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d1xonss · 2 months

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Hi! I was thinking about a run that ends up being too long because of something like a heard , were Daryl and the reader have to stay the night in a library. The reader is a big fan of books and she knows a lot about literature (maybe you can say she was a student of a literature degree back before the outbreak). Daryl is like 'I've never really read any book' or 'noone read anybook for me when I was little' and reader ends up reading one of her favourites to him while he lays his head on her lap and she tuches his hair or something fluffy like that. Some of my favorite books include Carrie, The Picture of Dorian Gray and Lord of the Rings; just if you wanted inspiration for the book that she reads him.

I hope you like the idea!

Bedtime Stories

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 2 (time jump)

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ This idea is so cute, I love it! But I am sorry to the person who requested this because I took way longer to write this than I usually would. It’s just been sitting in my drafts for a while now, but I finally got around to writing out the idea. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoy!

Your lungs started to burn, your legs beginning to weaken as you continued to run as fast as you could, desperately trying to keep up as the two of you quite literally ran for your lives. Somehow the run you both volunteered to take just turned into one giant disaster, one thing falling apart after another.

It was the dead of winter, the group hopping from place to place ever since the loss of the farm, and everything always running low. All the supplies you managed to have saved went out the window in a flash, leaving you with almost nothing when you had numerous people to feed. So desperate times called for desperate measures, leading to you and Daryl leaving early that morning, trudging through the cold weather and into a small town nearby in hopes that they had at least something to bring back for the others. But luck wasn’t really on your side.

There were a couple small buildings the two of you came across, a few cans of food here and there that you could easily toss into your bags. Though none of it was nearly enough to feed all the people you had. The thought alone saddened you to no end, coming to the realization of how complicated everything was now that you were out on the road constantly. You found yourself not even really knowing how good you had it back when you had sanctuary, a safe place to sleep at night, food…it was all very frustrating.

But you knew you were preaching to the choir as everyone else was easily feeling the same way as you, defeated and exhausted twenty-four-seven now. Though that wasn’t necessarily the only thing going wrong at the moment. The group itself was much more tense than it ever was before, the whole atmosphere seeming to change ever since that night Rick broke down completely. The loss of Shane and Lori being pregnant was taking a toll on him that no one else could understand, leading to him taking it out on everyone else. A part of you almost wondered if you and Daryl subconsciously took this run on purpose just to get away from all of that for a few hours.

Though that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go, another part of you wanted to be able to bring something back. You wanted to be the one to lift their spirits, hoping that you and Daryl would come across something that would bring back that light. But then again, luck wasn’t on your side.

Unbeknownst to the two of you as you searched, a large herd of walkers were slowly limping their way down the streets of the small town, making even more noise the closer they approached. Eventually you both perked up at the sudden familiar sounds, walking out of the building you were once in to see the group coming straight towards you, their jaws hanging and their arms stretched out with the intention to tear into you.

“Go.” was all Daryl said as he pushed you to run first, sprinting down the narrow streets in hopes to find somewhere to hide. Most of the stores you came across were completely locked up tight, and it was too late to turn back into the one you once occupied. So according to you, you were pretty much fucked.

The two of you looked around frantically as you ran, adrenaline pumping through your system as your heart pounded roughly against your chest. There was close to nothing else around, nowhere else to shield yourselves behind as they slowly crept up closer, surprisingly fast with how slow they appeared to move. It now seemed that last bit of bad luck had wiped out all the hope that was left in your being.

That is until Daryl came across a door neither of you had tried before, tugging at it as it surprisingly flew open loudly. Relief filled your chest as you didn’t hesitate to book it inside the space, Daryl following in close behind you before he slammed the door shut again. The two of you then frantically looked around for only a moment, before shoving a few pieces of furniture near the double doors to block off the walkers that would surely try to push their way inside. As expected, they began to pound on the structure from the outside, sending the two of you flying back a few steps as you caught your breath, making sure they weren’t strong enough to push through.

Though after listening for a few passing seconds, it was clear they weren’t getting inside anytime soon, leaving you able to slightly relax as you hunched over to place your hands on your knees, your breathing still heavy.

Daryl noticed out of the corner of his eye, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder, “You alright?”

You nodded as you stood back up straight, “Yeah…that was just…too close.” you sighed, running a hand stressfully through your hair.

He huffed, “Yeah…shit’s messy all over the damn place apparently.” he commented, clearly referring to how much had happened in the span of only about a month, or maybe two. You weren’t totally sure, but what you did know was that the whole thing felt like an eternity.

You found yourself wordlessly nodding in agreement, turning away from him momentarily as you grew curious as to where you had ended up. It had grown dark outside with how long the two of you stayed out searching, leading the place being completely pitch black as well. Nothing but a brief glimpse of moonlight shining through the small windows.

You reached back to the side of your backpack, pulling out your flashlight and flicking it on to see a plethora of bookshelves lined up in the large space, your face also seeming to light up in the process. It had been way too long since the last time you came across so many shelves stuffed full of mountains and mountains of books.

But apparently Daryl was less than amused, scoffing to himself as he looked around as well, “Great…we’re stuck inside some damn Barnes and Noble.”

You gave him a look, “It’s a library, Daryl.” you said in an unimpressed tone.

He raised an eyebrow towards you in response, “Yer tellin me there’s a difference?” he asked in amusement.

Your mouth parted to respond, but your mind came up blank as you slowly came to the realization that there really wasn’t much of a difference at all. He chuckled as he watched you grow silent, nudging your side before taking out his own flashlight. “You go ahead and take the left, I’ll take the right. Gotta make sure this place is safe.” he muttered before slowly walking off.

You followed his lead as you turned to head in the other direction, shining your light in different parts of the area to make sure there weren’t any lingering walkers nearby inside with the two of you. Though you couldn’t hear anything besides the corpses still banging on the outside, it was better to be safe than sorry. But everything was eerie and quiet as you passed by the many tall bookshelves, the scene itself almost making you more paranoid that something was going to just jump out at you out of nowhere. The area looked almost untouched however, causing you to smile a little to yourself at the thought of raiders and survivors just passing this place by because well…it was just a library. But you found yourself just the smallest bit excited, always knowing you were a bit of a bookworm at heart.

Your gaze continued to lazily scan the space for any danger, when all of a sudden, a certain section to your right caught your eye and made you stop in your tracks. The sign read in big blocked letters: Horror. That brought a big smile to your face as you found that was your favorite genre to read back when you actually had the time to read. You loved the thrill, the suspense, everything it had to offer as it left goosebumps on your skin. Something about those kinds of books always drew you in, in a way you couldn’t really understand.

The covers and titles easily had you distracted, hovering toward them just to take a peek at what this place had to offer. And to your surprise there were a fair amount of good finds. The Exorcist, Rebecca, Frankenstein, Salem’s Lot. You found yourself going deeper down the rabbit hole as your eyes scanned the spines of them thoroughly, wondering how many you would be able to actually fit in your bag to take back. Because the truth was you missed being able to read, wanting something simple like this again to pass the time like you used to.

“The hell you doin?”

You physically felt yourself jump out of your skin at his sudden presence, holding a hand up to your chest as you let out a shuddering breath. “Holy shit…don’t do that.” you said as you reached over to push his chest gently.

He laughed softly in response as he raised an eyebrow at you, “I can tell ya what yer not doin.” he hinted, “How’s the left side lookin?”

You shrugged, “It seems...safe enough…” you smiled sheepishly.

“Uh huh.” he muttered.

“I got distracted, okay?” you said with a light laugh before your gaze fell back on where you were once looking, “I mean I can’t even remember the last time I saw this many books.”

The man paused for a minute as he watched your expression, how it seemed to light up even more in the darkness as you looked back to all the covers you still had yet to pick through. A sense of fondness washed over him as he watched you obviously gush over something you were passionate about. He wanted you to speak more about it, wanting to listen to your voice go on and on about the things you loved most about them, but he was almost too embarrassed to ask.

Though after a few moments of silence, his frame leaned up against the shelf to his left as he continued to stare, “Didn't know you were a reader.” he commented.

You shrugged as you didn’t break your gaze away from the book you pulled out to look at, “I guess I just never mentioned it…” you trailed off as you read the short summary on the back, before placing it up in it’s place again, “But I used to read all the time. What about you, you got any favorites?” you asked as you looked back towards him with a small and exciting smile.

It was an innocent question really, but all Daryl could do was pathetically shrug, not really wanting to go into depth about the real answer.

But you tilted your head at him as you wanted to know, genuinely growing curious, “Oh come on. You have to at least have one.”

Daryl scoffed as he looked back up to you, “I…I ain’t ever really…” he trailed off again before letting out a harsh sigh, “Look, I ain’t ever read anythin before, alright? I don’t got no favorite.”

You were slightly taken aback, almost not believing him at first. But his face and tone were nothing but serious, showing you that he was telling the truth about having not read a single book in his life. “...Really?” you asked softly, “Not even in school or anything?”

He huffed out a small chuckle, “Ya mean when I actually went ta school? Yeah…don’t really think readin was at the top of my priority list.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Okay, fine. But seriously, no one ever read anything to you? Not even your…”

The two of you froze when you trailed off, though it was obvious what you were about to say. You knew of his past, how hard things were on him when he was a kid, you honestly didn’t even mean to let that last part slip as if you had forgotten. You hadn’t. But now you just wished you could take it all back as you felt ashamed and utterly embarrassed, a part of you also feeling terrible that he had never had that kind of comfort before.

In your childhood home, it was somewhat of a nightly routine that your parents would read you a short story every night before bed. You always loved that part, getting all snuggled up while your eyes slowly fluttered closed, hearing the soothing sound of their voices as they spoke until you were fast asleep. Now realizing that Daryl had never even had a sliver of that, brought a small frown to your face. But in a way, it also made you a little determined to make it up to him somehow.

Your eyes slowly trailed back to the bookshelf for a moment or two, before your eyes widened ever so slightly when you caught a glimpse of an all too familiar title. Carrie by Stephen King was one of your favorite books of all time, the plot being so interesting it left you at the edge of your seat as you went on. It was almost like some sort of sign to you as an idea formed in your head.

“Well…” you spoke quietly as you reached up to grab it, “It looks like we could be stuck in here for a while.” you mentioned, jutting your thumb back towards the doors where the walkers were still lingering. “What if I read to you?”

His eyes whipped back up to look at you, his face almost unreadable as he processed what you had just said. At first he wanted to decline, not because he didn’t want to hear the gentleness of your voice reading aloud to him, that sounded like a damn dream. But he didn’t want you to do something like this out of guilt, like you pitied him for not having that kind of luxury you used to have. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, something he hadn’t really thought about until now. But not even he could deny that as he stewed over it, he found himself missing out on something else from his childhood that he could never get back.

“Nah,” he shook his head as he stood up a bit straighter, “You don’t gotta do that, it’s alright.” he assured.

But your brows furrowed as you shook your head, “But I want to. I think it’ll be…nice.” you said honestly, wanting to reassure him that you actually wanted to do this.

He took in a breath as he studied your facial expression, seeing you were truly being genuine and sincere, and that warmed his heart more than you were able to imagine. You truly were the sweetest person he had ever met, constantly treating him with kindness ever since you had first met. And that only made his tough exterior soften in an instant.

“Alright…if you’re sure…” he finally agreed hesitantly.

You smiled brightly at him, “I’m sure.” you promised, nodding your head back for him to follow you to find a place to sit for the time being. Neither of you knew how long you would be trapped in here. A few hours? Overnight? You weren’t sure, but one thing you did know was that the two of you did not want to go back to the group just yet. You could almost feel the tension radiating from all the way over here when they were miles and miles away.

The flashlight in your hand shined down towards a spot where there were a few cushioned seats, causing you to pick the one placed in the corner before you plopped down, removing the bag from your shoulders in the process. As your body was turned away for just a brief moment, you then felt Daryl sit down beside you, before he adjusted himself to where his head was gently resting in your lap. Your eyes quickly glanced back down to look at him, catching the small smile he had on his face as he stared up at you softly. You couldn’t help but smile back, shaking your head a little to try and focus. But it was hard to do when his eyes were piercing, so clearly full of gentleness and care.

“Okay, so this right here is a classic.” you said as you pointed to the cover, “It’s one of my favorite horror novels, and I actually think you’ll really like it.”

His eyes moved over the cover as he nodded along, “Do I get ta hold yer hand if I get scared?” he suddenly teased with a small smirk.

You laughed quietly, “Sure, tough guy, you can hold my hand.”

He chuckled lightly as he nodded, watching you intently as you opened up the book, using the light of the flashlight you placed behind you to be able to see the tiny words on the pages. You squinted a little at first, before your soft voice began to read out loud to him, already feeling himself relax a little more at something so simple. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t really care what you were reading. You could be reciting words from the English dictionary for all he cared. There was just something about hearing your voice in general that sent a wave of peace through him.

Eventually as the minutes flew by with the two of you engrossed in the events happening, your other hand traveled down to his hair, running your fingers through it gently. Daryl felt his heart flutter in his chest at the mindless action, almost as if it was second nature to you, making his eyes involuntarily close as he sighed deeply. He hadn’t felt this calm, this comforted by someone he cared about deeply in quite a long time. In fact, he seemed to question to himself if he ever had this feeling. The realization seemed to hit him then, but he almost didn’t care. He was just happy he had someone in his life now that was willing to give him all of that and more.

You noticed quickly however how his breathing seemed to change as he still laid beneath you, your eyes moving down to look at his face and see that he had fallen asleep after only barely getting through about three chapters. A small smile stretched across your face, closing the book and placing it back down beside you as your hand continued to gently run through the locks of his thick hair. Your eyes moved over the calm features of his face, taking in the fact that you had given him something that you once used to cherish. The unwinding feeling of someone reading you to sleep.

“Thank you…” his voice suddenly spoke quietly, moving to get even more comfortable in your lap as he drifted off.

In an instant your eyes seemed to glisten with tears at the simple gratitude, seeing how precious he really was. “Of course.” you whispered back, blinking away your tears as you hesitated for a moment, before leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

And after that night you two spent together, you found yourself always trying to do the little things for him to make him feel safe. Because those were the things you found that mattered the most.

~ Thanks for reading!

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renren-006 · 11 months

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The Hearts Want | Daryl Dixon x reader

Summery: you just cant get him out of your heart. good thing he likes you too, maybe more than you thought

word count: 1806

warning: smutttttyyyy

a/n: ahhhh i just love daryl so much!!!

It was another hot day in the Prison. The heat of summer makes your skin crawl with sweat. You sat out by the picnic tables in the common area. You sat watching the man that was constantly on your mind.

“He's older than you,” Carol pointed out. You knew this, of course you did. It was the one thing that constantly went through your mind whenever you looked over towards the archer.

“I know” You answered, already knowing that some of the members from the other community would rag on you for ever being with him, not that you were.

Daryl had found you in the woods back on the Green farm, you were paranoid, lost and convinced you were going crazy. You were a little older than Beth and just around Maggie's age, but you stayed away from the older Green. Beth became your best friend, saving you from yourself more times than you can point out. While you may be older than her the two of you lived in your youth around each other.

“He's Daryl, he’s harmless plus the world did kinda end” Beth said from beside you at the table. It was just the three of you today, Sasha and Michonne being off somewhere.

“You girls know I trust Daryl, he’s my pookie but he’s weird with feelings”' Carol defended, knowing we only meant to point out the obvious about Daryl. He was a recluse, only hanging around a few and you had only just started to crack his shell.

“He's just so stubborn but so…” You started, your words drifting off not being able to fully say the rest of the sentence out loud.

“Attractive?” Beth supplied for me, you nodded your head. He was handsome and lord did you want to know what he could do with his hands. “Omg stop” Beth squealed from beside you.

“What?” you asked, shocked by your friend's outburst.

“You are thinking about what he would do to you” Beth exclaimed loudly, followed by your hands covering her mouth. The two of you continued to wrestle with each other until the man in question approached the table.

“You girls fighitn’ ov’r here?” He asked, the southern drawl coming out heavy.. You swallowed slowly. Beth kicked you from under the table, you hissed and clutched your leg. “You good darling?” he asked, using that damn nickname again.

“Oh…yea im fine” you told him hesitantly, a small blush crept up your cheeks, making it look like the sun's heat was getting to you. Beth snickers fom beside you. Carol was here to save the day, and more importantly save you.

“I think the girls should go help out Lori with the laundry, hm?” she questioned. You both shot up from the table, saying a small goodbye and dashing back inside the prison to a little bit of cooler air. Carol still sat, and Daryl joined her. He didn't say anything at first, still wondering why you had been acting weird around him.

“It's not my place to tell you so don’t ask'' Carol started, “but the girl has a special place in her heart for you, so don't be mean to her pookie." She stood up from the table, leaving a startled Daryl and walked away.

