads Mikkelsen as Peter Lukas

Look I know most people want him as Elias but I see him way more as the recluse, Peter. Just paint him to look a little more pale and you've got it. His voice and demeanor are easily haunting when he wants them to be.

Tom Hardy AND Doug Jones as Jared Hopworth

Ok hear me out, Jared is described as being...well, ever-changing. I think Tom could do the voice (his venom is proof) and he could be the "large man with a handsome face" version of Jared. But Doug can be the more...deformed versions. If you give Doug enough makeup and time to contort himself that man can do anything. Tom would still be the voice due to Doug's being not quite right for Jared. Anyway I love Doug and would cast him in everything if I could.

Anya Taylor Joy as Agnes Montague

She's an incredibly talented actress and she has the deer in headlights eyes like no other. I considered Mia Goth but she just didn't quite fit right. Just put a red wig on her and that's Agnes right there.

Side note: after looking at Doug Jones I've decided this completely fake adaptation would be directed by Guillermo Del Toro.

#tma headcanons #tma #tma fancast #rusty quill tma #rusty quill #the magnus archives fancast #the magnus archives #michael shelley #gerard keay #jurgen leitner #peter lukas #agnes montague #fancast #tma helen

95 notes · View notes

angelthefirst1 · 6 months

Text

Anthony? Is that you? 🤔 🐢 🐢 🤔❤️🐢❤️🐢

Is this a little turtle love note in GREENE, or no...?

Emily posted this drawing on Insta just now, and it has me side eyeing the symbolism behind it.

Anthony, the turtle is rumoured to make a return appearance in The Book of Carol, so i wouldn't at all be surprised if this is a clue from Emily, about a little Greene turtle love note, returning. 😉 😆

Look how happy Daryl is to get his turtle 🐢 back. 😄

Obviously, the picture above is AI and speculation on the part of this spoiler page, but as everything gets a return, I wouldn't be surprised if a turtle is seen around the time of Beth's return as with Enid in JSS (Just Survive Somehow)

As a reminder to everyone, below is what happened around the time Emily and Norman filmed the episode Still. When they sat on the porch at night time 🌙 (the drawing says night time), there was a turtle shell on the porch. 🤔

He gave her a little turtle love note 💌 🐢 on the shell.

The drawing Emily just posted has placed the turtle where the heart ❤️ or "love" would be, and it seems to be missing the turtles 🐢 shell, which is interesting because Emily has the shell!!!

In the corner of the drawing she posted, we see the words without...

A turtle 🐢 without its shell.

Bad lip reading named the turtle Anthony.

What i find interesting is what the name Anthony means...

Priceless one, Roman, and seeking something that is lost all stand out to me.

Our mother has been absent ever since we founded Rome.

Could bad lip reading be connected to AMC? It's very possible that due to copyright material, they at least have to get any vidoes they release signed off by AMC.

🐢 ❤️

But seriously, Emily! I can't help but 👀👀👀 this drawing.

#team delusional #team defiance #team beth lives #bethyl #beth greene #He'smushy #Anthony #isinthebath #beth is alive #beth is coming #beth greene lives #td

17 notes · View notes

hmserebusadjacent · 7 months

Text

One more

Part of A New Hope for Five Days of Izzy Hands week

Izzy Hands x Male Reader (Established Friendship, Developing Relationship, Both Aromantic Asexual)

Summary: Izzy Hands muses on the expedition you both find yourselves trapped on in the cold Arctic, of how he just wanted to keep you both safe and happy.

Inspired entirely by my ongoing obsession with AMC's The Terror and the Franklin Expedition, and the want to combine those things with my beloved Izzy Hands.

Word count: 890

Fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50911261

Sometimes, Izzy was sure as he stared out over the gunwales, that the ice stared back at him. It was very hard to stare at anything else when you were on patrol or couldn't sleep, the white, jarring landscape stretching off into the distance and beyond.

Sometimes it was hard to believe the ice wasn't alive, a real breathing thing. It creaked and moaned as humans would do as it sheared, cracked, and moved around them. Its cries sometimes sounded like laughter, as if it was in on some big joke that the crews of Erebus and Terror weren't privy too.

Izzy knew that his eyes must be deceiving him, but the little divots cut out by the wind and the passage of time sometimes looked like unblinking eyes staring back at him, watching him. And this was a staring contest that he could not win.

Tonight was a night where he couldn't sleep, a fate that befell many of the men who were keeping their own fears and terrors well wrapped up under their coats. Sleep was hard won when the very sky gave no indication of what normal people consider to be morning, noon and night.

Watching the last sunset of the year this year had been a humbling experience, and in the quiet stillness even the cold seemed to abate to share in the grief felt by all of the men on this expedition.

In that moment, you had stepped closer to Izzy, enough for your shoulders to brush, and in that little gesture Izzy knew just how scared you were of the possibility of another year pressed into the pack ice.

You were sleeping downstairs now ahead of your night watch, and if Izzy was honest that was where his thoughts were too. Curled up next to you in your bunk, where Izzy felt he should be to keep you safe. All he ever really wanted to do was keep you safe, especially as he stood by your side as you continued your Naval career. That was part of his reason for accepting this commission, and for recommending you come to one of the most inhospitable places in the world.

One more commission for him and he could retire, providing both of you with a warm home from which you could continue to rise through the ranks until you became tired and bored of the endless politics.

One more commission in the cold places of the world for you both.

Neither of you could have predicted how things would turn out. Neither one of you could have known how true Izzy's wish of one final cold commission would become.

Hope was a hard one thing in this place of all places, and perhaps that was why Izzy so very dearly clung onto yours. You were sure that something would abate, some miracle would occur and that even if the Passage could not be found then you would both find your way back home.

Fear might have driven your hopes for the most part, but still Izzy clung to them and to you. Of the little warm life he dreamt of for the pair of you, of evenings in front of the fire in each other's arms.

Hope had to count for something, right? In the grand scheme of life?

Izzy Hands mused over these thoughts for another half an hour before deciding to call it a day, to try and pry some sleep into his weary bones. The ice didn't need his deliberations anymore.

Climbing back down into the ship was a startling comparison of temperature, and Izzy thought fondly of the little steam engine down below that was keeping them all warm.

From down the corridor a door opened and out you emerged, wrapped up to the nines with your hat a little skew whiff on top of your head. Good god, but was Izzy Hands fond of you. You noticed him almost immediately, offering Izzy a warm smile as you more firmly shut your cabin door and padded across the floor to him.

