#that sounds fucked up but i mean carl was like a son so

[careol]

we deserved more in depth reactions about carl...

#* &. i'm gay for melissa / ooc. #like i wanted to see carol break down #that sounds fucked up but i mean carl was like a son so #you know if we're gonna go ahead and make her suffer child loss all the time anyway #why not have her react to that too

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 29

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Slightly graphic depictions of labor and childbirth A/N: Maybe a cliffhanger. Maybe not. You'll have to read to find out! ;) Daryl is definitely ooc in this. I'm sorry, I tried to get as close as I could to how he might react. Also, the saying he uses is one we use in the south that means "how is that relevant?" You'll know it when you read it, lol.

“About 4cm now. Progressing nicely.” Hershel informed, wiping his hands on a cloth that Carol had provided. 

Rick and T-Dog were out doing yet another night run in the van. It was also low on fuel but the map showed another town close by. Fuel, gloves, and other necessities were on the list. Glenn was on watch with Daryl for backup if anything happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it couldn’t be helped.

Thumper was calling the shots at that point. 

Before the men had left, Daryl had confiscated all the blankets except for those that were for Lori and Carl. When Glenn began to complain, one look from the anxiety-driven archer had brought the young man very close to hiding behind Rick. While some blankets were used for your comfort, others were fashioned into a tent-like structure over the bare branches of a decently sized bush. You needed some sense of privacy. 

Carol and Lori had dug through the maternity clothes that hadn’t been lost on the road and found a button up dress. It was comfortable and made things much easier than leggings. 

After your immediate needs had been met, Daryl then perched himself just beside your shoulder and hadn’t moved since. 

“S’the number we’re aimin’ for?” He asked with frustration lacing his tone, making sure the blankets were back over you and tucked tight to keep you warm. He had been muttering to himself how he wished he had made time to read the rest of the books. Daryl was not a man that liked being in the dark on anything. It made him feel helpless, as you had learned over the last several months. 

“She needs to be at 10cm and the baby needs to be in the correct position before she can push.” The old man positioned the ear tubes of the stethoscope before pressing it against several spots on your belly. “Heart beat is strong. Everything is looking good.”

You had remained quiet until that moment. “Do I just—I don’t know—lay here?”

“Walking encourages the cervix to dilate and soften. Once you dilate a little further, the contractions will likely be stronger, whether painful or not.” The calmness that man practiced really made you want to strangle him with that stethoscope. “Make sure you don’t go alone, and—”

“She ain’t.” Daryl snapped. 

Hershel shot him an admonishing look. “As I was saying, take breaks. Sleep when you can. I’ll check you periodically. You’ll need to keep timing the contractions, son.” Daryl nodded. “Sip small amounts of water, no food. Keep me informed of any changes. And as unpleasant as it may sound, if you feel the pressure and urge as if you may need to have a bowel movement, call for me immediately.”

You, as well as Daryl, reared back, lips curling. 

“The fuck that gotta do with the price’a fish?” The archer queried, not so nicely. 

“Settle down. The pressure from the baby’s head moving into the birth canal can feel similar to that.” Shaking his head, Hershel shuffled his way out of your tiny tent. 

Finally alone, you turned onto your side and scooted your upper body toward Daryl. He stretched out his legs so you could rest on his thigh. 

“Get some rest.” His hand wiggled beneath the blanket and rubbed up and down the length of your upper arm, but moved to your belly when another contraction took over. Without prompting, he slid his warm palm around to your lower back and applied the least bit of pressure, rubbing small circles. You buried your face into his thigh to ride it out, but you had to admit the light massaging helped, if only a little. 

“You’re supposed to be—” You were panting when you rolled your head to remind him, but found the watch already lifted to eye level, his gaze shifting from it to your stomach. 

“Sleep if ya can. I got this.” His brow was furrowed in concentration, your heart swelling and warm. Any worry you had entertained of him running when things got real, just gone in an instant. He was there. He was there. 

“I’ll try.” You whispered, the pain finally an afterthought. You felt him slide his hand back to the side of your stomach before you let yourself succumb to exhaustion. 

“Sorry, Sunshine. Doc says up, so up ya get.”

You let Daryl take your dead weight and pull you up by a grip beneath your arms, making it as difficult as possible so you might get to stay in your warm little nest. You were still at 4cm. Hershel had said you had to start walking to help labor progress. 

“This isn’t fair.” You whined, rubbing your back once you were upright. The pain that accompanied each contraction had lessened but was still ever present. “Can’t you walk and I dilate?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t think that’s how it works.” He placed a careful hand on the small of your back and kept your pace, slow as it was. 

“Okay, then how about if it gets worse, I kick you in the balls and punch you in the kidneys so you can participate properly?” You were only half joking. 

“If it gets ya through this, I guess.” The archer shrugged. You regarded him with a skeptical brow arched. 

“You’d really let me do that?”

“Hell nah, but s’the thought that counts or some shit like that, right?” He didn’t even try to dodge the smack you aimed at his shoulder. 

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned, even as you leaned into him while you strolled in circles around the perimeter. The moonlight caught the watch in his right hand, his finger tapping against the casing. Bless him, he was taking his role of supportive partner very seriously. You gasped when the next contraction came, stopping to bend slightly and breathe through it while Daryl secured an arm around you and flipped open the watch. 

When it was clear you weren’t falling, he slid his hand to the middle of your back and massaged the length of your spine using gentle pressure from the heel of his palm. He never said much—if anything—during the episodes themselves, but kept you informed of the timing of each one. 

“Oh, goddamnit, this one sucks.” You managed through clenched teeth. You swayed slightly when it was over, grasping blindly for the man next to you. 

“Thirteen minutes since the last’un. A minute, twelve.” He was slow and careful when turning you back toward camp. “Let’s getcha back to Hershel.” 

You shook your head. “One last loop, then we can go back.” Daryl didn’t say anything but you felt him tense. “I’m sure. They’re just getting a little more painful in the stomach, less in the back.” 

He still hesitated. “Alright. One more.”

Hershel stepped into your path before you started the second loop, allowing Daryl to fill him in on the last contraction. 

“Do one more. Rest. And then again.” The old man ordered curtly. 

Once he had vanished back toward the small fire, you mocked his words. “Rest and then again.” Daryl shook his head beside you. “I mean seriously, how much help can walking actually be?”

“Fuuuuuck!” You were digging your fingers into the blankets below you, swatting away Carol’s hand when she tried to dab your face with a piece of cloth. Daryl was sitting beside you, wide-eyed and lost, the watch forgotten by his leg. Hershel was between your knees, sporting his medical gloves that had been brought back by Rick and T-Dog. 

The archer cleared his throat. “She alright?” 

“Do I look alright, Daryl?!” You hissed, making an admirable attempt at breathing the way Carol was instructing. The contraction finally ended and you fell back onto the folded blankets. “I’m sorry.” You found his worried blue eyes easily and fumbled for his hand. 

“S’okay.” He whispered, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. 

“She’s at 6cm. We can still time the contractions but I think she may need your attention more than that watch does now.” Hershel reached for the item and placed it in his pocket once Daryl handed it over. “Keep moving but stay closer, no more perimeter walks.”

Daryl nodded, you whimpered. 

“I’ll be back soon to check again. If we’re lucky, things will move a little faster now that you’re in active labor.” Hershel left the tent while Carol fixed your dress. 

“I know it hurts, but you two will have little Thumper in your arms in just a matter of hours.” She smoothed your hair and tucked it behind your ears. “You’re doing great.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” You murmured, ducking your head almost bashfully. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you, Daryl. It just—well, it hurts and it’s hard to think.”

“Ain’t mad.” He tried for a half smile but it was weak. “Better than gettin’ kicked in the balls, I reckon.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Guess we oughtta getcha up again.”

“I’ll help.” Carol offered. You could see that a refusal was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue but he never voiced it. With Carol under one arm and Daryl under the other, you were pulled upright. 

Your body already felt wrung out and sore, and the epic finale hadn’t even begun. Still, you allowed Carol to pass you off to Daryl. 

“We movin’ on? Be better to find a house or somethin’.” He looped an arm around your back, following as you shuffled your way around. 

Carol shrugged, not touching you but keeping up with your small strides. “Both vehicles have fuel but Hershel isn’t sure we should move her. He thinks the baby will come soon and she needs to be kept in one place.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration. “She is right here. And if my opinion matters, I’d rather not—” The contraction came on strong, halting you suddenly with your hand fisting into the lower part of Daryl’s vest. The archer stepped around in front of you, rough but gentle hands grasping your wrists to guide your arms to his shoulders. 

“Try to breathe. Sometimes humming or even moaning helps, like an outlet.” Carol advised while rubbing your back. 

Your head fell forward against Daryl’s chest, a deep but quiet moan muffled against the firm muscle beyond his shirt. His hands had fallen to your hips, his body followed you as you swayed back and forth. The episodes were growing more intense, coming closer together and lasting longer. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that things would be growing more difficult to handle. 

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘er?” Daryl asked quietly above you, each word blowing his warm breath over the top of your head. Carol must have answered in the negative because his fingers flexed against your hips. 

The skin of your belly was pulled so tightly that you swore it would tear open, the muscles feeling as if they would pulse right out of the gaping hole your torn flesh would leave. 

“Shit.” You whimpered, your voice finding its way back during the last dregs of pain. You almost didn’t register warm hands gliding up and down your sides, a smaller hand on your back. “I don’t want to have the baby here.” You argued weakly. “It’s too open. Things will be too chaotic, too loud.”

“I know, Sunshine, but the doc says—”

“I don’t want to risk Thumper here in the open, Daryl. With—with walkers or people.” With enough strength having returned after the pain, you lifted your head, eyes pleading. “Please.”

The archer was visibly upset. He was just as vulnerable as you were at that moment, torn between what he felt was right and what Hershel said was for the best. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he pulled it in between his teeth, looking to Carol for guidance. 

“Could lay down the seats in the van. Use the back.” He suggested. “Plenty’a room an’ if we need to move fast—”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Carol agreed, rubbing your back in a few soft strokes before beginning to move away. “I’ll go talk to Hershel. You two keep walking.”

You watched her go, turning your gaze up to Daryl when he shifted back to your side to urge you along. “Gotta keep movin’.” You groaned, dragging your feet with your head falling back in frustration. 

You were in the middle of a contraction, when you heard it. A snarl, a raspy growl much too close. You were already clinging to Daryl and breathing through the pain that was readying your body for Thumper’s arrival, but you’d have to let him go. He had to protect the baby. And to do that, he had to protect you. 

But he didn’t move. He was nearly vibrating, rigid beneath your hands on his shoulders. He was just as scared as you were, even more so. He knew he could take the walker but that would mean letting you go. He needed to protect you but he wanted to support you. He had told you he'd never let you fall and you knew he had meant it.

“Go.” Your hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest before they released him completely to clutch your belly.

His boots disappeared from your view of the ground but you couldn’t focus after that. The pain was growing in intensity, immobilizing you with your lips tightly pressed to withhold the cries that vibrated behind your teeth for release. You couldn’t, you just couldn’t make a sound. You’d attract more, endanger everyone. You’d endanger Thumper. Daryl. 

There were scuffles. More snarls. Tears were threatening your waterline. Pain was coursing through you like a serpent, slithering around each muscle and tendon and pulling them tight. You felt disappointment and guilt over all the agony when your mouth fell open with a guttural moan, your will to cut off the scream that begged to follow barely holding true. 

“D—Daryl.” You cried out. And he was there, hands on your face, your biceps, your belly. 

“M’here. M’here. Gotta move, though.” He swept you up with the slightest strained noise. “Gonna getcha to the van. Gonna find somewhere safe for ya.” The pain was fading. You could focus on the dark blood on his face, the dirt and grime. 

“Herd?” You whispered. 

“Ain’t your fault.” His expression emanated fear and stress. “The hatch.” Someone was with him. The small hands that opened the back of the van and spread out the blankets, those were Carol’s. She sat a pile of smaller blankets and squares of fabric toward the indents on the floor where the seats had been stowed. 

“Get as many in the truck as you can! In the cab and the bed!” Rick was calling out at the same time that Hershel climbed into the van. Daryl was careful when he placed you inside, climbing over you before pulling you further in to make room for Hershel and Carol. 

Through your haze of exhaustion, you saw Rick climb in the driver's seat and Maggie beside him. That meant that five others had to somehow fit into the truck. 

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, eyes pleading with Daryl for an honest answer. 

“Yeah, they’re all good.” He nodded, smoothing a hand over your hair. 

The van was moving, though you didn’t realize when it had started. Hershel was between your knees when another contraction came. It felt like only moments had passed since the last one. In the safety of the van, though you couldn’t be bothered to consider that, you bowed forward with a scream. Daryl gingerly worked your fingers loose from the blanket to take your hand. 

“She’s at 9cm. This baby is coming soon.” Hershel didn’t move this time, he and Carol began sorting things that you couldn’t see. Panting, you leaned to the side, knowing Daryl would be there. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed. 

“What—” He swallowed audibly. “Tell me what I need to do.” 

“Just be with her.” Carol poured some water from a bottle onto a piece of fabric and passed it across you for Daryl to take. “Wipe her face, put it behind her neck.”

The archer’s hand was trembling fiercely when you felt the blessed cool cloth touch your forehead. The moan that left you was not one of pain but utter relief. “Oh, that’s nice.” You breathed. Your skin was on fire, every cell of your being felt twisted and wrong. But that trembling cloth wiping at your face grounded you, centered you around what your body was preparing to do. 

You were so close to being a mother. 

But that didn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat when the next contraction tore through you. You sat up, propped on your elbows with your eyes screwed shut. Tears leaked from the corners, the wailing cutting off into wretched sobs when you felt Daryl’s forehead fall against the crown of your head, his mantra of m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry shattering you into a million shards. 

You couldn’t tell him it was okay. You couldn’t remind him why you hurt. You couldn’t reassure him that he was the one you wanted and you were more than happy to do this with him. For him. You didn’t have the breath. 

“Don’t push, Y/N. Not yet.” Hershel’s tone was even but not cruel, his gloved hands on your knees. 

“It fucking burns!” You shrieked, squeezing Daryl’s hand until you were certain you felt the bones shift. The contraction let up, the fiery sensation dulling but ever present. 

“What’s happenin’?” Daryl sounded breathless. Terrified. You were still catching your breath when you looked up at him. His tan skin was white as a sheet, no color in his lips. His blue eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. From tears or fear, you couldn’t be sure. 

“The baby’s in the right position. Y/N, it’ll be time to push soon. It’ll be very important for you to listen to everything I say. Can you do that?” Hershel wasn’t looking at you, between moving around things Carol was handing to him and keeping a constant eye on your progress. Distantly, you wondered why it was Carol at his side and not Maggie. Maybe because you were close with Carol? For your comfort? 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You turned your attention back to Daryl when his grip on your hand loosened slightly. He swayed, the pallor of his skin growing more concerning. “Daryl?”

The archer shook his head almost violently. “M’good.”

“Okay, I just—oh, fuck, already!?” You grit your teeth as your stomach tightened, a visible shift beneath the fabric of your dress. 

“Maggie, can you climb back here?” Hershel requested calmly. His eldest said nothing but maneuvered her way into the back and on your opposite side. “I fear we may lose Daryl at any moment and Y/N will need support.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Daryl snapped but it was a weak effort. He inhaled deeply and began squeezing your hand to keep you from dislocating his fingers. 

“Here.” Carol passed him an opened bottle of water. “Drink a few sips. You’re white as a ghost.”

You were barely aware of everything happening around you, shaking almost violently to refrain from bearing down until Hershel told you to do so. It was bordering on excruciating. 

“Jesus Christ, it feels like you’re holding a flamethrower to my fucking pussy!” 

Hershel sighed while Maggie and Carol chuckled and Daryl snorted out a quiet nice, Y/N. 

“It’s just the birth canal stretching to make room for the baby.” The veterinarian explained coolly. 

“Just?” You mocked. “Just, he says while it’s my—oh Jesus fuck!” With all the presence of mind you could summon, you managed not to start screaming at Daryl for putting you in that position. You knew that beyond the pain and fear, you wanted Thumper in your arms more than anything in that fucked up world. 

“Okay, Y/N,” Hershel patted your bare knees just at the tail end of the contraction to ensure he had your attention. You had fallen back against Maggie while Daryl held the cool cloth against the back of your neck. His hand was vibrating your skull to the point that you nearly asked him to move away. “You’re ready. On the next contraction, you need to push.”

“God, your calm voice makes me want to kick you in the teeth.” You didn’t mean it—mostly. Hershel must have known that because he chuckled. You could feel the next contraction already building when the van lurched to a stop, throwing everyone in it. 

“We got a herd in front of us!” Rick called from the front. 

“Go ‘round it! Turn ‘round! Just keep ‘em off us!” Daryl yelled as the pain peaked. “Fuck!” He bellowed when your hand began to shake with how hard you squeezed his own. 

“Push!” Hershel shouted over the bumps and jerks of the van doing whatever Rick had deemed best. “Good, good!” He began to countdown from ten while you screamed.

You were being torn open. Thumper was going to rip you in half on their way out. Your throat was raw, surely bleeding from your wails. When the old man reached one, you fell back against Maggie but Daryl’s hand was there too. 

“Maggie, Daryl, hold behind her knees. Help support her legs. It’ll keep her hips open.” Both moved forward, taking you with them to sit you up a little straighter. Daryl had to release your hand to hold you and your leg. The archer hissed with the pressure against his abused palm. “Perfect. Alright, Y/N. A nice, strong push this time.”

You almost snarled. “Last one wasn’t good enough?”

“Easy, Sunshine.” You felt Daryl's lips against your temple and yearned to keep them there. 

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Once again, the man simply smiled. Lori had told you that childbirth in the movies was often dramatized but so far, you weren’t seeing the truth in that statement. When the contraction reached a crescendo, you leaned forward while Maggie and Daryl held your legs steady. The pain was extraordinary. You almost wished you could see what was happening, but any train of thought was derailed with Hershel’s next words.

“The baby is crowning!” 

Gasping, you swallowed hard, glancing at Daryl—who had a front row seat to what was happening—and then back to Hershel. “Crowning?”

“The head will be out soon.” 

“All this and we don’t even have the head out?!” You screeched, just as your stomach rippled into a rigid mound and you were pushing again. This pain was different. Thumper was definitely ripping you apart. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It burns!”

“S’that—” Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed, swaying on the spot. “S’that normal?”

“Perfectly normal.” Hershel glanced up at the archer, back down, and then up again. “Carol.” He needn’t say anything else. The other woman was moving to grab the back of your leg and let Daryl fall against her so he didn’t smack his head on the side of the van.

You were completely unaware, your entire focus centered on the inferno between your legs. There was no way any woman would willingly do this unmedicated. Never in your life had you wanted drugs more than you did in that moment. Thumper. Thumper, Thumper. You chanted internally, even as your vocal chords vibrated harshly with your screams. And just as you thought you would lose consciousness from the pain, it lessened. It hadn’t disappeared but comparatively, you would take that over the prior. 

“The head is out!” 

Panting, you smiled but then fell into confusion when you saw Carol beside your leg and Daryl slumped against her. “Daryl? Daryl?!” You shifted but Maggie held you still. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Hershel chuckled. 

“Who knew a man that could gut a walker without batting an eye couldn’t watch his baby’s head come out?” Carol smiled but began to act, jerking her shoulder to jar the archer. “Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You don’t want to miss this.” He stirred and started to lean back. “Think you can take a look without losing it again?”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head hard, grunting. His hand was the first thing to move, sliding beneath Carol’s to take hold of your leg. Then he was looking at you. “M’sorry. That was—fuck, m’a pussy.” Maggie was moving your hand and pulling you forward as you watched your partner. 

Then your fingers were touching a soft, albeit slimy, head. 

You gasped. “Daryl.”

The man gulped, but then sat up on his knees a little. You watched the fear and apprehension melt away into awe, his jaw loosening, eyebrows rising, and eyes beginning to shine. “S’that—”

“That’s Thumper.” You were able to say before Hershel announced your miniscule break was over. He didn’t need to say a word, your body was already letting you know. Daryl’s hold felt stronger now and he was watching with an awestruck intensity that just made your heart want to explode even as you rode out the waves of agony. You were going to be a little family.

Then, out of the blue, you could feel something was different, wrong.

“Her—Hershel—Ow, fuck—” You fingers clawed at Daryl’s chest, his wet eyes going wide with concern. The contraction ended and you were gasping and swallowing convulsively, feeling nauseous regardless of your lack of food. Daryl’s eyes were darting back and forth between you and the old man. “Daryl, something—something’s wrong.” You could tell the baby had not moved an inch during the pushing, but not only that, it felt like they had actually pulled back toward your opening. 

“I know.” Hershel’s voice had lost the calm and was taking on an emergent edge. “The baby is stuck.”

Panic flashed over Daryl’s face in the form of anger. “The fuck ya mean stuck?!”

Still trying to catch your breath, sweat dripping into your eyes, you thought for certain Daryl was going to jump across your leg and attack the old man. Thankfully, he remained at your side. Trembling and breath stuttering, but he wasn’t moving. 

“Shoulder dystocia. The baby is turned in such a way that the shoulders can’t fit through the pelvis. Carol, I will need your help, please.” You were already on the edge of the next contraction when Hershel nearly barked “Y/N, don’t push.”

“What the fuck’re ya doin’?” Daryl snapped, leaning over your leg to investigate. So many emotions were battling for dominance in his expression that you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

“Daryl, please.” You pleaded, trying your hardest not to sob. For once, you cared nothing about being self-reliant or what the group thought of you and how much you needed Daryl. As you fought through the pain and against your body’s natural insistence to push, you just cried. Daryl kept a hand below your knee, too afraid to move unless Hershel gave the okay, but he leaned as far as he could to hold you without influencing your position.

“S’okay, Sunshine. S’gonna be okay.”

“Y/N, listen to me. I can feel the shoulder.” Now, the veterinarian’s tone was just downright frightening. “Maggie and Daryl are going to pull your legs back on the next contraction. I’m going to apply some pressure above your pubic bone. It’s not going to be pleasant, but if I’m correct, the head should come and then the baby. I need you to push with all you have, do you understand?”

You pressed your cheek further into Daryl’s chest and nodded, hiccuping through ragged, exhausted breaths. When the contraction began to tear through you, Maggie and Daryl reacted immediately, pulling your legs toward your belly while you curled inward with a guttural scream. Hershel pressed into the area just above your pubic bone, the pressure only compounding the whirlwind of pain you were already caught in. And then it was over and you let the two supporters take your weight.

The van rocked again, but was ignored. Hershel looked at Carol gravely and shook his head. 

“S’that ‘bout?” Daryl hissed, trying hard for your sake not to lose his cool.

“It didn’t work.” Before Daryl could speak, the old man continued. “We’re going to try one more time. If it doesn’t work, there are a couple of other things we can try but time is of the essence. The baby isn’t getting the oxygen they need like this.”

“Whatever ya gotta do. Just take care’a both’a ‘em.” 

Hershel nodded. “Alright, same thing, Y/N. A big, big push for me.”

You shook your head, exhausted. “I can’t.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy as hope attempted to flee and you accepted that once again, the world would take from you. It would take from Daryl. “I’m so tired.” You felt movement beneath your left leg and then Daryl’s hand was grasping your chin, firm but gentle. 

“Hey. Cut that shit out.” He wasn’t angry. He was using the same tone you’d heard him use when he had told Thumper to cut you some slack. When he had started communicating with the baby. “Ya’ve gone through hell an’ back for this an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya quit at the goddamn finish line, ya hear me?”

“I’m tired, Daryl.” Your face screwed up in pain as the next contraction began to build.

“Nu uh. Ya ain’t gonna bust into my life an’ fuck up my world six ways from Sunday, make me love ya an’ this kid, an’ then just give up. S’you an’ me an’ Thumper. S’what ya said!”

You blinked at him, slowly starting to sit up.

“I’ve seen ya be a badass before, Sunshine.” Your breaths were coming faster, the contraction nearly on top of you, but you only had eyes for Daryl. “Be a fuckin’ badass now.” His hand left your face and went back to your leg, pulling it toward you at the same time Maggie moved the right one. 

You screamed so loud that you were certain the rocks and bumps of the van were due to your wails alone. Something shifted, you felt it and it hurt. You were on fire and aching at the same time. When the contraction ended, you still felt painfully stretched and bruised and uncomfortable. “Did—did it work?” You panted, grasping desperately for Daryl’s shirt.

“The head is out, the shoulders are turned. One more big push, Y/N. Just one more.”

You breathed harshly through your nose, trying to amp yourself up. Maggie and Carol were throwing encouragement your way, but you didn’t hear them. You only felt Dary’s breath against your ear, his stubbled cheek rubbing against your skin.

He whispered, only for you to hear. “I love ya.” Kissing your temple, he moved back to his spot and when you looked at him, exhausted and crying, the corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

You could do this.

When the next contraction ripped through you, the world went silent. It was only you and the pain, white hot and all consuming. You were indeed being torn in half but if it meant Thumper would take that first breath, would open those little eyes to see the world—fucked up or not—then you would gladly be wrenched into pieces. 

The moment the baby slipped free of you, you felt the emptiness. You still hurt, but the worst of the pain was suddenly absent. Sound and sight came back to you in an onslaught that had you sucking in a breath like your lungs had been starved. 

“Is—Hershel, the baby?” You asked, trying to move as Daryl and Maggie lowered your legs. The archer was leaning across your knee. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were wide and darting. 

“Doc—”

The ferocious first cries of the distraught newborn echoed throughout the van. Maggie had moved behind you to keep you sitting up while Daryl had staggered backward and fallen on his ass against the interior wall, eyes on the little thing that Hershel was looking over intently. Maggie reached over your shoulder and began unbuttoning your dress, whispering in your ear as she moved.

“The baby needs to nurse, bond with you on your skin and it’ll help when you have to push out the placenta, okay?” You blinked at her, concerned. “It’s okay. It’s nothing like what you just went through. One or two small pushes and it’s out.”’ You nodded robotically, watching Hershel maneuver some sort of tape around a slimy cord.

Thumper was not happy. They were probably cold and that thought made your heart ache. Your baby should never be uncomfortable. Daryl was slowly, clumsily making his way toward you, but wasn’t taking his eyes off the baby. When he was sitting beside you, Hershel finally leaned over you and placed the squirming, slippery baby on your chest.

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl angst #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd

[cultofdixon]

Good Ol’ Dixon Advice

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] | Carl Grimes [ROMANTIC] • He/Him Pronouns • Crushes are weird and Daryl may not have the golden standard advice. But he’ll do his best • ANGST/SFW • TW: PTSD / Nightmares / Scars / Messy Confessions / Self Harm Mentioned

Requested by: Anon

“Hey uh…dad? You’ve got a minute?”

Daryl looked up from the bike frame noticing his son standing at the garage door extremely anxious. He stopped what he was doing to give Y/N his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Or I don’t know. I just. Uh….” Y/N tried his best to be blunt about it, but he doesn’t know how Daryl would react to such. So might as well just… “I’m gay”

The archer blankly stared at his kid watching his tense shoulders relax when he shrugged before turning back to the bike frame.