The days following Carol's words to Daryl he started over thinking many things, the way you looked at him, the small touches, even the way you walked. Every single thing you did clouded his mind till he knew he was in trouble. He figured that it was some sort of cold, then he realized it wasn't a cold that was making him hot it was you. For a week he let his feelings be mulled over, and after having many conversations with Carol and Rick about it he knew he had fallen hard for you. The two of you had not hung out in a while, courtesy of Daryl avoiding you, but you figured he was busy and not that he was grossed out by you. Daryl also avoided you knowing that he was older than you and thinking that it wasn't a good thing to be attracted to a woman significantly younger than himself, but Daryl continued to watch you. He watched you leaving the prison, watched you enter all the while you didn't see any of the looks he gave you. He did this for weeks, just watching you still afraid of the things going through his head.

“Oh pookie” Carol said to her best friend. Darly shook his head.

“Ah! how could i ‘av been so stupid?” Darly asked her, she smiled at him.

“Your not stupid Daryl, just a little blind” She told him, when you walked out of the door to the prison Daryl's eyes immediately found yours. You smiled over at him, someone probably Sasha called your attention away from him and you walked down the gravel path towards the gate. He trailed your body with his eyes, watching the shape of your ass walk away from him. Carol got up and stood beside him, pushing him in your direction. She nodded, giving him a bit of encouragement.

“She’s not going to reject you,”Carol assured the man.

“What if she does?” he asked

“She wont” Carol said, giving him another push. Daryl kept his eyes on you watching the way your hips moved or the placement of your hands. You were talking to Sasha about another potential run for supplies further out, you were willing to go with but needed to check in with Beth and the others in case you had another job they wanted you to do. You didn't want to admit it but you hoped Daryl would be going as well. Daryl walked down the path towards the two of you, Sasha waved him over.

“Hey, I'm trying to get some people to go on another run further out tomorrow. I need you man, your good out there” Sasha told him. He glanced at you.

“You goin’?” he asked, you looked back at Sasha who had some sort of mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Yea, I was planning on it” You told him, he nodded.

“Good, ill see ya’ tomorrow then” he said, walking back up the hill towards Carol.

When the sun rose Sasha, Daryl, Michonne, Bob and yourself met up at the gate. You had on your jeans, a tank and a flannel shirt to keep the sun and the bugs off your arms. The heat of the morning was variable, seeing as the sun hadn't gotten to peak height just yet. You carried your bag with you, loaded with water and a few cans of beans, your hip had your gun holster and an assortment of knives on your belt and boots. You could never be unprepared going out into the world you lived in now. Daryl took in your appearance, turned on by just the sight of you standing there with all your equipment. Once the car was loaded Daryl offered for you to ride with him.

“I don't want to be a burden, I can just ride with everyone else” You told him, he shook his head.

“Nah” Daryl said, “I want ya’ to ride with me.” You hopped on the back of his motorcycle, and hugged his middle, once you got comfortable, and felt the flex of his mussel under his shirt. He didn't flinch, and he didn't move when your hands roamed a little. When the journey started you didn't realize how much the rumble of the motorcycle engine could entice you, or even the way he felt while you were hugging him. Daryl knew that if you stayed on the bike long enough he may have you unraveling. He knew what he did to you, because he watched you too often to know about the hungry looks you gave him. Beth would often slap your arm or flick your head when you were lost in thoughts about him. It made him want you closer, just thinking about the way your eyes looked at him, or the way your mouth contorted when you thought about him long enough. When the group had stopped for the night, in one of the town they had scavenge everyone stayed in the two closest houses. Daryl, Michonne and yourself in one ad the other had Sasha and Bob in the other. The whole night you wished you were next to him, drawing a straggled wine from your mouth. The room you were in was cold, no one else was staying with you since the only bed was yours. Michonne took the room downstairs while you and Daryl took the rooms upstairs. You heard one of the bored squeak outside your door, and a soft nok came from it. You walked over to the door and opened it to find Daryl standing outside your door.

“Daryl?” you asked. Before any more words could leave your mouth he kissed you. It was needy, sweat and a little rough. You felt him move forward making you cling to him and follow his movements. He shut the door behind you before continuing the kiss he had started. You didn’t question it, your mind to hazzy now from the breathless kisses with Daryl. He moved to lay you down on the bed, his hands came to roam over you.

“Woman, you have any idea how many times a day I wanted to do this?” he asked you, feeling his hands all over your skin, he started a trail of kisses down your neck till he found your sweet spot. “How i wanted to see you unravel on my bike, make you ride it out behind me?” His words sent a moan out of your mouth and shivers to travel down to your core. You felt hot in your clothes and attempted to rip them off. Daryl however stopped you, taking the lead by taking them off you himself. “I want to see you squirm, Y/N, I want to see you unravel underneath me as I take you” he told you, and you only nodded our heads. “I need confirmation sweetheart or ill stop right now”

“Yes! Please Daryl” you moaned, you wanted all of him, his mouth, his voice, the throbbing feeling of your core didn’t stop and you couldn't take it. Cloths ended up on the floor and Daryl crouched over you watching you breath. You nodded your head, waiting to feel him inside you. Both of your breathing increased and the moans coming from both of you filled the room. He helped you ride out your orgasm and you did the same for him. His hands fell from your hips and the two of you collapsed on to the bed.

“God Darlin, you really are somthn’’” Daryl said to you.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion #The Walking Dead

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shehungthemoon · 5 months

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Just dumping my Ina Paha thoughts here. 🙃

First of all I did NOT know it was the 100th episode going into this, so i was very confused watching the montage at the end lol

I also had to click out and make sure I didn't click the wrong episode when the Pilot started playing at the beginning. When I heard Danny's voice on the phone instead of Hesse's I swear I got whiplash

It's filmed so well (bar where they reshot the pilot where Steve gets Danny on the phone instead of a dead dad, in which they literally forgot to put the same filter over the scene to make the stitching coherent) and I absolutely love the camera work they did with the white-room and the video projections. It felt very much a level above normal network television cinematography, especially the parts where Steve's going in and out of the hallucinations.

Steve finally FINALLY killing Wo-Fat was so cathartic, it should have happened ages ago but I'm willing to look past all the dumb ways he survived just to allow this incredible ending to his story.

Ina Paha gave me Kono doing... this. I owe Grace Park my whole life. Pls costuming department put her in hot pink again 💗

yes, it was a Steve episode. but Danny REALLY shone, first as the only resident Actual Detective figuring out what happened to Steve by the tire-tracks, rampaging through the compound steadily and efficiently and knocking people off without a pause, and then in Steve's mind shooting Hesse's kneecaps off?!?!?! That was CRAZY and probably not suppose to be as hot as it was and definitely made me want an ex-mobster AU immediately. Basically I have a competency kink and really like badass!danny shit 😊

Seeing Chin's long hair again made me swoon

My jaw dropped when I saw Jenna! I think it's really interesting that Steve still thinks of her so much, and I was surprised that she showed up in both the actual dreams and the montage. I definitely underestimated how much she impacted Steve's life, it seems, and I hate that we'll never hear him address that and we'll only know about it inadvertently like this.

(hand over the heart for how lori got like. one team shot. poor girlie.)

⭐I took the montage at the end as being flashbacks and memories that Steve was having as he left the compound. Looking at it through that lens certainly makes one unwell.

Obligatory squeal for Adam appearing just to save the day :))) look below to see the love of my life! :)))))) ⬇⬇⬇

Of course, the obligatory mcdanno bullet(s). It writes itself! The way Danny said Steve's name so small and broken when he found him. The way they look at each other on the ground, the pain their faces. I need an official apology statement from Scott and Alex for it. Can we talk about what flashes by during the montage at the end? (IMO it being Steve's memories.) So much Danny.

The first thing is Danny and Steve's first meeting. Jfc. The showrunners milk it SO MUCH and who's complaining

The big, rocking hug. The hands clasping underground. Gracie of course. And then Danny collapsing from the bioweapon, which to be honest I was NOT expecting to see at all--it felt like a genuinely strange choice to include in there and it really ONLY makes sense if you go along with all that being what Steve's remembering. Even then, I was surprised to see it, so basically this is Hawaii Five-Oh making mcdanno gayer than even I was wanting them to be. Steve still thinks about that? From so long ago? Even with so many other close calls in between then and now? Good fucking lord ok then loverboy that's WILD. Canon accepted ig this show is just pure whump.

Danny goes through all of this just days after losing his brother and killing Reyes. JFC can we please address that. I need a 30k introspection fic to let me into this man's mind rn.

The Wo Fat v.s. Steve fight at the end was INCREDIBLE. I would love to give the choreographer's hand a shake, it's some of the best work I've seen on television in a long time. It was impressive for a procedural like this. It was long and physical and you truly didn't know what the outcome was going to be; it everything that their built-up relationship deserved for a conclusion. It also happening with a Steve coming off of hours of torture and drugging was crazy (guess we finally know who would win a PVP if they were both at full strength!). That being said I was really impressed with Wo Fat's capabilities and physical prowess, I was not expecting it to be so even and close to the line. I actually jumped when Steve LIFTED him up into the lighting fixture. We do not talk about Steve's (Alex's???) raw upper-body strength enough.

Anyway. Electricity in the water play. The physicality hell that this gif below is ⬇. Fire extinguishers and loaded needles. Crazy martial arts. Chair and buckets (holy shit did y'all see the force with which Wo Fat SHOT that bucket?????) flying. All's fair. I loved it.

The shot going right through the forehead, clean. I don't know how to put into words why that's so monumental to me but it is.

The mystery bad lady was SO intriguing, I wish we got more from her... How does she know Wo Fat? Why was she entrusted with all that information on him and Steve and especially Doris? Absolutely where did she come from, what was her name? Why did I have a huge huge hot crush on her? All important questions. (Goes to show that h50 CAN give us some more genuine badass, not just there to date someone women characters, just explicitly choose not to. I'm holding out for Ellie to remain platonic so hard right now.)

Almost forgot Danny in that black Hawaiian shirt. Will be whimpering over that image forever. The whole episode I was trying to focus on the underlining betrayal mystery they were laying out but every time my brain started working too hard Scott with his stupid waist and those flower patterns just started flashing into my head

Again, are you seeing this:

I'm unwell and so so happy.

H50 you're a gem when you want to be.

#just a post for me really #h50 #ina paha #i like to imagine that after this danny and steve just curl up in a house with doors locked and shades shut for a week and cry on each othe #steve mcgarrett #mcdanno #hawaii five 0 #i've been going thru h50 chronologically very very slowly for years but have watched p much most of the show on reruns #but god am i so so glad that i just so happened to never catch this one. i'm so glad I watched it when it was suppose to be watched

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iridiss · 1 year

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Returning to an old friend, my Cult of the Lamb x Night in the Woods crossover AU to expand on the concept of the relationships between the Bishops and their Witnesses. And also to finally give these characters proper designs! Under the cut is a helluva lot of writing elaborating on these 4’s history with their respective Bishops and their designs.

I’ve played around with the ideas of either having the Witnesses be anthropomorphic in their Eldritch Forms, matching the Follower designs and giving them the same level of autonomy as their minds possess, or to make them more beast-like, closer resembling Leshy/Heket/Shamura’s Eldritch Forms in their wildness, and closer resembling the animals they are. But in the end, I could tell that some characters, like Angus and Beatrice, would be better off beast-like, like a giant hulking bear made of trees and foliage and flowers that tries to crush you, or a crocodilian, Lovecraftian deep-sea “sea monster” that tries to snap you up from the watery depths, additionally as a small nod to the giant animals in Mae’s dreams (the bear and the crocodile.) But characters like Greggory and Lori especially would be more on the slightly anthropomorphic side in their Eldritch forms, with Gregg resembling a large and bloodied hound, and Lori being a mouse with too many eyes and too many slithering tails (as an additional reference to the Rat King or something Eldritch). Lori is still small, even smaller than Mae, but armors herself with a coat of spiders, who are a fundamental part of her attacking style. We’ve got an ancient Forest Lord, a brown bear that’s become one with the trees, a Bloodhound, a Lovecraftian sea monster from the dark Hadal Depths, and a rat that’s become one with the spiders in the attic.

As for their history with their Bishops, let me tell you a story of 4 parts.

——

The Gods were never kind to Angus.

Leshy’s rule was one of chaos, and Angus must’ve been the most orderly and logical person in the entire cult. Leshy believed in raw strength alone, and as a big brown bear, Angus guesses he had potential enough to be “worthy.” What a joke that was. He was the pawn of a child, breaking whatever Leshy threw a fit over. Being an incredibly prideful leader, Leshy made his own rule that none of his Witnesses could see better than him after Narinder’s betrayal robbed him of his eyes. So per Old Faith law, Angus’s sight was removed, completely. He learned to adapt to the viciousness of the wilderness, relying on his other senses to survive and keep himself in Leshy’s good graces. He grew more at home in the woods than he’d ever been before, he memorized how to make flower crowns and weave crafts out of grass. Over the decades, moss grew amongst his fur and dark branches from his head, with Camellia flowers woven into his fur. He may have been afraid of Leshy at first, when he was younger, but now he had grown to be nothing but tired. This was the way things were, this was the irrefutable demand of the universe and the beings that ruled his every breath. He was nothing more than a measly ant. There was no point in fighting it, when Leshy could strike him dead at a moments notice. “This is the way it must be,” he would say to his victims before their inevitable execution, “there is no other option.”

And then another option came in guns blazing, screaming and mowing down the Old Faith like a hurricane on acid. Almost overnight, Leshy was dead, Angus had been beaten, stripped of his power, and thrown into someplace new. Everything had changed.

At first this was every drop worth freaking out over, but…here, the night was serene, the mortals happy and oblivious of any harm, all the screaming had gone away. It was so quiet here.

The truth is, Angus was a gentle giant who’d much rather study the stars than go on bloody crusades. Mae’s new way took some getting used to, but it was worth it. He was cautious at first, not exactly cynical, but he would have been unsurprised the moment “a catch” manifested. He was slow to adjust, having lived his whole life still in one place. But in time, he realized the depths of the scars he bore from Leshy’s destructive rule, everything Leshy had done to him and forced him to do when all he cared for was soft flower petals and damp grass after summer rain. He had his quiet place now. He was finally free.

Helping him get through it, and understanding in his own unique way, was this little obnoxious coyote that Angus…vaguely remembered to be Heket’s Witness? He seemed sweet, sincere, fuzzy, a bit loud, but he understood. Maybe he’d be better off staying here for a while, with Mae, Gregg, all these happy little mortals, and whoever else comes along.

Greggory Lee had a purely militaristic bond with his General, the Goddess Heket. He was her best soldier, her hunting dog. He tracked down the heretics and runaways, and once he found them, he put an end to them, just as Heket commanded. Like a bloodhound to a rabbit, he was loyal. Except, Gregg will always be Gregg, so whenever he was under the impression that Heket was busy or not specifically watching him, he would go to town with whatever chaotic fun he wanted to have that day, consequences be damned. If she was all shout-y serious military business, then he was a wildfire let loose the second her grip loosened. And to a degree he was never fully aware of, his wild antics supported her empire with the sheer fear they instilled on the mortal civilians. At any time, War’s bloodhound could come raging through the village, pillaging whatever he thought was shiny or cool, blowing up whatever was combustible, setting fire to huts and ignorantly letting it spread, and if you opposed the Witness of War himself, you might just get eaten. The chaos was humbling. Gregg was never fully aware of the extent of the damage he caused, it was all good fun for him. That was the job, that was what he was made for, fun. He never quite saw their faces, just ran in, had a good laugh, and left. He was so bored, he might as well do something with his time.

It took a pretty extreme event in order to force him to see the full picture. His first ever doubts started to sink in during the great sheep extinction. The Old Faith had received a prophecy from Shamura: Death was coming. Their only hope to survive would be to kill every last sheep and ram on the continent. Only thing is, there was no way to make this not personal. To track down every last one, to get in their face, make eye contact, see their final moments, hear the screams up-close, feel the bodies go limp in the vulnerable snare of your own bloodied teeth. Becoming the very real version of a child’s worst nightmare, the bogey monster out to get them, was unavoidable. Gregg was…never quite the same, after that.

He was the first to fully and openly accept the death of the Old Faith, immediately embracing the new rule of—well, not exactly The One Who Waits, but Mae was pretty cool. He liked her. As a follower, Gregg is still a bit disaster-prone in the commune, occasionally setting things on fire on accident, but it always sends him into a panic that promptly cleans up whatever mess he makes. He’s a bit of a handful, but he’s incredibly loyal to Mae. He’s doing everything he can to be a good person now.

He had no bond with his Bishop. The only connection he had to the Old Faith was one he’d deeply regret for the rest of his life. Mae on the other hand, all she ever asked of him was to live happily and peacefully in a commune, she never asked him to massacre thousands of innocent souls for something as petty as a rule, or a God’s ego. Death to the Old Faith, he says. Why should he care?