"Morning, Izzy", you murmured, careful of the other men sleeping around you.

"Morning", Izzy replied, reaching out to right your hat, and that only made you smile more. "Be careful up there. The mercury has dropped again."

You nodded, fiddling with the buttons on your coat to make sure everything was secure, knowing full well Izzy was watching you.

"I will. Try and get some sleep, old man. You'll need it tomorrow."

You were always looking out for him, just as Izzy was always looking out for you. Izzy Hands couldn't imagine a better person to pass through life with.

"I'll try."

You nodded confidently, reaching out to give Izzy's clothed arm a pat.

"For luck", you murmured with a wink as Izzy laughed, gesturing back down the way he had come.

"Go on then, off with you."

You grinned and saluted.

"Aye, sir."

Then you were walking past Izzy, out toward the entrance to the cold world that frightened you half to death. You were so very brave.

Izzy knew that you were braver than he was.

Tucking himself into his bunk a little while later, Izzy liked to imagine that you were standing on the deck right above his cabin. Keeping you both safe in this cold, cold night.

#izzy hands #izzy fucking hands #izzy hands era #izzy hands our flag means death #our flag means death #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands x male reader #amc's the terror #aro ace izzy hands my beloved #a new hope for five days of izzy hands

25 notes · View notes

im-a-goddamn-cat · 10 months

Text

Passion

Neggie/Negan Smith x Maggie Rhee || Rated: E || Words: 2.7 || CW: Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: Alternate take on the fight scene in S1E6 of Dead City; Negan and Maggie's fight takes a steamy turn.

A/N: Hi. Me again with yet another neggie fight scene smut fic. I watched the final episode a few days ago the day it came out on AMC+ and it ruined me emotionally (in a good way) so I needed to write some smut to ease myself. I had been so excited for this fight scene ever since I heard about it and it was just as intense and erotic as I dreamed it would be so of course I had to write this lmao.

Anyways, enjoy! :]

AO3 || FF.net || ↓

......

"Goddammit Maggie, we don't have to do this," Negan tried reasoning with Maggie as she approached him in a threatening manner, knife in hand. Currently they were at a shipyard and were suspended many feet in the air on nothing but a wooden plank on some steel beams with dozens of walkers growling underneath them. When Negan had realized that Maggie was planning to betray him and hand him over to The Croat for her son in return, she attacked him, hoping to subdue him so that she could deliver him. Instead of fully fighting back, he stunned her, threw her down to the ground and ran away, and that's how they ended up in this situation. He didn't mean to get them stuck here but it was the only place to go and he really didn't want to fight her, which is why he's trying to talk her down.

Maggie was hellbent on finishing what she started. There was a part of her that was starting to feel guilty about planning to betray Negan and hand him over to The Croat but she was desperate to get her son back. She ignored Negan's request, instead opting to try slashing him with her knife again. Negan dodged her blows and grabbed her, kneed her in the stomach, and shoved her to the ground again like he did earlier. She almost fell off the ledge into the pit of walkers, which sent a bolt of fear through her and put a pit in Negan's stomach, but she managed to pull herself up before he could even move to help her. She slowly moved to stand up and when she did, she still had the same fire in her eyes that said she wanted to attack him.

"Stop… Stop!" Negan pleaded with her. He really didn't want to hurt her but she was making this difficult. If she didn't stand down, this was possibly going to end with one of or both of them dead and he didn't want that. Maggie realized this too but at this moment, she was too concerned with getting her son back to care. She yet again ignored Negan and raised her knife towards him, aiming to stab him in the shoulder. He grabbed her arm, stopping the blade from making contact with him but before he could dodge it, she used her other hand to push his arm away and went to stab him again, this time succeeding.

"Ahh!" Negan yelled out in pain as the blade sunk into his shoulder. In a sudden moment of rage at the attack, he slapped her hand off the handle of the knife and kicked her in the stomach hard enough to send her flying off the side of the ledge and down onto a bunch of old supplies that were covered by a tarp. Maggie landed on her back with a loud thud and without hesitation, Negan pulled the knife out of his shoulder and jumped down onto the same thing she landed on right as she rolled off onto the barge full of various crates and barrels they had ended up on, coughing as she tried to catch her breath from the impact knocking the wind out of her.

Maggie sat up and when she saw that Negan was coming at her, she began scooting backwards to get away. She quickly stood up and removed her backpack for better agility. Negan noticed what she was doing and followed suit, removing his backpack as well. Maggie grabbed the other knife she had in her holster, and raised her arm to stab at Negan again but before she could, he managed to grab her arm and pull her close to him, using his other hand to press his knife against her throat. Maggie gasped and froze in place at being subdued. "Drop it," Negan growled in her ear, referring to the knife still in her hand. Maggie gulped and let out a shaky breath, reaching up to grab at his arm that was holding the knife with her other hand. He was so close to her that his gravelly voice had trickled right into her ear and she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke. She swore his nose briefly brushed against her cheek by accident as well. His body was pressed against hers as he held her still, his grip on her arm tight. Maggie felt a surge of heat flow through her at the realization of how close they were and a small whimper escaped her throat.

What the fuck is wrong with you?! Maggie scolded herself in her head. Here she was being threatened with a knife to her throat by her husband's murderer and she was getting turned on? Maggie mentally slapped herself. She would never confess to it out loud but she had started becoming attracted to Negan. She doesn't know if it was because she had no one else or if she was just finally going insane but for whatever reason, she's drawn to him. She hates herself for it on a normal day but especially during a moment like this.

Negan noticed the noise she made and his face briefly softened in confusion. He then noticed that her face was red as if she was blushing and that she was breathing very heavily. Is she aroused? As soon as the thought entered his mind, he realized how silly it was. He was trying to ignore it but being this close to her was affecting him. He'd always been attracted to her but he knew she would never feel the same about him. No, there's no way, he reminded himself. He shook those thoughts away and focused back on her, realizing that she hadn't responded to him.

"I said drop it, Maggie," Negan warned her again. Maggie snapped out of her thoughts at hearing his voice again. She contemplated her options for a moment before quickly leaning away from him as she yanked her arm out of his hold and smacked the knife out of his hand with her other hand. She backed up a little, getting ready to attack again, before Negan ran up and shoved her up against one of the large crates around them. The impact caused her to drop her knife as well and when Negan noticed, he kicked it away from them. Negan grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the crate.