“So? Love who yea want”

“Oh. Okay cool, so how do I do it”

“Huh?” His full attention returned in a split second as Y/N brought himself more into the garage to avoid anyone listening in. Both being paranoid individuals about eavesdroppers even if most aren’t around. “What do you mean ‘how do I do it?’ There’s no handbook to being gay”

“No! I know…like that much. I’m talking—-talking to your crush. Shit like that”

“Language, bud” Daryl scowled, asking for a certain tool for Y/N to grab as he did. If he’s going to be there, he’s going to learn and help with building the bike. “I don’t know how to deal with that that well”

“Seriously? You and Carol aren’t something alre—-“

“Y/N!”

“What! She’s not here! Aaron and Eric aren’t here! NO ONES LISTENING”

“WHOLE TOWN MIGHT AS WELL IF YEA YELLING” Daryl snaps, ultimately regretting it when Y/N retracted as he takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have yelled. But again, I ain’t the best with crushes either. Hell, I only talk to yea most”

“Clearly. But you do grunt for every other sentence” Y/N states listening to him grunt in response, only proving his point.

Daryl handed off the tool for Y/N to put back as it dawned on him. “Who do yea like?”

“Uhhhhh. Not important”

“Y/N, bud…if yea want advice. I might wanna know”

“Or you don’t gotta and still give me advice that you won’t take for yourself and your own crushes”

This kid’s obvious statements is gonna piss Daryl off soon.

“Imma start guessin’ if yea—-“

“Carl!” He snaps hoping to then drop it as he was starting to stress himself out thinking about it. “But it’s like…fuck I don’t know” he got up about to leave the garage but stopped at the exit/entrance.

“Seriously I may cuss a lot. Don’t mean you gotta” Daryl gets up from his seated position, tossing the rag that he wiped his hands with on the work bench watching Y/N tense at the thoughts he was getting. “What’s stopping yea from just saying how yea feel?”

“Don’t you like…gotta know first if they like or don’t like the same gender…”

“Mm. From what I learned growing up, people just take their chances and if they ain’t? You move on”

“There’s nothing to move onto”

“That…sounded bad. But if you have a crush on the kid, then why not take the risk?”

“Cuz there’s also the chance of this Enid girl”

“Have you heard of bisexuals?” Daryl questioning only to receive a glare from Y/N as he held his hands up defensively. “I’ve never seen this Enid girl anyway. Heard of her but not seen her”

“Yeah well she’s on Rick’s good side for the most part. The dude doesn’t know she climbs the walls…and that Carl follows her and I just. Stay in here”

His kid was jealous, he could sense that instantly. But again, he doesn’t know until he just says something.

“Either take the risk or be disappointed, bud” Daryl pats him on the back as Y/N gave him a saddened look.

“I’m scared though”

“It’ll be alright. Whatever happens. It’ll be alright, son”

The next day, Daryl went to talk about such with Rick without his kid knowing that he was doing so. Since to Y/N’s surprise, everyone knew about his crush on the Grimes kid…except the kid himself.

Rick stopped watching a certain someone from the window when he heard the front door open. “Who is it?”

“Were yea expecting someone other than me?” Daryl scoffs shutting the door behind him watching his friend move away from the window. “No seriously. Who were yea expecting?”

“Just doing my job. Keepin’ an eye on people” Rick brought himself into the kitchen to get a bottle ready for Judith as it was almost time for her to wake from her nap. “What’s up, Daryl?”

“It’s about our boys” He says in a calm manner when joining him in the kitchen, but even with the calmness it still lead to worry coming on Rick’s face.

“What happened to our sons? Did Carl fight that Ron kid? Or did Y/N try leavin’ again”

“No to both of those. But it’s mainly about Y/N’s feelings”

Rick froze a moment as he screwed on the bottle cap before letting the confusion continue on his expression.

“Gonna have to explain more”

“Everybody knows Y/N likes your son”

“Okay, who doesn’t like Carl? He’s a great kid”

I’m about to lose my shit Daryl squints trying to read the oblivious expression on his friend’s face. “Rick. Seriously?”

“Seriously what?”

Guess the Grimes have that in common, being fucking clueless to things like love. Daryl wasn’t going to have it and would have to bring this type of conversation up again.

But in the mean time, Y/N was slowly building up the courage to talk to Carl. He climbed over the wall to follow after him wherever he was going and it didn’t take long to find the young Grimes…and what he was doing.

The archer flinched from his spot by the window which was a habit of his, Rick did it for different intentions earlier. He mainly reacted to the front door shutting harshly, immediately noticing Y/N running into the house.

“Hey! What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing! The world is a terrible fucking shithole that I don’t want to be apart of” Y/N yells back only for Daryl to get annoyed and ignore the boundary his son has where if he was upset, then Daryl can’t just barge in on the matter he has to approach it gently. But given he almost broke the front door, he wasn’t having it.

“What happened? Seriously. You can’t just shut out and curse”

“Why can’t I just fucking internalize my feelings for a fucking night! I don’t want to talk about it” Y/N snaps about to shut the door to the basement apartment the two stayed in under the Grimes’s residence. But Daryl caught his foot in it.

“Nah. We’re either talking about it or I’m stickin’ with yea until you calm down”

“I’m not going to fucking hurt myself!”

“STOP CURSING” Daryl snaps. “And how do I know you won’t when that’s what yea used to do back in the prison after we found yea”

He didn’t know he knew. But honest? How can you hide something that serious in the apocalypse? Even the old world there would be an anxious aura whenever something as serious as that happened. Or at least Daryl isn’t blind to stuff like that.

“I’m…I’m not gonna do anything…I just wanna stop thinkin’ about it” Y/N frowns pressing his back against the wall and slumping to the floor. “I wish I didn’t see it”

Daryl frowns bringing himself to kneel to his level and not asking, but gave his kid a look to tell him at his own speed.

“Can we just…talk about it in the morning”

“As long as I know you’re not gonna do anythin’, bud.” Daryl sighs. “And that if anythin’ during the night yea come and get me”

“…Okay”

It didn’t take long for the anxiety to consume Daryl during the night. He already has issues sleeping and now this? He didn’t want anything to happen to his kid and given their conversation from the other day…it could only be revolved around that. Or something REALLY bad happened that has nothing to do with it.

But the next morning, without the usual having breakfast with the rest of their group. Y/N leaned up against the wall as Daryl stood in the kitchenette.

“Did yea sleep?”

“No…I should’ve just known” Y/N frowns bringing his attention to his feet. “Like. Why did I even bother trying to build up the courage to tell him if I was just gonna see what I saw”

“You told Carl?”

“No, but I saw him and Enid kiss”

“Oh…oh, I’m sorry kid” Daryl didn’t know what else to say as Y/N didn’t know what he wanted to hear frankly. “Somebody will come”

“Oh like that’s possible”

It is. Given Daryl and Aaron are recruiters and there are other fishes…in this apocalyptic sea. But this was recent and he wanted to feel his feelings in private.

Even if he doesn’t know the other side of the story.

________

The two hide within a tree trunk to avoid walkers and whoever else was outside the walls. Enid brought herself close as Carl tensed slightly when looking her in the eye to try and read what she was instigating.

Then when her lips pressed against his and the sound of shuffling happening, Carl pulled away giving her a confused look.

“Uh”

“Oh. Shit I overstepped”

“No—Well. Yes. Sorry I just…don’t like yea in that way”

“Oh okay…” Enid wasn’t entirely surprised, her being in a similar situation as another where you have to take the risk and either be disappointed never knowing or at least knowing feeling either way. “So…this is a bit awkward”

“Yeah. But like. I care about you and I don’t want this to like. Ruin the chance of being friends”

“It’ll be awkward yea. But no I agree.” Enid reassured him with a smile. “Just friends”

As they exited the tree once the coast was clear, the two started to head back toward the wall they scaled and Enid had to know.

“Who…do you like?”

“Do I have to like someone?”

“No”

“Well I do. I just had to make sure”

Enid rolls her eyes followed by a laugh as Carl drops down beside her. “Imma guess if you don’t say anything”

“I’m not gonna be surprised if you get it on the first guess”

“Oh, so it is Y/N? Cuz that’s who I was thinking of. Ron doesn’t seem like your type…whatever that is”

“Clearly Y/N”

“Right”

________

“Daryl, we need to talk”

The archer is always disturbed when working on his bike and there’s only two people he doesn’t care for the disruption, Rick ain’t one of them.

“I’m busy”

“It’s about our sons”

Daryl sets his tools down giving Rick his undivided attention, noticing the tense expression on his face which lead to his worry but he was better at masking it.

“What happened?”

“Carl just told me he likes your son”

Holy shit Daryl instantly stood to his feet when he heard such and thought how did Rick find this out or what more could’ve happened that didn’t involve either of them. “Okay?”

“Like. Fuck how do I go about this?!”

Oh. Great. “Rick, are you like. Upset by it or—-“

“NO! NO NO NO.” Rick scrambled a bit before taking a deep breath. “No. Just surprised is all. I don’t know what to do about the information I was given”

“Be happy for our kids? But…Uh. Wait. What did Carl tell yea exactly?”

“That he likes both males and femal—“

“About Y/N”

“That he likes Y/N a lot and that he’s been avoiding him. Asking me what he should do but I don’t know!”

Part of Daryl wanted to smack Rick given he has more parenting experience than the archer but he’s this clueless. But another part worried about his kid.

“You’ve seen Y/N today?”

“No, neither has Carl or frankly anybody”

Not like Y/N would go very far since when they first brought him in he was a bit skittish, sure. But as Daryl took him in and the group made him feel like he was a part of something…he never wanted to leave that. He simply has his moments he would rather be alone but he’ll always come back.

And he does.

Daryl waited by the gate for most of the day thinking about the route he’ll take to go find Y/N if he doesn’t come back soon. But when the gates were pushed open, letting said individual in as he was instantly met with a glare.

“Uh. I brought game?” Y/N tried to soften the tension looming as he held up a rabbit that he caught.

“You gotta go talk to Carl”

“Why?” Y/N scoffs carrying his rabbit toward their home as Daryl grabbed his shoulder carefully pulling them back. “What! Why do I have to?! His answer was loud and clear”

“His answer wasn’t loud and clear. You gotta trust me and go talk to Carl.”

“Okay…and what do I get if I do it?”

A boyfriend what fucking else do yea want?! Daryl thought as he knew where Y/N was about to go which made him a tad annoyed.

“You tell Carol.”

“Do I have to go fucking first?”

“No, and language” Y/N grins deviously before tossing the rabbit at him and making his way to the Grimes’ residence but up to where Carl’s room was.

The time from the gate to the door of Carl’s room, made him anxious. He didn’t want to talk about it with him. Didn’t want to be rejected face to face…but right before Y/N knocked on the door, he heard his name being called from the stairs…noticing Carl had gotten home right after he did.

“Oh uh. This is awkward”

“But good. I gotta talk to you”

Huh? Y/N brought himself close but enough for distance even if Carl did take a step forward to break it and some part of Y/N kept him cemented.

“You’ve been avoiding me…and it’s got me thinking about what happened recently with uh. Me and Enid”

“Oh I—“

“I knew someone had ran off in the distance. Too fast to be a Walker or at least we don’t know any variants that can run uh…Just. I knew you saw what you saw”

“Oh…and I’m guessing you’re confirming—-“

“No!…No. it’s not like that at all…I do like Enid. But it was never in that way” Carl started to become a bit bashful as the rise of a pink hue came to his cheeks. “Really never was”

Now Y/N was feeling a bit of the heat rise to his cheeks as he thought this was his window. It is! Just say—-

“I like you”

“I like you”

That left the two to laugh at the unison as Carl instantly brought Y/N into his embrace, feeling him tighten his grasp on the Grimes. The two held onto each other for a while…until the time felt right to take that next step. Even if for the time being it was a kiss on the cheek from Y/N to Carl because they might not know, but the two knew the dads looming on the first floor.

“You think he confessed”

“Yeah they are definitely sucking face right about now if they ain’t talkin’”

“WHAT”

“Calm your tits, Rick. They’re young love let them enjoy themselves…” Daryl starts as it started to get a bit too quiet. “BUT NOT TOO MUCH”

“FUCK OFF DAD” Y/N yells downstairs as that was their cue to leave the two alone for a bit.

Enjoy their happiness for themselves

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #carl grimes fanfiction

[tupperwaretub]

The Everlasting Love of the Enemy

Pairing: Negan Smith x Male!Reader

Prompt: "i finally found a place where i am loved"

Warnings: angst, dad! Rick Grimes so age gap between Negan and Reader, mentions of twd s7 spoilers.

------------------------

You'd been spending all of your time at the sanctuary recently after Negan had managed to woo you into coming back with him. You wouldn't have gone with him if your dad, Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria after Deana died wasn't so rude to you. He picks on every small thing you do and finds something to complain about and it just got exceedingly worse after he met the saviours and Negan, he would snap and bark orders at you treating you as anything but his son. Carl on the other hand was treated like some sort of precious, fragile item that Rick had to protect at all costs. So, due to Ricks sheer negligence towards you, you decided to go with Negan after he promised you a life that sounded much more pleasant than the one you were living with Rick.

Of course though, after a while you wanted to go with Negan on one of his visits to Alexandria, why wouldn't you want to at least check on your friends and family to make sure they're okay? So that's what you did, Negan helped you step into the truck like a gentleman (knowing you were completely capable) and held your hand the entire way to Alexandria, giving you small kisses on the top of your head on the journey there. In comparison to Rick, Negan treated you with every ounce of respect he could and although he hadn't said the three words you were aching to hear, to reassure he loved you, he showed his strong feelings through actions like physical affection. With Negan you felt loved in a way you hadn't felt loved since your mother had died, you actually felt worth something with him.

When the truck stopped at the gate to Alexandria Negan helped you out and you walked through the gates into the place you called home, as you came face-to-face with your father your heart dropped. He was clearly exhausted and overworking himself to meet Negans expectations with collections. You felt a pang of guilt course through you seeing the state your own father was in, but you quickly reminded yourself of the way he had treated you and made you feel and the guilt quickly subsided.

You spent your time stuck to Negan as he walked through Alexandria with Rick moping behind him, the three of you soon settled onto Ricks porch and sat on the couple of chairs that were placed out there, Rick remained standing. Suddenly Rick spoke up, "Negan. Can I talk to my son in private?" Negans shit eating grin widened and he looked towards Rick. "What d'you say prick?" Ricks adams apple bobbed and he replied with a quiet, "please." Negan let out a laugh before turning towards you, his expression changing to one of compassion and care, "My love, would you like to speak to your father in private?" You nod and get up off of the chair you were sat on and followed Rick inside.

"What the fuck is this?" Rick begins. "What do you mean 'what the fuck is this'? Dad, me and Negan are together, I thought you might've come to that conclusion when he flirted with me and took me to the sanctuary?" You argued back. "Y/n, you are sleeping with our enemy! I'm your father for god's sake! And you just decide you'd rather be with the man who killed Glenn, Abraham?! He was going to make me cut off Carls arm and made me risk my life for a damn axe! I could be dead because of him, Carl could be missing and arm because of him, Glenn and Abraham are dead because of him! But you're stuck to his side like a lost fucking puppy!" Rick raised his voice but kept himself quiet enough as to make sure Negan didn't hear him. "You don't get to speak to me like that anymore dad! You never made me feel worth anything, you constantly shit on me for every little thing I did that you didn't agree with and I felt like I wasn't worth anything to you, I felt like my own fucking dad didn't love me! I finally found somewhere were I am loved and you still shit on me! You really cannot stand seeing me happy can you Rick!" You spat, your words were filled with a new found confidence and hatred you gained due to your time with Negan. Rick was lost for words knowing what he'd done and a guilty look washed over his face.

Without saying anymore you stormed out and made your way back to the truck, Negan shouted after you but didn't follow instead going into the house to most likely give Rick a peice of his mind.

The thought of Negan hurting your father like your father hurt you made you grin as you stepped into the truck and got comfortable waiting for Negan.

----------------------

A/n: Hi, just a shorter one as I'm slowly getting back into writing. Slowly getting through requests but am completely hyperfixated on TWD rn and Pedro fics are gonna be slow coming out. But hope you enjoyed <3

#x male reader #male reader fanfic #negan smith #negan x male reader #the walking dead #twd angst #twd negan #twd rick #rick grimes

[woman-of-balnain]

Undone in Sorrow Part 8/10 (Alpha Rick x Omega Reader)

Previous Part | Collection Masterlist | AO3 Ver. | Next Part

Pairing: Rick Grimes/Fem!Reader

Summary: Negan's actions make Rick realize that the bond between you has been suffering for longer than he thought.

A/N:

Yeah… I hate this chapter, it’s honestly so shit... I’m sorry 😭

I've extended the amount of chapters to 10

I’ve just decided ‘fuck it’ and I’m doing my own thing with the show’s plot pretty much 100% now

I ended up kinda mixing the POV in this chapter. It’s still 2nd person, but you get an insight into what both the Reader and Rick are feeling without that being separated by different scenes. Let me know if it feels off or too weird or anything

I took inspiration from the effects of snake venom for Reader’s condition in this chapter

TW: Brief description of vomiting and mentions of Reader feeling nauseous

Warnings: Terrible writing, vomiting, reader feeling nauseous

Word Count: 5,046

Dividers by: cafekitsune + newlips

Now all of you folks in heaven not too busy ringin' the bell

Some of us down here aren't doing very well...

Rick’s eyes were still hardened with determination, but there was also a deep and frantic sense of worry building within both his gaze and his scent as your body continued to shake uncontrollably. Your neck was throbbing from the pain and in that one spot there was an uncomfortable and clammy heat. You blinked slowly as your vision blurred and your head swam with both dizziness and nausea.

“Dad,” you heard Carl say from somewhere behind you. “We should get her inside.”

Rick seemed to come back to himself a little, his eyes leaving you and focusing on his son. After a moment, he slowly nodded and moved to pick you up so that he could carry you back into the house. Just that was enough to make you groan in discomfort, as it caused your light-headedness to grow worse.

“Hold on, baby,” Rick murmured to you.

You buried your nose against his mating gland, trying to find comfort in his scent but something was… off about it, causing you to pull your head back abruptly. Rick didn’t seem to notice and just brought you upstairs and gently laid you down on your makeshift bed.

“Rick…” you groaned. “Something’s wrong.”

“I know, baby,” he replied, looking down at your claiming bite with worry.

From the way it ached and throbbed, you knew it must have looked bad. But that wasn’t what you were talking about and there was no way he actually did know what you were referring to.

“No,” you tried to tell him, your voice weak. “Your scent… something’s wrong with it.”

He frowned, returning his gaze to yours.

“What do you mean?”

“It… it’s making me feel sick. What did he do to me?”

You weren’t referring to what Negan did physically, but rather how it was affecting your body and the bond you shared with Rick. Underneath all the nausea you felt, there was fear and concern because his scent had always been irresistibly alluring to you, offering you comfort above everything else.

“I don’t know…” Rick replied despondently.

He went to reach out for your hand but then thought better of it, considering what you had just told him. His jaw clenched and if you weren’t in so much discomfort, you would have tried to offer him some reassurance.

“Just get some rest,” he told you gently. “I... I’ll try to work something out.”

You just nodded, since your body was at its last limits and the idea of sleep sounded like the best thing you could imagine in that moment. So, you let your eyes drift shut, missing the way that Rick ran a hand through his hair in anxious frustration, and you just let your body relax and allowed the darkness of sleep to overcome you. 

Rick paced across the living room, unsure of what to do. The idea that his scent had caused you any kind of irritation left him feeling on edge. Even if he had tried to get you to Hilltop, Carson probably wouldn’t know how to help you. It had been simple before, because all you had needed was his scent and his presence to feel better.

But now, Rick was at a loss since you told him that both of those things were making you feel worse. An inferno of rage was blazing inside of him, all directed at Negan and Rick was itching to kill the other man. He hated that he had to wait and be smart about it.

Carl had put Judith to bed before telling his father that he would go back to Hilltop and inform the others. Rick didn’t like it, but his son had pointed out that there was no reasoning with a man like Negan and they didn’t have time to delay things anymore. Carl had also agreed to go with Aaron, so that he wasn’t alone, which both surprised and relieved Rick. Yet, being left on his own in the house, while also being unable to stay by your side was driving him crazy.

Rick loved you with every fiber of his being and usually there was nothing he could complain about when it came to the anomaly that was your bond. But now, he cursed it because it meant that there were so many uncertainties. Trying to override another alpha’s claiming bite was so wrong and unfathomable to Rick, that while he knew it must have occurred before, he was unsure of how it would affect the omega in question. Let alone you, considering the bond you and Rick shared.

Negan had broken him down into submission that night when Abraham and Glenn died, and the other alpha had likely thought this would do the same. But you meant everything to Rick, so now he was out for blood, and he wouldn’t feel satisfied until he got it. His inner alpha demanded retribution for what had been done to you. All sense of reason and mercy fled his mind the moment Negan’s teeth broke into the claiming bite that both symbolized and maintained the connection between the two of you.

Rick was broken out of his thoughts and inner turmoil when he heard the tell-tale sound of you being sick upstairs. Unable to stay away any longer, he made his way back up there, two steps at a time until he was on the upper floor of the house. He found you in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet and vomiting uncontrollably.

Rick hesitated, unsure if his presence would make you worse. But your stomach settled fairly quickly and then you were just shaking, like you had been ever since Negan showed up again.

“Baby, tell me what I can do,” he begged, feeling helpless.

You pulled away from the toilet and he got a better look at you, noting how your skin was ashen once more, just like it had been at Hilltop.

“Shower,” you croaked out tiredly, unable to say anything else.

“Okay,” he nodded, already moving through the bathroom to turn the water on for you.

Rick noticed how you stood up on shaky legs and had to stop himself from helping you. While he adjusted the water to how you liked it, you brushed your teeth at the basin and sighed, clearly feeling gross - most likely in more ways than one, he figured. Rick didn’t care about you being sick, he just wanted you to get better again.

“It’s ready,” Rick said, stepping away after testing the temperature of the water.

You pulled your shirt off and gave him a quick look before moving your hands down to your pants to get rid of them as well.

“Join me?” You asked quietly, your words brief and to the point as you still struggled to speak from how weak you were feeling.

“You sure?” Rick hesitated, not sure if it would just make you feel worse.

“Please,” you gave him a nod before stepping into the shower.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he agreed, bringing his hands up to unbutton his shirt.

He observed as your body seemed to shake less under the water of the shower, but you were still weak and struggling to stand. You placed your hands against the wall to hold yourself up and Rick moved quickly to get undressed. When he finally joined you, he placed his hands tentatively on your hips, and you relaxed back against him, letting him hold you up.

“I hate this,” you admitted softly.

“What?”

“Being so weak… the fact that your scent is making me feel sick and not better… the fact that he can have any sort of power over me… I hate all of it.”

Rick went to pull away again, not wanting to make things any worse for you, but you stopped him.

“Don’t,” you told him gently, placing one of your hands over his to keep him right where he was. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Rick sighed, feeling like he was walking through a mine field, not knowing what was okay and what might set your body on edge.

“Just tell me if it’s too much,” he requested, not wanting to leave you either.

“I think you need to scent me,” you suggested. “I need you to get rid of him, Rick. It’s like he’s all around me and I can’t stand it.”

The idea that Negan had managed to stake any kind of claim over you, to the point where your body was forced to be constantly reminded of him and Rick’s own presence and scent weren’t doing anything… it filled him with a rage he’d never felt before. But ultimately, Rick couldn’t deny that the idea of scenting you in that moment worried him as well.

“Baby, you’re so sensitive right now,” he pointed out. “I don’t wanna push you. It could make your body react badly.”

The fact that his scent had been rejected by your body suggested to Rick that what Negan did made you hyperaware of everything. Every scent, every little touch… he didn’t want to make it even worse.

“I need you to try,” you begged, your voice sounding breathless now as you struggled to keep yourself upright, even with your alpha’s support. “Because I feel like he’s what’s making it worse. Just that constant reminder of him…”

“Okay,” Rick nodded, relenting. “Just sit down first, you can barely stand.”

You let him set you down onto the floor of the shower, with the water running over both of you. Rick rested his back against the shower wall and held you to his chest. You lifted your knees up and clung to his forearm with one of your hands, trying to keep your breaths even as his scent wrapped around you, mingling unpleasantly with Negan’s like both were battling for dominance.

In reality, that was exactly what was happening. Negan’s forceful bite had set your body on high alert, as his action was essentially suggesting his intention to claim you. Whether that actually was his intention didn’t matter, because you were already irrevocably claimed by Rick. So, your body saw it as an attack, while the bond between you treated it like a threat.

You theorized that the violent way their scents mixed around you when Rick got close was just an extension of that and if you could get through him overpowering Negan in that regard, then maybe it would put your body more at ease.

You decided to focus on the running water of the shower, in an attempt to let the calm trickle of the droplets also soothe your body and mind. Rick bent his head into the crook of your neck and your stomach churned unpleasantly. You strengthened your hold on his arm but didn’t stop him as he rubbed his cheek lightly against your scent gland. It wasn’t enough though, because he was barely touching you there.

“I need you to do it properly,” you breathed out in discomfort.

“Baby, it’s too swollen and irritated,” he argued, pulling back. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care. Please, Rick…”

He tightened his hold around you and did as you asked, hating how helpless you sounded. Rick gave his undivided attention to your abused mating gland, desperate to erase the traces of Negan that lingered. He forced himself to ignore your involuntary whimpers as he irritated the sore and red skin.

Gradually, your tensed up body softened in his hold and your own scent told him that it was working. But Rick hated that Negan’s scent was still there - fainter, but just as persistent. He brought his lips to the sore and oversensitive spot, sucking down in an attempt to remove any traces of the other alpha completely.

You didn’t seem to mind at first, remaining relaxed in his arms. But when he sucked down harder and his teeth grazed against the recently opened wound, you froze up again.

“Stop!” You whined out in pain. “Rick, stop…”

“Sorry,” he pulled away instantly.

“It’s okay…” you let out a deep breath. “I feel a bit better at least.”

That gave him some slight relief, but Negan’s scent was still there, taunting him.

“Can you pass me the soap?” You asked before he could get lost in his thoughts of hatred for the other alpha again.

Rick reached up, getting the body wash from the shelf but didn’t hand it to you. Instead, he lathered it up and kept you in his arms, letting his own hands do the work for you. You relaxed again, just simply allowing yourself to enjoy his gentle and caring touch now that his scent was no longer making you feel on edge.

“Better?” He asked softly, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you sighed contently. “Your scent…”

“What about it?”

“It feels like home again,” you admitted shyly.

He smiled at the admission and continued to work his hands along your skin, washing away the feeling you had of being dirty and tainted somehow after Negan touched you. When Rick’s hands fell to your lower belly, you only felt calm and safe, unlike when the other alpha had touched you there. He turned his head to press a soft and loving kiss to your cheek, making your stomach flutter with happiness, rather than the nausea that had been there before.

You felt your mind and body settle as his hands moved over you, his touch familiar and comforting. It reminded you of your first heat with him, right after Rick claimed you. It was strange to think of the doubts he had back then about being able to claim anyone when your bond had become so strong and undeniable.

This wasn’t a moment filled with desire and the aching need for release though. This time, Rick was just trying to soothe you after everything that had happened. His fingertips moved lightly across your skin, only applying the slightest pressure to wash you clean.