Out of every Witness, Beatrice would have been with her God the longest. Her memories of a mortal childhood had grown fuzzy and distant. Beatrice devoted her whole life and future to Kallamar, giving up everything she had just for him. To her, devotion wasn’t something you did out of joy and love and reverence for your God, devotion was knowing how to survive. This was the way of life, and she would see to it that every last order was followed through with shining marks and perfection. And wherever Kallamar’s cowardice slacked, she would pick up the weight, she would carry his entire Kingdom on her two shoulders alone. This was survival, this was life, this was truth, this was wisdom, this was responsibility, this was reaching the top and staying the best of the best, the Queen of fear and order dictating the helm of an entire Empire crushed under her foot. When this was the brutal truth of reality and life, why would you waste time thinking about a happy merry-go-rainbows imaginary life, when you should be doing your job? She needed this. This was everything.

And then the Gods began to fall. Leshy had died. The ball had dropped. She didn’t know it was possible for a God to die, but sure, Leshy was of the weaker kingdoms. She should have seen it coming a mile away that the youngest runt of the Gods would eventually be snuffed out. But Mae kept going, and then Heket fell. The Goddess of War and Wrath, defeated.

Kallamar’s fears grew worse. The target fell on his back next, and Beatrice knew that sniveling coward couldn’t take the blow. She prepared herself to fight, her time had come, it was her throne to take. She was ready, but for some reason, she was trembling.

And then Kallamar was killed. The other shoe dropped.

Everything that Beatrice had been repressing for decades, maybe even centuries, came back to hit her in the face with a baseball bat. Mae had destroyed everything, and now the responsibility of bringing back the Old Faith and killing an unstoppable force had fallen on her shoulders, with everything else. The Land of the Old Faith was in crumbling disarray, and she desperately tried to fix it and put it back together in the 42 hours (or less) she had left to live. This was nothing more than a deranged little child, a single cat. She could beat her. She could fix it, she could fix everything—

She lost.

Something Beatrice was only able to realize after every last drop of responsibility withered away was just how exhausted she was. She was worn thin, hanging by a string that was tearing. When that string was finally cut, she could freefall, right into the comfort of a safe little idyllic, bright and merry, imaginary commune.

“What the fuck.” Was the first thing she said when she saw it.

You couldn’t just get rid of the Old Faith, you couldn’t just rewrite all of reality itself. Mae was only one woman, how could she possibly have stopped all this? But she did, and she had the insanity to keep going. What the absolute fuck. And worse yet, Mae had spared her life! She had the audacity to kill her captor and “set her free,” she had the audacity to break everything she’d ever known, thinking you could just let go?! This was unheard of!

But then again, Bea hadn’t taken a nap in decades. Actually, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever slept in the past century. She hadn’t ever experienced the peace and fun of dreaming. And now she had a schedule entirely of free time, whether she liked it or not. Beatrice…took a very long time to warm up to Mae. And it took even longer for the shock to fade, to stop feeling weird about this new, free place she was put in. Before Mae, she was overworked, slowly losing herself down the rabbit hole leading to a very dark place. And as time went on, she could finally see herself again, and as she looked at the other Witnesses playing in the grass and making gay little flower crowns, she realized what she could have become if she continued to silently, secretly fall apart. She…could be happy now. Maybe. She’d have to find out if that was even possible…

She also had to admit it was incredibly satisfying to see Narinder, the last God, doing janitorial work while she could sit back and sip on her pina colada made of Darkwood berries. If only she could have seen Kallamar finally do his job while she took a much-needed break.

Lori Meyers was a young, mortal mouse, always the outcast amongst her peers and village-mates. She preferred to keep to herself, hidden far away in the dark that was comfortable, that was predictable, that was beautiful. She found things like bugs, gore, guts, the night, horror—especially spiders, she loved spiders— she found them to be so cool, but for some reason, no one else did. And that made her the weird one. Growing up, all of these things that she was told by her peers deeply got to her, making her quick to become quite anxious before she’d ever share a cool looking bug with someone she liked, because it never turned out well. She wanted to be fine, isolated all by herself in her dimly-lit caves infested with spiders, earwigs and centipedes, she was the only person she ever needed—but even still, she always wanted to have someone to talk to. She would kill to have someone that would hear her talk about how centipedes and millipedes have these super epic pores that shoot out hydrogen cyanide gas that poisons their prey- or- or how cool and exceptional it is that jumping spiders have the brain power to effectively use the scientific method by constantly studying their environment and learning from their mistakes!

And like a miracle of the Gods, she did find someone.

Shamura and Lori likely had the most positive relationship out of all the Bishops and their Witnesses. Lori was scared of them at first—and that never truly goes away, when you’re dealing with a mighty Deity of the Old Faith. But when she spoke, they listened, and in response, they showed her new things to study. When she posed curiosity in unknown species of insect and creature, they would lift her up into the treetops with their colossal, claw-like legs and show her the truth. Shamura cultivated her mind, gave her all the resources and books she needed to learn and grow and become the true scholar her peers could never be. She learned fast, she had a quick wit, and a love for learning all that Shamura’s realm shined best in, and thus she quickly seated herself, obliviously, as the best heir to their throne.

An apprentice to follow in their shadow, a student for only the greatest of minds. The only thing is, she was so young…some way or another, she would have to grow up into a monster. A killer, an executioner, a judge. That would be where the doubt set in for Lori. She only wanted to learn, she never wanted things to come to this, but when not only your God but your closest friend gives you an order…

Lori was devastated with Shamura’s defeat. Her only ally was dead, she was alone again, and to make everything worse, she was the very last line of defense meant to stop Narinder from taking over the world. On one hand, she felt very small, and still very much a child, but on the other hand, she was full of rage and covered in millions of tiny spiders that could feel her grief as much as she. She still ended up losing, reluctantly succumbing to The Witness of Death and becoming a follower. She clung the most to Beatrice in the cult, as the best person who could understand her, but also as someone who tolerated her ramblings. It took her a while to warm up to Mae, and to fully understand the necessity of Shamura’s death. That would come with time and years of gradual reflection as she grew up in Mae’s cult.

The lesson that Lori would teach Mae about the Gods would be two things, one directly from Lori, and one indirectly from her. One would be how much Lori would challenge her faith in TOWW without ever truly dissenting, acting as a mirror for what TOWW’s horrors might look like. The other would be Mae looking at how Shamura kidnapped this child, isolated her from her family and parents, and raised her to be a murderer against her will, and how much indoctrination and manipulation goes into a cult just to make someone still fully believe in their leader even well after they’ve been seriously hurt by them. Lori was a more complicated case than Angus or even Gregg, but she still had her scars. And if Lori had been tricked by the Gods, had Mae been tricked as well? To what degree did TOWW suffer the same flaws as his siblings, to what degree was Mae a gullible child in the hands of a master manipulator, to what degree was this right? Was serving these Gods even worth it? What if she only did what she wanted? What if she just wanted to be happy? What if she was like all four witnesses before her, what if she threw her bat away and rejected this Old God’s offer? Sure, she was small, sure, she was an insect screaming against a mountain, but damn it, they only wanted to be happy. Mae, Angus, Gregg, Beatrice, Lori, all of them.

But this time, she could do something about it. She was the God-Killer. She could make it whatever she wanted, and Narinder would be a fool if He thought she wasn’t going down without a fight.

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the-name-is-z · 2 months

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SKELETONS | ch. 11

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: The group "deals with" the walker in the well; Iris and Daryl split off to go searching for Sophia. 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; iris goes into a well with a zombie, zombie gets split in half, contaminated drinking water, daryl being a little softie, daryl believes in the chupacabra, more searching for lost children

Chapter 11 - Diving In

“Give us an eye, there, Maggie.” Dale suggested. She walked over, standing beside the well and nodding to Iris, who gave a mocking salute. The rope was snug against her as she was slowly lowered into the well. She gripped the flashlight tight, ready to face the son of a bitch. It’s raspy growls got louder as she went further down, bubbled arms reaching up for her sweet, succulent human flesh.

“Doing okay?” Maggie called.

“Peachy.” Iris replied. She got closer and closer, low enough now that she could give his skull a good ring with her foot if she so chose.

“Little lower, little more.” Maggie told the people with the rope. Iris grit her teeth as she got close, bracing her legs against the stone walls of the well. She readied the rope in her head, prepared to loop it around the bloated fucker just as a loud creak and a pop flooded their ears. Iris felt the lurch of her stomach as the rope holding her dropped.

Lori and Andrea screamed as the pump was dislodged from the ground, rusted bolts giving way. Shane dropped to the ground, lunging for the rope as Iris yelped in surprise. She spread her arms and legs wide, grabbing at the slick stones to hold herself in place, but she dropped the flashlight. She was strong enough that she could hold herself up for a while, and she took a deep breath as the others seemed to pull themselves together.

T-Dog had his feet on the concrete rim of the well, leveraging against her weight. The others got their bearings and their grip, bringing her a little higher, the rope now braced against the pipe and nothing else.

“Iris!” Shane yelled out, panting.

“I’m good!” She yelled back. Maggie was on her hands and knees, looking down into the well.

“Good lord, you from some kind of circus?” She asked.

“Pull me up, damn it!” Iris yelled back. They strained, T-Dog scooting backwards in the dirt before Shane could stand, taking the brunt of the wait from him and pulling Iris up. She half climbed the stone walls, pushing herself up quickly once she could reach the pipe and the lip of the well.

“Pull her up! Pull her up!” Lori cried, running over and helping Iris to her feet.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asked as Iris stood with her hands braced on her knees. She blew out a breath to take a moment, eyes wide, and brushed off her clothes.

“Yeah, yeah. Good.” She breathed, standing straight and stretching her back. “Holy shit.”

“Well, back to the drawing board.” Dale muttered, frowning at the well.

“I should hope not. Slimy down there’s not smart enough to get the rope off all by himself.” Iris replied. They all blinked, turning to look down the well with Dale’s flashlight. Iris had looped the rope around the walker perfectly, tucked neatly under its arms, the other end still looped neatly on the ground beside them. Dale picked up the rope, tugging on it and feeling the walker pull against it.

“I’ll be damned.” Shane stated, hands on his hips as he nodded in approval. Iris cocked her head in reply. She knew she was good. Maggie quickly brought over her horse and they tied the rope up so the horse could do most of the dirty work. They all grabbed hold of the rope, tugging on the snarling ball of dead weight. They pulled him up little by little, grunting with effort. The son of a bitch reached for T-Dog at the edge of the well, who recoiled at the sight and smell. He wasn’t pretty.

“You got to pull it, guys!” T-Dog called. “It’s stuck! Come on.” Something on it had caught on the lip of the well, the group pulling hard at the rope. It garbled a pained noise, or maybe anger as it’s flesh pulled tighter.

“Hold on, hold on, maybe it’s not such a—“

Iris didn’t get to finish her sentence as the weakened, half-rotten flesh of his middle split in half, rancid blood and soupy innards spilling out over the ground. Iris lunged toward it, but she wasn’t close enough as it’s lower half, intestines, spinal chord and all, slipped right back down into the well, the fresh water source officially condemned. The upper half turned away from the well, still reaching toward them and half-crawling across the dirt. Iris huffed, pulling out her knife and putting an end to the sorry bastard.

There was a beat of silence as everyone mourned the terrible idea, the terrible execution, and the terrible result. If he smelled bad, his insides smelled even worse.

“We should seal off this well.” Dale said quietly, shaking his head. Shane ran a hand over his scalp.

“Yeah, might be a good idea.” He agreed.

“What do we do about the—“ Andrea was cut off by a loud grunt from T-Dog, who took out his frustration by bashing the dead walker’s skull in with his boot. They all took a moment while he increased the amount of blood on the ground, his clothes, his shoes, and watched when he stopped, standing straight.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t do something damn stupid like shoot it.” He stated. Iris sighed, kicking the half-corpse back into the well with the rest of it.

Shane took Andrea and Carol up to the highway with some food and a sports drink to leave for Sophia. They even found a bit of paint Carol could use to leave her a message. Glenn and Maggie left to go on a pharmacy run, and Iris ducked into the farmhouse to visit Carl.

He looked peaceful sleeping, cheeks much more flushed than yesterday. It was a relief to see. Lori said he’d woken up since the surgery, but they left him to rest most of the time. He’d recover faster that way. Iris brought in a glass of water for him, sitting down at his bedside and watching his little chest rise and fall.

He inhaled deeper as his little eyes opened slightly, grimacing at the bright light of the afternoon. Iris smiled softly as he turned to see her.

“Hey, cowboy.” She greeted quietly.

“Hey.” He replied softly, smiling back. “My mom told me you saved my life.”

“Nah.” She shook her head. “You are one tough kid. And you’re gonna have a hell of a battle scar.”

“Thanks.” He said, flashing a grin. He turned to the windows, his smile fading as he watched the group move around outside. “My dad said Sophia was fine, but you haven’t found her yet, have you?” He asked. Iris paused, glancing outside and sighing.

“No, we haven’t. But we aren’t gonna stop looking.” She replied.

“He lied.” Carl murmured.

“Your dad’s working really hard to keep everyone together.” Iris corrected, looking at him sternly. “He’s only lying so you can rest, relax, prioritize getting better.” She paused, looking back out at the group. Daryl had returned a little while ago, and she watched him duck into the RV, holding what seemed like… flowers? “Everyone was pretty jealous of your deer story. Your dad mentioned it but they’ll be exited to hear it from you when you feel better.”

“It was so pretty.” He said with a dreamy smile. “Iris?”

“Yeah, cowboy?”

“Thank you.” He said, looking up at her. “For… for- for saving my life, and for telling me the truth.” He looked at her then, and for a second, Iris swore he was much older than ten. It was a little scary.

“Anytime, kid.” She replied, taking and squeezing his hand.

Lori came in a little later, glad to see her son up and awake. Iris stepped down the porch, directing Rick inside to see his son. She found a place with her companions by the campfire, and they laughed into the evening. The sun began to set, people retiring to their tents one by one as the fire died. Soon, there was nothing but smouldering embers and the light of the stars.

As Iris stood alone from a small folding chair, a twig snapped behind her and she turned. Daryl stood there, mid-stride, frozen as if he was caught sneaking up on some game. Most likely an attempt to quietly sneak into his tent and pass out without any excess human interaction.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said quietly, voice rumbling lowly. Iris shook her head.

“You didn’t scare me.” She replied. He nodded, making to cross to his tent. “I was in the RV earlier…” He stopped, looking back up at her. “Carol told me the story. Cherokee Roses.” He turned away toward the field, but turned back.

“I don’t want to hear nothing about—“

“No, no. I thought it was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Iris said slowly. She glanced at the RV, just barely able to see Carol, Dale and Andrea playing cards at the table. “She really needed it.”

“Yeah.” He agreed. They stood in the quiet for a moment, their breaths, the humming of crickets and soft shuffling from the cows in the field the only sound in the night. He spoke again, his voice even quieter than before. “Don’t you tell no one about me gettin’ soft.” Iris smiled, shaking her head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She replied. He scoffed, but it was lighthearted. He glanced at the ground, then back at her. She slowly made her way across the small clearing to her own tent before turning back, that smile still playing on her lips. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” He replied. He watched her unzip the tent and climb in, a small lantern emitting a soft light and highlighting her silhouette. Daryl turned, ducking into his own tent and sinking into the embrace of his sleeping bag.

Iris had barely pulled her boots on when Rick did the rounds, collecting everyone who volunteered to help search for Sophia in the morning. It was laundry day, so Carol had collected everyone’s dirty clothes and hung them on lines between trees. Iris was more than happy to be wearing a clean pair of jeans and a black tank top that wasn’t covered in sweat and blood stains. She tied her hair back, following Rick to the station wagon, where the map laid. He’d drawn out a grid already, clearly prepared to hit the ground running.

Hershel had cleared her, and after the adrenaline of yesterday, Iris was happy to be doing something away from the farm for a bit. She took a liking to the forest, in all honesty. There was something homely about it.

“Alright, everyone’s getting new search grids today.” Rick stated. Iris noted that he was no longer wearing his sheriff’s uniform. He seemed more comfortable, frankly. Daryl, T-Dog, Shane and Andrea lined up to her left. Rick pointed to a spot on the map. “If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found yesterday, she might have gone further east than we’ve been so far.”

“I’d like to help.” A young boy, who Maggie told her was named Jimmy, and happened to be dating her sister, said, stepping forward. “I know the area pretty well, and stuff.”

“Hershel’s okay with this?” Rick asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah. He said I should ask you.” Jimmy replied. Rick nodded.

“Alright then. Thanks.”

“Nothing about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me.” Shane stated. “Anyone could have been holed up in that farmhouse.”

“Anybody includes her, right?” Andrea pointed out.

“Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yay-high.” Daryl countered, holding out his hand as he shrugged a button down shirt over his wife-beater.

“It’s a good lead.” Andrea agreed.

“Maybe we’ll pick up her trail again.” Rick nodded.

“No maybe about it. I’m gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird’s-eye view of the whole grid. If she’s up there, I’ll spot her.”

“Good idea. Maybe you’ll see your chupacabra up there, too.” T-Dog taunted.

“Chupacabra?” Iris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You never heard this?” Dale asked, walking over with the duffel bag of guns. “First night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of when he went squirrel hunting and saw a chupacabra.” Jimmy snorted, bursting into laughter.