Maggie instantly began struggling to get out of his hold but to no avail. "Stop it, Maggie, stop, I don't want to fight you…" he kept repeating to try calming her down. She didn't listen and continued to squirm until one lift of her hips met his and she felt something hard. Negan groaned and Maggie instantly froze in shock. She looked into his eyes and saw a mixture of concern and… Lust.

"You… Are you… You sick fuck," Maggie spat out in anger. Why she was mad at him when she was feeling the same thing, she didn't know, but she was. Negan squinted at her, seemingly studying her appearance. He suddenly pressed his hips into hers, causing her to let out a faint moan, and he smirked, realizing that his suspicions from earlier were actually correct.

"Me? I'm the sick fuck? You were the one practically creaming your pants when you had a knife to your throat," he teased her. A wave of embarrassment washed over Maggie knowing that he was right and she looked away from him. "It's okay, darlin', we all have our kinks… I certainly enjoyed it too."

She looked back at him and saw his shit-eating grin at his own remark. "Fuck you," she said. She tried putting some venom behind her words but it ended up coming out more like a whimper as she was still all worked up. She didn't want to let him know that though.

Unfortunately for her, he noticed the arousal in her tone. "If you insist." He dared to try something that very well might get her to kill him once and for all. He released one of her wrists and moved his hand down to cup her groin. He pressed his palm up against where he guessed her clit was and she let out a gasp. When she didn't object, he undid the belt and buttons on her pants and reached his hand inside under her panties. His fingers teased through the curls there before finding her heat and she was already dripping.

"Hmm, so wet for me already," Negan hummed in approval. He pressed a finger against her clit and she let out a whimper. He started rubbing her clit in circles and Maggie was panting at the contact, her arousal building further. "It's a shame that you were planning on handing me over to The Croat, Maggie," Negan began speaking as he moved his hand down further, finding her entrance and entering a finger into her. He began thrusting into her and Maggie whimpered. When she seemed ready, which didn't take long as she was already so worked up, he added another finger and Maggie moaned in approval. "We could've done it, we could've saved Hershel together. You and I, we get shit done." He changed the position of the thrusts of his fingers inside her until he hit a spot that had her moan loudly. "Fuck," she gasped out. "But you're so god. damn. stubborn," he punctuated each word with a thrust of his fingers on that same spot, making Maggie whimper, before continuing his normal pace. "That you still can't let the past go. And you shouldn't." He continued to hit that spot inside her as he pleasured her, driving her crazy. Maggie was moaning continuously now, the pressure building inside her. "But fuck, Maggie, you and me, we make one hell of a badass team." For some reason, those words are what pushed her over the edge. She moaned out and her wetness seeped out all over Negan's hand as she came. Negan smirked. "But I think you already know that." He leaned in and kissed her once she came down from her high. She did know that he was right but she couldn't admit it, not even to herself.

Negan pulled away from her lips to look at her. He let go of her wrist and removed his fingers from her. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and began licking and sucking her juices from them. He moaned at the sweet taste of her and another surge of heat spread through Maggie as she watched him taste her. Maggie suddenly pulled his hand from his mouth and grabbed him by his shirt, crashing her lips onto his. Negan moaned and when his mouth opened, Maggie took the opportunity to snake her tongue in his mouth. Negan quickly caught on and moved his tongue with hers, tasting her. They frantically explored each other's mouths, unable to get enough of each other.

Maggie moved her hand down to the front of Negan's pants feeling the bulge there. She squeezed him through his clothes and Negan moaned. Negan pulled away from the kiss and looked around the area briefly before grabbing onto the back of her shirt and maneuvering her to where he wanted her. He bent her over a different smaller crate and pulled her pants and underwear down around her ankles. He unbuckled his own belt and pulled his own pants and underwear down as well. He stroked his cock a few times, spreading his pre-cum over himself, before lining himself up with her entrance. He pushed into her to the hilt and both of them moaned in unison. Her pussy clenched around him, the feeling of being so full after going so long without someone felt so good. She was so hot and tight around him, the feeling was driving Negan crazy but he let her adjust to him for a moment before he pulled out and thrust back in. They both moaned again at the feeling. Negan started at a slow pace before building up to a faster one.

"Fuck, Maggie, you're so fucking tight," he moaned out. "If I had known how fucking good your pussy would feel around my dick, I probably would've tried getting into your pants sooner." Maggie whimpered at that. Negan moved the hair on the back of her neck aside and leaned down over her back to kiss the back of her neck. He nipped at her skin and Maggie subconsciously tipped her head to the side, exposing the side of her neck. Negan moved to that area, latching onto the skin there and sucking, marking her. Maggie moaned at the feeling. She began trying to move her hips in time with his thrusts as best as she could from the position she was in but she couldn't get much leverage.

"Ah, Negan… More, please," she begged. She wasn't even sure what she was begging for, and she felt embarrassed for even begging him of all people, but she knew she needed something. Negan moved to stand up straight again and grabbed onto her hips. He adjusted the angle of his trusts until Maggie made a noise that sounded like a mixture of a gasp and a whimper, letting him know he'd found her sweet spot again. He moaned himself at hearing that sound and began fucking her faster than before. Besides the waves of the water around them and the snarling of the walkers behind them, all that could be heard was their moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Maggie clawed at the crate as Negan fucked her mercilessly. She was moaning consistently and getting closer to her release with every thrust of his cock inside her. "Don't stop," she whimpered. Negan reached a hand under her and found her clit, rubbing the little bundle of nerves, and that was the last push she needed to go over the edge. Maggie moaned loudly as she came, her pussy spasming around Negan's cock as he fucked her through her orgasm. Negan moaned loudly and a surge of heat pulsed through him at the feeling, sight and sound of her coming undone. "Oh fuck, good girl," he panted out. Another spasm and wave of pleasure washed through Maggie at his praise.

After she finished, he pulled his hand away from her clit and put it back on her hip. He began moaning continuously and his thrusts started becoming erratic as he chased his own release. The feeling of her was better than Negan could have ever imagined. Maybe it was because he had been lusting after her for longer than he cared to admit, but every thrust into her was heavenly. Maggie purposely clenched her muscles down on him and it pushed him over the edge. Negan let out a drawn out moan as he came inside of her, filling her up.