When he was finished and the suds had all washed away, Rick helped you stand back up and turned off the shower. He wrapped you up in your towel before leading you back to your bedroom. Some of your strength had returned, now that Negan’s scent was no longer overwhelming you.

It was still there, but at least it was now a little more tolerable and easier to ignore. So, you dried yourself off and got into the most comfortable clothes you could find before Rick was gently pulling you both down onto the cushions which now served as your bed for the time being.

You rested your head against his chest, and he wrapped both his arms and the comforter around you. Tilting your head upwards, you pressed your nose to his scent gland and breathed in deeply, relieved that the action only brought you comfort again, like it always had done and was always supposed to. 

“You still smell like him,” Rick observed, sounding half angry and half concerned by the fact.

You pulled away in shame at the reminder, sitting up to look at him properly.

“I know,” you replied softly. “I still… feel him. Like he’s right here, even though I know he’s not.”

Rick looked away, his jaw clenching and his nose twitching in frustration over the fact.

“Do you think it has something to do with him messing with my claiming bite? Do… do you think it’ll go away?”

When Rick’s gaze met yours again you were left unsettled by the way it conveyed just how lost he was feeling.

“I don’t know…”

It was over a day before Carl returned. You were fast asleep in Rick’s arms, late into the night, when he heard the front door open downstairs. While you seemed to recover after he scented you, your condition quickly deteriorated again, and Rick was at a complete loss. For most of the day, he’d needed to take care of Judith, and while you’d assured him that you were fine resting on your own, things actually seemed to get worse.

Your breaths were labored now, like it was a struggle to do such a simple thing. You had told him that your muscles ached all over and even though you had been asleep for hours, your dreams seemed to leave you restless. So, when Rick heard the signs that Carl had returned, he was quick to gently pull away from you and see if his son had any good news - or even just news in general, that would distract his troubled mind for a while.

But when he headed down the stairs and saw Carl with a strange and rugged man, Rick was on high alert once again. He gave his son a questioning look and Carl was quick to try and placate him.

“Dad, this is Siddiq,” he began to explain. “We found him on the way back.”

The vague explanation did little to ease Rick’s mind.

“He can help,” Carl continued. “He’s a doctor.”

Rick continued to eye the stranger with suspicion and the younger man squirmed a little under his hardened gaze.

“Well, I mean, I was doing my residency,” Siddiq began to correct Carl. “Before… well, before you know…”

“You can help her?” Rick asked, since that was his main concern.

“I can check her over,” Siddiq offered. “I… I saw something similar once during my residency. Though, that omega wasn’t bonded in the same way you two are…”

Rick shot Carl a look, realizing that his son had told the stranger about how his bond with you was different to most. But Carl just met his hardened stare with a pointed look of his own, silently asking his father to just trust him.

“What happened to them?” Rick brought his attention back to Siddiq. “The other omega.”

“The effects faded after a day or so,” Siddiq answered. “But considering that you’re true mates… I’d like to take a look at her myself.”

Rick was still guarded, but he didn’t have much choice. It had already been over a day since Negan messed with your claiming bite and your symptoms had only gotten worse, rather than better. So, he nodded and gestured for Siddiq to follow him up the stairs. Once the other man entered the bedroom you shared with Rick, he set to work, kneeling down to check you over.

Rick remained in the doorway, keeping an eye on him while also giving his attention to Carl.

“You cleared him?” He asked his son lowly.

“We all did,” Carl assured him. “He’s fine dad, I promise.”

“What are her symptoms?” Siddiq interrupted, still checking you over.

Rick noticed that you had become more restless in your sleep as the doctor examined you, but he forced himself not to intervene and let the other man do his work. So, he listed off the different things you had mentioned to him, as well as what he had noticed himself. Most of them didn’t get a reaction, but when Rick mentioned that Negan’s scent was persistent and wouldn’t completely go away, Siddiq looked just as concerned as Rick had been feeling about it.

“She keeps muttering a name,” Siddiq told him. “Uh… Negan, I think. Is that him?”

Rick clenched his fists automatically at the mention of the other alpha, before nodding tersely.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Carl confirmed.

“I think she’s been dreaming about him,” Rick explained. “Having nightmares…”

Siddiq nodded but didn’t seem any less perplexed by it all.

“She’s not dreaming right now though,” the doctor revealed gently.

He shifted, sitting back a little so that Rick could see you properly. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. You were still lying there, but your eyes were wide open and staring at an empty corner of the room. Yet, it was as though you were in a waking nightmare, your features twisted into a look of horror over something none of them could see. Rick had never seen you looking so terrified.

“Y/N?” Carl asked from beside him, trying to get your attention. 

Your gaze briefly fell to them, but then it was fixated on the corner again. Rick picked up on your scent and how it was filled with dread but also mixed intrinsically with Negan’s once more. It wasn’t faint anymore, but as powerful and overbearing as it had been right after Negan bit into your mating gland.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rick asked Siddiq, barely containing his anger and frustration.

The younger man stood up, coming over to him and gesturing for Rick to step out into the hall.

“Look, I have no idea,” he tried to explain. “That other omega was nothing like this. I… I think she’s hallucinating. Seeing him even though he’s not there.”

“How is that possible?”

“I’m not sure, but when an alpha claims an omega, they become part of one another, right? And it should be even more intense and complex with you two, since you’re true mates. So, the reaction is more severe.”

His answer didn’t tell Rick much. It was all just stuff he’d already worked out for himself.

“How do we help her?” He grit out, his patience wearing thin.

“I think you need to claim her again,” Siddiq hurried to suggest.

“You think?”

Guesses weren’t good enough for Rick. Not in that moment and not regarding you and your wellbeing.

“Him trying to gain dominance over the bond you have with her has probably caused a biological struggle. Like a conflict over which alpha has the bigger claim.”

Rick ran a hand through his hair, taking a minute to consider it all.

“The only one who has a claim to her is me,” he argued.

“Technically, yes,” Siddiq agreed.

Rick bit back a retort over the fact that there was nothing in doubt about it. You were indisputably his. You always had been, and you always would be. Instead, he focused on how he could help you.

“He’s left her mating gland bruised and swollen,” Rick pointed out. “If I try to claim her again, are you sure it’ll help and not just hurt her even more?”

“No,” Siddiq admitted. “I… I’m not sure about any of this. But I think it’s your best shot.”

Rick’s frustration just kept growing at the uncertainty of it all. He didn’t want to act recklessly and risk doing something that could just make you worse. But he also couldn’t keep standing idly by, doing nothing. He turned to look back in the room at you, seeing that Carl was now by your side and keeping you distracted from whatever image you had been hallucinating. He sighed before looking back at the doctor.

“Let me be alone with her,” was all he said. “But don’t go too far. Stay with Carl, in case something goes wrong.”

Siddiq just nodded, likely understanding that the practice of alphas and omegas claiming one another was supposed to be a very intimate and private experience. Rick walked back into the room, placing a hand on Carl’s shoulder and getting his son’s attention. They exchanged a look before Carl nodded and got up to leave.

“Don’t come in unless I call for you,” Rick told him.

Carl just nodded again, and when he had shut the door behind him, Rick turned all of his attention back onto you. Your own gaze was fixed on the corner again and you began breathing a little more heavily.

“Baby, look at me,” Rick coaxed you gently, cupping your cheek to guide your focus back to him. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

“You really can’t see it?” You asked, referring to whatever it was that you were seeing.

“No, sweetheart,” he tried to calm you. “It’s not real.”

He could tell that you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him and not look back at the corner. So, Rick began to stroke your cheek while watching you in concern.

“Y/N, I’m gonna have to claim you again.”

To his surprise, you seemed relieved by the idea and nodded at him.

“You should,” you told him.

“It might make you worse,” he gently pointed out.

“It won’t,” you insisted.

Rick took one of your hands in his, holding onto you tightly.

“It’ll hurt…”

“It can’t be worse than this,” you reasoned.

He nodded, briefly looking down at your joined hands before he turned his gaze to your swollen and bruised mating gland. The skin was clearly agitated and the fact that it had never looked so irritated when he had claimed you, made his worry resurface. But Rick pushed it to the side and gave your hand a squeeze.

You tilted your head to the side, offering yourself to him and Rick was cautious at first, scenting you to see how you would react. But you were fine, and your free hand came up to run your fingers through his hair, gently encouraging him. He then brought his lips to the area around the wounded skin, giving a cautious nip with his teeth to see how you would react. You just gripped his hair a little tighter but made no move to stop him.

So, Rick decided to just do it, not wanting to draw out your discomfort. He sunk his teeth into your skin, finding little resistance due to the wound being recently reopened. After that, your reaction was instant and undeniable as a scream of pain tore through your lips and your body tensed. Rick froze, not sure what to do. But as your agonized yell died down into whimpers you pushed his head further against your neck and he took it as your way of telling him to keep going and that you could take it.

He used the hand that wasn’t holding your own to trace soothing patterns along your stomach, trying to give you some reassurance as he dug his teeth deeper into your neck. He wanted to replace every part of you that Negan had touched with traces of himself, your alpha, the only one who would ever have an actual claim to you.

You were crying from the pain now, so Rick licked along the sensitive and irritated skin, trying to do whatever he could to soothe you. But nothing seemed to be helping you to settle and eventually he pulled away, panicking as he realized it hadn’t worked. The raw pain in your eyes as you looked up at him drove Rick crazy with worry.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“What do you need?” He asked you, desperate to help in whatever way he could.

You reached up, tugging at the collar of his shirt until his own claiming bite was exposed and your fingertips brushed against it. That simple touch was enough to tell him what you wanted, because it sent a rush of pure need through him. So, he closed the distance between you once again and offered his own mating gland to you.

You didn’t waste time, sinking your teeth into the old wound and letting out a satisfied moan as you suddenly felt complete again. Rick realized in that moment that he still hadn’t felt fully like himself since that night, when Negan first scented you.

Clearly your mating bond had been suffering the entire time, set off by that and reaching its limits when the other alpha tried to threaten it in the most intimate way he could. Because now, Rick felt whole again, with you both claiming one another and reaffirming that you both belonged to each other.

He felt your body settle again and there was something back in your scent that had been missing recently. It didn’t just remind him of home, but of the intricate and complex nature of the feelings you both held for one another. He could feel you again - not just your touch or your scent, but the part of you which was always with him, no matter the distance between the two of you.

When you relinquished your hold on him, Rick pulled back to look at you, finding you much more at ease and smiling softly up at him. He returned it with a relieved one of his own and stroked your cheek affectionately.

“You okay?” He asked you gently.

You just nodded and Rick decided that was enough of an assurance to set his mind at ease for now.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he told you after a while.

“For what?” You murmured.

“Everything…” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you assured him, sitting up slightly. “This wasn’t your fault. It was him who did this to me, not you. All of this has been him.”

You were still weak, not having gained your full strength back yet, but at least your body felt more like how it was supposed to.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Rick promised you once again. “For everything he’s done to you.”

“I know you will,” you replied softly. “But this is bigger than me. Bigger than you and I. I’m not what’s important here, Rick. He’s hurt all of us, you need to remember that.”

“Y/N, you’re everything to me. He… he violated you. I can’t let that go.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“For you to be careful,” you gently requested of him. “Because he will keep trying to get to you through me and you have to stop letting him. I want him dead, but not if it means risking you or… or losing you.”  

“I’ll be careful,” he assured you. “But I’m not going to let him touch you again Y/N. I just can’t.”

“Okay…” you relented, knowing that Negan had pushed your alpha to his breaking point when it came to you. “I just… I want this to all be over.”

“We’re working it out,” Rick promised. “Just leave it with me, okay? I’m not gonna let him win and he’s not going to hurt you again.”

You weren’t sure if it was a promise that he could keep, but you wanted to trust him unyieldingly, so you just nodded. Rick gave you a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he had his own doubts about it too.

--

A/N:

So the Siddiq thing is kinda vague, but basically I just imagined it as he was in the area anyway, so the group run into him under different circumstances and when it came up that he was a doctor, the Reader’s condition was brought to his attention. And yeah, this means Carl is not bit…

And again I’m sorry for how bad this chapter is. I just feel like it’s too boring and/or repetitive and just feels pointless somehow. But I didn’t want to stretch out the effects of Negan biting the reader too much because she’s already been pretty sick for a lot of the story so far.

I wanted to focus more on how it impacts Rick, by pushing him over the edge and how it will affect his attitude towards Negan going forward. Anyway, sorry again if this chapter isn’t what you were expecting 😔

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Next Part

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#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x f!reader #alpha!rick grimes x omega!reader #alpha rick grimes #omega reader #female reader #rick grimes/reader #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes/you

[s0ul-j0k3r]

Hi can u pls do one where Carl and the reader first meet up at Alexandria and Carl doesn't like him but starts to warm up to him after seeing how the reader is very outgoing and fun guy pls🙏 ( u don't have to make it like this u can make it in any type of way u want and can the reader be a top🙏)

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I love this so much 😭 I'll repeat what I did:

Internally silently scream, mental breakdown. Practically repeat, so you get the idea.🙇

Besides that, I'll start the actual thing.

'𝘼 𝙇𝙄𝙇' 𝙏𝙊𝙐𝘾𝙃 𝙐𝙋' (HAS AN ENDING, WILL MAYBE EDITED SOON)

𝘼 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙇 𝙂𝙍𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙓 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂(𝙎): Reader can cook cause why not, I thought it would be cute 😒. (Sorta) Enemy to lover thing. Foul language. Possible bad grammar Stuff like that so be warned. When 'parent' comes up, it basically means parent of choice so you can use your father or mother for this case. Mentions of death will be in this story, nothing to sensitive. (SEASON 2 AND 8 CARL WILL BE USED, HE DID NOT DIE IN MY WORLD! ✊🧍) (IT WILL BE M/N INSTEAD OF Y/N WITH USAGE OF HE / HIM)

➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪➪

𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘽𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙎 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙐𝙏

You both grew up together as good friends but parted as soon you started to take care for yourself.

Rick and your parent thought you both would never separate from the way you both treated eachother.

(Flash back time 😘) (SEASON 2)

The day he was shot worried you to the bone. Your face drained white and you saw him laying down on the bed, the others keeping their best to keep him alive while Rick was almost to the point of crying.

A few days past, huddled up to your parent. You both were out, Rick stayed with Carl.

"Is M/N alright?" Carl looked at his father worryingly.

His father took a deep sigh, "He's alright." He held his sons hand, reassuring what he said. It was a dangerous world, were you really okay?

The day got to him that he got better, he was more then relieved that you were okay.

"Carl!" You jumped, running at him with a fast pace, smiling and almost crying.

"M/N!" You both ran into eachother, which felt like it lasted forever.

You didn't want to leave him or this moment.

(Days pass because idk honestly.)

The days were long with fun, the sound of you two giggling. You, and Carl.

"M/N!" Your parent called out.

Your heart dropped.

You knew what was going to happen.

You didn't want it to happen.

Not without Carl.

It was the day you left.

Carl let out a simple "Awww." not wanting the fun to end. You just stood there, in defeat.

"Come on M/N, we have to.'

You never understood why.

Your things were packed, Carl got the hang on what's going on. There was a stuffed animal of your (Fav animal). You looked at it and hugged it one last time.

"Here." You still out your hand with the stuffed animal.

He looked at you, noticing the details he could never forget. Your (Eye color), (Hair color), and your (accessory of choice).

He took the stuffed animal and hugged it, soon pulling you into a tight hug. Sobs leaving both out your mouths.

You waved at everyone goodbye, and took your parents' hand while walking off.

"I don't want to go, I don't wanna lose Carl." You said looking down.

"It's not the last time we will see them, we'll visit again." Your parent hoped.

(Back on track, meaning Season 8)

"Alexandria." Your mind read.

The huge walls seemed to be covering something, you tapped your fist on the entrance of the sketchy place.

They slowly opened up, not gonna lie you thought it was quite creepy.

"M/N?" A man spoke out.

You couldn't tell who it was. It seemed slightly familiar.

You focused on the looks for a minute.

"Rick?" Your eyes opened.

"What are you doing here? Where's (Parent name)? Are they alright."

You gripped your hands into fists while slightly looking down, flinching at your parents name.

"Oh." He looked in defeat.

"Come on in, it dangerous out here."

You walked through the gate, revealing barely any familiar faces. It was a small little town. Enough for these people I guess.

"Carl would be happy to see you." He said walking off.

You tilted your head. "Carl?" You couldn't remember the name. Which made you somewhat worry.

You didn't know where to go, so you walked over to this house looking place and welcomed yourself in. No one was in there anyways.

People have you weird stares. The people that you remembered were most likely gone by now. So it was a weird feeling be stared at by the people you do not know or barely remember.

You sat down in a chair. Trying to claim what happened.

(Lil' flashback time)

"Go M/N!" It was the scream of your parent, you ran as fast as you could. Dodging any walkers.

The screams of pain made by your parent only made you run faster.

Your mind was so foggy since then.

You couldn't remember anything besides the regret and the screams of your parent.

(Back on track)

You heard thudding upstairs, taking out your gun for safety. You had trust issues since then. Yeah sure, you were outgoing. But you also had to keep on track.

Walking down a hallway, you cracked open the door to peek. Before opening it all the way pointing out your gun and whatever or whoever was there.

The male towards you stook his hands up with a shocked expression.

"Who the hell are you?" You pointed out, examining the room.

There's a thing you remembered. The stuffed animal you gave up as a child.

You don't remember who got it, but you certainly don't remember him.

He didn't look like a threat. You lowered the gun, putting it away and walking off.

He last sight of him was just him standing there all confused like 'What the fuck just happened.'

You walked out if the house, going towards who knows what. Something to get away from the place. There was a step, that your eyes caught.

You sat down.

He looked familiar. The brown hair, and the hat he never gave up.

"Is that the Carl guy?" You thought once again.

Repeating the name 'Carl' in your head over and over again trying to figure out who it was.

(Carl's POV:)

That guy was weird. Pointing up a gun at me like it was nothing.

I sighed and plopped down on the bed that was near. I took a glance of the stuffed animal next to me. He thought back of the guy who pointed the gun at me.

"It can't be."

"It's probably not, he was a child. He possibly can't make it out there with a single adult." I thought. "M/N."

I looked at him from the window as I sat up, comparing the child to him.

"Holy shit.." my eyes widened.

(Your POV:)

I can't just assume everyone is a threat.

You noticed a little rabbit ahead out you, standing on it's hind legs looking at you.

You smiled, sticking out your hand. It leaped towards you sniffing your hand, expecting food but nothing was there.

Still trusting you, it sat down. It was a beautiful white color, it was dirty the the dirt but oh well. Petting the small animal in front of you.

(Back to Carl's POV:)

"The smile is familiar." I thought. It must be him.

I walked out of the house, slightly walking fast to where he was.

(Your POV:)

The bunny got spooked and ran from a shadow approaching you quickly.

The man came across you, you looked up. Viewing details of him, it was the same guy you almost shot.

"M/N." He spoke.

"How the hell do you know my name?" You looked sternly, pretty scary for a funny guy.

"You're M/N L/N, son of (Parent name) right?"

"I said, how did you know my name."

"You don't remember your own childhood friend?"

"No, now who are you?"

"Carl, Carl Grimes. You gave me that stuffed animal of (fav animal) when you left."

"Your Carl?" You looked at him, realising his appearance of the brown hair, and blue eye.

It was visible that he didn't know how to act, so he came up with anger and stormed back to the house.

You finally knew, you were staring to remember once again.

(Time skip for my lazy ass)

Carl avoided you often, you never had anyone to hang with so you chose animals. You would cook your own meals, reload / sharpen your own weapons.

You went out hunting a couple of times, got used to the people around you, there was quite a few kids around here. (Idk who they are either, just make up random kids.) running around and laughing.

You played with them rarely since you were still new.

"You didn't tell me why." Carl finally approached you, as you played with children.

The children chattered off while you looked at Carl for a minute, clueless.

"Why you left, now fucking tell me."

He was visibly upset. "I don't know." Was all that came out of your mouth.

"I don't know why the hell I left, it was my parents idea." You didn't look as stern as before. It was a more of a 'calm' look.

He looked at you once before walking off again.

It became a normal thing, quick talk then walk off. Usually asking where something is.

You began to feel lonely, about no one to socialize too. Sure you've been like that for years. That only made it worse.

You decided to confront him without him walking off like he always does.

(Time skip for yet again, my lazy ass.)

"Why the hell do you keep walking away from me?" You asked.

"It's not important, never will be. None of the conversations are anyways."

"Tell me what's wrong." You looked at him, not joking around. You wanted an answer.

He took a deep breath before looking at you, "It's the fact you didn't recognize me, your own childhood bestfriend. I've been missing you for years, years M/N!" He shouted a bit. Silence fell in between you two.

"How about we make up for it?"

He looked up at you, "what?"

"Make up for it, we can practice our aiming while chatting. Maybe tomorrow?" You said smiling.

Your smile was his weakness, it was always so sweet. "Fine."

He said, but this time you walked off and not him.

(You called it, time skip)

"I'm here." He looked at you. "Great" you smiled a bit.

Taking out your gun.

(after a bit of practice cause I'm not describing shit today, it was stressful.)

After a bit of talking about his eye, any things you wanna you gathered from the journey until Alexandria.

"We should do this more often, it wasn't bad at all." The only thing he could do was look at you before nodding, and yet again walking off.

"He needs to quit that damn habit" You thought.

(Carl's POV:)

"Fucking shit, oh god." I thought aggressively while walking off at a fast pace.

I was a blushing mess, the way he looked so hot while shooting random stuff.

"There's no way I can like men, it's not possible right?"

(It is fucking possible welcome to gayness)

(-note from Soul)

I was playing around with my food until M/N showed up. I glanced away from him, making my hat cover my face. A quick "Hey." came out of him, I said nothing.

I was alone, and he sat across from me, eating whatever he had. It smelt better then what I had at least. Like something I haven't had in a long time but I never mentioned it.

(I might edit this later but after a couple of date like things please don't come after me I'm tired as fuck 🙇)

It was like I warmed up to him or something,

(hold the fuck on before I continue, something yellow came across me fucking FAST for a split second and my lights flickered. What the fuck 😧)

He laughed and smiled more often, and so did I. It couldn't possibly be because of feelings? Could it? Can't be.

My thoughts and feelings were to gathered up.

I wanted to throw up, but not in a bad way.

I felt and acted different around him. It was comforting around him apart from the hell- hole of an earth this is.

The way he smiled brought back so many memories, so many feelings, and bright sides.

I understood why he never recognized me at first.

It's the differences we both made.

"Carl?" "Carl!" A voice spoke out, clearly wanting my attention.

"Hm?" I looked up to see the one and only M/N.

"You're zoning out again, lasted longer then usual. You alright?" He spoke out it a little bit of concern.

"Just a ramble. Nothing to serious."

"What's it about?"

"Nothing you'd understand."

"Amuse me."

"I'm not telling."

"Why not?" The male said in defeat.

"I said you'd probably not understand."

"You said probably, maybe I will? Come on, please?"

"It's the same old him." I thought.

"It's memories-"

"About what?"

"Let me finish my sentence and maybe I'll say."

He just looked in boredom, wanting me to just blurt it out.

"Memories about the younger us, when we did all sorts of things. Remember when we first learned how to use guns?"

"Barely, but it's enough." He focused on his memory. He explained how his mind got blurry and couldn't remember much since his parent during the hang out a couple days back.

"Do you ever think your eye will come back?" He pointed towards my missing eye.

"Still dumb as usual." I yet again thought to myself.

"Probably not."

M/N was on a random ramble again about things he randomly thought, I pretended to listen. I wasn't really though. It's usually about dumb shit, or even things that are not even possible. I'm just glad he trusts me to speak about these things. Or even talks to me at all.

I snapped back out of my thought.

"Still on that stupid ramble." My mind spoke once again.

After a while he finally quit with a "I'm hungry." and left the room. I followed along and sat down at the kitchen table, just to give him company while he cooks.

"You hungry?" He asked.

"Could snack on something."

There was a whole bunch of ingredients on the counter, while he worked, measured, poured, all that stuff while I went on my ramble about him again.

"A bit of that.."

I hear him ramble on, not sure what he meant. But he placed a tray in the oven which looked like cookies or something. Pretty sure it was based on the sugary smell of chocolate.

"Smells good, what is it?"

"Chocolate chip cookies, it was my parent's recipe."

Minutes pass by, until a loud "Ding!" Passed through our conversation.

He sat up, talking out the tray. The fresh smell of cookies made my mouth water, I always loved sugary stuff. Especially when fresh.

He sat down once again, guessing to let the cookies heat settle down.

A chat came between us, as usual to cover the silence.

Sitting up once again, the cookies were put onto clean plates. Walking over, he placed a plate down infront of me.

Him sitting down and eating, I take one off the plate and taste it. A sense of satisfaction and sugar came across my mouth. Probably the best cookies I've tasted.

"Is it good?" He questioned.

I nodded, stuffing my mouth with cookies.

He chuckled while giving off that sweet smile of his.

-QUICK BONUS

My father came bursting into the house, making us both jump. Storming by he grabs a cookie off the tray and shoves it into his mouth with aggression before angrily stomping upstairs. Making us both giggle about his reaction.

(Back to story)

"What's up with him?" He laughs out

"Probably someone isn't co-operating with him" I laugh off.

"Still has the same short temper." We both laughed at that one.

As soon the plates were empty with only crumbs left on them. He takes the plates making his way to the sink.

"A lil' touch up."

I heard him say as he stops beside me, making me look at him in confusion.

And there it was.

A pair of lips on mine, his lips were soft. But I couldn't control myself but kiss back.

He pulled back and giggled, taking off my hat and putting it on top of his head, soon ruffling my hair.

I swear I was beet red.

#carl grimes #carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes fluff #male reader #the walking dead

[billthedrake]

BACHELOR PAD (PART TWO)

After a few weeks of Dad crashing at my place, we settled into our routine. We would decompress after work each day. And before bed, he'd ask what I was in the mood for. Or I'd proactively tell him.

We got better with each other in bed. We knew how to turn each other on, how to touch each other's bodies, when to kiss hard and when to kiss slow. Best of all, we'd developed staying power with each other. We could go for a three-minute fuck, or we could stretch it out.

Hands down, Dad was the best lover I'd ever had.

We had our first fight, a real lover's quarrel. We had make up sex. A couple of days later we had a conversation about communication. It was fucked up.

And every other week, on Friday, Dad would toss a fat envelope of cash onto the coffee table. Once the lawyer was paid off, the wad got thicker.

"Don't you ever use a checking account?" I teased one week.

"I'm worried you wouldn't cash the check," he admitted in a matter-of-fact tone.

I nodded. Dad's pride was something else. But maybe I was stubborn, too. "Well, I hope you're keeping some money for yourself."

"Some," he replied. "Spending money. But you're handling the expenses, and that's my share."

When Dad first moved in, I found the role reversal between parent and child exasperating. Now I got a strange thrill out of it. I flipped through the bills, doing a rough visual calculation. Even if landscaping was a step down in life for Dad, he was making pretty good money.

"I'll take out half the rent, and put the rest in savings for you."

He nodded, acquiescing. Then he got a smirk. "You know, you're really fucking sexy when you're in one of your decisive moods."

That caught me off guard. "Yeah?"