“What are you braying at, jackass?” Daryl asked.

“So you believe in a blood-sucking dog?” Jimmy asked.

“Do you believe dead people walking around?” Daryl retorted. Iris pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Jimmy reached across the map for a rifle, but Rick stopped him.

“Hey, hey. Ever fire one before?” Rick asked warily. T-Dog was watching him closely.

“Well, if I’m going out, I want one.” Jimmy protested.

“Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees.” Daryl replied. Iris let herself smile this time. He lifted his crossbow onto his shoulder, adjusting the strap.

“Want company?” She asked. He jerked his chin toward the horses and she made to walk with him.

“You want a gun?” Rick asked as she passed by.

“I’m good.” She replied, patting her knife belt. He nodded and she turned around, following Daryl.

She paused again as he walked past the farmhouse toward the horses. Maggie was chatting idly with Glenn on the porch. Clearly, Daryl was about to ‘borrow’ a horse. Without asking. She rolled her eyes, jogging toward the porch. Glenn and Maggie halted their conversation as she got closer and she grinned. Something was sparking between these two.

“Hey, Maggie, do you mind if Daryl and I borrow the horses? We’ll take good care of them, we’re just going out to look for Sophia.” Iris asked. Maggie paused, pursing her lips.

“Yeah, okay. If you get into any trouble, just send ‘em on home. They’ll come back, and we’ll know something’s up.” She replied.

“Alright. We’ll keep them out of harms way.” Iris nodded. Maggie glanced over to Daryl, watching him lead the pair of horses from their field.

“Thanks for coming to ask.” She said, bemused. Iris’ lips curled up and she nodded, jogging to catch up with Daryl.

Over an hour of looking, and she’d never get used to the twang of the crossbow. Or rather, how accurate Daryl’s aim seemed to be. He pulled the arrow out of a tree, stringing the dead squirrel on the line of many, hanging from the horse’s saddle. There was a comfortable silence between them, speaking up only if they saw something of note. A walker, what might have been a trail, anything.

She was surprised with his comfort on the back of a horse. Iris was no stranger to horses, very similar, in her mind, to a living, breathing, wiggling motorcycle, but she was a mildly awkward rider all the same. She was glad he was leading, weaving through the trees and letting his horse find the best path.

“Whoa.” He mumbled, the horse slowing to a stop. Iris slowed up behind him, following his gaze down near the creek. Here, the creek seemed to be a trickling stream surrounded by banks of mud, but it was still the creek. “You see it?” He almost whispered. Iris brought her horse up beside his, leaning forward around a tree.

“No.” She muttered, slightly irritated. He reached forward, shifting her chin slightly to the right. She caught sight of what he saw, a tiny speck, practically, in the mud banks of the creek. A doll. Sophia’s doll. “Damn.” She whispered. Daryl dismounted the horse, handing her the lead as he slung his crossbow off his back and started to climb down the slope.

Iris climbed off of the horse, tying the leads to a nearby tree before following suit, shuffling awkwardly rather than climbing. Daryl leaned down as Iris crossed the mud bank, plucking the doll from the edge of the murky water. It was soaked through and dirty, but there was no way of knowing how long it’d been there.

“Sophia!” Iris called, her voice echoing loudly. Daryl shoved the doll into his pocket, glancing around the banks. When there was no noise after a few minutes, walkers or otherwise, they climbed back up the slope, getting back on the horses.

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Broken Glass Chapter 6 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: Some SMUT (HUZZAH! finally! but it's not what you think, sorry 😇). Anita. Angst. Grief. Temper tantrums/angry E. Some small/little/subby!e & caretaker!Lori. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact || Word Count: 10.9k

A/N: Lord have freakin' mercy, I'm sorry this took so damn long, but the next chapter is FINALLY HERE! For a variety of reasons, this was a doozy for me to get through, so thanks for your patience. ❤️ It's a bit of a rollercoaster of ALL THE THINGS. You want some smut, it's there! Tropes? You got it! Every emotion under the sun? Yep! It is messy? In more ways than one...😏 You've been warned. (And let me know what you think!!)

And thank you SO MUCH for the encouraging comments and support coming in about this work. I was really afraid no one was interested in this one because it's such a slow burn, but y'all are giving it some love and that makes my heart sing! ❤️ Thank you for continuing to reblog, like, comment, and ask! FYI the taglist is being WEIRD and I don't know why so I'm sorry if you don't get tagged and should be!!

Feel free to visit my Wattpad or AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! xoxoxo

He can’t stop thinking about you.

It’s annoying, really, considering all he’s got to focus on right now. Smiling for the crowds. Getting home. Interviews and pictures. Staying upright. Breathing.

Elvis closes his eyes and immediately thinks about the way your fingers splayed through his hair.

Stop it.

Your thumb catching his lower lip.

This isn’t the time.

Oh, it most certainly is not. He’s finally a stone’s throw from home, working his way through the waiting crowd at the train station, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing and his breath short.

Your hand presses his lower back, urging him forward.

He swears you have some sort of sixth sense in regard to how he’s feeling, or maybe you are really just that good at your job. Unfortunately, all he can think about is the warmth of your body pressed against him and the cool touch of your soft lips on his.

More than likely, you are just a distraction from how emotional he’s feeling. Being back in Memphis, as unusually cold and snowy as it happens to be, has him some kind of way. Perhaps it is the presence of his hometown fans. Maybe it’s the kindness of Gary Pepper, the young man with cerebral palsy that heads one of his fan clubs, when he says that he’s sorry there aren’t more people to greet him—"It’s a school day, after all.”

Biting his lip, Elvis fears he’s noticeably choked up at that. “I’ll see ya later, pal,” he manages to get out and makes note to find some way to thank the man properly in the future. It’s a testament to people like Gary that he still has fans at all after being away for two years. None of this was promised, neither is it continued to be.

Elvis wonders if he deserves it.

As overwhelmed by the crowds as you’ve been so far, it shocks him when you break ranks to kneel down and introduce yourself to Gary. There is a caring kindness about you in that moment that threatens to break his heart and he’s not sure exactly why. It strikes him that it’s because you have been so walled off behind that tower you’ve built around yourself and for the second time in the last 24 hours, he’s gotten a glimpse of who you might truly be on the other side of it.

And he has the strangest feeling that he is the prodigal prince returning home from a far-off land, with you, his new princess, already tending to his subjects as if they were her own.

A shuddering breath rolls through him at that.

Once again, you notice, shooting him a veiled look of concern. Saying your goodbyes to Gary, you grab Elvis’ hand and press along. You squeeze and he feels like crying all over again.

Get it together, Presley.

He breathes and continues forward, smiling away the feelings that threaten to consume him whole. Bright and cheerful, he plasters a grin across his face as they finally make it to Captain Woodward’s police cruiser. Your hand releases his and he suddenly loathes the fact that he’s pushed into the front seat (Better for the pictures, son, he hears the Colonel say).

But he keeps smiling and waving as they pull away. The truth is, he is happy to be home, it’s just clouded by the unease of the last few days and the fact that he might be goddamn dying. Not to mention the part where he’s not exactly sure what his place in the world is now.

And thirty minutes later, when they roar through the iron music gates, his colonial mansion coming into view for the first time in 18 months, his heart pounds.

Home.

It’s just family and close friends now, which has him sighing with relief as he hugs and kisses them all, yet a tension pulls in his chest. He realizes it’s because one very important person is missing.

Elvis had done a valiant job the past year and a half making sure that he stuffed down his grief in all the right moments and only let it out in lonely hours in the middle of the night. He was too damn sensitive for his own good, and God knows there was no room for that in the US Army, not if he wanted to fit in. So, instead he filled his days with maneuvers and his evenings with music and his nights with getting his dick wet, and there wasn’t much time in between to ponder much else.

But now that he’s here, and she most certainly is not, his mama’s absence hits him with the force of a freight train. A sob threatens to escape, his throat closing around it to keep it at bay, and it feels as though the wind is knocked out of him. Every ounce of exhaustion from the last week seems to close in on him all at once, and the only person who could truly soothe him is dead and gone.

The gentle press of your hand against the small of his back has him blinking and turning to you. He almost forgot your presence in the chaos, which he knows is incredibly rude of him because you are in a strange place with strange people, but somehow, once again, you just seem to know he’s not okay.

He needs space. He needs to breathe. He needs to get his shit together because this day is far from over and he’s already spent.

“Y’all, y’all, I need a minute to get ready for the onslaught of reporters that are on their way. We’ll pick this up tonight!” he shares loudly. “Lemme give you the grand tour,” he then whispers to you, taking your hand and yanking you past the white columns and into the house.

The smell hits him first. It’s familiar, yet there is something stale about it. Truth be told, he hadn’t lived here long before he was drafted, but it’s the house that called to him, the one meant for his mama. And now that he’s back, he feels certain she’ll reappear the moment he opens a door or rounds a corner.

Your eyes grow wider with every room as he pulls you through hallways and up and down stairs. His speech is as rapid as his tour, and he doesn’t fully stop until he’s in front of his mother’s room, the one he requested remain untouched until he got home. But now that he’s faced with it, he cannot open the door. He falls into a paralyzed silence.

“Elvis?” you ask quietly. “Are you alright?”

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Um, I...this is—was—my mother’s room.”

You pause, then nod. “I know it’s little more than words, but I am so sorry,” you say, squeezing his hand. It prompts him to look at you, and he finds your gaze knowingly, openly solemn. The look of someone who understands loss.

He does little more than tilt his head at you in question, and you sigh deeply in response, as if gathering strength. He knows that sigh, too.

“My mother died when I was fourteen,” you finally speak, “and she was…my everything.”

Fourteen? Dear God. He thought losing mama at 23 was awful, but he has no idea who he’d even be if she’d been gone at fourteen. The weight of just the thought feels impossible.

“Oh, honey,” Elvis manages to get out and suddenly he understands so much more about you, about those walls you keep around yourself. He wants to weep for you.

You shake your head. “It is what it is,” you say, trying to brush away obvious emotion. “I just want to let you know…I understand, is all.”

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing your hand back.

“Is it the same? Her room, I mean?” you ask suddenly.

He’s surprised by the question but nods.

“That’s nice. I mean…it’s nice that you still have some of her here,” you say in a faraway voice, looking at the closed door.

It’s a strange thing to say, and you seem to realize it the moment it’s out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, that’s…I just…my father got rid of all my mother’s things within days of her passing. I only have a few small things of hers that I managed to steal away before he wiped her existence from our house,” you say so quietly it’s almost a whisper, a lingering bitterness in your tone.

“Little bird…” he starts, but then falters at what to say. His heart aches for you as much as it does for himself, and he feels an anger towards your father that feels awfully similar to the anger at his own when Vernon shacked up with Dee not months after his mother’s death.

A father’s betrayal is no small thing.

It makes more sense to him now why a such a young girl would throw herself into her work and schooling as you have. There’s an inkling of understanding as to why you dropped your entire life on a dime to come work for him when you don’t even care for his music or his fame. But something tells him there’s much more to your story than this tragedy, though by the way you shake your head and shutter off those pesky emotions, he guesses he won’t learn more today.

“What’s next?” you ask, your face now a picture of calm.

“The bedroom,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows to lighten the mood.

Your scoff and eye roll tells him he’s on the right track.

His door is open when they reach the suite, he’s guessing to air it out for his return. He ushers you in quickly, then shuts the door behind him. The plush, dark décor instantly comforts him, the sound proofing of the room shutting out the hustle and bustle downstairs. He can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves his lips.

Suddenly, he can’t get out of his dress uniform fast enough. It’s strangling him. He wrestles out of the jacket, stripping himself of the shirt and tie just as quickly, leaving him in his white undershirt and pants.

“I take it you’re done with the uniform?” you say with a touch of sarcasm and a raise of your brow.

“I’d burn it if I could,” he replies with a snort, “but I gotta wear the damn thing for the Sinatra show in a few weeks.”

You hum and nod. “How are you feeling? Let’s take your vitals,” you say, gesturing to the edge of the bed, and turning round to look for something. You find it in a pile of suitcases left near the door, which must have been brought up while he was giving you the tour.

“Exhausted. Wired,” he answers, flopping on the bed. Oh, how he’s missed his own bed.

“Well, you should get some rest. It’s been a very long few days.” He sits up when you come in close in that serious way you do when it’s time to do your job. His heart begins to race. Faint hints of rose water and jasmine fill his nostrils as you bend down towards him with all your tools in tow. It’s part of the scent that he’s learning is distinctly you and it has him flashing back to holding you close back on the train. When your head leans close to secure the blood pressure cuff, he can almost feel again the way his lips brushed over your skin, how they pressed into your lips…

The thought has him breathless now that he has you in his bedroom.

Elvis shakes the thought away because he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that at all. It was just a rehearsal, a way to get you more comfortable around him, and it had worked. You hadn’t jerked away from him all day and even seemed to tolerate his presence somewhat pleasantly. Or at least without outward distain. He wasn’t about to screw up your progress by having actual feelings towards you. Because that would be ridiculous.

Too bad his body isn’t getting the memo.

“Your pulse and blood pressure are higher than I’d like,” you tsk down at him, “and you seem a little out of breath.”

Case in point.

“You need to rest, Elvis.” You turn away, unknowingly leaving him wanting.

Lord have mercy. He needs to get a grip because right now all he wants is a tussle with you in this big, inviting bed. Instead, he shakes it off and clears his throat.

“No time, little bird. Gotta get ready for all those reporters showing up here in…” he checks his watch, “less than two hours.”

“Another press conference? Elvis, the doctor talked about this—you have to slow down. This isn’t good for you,” you bristle, putting your hands on your hips. For whatever reason, he finds it devastatingly cute. A slow grin begins to spread across his face, but he stops himself before it rankles you.

He rises from the bed, stepping into you, drawn to you in some inexplicable way. He resists the deep urge to grab you by the waist and pull you in tight. You’d probably slap him silly if he did.

“I know, honey, I promise I’ll rest after the party tonight.”

Your brow furrows and the defeated look on your face has him chuckling a little. “There’s a party tonight? You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I never joke about parties,” he says, trying to match your serious face, unable to stop himself from grabbing your upper arms.

You look like you are ready to rip into him but then your demeanor changes completely to one of concern.

“Elvis, this isn’t going to work if you don’t make some concessions. There’s only so much I can do for you if you refuse to help yourself,” you say softly, looking up at him with those crystal blue eyes of yours.

He can deal with your annoyance, but the concern in your tone has him shifting uncomfortably.

You’re right, of course you are, but he doesn’t want to think about how shitty he feels or how dramatically he’s going to need to change things if he wants to get better.

If he wants to live.

“Alright, honey. How ‘bout after the press conference I take a good rest?” he concedes.

“How about that and ending the party at a decent hour?” you add not letting up on the way your eyes bore into him.

A challenge.

It warms his blood the way you stand your ground, bartering with him to get him to do what you want, both in a frustrating way and in a way that doesn’t help his urge of wanting to ravish you with kisses. He pushes that tantalizing thought away as quickly as possible, before it gets him into trouble.

Honestly, Elvis wants to fight you on the subject because it’s his life and his house and his party, dammit, but instead, for whatever reason, he growls out a low, “Fine.”

You nod, seemingly satisfied for the moment.

“Now I have a date with my shower. You can freshen up after I’m done, darlin’,” he says, turning on his heel and stripping off his undershirt as he grabs his kit and heads into the bathroom.

“Okay…wait, what?” he hears your voice pitch up and pokes his head back out as he strips his pants.

“I said you can have the bathroom after me, honey…unless you want to join me?” he quirks a brow. Blood rushes straight to his crotch at the thought of you in the shower with him. He’s very glad for the fact that the rest of his body is concealed by the door, otherwise you might see how Little Elvis perks up at the idea.

“Join y—I—no, Elvis!” you sputter. Your cheeks blaze red, letting him know your mind likely went where his did, which sends a tingle down his spine. “I mean, shouldn’t I just get ready in my room?”

Oh. Well, this should be interesting.

“Honey, you are in your room.”

You blink, looking utterly confused. “Excuse me, what?” You look around, eyes landing on your suitcase in the corner.

“Well, the doc said I needed 24-hour care, little bird. What if somethin’ happens when I’m sleepin’? It’s not gonna do me much good if you are way down the hall when I need ya,” he says matter-of-factly, watching the realization finally hit you. “That and you’re supposed to be my girl, and no girl of mine is sleepin’ in a different room, if we’re bein’ honest,” he chuckles.

The look of fear that crosses your features sobers him quickly, however.

“I-I-I can’t—where will I sleep?” He can tell you are trying to keep your panic at bay, albeit unsuccessfully.

“In that giant bed right over ‘dere,” he points.

Your eyes go wide, the blood draining from your blushed cheeks, and he’s suddenly afraid you might pass out.