They stayed where they were for a moment to catch their breath and come down from their highs when all of a sudden they heard voices and noises that sounded like people approaching. Maggie looked back at Negan and they shared a look of non-verbal communication, knowing that the other was thinking the same thing. The Croat is here. Negan pulled out of her and they scrambled to get their pants and underwear back up. They did so just in time when the group of people arrived where they were, with The Croat being among them just like they thought he would.

Maggie quickly grabbed one of the knives that was forgotten on the ground and put it up against Negan's throat. He looked at her and he seemed amused that she was still going along with her plan but there was also a feeling of sadness in his eyes at her betrayal as well. The guilt that Maggie had been pushing down resurfaced but she kept the knife on him. She knew that she had to continue with her plan even if it was shameful for her. Almost as shameful as the mark on her neck and the cum leaking out of her into her panties.

......

A/N: I had to change and rearrange some of the dialogue from the ep to fit with what I wanted to write, I hope it still works/makes sense. Also sorry if there's any mistakes, I wrote this mostly on little to no sleep.

Anyways, thank you for reading! <3

#meowing #my fics #twddc #neggie #twd #the walking dead: dead city #the walking dead dead city #dead city #negan #negan smith #maggie rhee #maggie greene #negan x maggie #maggie x negan #the walking dead #fics

27 notes · View notes

lou-iz-stat · 1 month

Text

5 more weeks and I am starting to loose my mind a little bit haha. I am in my rewatch of episode 3 and I do have to say that I adore this episode. Once again there will be book spoilers and spoilers for the rest of season 1 as well as maybe some theorizing so be warned.

I’m excited! Let’s go!

IWTV S1 E3: Is My Very Nature That of the Devil

This episode starts with Louis and Lestat sitting at their bench in the park. ❤️

And it kind of acts as Louis trying to convince Lestat to only kill bad people. But in the book that is how Lestat actually kills so I wonder if this will come back when he finally tells his side of the story.

This episode definitely brings the comedy with Lestat quips and him just tackling that guy. 😂

Not the cat Louis!

I’ll tell you what Lestat can be such an asshole but just like the scene where he calls out the piano player at first he’s sour then he’s sweet. Yep Lestat is a sour patch kid.

I love how Daniel uses the recording from 1973 as that’s a callback to the first interview where Louis is just ragging on Lestat just like he did in the book.

The “Oddity of recollection” scene is great. I’m sure that is to come back in full force next season. I’m just excited thinking about what we are about to uncover.

When Louis realizes that Lestat didn’t kill Antoinette he looks so disappointed. Ugh I feel so bad for Louis here. 😩

And Lestat uncontrollably laughing when it’s the worst possible moment to do so is sooooooo Lestat it’s killing me…

But I just EAT UP the instant regret in Lestat’s eyes when Louis wants to fuck other people even he was the one who suggested it! He is just his own worst enemy all of the time.

When I first watch this episode I was so scared that Lestat was going to kill Jonah.

BUT WAS IT RAINING LOUIS!?

The look Louis gives Armand! “Your lingering Rashid” what sick game are they playing!!!!??? I’m going insane.

Lestat is doing the most this episode! But on second thought he always does the most lol.

“ I HEARD YOUR HEARTS DANCING!!!!!!!” It’s such an iconic scene!!!! “You watched the whole thing like some CREEPER!” The writing is everything

We have the iconic gif of Louis putting the “Colored Only, No Whites Allowed” that gif has gotten more people to watch the show than any promo amc has done.

I LOVE the scene where Louis kills that racist ass Alderman! Jake the dog gets his guts ripped out!” Some great quotes include. “Why’s your heart beating so fast?” And “ You said I’m arrogant!? Maybe I am arrogant! I’m a vampire” so goood!

It hurts just so much more after reading The Vampire Lestat when Louis tells him “It’s why you’re always gonna be alone.” 😭 Louis doesn’t know Lestat’s past yet but damn!

And finally yay it’s time for my girl Claudia!

I made it through another episode for my rewatch! If you are still reading this thank you for your support.

I’ll hopefully be back next week.

Until then 5 weeks! It’s going by fast!

17 notes · View notes

nostalgicamerica · 1 year

Text

True Story:

Throughout my life I have had many obsessions; fishing, the blonde I sat behind in high school biology, to have my own dog (Not just a 'family' dog), the redhead three doors down from our house, hockey, the brunette who would later become my wife, and a number of other things.

But when I was 10 years old I – like every other boy I knew – had a burning desire that made all other obsessions pale in comparison. My singular desire was to have to have a BB gun. I didn't care what kind, although for some reason I loved the look of the Daisy Model 30-30. Maybe it was because of all the Rawhide Kid, Kid Colt; Outlaw, or Cheyenne Kid comic books I consumed whilst hiding from my mother and her infernal chore list.

I wonder in retrospect if my mother believed that if a comic had 'Kid' in the title it couldn't possibly lead her flock astray, but I digress.

As far as BB guns go, I really didn't care what make or model. I just knew I had to have one. I dreamed about fighting off coyotes, black bear, and local bullies. The only requirement was that it be able to shoot a copper-clad projectile at a high rate of speed. Most of my friends already had their obsessions satisfied and it was a source of constant sorrow that I was BB gun-less.

My desire for a BB gun also filled me with a feeling of guilt because my parents ensured I had everything I needed and fulfilled many of my wants. My mother was never shy about providing me books, new or used, and Dad bought me all the fishing gear and hockey equipment I ever needed.

But Ivanhoe and shin pads couldn't fill the hole in my life left by something I had never possessed in the first place.

Any BB gun would have filled the hole.

One close friend, Skunk (don't ask), had the Holy Grail of the BB gun world – a Crosman pump rifle. This particular rifle was carried around town with much-deserved pride (oh, how I hated Skunk when he toted that gun around). I personally witnessed the sleek weapon puncture the side of a tomato juice can. I know it doesn't sound like much today, but back then, tomato juice cans were manufactured by the Ohio Boilermaker Company, made of 10 gauge, zinc-lined, galvanized steel, and, empty, they weighed 23 pounds.

Another friend actually had a BB pistol but his folks took it away from him because he put out one too many window.

There was a smattering of other BB guns in town. Most boys, who were born to more BB gun-friendly parents toted around Daisys, but I recollect other makes like Powermaster, Benjamin, and, of course, Crosman.