Dad blushed as he looked into my eyes. "You bet. I mean, I'm proud as a parent, to see how responsible a man you've grown up to be. But it's also kind of a turn on."

I gave a defensive laugh. "God, Dad, you sound like a chick."

Dad blushed redder but laughed along. "I guess."

Thing was, I was hard as nails. I stood up and knew Dad could see. He gulped, his eyes fixated on my crotch as I reached down and unzipped. Then he nodded and scooted to the edge of the sofa seat.

I barely freed my erection when Dad was on it. This was actually our first time having sex outside of the bedroom, and I felt alive and so turned on. Feeling Dad lick my cock in preparation before taking me into his mouth.

I hissed in excitement and reached down to stroke his soft dirty blond hair as he made love to my dick. Dad was incredible at this. I thought of letting him work me to completion, but I was too turned on. I firmly held his head and started soft slow thrusts in and out of his mouth, working my way to deep throat thrusts.

This was incredible sex, and it made me feel alive. Like a full-blooded man. My thursts got more insistent. Dad could take it.

I looked down and saw the fat envelope of money. Almost like I was man of the house now and my father was my live-in lover. That very idea had me cumming big. Dad choked a little on the ejaculation but then eagerly swallowed every drop.

One he relinquished my cock I leaned down and kissed him, with lots of soft tongue.

***

I tried to break the spell. Dad was visibly disappointed when I asked him one evening if I could have some private time.

"I'm actually having a guy over," I admitted. Fuck, why was this so hard?

Dad put on his game face. He forced one of his friendly grins, like if he were giving me one of his dad-son pep talks back in high school. "Of course, buddy. I'll head out for a few hours... maybe catch the Braves game somewhere."

"Thanks, Dad," I said. Wishing I didn't feel like a heel.

My trick looked a bit like Dad. Not a dead ringer of course, but I had found a guy on the app with a similar build and height and hair color. Carl wasn't a bottom, though, so he and I swapped oral before 69-ing. We made out some, and chatted some more in the afterglow, before Carl watched me stroke a second load out, encouraging me with dirty talk the whole time.

It was nice, but it was hookup sex. Nothing like what Dad and I had.

Dad came home an hour after my hookup left, quiet and moody. But he tried not to act out of the ordinary.

I hated it. Hated that I had put Dad through that. Hated that the sex with Carl couldn't compare. Hated that I was in love with my goddamn father.

We were watching some news on TV, but I muted it. "That's the last time I'm having a guy over. At least while you're living here."

Dad seemed surprised. "Come on Joe, you're a young guy. You need..."

I interrupted him. "You know what I need, Dad."

That stunned him silent. He looked at me. Hurt, or maybe happy at my outburst, I couldn't tell.

I reached my arm out, motioning him to sit closer to me. He moved over and I lay my hand on his shoulder. His body felt warm and nice in the embrace. Lazily I massaged his delt muscle. The contact was giving Dad an erection, I knew. I'd take care of it later, but at that moment, after blowing twice earlier in the evening, I was less interested in sex than intimacy.

"You're in really great shape, Dad," I said. "I love your body. So much"

"Thanks," Dad said in reply. Then his tone getting more plaintive, "What are we doing, Joe?"

"Having an affair," I replied. "It's gonna be hard for me to stop."

"Yeah," Dad said softly. Then I pulled his head up into a soft kiss.

***

I'm not a super sentimental guy. Not the kind of guy to remember special dates, or to plan special nights. I had one boyfriend break up with me for that very reason. But as summer was turning to fall, I realized it had almost been three months since Dad moved in.

I made a dinner reservation. I didn't tell Dad. I was nervous he'd say no.

We'd gone through a lot lately. Dad was getting promoted to a managerial position. He talked about finding his own place. We agreed it would be for the best, but neither of us seemed in a rush for it to happen. My friends thought it was strange my dad was sleeping on my couch for three months - at least that's what I told them where my father was sleeping.

My younger brother reached out to me. We were talking again. That was very welcome and made me happy. But everything else with my family was the same.

Dad slowly stopped acting like a guest in my place. We were roommates, having squabbles about who did what chores, but mostly getting along. Dad and I had gone from family to quarreling lovers to buddies.

The sex was hot as ever, but we were both busier at work, so maybe it didn't happen as much as it did at first. But it was like we made up for it in our free time.

It was the night before my planned dinner that I finally told Dad. "You have a sport coat, right?" I asked him out of the blue.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Tomorrow's our anniversary. Three months. I want to take you out."

I was worried how Dad would react but his face lit up like a little kid's. "Not what I was expecting... but that sounds amazing, son."

Dad cleaned up well, and it hot seeing his grown-out blond hair slicked down and his old button-down preppiness back for the evening.

The restaurant I took him to wasn't crazy expensive but it was way nicer than the taco joint or the casual pizza place that were our regular go-to spots. "This menu's like Greek to me, buddy," he chuckled. "You pick something out I'd like."

I don't know why that gave me a big bone under the table, but when the waiter came, I placed the order for both of us and ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter came and poured enough for me to have that first taste. I wasn't even sure what I was tasting for, but it was good. I nodded and the man poured us both a glass.

After he walked away, Dad looked on with an intense affection. He raised his glass to clink mine. "To three months, son..."

"It feels weird going on a date with my Dad," I finally said with a grin. I instantly worried I'd said the wrong thing.

Dad seemed to know what I was feeling. "If it makes you feel any better, let's just say we're celebrating my promotion."

"Tell me... why Matt Adams?" I asked. For all of our closeness the last few months, I'd been too respectful to ask Dad about the affair that had cost him his job and his marriage.

Dad seemed embarrassed, but he also seemed grateful for the chance to talk about it. "It's hard to describe, Joe. You know, I guess I lived my life trying to do the right thing, and Matt... well he saw right through me. I was a middle aged dude, and this young attractive man wanted ME. Wanted me bad. It's an addictive rush." He paused and gave me a serious look. A Dad look but something else. A lover's look. "Just like you, Joe, the way you want me."

I nodded. Dad was right, I was crazy attracted to my father. I figured it was time for a confession myself. "You know... I knew I had a thing for older guys, but I thought it was just a fad, you know. I didn't realize that the substitute can't match the real deal."

"Damm, son," my father sighed. I rarely heard him cuss, and the words caught me off guard. He paused and I could see his face flush red. He was such an attractive man, still with a little of his boyish looks at 51.

We shifted the talk more, going from small talk to life plans. Noticeably we didn't talk about where we fit in each other's future. It was too soon for that conversation. But the wine relaxed us both and we enjoyed the romantic vibe of the dinner and the heavy eye contact. I couldn't wait to get Dad home to fuck him. To kiss him.

The wait was worth it. We were both in a great mood when we got back to my place. I actually thought I'd pounce on my old man once we were back home, but instead we slowly stripped and got into bed, embracing and kissing and feeling each other's bodies.

We made out and got more into it, humping against one another. At last I was on top of Dad and his legs wrapped eagerly around my waist. I knew I couldn't wait long. I'd even have to skip the rim job tonight. At least for round one. I leaned up and started reaching over to the end table to root for the lube.

Dad looked over with an excited grin. "I was hoping you'd want to be in me tonight, Joe..."

I flipped the cap off and hurriedly slicked up my erection. "God, Dad. When do I ever not wanna? Every single time I fuck you... it's just incredible."

My father's voice grew soft, horny. He leaned back and pulled his legs apart. "Pretty incredible for me, too, son."

I was getting so turned on. Too turned on. "The first cum might happen too fast, but I got a couple in me," I explained as my slick cock poked at his pucker.

"Fuck!" I hissed as my dick pressed into his hole. I watched the point of connection then looked at his hunky, hairy body, all strong and fit from his landscaping work. Then his handsome, DILF-next-door face. I sunk deeper in.

"Oh shit son... get that dick up in me." He hissed out a heavy breath that made me think I was going too fast but he just nodded as he looked up from my abs and chest and to my eyes. "You've grown into such a stud of a young man."

"Come here, Dad," I urged, leaning Dad and meeting him in a hot kiss. We made out as my cock bottomed out. Dad's strong hands clung urgently to every bare inch of my fit body. Up till now, I'd gone with the unspoken attraction we had for each other, the natural incestuous chemistry. But I knew that evening something of what made Dad click. He craved a younger top. I thought at first I just happened to be the lucky bastard taking advantage of that need. That evening, as I fucked Dad after our first date, I knew it was more. Dad craved a younger top because of me. I turned him on, and shaped what he needed from other men.

I gave it to him. A long hard shove of my cock. Then another. Dad's firm body just softened in my embrace as he took it.

"Yes..." he cried softly. "Fuck me son."

I now held myself above him, supporting myself above him on extended arms while my hips powered with hard regularity into his receptive guts. I loved the power I had over him in that instance, but also this closeness, psychological messiness and all. "I love you, Dad, you know that."

"Yeah, son. Love you too," he said softly. His dick rock hard.

I thrust deeper, harder, as my pace picked up. My voice was heavy and deep with desire. "No, I mean love you like a boyfriend," I said. "A partner."

Dad gulped and I heard a soft, "Me too, Joe."

Our fuck was getting intense, physically as well as emotionally. As I pounded him, I was getting real close to orgasm. "We really doing this, Dad?" Maybe this was just sex talk, and even if it was, it was way hot.

But Dad clung to my body like to a life preserver as his ass took the pounding gratefully. "We're doing it son. Fuck your boyfriend, stud. Make me yours."

That last part did it. I lifted my head up and I'm sure had the tightest O face in history as my nuts jerked and fired off a heavy incestuous cum load into my father. I held steady then looked down to see Dad furiously stroke his cock, trying to get off with me still in him. I thrust into him again, aiming to batter his butt-nut more regularly.

That did the trick. My father fired a heavy shot of cum straight to the headboard, then several follow ups that landed squarely on his upper chest.

We were silent as we kissed and made out and as I slowly dismounted him. I was still hard. Not rock hard but turned on by the fuck and the taboo dynamic of the whole evening, the whole last few months.

I lay down beside him and gripped his hand. His fingers curled around mine, grateful for the affectionate gesture. I looked over at my dad. "Did we just get carried away or was that for real?" I asked.

"A bit of both," Dad admitted, a pearly white smile and dimples showing for me. He then lay back and looked straight up to the ceiling while the implications sunk in. "But fuck, I don't even know how it would happen. What we'd tell people."

I loved the way his arms rested behind his head, showing of the dense, dark-blond armpit fur. I patted his thigh. "Let me handle that," I said. Something about my father sent me into protector mode.

Dad looked over at me, surprised. "How?"

"I don't know, Dad. We'll think of something." I felt called out, having to admit I didn't really have a decisive plan.

"I think I'm dreaming," he smiled.

I looked at his body head to toe. Naked, well fucked, mine. My dick twitched. "I feel the same," I said. "But you're really my boyfriend, aren't you, David?"

It was the first time I'd ever addressed my father by his first name and the very act elicited a low growl from him and made his cock rise up, improbably. "Shit," he gasped. "I really fucking am."

I scooted up against the pillow, showing off my hardon. "Well your boyfriend has a crazy sex drive."

Dad turned over on his side and ran his fingers up and down my boner, looking up to my face. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Joseph." Dad called me Joseph only when he was mad or in a playful mood. I used to hate my full name, but I liked the way it sounded from his lips.

With a casual movement, Dad straddled my lap and reached back to guide me back into his warm, wet dadhole.

"You know, Joseph..." he said as he sank down on me. "What you're a parent, you always feel proud of your kids, even taking credit for things you're not responsible for."

It was a strangely normal thing to say as his soft, wet guts descended toward my lap. "Yeah?" I replied, lust making my voice break.

Dad's lips curled to a grin. "But this cock... this beautiful cock.... I made it, didn't I Joseph?"

Holy fuck, it was a wicked thing to say and had my dick twitching inside Dad's ass. "Yeah, you did, David.... made your son's horny cock."

***

The next morning Dad got up early, before me, even on his rare day off. For all that he'd changed he was still the upbeat youth minister type, and as I walked into the kitchen in my boxer briefs it was like time hadn't changed. There was Dad in his polo shirt and khaki shorts and dad sneakers, reading the TV with the sound muted and having a cup of coffee.

"Morning, Joe," he greeted. "Coffee's fresh if you want some."

"Thanks," I said in a half mumble and pulled a mug out of the cabinet. I half expected Dad's gaze to follow my body, like he often did. Lusting after me. But that morning he looked on very much with a fatherly expression. Some concern behind his chipper demeanor.

"You're up and dressed early," I finally observed after a few sips of coffee.

"Yeah," he said in a sigh. "Joseph... we gotta talk."

A pit formed in my stomach. I was even hoping the coffee would stay down. "God, I went too far last night, didn't I?" Wanting to head Dad off at the pass in the what-the-fuck-were-we-thinking game.

He shook his head and gave an impish smile. "Oh no... I mean, yeah we absolutely went too far, both of us, but I meant it.... Only, Joe, we can't live together... I can be your boyfriend, but we can't live together."

"Oh," I said, not disappointed in his words but definitely surprised.

I realized then he'd rehearsed some of his speech, maybe multiple versions of it, as he waited for me to wake up.

"Your friends are already thinking you've let me overstay my welcome, and if I live you with you, it's gonna seem strange. I don't know," he continued. "I think we'll be able to be closer if it looks like we're living our own lives, you know?"

God, Dad was right. "I guess I'm a lousy roommate, too," I quipped, with a smile telling him I was OK with the idea.

"The worst," Dad chuckled. "Honestly, that's been the toughest part. I guess I kind of got used to bossing you around when you lived at home, and it was hard to see the tables turned."

I hadn't thought of that, but it would explain our quarrels around basic household stuff. "So... you're getting your own place?"

Dad nodded and leaned back in the bar stool, spreading his legs. He was so fucking handsome, and my heart fluttered just taking in his looks. "Going out apartment hunting today. I'll try to find a place close by... I'm serious about what I said, Joe... I want us to be boyfriends. For real."

I threw hard in my underwear at those words, and I knew Dad could see. But I tried not to make the moment about sex. I stepped up to my father and softly held his sides and leaned in for a kiss. I tried to make it the best kiss I'd ever given him. Soft, skilled, and patient. His tongue slipped back against mine, silky soft and wet.

"We're really doing this aren't we?" I asked. Repeating the question from last night but it felt even more real now.

"Yeah, kiddo, we are," Dad grinned and reaching down to cup my hardon. He looked down between us then back up to my face. "Would my boyfriend like a blow job?"

I nodded, feeling thrilled and naughty and emotional all at once. "I would... David," I said, trying out Dad's first name for the first time.

That got a soft growl out of the man. "Fuck, Joseph," he hissed, roughly pulling down my briefs and letting my hard son dick plop out.

I stepped back to give Dad room to crouch down in front of me. Since we discovered fucking, we'd been doing oral less. Or at least Dad had been going down on me less. But I still loved it, loved the act and loved the feel of his mouth on my dick. In the matter of a few months he'd gotten even more skilled at it, somehow.

I settled in my stance, legs spread and let my father do his magic. Up and down, slowly at first then more steadily bobbing and milking my cock with his throat. And the sight of him, silvery-blond hair, summer tan, his preppy-dad attire... it had me giving it up hard, as I fed Dad his breakfast in liquid form. The man gulped hungrily, audibly swallowing my seed and slurping my cock. It was beautiful.

"God, I love your cum," he said excitedly as he stood back up.

He seemed surprised to see me crouch down now. I wasn't always the best at reciprocation and with Dad there was this dynamic where I fed off his bottom vibe. But I wanted to suck my father's dick right then. My boyfriend's dick.

I undid his shorts and fished out his hard prick. "Oh fuck son..." Dad growled. "Suck my cock, buddy."

And I did. Maybe I didn't have Dad's mad skills, but I was motivated to give him the best head I could, copying his technique if I had to. It seemed to work. As I held on to his meaty ass and bobbed up and down quickly, I heard a choked cry and felt that dad dick grow steel hard in my mouth. And like that, I was being fed a million of my little brothers, straight down my throat like a shooter.

"Aw yes..." Dad sighed in relief.

We were both grinning as we returned to normal, me slipping on my underwear, Dad tucking back into his shorts and zipping up.

"Want me to come along today?" I asked Dad.

He shook his head. "I need to do this on my own Joe... if that's OK."

"Absolutely OK," I assured him. "You know, I feel like we're taking a huge leap... it's kind of scary," I admitted.

Dad was feeling the same way too, but just gave me that chipper youth pastor/coach grin of encouragement. "Hell yeah it is buddy... but I think we're ready for it. Maybe the world's not," he added in a contemplative tone, "But we are."

He stepped up to me again. Maybe there was doubt on my face. "Don't worry, stud... we'll make it work." We kissed again, soft now, romantic.

"Yeah," I hissed, feeling an optimism and a real sense of our future for the first time.

And then I watched my boyfriend, my father, grab his keys and head out the door, but not before he gave me a final wink.

#drakestories

[ne0spac3-g0v3rnmen7]

flight of the crows #3

(a/n: this is where the completed chapters end and because I usually write shorter chapters, it's probably gonna take a week or two to get more out. enjoy while u still can >:)

also if you enjoy my writing, my links are not only in the last post, but at the time I'm writing this my pinned post should be that. yay)

TOMMYINNIT PERSPECTIVE

"Phil!" Tommy shouted, walking through the hole in the wall that they called a door. He knew Phil was visiting today, so he decided to visit him before he leaves.

Walking through the door, he spots the horrifying sight of his older brother's bloody dead body. "PHIL!" Tommy screams almost at the top of his lungs.

Phil stumbles out of the room Technoblade prepared for him into the doorway of it. "Hey, To-" Phil stops his sentence, looking at the body of his son laying on the ground.

Phil didn't shout or cry, he just stood there looking at the body. "W-what happened!?" Tommy asked Phil.

"I'm... I'm not sure yet." Phil said. Phil walked up to Wilbur's body and sat by it. He started to look for the wounds put on the body.  

A deep cut near his stomach, possible a sword or pickaxe, and 7 separate stab wounds, too small to be a sword, so probably a smaller than average hunting knife, or a pocket knife

Phil looked around the room. The only few noticeable things were the crying young boy in the corner and something small covered in blood.

Something small covered in blood?

He crawled over to the object, and upon closer inspection, it's a pocket knife. He wipes some of the blood off, the word 'lore' carved into it.

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

He sits up in his bed, grabbing a health potion and drinking it. His arm and stomach haven't healed up fully yet.

He can hear someone mining through the stone he's put down, blocking the door. "Techno?" Phil walked into the room and saw Technoblade sitting up in his bed.

Phil stared at him for about 30 seconds before saying something else. "Techno."

-

PHILZA PERSPECTIVE

Looking at Technoblade, he was covered in blood that didn't seem to be his own. "What the fuck." 

Technoblade stared back at him. "Heh?" He seemed confused. "Why the fuck is your brother lying dead on the floor?!"

Technoblade stayed silent for a few seconds. "I... I didn't do most of it." Phil threw his hands in front of himself almost as if it was a low-budget scripted film for the Indie Visions Film Festival.

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Technoblade fiddled his thumbs nervously.

Phil started to walk towards Techno. He wasn't sure what he was about to do, but he was going to do that.

When Phil finally gets to Techno he punches Technoblade's face which makes Techno fall back onto the bed.

Technoblade puts one of his hands over the place Phil punched, gets back up, and pushes Phil over.

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

Phil seemed angry. What if he thinks he killed Wilbur? He doesn't know what to do or how to explain this situation, so he runs out of his room and into the wilderness.

Carl, his horse, was right by the door so he untied the leash from the fence and rides Carl off into the forest.

-

PHILZA PERSPECTIVE

While Techno was leaving the room, he just sat there for a few seconds recovering silently from the fall. Then he got up to chase Technoblade.

"Tommy, get your horse, we're leaving." Tommy got off the floor and followed behind Phil. Phil had just picked a random horse that was in front of the house while Tommy got on top of his trusty steed, Henry.

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

He can hear the sound of hooves slamming against the dirt behind him. He knows that they won't be able to catch up, but it's still anxiety-inducing.

Technoblade checks his inventory to see if he has anything he can use to stop them, or at least slow them down.

A box, 15 poison-tipped arrows, a pickaxe, a spare iron ax, and a bunch of unlabeled potions.

It looks like he'll just have to outrun them. Technoblade gets Carl to swerve into the forest to try to get Phil and Tommy to lose sight of him.

Carl was quick, agile, and smart, so he doesn't worry about anything aside from knowing he might also be killed if they catch up to him.

He can hear shouting behind him, but he can't tell what is being shouted. Carl continues to run swiftly through the forest while Technoblade looks behind them.

He throws a potion of invisibility down on the ground and he can hear the glass shards from the broken bottle hit against his horse's armor.

-

time skip

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

It's been a while since he'd ran away from Pogtopia, around three days if he remembers correctly. He had already set up camp in the middle of the forest. 

It should be deep enough in the forest for nobody to find him for a while, which would be bad if he died.

He looks over at Carl, the only friend who helped him through this. "Hey, Carl." He offered the brown horse a carrot he found at the bottom of his bag.

The horse took the carrot and Technoblade had pet Carl's forehead.

While the horse ate, Technoblade was telling him about plans. "Okay, so I'm at least 85% sure Phil's mad at us, maybe Tommy too, so I think we should go back to Antarctica."

"Staying here is basically suicide, so we should leave as early as we can." 

Almost as if it was planned, two papers blew through the wind towards the two and Technoblade had grabbed one.

Looking at the paper, it was a bounty poster. For himself

Wanted: Technoblade, 10k emeralds, dead or alive (please bring him dead)

"Wow, how nice," Technoblade said, crumpling the paper and throwing it into the campfire he had lit.

"Looks like we need a plan. Any ideas?"

-

time skip

-

It was around 2 hours, and Technoblade has not only come up with a plan but also has been taking action with that plan.

He was going to stay somewhere outside Dream SMP territory until

A: Things calm down and Technoblade can get to his airplane to fly back to Antarctica

or

B: He gets in contact with his friends who are in the Antarctic Empire and they fly here and pick him up.

And plan B seems the most realistic here.

While demolishing the campfire to remove any evidence of being here, he can hear the sound of a horse walking. 

He climbs up a tree and looks around the area. He spots the horse he heard with Quackity on top of it. It seems Quackity is by himself, though.

He might be here for him, so they should vacate the area. It would be too loud to continue packing up his items, so he'll have to leave them here for now.

Technoblade hops on top of Carl as fast as he can and Carl starts trotting into the forest and accidentally makes a bit too much noise.

"HEY!!" Technoblade can hear being shouted from behind him. Carl's trotting soon turned into a full-speed gallop and slowly merged onto the pathway.

"GET BACK HERE YOU BITCH!" Quackity's horse wasn't that fast of a horse, but it still managed to keep up the pace and stayed a fair distance from Carl and Technoblade.

-

QUACKITY PERSPECTIVE

Ever since the butcher army has tried to killed Technoblade which resulted in losing his left eye, he's been losing his sight a bit in his remaining eye.

He's not been sure what to do about it, so currently he's just not tried to get help.

Quackity trusts his horse, a snow-white steed named Caspian, to follow Technoblade for him as this was a highly trained horse in his own unprofessional opinion.

One bad thing about Caspian was her stamina. They already galloped through the forest here, so Caspian will most likely need to take a break soon.

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

Technoblade knows exactly where he's going. He made a barn to farm potatoes while away from the Antarctic Empire, it's been abandoned since he won the potato war and almost nobody knows where it is so it should be the perfect place to hide.

The beating of his heart matches up with the sound of hooves slamming against the dirt. The barn is nearby.

They take a sharp turn into the forest where the barn should be and is.

-

QUACKITY PERSPECTIVE

Quackity was currently on the side of the pathway, holding a bucket of water that Caspian was drinking out of.

Quackity has always been told to get another horse, and he would agree, but he's pretty sure that no other horse (Aside from Carl, of course,) is better than Caspian and breeding horses would take too long, especially when in the middle of dealing with a revolution.

Oh yeah, he also was very attached to the mare.

But that's not important right now, what is important is that Quackity should probably try to catch up to Technoblade.

Caspian stood back up and Quackity struggled to get on. (Because he's short. I'm sorry)

If he was correct, Technoblade should have gone this way...

-

TECHNOBLADE PERSPECTIVE

Not that deep in the forest, he had gotten to his barn. It was a bit run down, the crows taking over what was left of the potato farm as they also had taken over the scarecrow, and the chipping red paint that he should fix soon.

 He had led Carl over to the horse pen that had some other horses than Carl, and taken off their diamond horse armor.

Another important thing is what Technoblade should do with himself. He's already got his career situated and future planned, so he should probably find a place to hide instead.

He started looking in the bag he snagged from his item stash and found a few things. An invisibility potion, 15 poison-tipped arrows, a single carrot, and one lonely fruit snack.

Technoblade ate the fruit snack, almost choking on it, then took his helmet off and splashed himself with the invisibility potion.

He could hear the sound of hooves slamming against the gravel in front of the barn, so he had quickly stashed away his bag now with his helmet in it under some hay, and dashed across the barn into one of the corners.

Quackity walked into the barn dragging his ax against the spruce floor, scanning the room the best he could.

"Come out please," Quackity was poking his head over the fence of the pig pen. "I can't see, this is rude."

Quackity leaned against a pole made of spruce logs. "I'll pay you?" He could see Quackity check his inventory and pull out a crossbow with what might have a poison-tipped arrow.

Quackity started climbing up a ladder and Technoblade had a chance to move across the room and open a chest. He pulled out a crossbow and grabbed a poison-tipped arrow from his bag. 

-

time skip

-

Eventually, Quackity comes back down the ladder and Technoblade started aiming it for his hip.

Quackity was just standing there as if he knew he was going to be hit with an arrow and that he wanted to.

Technoblade steadied his aim a bit more and fired.

But Quackity decided that he was going to walk on over to his horse as he assumed Technoblade wasn't here, and the arrow somehow ended up in his calf.

He could hear Quackity scream out in pain as he fell onto his knees. This should be able to keep Quackity distracted for a while, so while he's doing whatever he'll do Technoblade grabs his bag, hops on Carl, and leaves as fast as he can.

It may be a bit sad how there's a possibility Quackity could die, but he now has a more efficient weapon than a pickax and an ax.

-

time skip

-

Technoblade has finally returned to where he used to be, none of his items missing thankfully. He packs it into his bag, giving Carl many carrots as he has no room for them in his bag.

Technoblade had swung the backpack over his shoulders and hopped on top of Carl. He wasn't sure which direction was truly out of Dream SMP territory, so he just chose a random direction and hoped it would work. 

While Carl was trotting over into the direction they've decided to go, he looked back at the place that used to be somewhat of a campsite and remembers what he's done to get in this situation.

-

time skip

-

It has been at least an hour or so since they left the campsite. The sun was already beginning to set, the light barely passing through the autumn leaves that are still hanging on the trees.

It was a very nice sight to see. He had gotten off of Carl and decided to take a bit of a break. There was a bit of a hillside, so he had laid on the ground, his back against the dirt letting him still see the mesmerizing sunset.

But, something broke the silence. 

Talking.