Elvis hastily grabs his robe hanging on the back of the door and throws it on over his briefs before crossing the room to you. He doesn’t want to spook you, nor does he want you keeling over, so he leads you to a chair in the corner. Making himself the least threatening he can think to, he kneels in front of you.

You are frozen, staring at the bed with the most trepidation he’s ever seen of a woman in his room.

When he speaks, it’s nice and soft, “Hey, hey, little Lo’, it’s gonna be fine, now. Remember, I ain’t never gonna hurt ya, okay? I’m guessin’ you didn’t think about the particulars when you signed on for the job, now didja? Not an innocent young thing like yourself, ‘course not.”

You shake your head.

“But I promise, I ain’t out to do anythin’ bad to you, honey. I won’t touch you. I won’t hurt you. And just look at that bed—it’s—it’s stupidly big. You can be on one side and me on the other and fit a whole ‘nother bed between us, right?”

You seem to be doing the calculations in your head and finally nod, your shoulders relaxing a little.

“And don’t you worry your little head, I always sleep in pajamas,” he adds, trying to ease you further.

“Oh, Madone, I hadn’t even thought about that…” you start to spiral, wringing your hands in your lap.

“And now ya don’t hafta!” he says a little too cheerfully, trying to steer you back on course.

You keep nodding, as if convincing yourself this is going to work, and he desperately wishes he could put you more at ease. It’s strange, watching you build those walls back up around yourself, brick by brick.

“Yes. Okay. This is fine. This is just part of the job. It makes the most logical sense,” you murmur. Your eyes closed, your chest rises and falls with a few deep breaths.

When your eyes finally open again, they are relatively calm.

“Now, I’m gonna go get ready. There’s room in those drawers over there for your things, and that closet there is yours for the takin’, so you make yourself at home,” he says, showing you what is now your space.

You gulp but nod in understanding.

“Are you gonna be alright, Lo’?” he asks, though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer. A desperate part of him wants you to be comfortable here, wants to please you, though he’s not entirely sure why. You’re here to help him, not the other way around.

“Of course. It just…took me aback is all. I’ll adjust,” you say, gallantly, obviously still trying to convince yourself.

“Okay, darlin’.” Elvis pats your hand gently and your eyes meet his with a cautious understanding. Crisis averted, he stands and heads back into the bathroom to clean up.

Based on your hesitation to be intimate on the train, Elvis kicks himself a little for not having the forethought to warn you about the sleeping arrangements, but his mind has been so wrapped up in his own problems, he just didn’t think about it. That and it’s been a while since any girl has so blatantly not wanted to spend the night in the same room with him.

Relishing the heat of the water of the shower unknotting his tired muscles, he tries not to let his ego get in the way about the whole situation. It becomes clearer by the minute that your hesitation around him is less about him specifically and seems much more to do with your experiences and upbringing.

Or so he hopes.

Not that it matters…she’s here for a job, not for romance.

His brain whirrs with a multitude of thoughts as he finishes getting ready. It feels strange being here, dressing in normal clothes, getting ready for a press conference. He thought it would be harder somehow to flip back into being the Elvis Presley. And it’s true, he’s not quite the kid who left. He’s hardened some. There is a man looking back at him in the mirror now, and behind the sparkle of excitement in his deep blues lies the ghost of some cold, hard truths he doesn’t particularly want to face.

Maybe that’s why he chooses an all-black ensemble, playing with texture versus color. He pulls on charcoal trousers, just a little bit lighter than the rest of what he’s picked out. The thick, high-collared black sweater he pulls over his head is offset by the deep, rounded plunge that exposes his chest. Placing a gold medallion there helps add a bit of pizazz to the monochrome get-up, and he finishes with a boxy black jacket that broadens his shoulders and that’s just shy of thick enough to be a coat.

Elvis swoops his chestnut hair up into a somewhat familiar style and notices he doesn’t really need much around the eyes—he’s so damn tired, the darkness that rims them gives him the effect of wearing makeup when he isn’t. His color is up at least, though by the way his heart zips and his body warms, he’s wondering if it is another fever doing the job.

Whatever the cause, he looks pretty damn good, and right now that’s more than he could hope for.

Exiting the bathroom, he sees you hanging the clothes from your suitcase. There aren’t many, he notices.

Gonna have to take her on a shopping spree, he thinks excitedly, by the looks of your simple and conservative wardrobe. If there’s something he loves besides women and music, it’s buying clothes. The thought of dressing you up to match him, fashioning you to him, and being able to give you things you’ve never had sends a thrill vibrating through him. He can only imagine how amazing you’d look all gussied up based on how pretty you already are in your conventional and minimalist style.

You must sense his eyes because you turn and catch his stare. Your eyes widen the slightest bit at his appearance and take him in from head to toe with what he can’t tell if it’s a critical or admiring look.

“Whadya think?” he smiles broadly, turning around with his arms out.

After a moment, you speak, “Well, considering I’ve only seen you in a hospital gown or your uniform, I’d have to say you look…acceptable.” Your eyebrow quirks with a hint of judgement.

Acceptable?

He can’t help but chuckle a little at how unphased you seem to be, and he wonders if you truly see him this way or if you are just hiding behind those walls of yours. Maybe it’s a little of both.

“You might be my toughest audience, little bird, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs.

You nod. Then your eyes flit to the bathroom. It’s subtle, but he takes the hint quickly.

“It’s all yours, darlin’. I-I’ll, uh, I’ll be downstairs,” he says, stumbling through his words the moment he thinks about you being naked in his bathroom. He’s going to have to get over that, quickly, or else he’s gonna get himself in trouble right quick.

He turns to leave the room and is halfway out the door when he hears you speak again.

“Thank you, Elvis,” you say quietly.

He turns to you, seeing a genuine yet embarrassed look on your face.

“For being so patient with me. I know this can’t be easy, having me…invade your life like this,” you continue, waving a hand.

“I appreciate that little bird, just like I know it ain’t easy for you either. And you…you can invade my life all you want, darlin’,” he says with a flirty grin, trying to lighten the mood, but it comes out more breathless and endearing than kidding.

Your unreadable but poignant stare rakes over him for a moment, sending a cascade of shivers down his spine. Then, you blink and look away, and it’s gone, whatever it was that ignited this feeling inside him. You seem to be doing a lot of that lately, and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about it, to be honest.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he says, clearing his throat and nodding before leaving you and closing the door behind him.

Sweat has gathered just above his upper lip. Elvis isn’t sure if it’s from knowing that you are currently undressing in his room or if it’s from the fever. Either way, he wipes it away, takes a deep breath, and makes his way downstairs to get ready for the reporters to arrive.

The interview itself is relatively short, a bunch of men crammed into Daddy’s office out back, but before and after the cameras follow him around the estate. He’s charming and polite as he eats bits off a huge fan made, guitar-shaped cake. He poses next to a Christmas tree from two years ago. He laughs and is pleasant and does everything he needs to do to make them happy.

Luckily, this part comes relatively easy for him. There’s no need to fake being excited to be home or for the movies and albums and appearances he’s already been signed up to do. No, his trepidation comes from other things. Like if he will be well enough to follow through on his commitments. Or if he can keep his declining health from the very people who surround him, so gleefully eating up his every word and gesture. And then there is the maneuvering around all the questions about the girls.

He knows Cilla ain’t gonna be happy when she sees this interview with the way he’s got to brush her off, but with recent developments and being back stateside, he has bigger fish to fry. Honestly, the little girl that captured his attention so fiercely in Germany feels a world away, almost like he dreamt her. So much has happened, and while he loves her and has a deep need to mold her to him, there is no way she is ready for any of this. Especially not now.

Plus, there is Anita to consider. Lovely little Nita, who promised to be good for him. The woman he wrote sweet promises to from across the sea as he entertained a multitude of other women in the meantime. The girl his mother begged him to settle down with.

Elvis thinks he should feel worse than he does for fooling around, but what was he supposed to do? Be celibate for two years? It wasn’t remotely realistic, and the situation was made worse by his grief over mama. He needed the company. He wasn’t gonna be sorry for that. But he doesn’t feel great about the lying or for quite accidentally falling for Cilla because Nita will most certainly see that as a betrayal. She already suspected as much in their last conversation, and they’ve been awfully cool with each other since, so he’s not even sure there is much of a relationship to come back to. But he has love for Anita, he knows that.

Sex is one thing, and love is another.

Unfortunately for him, he has the bad habit of being in love with more than one woman at once, most of the time. It’s in his DNA or something. But it causes a helluva problem when he’s got girls wanting to settle down because he can never seem to choose, nor can he seem to bring himself to ever actually break up with them. That damn jealous streak in him doesn’t help either.

Proof positive of this is how he’d sent Elisabeth, the young woman he’d fallen for in Germany right after mama died and made his “live-in” secretary, on to Graceland upon his return, even though they weren’t really an item anymore and even though he suspects she and Rex are having an affair. The thought of that boils his blood despite the fact deep down he wants it to be true because then it doesn’t have to be his responsibility to let her go. But it hurts his ego all the same.

Elvis is full of infuriating contradictions and he knows it, although he’s got enough problems as it is without getting caught up in how it all makes him feel.

Seeing Anita is both something he desperately needs yet also dreads, his stomach rolling with just the thought of it. He loves her still, though he’s not entirely sure in what capacity, but he’s certain she will want what he promised in his letters: marriage and a family.

And one thing is for sure—he can’t possibly start a family with a woman he can’t tell his secrets to, not when he’s not one hundred percent sure if that’s what he wants and who he wants it with.

This should tell him all he needs to know about his future with his little Anita, but the need for the comfort of someone familiar overrides all logic in his feverish brain. He can’t help but call her to come immediately, even though initially he planned for a private reunion after things had settled down some.

“Little,” is all he can bring himself to say when his blonde baby makes it through the front door before the party starts. He doesn’t hesitate to scoop her tiny body up into his arms and hold her like his life depends on it.

And she is warm and familiar and comfortable, Elvis thinks, as he buries his head in her hair and she clings to him. But the moment is quickly overridden by the tendril of doubt that climbs up his spine and sinks itself into his psyche. His heart begins to throb in his ears, and he pushes the bile that creeps up his throat back down with a gulp. Pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, he prays it will feel the same as before, that something, anything will be the same as before he was sent overseas.

It isn’t.

Lord, it breaks his heart a little, a flood of searing heat rolling through his chest when he pulls back and forces his best smile to paint his face. He can’t parse out right now why it isn’t, not exactly, not when she’s looking at him so expectantly. But he has a pretty good idea it’s not just the other women that has him feeling off about this, about her.

It’s cuz you’re a damn lying liar, a bitter voice in his head throws up at him, and you know you ain’t gonna tell her shit about all the ways you’ve betrayed her and especially not how you’re dyin’.

Shut the fuck up, he hisses back.

Perhaps this is why he pretends everything is right with the world, folding her into his arms through the evening, petting and patting her like he never left. He so wants everything to be perfect, to fit like it’s supposed to. He wants—no, he needs—a good woman by his side, to take care of him. Mama knew that. And she liked Anita for it.

But the ache in his heart and in his stomach tells him she’s not the one, yet his innate need to please still whispers maybe, maybe, maybe, matching the rhythmic pounding of his heart.

Later, when he pulls Little up to his room, he tells himself he’s gonna be honest with her, tell her everything and then they can start with a clean slate. But the words get trapped in his throat and he kisses her instead.

Elvis lets his body take over, even though it’s burning up, because this he knows how to do right. His lips plunder hers, hoping for salvation, and her mouth opens, ready and willing to take him. Her mewls and sighs, now those are real, those are something he can latch onto. It doesn’t take much at all to get her under him in his huge bed, his hands and lips exploring all the familiar dips and curves of her perfect form.

“You my good baby? Little was good while I’s gone?” he baby talks breathlessly at her, nuzzling her nose as his fingers dance over her body. Yes, this is familiar, this little vulnerability he lets leak through, this need to be insular and small and needy and taken care of.

She nods, furiously, replying breathlessly, “Yes, of course, baby.”

Elvis believes her, mostly. He wants to. She’s a good Southern girl who promised to wait for him, and he takes that for what it is. Because of this, he won’t go all the way with her, he never does, wanting to keep her pure.

But why? You ain’t gonna marry her.

The thought hits him like a truck, causing him to halt his ministrations.

“You alright, Elvis?” Anita asks, those pretty eyes of her clouding with a tinge of concern.

Shaking it off, he covers quickly, “Y-Yeah, o-of course, Little. Just missed ya, is all. Takin’ it all in.” Throwing a dopey grin on his face helps reassure her and his Little smiles back at him, her tiny hands running over his face and neck and chest until he remembers he doesn’t want to think anymore.

By the time he’s inched his hand up her skirt, feeling the center of her panties damp with slick, his mind finally relents, and his arousal takes over fully. It’s blissful, giving himself over to pleasure after so many days of racing thoughts. After having to fight his body at every turn.

No, now Elvis just slides his hand between her legs, grinding his quickly hardening cock into her hip, not a thought in his head other than bringing them both to the brink. He’s gentle, though, when he slips under the cotton, causing a whimper to escape her as he flits his fingertip over her slit and circles the little bundle of nerves at the top.

Anita keens and grinds into his hand, her hip rubbing deliciously against his length. With a moan, he pulls himself up, moving in between her creamy thighs to perch on his knees. This he can control; this he can satisfy.

“Show me how my yittle baby been so good while I’s gone,” he purrs in her ear. The way she’s panting with want and dripping onto his hand will have him finishing too soon if he’s not careful. “With no one to pet yer yittle kitty, ya must be all tight in there for me, right baby?”

“Mm hmm,” she nods, barely able to get the words out, as breathless as she is.

“Lemme see,” he commands. She opens her legs, knees coming up readily to accommodate him, lifting her hips up when he pushes her skirt to her waist. He smirks when he sees her choice of white panties exposed, the dark little curls visible through the thin fabric and the grey damp patch in the center that shows her need for him. The sight sends more blood rushing to his dick and it twitches roughly, scraping against his slacks.

But that will have to wait because he has an inspection to do, one he takes seriously as he hooks the crotch of her panties with one finger and pulls it to the side, revealing her bare, shining pink petals to him.

Oh, Lord have mercy, how he loves pussy, he thinks, swallowing a groan as he bends his head between her legs. She shudders at his proximity and bucks at how he parts her swelling lips with a long finger. He places a hand over her furry mound and presses lightly to still her, thumbing her clit.

Nita whines at that.

“Be a good baby,” he scolds. She stills. He finds himself wanting to rut into the mattress, but keeps himself on his knees instead, needing to see to her first.

He uses two fingers to part her lips, swallowing a moan when he sees her tight entrance leaking for him. “Aw, look at that. Kitty’s weeping for me, needs me so bad,” he coos. It’s a little wicked how he teases her, dragging a finger through the slick, up and down, watching her clench around nothing. But he can’t help but be enamored, can’t help how he brings his finger to his lips to taste the tang of her there.

“Elvis!” she squeaks, a wanton mixture of need and shock. She watches with wide eyes when he smiles at her before putting his entire middle finger in his mouth, lathing it with his tongue.

“The real test, baby,” he says, then takes his spit-soaked digit and slides it right up into that tight little hole. He can’t help the way he groans at just how damn good it feels to sink into her wet heat.

From the way she gasps and writhes and by how her walls clench around his finger, he reckons she’s passed his little test. “Such a good baby. No one’s been in my little kitty, now have they? I can feel it how good you been,” he praises, punctuating his words with a gentle thrust.

Anita cries out at that, the sound going straight between his legs. Slowly (because damn, she really is so very tight), he works his finger in and out, watching how she begins to rock with him, how she scrunches her eyes shut when he couples it with tight circles on her clit. His hand shines with her arousal in the low lighting, and the sloppy sound of her loosening has him clenching his legs together. Elvis wants to see her come apart, but at this rate he’s so aroused that it’s likely he’s gonna finish in his pants if he’s not careful.

Honestly, he’s so mesmerized by it all that he doesn’t even care. He’s dumb with her and can’t stop himself from lying down and pressing his lips to her clit, causing her to sigh out in surprise. This wasn’t part of his foreplay pre-army, so he can understand why she nearly levitates off the bed when he swirls his tongue around her and continues to work her with his finger. The tangy taste of her and the way she’s starting to tense around his finger has him dry humping the comforter, the friction causing his own moans to vibrate her core.

She’s panting his name now and all he wants is to make her scream.

Lapping and lathing and swirling, he bathes her sex with his tongue and he knows she’s close, and damn, he is too. He curves up and finds that little spongy spot deep inside while he sucks on her button and there it is.

“Elvis!” Anita shrieks his name, her hips coming off the bed as she clenches and shudders around him.

He digs his pelvis into the mattress as she soaks his hand in her slick. Removing his finger, a deep need overcomes him to taste her release from the inside. He licks her clean, spreading her open and driving his tongue deep into her as she squirms against him. Elvis moans into her soaking cunt and thrusts again and again into the friction of the bed under him, drunk on pussy.

Which is where you find him as you unsuspectingly walk through the bedroom door.