Mom apparently wasn't too worried about my brother and I shooting our eyes out because the Christmas after my 11th birthday my brother and I were presented with matching Daisy 102 Model 36 Cubs. My initial jealousy that my brother got his first gun at 10 while I had had to wait until I was 11 abated after a few seconds when I remembered he was my partner in crime and a pretty good friend all the way around.

The jealousy was immediately replaced with an ugly feeling of ingratitude that made me feel guilty and I tried to shake it off before my dad could see it in my eyes.

Cubs!

Yes, they were guns. Yes, they would shoot a BB. Yes, if you squinted at them, the rifles did sort of look menacing. But they were still Cubs, of all things. To those ignorant of the BB gun world, allow me to explain that the Daisy Cub was the AMC Pacer of the gun hierarchy. It was akin to eating a fast-food burger that has been sitting too long under the warmer; it looked vaguely burger-like, it would fill up an empty stomach, but no matter how you looked at it, it was never going to be a thick, mouth-watering, flame-broiled burger fresh from the barbecue grill in the back yard, dripping with grease, and topped off with the freshest of toppings.

Given that Christmas unreasonably seems to always fall in the dead of winter every year, and at least 8 feet of snow covered everything as far south as Des Moines and would until at least April, we were resigned that the guns wouldn't see much action until the Detroit Tigers were in spring training, at a minimum.

Dad, with a head toward solving our dilemma, came through in fine fashion. He covered the windows in the attic with a heavy, BB-proof tarp, hung up paper targets on a length of rope at one end of the cramped space and created an indoor shooting range for his two would be cowboys.

At this point it behooves me to again educate the BB gun ignorant; as a BB does not have a method of propelling itself down a barrel like a bullet, a BB gun has one of two ways to operate: 1. Compressed air (either manually pumped or by using a pre-filled CO2 cartridge), or, 2. Spring-loaded.

Take a wild stab at what method the fine folks at Daisy chose for the Daisy 102 Model 36 Cub.

Initially the BBs zipped to the targets just fine. The single light bulb hanging from the rafters was proof as it had to be replaced more than once, and we discovered the ricochet effect shooting at the chimney bricks.

By the end of January, the springs that provided the propulsion in the Cubs had lost some of their zip. To hit the targets we were required to raise the muzzles a few degrees to provide some elevation to the projectile's trajectory. By the beginning of March, the springs in both guns were so much al-dente fettuccine, and even if we managed to hit the targets – which wasn't a given – the BBs could no longer penetrate.

It wasn't long afterward that the blush fell off the rose and we were spending less and less time sharpening our sharpshooting skills.

I had some Two Gun Kid and Apache Kid comics to read.

Spring does show up every year, even to Northern Michigan's Keweenaw Peninsula. It's magical warmth causes the snow banks to shrink, gradually at first, and then disappear like cotton candy in a rain storm. It turned the roads into nearly impassable slush and mud, and boys' yearnings to everything summer: baseball, fishing, camping, freedom, no school.

In the spring and summer, Mom's infernal chore list was only a threat if one couldn't sneak out of the house before she latched onto an arm or ear. Avoiding Mom wasn't all that difficult, mostly because my brother and I had five younger siblings who always seemed to be crying for something or other and, as a result, Mom was almost continually distracted.

The first few glorious days of summer were spent in pursuit of birds and small animals with our new but impotent weapons. The hunts turned out to be exercises in futility because even if we managed to hit a chipmunk or squirrel, the BBs would do little more than tickle them.

It wasn't too many days before the Cubs were left in the hall closet to gather dust. What was the point of toting around a firearm that wouldn't fire? Nobody feared us, and the bears and coyotes were scarce, so our pursuits turned to fishing or swimming or that old trusty standby, finding ways to pester the neighborhood girls.

A few weeks into summer found a group of us kids, who had all successfully dodged our respective mother's chore lists, looking for mischief to get into. Picking on the girls was terrific fun but even that had gotten old. How often can you bomb a tea party with water balloons before it loses its attraction?

Fishing was always a draw for me, but nobody else wanted to slog the three miles to the river. A pick up baseball game was mentioned, but there were only eight of us, and, unless we wanted to play with older kids who would take over everything, or worse, girls, it was a non-starter.

Somewhere in our lethargy, the conversation turned to World War II. Over for some time, it was still a favorite subject. One friend's father had actually been in Normandy, and later on was stationed in Paris after it was liberated. He had been a supply clerk and never saw combat, but he still was a hero to us wide-eyed war junkies.

Most of us wouldn't have been able to find Normandy on a map, and whenever I heard of La Madeleine or other French towns I couldn't help picturing Mom's jar of orange marmalade that was always on the breakfast table. But even in our ignorance, we still loved talking about the war.

And then somebody casually asked, why not have a war of our own? For real. With guns. BB guns, albeit, but guns nevertheless. We could map out a large area south of town, stake out territories and try to capture the other's flags. We could set up rules of engagement and follow them to the letter. No targeting someone above the neck. No shooting if the target is closer than 10 feet. If you are hit anywhere but the arms or legs, you are out until the campaign was over and the new one began. Skunk could only pump his gun once; anything more would give him an unfair advantage.

The three boys who weren't already wearing Coke-bottle glasses had to see if they could filch safety goggles from their dad's garages or find something else to protect their eyes.

Breathless, my brother and I raced home to grab our guns and I crept up to our room to grab the half-filled, cardboard carton of ammunition Even employing stealth, we heard Mom yelling for us as the screen door banged behind us and we made our escape and headed to the field of battle.

Most boys are brain dead. At least I was and I can honestly say the thought of how stupid we were being never crossed my gray matter. I can't speak for my brother, but he was right by my side and I don't recall him voicing objections.

If we had stopped to think we would have recognized that if we were found out, not only would Dad bend our guns against the trunk of the maple tree in the back yard, but he'd wear out his razor strop on our heinies.

Perhaps common sense was out pestering the girls that afternoon because it was nowhere to be found when we all met up in the field under the giant cherry tree that we had designated as the demilitarized zone.

In short order we formed two, four-person armies and hammered out the theater of operations. We had to stay in between the two dirt roads to the east and west, and the northern edge of the pond was the southern boundary. The Pelkkanen's (who happened to be out of town) outhouse would represent the northern border of our combat arena.

We tore up the tee shirt pinched from somebody's clothesline and each team took half as a flag. We would split up, set up our head quarters and wait 20 minutes before launching hostilities.