#blood and gore #mcyt #mcytblr #dsmp techno #technoblade #dsmp wilbur #philza #tommy mcyt #tommyinnit #phil watson #not rpf #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #wattpad story #flight of the crows

[walkerwords]

"Share Your Burden" Daryl Dixon & Daughter!Reader

Request From Anonymous: "Your writing is the best! You probably have a lot of requests, but if you wouldn't mind I'd like to request some more dad Daryl fics where he basically adopts the reader. Those are just always so good. Not sure I have a specific story in mind, just more dad Daryl and Daughter reader in general please. You're the best! 💖"

Summary: The reader is like a daughter to Daryl. When she sees him taken by the saviors, she will get him back and keep him safe even if it means losing some of her humanity.

Word Count: 4933

Warning: Violence, Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Carry You" by Fleurie and Ruelle

Note: Figured considering our show is coming back this month, I should get some stories in, huh? There are parts in this that are lightly inspired by Ellie in TLOU2.

--------

It had taken every ounce of strength not to move as you watched the man known as Negan brutally murder two members of your family.

Abraham’s blood was ingrained into your mind and Maggie’s screams echoed through your skull like bats in a cave. You wanted to scream, cry, and launch yourself at your new enemy to save those who you loved but you remained in the shadows of the tree you had climbed and waited. The group known as the Saviors milled around the clearing as Negan hauled your leader into the RV and drove off.

From your vantage point, you could see Daryl fading as he stared at the bodies of his brothers. Blood was dripping down his arm from the gunshot wound he had sustained from the blonde man above him. Looking at the way the sneering man held Daryl’s bow made you so angry it was hard not to drop down and plunge a blade into his pale neck.

Carl was with Michonne, trying not to look anywhere but the enemies that surrounded them. Carl was your age and he was also the person who you trusted the most to keep it together in situations such as this. You pulled your strength from your friend’s resolve and continued to wait.

Maggie was getting worse and that was why you had ventured out of Alexandria in the first place. Spencer had spotted you heading for the gate when he had tried to stop you. Ignoring him as always, you pushed past him and began the trek to Hilltop. It was on that journey that you came across the first roadblock and so you followed it.

You had never imagined that it would have led to the gruesome scene below you. Your knuckles strained around the handles of your knives, a pair that Daryl had given to you himself when you had settled at the prison. It was only after Terminus that he began to properly train you to use them. Right then, they had never felt more useless.

Daryl was your protector and he was the closest thing you had to a father. He had found you running from Walkers when the group was settled on the Greene farm. You had been alone for weeks and from then on, it was the two of you.

Daryl had been the one to protect you from Shane’s scrutiny, the piercing gaze of the Governor, and the cannibals of Terminus. In turn, you became his shadow, having his back wherever he went, always ready to defend him while also learning everything you could. Now, you felt as powerless as he looked. It had been a long while since the group had been this broken-looking.

It was heartbreaking.

It wasn’t long before Negan returned with Rick and after almost making your leader cut his own son’s hand off. Negan ordered his men to leave not without making demands of your family and hauling Daryl along with him.

Staring after the caravan of murderers, you weighed what you were going to do next. A weight was heavy in your pack’s front packet and while you knew it was risky, a plan began to form. One that would either get you or Daryl killed or perhaps even both. Still, you had to try.

Dropping to the forest floor, you took one last look at your people through the trees before taking off in the opposite direction and towards the main road, pushing your legs as fast as they would go.

“Hold on, Daryl,” you whispered in between haggard breaths, “I’ll be there soon."

-----------

Daryl was in the back of the truck trying not to grimace every time the vehicle rolled over an uneven section of road.

Everything hurt and nothing felt right. He felt sick and above everything, he felt guilty.

The shock was still coursing through his veins as he heard Negan laughing in the cab upfront but he tried to tune it out as he thought of Glenn. It was instinct to go after Negan. Daryl hadn’t even thought about the repercussions that might happen as he got to his feet and charged the larger man.

It hadn’t occurred to Daryl to take a breath and think about what would happen next. They had never faced a menace like Negan before. Daryl thought he had seen the last of the bloodshed when they had escaped Terminus. At least, escaped the violence for a while before it caught back up to them again.

It wasn’t long till Daryl’s pain began to increase as the adrenaline wore off. Dwight was sitting across from him, holding his crossbow and Daryl wanted to strangle the man.

He had helped Dwight with Sherry and Tina. He had tried to keep Tina alive when he returned the insulin. Daryl couldn’t help but be enraged while looking at him, but he understood the betrayal in a way. He knew what people became in the new world and according to Dwight, Negan was the lesser evil of trying to survive on his own.

Daryl then only wondered what happened to Sherry.

They were going down another road as Daryl leaned to the left as the truck turned sharply. He blinked away the sudden twinge in his shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in discomfort. He wouldn’t give these bastards the satisfaction.

Suddenly, from the front of the cab, Negan shouted, causing Dwight to jump in his seat. “Shit!” Negan swore and then there was a flash of light, a loud bang, and then they were airborne. Daryl had barely a second to brace his hands on the roof of the truck before it slammed into the road, the metal exterior shredding sparks along the neglected asphalt.

Smoke and dust filled the air as Daryl tried to get his bearings. He could hear the muffled shouts of Negan and his men followed by a few gunshots but his ears were still ringing.

Across from him, Dwight was groaning in pain as blood dripped from his brow. His hands had let go of the bow and in a sudden surge of energy, Daryl dove for his loaded weapon.

Clutching his hands around the crossbow, Daryl scrambled for the back door, trying to get to his feet. A hand then circled around his ankle as Dwight realized what was happening. Turning around, Daryl blindly fired a bolt and it struck Dwight in the shoulder, mirroring Daryl’s own wound for good measure.

Dwight went down in pain and Daryl continued to move. As he fumbled for the door that was hanging half open due to the crash, he could hear yells of pain out in the warm air followed by the sound of someone choking as if they were drowning. Even half-aware of what was going on, Daryl could recognize the sound of someone choking on their own blood.

Daryl slammed his good shoulder against the broken door with a frustrated yell and finally felt the sun on his face. “Don’t kill her!” Daryl heard Negan scream. “Jesus fucking Christ, Arat!” Daryl tried to get back on his feet but everything was too bright and he was still trying to figure out what had happened and who Negan was talking about.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand around his arm that he seemed to snap back into his body. Aware that he hadn’t reloaded a new bolt into his bow, he swung his arm, trying to clip his assailant in the head with the bow. “Fuck! Daryl!” a familiar voice exclaimed to his right. The arm around him tightened as Daryl’s eyes finally focused on the person at his side.

“(Y/N)?” he breathed as he took in your face that was covered in blood and a wild look echoed from your eyes.

“We have to move,” you said earnestly. “Now!” Not questioning your demands, Daryl nodded and allowed you to take his bow as you grabbed for it. Slinging the bow onto your back, you grabbed the lighter Daryl had given you and he watched as you took a breath, no doubt sending some kind of prayer to the universe before you threw it into a pool of gasoline, igniting it and sending Saviors diving for cover.

Bullets flew by you as you hauled Daryl to the woods. “Don’t fucking shoot her! She’s a goddamn kid!” Negan screamed at his men.

Daryl leaned heavily on you as you dragged him towards the treeline. He didn’t hear much of what you said after that as his feet blindly followed you. “Negan,” Daryl choked out, trying to get you to understand.

“Leave him,” you said, trying to carry both of your weights. “Come on, Daryl, I can’t carry us both,” you pleaded, trying to get his mind to catch up with his body. It took another minute or so before the ringing subsided in his ears and the world got back into focus. Taking a few deep breaths, he got back into his normal gait and began speeding up his steps as he followed you through the woods.

You kept the crossbow on your back but he was soon able to walk on his own. “What did ya do?” Daryl asked as you stumbled down an embankment and carefully crossed a stream.

“What I had to to get you away from them,” you said as you helped him over the slippery rocks. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to keep moving. There’s a town just through these trees, we can hide there for the night.”

“They’ll find us, (Y/N),” Daryl said as he pressed his hand against the bullet wound that was bleeding again. You looked at him, your eyes still wide from the fight.

“Then I’ll handle it,” you said. “It's my turn to keep you safe.”

-----------

The heat was horrid by the time you and Daryl arrived in the abandoned town.

Even with Daryl still in pain, you made the two of you circle back three times in order to cover your tracks. However, eventually, you knew he couldn’t take more before he finally keeled over. Keeping the crossbow loaded, you moved silently through the back alleys of the small town, looking for both Saviors and Walkers alike.

After the quarry horde had been redirected, the larger groups of the dead had been far and few between but that didn’t mean Walkers were gone altogether. Silently, you took down four Walkers before you found the destination you had in mind.

The old town library was something you and Sasha had found when you had accompanied her on a hunt one day. The latches on the doors still worked and it had enough blindspots inside to hide from the Living and the Dead.

You stood watch as Daryl wrestled with the doors. The Southern heat warped the frames a bit but eventually, Daryl was able to push one open and slip inside. You followed quickly and shut it behind you. Placing down the bow, you shoved a fallen bookcase in front of the double doors before collapsing against it for a second.

“Okay, this should hold,” you said with another breath. Daryl was swaying on his feet when you looked back at him. “Come on,” you said, picking up the bow and leading him into the main area of the library.

For such a small town, the library was a decent size. You figured that it was probably the main community hub for the neighborhood. It made its untouched books and abandoned keycards that much more sorrowful. Depositing Daryl on one of the lumpy couches, you grabbed your flashlight from your pack and clicked it on.

“I’m going to go make sure there’s no Dead in here,” you said. “Stay here and I’ll be back to take a look at that shoulder.”

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, grabbing your hand before you could move.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. Daryl seemed to be wary but he was also exhausted so he relented and let go. You gave him your canteen, ordered him to drink, and then you began your search.

The dried blood on your skin was driving you crazy as it itched with every second. When you had set out after the Saviors, clutching the grenade you had stolen from Spencer’s stash a few days before, it hadn’t occurred to you that there would be a before and an after.

Before you managed to get to Daryl and after you got him.

Now, it was all about survival. You knew what you had done. Negan was pissed and if you knew anything about his temper solely based on the clearing, then you knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

You feared for your family back in Alexandria. If he wanted to, Negan could go and terrorize your family, perhaps kill more of them. None of that had been on your mind when you began your rescue operation. You weren’t thinking about anyone but Daryl. You had to save him and you were willing to risk your life. Though, now, you realized it wasn’t just your life you were risking.

Shaking the thoughts out of your mind, you finished your rounds through the two stories of the library. You were surprised to only find two Walkers who were less than “alive”. Both were barely hanging on and you figured one of them had been the librarian at some point. You took them both out to end their suffering and then headed back to Daryl.

Daryl was still awake when you joined him on the couch and helped him out of his shirt. The gunshot wound was getting worse and you could tell he was trying to put on a brave face for you. “You don’t have to do that, you know?” you said as you dug through your bag for the alcohol and bandages you always had with you.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Act as if nothing is hurting,” you said, pouring some of the alcohol on a rag. Not giving him a warning, you pressed it against his shoulder and Daryl swore as it burned the wound. “See,” you said with a smirk.

“Ya shouldn’t have done it,” Daryl said after a second.

“If I hadn’t, then you would be dead or worse,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let Negan take anyone else from me. Not after Glenn and Abraham.”

“You saw,” Daryl said and it wasn’t a question. You began cleaning the excess blood off before finding your suturing kit.

“I was in a tree,” you whispered, threading the needle, suddenly very grateful for the lessons Herschel had given you. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

“Maybe he should have,” Daryl said and your hands froze. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you could see the emotions that were raging in him.

“Daryl…”

“He said not to move, kid,” Daryl said. “I lost it after he killed Abraham. If I hadn’t… Glenn would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that. We slaughtered that outpost, hell, I’m surprised he didn’t take more people out. I know you and the others think I’m just some kid but I notice more than you think and I have learned to read people. Negan is… I don’t think he’s some kind of deranged maniac but he’s ruthless and he’s not going to stop until he feels as if he has all the power again. At least I can see that he’s not willing to kill kids. Guess that means Carl and I are gonna be on the front lines this time,” you finished with an attempt at humor.

“Not funny,” he said.

“Daryl, you and I both know that this isn’t going to end without a fight.”

“You ain’t fighting,” Daryl said sternly. You ignored him and began stitching up his wound, careful not to pull too much.

“Considering the way Rick was looking at Negan before I left, it doesn’t look like he had much fight left in him. Someone has to do it.”

“Rick has a lot of pressure on his shoulders,” Daryl defended but you just shook your head.

“I watched him tear a man’s throat out with his teeth, Daryl,” you said. “This was different. I warned you about his pride and how it was going to be his downfall. He just needs to be reminded of the leader he is.”

“Since when are ya so mature?”

“Since I watched the people I love get killed again and again,” you said as you tied off the last stitch.

“You blame Rick,” Daryl said.

“I blame all of us,” you said, picking up the clean bandages. “We believed that moron at Hilltop… We never should have gone after the Satellite Station, Daryl. We keep doing this, getting involved in fights that aren’t ours.”

“We have to help people,” Daryl said. “It’s what we do.”

“Why? Why do we have to? Why is it our responsibility? Why can’t we just survive like everyone else?”

“Someone has to be the good guys,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he believed it.

“I’m sick of being them,” you admitted, finally sitting back.

“Ya really mean that?” Daryl asked as he shrugged his shirt back onto his shoulder. You sat there for a minute before sighing.

“No,” you whispered. “I’m just sick of the death.”

-----------

Daryl was asleep finally and you became the sole protector.

It was odd, the role reversal. So many times you had been the one hurt and cowering as Daryl protected you. Now, after seeing all the horrors you had since Terminus, your skin was stronger than stone. It was going to take a lot more than a bastard with a bat to break you.

You could hear Daryl’s soft snore from the lounge as you scanned the darkness. You stayed there, watching until the soft rumbles of a truck echoed through the night. Ducking down, you watched as a pickup truck drove slowly through the town, a spotlight scanning the empty storefronts.

"Fuck," you whispered. Glancing at the bow by your side, you made a quick decision as the truck came to a stop and three men, Saviors, jumped out.

Sneaking back towards Daryl, you left his bow, loaded, by his side. Taking one last look at him, you slipped your jacket over your shoulders and headed to the second floor. An open window welcomed you near the back exit. Being an avid climber it was easy to maneuver out onto the slanted roof and grab onto the drainage pipe to take you to the ground.

Muffled voices reached your ears as you kept to the shadows. "Spread out, kill the man, take the girl," a man said, a voice you didn't recognize.

"That girl nearly killed Negan," another said.

"We are Negan," the third said. "And we do what he orders. Saviors don't kill kids. Find her." While it was a bold statement, you knew it was false. Hilltop had said, a boy was murdered. None of that fit.

Trying not to overanalyze anything, you focused on the task at hand. Picking up a large rock, you threw it as far as you could. The sound of breaking glass shattered the air and a set of boots took off in that direction.

As the second man went West, you focused on the solo scout who headed towards the abandoned police station. As you got closer, groans reached your ears. Spotting the Walker first, you snuck up behind it and slit its throat with a single slice. The gargling of Dead blood and empty lungs perforated your surroundings but it was enough to call attention to the Savior.

"Ugly motherfucker," the Savior said, not yet spotting you as you stood behind it. As the Savior drew his blade to silently end the creature, you shoved the Walker forward onto the man.

Stunned by the sudden momentum, he cried out as the Walker bit into the face before it. The Savior’s scream was cut off short as the Walker found its next meal. As soon as the damage was done, you finished off both, making sure to stifle the sounds that would pull your other two targets closer. Dragging both bodies out of sight, you slipped back into the shadows.

-----------

Moving West, you avoided any other Walkers who were wandering.

Not looking to be tracked by the Walker equivalent of breadcrumbs, you made sure to stay hidden for the most part. Finally spotting your next target, you began wishing you had grabbed Carl’s gun with his silencer before you had followed after the caravan. Only armed with knives now, you had to make do.

The Savior was looking through a desolate pet shop as you snuck in through a broken window, careful not to make too much noise with the shattered glass.

Picking up a tennis ball that had been neglected, you rolled it towards the aisle the Savior was looking in. Just like a curious golden retriever, the man followed the little ball right into your path. He barely had time to shout a warning before your knife was embedded into his carotid.

His eyes were wide as blood poured onto your hand. Keeping your nerve, you twisted the knife and fully severed the artery. The man fell to his knees as you pulled the blade free. Clutching his throat, he tried to speak but no sound came. “You’re not going to find him,” you whispered as he fell back and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Quickly, you shoved your blade into his brain before grabbing his weapon. It wasn’t silenced but it would have to do if it came down to a firefight. Turning back towards the main street, you ran from the store in hopes of catching the final Savior before he sounded the alarm.

-----------

The truck was still there but its driver was nowhere to be seen.

Noticing the keys were still in the ignition, you rolled your eyes. Pocketing them, you waited in the cab, hoping the final man would return soon.

Fatigue was starting to set in as you waited and you began to think of when the last time you slept was. Before the turn, you had imagined your teen years to be full of parties and late nights studying for tests in high school. You did not envision you would be waiting in the dark of a truck, ready to get more blood on your hands.

Unlike Carl, it hadn’t been at the prison when you first killed someone. It had been before you had even met Daryl. Before you wandered onto the Greene farm and Daryl and Carol had found you, you had been traveling with your aunt and uncle when bandits had attacked you and killed both before turning their sights on you. Not knowing how to use a gun, only ever seeing your uncle use it and of course, in films, you blindly fired and killed one and then the other. The third, who was just a teenager, had runoff.

After that, you felt ashamed at how you didn’t feel bad about doing it. Shane had explained that it was okay because you did it out of self-defense and Daryl and Maggie had agreed.

Now, as fresh blood joined the flaking blood on your hands, you tried to rationalize that what you were doing now was in defense of another. If the Saviors got Daryl back or killed him, you would not have been able to handle it.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself. “Handle this and get back to Daryl. He needs you.”

It didn’t take long for the man to return. The man was speaking into his radio and it had never occurred to you to take the other walkies off the other bodies. However, now you knew you weren’t leaving without this one. If Rick wanted to fight and you were hoping that he was, then having a Savior’s radio, attuned to Negan’s base of operations would be a great start to gather intel.

Angling yourself in the front seat, you waited for him to open the door. Steadying your hand, you took a deep breath in, leveled the stolen gun, and just as the driver’s side door pulled open and the overhead light clicked on, you fired one bullet, hitting the man in the head.

Surprised by your own accuracy, you shuffled out of the cab, grabbed the radio, and shoved the body underneath the car. You waited then, for either more Walkers or the cavalry but when none came, you ran back to the library, hoping the shot didn’t wake Daryl. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

-----------

“Are ya really that reckless?” Daryl said as soon as you snuck back into the library.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you said, nonchalantly.

“Bullshit, I can practically smell all the blood on you,” he said, folding his arms. His bow was still by his side and after the small amount of rest, he was clearly not in the mood for your aloofness.

“I told you I would protect you,” you said as you moved to your pack and grabbed the discarded canteen, and poured some water on your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the sick smell of iron. "Now, we need to figure out what to do," you said.

"We need to get home," he argued.

"We're going to Hilltop," you said. "They'll be looking for you at Alexandria and you know it."

"Both of us," he pointed out with a slight glare.

"Negan doesn't scare me," you said to him.

"He should."

"We've seen worse," you countered.

"You're too young for all this shit," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"So you've said before," you reminded him.

"(Y/N)..."

"If you're about to say that I need to distance myself from you. You'd be a moron. I'm not leaving you. If you don’t like it, any of it, then you never should have taught me to fight.”

“That’s right, I taught you to fight, not to kill,” he argued. Throwing the water bottle down, you turned on him.

“What is this about? I’ve seen you kill people. I’ve seen you do worse than taking a few people out to protect someone in our family. What is actually going on here and don’t say that it’s because you’re feeling guilty. It's more than that.”

“Ever think I don’t like seeing you like this," he gestured to your bloody clothes. "Do ya think I want ya to become someone like Negan? Ya act like taking a life ain’t that big of a deal!”

“Will you stop shouting,” you hissed, moving closer to him. “Daryl, I did what I had to. I am so sorry that you think you are the only one who is allowed to cross lines to protect us. I think you forget all the times we have had to save you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you getting mad at me for saving your life. Do you not realize how much you mean to me? I lost my parents before the turn and then my aunt and uncle and I had nobody. Nobody until you found me in that field. You are the closest thing I have to a father, Daryl and I don’t care what I have to do to make sure I don't lose another parent. I can’t handle it, okay? Please, just let me protect you for once!"

The emotions were taking you over then and it was hard to control them. “I don’t mean to cry and all that,” you said, sniffing back the tears, “but you can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing when people keep trying to take you away from me.”

Daryl’s stern look dissipated then and it made you feel a bit worse. Wiping at the tears on your face, you turned away from him. Soon, you felt his arms around you as he pulled you into his chest just as he had earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, you were just tryin’ to help. Okay, I ain’t mad.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you said into his chest.

“I just worry about ya,” he said. “Ya know why?” Shaking your head, he tightened his hold. “Cause I see ya as my kid, too and I would do anythin’ to keep ya safe. I guess I gotta accept you’re going to do the same." Stepping back, he wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Just no more sneaking out, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed. "Daryl, just know you don't have to carry it all. You can share your burden."

"I thought I was the parent here," he said.

"Family works both ways."

"Yes it does," he said.

Then with a bit more of a smile, you produced the keys you had stolen from the car. “I got us a ride cause you're still stuck with me."

"You're so stubborn," he said.

"I got it from you," you said with a gesture to the street. "You're going to have to drive."

"Right, no need to almost die twice in twenty-four hours," he said and you offered him a small smile. Daryl then took your hand in his as he gathered your pack. "I ain't leavin' you. You're stuck with me, too. I got you, kid,” he said. "And thanks for comin’ to get me.” You looked up at him and nodded.

“Always.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @agent-laufeyson @lucillethings

#The walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x daughter!reader #apolloloki97 #walkerwords #negan #twd #daryl dixon imagines #twd imagine #daryl dixon

[whump-town]

Was Hotch Abused?

I offer you my 2,300+ worded thoughts on the matter with episodes included. There's going to be lots and lots of talk about abuse so you're going to want to steer clear of that if that's something you're not cool with but for those of you interested... I give you all the proof I could think of:

Natural Born Killer.

In the eighth episode of the first season, “Natural Born Killer”, we meet Vincent Perrotta. His father was abusive but from the outside looking in, no one knew a thing. Perrotta started drinking at fourteen and committed petty crimes, as well as assault, for pleasure. Going as far as to kill his own father not too long after. But Perrotta is a monster and a psychopath so it’s clear we’re not supposed to sympathize which makes his interaction with Hotch so peculiar.

Hotch is our “Captain America”. A true neutral with an infinity for doing what’s right so it’s inconceivable to compare him to Perrotta and yet Hotch gives us some rather conflicting lines to dissect.

Before Gideon hands the interview over to Hotch, he spends a moment talking with the others out in the bullpen. The whole time he’s leaned back and he’s watching Morgan and Hotch. Now, at this point, we don’t know about the sexual abuse Derek Morgan faced at the hands of Carl Buford but there’s something about the way that Gideon spends the entirety of the conversation only looking at the two of them. Waiting for them to put together what he clearly already has and when Hotch does…

Hotch jumps straight into Perrotta’s profile, asking: “You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?”, “But your father beat you every chance he got”

Perrotta excuses it with a shrug, “he smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?”

Abuse is a complicated thing and, often, abused children just don’t know what their parents are doing to them is abuse. It can be a subtle and outright thing but there’s an element of normalcy to it. The parent’s abuse is as habitual, as minimal as biting your nails to the child. Adults often can’t identify their parent’s past abuse.

With Hotch you learn that his lack of expression is often as telling as his expressions and as Hotch looks back at Perrotta, there’s something so sad about his eyes. His voice goes from loud, assertive to his whispered answer to Perrotta’s question. “No.” As if, well, maybe that’s a question he’d raised once too.

Perrotta doesn’t care about that though and he taunts “well, maybe if yours had you would have learned to fight”. But is it not more telling that Hotch didn’t make a sound? Perrotta got in several hits and the only sound Hotch made was when the wind was literally punched out of him. Not even when Gideon called to him and at that point, Perrotta did not the garrote around Hotch’s throat. That’s another thing mentioned before in the profile and something Hotch mentions to Perrotta directly. You learn to take the beatings, smile even. So, it’s just a little odd how little Hotch responded…

But that’s all nothing, you can take that how you want

Which leads us to the fateful, not everyone comment.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers"

That can’t mean NOTHING, there’s so much there but there’s something about Hotch’s subtle wording. The way he’s unconsciously slipped himself in there (a very real thing that people do) and he hasn’t even realized it. Doesn’t even know he’s done it until Perrotta pushes and he pauses, asks what Perrotta means. And the subtly of it, the way he doesn’t even mean to that says more than anything else.

“And some people grow up to catch them.”

It’s a super-specific comment to make. He can’t possibly be talking about Derek because he doesn’t even know about Carl Buford yet not to mention saying that about him would be incredibly rude if he were talking about Reid (and again, he doesn’t know about Reid’s childhood yet). So… that really only leaves him because JJ, Garcia, and Elle were not abused.

“P911”

In season two, episode two “P911” the team is hunting down a man trying to sell a young boy, Peter, on the black market. Kevin Rose is an underage boy “selling” himself on the internet while his abusive father has been in prison. I’ll let you just guess who it is that leads the team on finding out more about Kevin.

Your guess is more than likely right-- Morgan and Hotch. Now, we know about Morgan but come on. Nothing to say about it being Hotch who makes the emotional appeal?

The camera even follows his gaze, he’s crouched down (to appear non-threatening because he’s so close) and we watch his eyes take in the scars on Kevin’s chest. You can also note that while Gideon remarks that Kevin’s father was “always drunk, you never knew why he was hurting you, why he was so angry” both Kevin and Hotch look away from him.

AND FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME THE “some grow up to catch them” LINE WAS NOTHING TRY BECAUSE GUESS WHAT GIDEON SAYS? NO, NO GUESS--

Gideon: “At night you’d cry yourself to sleep hoping someone would come and save you”

And it’s HOTCH, HOTCH IS THE ONE TO SAY: “You have the chance to be the one who saves someone, Kevin. You can be the one who answers him, the one who stops his pain.”

PARALLELS PEOPLE THE PARALLELS

“Profiler, Profiled”

I bet you weren’t expecting this one, huh? But there’s something about people who faced trauma that makes it so perceptible to other traumatized people-- they sniff it out like coke to a drug hound. And, just guess, who it is that spends the majority of his time fighting with Morgan? Who knows (like I said about the bloodhound) immediately there is something Morgan’s hiding.

Hotch is angry, he’s upset that Morgan would hide anything. Mumbling about there being “larger implications” and how the team can’t have secrets. With the knowledge of exactly what that secret is it makes Gideon’s eye roll a little telling. Because it’s like they both know but neither will say. Driven home by Gideon turning the attention to Hotch, asking “would you want us profiling you?”

And again Hotch is the one to leap onto the abuse. The one to put the pieces together. Hotch’s anger makes no sense. He says he’s angry that Derek’s keeping a secret but the team has many, way too many. Over the years the team unwraps all kinds of secrets, he’s never angry then. So, it’s not about the implication of a secret at all. It’s what the secret is, like misplaced anger. Anger with himself may be leftover from his own abuse. But still…

Hotch lets Morgan escape. Knows exactly who and what Carl Buford is but all he tells the team is that “he won’t even speak about him”. He always knows how to find the abuse… like I said, a bloodhound.