“Oh—my god! I—Oh!” he hears you gasp, and Lord damn him if his orgasm doesn’t hit him so damn hard that he can barely breathe with the combination of factors at play. For some reason, watching you stand there watching him covered in slick and tonguing pussy as his release erupts through him has him inconceivably turned on. It’s like the dial of his orgasm is suddenly turned up from 10 to 100. His cock pulses violently and he can’t stop the groan that emanates from deep within, can’t stop the hot ropes of seed that soil the inside of his slacks, coating his lower belly.

Anita screams, and in trying to cover herself, ends up driving his face deeper into her core. His eyes roll back into his head, and he finishes with another moan and an aggressive shudder.

In his post-coital haze, Elvis slowly removes himself from between Anita’s quivering thighs, sitting back on his heels. He sees you standing there in the doorway, frozen stiff with those crystal blue eyes blown wide and your hand covering your mouth. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh, cry with embarrassment, or invite you into the bed. Mostly the latter, he thinks, by the way his softening cock twitches at the thought. Regardless, as improper as it is, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you, and neither can you stop staring at him. Refracting and locked in this strange and intimate gaze with you, he knows he should do something to stop it, to stop this wild desire of his to try bring you into this decidedly pornographic scenario. His breath heaves from exertion and lingering arousal but he remains still, watching you, cum dripping down to his legs and seeping through his pants.

Anita is the first one to move, shoving a pillow on top of her lap with a yelp.

That seems to break the spell and set things in motion. “I-I-I-I’m so, so sorry,” you finally stutter out, covering your eyes, finally looking away.

“What are you even doing in here?!” Anita almost wails.

Oh shit.

When his clouded brain finally realizes the variety of bad implications your appearance brings, he shoots a warning, pleading glare in your direction. But in your mortification, you don’t see it.

“I—I was just coming to get—” you stop, eyes darting, finally catching the wild look on his face.

Anita wiggles around him and pulls her skirt down as fast as possible. “To get what? What could you possibly need to get in Elvis’ private bedroom? You can’t just come in here!” she huffs.

There’s no way that you could know that no one enters this room without express permission, and regardless, he had told you to make yourself at home. He hadn’t been thinking when he brought Anita up here because, well, this had never been an issue before.

You look at him for guidance, but his brain is barely functioning, so he has none to give, sputtering himself. He watches the wheels turn in your brain, how you go to speak, but stop yourself when realizing you can’t reveal that you’ve likely come up to check his vitals or come to bed. Any remotely truthful response is unacceptable, and because you are indeed no actress, it all reads on your face.

Anita jumps to standing, smoothing her skirt. Her eyes narrow, darting from him to you and back again.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding!” Anita seethes, turning on him. “Elvis Presley, what have you done?”

It’s like a bucket of ice has poured over what should be post-orgasmic bliss.

“I ain’t done nothin’, I swear, Little!” he placates, throwing up his hands.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Little’ me!” she points scathingly at him. “You told me she was fixin’ to see some friends down here and y’all were doing her a favor cuz she’d helped you after you hit your head! I should’ve known. I’m such a fool.” Anita’s eyes fill with tears as she shakes her head.

“I didn’t—it’s not—,” you start, trying to salvage the situation.

“Shut your mouth and get out, you silly girl!” Anita snaps.

You look horrified, but he watches as that unshakable face you get when doing your job suddenly slides into place. The look in your eyes when they meet his is apologetic, and then you leave quietly, the door clicking shut behind you.

“This isn’t what you think, Anita.”

“Don’t. Just—don’t. I’m not an idiot, Elvis,” she says, angrily wiping tears off her cheeks. “I just knew there were others…but you were tellin’ all your stories. I just never thought you’d bring them home…”

It both breaks his heart and pisses him off.

“Aw, shit, that’s not the way it is, that’s not the way it is at all, you know how I feel about you…”

“Elvis, I know we were cool to each other last time we talked, but—but you brought home a girlfriend!”

Her tone sets something off in him, flipping that switch inside that always makes him regret his actions later. Maybe it’s because he’s exhausted, sick and because his life doesn’t feel like his own and hasn’t for a long time. Or it’s because he’s truly trapped in this situation and knows there’s next to nothing that he can say to mend this without telling the truth, and that’s out of the question. But he can’t stop the wave of heat that boils through his veins, the one that wants him to burn it all to the ground.

Elvis rounds on her, defensive as can be, the words pouring out of him before he even has a chance to think on them. “You know why—you know why I was cool to you? This very reason, right here. I-I-I-can’t talk to you hon. You mess with my damn head, man. I-I-can’t count on a decent conversation with ya. Ya start throwin’ up all kinds of shit to me. Talkin’ about ‘girlfriends’ and all that nonsense. Been the same since I landed in Germany. You’re just a fuckin nag, that’s all, you’re just a nagger that’s all.”

It's cruel and he knows it by the way she looks like she’s been slapped in the face.

“Are—are you kidding me? It’s one thing when it’s across the ocean, Elvis, but quite another when you bring one of your whores home with you and in the same breath try and seduce me!” she spits.

Irrational, red-hot anger rolls over him at that. He chuckles darkly, livid, “Oh, I didn’t try, honey, I succeeded. And you shut your damn mouth about her. Don’t you dare call her—she’s no whore.”

“Oh, please. I didn’t want to believe it when I overheard Lamar talking about walking in on you two on the train. I wanted to think that you’d left it all behind. You said as much, but you and your never-ending parade of lies…” she says, her voice pitching up and grating on his last nerve.

His jaw clenches, ticking. “Why can’t you be sweet instead of bitchin’ like an old naggin’ ass wife, huh?” he says viciously. “I can’t stand that, I can’t stand it. Baby you’ve got me crazy, you know that? You get worse a-all the damn time, a-and th-th-that’s why I—"

“If you feel so strongly, Elvis, then I—” she starts in again.

“Well, that’s the way I feel about it a-a-and y-y-y-you don’t have to be that way either. Not to the extent that you are.”

Anita tries to interject but he’s countering her every move before she can even play it. They’ve danced this dance before, enough that he knows just how far to push before he breaks her, breaks them.

And he knows that’s what he’s got to do.

“No, you don’t have to be that bad,” he says vehemently, pointing at her, silencing her. “I just know you’re gonna start throwin’ something up to me a-and I don’t wanna hear it. I’m fuckin’ exhausted and try and try to give you what you want, but it’s never enough, is it? You turn me the fuck up, you know that? All the damn time! I-I-I can’t stand it. I-I can’t stand it Anita, I swear I can’t stand it.”

“Well, if you’d do right by me, this wouldn’t be an issue!” She’s crying now, the tears running down her pretty cheeks, smearing her makeup.

Still, he charges forward, his words brutal and cutting. He wants to tell himself this is just an act, but it’s as if every ounce of frustration he’s had the past week, the past few years, is pouring out of him all at once, directed squarely right at Anita. Elvis knows there’s enough truth in all this to make it real. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he knew the moment he saw her walk in the door that this was through, that it has to be. And that makes him even angrier.

“Naw, if I saw you every damn day, you’d still start that shit.” He raises his voice, tinny and high, horribly mocking her, “’Who’d you see today? You g-got a girlfriend? I’m surprised at you, blah blah, blah,’ and all that bullshit,” he spits.

“That’s a lie!” she wails.

“Naw, it ain’t no lie. Naw, you bring it up every time I talk to you.”

“Maybe if you didn’t make me a fool by flaunting them all in front of me, in the papers and the magazines, and bringin’ your whores into the house, I wouldn’t have to bother you about it!”

There it is again—that word, associated with you, the woman who’s done nothing to deserve such slander, no matter what you have to pretend—and his heart thunders in his ears. Rage fully consumes him. He goes nearly blind with it.

“She’s not a fuckin’ whore! I want her here, and it’s MY GODDAMN HOUSE!” he screams, kicking a nearby suitcase and sending clothes flying. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his now-wheezing breath. “And I ain’t gotta justify anything to you!”

Anita looks as wrecked as he feels, but she manages to straighten and pull herself together in the heavy silence that follows his outburst. “Fine. Then you ain’t got to worry about me botherin’ you anymore, Elvis. This is over.”

There it is.

He closes his eyes as she storms out of the room, the logical, non-enraged part of him hating how he’s treated her, how he’s failed her.

It had to be done.

Letting out a choking breath, his heart feels like it’s about ready to pound out of his ribcage and race right out of his chest. His body is railing against him the way he railed against Anita.

Serves you right, you sonnofabitch.

It’s as if everything is colliding in him at once. The weight of his responsibilities coupled with that of his treacherous body on top of having to push away someone he cares for makes it all feel like much too much. A faraway feeling comes over him, as though he’s watching the way he rampages through the room, tearing through unpacked suitcases like a starving dog in a dumpster, from someone else’s eyes.

Lord, he doesn’t want to care. He desperately wants to pretend it’s all been one of his night terrors—that he’ll wake up in some bizarre place and find out the last few years, since mama died, have all been a figment of his imagination.

But no, he’s knows it’s real. It wouldn’t hurt so bad if it wasn’t. His body wouldn’t feel like this if it wasn’t true.

Racing thoughts mimic his racing heart, his labored breath: Why, God? Why am I given these trials? Is this the terrible price I gotta pay for the fame and idolatry that I never truly asked for?

Elvis hears a mournful, roaring wail before realizing it’s coming from him, that the horrible sound is emanating and rumbling out of his chest. His vision swims with tears and the room spins around him, but there is a terrifying calm in the center of this storm where he finds himself now, watching the wreckage, unable to change anything.

No one will ever understand. I am utterly…alone.

And then the hideous whisper of his self-destructive streak: Burn it all to the ground.

“Elvis!” The door flings open as you barrel through, calling his name, your eyes wide with worry.

Lamar clamors in after you, putting himself between you and Elvis. “You don’t wanna be here for this, girly,” he says, trying to push you back out.

The overwhelming churning ocean inside him agrees. He wants you nowhere near him when he’s monstrous like this. The plea starts in his head… Get out, get out, “Get out!” Elvis bellows throwing whatever is nearest to him at the wall with a crash.

You jump, wincing at the sound, but when you open your eyes, they are filled with determination and something else he can’t parse through in his state.

“Let me go!” you snap at Lamar, fiercely enough to surprise him into releasing you. Then, you are in front of Elvis, your eyes piercing through the cloud of his anger.

“No. I will not go. Elvis, look at me. I will not go.”

The room snaps back into focus so suddenly he feels whiplash.

Blinking, he flounders under your stare. Part of him is livid at your audacity, for not obeying, for simply existing because it reminds him of his dire situation. But another part is desperate for you to make this stop.

Something between a growl and a whimper escapes him as he tries to turn away, but you pull him back. Your cool hands are like aloe against his burning, sticky cheeks. He slaps your hands away, suddenly ashamed that you’ve touched the evidence of Anita’s arousal that still covers his face, that he subjected you to that intimate act, that he got off on it.

“Just leave!” he shouts, heaving, tears of frustration now spilling down his cheeks. He’s dizzy with emotion and from not being able to catch his damn breath. His knees maddeningly buckle under him, and finally, he gives in, sinking his knees into the plush carpet.

“No,” you respond calmly, coming down with him. You turn your head, addressing Lamar, “You can go.”

The quiet order you have given has Lamar leaving and shutting the door without question. If he was thinking straight, Elvis might be amazed at your confidence, but the world is still swirling like mad around him. He doesn’t want you to see him weak or feeble. He closes his eyes, wanting it all just to stop, hoping to disappear.

“Elvis. Elvis, I need you to breathe as deep as you can for me.”

Your tone has him obeying even though he feels petulant about it.

“Again. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

He does, oxygen shuddering through him.

You guide him like this for God knows how long, your presence a balm to his gaping hole of a heart. His shoulders slump and he starts to feel boneless, the fire of his anger cooling with each inhale and exhale.

Eventually, he can feel you begin to rise, and his eyes fly open in a panic. His hand grasps your arm, and he shakes his head violently.

“I’m not leaving, I’m just going to grab some things from my bag. Keep breathing.” You remove his hand gently, with a soft smile.

Elvis nods, closing his eyes again because it all still feels too big and the exhaustion he’s pushed off for too long is winning the battle. He hears rustling and the tap in the bathroom turn on, then off, before the padding of your feet on the carpet reaches him again. Sensing you before him, he opens his eyes and looks up at you mournfully through tear-soaked lashes.

You bring a dampened washcloth to his face, gently wiping away the salt of his tears and the arousal left from his romp with Anita. Then you wipe his hands, one by one. He wants to be embarrassed about it all, but all the fight has drained out of him and the action is so soothing that he can’t help but let you continue. He doesn’t deserve this quiet comfort, he thinks, yet is powerless to stop it.

“Up,” you instruct. There’s a softness to it that makes him want to do whatever you ask. You hold out your hands to help him off the ground, then wrap an arm around his middle which he is thankful for when he realizes he’s not steady on his feet. The few steps to the bed are conquered slowly and he falls to the edge quite ungracefully once you release him.

When you seem satisfied that he’s not going to slide off and back onto the floor, you pop a thermometer in his mouth and wrap a cuff around his bicep, taking to task without a fuss. He tries to not let his thoughts spiral again, focusing instead on the swish of your skirt against his knees.

“Hmm, 102.4,” you tut softly, looking down at him with compassion and an eyebrow quirk that intonates an I told you so without it being uttered. “And your blood pressure is too high. Probably from all that…exertion.”

It’s all he can do to just meet your eye, apologies for the multitude of bad behaviors you’ve witnessed tonight caught in his throat. He’s never been good at saying he’s sorry, but he wants to, he does, but he can’t seem to get anything out, much less an apology. Instead, he just looks up at you and hopes his eyes convey the words he cannot say.

You blink in response, your crinkled brow the only fissure in your currently calm exterior. Pushing it away as fast as it appeared, you reach into your bag to retrieve what looks like a bottle of aspirin, handing him two and a glass of water that you must have gotten from the bathroom.

“Swallow those down, and then let’s get you into some pajamas and into bed,” you say, looking at him for guidance on where his pajamas might reside.

He points to the set of drawers across the room. Popping the pills in his mouth, the taste is acrid on his tongue, and he washes them down quickly with the water.

There is something about how you’ve taken over the situation so deftly and completely that has Elvis at your mercy. No one, not even his mama, was ever very good at bringing him down from his bouts of temper, his explosive emotions usually being too big for anyone to handle. But somehow, you employed such a calming presence that he almost wonders if you hypnotized him.

Regardless, you hadn’t run in the opposite direction or turned into a trembling mess before him, and this shocks him, based on what he knows of you and knows of those unfortunate enough to be subjected to his temper. He has not scared you away, and that is something strange indeed.

A sudden and unwavering need for you courses through his tired body and weary soul. It’s different from his attraction to you, something more. It makes him feel raw, vulnerable, and a little afraid at how deeply he craves comfort from you, how he wants to anchor himself to you because he feels so adrift.

Perhaps this is why he gives himself over to your firm but quiet orders, finally deferring to you in a way that is both relieving and disconcerting because he feels so damn small. But he’s just so drained and worn and for once, doesn’t want to be in charge anymore.

His shoulders slump and his limbs feel heavy, so he does not resist when you begin to strip him of his top layers. In fact, the only help he gives is to lift his leaden arms to allow you to pull his sweater up and off, leaving him bare-chested before you. He finds himself desiring the intimacy of letting you take care of him, watching you sleepily through heavy lidded eyes as you move around him. The feel of your fingers brushing lightly against him when you lean close to remove the medallion from around his neck sends his heart fluttering.

You are singularly focused on doing your job, that professional concentration of yours playing over your features, assisting you in your goal of getting him comfortable and resting. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’ve helped others like this in your work based on your deftness, despite your lack of experience with men in general, but part of him wishes he were special—that he alone receives this level of care from you. The possessiveness of the thought swims away and he’s left feeling glad there are no expectations of him, other than to let you work. He relishes in this, letting you maneuver him like a child into his dark, silky pajama top. Frankly, he feels nearly catatonic, so your assistance is both necessary and pacifying.

It's when you undo his belt that a sense of bashfulness heats his cheeks. He’s not wearing any underwear, but that’s the least of his worries. No, it’s the fact that, in his burst of dramatic temper, he had forgotten he came in his pants, causing a sticky, musky mess from his waist to his knee. He only has time to suck in a sharp breath before you’ve already made quick work of his buttons and zipper.

Oh, God.

Elvis’ entire body flushes pink and he bites his lower lip with enough force to draw blood. But you are too engrossed in your task to catch his sudden embarrassment, and you manage to unearth the mess before he has a chance to stop you. He’s gotta give you credit in that you only pause for a moment, almost immediately reaching for the discarded washcloth from earlier and handing it to him wordlessly before continuing with your job of removing his soiled slacks leg by leg. The only hint that belies your composure is the bit of red that tinges your cheeks quite abruptly, but otherwise, you show no reaction to his nakedness or the mess.