None of us had a watch, so approximately 4 minutes later, we were all slinking through the waist-deep weeds and bramble bushes, crouching behind cedar bushes and pine trees looking for the enemy. Strategy? Ha! We just moved towards the opposite end of the war zone until, hopefully, we'd engage somebody to shoot at.

That's exactly what happened. The two skirmish lines met in an opening in the shrubbery and began firing as fast as we could work the levers on our guns. BBs flew like confetti and boys fell with over-dramatic flair. The BBs had a slightest of stings, except for Skunk's shots, but even those weren't terrible.

Through four successive battles the teams went at it. mostly adhering to the rules. One boy caught a BB in the ear that made him yelp, and in the fourth skirmish I took one in my lower lip which immediately began to swell. The pain wasn't too terrible and I fought on.

Tied two battles to two, we determined to settle the issue of supremacy in one last engagement. To the victor would belong the spoils, whatever they were. Possibly an empty tomato juice can.

Unfortunately, the other team had at least one boy who wasn't addle-minded and had something up their sleeves; they had no intention of a frontal assault.

We found out too late that three of the opposition moved to the west side of the combat zone and made somewhat of a ruckus, drawing our attacking force on the run, while their fourth slipped by unobserved on the east side, waltzed into our base, swiped our flag and redeployed back to his base.

We lost the battle and thus the war without firing a shot. While certainly the defeat stung, my brother and I took the whipping in stride and opined that we'd know better next time. One of our team yelled some of the worst Finnish words he knew; paska, and kusipaa and paskiainen being chief among them. (For those who don't speak Finn, trust me, they're pretty tame by today's standards.)

For some unknown reason that escaped the others in our army, Skunk was livid. How could we lose so easily with such superior firepower? The tyhmät päät must have cheated! He was going to exact some sort of revenge. I tried telling him we just lost and that's the way it goes sometimes. But he was beyond reasoning with.

Skunk set off to the other side of the field with the rest of the team following behind. He would later claim he only pumped his gun once, but my brother and I would both rat him out to the fellows that we both had seen him pumping the gun multiple times as he advanced on the other army's position. How many times did he pump the pump? I have no idea, but it was more than one.

The other team emerged from hiding and began rubbing it in as we approached - as we would have done had we been the victors. Without a word Skunk raised the Crosman and took bead on one of our friends, Jussi. The intended target yelled and spun around to take cover when the BB punctured the denim and skin that covered his keister.

We were all in shock as we watched a small, dark, wet spot appear and grow slowly larger on the wounded boy's left buttock. Even Skunk was mortified at what he'd done. We were all shocked and most of us were crying except for - oddly enough - the boy with the BB in his butt. He handled being shot with remarkable aplomb.

The youngest boy in our gang lost control of his bladder and he peed his pants. (nobody gave him flack for the leak - he was only 8 and, frankly, some of us struggled to keep from peeing in our drawers, too.)

Skunk tossed his gun aside and ran off, all the while crying how sorry he was. The rest of us gathered around our wounded comrade and dithered back and forth about what to do. Jussi gingerly lowered his trousers baring an expanse of pale white flesh with an ugly purplish circle the size of a nickel surrounding a BB-sized darker hole. Bright blood trickled from the wound and dripped down into his pant leg.

Someone suggested sucking out the BB like we might suck out rattlesnake venom. Even Jussi was taken aback by the suggestion and in no uncertain terms bellowed, "Ain't nobody sucking on my arse!"

I picked up Skunk's Crosman and we helped the only real casualty of what we'd come to refer to as the War of the Keweenaw hobble home to have his mom administer first aid.

Either Jussi's parents were brighter than we gave them credit for and didn't buy the story that their son was injured by a branch when he fell out of a tree, or Jussi just told them the truth.

Whatever the case, in short order, all of our parents were brought up to speed and that evening found my brother and me in the backyard with Dad. Our Cubs on the ground at our feet.

Without words he gestured for me to hand him my gun. I did so waited for him to slam the gun against the tree trunk. Instead, he raised his knee and bent the barrel of the gun over it like it was Play-Doh. He tossed my Cub aside and repeated the ceremony with my brother.

We waited for him to pull out his strop but it wasn't forthcoming. Even his belt stayed cinched around his waist. He just looked at us sadly and shook his head.

He hugged us both and whispered, "I'm disappointed in both of you."

We would have rather had him wear out the razor strop on our butts. That was a punishment we could understand, even if it was a painful. "Please yell at us, Dad!" I screamed in my head.

Both my brother and I were sobbing uncontrollably. The worst punishment imaginable had been handed down - Dad was disappointed in us. It was a pain we would strive hard to never feel again.

All of us who had participated in the War of the Keweenaw had received punishments of varying degrees. We all lost our guns, except Skunk, who, in his remorse and shame, presented it to Jussi in atonement.

My brother and I would spend the next several months trying to make Dad proud of us again. We stopped sneaking out of the house and even willingly worked on Mom's infernal chore list that seemed to keep growing, and completed everything on it that an 11 and 10 year-old could. As much as we would have liked to do so, we just weren't able to reshingle the house and garage roofs on our own, but we willingly helped Dad do the job.

Eventually, after a time, Dad returned to his normal, boisterous, and joking self and life went on and it was good.

I never owned another BB gun. A handful of years later I received a Remington .30-06 just in time for deer season, and I've owned multiple rifles, shotguns and pistols since then, but I've never had an 'obsession' for the guns. They are nothing more than tools that I always handle with the respect they deserve.

Note: A dozen or so years ago I was able to visit my old home town and reconnect with the few of my friends who still live in the area. Skunk and Jussi are still best of friends and I can still see the boy in both through the grey. Jussi grinned at me when I brought up The War of the Keweenaw, went to his basement and returned with the Crosman BB gun. He claimed it still worked perfectly.

Although I declined to do so when he offered to let me feel the bump, he asserts the BB is still lodged firmly in his buttock.

51 notes · View notes

the-name-is-z · 3 months

Text

SKELETONS | ch. 2

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: After the apocalypse took everything Iris held dear, a new opportunity presents itself in the form of a bag of guns. Little does she know, that bag of guns starts something much bigger than she ever could have anticipated. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; gun violence, gang violence, offensive terminology for gang members and daryl, salty language

Chapter 2 - The Deal

The kid led them to a warehouse further into the city, and Iris was fidgeting with her knives. They waited at a wall further outside the building, a broken window between them and their friend. The bandana was back over her face, the bag of guns slung over T-Dog's shoulder. Rick rattled a shotgun shell next to his ear before loading it into the gun.