George Foyet

I know you’re going to find this so fucking surprising but guess who also was abused? George Foyet was beaten by his biological father and his mother didn’t save him so he hates women (bleh, men are disgusting what’s knew).

Now, blah, blah, blah Hannah, I know you’re not about to say Foyet and Hotch are a lot alike-- no of course not. Don’t be silly. What I’m going to say is that they’re foil characters? They accent one another in an opposites sort of way. Foyet is a manipulative narcissist who doesn’t work well with others. Hotch is a guilt-ridden team leader who can’t let The Reaper’s case go. There are meant to be comparisons drawn between them. A good villain does that. George Foyet shows us that Hotch is not at all this removed, cool guy that we’ve previously assumed him to be. He cries in an alley because he blames himself when The Reaper kills a busload of people.

We see he has a rather compulsive nature. He never let The Reaper case go and has very personal ties in this case. Not even after Foyet attacks him, if anything it’s worse. He brings the case file home.

But it’s certainly interesting to see yet another “villain” with that same tragic abusive father and submissive mother come into play with Hotch. We’re nearing a point where it’s getting hard to call it coincidence (and according to David Rossi, there simply is not such thing).

Haunted.

In the second episode of the fifth season, “Haunted”, Hotch voice’s over a Dickinson quote: “One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing. Material place.” These quotes are often cheesy, if not a little cliché, but given the premise of this episode is in exploring the ways in which a man’s traumatic childhood has left him now grappling for a truth he can not define… well, maybe we can say the writers were onto something here.

Darrin Call, debatably the Unsub of “Haunted”, was abused by an alcoholic father. We see several signs of it throughout the episode-- Darrin’s delayed speech & severe neglect that leaves Darrin in dirty, hole-riddled clothing. If what we see is not enough, the reports that the team is given on Darrin explicitly state that he was extremely physically abused. It is this abuse that leads to the PTSD that he’s diagnosed with.

As sad and disheartening as Darrin Call’s life is, overall it’s the sort of episode that is forgotten over time. When it’s placed right after the episode that viewers have to watch Hotch say goodbye to Haley and Jack then, who is Darrin Call when compared to the agony of watching Hotch show genuine weakness? After watching Hotch lay in a hospital bed, tears in his eyes wondering if his son will remember him? His fears become our own and after watching George Foyet disarm and mutilate the one guy we’ve been led to believe for five seasons is infallibly, unflinchingly never going to break… well, Darrin Call has it bad but our focus is elsewhere.

It’s on Hotch, right?

The guy who is coming back to the job after only a month (and a day) off to recover. Who Morgan worries might have PTSD but he knows they can’t easily measure because Hotch wrote the questionnaire, he knows all the right answers. Who we see has had new locks installed since the attack and has Foyet’s file sitting open on a table for easy access. Who hears Darrin Call’s life (worked the same job without promotion for years before getting fired, no wife, no kids, a hermit) and bluntly asks why Darrin hasn’t just killed himself.

And let’s just take a moment to break down that comment. Hotch, who in the episode previously lost his wife and child, wants to know why a man who is steadily starting to sound a lot like him hasn’t just killed himself.

And I don’t say “sounds a lot like him” lightly.

Darrin Call has PTSD. Hotch, more than likely, has PTSD

Here are some signs just from that episode: hostility (he yelled at Garcia over something very small), self-destructive behavior (he ran into Darrin Call’s father’s house without a vest, back-up, or telling the other’s what he was doing), and guilt (blamed himself for missing the eye twitching Darrin exhibited because of his years of antipsychotic use)

Darrin Call was abused… this marks the second HEAVILY implied time that Hotch has been compared to another man abused by his father

Vincent Perrotta was the first with that hard to forget the exchange

George Foyet and his notably exactly the same past as Perrotta

“Haunted” feels like it’s supposed to prove to the audience that Hotch is losing it. He distances himself from Morgan, leaving every room that Morgan is in. He doesn’t pick up Garcia’s calls after Darrin Call attacks his therapist. The only glimpse we see of the old Hotch is with Emily, pulled to the side, but his guilt burns and he even brushes her off. Shaking his head and turning his back to her because somehow he should have seen something no one else did.

Throw in Reid’s comment about Call “victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma” and we’re painfully reminded of Hotch’s apartment. A place you’d think he’d want to escape but didn’t. The man was stabbed nine times in his own apartment and stayed in that same place. Almost sounds like that statement could be applied to Hotch too.

A dash of Hotch’s own comment about where Call would go to in his confusion and he says “to what he knows”, even the importance of how that orphanage is “where he became Darrin Call”. Where does Hotch go? What does Hotch know? The job.

So… we tally now three total Unsubs that Hotch has this direct relationship with. Three Unsubs with abusive fathers and mothers who couldn’t protect them. Hmm… coincidence?

Brothers Hotchner

Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner is a master of hiding, that is undeniable. It’s hard to see anything behind those furrowed brows and impersonal suits and that’s likely for a reason. However, anyone with a little sibling can tell you that no one on this Earth can and will annoy the ever-loving shit out of you like a sibling.

But that’s not really important. Sean and Hotch don’t talk about their parents. At all. Ever.

Hotch says that when Sean was in the first grade he got sent off to boarding school. “I was the screw-up making bad choices”. Interesting enough of a statement to make but you throw in the rough ages of Sean and Hotch at that time and it’s a little more than just “interesting”. You have Hotch at roughly 14-15 getting into trouble just like Morgan did at that same age (coincidence???).

(now you can certainly look at Hotch’s parentification vs. Sean’s immaturity doubled with substance abuse problems but we’d be stretching. “The Tribe” touches on the parentification but Sean just calls it “the big brother” thing and tells Hotch that he’s not Sean’s father and it’s fine it’s whatever. Hotch is a bit pushy. That’s not new. Substance abuse can just be a problem, it doesn’t have to be bc they were abused but again… a little coincidental)

So... was Aaron Hotchner abused as a child? I certainly think so

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner

[teddy06writes]

A Night In Las Vegas

requested by this anon: “I had the BEST idea: CC!Quackity came up with the idea of his Las Nevadas character arc after going to Las Vegas and meeting Reader there. Maybe one night the reader decides to go and twitch and finds quackity doing a lore stream and the reader is like: no way, it’s the guy I met in Vegas.”

{I love this concept, sorry it took so long for me to get out}

Quackity x reader

trigger warnings: some swears

premise: after getting ditched by your friends on the last night of your long weekend in vegas you run into a very interesting guy who doesn’t hesitate to befriend you. But what happens months later when he still seems to be running circles in your mind?

{covid don’t exist here, no sir}

{for the sake of the story, readers favorite color is blue, if its not, either pretend it is, or get over it}

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10:34pm

“You can’t just- you can’t kick me out!” You yelled. 

Your bestfriend laughed, “Just find somewhere to go for a few hours! Me and Hunter want alone time!” 

“A few fucking hours!?! Seriously?!” But your duffle bag had already been thrown at your feet, and the hotel door room was swinging closed, muffled giggles coming from inside.

Groaning, you picked up your bag, where were you supposed to go now? 

“Not that I was like- listening in or anything- but damn that sucks.” 

You jumped turning to see a man with black hair sticking out of his beanie standing in front of the door diagonal from yours. 

“Uh- yeah. Last night in Vegas and I get ditched for a random hook up,” You scoffed, “I should’ve known it would happen.” 

“That’s not cool, uh- I’m Alex.” He stepped forward, offering his hand. 

Somewhat reluctantly, you shook his hand, “(y/n).” 

He nodded, “I was going to head out for a late night wander, find something to do-, preferably away from all the hookups that seem to be happing around us right now. If you want to come.” 

You glanced around, “Seriously?” 

“Oh- god that did sound kinda creepy didn’t it,” Alex scrubbed a hand over his face, “Sorry- I- you can just forget about this then-” 

“No! I mean- You don’t seem like a rapist or anything. I’ll come with.” 

He grinned, “Poggers, you can, leave that, in my room, if you want. Just seems like a pain to lug around everywhere.” 

You bit your lip, “Leaving my belongings in a strangers room while I go with said stranger to find something interesting to do, sure- why not?”

~~

10:57pm

Somehow, you found yourself wandering out of the hotel lobby, and onto the crowded streets along side Alex. 

“So.... whats your favorite color?” He asked as you walked.

You laughed, “What?” 

“We’re like, total strangers- it was a question, to get to know you.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh, well-” before you could finish your sentence, there was a large amount of gasps and yells from the crowd in front of you.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked quietly. 

You craned your neck to look over the crowd, gasping, “The water show! With the fountains outside of Caesar’s Palace!” You grabbed his hand, tugging him with you to push through the crowd, “This was the whole reason I agreed to this trip- but we never got to it!” 

You shoved your way through the crowd until you got to the front, pressing against the barrier to watch the fountain display. 

“Holy shit.” You heard him mutter from beside you. 

You grinned, “It’s impressive right?” 

“Imagine the coding it would take to get those things to stay on time.” 

~~

11:27pm 

After the show had ended, you had kept wandering for a while, up the strip, asking various questions back and forth. 

You had found out that he was a Minecraft youtuber and a law student, though you’d had to admit, you weren’t too knowledgeable on either that subject. 

Now you were both staring up at the Dave and Busters sign, “This is a good idea right?” 

He nodded, “Definitely. Come on, I’d bet I could beat you at skee ball!” 

Laughing, you followed him into the building, and up the stairs toward the arcade entrance, “Your on!” 

After buying the credit cards for access to the games, you grabbed his hand, dragging him over to the skee ball lanes. 

“Lets go!” He shouted, a few minutes later, upon realizing your score was a total of 10 points behind his, “I’m popping off!”

You laughed, “Okay, what game’s next?” 

Nearly an hour later, you had both run out of credits, and laughing, made you way up to the prize area. 

“Do you think its possible to compile our tickets?” He asked. 

“Why?” 

You followed his pointing finger to the large stuffed dragons sitting on one shelf. 

“We need him.” You said immediately.

After picking out a bright red dragon, you began to argue over the name as you made your way to the counter. 

“What about Carl?” You suggested. 

He shook his head, “I have a friend named Karl.” 

“How ‘bout........ Phil?” 

“I also know a Phil.” 

“Hmmmm, what about Sebastian?” 

“He doesn’t look like a Sebastian!” 

You frowned, “Well do you have any ideas then?” 

Alex thought for a moment, “Albert.” 

You looked down at the dragon, “Albert it is.” 

At the counter Alex convinced the reluctant worker to allow you to use both the cards credit totals, and then you went happily on your way out of the building, stopping to take a picture of Albert in front of the sign, which Alex posted to twitter with the comment of, “Look at our son!” 

You’d staid mostly out of frame, but he managed to get about half of your side, since you were the one holding Albert. 

“Do you think any pf the buffets are still open?” Alex asked. 

“I hope so, I’m starving.” You giggled. 

~~ 12:06am

The buffet was somewhat deserted, and you and Alex had grabbed seats in one of the corners after getting plates full of food.

Albert sat on the table between you as you talked. 

“So it’s roleplay- but in Minecraft?” You asked, barley holding back a laugh.

He nodded, chuckling, “It sounds stupid, I know, but it’s like- huge. Especially since technically I’m getting back into the main lore now, with the whole project: vegas thing.” 

“Project Vegas?” You asked. 

He nodded again, “My character, he’s been through almost everything that's happened, and everything always ends to blow up in his face, literally sometimes. He’s built contries from the ground up- as stupid as that sounds- but they always fail, but this one won’t fail.

“I’m partnering with another guy on the server to set up a whole economy, he’s making a bank, and I’m making- well I’m making my own Vegas.” 

You took a sip of your drink, “What’s it going to be called?” 

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” He admitted, “I wanted to just call it Las Vegas but the names already taken.”

With a chuckle you shifted in your seat, “What about....- what about Las Nevada's?” 

He laughed, “I like that.” 

“Tell me more about this server then, I still don’t understand the story.” 

With another chuckle he launched into the story, “Well, it all started when this guy called Wilbur Soot decided he wanted to start a nation....”

~~ 3:18am

“Blue.” 

You were back at the hotel now, still with Quackity, sitting out on the balcony of his room. Some how, you had ended up having some slightly deep talk about life and death and a million other things before lapsing into silence, simply watching the blinking lights of the city. 

“What?” He asked softly. 

“You asked me my favorite color, ten minutes after we met. It’s blue- that's my favorite color.” You shivered against a cold breeze. 

Alex shifted minutely closer, “Why?” 

You shrugged, “It can be so many things. Deep and dark and mysterious but also light like the summer sky and filled with hope. There’s a million shades from happiness to anger, and to everyone it could mean something else.” 

“I like that.” He said quietly. 

~~

7:04am

You yawned, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as the car drew closer to the airport.

Alex tapped on the steering wheel in time with the music, quietly humming along. 

“Oh, I see my friend, they actually waited for me.” You said as the car pulled up to the curb. 

“How considerate.” He chuckled, climbing out of the car. 

You followed suit, retrieving your duffle bag from the back seat. 

“Well, it was cool knowing you Alex.” You said. 

“Likewise.” 

Before you started to walk away you remembered, and quickly turned back to where he was standing, pulling Albert out of your bag, “Here, he’s yours. You spent more tickets on him than I did.” 

He shook his head, “Keep him. I give you full custody of our son.” 

“Oh- okay... bye then.” 

You barley made it a few steps before he was quickly catching up to you, grabbing your arm and spinning you to press his lips on yours. 

“Good luck with your shitty friends.” He breathed, before hurrying back to his car, leaving you flustered and running to catch up to your friend. 

~~

One and A Half Months later

It had been over a month since the Vegas trip, but you still hadn’t gotten Alex out of your head. 

You had clicked, on some level, and the late night conversation you had shared seemed to keep you thinking about him.

Now, you scrolled aimlessly through twitter, checking the trending tags until you came across one called “LAS NEVADAS” 

Now that piqued your interest, and clicking on it, you found posts of people live tweeting an event- no a live stream. And not just any live stream- a Minecraft stream.

Quickly you opened a new tab, pulling up twitch as fast as you could. 

What was the name of his channel? Oh god why did you forget?

Returning to twitter you searched until you found a link, following it to a new twitch tab. 

And there he was. 

The boy who had been doing laps around your mind was actually there, talking to another character. 

“Look Sam, you and me, we could control everything. I need the bank to help fund Las Nevada’s, we can be partners.” 

You sat, watching the stream, enthralled. 

Once it had ended, you still could hardly believe you found him, quickly following another link back to his twitter and opening a direct message. 

Y/n: Um, this is awkward, idk if you remeber this, but we met in vegas, about a month ago, and I had no idea how to find you until the stream today

quackityHQ: uh, hi? 

qusckityHQ: proof?

Quickly you sent him the picture you had taken of him with Albert, 

y/n: uhhh, bam, proof? 

y/n: our son is sitting on my head board right now

quackityHQ: holy shit

#mcyt x reader #quackity x reader #quackityhq x reader #teddy06 writes #teddy06

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Friendly Competition

Request:  Now I can’t get the image of Mikey and Leo prancing around the lair to try to impress Y/N and Raph and Donnie just exchanging glances like wth in response to this X,D Wait, are you open to requests? Because then I’d totally request if you could do the idea of Leo and Mikey trying to impress Y/N in outdoing each other…

Characters: Leonardo (Pining)/Reader/Michelangelo (Pining)

Content Warnings: Swearing, really brief reference to The Walking Dead (Season 4). 

Word Count: 1946 

“Carl, Carl! Oh my god, dude,” Mikey squeals, clinging tightly to Raph’s side. Any other day, you might have laughed a little at his reaction - once a little brother, always a little brother - but you’re not in much better standing this time. The boy on TV backs slowly away from the zombies a little overconfidently for your liking, and you can’t suppress the rush of anxiety that courses through you. He’s a TV character, sure, but you’ve watched him grow up! He can’t die now, right? 

And when the third walker appears, grabbing onto the young boy and pulling him down, you could have sworn the whole lair screamed. The room is filled with the “no’s” and various swears of your friends as the kid fights for his life, and you press yourself further into the couch to try and put some distance between you and the TV. You flinch at the sound of gunshots as he pushes the walkers away, barely managing to stay alive, when suddenly the room is pierced with a noise that’s somehow even more jarring and terrifying. 

Battle alarm. Of course. Some yokai...alien… whatever it is... had to terrorize New York City now, of all times? 

"Couldn't this have been an email or something? Really, the nerve of some people. Interrupting The Walking Dead now, of all times," You groan jokingly, pausing the show for the boys as they rise to their feet. 

“If you unpause it while we’re gone, I will take you as a prisoner of war and treat the Geneva Convention as a to-do-list,” Donatello snarks. 

You stick your tongue out at him, but you can’t help but giggle. “Noted, D. Hurry back guys, stay safe!” 

“We will!” Raphael calls, waving to you with a smile before stopping at the exit of the lair, waiting for his brothers to catch up. Donatello walks right past him, balancing his tech bō over the expanse of his shoulders. You smile and wave back at Raph, but soon after, you’re met with the excited cheers of Mikey. He takes a running start at one of the nearby guard rails, grinning as he lines himself up at an angle. He jumps, grabbing the bar and spinning himself around it with ease to face you. In the brief second where your eyes lock, he shoots you a wink and a grin, before spinning himself back around and walking off. I mean, you know he’s a ninja and all, but has he always been that smooth with his parkour? Or like, that smooth in general? 

He waves quickly at you with a smile and walks straight past Raph and into the tunnels of the sewer system. “Later, angel!” He chirps. 

Leo boos before taking a running start of his own. Not to be outdone, he avoids the bar completely, instead choosing to flip over it entirely. He clears the bar with ease, landing on one leg and sweeping the other under him to perform a small rotation towards the ground. As he regains his balance, he pushes himself up with one hand and removes his feet from the ground to do another rotation before planting them once more and performing an angled flip. His movements are quick and fluid, as though such acrobatic feats were innate to his nature. As he lands he grins and shoots you a pair of fingerguns - which you laugh at softly - before backing out of the lair. “Later, sweetheart,” he coos, and turns around to walk out properly. You chuckle again once you hear Mikey’s voice echo from the sewers. 

“Show-off.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You swish the warm drink around in your mug and take a sip. You practically purr at the heat as it hits your tongue: it’s been far too cold for your liking lately. Or, maybe you’re spending too much time in the sewers. Maybe you should invest in some space heaters, if you’re gonna be down here all the time. You twiddle a pencil between your fingers as you fill out the tattered crossword in a vain attempt to wake your brain up a little. Who was Aphrodite’s son again? Did she even have a son? You suppose you’ll get back to that one. 

Raphael stumbles into the kitchen with a groan, fumbling around for a fresh mug. “Good mornin’, Y/N.” 

“Good morning, Raph,” you reply. 

He finally manages to find a mug, pouring some coffee and creamer and pulling up a chair next to you. He leans his head in his hands, clearly not awake yet. You chuckle. “Sleepy?”

He hums affirmatively and takes a sip of his coffee. You pat his shell gently and return to your crossword. You’ve never felt more like an adult, you think sarcastically. It’s like some scene out of a Lifetime movie. 

Out of nowhere, there comes a loud thump from the common area, followed by the quiet swears of Leo. You damn-near jump out of your seat at the sudden noise, barely managing to keep your drink in your mug. It sloshes around the rim, and you quickly put your hand up to steady it. Raph, meanwhile, stays glued to his seat, seemingly unbothered by the loud noise. “Good morning,” he repeats. You snort. “Good morning, indeed,” you reply. 

After a moment of thought, you set down your cup and rise to your feet. You might as well check out the noise and make sure everything is okay. You pat Raph’s head one last time before walking out into the living room, only to find Mikey and Leo whispering loudly at one another. Their voices are so hushed that it’s difficult to decipher what exactly they’re saying, although you can certainly hear them. But judging by the force behind the indecipherable words - and the overexaggerated hand motions - it clearly isn’t a friendly discussion. You clear your throat and wave gently at them, which catches their attention. 

“Everything okay?” You venture. 

“Yeah-” says Mikey. 

“Yeah- It’s- Everything’s all good,” Leo stumbles, only to be cut off by his brother.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He elbows Leo harshly, emphasizing some point to his brother that you’re clearly missing. 

“Hunky-dorey.” 

“Peachy-keen”

“Perfect.” 

The two keep stuttering and stammering, occasionally elbowing the other without warning. You raise an eyebrow at the strange behavior, and decide to intervene. “Okay,” you drawl, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear… whatever that was. For your guys’ sake.” You joke lightly, attempting to lighten the mood a little and divert the attention away from that… trainwreck of an interaction. And the boys seem all-too-happy for the excuse, as Leo quickly jumps in with a quick question. 

“Hey, now that you’re here, could you do us a huge favor? We’re having a little…” he pauses, “brotherly competition, and we need someone unbiased to judge.” 

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You chirp, “What kind of competition is it?” 

“It’s-” 

“It’s a parkour competition!” Mikey interjects. 

The tension between the two turtles is thick, and you certainly don’t want to be the one to address it. Perhaps if you ignore it, it’ll go away on its own? Maybe they both woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or maybe this competition has high stakes? You sigh internally: it’s too early to be thinking this hard. “Sweet! I’m ready to be impressed,” you jest. “Who’s going first?” 

“Me!” 

“I will!” 

They reply in unison, cutting each other off for the umpteenth time today. You chuckle and roll your eyes, which catches their attention. You don’t miss the way their eyes light up… or the way Mikey begins to smirk. He looks almost devious, although you suppose such a mischievous look isn’t an uncommon sight with him. 

“Leo,” he starts, “How about you go first?” 

He takes the bait with a grin, clearly unaware of whatever plan Michelangelo’s formed. “Why certainly!” He rolls his wrist around in an overexaggerated motion, beaming with absolute confidence. “As the eldest brother in the room, I’d be happy to show you how it’s done.” 

And with that, he’s off. His movements are as smooth as silk as he runs towards the nearest crate, grabbing it at an angle to flip himself over once. He lands on his feet with a loud “thump” against the concrete, but he doesn’t waste a moment as he runs towards the nearest wall. He runs up its length the moment he’s in range, this time using his body weight to spin himself during his flip. He’s fluid in his movements, years of practice and training shining through in this brief moment. This time he lands straight up on both feet, although he doesn’t take any reprieve. Instead, he kicks himself up and over, sweeping the leg to enter a combative stance. A final flourish in his display, you assume. And just like that, it’s over. The show only lasted a matter of seconds, but it’s still enough to leave you starry-eyed and in awe. 

“That was fucking badass, Leo!” You clap. 

“Really?” He smiles, “Uh, I mean, yeah! Thanks!” He fumbles with his hands for a moment before finding a spot for them. He rests them behind his head, shifting side to side on his feet. God, that’s so fucking cute. 

You beam: You can’t wait to see what Mikey does! “Think you can top that, Mikey?” 

He returns your excitement wholeheartedly, shining back with something that seems like… so much more than his typical positivity. In most situations, he radiates so much positivity that one could liken it to a lighthouse for the hopeful. But his attitude seems different from that usual beacon of light. He’s excited, positive, and confident, but that’s not what’s throwing you off. Sure, they’re competitive, but what’s the motivator this time? Ah, you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. You’re brought out of your thoughts by his cheers. “Easy!” 

And god, Mikey’s movements are so graceful that he makes Leo’s look inexperienced, like a giraffe crossing a tightrope. He moves like a swan through water, scaling walls effortlessly and flying through the air like it’s his second home. He starts his routine off strong, leaping at the first waist-high object he could lay his eyes on, performing an impromptu 720 rotation and landing on the concrete protrusion hands-first. He leaps off it as quickly as he landed, using his momentum to propel himself onto a nearby set of steel bars. He throws himself from one to the other with ease, spinning and adding his own flair to each and every movement. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him while he leaps his way to victory. He uses any ledge possible to propel himself higher and higher, and his movements are so light and quick that they hardly make a sound. And before you know it, he’s standing at the topmost bit of the lair. He plops himself down, dangling his legs off of the precipice and swinging them back and forth. From this far away, you can barely see the way his grin stretches across his face, but you know it’s there. He raises one hand to wave at you and Leo, and the way he wiggles his fingers signals that he knows he’s won. And to be fair, he has. You giggle at the way Leo mutters “show-off” under his breath - where have you heard that one before? - before signaling for Mikey that he’s won and to head on down. And god, the descent is just as impressive. He laughs as he kicks and spins his way down, and despite the competition being over, he continues to shine and demonstrate his skills flawlessly. 

“One and one, baby!”

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt imagine #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #rottmnt michelangelo x reader #rottmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt imagine #TMNT x reader #leonardo hamato x reader #michelangelo hamato x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #rottmnt leo x reader

[babbushka]

Wreck The Malls: Flip Zimmerman and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

6.2k ; cw: mentions of gun violence, blood and injury ; NSFW (shower sex, injured sex, PIV, oral sex)

Available on AO3

                                                ----------------------

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But it is also universally acknowledged, that a lucky man in possession of a good wife, should want to get her something special for the holidays.

This is the story of how one Detective Flip Zimmerman of the CSPD, goes on a journey through hell and back to obtain such a gift, and might just learn the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

Now, though this story takes place on Christmas Eve, it should be noted that our Mr. Zimmerman does not actually like Christmas. He doesn’t celebrate it, and he thinks the entire holiday is one big headache. Does it bother him that his own holidays always seem to be overlooked in favor for the goyishe celebrations of December? Yes – but that’s not the reason he dislikes it so much. If you were to ask him, he would say something akin to;

“I just don’t know why the fuck everyone makes such a big goddamn deal.” He huffs and puffs on his cigarette in the parking lot. Flip rolls his eyes, “All month long, stores have been playing this shit music since the day after Thanksgiving.”

Sitting in his car with Ron – the only one of his friends patient enough to listen to him complain for an hour straight – Flip turns the radio down just low enough for Jingle Bell Rock to sound. They’re outside the big mall, something shiny and brand new, just in the nick of time for the holidays. Ron shrugs, going over his last-minute shopping list.

“We can go home, no one will know.” Ron points out for what must seem like the eighteenth time.

Flip had asked Ron to accompany him both for emotional support, but also to get a second opinion on the gift he was picking up for you. Flip loves you more than anything else in the entire world – yes, even more than his buc-wheat cereal and Greek yogurt – and even though you had already exchanged presents during Hanukkah only a few days prior, that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Of course we can’t go home, I want to get her something nice.” He says as much, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the car window, the oppressive commercialism of the mall looming ahead.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like Christmas either though.” Ever the practical voice of reason, Ron tries giving Flip one more out, one more chance to turn back now, “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know.”

“It’s not a Christmas present,” Flip shakes his head, finally turning the car engine off entirely, and silencing the radio once and for all. He steels himself, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, “It’s a just-because present. I already have it all picked out and everything, I just need to go in and pay for it.”  

“You’ve got some real brains underneath those flowing locks of yours man.” Ron smiles, gets out of the car and stretches out his muscles for what he’s sure will be a ton of walking through angry mobs, “Minimizing the amount of time in there is probably for the best, considering.”