Grateful that your eyes are actively avoidinghow he’s frantically wiping his pecker and surrounding areas, he forces his slow and heavy limbs to move as fast as possible. It proves difficult in his unwell state, and by the time he finishes, you are already pulling legs of his pajamas up his knees. You are so efficient that he barely has time to balk at the fact that you are between his legs and eye level with his bareness before he’s raising his hips and you are slipping the silk up to his waist.

A deep relief washes over him, not just for his modesty, but because he feels like he can truly rest for the first time in a long time. For some reason, with you here, he finally feels safe to do so. There is something incredibly soothing in having you take care of him like this. He’s not sure why he ever tried to fight it in the first place.

“Time to sleep,” you say gently, pulling back the covers on the bed.

Elvis is so drowsy and needy that he very much wants to surround himself in your soft embrace and finds himself unable to resist doing so. He unabashedly throws his arms around your hips, drawing you close, and buries his head into your stomach.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly in surprise, tensing under his sudden and intimate touch.

He does not relent, however, only nuzzling deeper into your body and pulling you in between his legs to bring you closer. This need of his to be held and coddled is strong on a good day, and right now it takes over what little is left of his conscious thought. The security of your soft, nurturing warmth is all he craves.

You relax, seeming to realize his intentions are pure, and Elvis feels your fingers begin to cart through his hair and rub his back. He sighs into it. It’s better for him than any medicine and that scares him a little. How could it not when he barely knows you? Yet you manage to soothe something deep inside him that no one else can seem to reach. Maybe he can’t stop thinking about you because you are meant for more in his life.

God has a plan…

The thought settles pleasantly, deep within the recesses of his mind. As you lay him down, covering him with the duvet and he drifts into sleep, he snuggles into the safety of knowing he is in your capable, beautiful hands.

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topazy · 1 year

Text

Tomorrow’s promise

Paring: Shane Walsh x reader, Rick Grimes x sister reader

Warnings: Mentions if vomit

Chapter: 2.02

You closed the door quietly behind you and tiptoed into the living room while clutching the baby monitor to your ear. Hearing a chuckling noise, you look across the room and see Shane smiling at you, shaking his head before turning to face the TV again.

“That’s him finally asleep,” you whisper. Shane gently pulls you down towards him so you're sitting in his lap. He runs his finger over your shoulder with his free hand while his other hand holds his beer. He didn’t often drink, only when he was watching a football game. “Who’s winning?”

“I've got no idea,” he kisses the back of your shoulder. “I was too busy watching you in mom mode.”

You roll your eyes and say, “I was hardly in mom mode, just aunt Lily mode.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he chuckled. “One of these, you're going to be begging me to have one of our own.”

You smile and say nothing else, knowing that you can’t share your biggest fear with Shane. You were afraid you weren’t cut out to be a mom. You loved Carl, but you weren’t sure if you could be a parent.

“Do you want me to take him for a moment?”

“No, I’m good.”

You were walking at the back of the group while gently rocking Jace, who had just stopped crying. Luckily, only one walker was attracted by his screaming, and Daryl shot it in the head with an arrow before it got close enough to bite anyone.

Lori lets out a frustrated sigh, “You're covered in vomit.”

“And dirt, blood, and probably piss as well. But like I said, I’m good.”

“You're being ridiculous, I’m his auntie,” she looks ahead to make sure nobody else is paying attention to your conversation. “Are we going to address the elephant in the room?”

“Carol’s daughter is missing. Once we’ve found her. Shane, Rick, and Carl are back safe, sure. We can address you, fucking Shane.”

You watch as Lori’s jaw clenches as she struggles for a comeback. Maybe it was petty to hold a grudge during an apocalypse, but Lori being the person Shane slept with hurt more than any pain you’ve felt before, and the worst part was she didn’t seem to care.

“For God's sake, Lily, at times you behave like a child-” Lori is cut off by a gunshot in the distance.

—

The rest of the walk through the wooded area was mostly in silence since the gunshot. Something felt off, everyone was acting more tense. It reminded you of the feeling you’d get watching a horror film, when you're waiting for the killer to pop up.

“Are you still worrying about it?” Andrea asks when Lori stops walking to look back in the direction you’ve come.

“It was a gunshot.”

Daryl nods in agreement, “We all heard it.”

“Why one? Why just one gunshot?”

Seeing the genuine panic on her face, you decide to say something. “I don’t think it was them. Neither Rick nor Shane would fire a bullet out in the open like that, it would make too much noise, and they wouldn’t risk it.”

“Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?” Carol asks.

“There’s nothing we can do about it anyway,” Daryl says calmly. “I can’t run around these woods chasing echoes.”

Lori raises her eyebrows, “so what do we do?”

“Same as we have been doing. Beat the bush for Sophia, work out a way back to the highway.”

Agreeing with Daryl, you start to walk forward again, you only look back when you notice him marching towards Carol, who had started to cry when Andrea said she was praying for her little girl. “I’ll tell you what it’s worth... not a damn thing. It’s a waste of time, all this hoping and praying. We’re going to locate that little girl, and she’s going to be just fine. Am I the only one zen around here? Good lord.”

You do your best to stifle a laugh at the last part, despite how rough he may look and sound, Daryl was all heart. He just didn’t want anyone else to know it.

—

“Oh my god, Jacey, for a boy who doesn’t eat a lot, you sure are sick a lot,” you mumble while stopping to unstrap Jace from your chest.

You pull off the shirt you are wearing and toss it to the ground, leaving you in just a vest top. With Jace safely back in his harness, you start to catch up with the others, and you notice Andrea has walked away from the rest of the group. You look around until you spot her swatting at flies while two walkers creep up on her, “Andrea get down!”

You pull the gun from your belt and fire three bullets. The first two only grazed the walker, but the third struck him in the head.

While you shot the first walker, Andrea tried to run away but fell to the ground with the second walker only inches away from her.

You watch as a woman with short brown hair rides up on a horse and hits the walker in the head with a wooden baseball bat. The brunette looks between you all, “Lori? Lori Grimes?”

“I’m Lori.”

“Rick sent me, you’ve got to come now.”

“What?” She asks, confused.

“There’s been an accident, Carl's been shot. He's still alive, but you’ve got to come now.”

Lori freezes on the spot as she tries to process what she’s just been told. You place your hand on her back and say, “You need to go with her; go to Carl.”

She snaps out of her trance and throws her backpack on the ground, then gets on the horse, much to Daryl’s dislike. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We don’t know this girl. You can’t get on that horse.”

“Rick said you had others on the highway, the big traffic snarl? Backtrack to Fairburn Road Two miles down is our farm, you’ll see the mailbox, whose name is Greene.” She says this before quickly speeding off on her horse with Lori.

You reach your hand out and help Andrea to her feet, asking, “Are you okay?”

She pats herself down and says, “I’m fine, and Carl's going to be just fine as well.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod. “We should keep going if we want to make it to the farm before nightfall.” You spin around, trying to remember what direction you were going in. “Which way is it again?”

Glenn, Andrea, and Carol all gave you a sympathetic look instead of answering your question. Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and said, “This way.”

—

You tried to make sense of Carl being shot. You understand how serious the situation is, but you can’t grasp the fact that he could die. You didn’t want to. He was just a child, still just a baby in your eyes, and none of you could let him go.

“Is she okay?” Dale asks, looking in your direction.

“She’s still in shock, poor thing,” Andrea sighs. “But I’m in, I’ll stay here as well.”

Your eyes widened at the last part, you’d completely zoned out and missed the conversation that was taking place. “Sorry, what’s happening?”

Dale informs you of their plan. “Me, Daryl, and Andrea are going to stay with Carol in the RV tonight in case Sophia returns.”

“That's a good idea. I just need to grab a couple of things and head to the farm. I’m assuming he’s coming with me?” You ask quietly, pointing at T-Dog, who was slumped down on the ground with his back against a broken-down car.

The older man nodded and said, “Glenn will go with you. You can take Carol’s Cherokee.”

Glenn shook his head, understandably not happy about needing to leave the RV, he’d become attached to it.

You reach for him subconsciously and grab his hand and say, “Please, come with us. I don’t know if I’d be able to protect Jace and T-Dog on my own if I run into walkers.”

Reluctantly, he agreed, “How bad is he?”

“That cut has gone from bad to worse. He has a very serious blood infection,” Dale says seriously. “Get him to that farm and see if they have any antibiotics. Because if not, T-Dog will die, no joke.”

You watch as Daryl walks over to his motorbike and pulls a couple of dirty rags off it before pulling out a plastic bag full of pills. He tosses the rag at Dale, saying, “Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle. Why’d you wait until now to say anything? I got my brother's stash. Crystal, X. You don’t need that. I got some kickass painkillers. Oxycyline. Not the generic stuff either, it’s first class. Merle got the clap on occasion.”

On any other day you would have laughed at his clap comment, but instead you picked up the drugs Daryl had left out and handed them to Glenn, “You want to help T-Dog and I’ll get our stuff?”

“I’ve already got it.”

You spin back around to see Daryl holding yours and Glenn’s backpacks. He had moved so fast, you hadn’t even noticed him going inside the RV and back out. You reach for the bags and say, “Thanks.”

He holds onto them while walking towards Carol's car. “I’ve got them…you’ve already got a heavy load on you anyway.”

“What a gentleman,” Andrea scoffs.

You watch as Daryl tosses the bags into the back seat, “hope that had nothin fragile in them.”

Once you check that Jace didn’t need to be changed, you step into the front passenger seat at the same time T climbs into the back. You felt bad that Glenn was leaving with you when he didn't want to, but what you said before was the truth. If, for any reason, you were surrounded, you didn't think you were a good enough fighter to protect yourself, your son, and T-Dog.

Glenn began to talk as he drove away from the highway and towards the farm, but nothing he said made any sense to you; the reality of what was happening was finally kicking in. It must've been an illusion, some trick of the mind, that was blocking you from the overwhelming feeling of grief and pain over your nephew being so close to death, even though you had every faith he’d pull through.

To make matters worse, you had a gut feeling this was just the beginning and the bad things would just keep coming.

#The walking dead #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #fear the walking dead fandom #fear the walking dead fanfict #Shane Walsh #daryl dixion #TWD #lori grimes #rick grimes sister #rick grimes x reader #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead x reader #Shane Walsh/you #Shane Walsh/reader #tomorrow’s promise

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yloiseconeillants · 13 days

Note

13. List 5 OTPs from past fandoms

good lord, my OTHER INTERESTS? on this tumblr? I'm trying to figure out if I have five Fandoms that I not only Participated In but like, shipped something wherein to where I could call it an otp. So this is not necessarily, like, my Top Ships of All Time from other media so much as like, the ones where I actually interacted with other human beings:

Dark Shadows: this was my last ~fandom that I actually participated in, like, a decade ago, and I need you to know that I have SO MANY CHARTS like look at this shit

It's a gothic soap opera that spans multiple time frames and realities so settling on like, one pairing is difficult but God Whatever Was Happening With Parallel Time Carolyn and Will Loomis was so heinous and intriguing. They're married! They are deeply disappointed in each other's choices and are actively cruel to each other as they drift apart! They are suddenly allies when a vampire fucks their lives up! They are learning to care about each other again when one of them is killed! How to navigate any of that emotionally?!! Like yes they suck but god damn that is compelling.

Uh. I was a Homestuck once upon a time and I thought Roxy/Eridan would have been really funny (wwizards!). Don't f ucking look at me it was 2012.

Lost was a fandom I was in also, and I like, am absolutely struggling to think of anything that I *shipped* while I was watching it aside from like Juliet/Happiness (augh). Uh. Sun/Jin? I'm sorry I'm so bad at this-

Tron: BABY'S FIRST POLYSHIPPING EXTRAVAGANZA

ram/everyone

alan/lori/roy (popcorn coworker)/popcorn (flynn can stay home)

dillinger/his desk

LISTEN. everything in tron is shippable if you believe. i can't remember anything about the sequel except daft punk but you know what fuck it we can ship the french robots too

I made a Doctor Who fanmix once so I guess that counts even though I haven't watched it in like a decade even though Peter Capaldi is one of my favorite actors I just. I don't have the attention span for Doctor Who Any more ANYWAY Madame Vastra and Jenny HELLO.

thank you for the ask, apologies for my answers

(shipping asks)

#this is literally the first time i've participated in a fandom like this lmao #aside from dark shadows but again

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valen-3o · 6 days

Note

Ok I have a bunch of characters in mind for the ask game no 1 Carol (if I have to answer it so do you)

oh you did not. /lh but I shall:

First impression

click clacky u gave me the hibbity jippites (ep 5 has left a mark) but such a girlboss

Impression now

lowkey need to catch up with corollary before I answer this one 😭

Favorite thing about that character

her and annex's silly bickering

Least favorite thing about that character

what they did to neighbour and randi.

Favorite interaction that character has had with another

DINAH.

A character I wish that character would interact with more

lori, oh good lord, lori.

A head-cannon I have about that character

if she ever gets the time to rest (highly doubt it) she does grandma like activities.

A song that reminds me of that character

nothing comes to mind all honesty 😭

An unpopular opinion I have about that character

she takes things a bit to far sometimes, thats its a bit unlikable 😗

Favorite picture

this emo by @echovale052 /pos

#ask game #corollary carol #corollary series #echovale 💖

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lu-vin-it · 1 year

Text

3 | Letters From the Living

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Series Masterlist

Summary: You've always loved journaling. It's a hobby you keep even after the world turns upside down.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon × Reader

Pronouns Used: None

Word Count: 1,830

Warnings: Death, typical twd stuff

A/N: Ty @stqrluvr for proofreading ily sm!

It’s been about two weeks since my last entry. I’m sorry, but we haven’t found a single place for shelter and, no offense, I don’t really want the group knowing I have you. I know for a fact some would snoop. Especially Jen. There isn’t much to tell you, we’re hungry, and we’re traveling slowly. Anyways, I’m exhausted, so goodnight. I’ll write to you if something happens or I get bored. Bye.

Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Beth, Rick, Lori, Carl, Carol, T-Dog, Carol, Sophia, Jenny

It’s been three weeks (I think) since my last entry. Nothing new, but I’m bored. It’s starting to get chilly. I’m really nervous for winter. What the hell are we gonna do when it snows?? I don’t even want to think about it… Jenny and Beth have been talking a lot. They seem to have become best friends very quickly. I honestly thought Sophia would be mad about it, but she seems preoccupied with Carl. I think she has a crush on him. Speaking of crushes… I think I have one on Daryl Dixon. I think he has one on Carol. I’m trying not to be sad about it but sometimes I think they can tell. I’ve sorta been trying to distance myself from everyone. I want to avoid close relationships if possible so that I won’t be so upset when they die. Okay, this has gotten depressing. I’m going to bed.

Same survivors.

It’s been a while. Not sure how long exactly, but it’s winter. It has been for a couple of weeks. Today we had the first snowfall. The kids were ecstatic. All of us adults are worried. I’m honestly terrified that one of us is going to get frostbite and die at night when no one knows and then they’ll turn into a walker and they’ll kill us all. Dude. I need to chill. What is wrong with me???? I think I need to go on a run at a CBD store. One of those ones that sells delta 8 or 9 or something. Joking. I don’t know why I clarified I was joking. I mean… you’re me. I’m you. You knew I was joking. How silly of me. Okay. That was the update. I’m going crazy. Bye.

Same survivors.

Lori is so pregnant. Her belly is fucking humongous. Pregnancy is crazy (emphasis on the a in crazy). Anywho, guess what I did today? You’ll never guess!! I went hunting with Daryl Dixon! I’m squealing. He’s so kind (to me, not to rabbits, dear lord that man is NOT kind to rabbits). I love him. Well, I don’t LOVE him but I love him, you know? Yeah, you know. Sometimes when I’m writing this I feel like a high schooler again. This is one of those times.

On a more serious note, it’s been a while since I last wrote. So long that it is now spring and the snow is melting. The winter was rough. We barely had enough food, and I think we all had a few brushes with death. To be honest, I forgot about you for a bit. Everything was stressing me out and I was going nuts trying to distance myself from people I should be pulling closer. Daryl helped me see that. He pulled me aside one day and said “What the hell is wrong with you? You used to be all… nice and talkative and now you’re all meh!” Okay he didn’t say those EXACT words but that’s what I heard. I’m reading in between the lines. Oh dear I have to go, Jenny wants me to do her hair.

Same survivors.

I went hunting with Daryl again. It was romantic. Nothing like watching a man sniff things and listening to him yell at you for stepping on a twig and scaring birds. He can yell at me all he wants as long as he looks at me with those beautiful eyes afterward. Ugh. I would write down my real thoughts about him if I weren’t so terrified someone will find this… they’re mostly rated R if you know what I mean. Okay, enough sillyness. Everyone is doing good. Daryl has been going hunting a lot, he either goes alone or with Rick or I. Usually me (suck on that rick). I’m starting to think perhaps he does have a crush on me. I love saying crush. It makes me feel like a kid, I giggle to myself everytime I write it down. We’re all doing pretty well. Lori is still very pregnant. Okay, gotta go, bye.