The group of warehouses was old enough to be made of brick and mortar, broken windows and doorframes unaccompanied by a roof. All except for the main building at the back, where the rest of the gang was presumably waiting. The kid wasn't smart enough to set them up, hopefully.

"You sure you're up for this?" Rick asked T-Dog.

"Yeah." He assured. Daryl gripped his crossbow tightly, keeping an eye on the kid as Iris peered through the broken barred window to the gate on the other side. Wasn't anything to write home about, but looks could be deceiving.

"One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know." Daryl grunted.

"G's gonna take that arrow out of my ass and shove it up yours. Just so you know." The kid retorted.

"G?" Rick asked.

"Guillermo. He's the man here."

"Okay then." Rick continued, cocking the gun. "Let's go see Guillermo." He gestured for Iris to go first and she scoffed, ducking through the bars and wire fence. T-Dog took up a sniper position on the wall to give them an edge. Rick pushed the kid forward and they followed him to the gate.

They slid open with a loud creak, a group of guards standing in the doorway. One man stepped forward, a cross chain hanging from his neck. He was shorter than the kid, and young. Didn't look like much of a threat, but there were more Iris couldn't see. She gripped the handle of her knife tighter.

"You okay, little man?" Guillermo asked, his hands in his pockets as he regarded them carefully.

"They're gonna cut off my feet, carnal." The kid replied, twitching. Clearly he'd never been a hostage before. That being said, most days consisted of things Iris had never done before.

"Cops do that?" Guillermo asked, his scrunched brow directed at Rick.

"Not him. This redneck puto, here. He cut off some dude's hand, man. He showed it to me." The kid whined. Iris glanced between Daryl and the kid.

"Shut up." Daryl snapped.

"Hey, that's that vato right there, homes." One of the men from before stepped, or limped, forward, one hand pointing at Daryl with a very small revolver, the other firmly pressing a rag to his ass. "He shot me in the ass with an arrow. What's up, homes, huh?"

"Chill, ese, chill. Chill." Guillermo said, holding out his arms to keep him back. He levelled his gaze back at them. "This true? He wants Miguelito's feet? That's pretty sick, man."

"We were hoping more for a calm discussion." Rick countered, shotgun still pointing at Miguel.

"That hillbilly jumps on Felipe's cousin. Beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet. Felipe gets an arrow in the ass and you want a calm discussion?" Guillermo recounted, frowning. He licked his lips. "You fascinate me."

"Heat of the moment." Rick explained. "Mistakes were made. On both sides."

"Who's that dude to you anyway? You don't look related." He asked, nodding to Daryl.

"He's one of our group, more or less. I'm sure you have a few like him."

"You got my brother in there?" Daryl asked abruptly.

"Sorry, we're fresh out of white boys." Guillermo replied, equally as fast. "But I got Asian. You interested?"

"I have one of yours, you have one of mine." Rick said evenly. "Sounds like an even trade."

"Don't sound even to me." Guillermo grunted.

"G..." Miguel protested. "Come on, man."

"My people got attacked." Guillermo continued, unfazed. "Where's the compensation for their pain and suffering? More to the point, where's my bag of guns?"

"Guns?" Rick asked.

"The bag Miguel saw in the street. The bag Felipe and Jorge were going back to get. That bag of guns."

"You're mistaken." Rick replied.

"I don't think so."

"About it being yours." He continued. "It's my bag of guns." Guillermo shrugged, leaning back with a frown.

"The bag was in the street. Anybody could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word?" He asked. "What's to stop my people from unloading on you right here and now and I take what's mine?" Felipe cocked his tiny gun once more, Jorge flanking Guillermo from the other side. Daryl raised his crossbow, clicking echoes coming from inside as more guns found their targets, men raised pipes and crowbars.

"You could do that." Rick shrugged, turning to where T-Dog had a rifle levelled at Guillermo's face. "Or not."

"Oye!" Guillermo called, looking up to the roof of the warehouse. Two guys walked to the edge, a third wrestling between them, a soiled bag tucked over his head. They ripped the bag off, Glenn whimpering with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. "I see two options." Guillermo continued. "You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood."

Guillermo shrugged again, raising an eyebrow at them before turning and retreating into the warehouse. Jorge and Felipe followed, the doors sliding shut. Rick put the shotgun down, sighing as Glenn and the two guards disappeared back onto the roof. Iris blew out a breath.

- "Them guns are worth more than gold." Daryl said pointedly. "Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table."

He was pacing back and forth in front of the desk Rick stood at, the bag of guns set atop it in consideration. Rick was checking them one by one under Iris' watchful eye. They'd come back to their cleared building, T-Dog watching over Miguel as they decided what to do. Guillermo was right, there were two ways this could go, and neither of them were ideal.

"You willing to give that up for that kid?" Daryl asked. Iris raised an eyebrow at him. The whole reason they were here was for their friend. Though, it seemed all he cared about was finding his hand-less brother. He still didn't trust her, that much was obvious, especially by the looks he gave her every few minutes.

"If I knew we'd get Glenn back, I might agree. But you think that vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?" T-Dog asked.

"You calling G a liar?" Miguel asked.

"Are you a part of this?" Daryl snapped, slapping the kid across the face. "You want to hold onto your teeth?"

"You willing to risk it on Guillermo's word?" Iris asked, turning back to the sheriff. Rick sighed in exasperation.

"Could be risking more than them guns. Could be your life." Daryl added, making a face at Rick. "Glenn worth that to you?"

"What life I have I owe to him." Rick answered firmly. "I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I."

"So you're gonna hand the guns over." Daryl concluded.

"I didn't say that." Rick reasoned. "Look, there's nothing keeping you three here. You should get out, head back to camp."

"And tell your family what?" T-Dog asked, rubbing his temple.

"I'm not going anywhere without my guns." Iris replied, shaking her head. Rick looked to the three of them, nodding conclusively. T-Dog stepped forward, him and Daryl taking a shotgun each.

"Oh, come on. This is nuts!" Miguel protested, siting right back down as Daryl pointed a stern finger at him. "Just do like G says." They loaded them up, each taking an additional hand gun. Iris loaded up her 22, slinging a rifle over her back.

With a towel tied into his mouth and hands bound, Miguel was escorted by the four of them back to the warehouse and the makeshift courtyard. Iris was trying to ignore the anxiety pulsing in her stomach.