It’s the way that Flip hesitates that clues Ron in that maybe, Flip didn’t have as many brains as he had thought.

“Considering what?” Flip asks, the second clue.

“Flip, it’s Christmas Eve.” Ron spells it out plainly, and wishes he had a camera to capture the exact moment that the next thought enters Flip’s mind, and subsequently spills out of his mouth:

“…Oh fuck.”

Shaking his head fondly, Ron claps a hand on Flip’s shoulder as he rounds the front of the car, and the two of them brave the great unknown together.

 Flip was not nearly as familiar with the mall as he likes to think, but he knows where the jewelry store is, and really that’s all that matters.

They make their way down to that section of the enormous space, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the sheer abundance of Christmas Cheer that surrounds them. Nearly every store had something in its window display: lights, statues, mannequins modeling holiday attire, some even had moving animatronic animals that gave Flip the shivers. Every pole and railing and kiosk in the place was covered in garland and lights, and in the grand atrium, enormous ornaments were suspended from the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment and looking up at them, Flip wonders what the likelihood would be for them to all come crashing down.

He’s so caught up in fact, that he nearly misses Ron branching off in another direction.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Flip jogs a couple paces to catch up, a frown already forming between his brows.

“I need to pick somethin’ up for Patrice.” Ron explains, holding up his little shopping list. Flip gives him a mildly panicked look, but Ron only reassures him with, “We’ll meet up at the food court?”

I can do this, Flip thinks to himself, it’s one store. How bad could one store be?

“Sure, don’t take too long.” Flip eventually agrees, swallowing down the feeling of impending doom – otherwise known as “acid reflux” according to you – and squaring his shoulders.

He didn’t need Ron, he was a grown man after all. He fought in Vietnam twice! Surely he could go to the jewelry store…right?

Making his way over to the escalator, Flip has his eye on the prize; Goldsmith’s Jewelry is just off to the left, he can see it coming. Playfully taking the five golden rings theme and running with it, large decorations spin gently in the window, glittering in the light. Flip’s relieved to see the place relatively empty.

Not completely dead, but definitely not a line out the door the way that the toy store had. As a matter of fact, when Flip walks through the glass doors, he’s greeted by less than ten people, including the owner himself, who lights up when he spots his friend.

“Philip! Good to see you son. Here for those earrings you were looking at?” Carl, a fabulously eccentric man with no less than fifteen pieces of jewelry on at any given time practically jingles when he comes around the counter to give Flip a hug.

“You bet Carl, how much am I layin’ out for you?” Flip has to bend himself nearly in half to reach the kind gentleman’s embrace, already reaching for his wallet.

Carl was one of those men who could reminisce and catch up for hours on end, and as much as Flip would love to listen to the story about how Carl lost his dentures in his shoe for the hundredth time, he would rather listen to you instead. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t seem too pressed about it, and he only beckons the detective over to the register counter.

“Tell you what, since you’re practically family and helped out Darlene with her car troubles, I’m taking half off.” Carl announces with a twinkle in his eye, making Flip feel a little guilty about wanting to scram as fast as possible.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that Carl really – ” Flip tries, but Carl is having none of it.

“I want to!” He smacks at Flip’s hands when he tries to offer him the full amount of cash, fully turning his back on Flip to go into the little employees only room. “You stay right here, I’ll just go into the back and get it wrapped up real nice for you.”

Left alone once again, Flip has no choice but to let his eye wander. The entire place was sensory overload, really, and Flip wishes he could have a fucking cigarette. Was the music at the mall always this loud and discordant? Chewing on his lip instead of the butt of a cigarette, Flip looks around the store.

He makes uncomfortable eye contact with a man who is clearly picking up something for the wife and something else for the girlfriend, and he looks away when he realizes. Training his eye on the great big mirror up on the wall instead, Flip frowns.

Is that…no, it couldn’t be.

Santa Claus wouldn’t be taking a break from the Workshop near the foodcourt to stop into a jewelry store, would he? Flip shakes his head, he’s probably just being paranoid. The guy is probably on break and looking for something for Mrs. Claus. Flip cracks himself up with that thought, and is about to turn around and joke with the guy about it – when he notices through the mirror that the Santa is ever so cautiously reaching around the counter, looking for the lock mechanism.

“Shit.” Flip licks across his teeth, when he manages it open and begins pulling out necklaces with seemingly no one noticing.

Carl still hasn’t come back, so Flip casually reaches for the phone on the counter near the register, dials the direct line number to his buddy back at the station.

“CSPD this is Jimmy – ”

“It’s me, I’m at the jewelry store on the second level of the mall downtown. I think there’s a robbery about to go down, I’m going to need backup.” Flip mutters as quietly as he can into the receiver, keeping and eye on the Santa.

Sure enough, he’s pulling out a sack, and it looks as if this guy has already hit up quite a few stores, if the brand new boxed electronics filling it are anything to go by.

“Is he armed?” Jimmy asks immediately, and Flip tries to get a good look.

“I can’t tell, he’s in a Santa suit.” He explains, and then scowls when the line goes silent for a moment.

“…Flip are you serious?” Jimmy tries to start some bullshit but Flip doesn’t have the time for this.

“Yes I’m fucking serious would you just tell Trapp I need backup? Ron is here somewhere but I don’t know where the fuck he went.” He hisses, teeth clenching tight enough that he can feel the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“Okay okay! I’m on it, keep him in your sight.” Jimmy replies, before hanging up.

Trying to steal a glance through the mirror again, Flip realizes he must have been a little too loud, because the Santa has bolted through the doors, sack filled with diamond and ruby and sapphires galore.

“Fuck.” Flip grunts to himself, before slamming down the phone near the register and rushing out of the store with a futile, “CSPD! Hands where I can see them!”

 This would be much easier, Flip reasons, if it weren’t Christmas fucking Eve. The mall is swamped with people, loud and slow like big dumb buffalo – no, he wouldn’t do buffalo the disservice of comparing them to these last minute mall shoppers who cannot decide if they want to walk on the left or the right side of the aisle. Santa, he needs Santa – but there are so many! Nearly a dozen guys in red coats and white beards ring bells or wave or laugh jolly hearty laughs, and Flip feels like he’s in hell.

No, he supposes, Hell must be the five-story Hibbard & Co., where he finally manages to catch sight of the Santa he’s after. Bolting across the large expanse of the mall and into the first level of the store, Flip trips and stumbles through displays of empty cardboard box presents and wooden nutcrackers, causing shouts and screams of distress to erupt around him from the patrons of the store.

The employees however, are entirely unphased, they continue to spritz the air with their perfume samples, directly into the face of Flip, who is scrambling and already breathing heavy as it is, his boots carrying him around the sharp corners of the mirrored kiosks in the perfume department.

“Oh – shit – fuck!” Flip’s blinded by the perfume, his eyes stinging. He’s choking on it, unable to breathe as rose water stings his vision. “I love my job, I love my wife, I love my job…”

He chants to himself as he blinks and coughs, to no avail; he’s so blinded that he crashes into a display of coats, which in a domino-like effect crash down all the other displays of winter clothing on their way down, but Flip can’t stick around to apologize, the Santa is getting away.

“Out of my way – Ron!” Flip shouts as he pushes and shoves himself through the large swathes of people, Christmas music blaring bright and cheerfully as he runs and runs and runs, shouting out, “Ron if you can hear me a little help would be appreciated!”

The Santa isn’t making this easy for him, Flip curses, as he runs down the up escalator.

Following suit, there’s real screams now when the Santa pulls out a gun and starts blindly shooting behind himself at Flip, making everyone on the escalator, and everyone in that area of the mall for that matter, scatter. If Flip thought the crowds were bad, a mob was even worse, and soon everyone is running in every which way direction, as this Santa gets off the escalator and sprints down towards the food court.

Flip wonders why the place isn’t on a lockdown yet, wonders what the hell is taking backup so long to get there already. Didn’t this place have cops? Weren’t the mall cops good for literally anything? What a waste of his time, Flip thinks, as he runs runs runs with his gun in his hands, trying to hold steady as he aims to shoot, the robber in his sight, he can see him, he can practically smell him --

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this – oh fuck me -- !” Flip collides hard with an unsuspecting dad who just happened to be grabbing lunch from the food court for his entire family.

“Watch where you’re fucking going pal!” The dad shouts.

All at once, a whole tray of pizza slices doused in red sauce and melted cheese, and four large cups of pepsi are flying through the air and landing all over Flip’s brand new shirt, the one that you had just given to him for Hanukkah. He wants to be livid, wants to choke this guy out but the robber is getting away, Flip’s losing visual on him, and after all the trouble, there’s no chance he’s letting him get away.

“You fucking watch it!” Flip scrambles up, which isn’t easy to do on freshly mopped linoleum floors covered in soda pop, his gun spiraling a couple feet in front of him that he lunges to pick up, muttering to himself, “Ruined my goddamn – ugh – fuck!”

He has to change, and he has to change quickly – scanning the nearest stores, the closest one in the mall that sells clothing. He runs over to it, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt, and grabs the first thing on the rack he sees, which happens to be the most hideous, tacky, terrible looking Christmas sweater.

Flip raises his eyes up to the ceiling, and can practically feel the universe laughing at him when he groans, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

There’s no time, he doesn’t have any other choice, so he yanks the ruined shirt over his head and throws the sweater on. It’s two sizes too small, and it’s itchy as all fucking hell, and of course, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse…the faux lights turn out to not be so faux after all, and they blink as he accidentally rips a tag off so not to trip any alarms.

Throwing money onto the counter as the employees stare at him like he’s a maniac and not just trying to do his fucking job, Flip’s chest heaves as he stands there, gun drawn, scanning the panicked swarms of people in front of him.

“Where did you go you motherfucker?” Flip growls, growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

A moment or two goes by, but then he spots him – the pet grooming salon.

Without any hesitation, Flip is chasing this man down with all his vigor, lungs pumping full of recycled mall air conditioning, blood pounding in his veins. The sooner he catches this guy and gets him cuffed, the sooner all this pandemonium will end.

“Hey!” He hears an authoritative shout from the other end of the mall, and lets out a sigh of relief.

The mall security has finally shown up, and he’s about ready to tell them that Santa is in the pet salon, when he notices they are not slowing down in their full force sprint towards him.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Flip realizes they think he’s the maniac! “I’m a cop! It’s not me – I’m – oh for fuck’s sake.”

Flip realizes he doesn’t have the time to explain, so he does the exact opposite thing you’re supposed to do: run.

Into the pet salon Flip goes, hoping that if he can just grab the Santa it’ll all be explained, but there is no Santa to be found. Instead, Flip is met by a dozen dogs that have been let loose. Big dogs, like Dobermans and Rottweilers, and small dogs like Poodles and Pomeranians have all been released from their cages, and for whatever reason, are baring their teeth at him, and lunging after him as he runs the other way.

“Heel! Sit! Stay – ow!” Flip feels teeth sink into his ankles, and doesn’t bother looking back as he kicks away one of the smaller dogs in the pack that is chasing him.

He can see the Santa, and now, chased by dogs and mall cops, Flip chases him down for hopefully the last leg of this race. He can feel steam shooting out of his ears, he’s never going to leave home again he decides, never is going to step foot in this fucking mall again, as he’s chased.

 Meanwhile, blissfully unaware over in the lingerie department of Macy’s, Ron Stallworth’s greatest dilemma is trying to choose between the red velvet bra and panty set, or the navy satin set. He’s been staring at the two sets for quite some time now, and is conscious of the fact that Flip must be waiting for him, so he calls over one of the employees for her opinion.

He explains that it’s for his girlfriend, and while red and blue are both colors she likes, he isn’t sure which would get the most use – when he sees a Santa Claus stumbling and tripping over himself, shoving people out of his way as he runs past the great big glass windows.

“Huh.” Ron frowns, putting the sets down and moving over to the windows to get a better look.

Ron hears the commotion before he sees it, but when he does see it – ‘it’ being his best friend bleeding, in a blinking fuzzy Christmas sweater, gun brandished, chased by dogs and security who are blowing their whistles and brandishing guns of their own – he grabs all his shit and makes leave.

“If you ladies will please excuse me – ” Ron gives a parting excuse to the employees, who only frown at him as he runs and runs and runs to catch up to, “Flip! Flip what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s about goddamn time!” Flip shouts, nearly red in the face from exertion and sheer unbridled rage as he points with his gun to the man in red a few yards ahead, “That Santa! Is! A! Maniac! I don’t know how many stores he’s stolen from, but at least from the jewelry store and is shooting at people – watch out!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, half a dozen men throw large plastic ornaments the size of cars out onto the floor as a means to blockade the hall. They’re dressed in green, with red and white stockings and pointed hats that have jingle bells on the end, but these were no innocent visitors from the North Pole.

“Of fucking course he’s got elves.” Flip grunts as he tries to run around them, tries his best to avoid getting hit square in the chest with them as they bounce and create a rampaging path of destruction.

“I’ll handle the dogs and the elves, and the mall cops, you catch Santa.” Ron slows down enough, until he’s far enough away that Flip can’t hear him, his own feet still on auto-pilot as he hunts down the Santa.

And then – then!

As if by some miracle, the Santa trips, and he and his sack full of stolen goods all come crashing down to the linoleum floor. In slow motion, Flip jumps using all the strength he has left, hands extended to grab the Santa, and as he flies across the distance between their bodies, Flip swears he sees his life flash before his eyes.

Thudding to the floor, he manages to get the Santa in a chokehold, letting out a triumphant shout of victory.

“Got you!” He pins the man down, rolls him over onto his back so that he can pin his hands behind his back, Flip fishing for his handcuffs that he managed to keep in his back-pocket this whole time, “I got you you son of a bitch!”

 Off to the side, a group of small children watch a grown man leap and tackle Santa Claus to the ground.

Little Stacey gasps in shock and horror, before her older brother Jacob can quickly cover her eyes with his own mittened hand. They, along with their friends – an assortment of ten to twelve year olds left unsupervised on Christmas Eve while their parents and gaurdians get gifts for in-laws they don’t like – immediately turn to one another, while Santa’s body jerks and writhes underneath the heavy knee of some strange man.

“What should we do?” Nicolas asks the leader of their group.

“Well there’s really only one thing we can do.” Dewey says with all the determination of a man about to walk into battle. The children exchange glances with resolution and with all the authority that an eighth-grader can muster, Dewey regards his friends, “All in favor of rescuing Santa and saving Christmas, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!”

It is this emboldened shout of unity that draws Flip’s attention – before he is promptly charged by six small children who proceed to punch, and bite, and smack at him.

In the chaos, Santa manages to slip out of Flip’s grasp. Thankfully he’s still handcuffed and he’s dropped his gun, but the children don’t notice that. No, they’re too busy beating the shit out of Flip, who can’t bring himself to fight back against the angry fists of fury that are descending onto him.

“Get off of me! Get – I am a police fucking officer get off -- !” Flip manages to shake them away, and they stare up at him with wide eyes when he wipes the blood away from his nose at being slammed to the ground.

“Don’t you assholes have parents – oh forget it.” Flip doesn’t bother, caring so little about anything anymore.

He’s is almost defeated, almost, but Santa is handcuffed and limping, he can’t get too much farther, he’s so close – he’s right there –

“Oh shit!” Flip jumps back, as suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron in one of the security mall-carts comes darting from around the corner and t-bones the Santa from the side.

Santa’s body slides across the floor, and seconds later, Bridges, Trapp, Jimmy, and a dozen or so other familiar faces flood the large floor, in their blues and with their walkie talkies loud.

“Flip!” Bridges darts over to where Flip has practically collapsed onto the floor.

He’s directly underneath those ornaments, and he practically wills one of them to unlatch from their suspension and crush him to death.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Bridges has the audacity to ask, looking Flip straight in the face.

His bleeding, swollen face.

There’s a moment or two where Flip can’t think of anything other than how badly he wants a fucking cigarette, but eventually he licks across his teeth, scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly?” Flip muses, before replying in the most dry deadpan way he can muster, “I’ve never been better.”

Blood drips onto the blinking Christmas sweater, and with that, Bridges claps him on the back and nods.

“Go home. We’ll get your statement after the holiday weekend.” He says, and sweeter words have never been spoken. “Don’t worry about Ron, we’ll give him a lift home.”

 Flip’s snowy home in the mountains has never, ever looked more beautiful, Flip can’t help but think. It was quiet, so quiet up here. Snow dusted itself along the length of the front porch, draped the roof and surrounding trees in a blanket of crisp clean fresh white. No dirt, no blood, no sweat – just white. It was purifying, to say the least.

But not so purifying as the front door opening and your stunning face lighting up to see him.

That is, until you notice him limping, notice him covered in blood, notice his hair destroyed and his face bruised. Then your smile melts into something closer to shock and terror.

“Phil! What the fuck happened to you?” You rush to him, trudging through snow that’s up to your calves. You’re not wearing shoes, and Flip can’t bear the thought of you getting too cold, so he hoists you up and holds you against his side, walking you back to the house.

“I…really…don’t want to talk about it.” Flip sighs, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers with you and never emerge.

“Holy shit, are you bleeding?” You push your hand up to his face and feel at his tender nose, making him wince.

“That sounds about right.” He mutters, slamming the door behind him with his foot when he finally crosses the threshold into the foyer of the house.

Flip puts you down and immediately shoves his entire face into your neck, trying hard not to cry. What a fucking day it had been, he can’t help but think as he lets the stress and frustration finally mount behind his eyes. His face hurts, everything about him hurts, his legs are exhausted, his back is fucking killing him, and worse of all, his ego is beyond bruised.

“I hate Christmas.” Flip hiccups, knowing that he’s smearing blood against your pretty robe. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he doesn’t want you to go away, doesn’t want you more than a foot away from him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Come on let’s go take a shower.” You card your fingers through his hair, and lead him up to the bathroom.

 In the light of the bathroom, you do your absolute damndest not to laugh. It’s not that you’re laughing at him, because you would never laugh at him of course, but you’ve never seen your husband look more angry in his entire life, and you’ve been there for a significant portion of it. You have a million questions that you know better than to bombard him with right now, knowing he’ll explain all in due time.

So instead, you peel away his layers until the both of you are naked. A Christmas sweater that blinks bright red and green is buried under blood-stained and ripped jeans, your robe, underwear and socks. Flip turns on the heat and waits for the water to not be so frigid, and in the meantime, you examine him.

“Were…did you get bit by a dog?” You frown as you see crescent bruises blooming underneath his skin. Thankfully, it looks like no actual puncture wounds – what a Christmas gift that would be, rabies.

“More like a pack.” Flip grumbles, making your eyebrows shoot up nearly to your hairline. You want to ask, but Flip dismisses it for now with a sigh and an, “It’s a long story.”

Finally the water seems to be good enough for him, and Flip leads you into the shower. At once, the water runs pink as it washes him clean of the day from hell. Your hands in his hair are heavenly, washing the muck and sweat and grime out of the locks, and Flip could practically cry.

“I know what you need.” You whisper, kissing at the side of his face that’s not tender.

Keeping heated eye contact, you slowly slowly slowly slink down to your knees. Water cascades down your shoulders as your hand reaches for Flip’s cock, as you pump it ever so carefully in even strokes until he’s fully hard.

Your tongue licks up a thick stripe of his shaft, and Flip has to lean fully against the wall so his legs don’t give out and he winds up in the ER with a concussion again. Your mouth swallows him down, feels the weight of his cock on your tongue, against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat.

“Bed, now.” Flip stops you before you can get any further, and you pull off with a smile, glad to see that though he’s in a bad mood, he’s willing to let you help him feel better.

Barely drying off with a towel, Flip kisses and kisses and kisses you as you both stumble to your bed, falling down on top of the covers. You’re giggling against his lips just because you love him so much, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s still in a proper pissed off mood, and you’re glad to let him do what he will with you.

Flip’s cock throbs as it slides in real easy into your cunt, the wet heat of your body welcoming him on the first thrust. Your eyes fall shut as your back arches off the mattress from the feeling of being so filled so fast, the breath punching out of your lungs.

“God you’re wet.” He has to groan, swipes a few fingers over your clit just to massage it and get your legs shaking, your shoulders squirming for him, “What – were you jerkin’ off missing me? Thinkin’ about me? I was thinkin’ about you.”

The thought makes him break out into a sweat as he starts to thrust, his limbs aching and sore from all the running and bodily contact, but too desperate for you to give a fuck.

“Yeah, yes Flip – I missed you, missed your cock.” You whine, giving him permission to, “Give it to me, take it all out on me honey.”

The flood gates open, and Flip’s ramming into you hard and fast. He’s bouncing the mattress, slamming the headboard from it, from the grip on your hips as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Spit strings down from his teeth as his jaw is clenched, savoring the feeling and chasing that feeling, of your beautiful body opening and squeezing around him.

“Fuck ketsl, fuck I – oh damn that feels good.” He grinds himself all the way up inside you, pushes you up the bed with the force of it. He grabs at your hair, yanks your head back so he can suck and kiss at your throat, can feel your fluttering pulse as you moan and sigh and gasp.

“Yeah? How good? Tell me.” Your hands don’t know where to go, you don’t want to accidentally touch a bruised spot, so instead they fist in the sheets as you push your hips up to let him rail into you from this new angle.

“I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, that’s how good it is, that’s how hard you make me ketsl, do that thing I like? You know the one.” Flip’s delirious, doesn’t know what he’s even saying, but you breathe out a harsh moan from the words, hands pushing your tits together.

“Like this?” Your voice wobbles from the fucking he gives you, breasts bouncing, nipples peeking through your spread fingers as you cup and hold them for him.

“Just like that – fuck, goddamn baby you’re so pretty, I could fuck this pussy all night long – ow!” Flip is about to lavish kisses onto your cleavage, when something twinges in his back, and his arms collapse underneath him and he falls square on top of your chest.

“Shit, Flip are you okay?” Your body tenses immediately, worried for him, the mood ruined.

“Yeah – yes, dammit,” Flip groans, never feeling more like an old middle aged man than he does right now.

“Okay maybe don’t fuck me all night long,” You chuckle, calming and soothing him with your hands in his hair, abandoning the hold on your breasts. Still, you’d hate for him to not even get to come after all of that, so you kiss the side of his tender nose and whisper, “Are you close?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m sorry – ” Flip rolls you onto your side, eases back into you that way, where he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Don’t apologize, just come in me honey, come in me.” You encourage, knowing that he’ll get a good few orgasms out of you once he’s feeling a little better.

Flip nods and kisses you, wet and hot and sloppy as he thrusts a few more times, your legs corralled over his, until he grunts out long and low, spills into your pussy.

He rides that high, rides the feeling of your sweet lips on his, until all he can do is groan from being sore.

“I think I need to see a doctor.” Flip grumbles, sounding so dejected.

“Yeah I think so too handsome.” You give him an apologetic smile on behalf of the universe, and he sighs.

You’re an angel though, striking up a cigarette for him. Passing it to him, Flip pulls out of you with a wince and the two of you starfish out onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You let him have a few minutes of silence, but eventually the curiosity kills you and you have to ask,

“Hey, how come you were even in the mall to begin with?” Peering up at him through your lashes, wondering what the hell he had even gotten himself into, “I thought you were just popping into work for something.”

At that moment, the cold dread of realization crashes through Flip, and despite his injuries and general exhaustion, sits straight up in bed and gasps out, “Oh fuck!! I’m sorry ketsl I was going to surprise you with – ”

Just then, the doorbell rings, and the both of you frown at one another.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come over, even though it was Christmas Eve, you didn’t have any plans to celebrate anyway other than with some Chinese food takeout and a good movie. Considering the state that Flip is in, you go to reach for your robe, but Flip shakes his head and grabs for his instead.

“No, let me. You’re not dressed.” Flip says.

You love him enough not to point out that he isn’t dressed either, but Flip deserves to do what he wants after the day he’s had, you think.

 Creeping down the stairs, Flip tries to look through the front window to see who it could be, but whether it’s the angle or something else, he can’t get a good visual. He pulls the robe sash tighter around his waist, looks through the peephole.

Strangely, there’s nothing there, no one to be seen. No car in his driveway, either.

How strange, Flip thinks, as he cracks the door open, wondering what the fuck else the day has in store for him.

Sitting right there on the front porch, is a small box. It’s wrapped in a golden ribbon, bearing the logo of Goldsmith’s Jewlery in a wax seal on the side. Frowning, Flip approaches it, picks it up. It feels like the right weight, but to be sure, he pulls open the ribbon and peeks inside.

Sure enough, resting atop the black velvet interior of the box are the diamond earrings that had started this whole mess.

Something about that, something about those earrings being there, makes Flip’s heart warm through. Even though it’s cold, he doesn’t feel the bite of the wind. All he can think about, is you, waiting for him upstairs in your bedroom. You, who care for him, who takes care of him, even on days when he doesn’t even want to take care of himself.

The earrings twinkle in the grey sunlight of the snowy day, and despite it all, Flip smiles to himself. What was another year of bullshit, really? He could go through anything, could do anything, as long as he had you by his side. Yes, Flip thinks, it’s all worth it, or at least it will be, when he sees your smile once again, when he gives you this little token of his appreciation, of his love.

And as he casts his gaze up to the sky, half expecting to see the real Santa Claus flying away in his sleigh, half expecting to see some friendly man smiling down at him behind a team of reindeer, Flip feels something that maybe…just maybe…might be akin to Christmas Spirit.

Until the moment passes, and he’s reminded of the day’s events by a twinge in his side from where he was donkey kicked by a twelve year old.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” Flip scoffs to himself after a shake of his head, locking the door behind him, “Ba fuckin’ humbug, and a merry new year.”

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman x you #blackkklansman #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman humor #flip zimmerman angst #my writing

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Fifteen

Title: Woodbury

Words: 2119

Warnings: Strong language, assault

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Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It was supposed to be an easy run. In and out. Get the stuff the baby, and you, needed along with whatever else you could find and get back to the prison. But no. Some jackass had to make things hard.

 Glenn had gotten inside the store first and right when you were about to join him, you heard something. Looking around, you saw nothing and turned back to Glenn.

 “Hey, Glenn, grab that toy,” you said.

 “Which one?”

 “The duck. And any other ones you can find. If these kids are going to be growing up in a prison they could use some toys.” Glenn laughed but did as you asked. After he grabbed some formula and some other stuff, he came back outside.

 “We just hit the powdered formula jackpot.”

 “Good. What else did you find?”

 “Some batteries, beans, cocktail wieners, and a lot of mustards.”

 “Great, more beans,” you muttered. “Seems like that’s all that left.”

 “What’s wrong with beans?” Glenn asked you.

 “They sound gross right now. Did when I was preg—.” You stopped yourself but the damage had already been done.

 “Holy shit, you’re pregnant?” Glenn said. You nodded and he gave you a giant hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 “I know.” You closed your eyes and felt him kiss your forehead softly.

 “Come on. We should get back. Thankfully it’s a straight shot back to the prison from here,” he said.

 “Hopefully we’ll make it back in time for dinner. And you can get back to Maggie.” Your voice was teasing and you giggled at how red Glenn’s face was turning.

 “And you can get back to your baby daddy.”

 “He doesn’t know, Glenn,” you said.

 “What? Why not?”

 “I found out yesterday. A few hours before—“ You swallowed then sighed. “The quiet’s nice. You can hear the walkers everywhere back home.”