Same Survivors

We found somewhere!!! Rick and Daryl were out hunting when they came across a prison!!! We cleared out a cellblock and we’re gonna stay here for a while. I really think this could be good. Clearing out the cellblock was tricky though. We almost lost Maggie and Hershel got bit. Rick cut off his leg and he’s been doing okay, he hasn’t woken up though. Also, there were 5 prisoners in the cafeteria (which we also cleared) who were waiting for help. They didn’t even know about walkers. Can you believe that?

Anyways, Jen and I have our own cell (with mattresses!!!) It's nice. I have the bottom bunk, she has the top. Speaking of Jenny, she’s really happy I think. She’s been talking to Beth a lotttt. I think she has a thing for her, not gonna lie. I’m just happy she’s happy. She’s been taking everything better than expected. I’ve been trying to teach her more about firearms and stuff. I want her to be prepared if the time ever comes where she’s separated from me. Obviously, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen but you never know. Anyways, I’m exhausted, I’ll write to you later.

Same Survivors

Some bad news and some good news. Hershel woke up, and he’s all well. But T-Dog and Carol are dead. They got locked in a cell block full of walkers. I haven’t really written much about it but Carol was my best friend. I’m devastated. Sophia is sleeping in Jenny’s bed now and Jenny is sharing mine with me. I’m doing my best to help her cope but she isn’t taking this well. She started calling me Mom/Dad and it’s almost like she doesn’t even remember Carol ever existing in the first place. I’m worried. Daryl isn’t taking the news well either. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see that. Also, Lori died giving birth. Carl had to kill her. Rick is taking it awfully. The baby, whom we’ve named little asskicker, is alive and well, thank god. Anyways, I have to go, Jen is about to come in for bed.

Rick, Carl, Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Glenn, Jenny, Sophia, Little Asskicker

Rick is going crazy. He cleared an entire cellblock on his own. I’m really worried for him. And now that I’m the only adult with a kid (Jen isn’t even my kid, she’s just my sister) who’s sane, everyone is dropping their kids with me. I now have two mattresses on the floor of my cellblock where Carl and baby Judith (Little asskicker) sleep next to Sophia. Jenny brought them in here, I think she was tired of sharing with me. Thankfully, Beth takes care of Judith during the day and Daryl usually watches over Carl. But I’m still taking care of Sophia and Jen 24/7. I have to go, it’s lunchtime!

Same survivors.

You’ll never guess what Daryl found. He found Carol. Alive and well. She locked herself in a closet after T-Dog died. He saw her knife in a walker and I guess he just had a bad idea about it all. Sophia was so happy, so am I. I’m not kidding when I say it’s only a few hours after I wrote my last entry. I have to go now.

Same Survivors

If you’re standing up while reading this, sit down. The past few days have been a lot. Maggie and Glenn were kidnapped by Merle Dixon, you might remember him from the quarry, he’s Daryl’s brother. We know this because a woman named Michonne showed up at the prison gates and told us she witnessed it. She showed us where the place they were taken was (it’s a town, a whole town, called Woodboury.) While rescuing them, Daryl and I were kidnapped. Daryl and Merle were thrown into an arena and basically forced to fight to the death. Then Daryl came and broke me out.

We walked for a while before I realized that we weren’t going back to the prison. They weren’t going to return to the group and just decided not to tell me? Daryl promised once they found us some shelter he would bring me back, I believe him, but Merle was being an ass. We came across a group and Daryl helped them (it was really hot) and then Merle started being the racist asshole he is and I shit you not, with one look, Daryl and I just turned away from him and started walking away. We made it back to the prison and we locked Merle up.

Anyways, when we got to the prison, the Governor from Woodboury had just left. There were walkers everywhere. Axel, one of the prisoners who were already at the prison, died. We’re all safe, for now. The group is divided, some think we should leave and the rest of us think we should stand our ground. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to us.

On a different note (I know, this entry is long as fuck), Daryl and I kissed. When he broke me out of Woodboury he kissed me. And we held hands. And I’m very happy. He makes me feel so safe. Ugh. It’s disgusting. Okay. Bye.

Same Survivors

So… a lot happened. Long story short, we met up with the governor and he wanted Michonne. We decided not to give her over but then Merle took things into his own hands and brought her, he changed his mind halfway through but he was killed. The Governor then swarmed the prison, but we scared them and when his army refused to return, he started killing them. We went back to Woodboury to get the citizens and take them into the prison. There we found Andrea bitten. We held hands and cried like little bitches. She apologized to us and then killed herself. It hasn’t really sunk in, but I think the fact that I already grieved her once is going to help.

Since we have too many people for me to write down.. instead of me just saying “same survivors”, I’m going to start putting the names of anyone who died at the bottom.

Also, Daryl and I kissed again. And we fell asleep in a watch tower together. It was really sweet. Best I’ve slept in a while. I really like him. Okay. Bye.

Same Survivors

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon series #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fic #twd x reader

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scarisd3ad · 1 year

Text

To the end and back | Daryl Dixon x reader

Chapter nine - call it what you want

Previous >> next

Masterlist

Taglist

Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

Warnings - regular twd warnings

'Cherokee rose'

Season 2 ep4

we woke up really early today, packed up the rv, left a sign for Sophia with food, and then left. "Be careful" I whisper, Daryl and I stood behind the rv, talking quietly. "I will" Daryl says with a nod before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "Hey Daryl, I hav-" I was about to ask, I really was but I was cut off by dale.

"y/n! Daryl! you ready."

I let out a quiet groan of frustration before walking back around to the other side of the rv, and getting in. I take a seat at the table and place both my elbows on it. the drive was short, there were a couple of times we turned down the wrong road and got lost but we fixed the problem quickly. we pull up to a farm, practically in the middle of nowhere. the only things around it are fields of grass and woods. the main house is pretty big. bigger house than I've ever lived in.

when we all get out of the cars rick, and Lori are walking out of the house. I run up to the both of them and hug Lori. "Is he alright?" I ask in a whispered tone. "he'll pull through" Lori replies with a nod. I pull away "thanks to Hershel and his people." Lori says turning her head back towards an older man and a blonde lady. "And Shane, we'd have lost carl if not for him" rick adds. Shane now has a shaved head and is wearing close at least 2 sizes too big for him. he should've kept the hair. dale hugs rick and carol hugs Lori "thank god we were so worried" she whispers. were all hugging and greeting each other like we didn't just see each other all yesterday. the next person I'm hugging is Glenn. I'm holding onto him as tight as I can. I really can't live without him. "Thought you forgot me" he whispers with a laugh. "I missed you" I whisper as I bury my head in the crook of his neck. "Missed you too" he replies.

"how'd it happen?" dale asks rick. "Hunting accident. that's all- just a stupid accident" rick replies.

we all attend the funeral of who I learned died while going out with Shane to get supplies. Shane says the guy named Otis sacrificed himself. but the look on Shane's face says otherwise. each of us add a rock to pay our respects.

"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 has this look on his face the entire time that just gives away that He's lying. I don't understand why nobody else sees it. "Shane, will you speak for Otis?" Hershel asks. Shane looks like he just shit his pants. "I'm not good at it." Shane responds quickly. "I'm sorry" he whispers as he shakes his head. "You were the last one with him. you shared his final moments." cries a lady named Patricia. "Please. I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning" cries the lady. Shane stands there his mouth gaping open. "okay" he whispers. he looks around thinking about what to say "we were about done.... almost out of ammo. we were down to pistols by then. I was limpin', it was bad.... ankle all swollen up 'we got to 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...." Shane begins to limp towards the large pile of rocks "if not for Otis" he takes a rock out of the wheelbarrow "I'd have never made it out alive. and that goes for carl too. it was Otis. he saved us both. if any death had meaning, it was his." then he placed the rock in the pile. the man was a good liar, I'd give that to him. that was an amazing story he just told there, but it wasn't the truth. I spent the last few months getting to know him, he was like family up until a few days ago. I knew him, he knew me. and I knew he was lying. I'd take that to my grave.

Daryl, Shane, Andrea, rick, Hershel, and I are gathered around a car talking about Sophia, plans and stuff. I was going to be a part of the search for Sophia no matter how much Daryl disliked it. Sophia and her mother were family too me now and God dammit if I didn't put my whole being into finding her. It wouldn't be right if I didn't. "How long has this girl been lost?" asks Hershel. "this'll be day three" rick replies as Hershel's daughter Maggie walks up with a map. she spreads it across the hood of the car "county survey map. shows terrain and elevations." she says "this is perfect. we can finally get this thing organized." rick says as Maggie places three rocks on the map to keep it down. "we'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams." rick says "not you. not today. you gave three units of blood. you wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out." Hershel says to rick before turning his head towards Shane. "And your ankle, push it now, you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody." Hershel says. we're out 2 and we need people searching so Daryl can't even say no to me helping.

"So, I guess it's just me, I'm gonna head back to the creek, work my way up from there" Daryl says leaning over and tracing it over with his finger. "What about me?" I ask with my brows furrowed. after a bunch of convincing Daryl agreed to me going, he can't just go back on his word. "you're not comin' stay here with Glenn. help him or somethin' it's not safe" I let out a groan and cross my arms. "You said I could help" before turning around and marching off towards Glenn. I can hear Daryl let out a frustrated sigh behind me, but he said I could go! it's not like he's my boyfriend or my husband and even if he was, he still wouldn't have the authority to boss me around. Glenn can tell I'm frustrated "what's wrong?" he asks. "He won't let me go!" I groan, "He's just bossin' me around telling me it's not safe and shit. it's not like he's my dad. it just wasn't like this before y'know." Glenn has a smirk on his face, I roll my eyes "what's so funny?" I ask, "maybe its cause I don't know...he cares about you?" he says with a laugh. I roll my eyes. "I know he cares doofus" I say. "It just doesn't mean he can boss me around." I say crossing my arms and leaning against the tree next to me. he rolls his eyes as he continues working on whatever he's working on "what are we 15 I haven't been called a doofus since I was in high school" he laughs. "Why do you even want go with him anyways" I don't reply just stare. I want to go because I won't feel safe here without him. even though Hershel says it is secured I still won't feel safe unless I know Daryl's here. I know very sappy but that's how I feel. "I don't feel safe without Daryl here" I whisper. Glenn smiles "aww. you like him don't you?" I nod slowly "good cause he does too" I scoff "how do you know that?"

"He told me and t-dog, that night at the CDC." I didn't even think he'd remember that shit all four of us were drunk out of our minds. Maggie, Hershel's daughter walks up to Glenn. he turns his head towards her mouth gaping open. he likes her, or at least thinks she's pretty. I can tell. "I'm gonna go talk to Daryl" I say walking away. I walk towards Daryl whose getting ready to leave. "I already said no" he says as soon as I'm close enough for me hear him. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Please...Daryl. I just- I just don't feel safe here without you" I say whispering the last part as I look up at him. he just stares at me processing what I had just said. "rick'll be here. and Hershel says the farm is secured." I shake my head putting on some puppy dog eyes that never failed me when I was younger. "But Daryl I only feel safe with you. I can help...please?" he sighs and rubs his face with his hand "it's not safe out there."

"please" I whisper again.

he lets out a groan "fine, but you have to hold your own I'm not goin' to be the only one lookin' for Sophia" I roll my eyes, why wouldn't I be looking for Sophia? if he didn't let me go with him, I would definitely be going out by myself. "I will, thanks Daryl. I'll go grab my bag." I run off towards the rv and quicky run back towards Daryl who's talking to rick near the front of Hershel's house. "I thought you were going by yourself?" rick says with his brows furrowed up in confusion. "I decided I might need a little help" Daryl mutter "we could send Andrea with you-"

"no just y/n. we'll be fine" Daryl says cutting rick off.

we start our journey into the forest. I've got my gun clutched in my hand as we walk slowly through the overgrown grass, and branches. Daryl's in front of me with his crossbow ready to shoot. "You should teach me how to use that thing one day" I say quietly. "Yeah, one day" Daryl replies.

about hour into our search, we come across a house that's been very overgrown. it had to been abandoned way longer than when the outbreak first happened. Daryl takes off his crossbow and takes an arrow out of the front of his crossbow "stay behind me" he says as he continues walking towards the house. "mkay" I mutter. he kicks the front door open and examines the area before continuing into the house slowly. the old wooden floor creaks under our steps as we walk further into the house. Daryl turns the corner into the first room, makes sure there's no one in it and continues onto the next. no one. he goes onto the next, and also there's no one. next we go into a kitchen like area. there's no one in there but there is a trashcan with a somewhat recent opened can of fish. Daryl sniffs at it before pouring it out back into the trashcan. that opened can just gave me the little hope I needed that Sophia could be alive. yeah, it could've been anyone who opened that can but the only other people alive we've seen out here have been the people at Hershel's farm, and the other one is Sophia well at least we hope Sophia's alive. Daryl looks up and notices a brown door just open the tiniest bit. "Stay behind me" he whispers as he raises his bow. he walks closer to the door, the wood creaking under his feet. then he pulls the door open, keeping a great distance between himself and the door. it just ends up being a pantry. a pantry that had a pillow and a blanket on the floor. it looked like someone had been hiding out in this house. "You think Sophia's been here?" I asked quietly. "It could've been anybody" he mutters before we turn around and head out.

"Sophia!" shouts Daryl as we walk out of the house. "Sophia!" I call out. "Sophia!" Daryl shouts again as he walks around checking out every side of the house just in case she's passed out against a wall. Daryl walks over to a flower; a Cherokee rose to be specific. he kneels down next to it looking at it. "whatcha lookin' at?" I ask "flower..." he mutters to himself. it's only a singular one. I haven't seen flowers in ages. god I barely remember what a red rose looks like. "it's pretty" I whisper. Daryl nods. I decide to pick it, for Sophia, when we find her. she told me awhile back, when I first met her how much she liked flowers. I knew she'd appreciate it. I put it my bag carefully before we head back to Hershel's farm.

"Daryl?" I whisper, we've been walking for about 20 minutes. "Hm?" he hums in response. "What are we?" I ask. he turns his head towards me with his brows furrowed "what'd ya mean?" I let out a quiet sigh. "Never mind" I whisper. "no tell me." I let out a barely audible sigh before saying "like what are we? relationship wise" he shrugs in response "whatever you want us to be sunshine."

"What do you want us to be?" I ask with my brows furrowed. Daryl stops and turns around towards me. "Do you want to be my-" Daryl cuts me off.

"Yeah sure" he says before turning back around and continuing on walking.

when we arrive back at Hershel's farm I volunteer to go and talk to carol. I walk into the rv where carol was. Shes in the bedroom. the rv is quiet and way cleaner as I walk through to the back of the rv. she looks up at me "I cleaned up, I wanted it to be nice for her" she says softly. "For a second I thought I was in the wrong place" I whisper. she lets out a quiet laugh through her nose. I open my bag up and presented the flower to her. "a flower?" she asks cocking her head to the side.I nod. "I picked it for Sophia when we find her. she told me how much she liked flowers awhile back so I...y'know" I whisper. she's got tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry carol...for how harsh I was last night. you know I never meant to hurt your feelings, right?" she shakes her head lightly "you didn't hurt my feelings y/n. you were just trying to protect the others" she says as she stands up pulling me into a hug. "I checked the highway...she wasn't there" carol says through tears. "sh..she wasn't there. I miss her so much" carol cries. I rub small circles into her back. "I do too. I'll find her I promise."

I decide to visit carl for the first time. he's laid in a bed with a gauze wrapped around his torso. "y/n?" rick is passed out in the chair next to him. Lori said he's been giving blood like crazy. "Yeah, it's me buddy" I whisper as I kneeled down next to the bed. "Mom said you went to look for Sophia?" I nod "yeah I did." he gives me a weak smile "did you find her?" he asks I shake my head "no..I didn't but Daryl and I we're lookin', and I promise we'll find her" he nods in response "I know you will."

"I'm kinda like you and my dad now, y'know we all got shot" I laugh he's right; we've all been shot. "Yeah kinda" I say reaching over and ruffling his hair. when rick wakes up, I decide to leave give then some father son time.

when I am exiting the house Glenn is standing on the porch seemingly waiting for me. as soon as he sees me, he blurts out "I had sex with Maggie" my jaw drops in shook "what the fuck?" I whisper. "Seriously?" I ask, he has to be lying. I knew he had the hots for her, but I didn't know he'd go straight to sex! "Yeah, when we went out to the pharmacy" I quietly laugh "seriously in a pharmacy? with a bunch of walkers around?" he nods slowly "I'm going to bed. I think I need to after hearing that" I reply as I walk away from Glenn. I didn't want to hear that; I didn't ever want to know that.

when I go to grab my tent to set up for the night Daryl stops me. "You can share with me. y'know cause mine is bigger." I nod following him towards his tent.

he holds me close to his chest as we both try falling asleep. it had been a long day I knew I'd be out fast. his chin rested against the top of my head. "Daryl?" I whisper. "Hm?" he's half asleep, I decide not to mess with him now "never mind" I whisper as I close my eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

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