Daryl had his gun pressing into Miguel's spine as they walked, armed and dangerous, through the gate and into the warehouse. Iris carried the bag of guns over her shoulder as they passed through the hoard of guards. Guillermo met them halfway through the warehouse, guns pointed in all directions.

"I see my guns," He mused, "but they're not all in the bag."

"That's because they're not yours. I thought I mentioned that." Rick replied simply.

"Let's just shoot these fools right now, ese." Filipe urged. Daryl pressed the muzzle of the gun into the back of Miguel's head. "Alright? Unload on their asses, ese."

"I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation." Guillermo said sharply.

"No, I'm pretty clear." Rick assured. He nodded to Iris, who cut the duct tape binding Miguel's wrists and shoved him forward. "You have your man. I want mine."

"I'm gonna chop up your boy. I'm gonna feed him to my dogs." Guillermo murmured. "They're the evilest, nastiest man-eating bitches you ever saw. I picked them up from Satan at a yard sale. I told you how it has to be. Are you woefully deaf?"

"No, my hearing's fine. You said come locked and loaded." He stated, cocking the shotgun. It echoed as everyone around took aim, Guillermo staring down the barrel. "Okay then, we're here."

There was a pregnant pause of baited silence as they all waited for someone to make a move, to say something. They stared down one another, waiting for the triggers to be pulled. The silence was filled with a small shuffling, and a woman's voice carrying through the warehouse.

"Felipe! Felipe!" She called, tone wavering with age. Iris watched as an old woman walked through the warehouse of gangbangers with no fear.

"Abuela, go back with the others-- now." Felipe urged, keeping his gaze and gun pointed on them, though fear laced his words.

"Get that old lady out of the line of fire!" Daryl chastised. Guillermo huffed, turning to her.

"Abuela, listen to your mijo, okay?" He instructed softly. "This is not the place for you right now."

"Mr Gilbert is having trouble breathing." She pleaded, looking to her grandson and tugging on his shirt. "He needs his asthma stuff. Carlito didn't find it. He needs his medicine." Guillermo glanced nervously between them and the old woman.

"Felipe, go take care of it, okay?" He snapped. "And take your grandmother with you." Felipe took her gently, pleading with her to walk with him, but she brushed past him toward Guillermo, frowning at Rick.

"Who are those men?" She asked. "Don't you take him--"

"Ma'am--"

"Felipe is a good boy." She assured. "He has his trouble but he'll pull himself together. We need him here."

"Ma'am, I'm not here to arrest your grandson." Rick replied calmly, putting the gun down.

"Then what do you want him for?" She asked.

"He's... helping us find a missing person. A fella named Glenn." Rick answered.

"The Asian boy? He's with Mr. Gilbert. Come, come." She urged, waving him along. "I show you. He needs his medicine."

Iris hid her small smile behind her bandana as she followed Rick, Felipe and the old woman through the warehouse. Daryl and T-Dog stayed on their tail, watching the others carefully, even though Guillermo ordered to let them pass.

The old woman held Rick's hand as she led them out of the warehouse and through a neat garden, and through the doors to another building. It was a hospice center, or a retirement home of some sort. Felipe asked his grandmother to take him to Mr. Gilbert, while the others glanced around.

There were doctor's offices and hospital beds, everything occupied by elderly people. Iris was quick to sheath her knives, following Rick into an old auditorium, tables and chairs set up for a common area. A man in a wheelchair at the back was coughing and wheezing, deeply inhaling as Felipe helped him with his inhaler. Glenn stood beside the, watching to make sure he'd be okay.

"What the hell is this?" Rick said softly.

"An asthma attack." Glenn replied worriedly. "Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

"I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man." T-Dog hissed. A small bark sounded from the corner, a trio of chihuahuas sitting in a leopard print bed.

"Could I have a word with you?" Rick asked, taking Guillermo to the side. "You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met..." He hissed, Iris' attention taken away by Felipe's grandma approaching her.

"Young lady, why do you hide your face? Do you have a scar?" She asked, gesturing to her own face.

"No." Iris replied with a small smile, pulling the bandana down to show her face.

"Oh, que linda eres." She cooed, patting Iris' face. "I should introduce you to my grandson. There are no more pretty young girls around here." Iris laughed nervously as she toddled over to Felipe, prodding him in her direction. He flushed, swatting her hand away as he continued to help Mr. Gilbert.

"So you're the girl with the guns." Glenn said, folding his arms as he walked over. Iris turned to him, nodding.

"Iris." She said, holding out her hand.

"Glenn." He replied with a slight frown, shaking it politely. Rick and Guillermo finished their little chat, the former beckoning them into a small room where Guillermo could speak to them quietly.

"What about the rest of your crew?" Rick asked, gesturing to Iris. She handed him the bag of guns, eyeing the interaction closely.

"The vatos trickle in, to check on their parents, their grandparents. They see how things are and most decide to stay." Guillermo explained. "It's a good thing, too. We need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart? The worst kind. Plunderers, the kind that take by force."

"That's not who we are." Rick assured.

"How was I to know?" He defended. "My people got attacked, and you show up with Miguel hostage-- appearances."

"Guess the world changed." T-Dog mused.

"No." Guillermo disagreed. "It's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken. So we do what we can here. The vatos work on those cars, talk about getting the old people out of the city. But most can't even get to the bathrooms by themselves, so that's just a dream. Still, it keeps the crew busy, and that's worth something. So we barred all the windows, welded all the doors shut except for one entrance. The vatos, they go out, scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here? They all look to me now. I don't even know why."

"Because they can." Rick replied honestly. He handed the shotgun to Guillermo, and began to sort the guns from the bag.

Iris turned from the room, walking back out into the auditorium. The vatos kept an eye on her, but she walked over to the closest.

"Hey, Felipe?" She asked. He turned from the table of elderly people, frowning at her sudden appearance. Iris took a map from her coat pocket and a pencil from an abandoned crossword puzzle, circling a place on the map. "I don't know who's in charge of the runs, but just outside the city here, there's an auto shop. If you can make it, there's a van out back full of parts, more cars in the shop. Take whatever you need. No one's gonna come back for it."

"Why?" He asked, taking the map and frowning. Iris shrugged, trying to offer him a comforting smile.

"Gesture of good faith?"

#thenameisz #skeletons #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #Daryl Dixon x f!oc #Daryl Dixon x oc

38 notes · View notes