 “And where is it y’all call home?” A voice rang out. Turning sharply, you saw a man pointing a gun at you. You dropped the basket full of formula to the ground and quickly drew your weapon.

 “Merle?” Glenn said. You shot him a glance before turning your eyes back to the stranger. So this was the infamous Merle? Huh, you thought he’d be taller.

 “Wo-ow!” He said with a laugh. Merle put his gun down and his hands up before walking towards you.

 “Back the hell up,” you said, raising your gun higher.

 “Okay, okay. Jesus, honey.”

 “Don’t call me that.”

 “You made it,” Glenn said.

 “Is my brother alive? Can ya tell me that?”

 “Yeah. He’s alive.” Merle seemed relieved that his brother was alive and he reached a hand towards Glenn slightly.

 “Hey, ya take me ta him and I’ll call it even for everythin’ that happened on that roof,” Merle said. “No hard feelin’s whatsoever.”

 Glenn said nothing and his eyes flickered over to the man’s hand. Or lack of one. A long blade was strapped to his arm and it looked deadly.

 “Ya like it? I found myself a medical supply warehouse. Fixed it up myself.”

 “We’ll tell Daryl you’re here and he’ll come out to meet you,” Glenn said.

 You knew that Merle had some problems with the group from before and that alone didn’t want to bring him back. Merle didn’t like that idea and got defensive.

 “Just hold on a second.” He started walking closer and Glenn held his hand out.

 “Stop walking,” he said. Merle did and you shifted nervously.

 “Tha fact that we found each other is a god damn miracle. Ya can trust me, come on now.”

 The way he said that was enough for you to not trust him and you eyed him warily.

 “You trust us. Stay here. We’ll bring Daryl to you.”

 “No!” Merle pulled out a gun from his waistband and shot the rear window of your car out.

 Ducking, you spun around and fell to the floor. You weren’t quick enough and you felt a piece of glass cut your cheek. Then, a body crashed into yours and you found yourself being held by Merle. His knife arm was around your neck and his gun was pointed at your head. When Glenn came around the car and saw you, you could see the fury in his eyes.

 “Hold up, buddy. Hold up,” Merle said.

 “Let go of her. Right now!”

 “Put that gun in tha car. Put it in tha car, son!”

 Glenn did as he was told, eyes never leaving you. Taking a deep breath, you gave Glenn a smile. Then you rammed the back of your head into Merle’s face. Scrambling to get free while he was disorientated, you almost got out of his grip but he collected himself before you could. Merle hit you with the butt of his pistol and you saw black spots swim before your eyes. Blinking them away, you felt Merle’s grip on you tighten.

 “I wish ya didn’t do that, sweetheart,” Merle spat. Looking at Glenn he said, “We’re goin’ for a little drive.”

 “We’re not going back to our camp.”

 “No, we’re not. Now get in tha car Glenn. You’re drivin’.” Glenn looked like he wanted to protest more, but Merle dug the barrel of his gun deeper into your temple. You whimpered, still a bit out of it.

 “Move!”

 “Okay. I’m going.” Glenn got into the driver’s seat and you were shoved into the passengers. Merle got in behind you and continued holding the gun to your head.

 The drive was completely silent and you were pretty sure that you had passed out for a couple minutes. Then you got to the place Merle was taking you. It looked like a town. There were walls made up of vehicles and metal and there were armored guards everywhere too. But you only saw a glimpse of it before Merle instructed Glenn to turn right. He led you to the back of a building before telling Glenn to cut the engine.

 “Ya stay right where ya are, Glenn,” Merle said. “I’ll help out sweetheart here.”

 He climbed out of the car and opened your door before grabbing you and hauling you out.

 “C’mon now. Let’s getcha inside.”

 With his gun still pointed at your head, Glenn had no choice but to do what he was told. When you got inside, Merle shoved you into the first room and locked the door. You heard him take Glenn into the room right next door and after a minute, he came back to you. You didn’t fight it as he made you sit down in a chair and tied your hands behind your back. He left shortly after and you heard the lock click in place.

 ---

 Sam and Dean

Dean was outside with Beth when Rick and Carl saw a woman standing there. He stood by Beth, watching with worried eyes as they brought her into the prison. Carl got a towel while Beth got water. Dean was holding the baby, keeping her calm.

 “Rick?” Daryl said. “Who the hell’s this?”

 “You wanna tell us your name?” Rick asked the woman. She didn’t answer and Rick repeated the question. When she still said nothing, Daryl spoke again.

 “Y’all come in here,” he said.

 “Everything alright?”

 “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

 Rick gave the go ahead so Dean followed Beth in to the cell block, Hershel and Carl behind them. Rick talked to the woman for a few seconds before following, the woman’s sword in hand. Daryl locked the door and led everyone to one of the cells. In the cell sat an exhausted looking Carol. Sophia was right next to her, hugging her mother tightly. Sam and Maggie were sitting with her and when Carol saw everyone, she stood up shakily and went to hug Rick.

 “Thank god,” Rick said, holding Carol close. Dean couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

 “How?” Hershel asked.

 “Solitary,” Carol said with a small laugh.

 “Poor thing must’ve fought her way inta a cell. Passed out from dehydration.”

 Carol let go of Hershel and saw Dean next. He was still holding onto his sister and when Carol saw the baby, she turned to Rick with a smile on her face. Rick’s face fell and Carol immediately started to comfort him.

 “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She turned to Carl and put her hand on his cheek before taking the baby from Dean’s arms. Dean watched the interactions with a sad smile on his face, his hand on Carl’s shoulder.

 After Carol was all settled, Rick walked back into the common area. Dean, Sam, Hershel, and Daryl with him.

 “We can stitch up that wound for you. Give you some food and water then send you on your way. But you have to tell us how you found us and why you were carrying formula,” Rick said.

 “The supplies were dropped by a young Asian man and a pretty girl,” the woman said. Dean stood up straighter and looked at Sam, a worried look on his face.

 “What happened?” Rick asked.

 “Were they attacked?” Sam asked.

 “They were taken.”

 “Taken? What the fuck do you mean, taken?” Dean said, hands clenching in anger.

 “Taken? Taken by who?”

 “Taken by the same douchebag that shot me.”

 “These are our people. Our family. You’re gonna tell us what happened now!” Rick went and put pressure on her wound. The woman hissed in pain and swatted his hand away.

 “You’d best start talkin’,” Daryl said, crossbow raised. “Or ya problems are gonna be bigger than a gunshot wound.”

 “Find ‘em yourself,” she said, eyes narrowed. Rick told Daryl to put the crossbow down and put himself in between the two of them.

 “There was a reason you came here,” Rick said. The woman looked at the floor before looking at Rick.

 “There’s a town. It’s called Woodbury and has around seventy-five survivors. I think they were taken there,” she said.

 “A whole town?”

 “It’s run by a guy who calls himself the Governor.”

 “He got muscle?” Daryl asked.

 “Paramilitary wannabes. There’s armed sentries on every wall.”

 “You know a way in?” Sam asked.

 “The place is secure from walkers but we should be able to slip our way through.”

 “How’d you know how to get here?”

 “The girl said something about a prison. Mentioned it was a straight-shot in this direction.”

 Rick was silent for a second before pointing to Hershel. “This is Hershel. He’s gonna be the one stitching you up. And they’re Sam and Dean. They’re the brothers of the girl who was taken.”

 With that, Rick walked away. Daryl followed immediately but it took a second for Sam and Dean to follow. They both gave the woman a hard look before walking back into the cell block.

 ---

 “How do we know we can trust her?” Oscar asked.

 “Does it matter? This is Glenn and [y/n] we’re talking about. Why are we even debating?” Beth said.

 “We ain’t. I’ll go after ‘em,” Daryl said.

 “You can’t go alone. This place sounds secure,” Rick said, tapping his foot.

 “I’ll go,” Beth said. Axel and Oscar said the same and Rick shook his head.

 “Dean, Daryl, the woman, and I will go.”

 “I’m going too,” Sam said. “Like hell you’re gonna stop me from going to get my sister.”

 “You need to stay here just in case they manage to escape before we get there. And Adeline is going to need you,” Rick said to Sam. Sam wanted to argue, but he knew that Rick’s point was a valid one.

 “Fine. But if you guys don’t come back within twenty-four hours, I’m going out there to get you.”

 “Deal.”

 With that, the meeting dispersed. Daryl packed a bag full of the flash bangs and tear gas. Dean walked out to the Impala with Sam and gathered a few shotguns and about half of the non-salt ammo along with a few knives.

 “She’s gonna be fine, Sammy. She’s tough and can handle herself,” Dean said. Sam gave a grunt as a response and hauled the duffle over his shoulder before bringing it to the car they were taking.

 Before they left, Dean walked over to Carol and Maggie, kissing their cheeks, kissing the baby and both toddlers foreheads after.

 “Keep an eye on her. She’s a handful,” Dean said.

 “I think I got it covered. Now you go on and get them back safe and sound, okay?” Carol said. She rubbed Adeline’s back, the toddler clinging to Sam.

 “Bring [y/n] back,” Sophia said softly.

 “I will, sweetheart.” Dean gave them a smile and walked over to the car. He got in the backseat next to Daryl. It was time to get his sister back.

#New World #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd x reader #spn x reader #twd #spn

[apolloloki97]

"Solid as Stone" Ian Gallagher x Mickey Milkovich

Summary: What if when Monica came back, Ian went to find Mandy that day, but found Mickey. Instead of going right to the store for a hookup, Ian runs away distraught after not finding his best friend. Mickey can't help but follow and comfort the redhead he has clearly fallen for.

Or when Ian is freaking out, Mickey is there to comfort him.

Word Count: 2679

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Stone" by Jaymes Young

Note: This is just a bit of an AU what if kind of thing. I just liked it and I love comforting and soft Mickey and I know that day he could tell that Ian was torn.

-----------

Monica was back and Ian didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

As soon as she rolled back into town, Ian felt as if he was suffocating and he had to get out. He didn’t even care if Terry was home at that moment, he needed to see Mandy.

His thoughts kept flicking to Mickey but he knew that regardless of the kind of situation they were in, Mickey would throttle him before he even considered offering Ian a comforting hand. Mickey had been very clear about the nature of their relationship if you could even call it that. Ian knew that there was more to them just random hookups, but he didn’t have time to unpack any of it at the moment.

Mandy had to be the one and he needed her now.

Ian arrived at the front of the Milkovich house and barrelled up the steps, his breathing still labored. His fist made contact with the wooden door, frantically begging someone to open up. It took a moment before the front door was wrenched open and it wasn’t the Milkovich sibling Ian had wanted to see right then, but one he was always wishing to see no matter what. Mickey, who had a cigarette in his mouth, seemed surprised at Ian’s frantic look. “Gallagher?” he asked.

“Mandy, is she here?” Ian breathed out, trying to see behind Mickey and into the house.

“What?”

“Is Mandy here?” Ian asked again, his breathing still sporadic. “I need to see her.” Mickey frowned as he took in the state of Ian as the younger boy seemed to be running off pure anxiety. Something was definitely wrong with him and it surprised Mickey as he realized he was incredibly concerned about Ian Gallagher. However, after all the time he had spent around the kid, he had come to pick up on all of Ian’s idiosyncrasies.

“She’s not here,” Mickey told him, glancing over his shoulder where Terry was passed out on the couch. “She went away with Iggy for a couple of days.” Ian let out a breath, still very jumpy, as he looked back and forth, trying to figure out what he was going to do. “Gallagher, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he rushed out as he glanced behind him, almost as if he expected Monica to be running after him, but the street remained silent. “I… I gotta go,” he stammered before nodding to himself, turning around, and half-stumbling down the steps. Mickey watched after him for a few seconds, still very confused at Ian’s behaviors. Ian shuffled out into the street and then Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the redhead. Honking blared through the neighborhood as the man behind the wheel cursed at Ian who was raising his hands in apologies.

As soon as Ian was out of the street, the car sped off, leaving Ian to stare at it for only a second before he moved to run down an alley in between the houses, still somewhat out of it. Mickey glanced back inside his house for a second before swearing, “Fucking Gallagher.” Grabbing his coat, he shut the door behind him and took off after the redhead.

It didn’t take long for Mickey to pick up on Ian’s trail as the kid had the loudest footsteps on the Southside. Mickey kept telling himself that the only reason he was doing this was that he wanted to know if Ian was on something and if he could get a hit. However, behind the denial, he knew the truth. He did care about Gallagher and he could tell Ian was going through something.

It was only another block that Mickey finally found him. Ian was on the ground, his back against the wall of the empty alleyway and he was breathing harder than he was when he had shown up on Mickey’s porch. Slowly, Mickey approached him, keeping an eye on the redhead’s hands. He knew Ian well enough to know that the kid could punch just as well as anyone on the Southside and he wasn’t looking forward to being on the other side of one of those freckled fists if he startled him.

“Gallagher?” Mickey tried, but Ian remained frozen, his eyes only on the cold asphalt. “Gallagher,” he tried again, but still, Ian remained oblivious to his presence. With a sigh, Mickey ran a hand through his hair before finally stepping right into the other boy’s view. “Ian?” he asked, softer this time. Ian’s breath stuttered for a second before his eyes flicked to the worried blue ones above him.

“What do you want?” Ian asked and while the words sent a dagger to Mickey’s heart, it was a valid question. Why had he followed him? Ian had no reason to trust that Mickey Milkovich cared for him. Mickey hated that he had led him to believe that he was only using him for sex, but he understood. Mickey was never one for affection, but it wasn’t as if he had any role models to learn from. Colin had tried to somewhat raise his younger siblings, but there was only so much he could do. Mickey was on his own in this department, but he was hoping Ian could be the beginning of his effort to show the compassion he clearly felt.

“What happened?” Mickey asked, finally crouching down to get on Ian’s level. The boy in front of him looked frailer than Mickey had ever seen him. The Gallaghers were known to be tough sons of bitches, but everyone had their breaking point, Mickey supposed.

“My mom,” Ian said. “My mom came home and just fucked it all up.” Mickey nodded, understanding immediately. If you knew about the Gallaghers and especially if you knew about Frank, you knew about Monica. Terry hated the woman and Mickey finally could see why. If the way Ian was acting was evidence of how her kids felt when she came back, she definitely should have stayed gone.

“Hurricane Monica,” Mickey simply said. Ian looked at him in surprise. Mickey sank to the ground next to Ian, their shoulders almost touching. “Fiona’s mentioned her a few times at the Alibi, Frank, too. I think we all get the picture enough to know she ain’t exactly mother of the fucking year.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ian said and Mickey was glad to hear that his breathing was sounding a little better. Ian let his head fall back to rest on the bricks behind him. “She always does this, Mickey,” Ian began and Mickey remained quiet, just letting Ian talk. “She comes into town and makes it seem like she’s going to stay. Debbie and Carl don’t deserve that shit.”

“Neither do you,” Mickey said automatically. Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s who was just staring in front of him, his hands playing with the cigarette he still held.

“She’s my mom,” Ian tried to rationalize.

“So?” Mickey said, finally looking at him again. “Frank is your dad and he’s a piece of shit. Terry is my dad and he’s...he’s… fuck he’s the fucking worse.” Ian could hear the hesitancy in Mickey’s voice. Everyone knew how horrible Terry was, but Ian was starting to think there was more to the racist asshole than nobody else knew. “My father hates me,” Mickey finally continued. “He hates me and he doesn’t even know that…”

“That you hook up with guys?” Ian offered, not wanting to push Mickey by slapping the “gay” label on him. He had learned his lesson with that before.

“He’d kill me if he knew,” Mickey said. “And if I had the chance to get the hell out of dodge to be away from him, I would. I don’t care if they’re our parents, they don’t owe us shit if they’ve never been parents, you know?” Ian was quiet for a minute before he nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what to do, Mick,” Ian said, casually dropping the nickname he had been trying out for a while. If it was any other time, Mickey would have made a comment about it, but he just enjoyed the rush that went through him at Ian saying his name.

“What do you want to do?” Mickey asked. “Cause that’s all up to you, man.”

“I want her to get the fuck out,” Ian said. “If she’s leaving again, it’s gonna be on our terms this time, not hers.” Ian struggled to keep his hands still and his emotions in check. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey. This was why he needed Mandy.

However, Mickey Milkovich surprised him as he always did.

Tattooed fingers suddenly covered freckled ones and Ian’s hand was enveloped in a warm and firm grip. Ian looked up at Mickey who was looking at him with actual concern.

“Don’t let her ruin you,” Mickey said firmly.

“She’s already done that,” Ian said, trying not to focus too much on the hand in his.

“Says who, huh?” Mickey countered. “Who says you’re fucking ruined? You’re not. You’re…” Mickey trailed off for a second. His eyes flickered from Ian’s lips and then back to his face. “You’re damn solid, Gallagher. A fucking tower of stone, so don’t think that some woman can just come back and fuck with you just because she’s your blood. Blood don’t mean shit when it comes to family anyways.”

Ian was looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He had never seen this side of Mickey and he was already mourning the fact that he may never again for a while once they left that alley. In case he was right, Ian clutched onto Mickey’s hand tighter, letting him feel the other boy’s pulse beneath his fingers.

“Thanks,” he breathed, almost afraid to speak any louder in case it shattered whatever peace they had built.

“Still wish Mandy was here instead?” Mickey asked and there was no malice behind it.

“Absolutely not,” Ian admitted as he glanced down at Mickey’s mouth. They were silent for a moment before Ian asked about something Mickey had just said. “Would you really leave to get away from Terry?”

“I wouldn’t go far,” Mickey admitted, looking at him through hooded eyes. “I could never go too far from you, could I? Who’d run after you when you’re going out of your fucking mind?” Ian smiled, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know, I’m sure I could find someone,” he said and then boldly continued, “maybe Kash has a friend around his age.”

That did it.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mickey growled as he grabbed onto Ian’s neck and slammed his lips against the other boy's mouth. Ian reacted immediately, tugging Mickey closer to him. Mickey’s heart was slamming in his chest and he knew it was risky to kiss Ian out in the open, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He had been wanting to kiss him since the first time he had seen Ian smile. It wasn’t until they had sex for the first time that that need to kiss him had intensified tenfold. Mickey grabbed at Ian’s coat, trying to make the distance between them nonexistent.

When Ian slipped his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, Mickey was done for. He could never go back to just having sex after this. This was...indescribable and he needed it all. Mickey was as inexperienced as it got when it came to kissing men, but Ian seemed to be a master according to Milkovich. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s arms and then up to his neck where his large hands took hold of Mickey’s face as he continued to devour the other boy’s mouth.

Eventually, they both needed to breathe and Mickey was the first to pull back, though he didn’t go far. “That was…” Ian began, his breathing heavy but this time for a completely different reason.

“Long overdue,” Mickey finished, his breath matching pace with Ian’s. “I didn’t mean to do that like this. You know in a shithole,” he said, gesturing to the disgusting alley.

“Our whole neighborhood is a shithole,” Ian pointed out causing Mickey to smile slightly. Ian couldn’t help himself as he pressed another kiss to Mickey’s lips before leaning back again. “Don’t think I’m not going to take advantage of being allowed to do that now.”

“Who says this ain’t a one-time thing, firecrotch?” Mickey asked, raising one of his very expressive eyebrows.

“Me,” Ian said simply and Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t move away from Ian. His expression then turned concerned once again.

“Feeling better?” Mickey asked and Ian nodded.

“Getting there,” Ian admitted, referring back to his Monica meltdown. “You helped quite a bit,” he said cheekily and Mickey just snorted. “Thanks, Mick,” Ian said and Mickey could hear all the sincerity behind his words. Mickey nodded and then sat back beside Ian, their shoulders pressed together as if they were afraid to not be touching each other.

“Don’t think you can’t come to me when you’re in trouble, Gallagher,” Mickey said. “I ain’t gonna fucking turn you away. Not you.” Ian nodded again and then leaned his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home,” Ian admitted. Mickey leaned into Ian and nodded.

“Me either,” said Mickey as he thought about his father back on their worn-out couch.

“Monica has to go,” Ian whispered.

“I could make that happen, you know?” Mickey said casually. “I still have that uncle down at the foundry.” Ian jabbed him in the ribs, but Mickey knew he was smiling.

“No thanks,” Ian said with a sigh. “Murder wouldn’t look good on you.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, “everything looks good on me.”

“And off, too,” Ian added and that got Mickey’s attention. Ian was looking up at him and when Mickey met his eyes, he could see just a hint of mischief in his green eyes.

“Are you coming onto me, Gallagher,” Mickey said.

“Always,” Ian said as his hands pushed into Mickey’s dark hair.

“I ain’t havin’ you get on me in some back alley,” Mickey said. “I have standards, asshole.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have keys to the store,” Ian said with a lower voice. Mickey chewed on that thought for a second before jumping to his feet and dragging Ian with him.

“You are a fucking menace,” Mickey whispered to Ian who just beamed at him, and then Ian’s smile turned softer.

“So, I’m solid huh?” Ian asked, looking at Mickey who wasn’t running away for once.

“As stone,” Mickey agreed. “You’re gonna be just fine, Red. Monica issues or not, you,” he said, poking Ian in the chest, “are gonna be fine.” Ian could have cried then, but he settled on grabbing Mickey by his coat and kissing him hard. Mickey kissed him back, still trying to get used to the feel, but he figured he’d get the hang of it soon.

Ian pulled back first this time and smiled at Mickey, grateful that he had been the Milkovich sibling to answer the damn door. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“You already said that,” Mickey reminded him.

“And I’ll keep saying it, dumbass,” Ian teased and then began walking backward, gesturing to Mickey to follow him.

Mickey just smiled and jogged to catch up with Ian. As the two of them headed to the store, Mickey forced himself to watch where he was going because all he could focus on was that Ian was back to being Ian and he, Mickey, had helped bring that smile back. Cautiously, he took Ian’s hand for just a fraction of a second before letting go. It was brief, but Ian knew what it meant. Sure, he was solid, unmoving, but to Mickey, Ian was his rock, the one that kept him grounded when everything else was trying to pull him away and if he’d let him, Mickey also wanted to be that for Ian.

#Ian x Mickey #Ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #shameless #shameless fics #shameless fanfiction #Ian and Mickey fics #Gallavich fanfic

[bestie-enthusiast]

Chapter 1: First (Proper) Meetings

This is the first proper chapter of my PTA! Dad Zemo fanfiction, and the 3rd of 11 chapters. The chapter is located under the cut.

Chapter word count: 4265

Fic Summary:

After the untimely death of both his wife and father due to a bombing, Baron Helmut Zemo takes his son and immigrates to America. He does not expect to find a family nor a romantic partner, and he especially does not expect to find the ability to heal. To grieve.

And yet, here we are.

This is a story about connections, growing, healing and mourning the past while still appreciating the future and all it has to offer.

One Year Later

“Come on now, my sonnenschein. AJ and Cass are most certainly already waiting for you.” Zemo told his son as he dragged him out the door. Carl had been having dreams (memories, blood, dust-) about his mother lately, and it had been difficult for both of them, especially considering the new school year was about to begin.

“Yes, papa.” Carl muttered sleepily, getting in and buckling himself when his father told him too. It wasn’t a particularly flashy car, but it did scream luxury, Zemo didn’t particularly care about the coincidental bragging though. He drove Carl to school in silence, letting his son have a few minutes of rest while he did the same. He didn’t sleep of course, just took a few moments to calm himself. It was stressful helping Carl process his dreams (memories, memories, memories-), let alone discussing his late wife. Carl wasn’t young enough when she died to forget her, and he couldn’t decide whether that was fortunate or not.

Zemo sighed and perfectly parked yet again, helping a just-awakened Carl out of the car and handing him his school bag. Now that his school was in sight, Carl had perked up a bit, rushing his papa along rather than the other way around. Zemo watched carefully as he rushed over to AJ and Cass, before looking around for Sarah.

He smiled when he saw her, then grimaced when he noticed who she was talking to. Fucking Carol. Nevertheless, he made his way over. He needed to play nice with Carol in order to keep his role in the Parent-Teacher Association.

“Ladies, always a pleasure.” He greeted with a smirk, which turned into more of a smile at Sarah’s hidden huff of laughter.

“Oh hello, Baron Zemo.” Carol greeted flirtatiously, and he had to hide the way his smile faltered with a glance toward the playground.

“Just Zemo works fine, Mrs. West.” He told her. While he was aware of his title and it’s connections, he did not want to flaunt it, just like his riches. He wanted Carl to live as normal a life as possible, which meant that he would have to do the same, not that he wanted much to do with what his future would have entailed without the unfortunate status of Sokovia. Sarah let out another huff of laughter.

Suddenly a new voice joined them. “Excuse me,” The man said, gently manervouring through them. Zemo knew immediately who it was from the voice, and even if he didn’t, the metal prosthetic was more than enough of a give away.

“It’s fine,” he heard himself say faintly, letting his eyes flicker down the man's whole body. James Barnes was a very attractive man, he thought to himself.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Just in a bit of a rush this morning.” He didn’t leave any time for a reply as he rushed into the school, fumbling with the stack of boxes he was carrying in his arms. Zemo stared at him behind the entire time until he was out of view. He knew he was blushing but he couldn’t help it.

“Well, well, well…” Sarah commented, a sly grin on her face. Carol looked rather huffy though, and cut her off.

“How disrespectful! He shouldn’t even be allowed near the children with his “PTSD.” And that metal arm, I mean think of the children! They shouldn’t know about it, and he should get a more realistic one. That would be far better for the children, not confusing them with his… robot arm.” Carol ranted angrily, her face growing a rather unpleasant shade of red.

“Carol!” One of the playground supervisors shouted in their general direction. “Hunter had another accident!” Carol stormed over in yet another huff, and both Zemo and Sarah let out a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know where she gets off being all high and mighty like that.” Sarah complained, before her mouth turned into a sly grin once again. “But I do know where you're getting off.” Zemo let out an undignified snort of laughter, covering his mouth in horror as he realised what he had done.

“I have no idea what you mean!” He protested. Sarah was very much like a sister to him, and she was also the reason he was on the PTA board. He enjoyed going to the meetings, especially when it came to fundraisers and budgets for prizes. He wasn’t the type to flaunt his wealth, but in the cases of donations? He would totally out-pay every other parent out there.

“Uh-huh, and you weren’t just ogling at your kid’s teacher’s butt?” She asked teasingly. The bell rang, cutting off their conversation. Despite the fact that it had been a year at this point, he still flinched at the loud, shrill sounding bell that signalled the start of the school day.

“Of course not! That would be incredibly impolite.” He retorted, smiling even as he protested her words. “It is good to see you again, Sarah.” He said quietly as they both watched their children line up together.

“You too, Zee.” She replied, just as soft. “And don’t think I didn’t see those bags under your eyes. Pick up your act or I’ll smack some sense into you.” Zemo ducked his head and blushed at both the nickname and the vaguely threatening nag to take care of himself.

“Apologies, I will ensure that you will not need to “smack some sense into me.” He assured her, knowing that he wasn’t actually going to do anything to sleep better, simply invest in some concealer. He felt bad planning to deceive Sarah like this, but he really was okay, so it didn’t matter. All he was doing was preventing her from worrying, that was a favour, right?

Once all the children were inside the school, he and Sarah said their goodbyes. He walked over to his car, and once in the privacy of it’s tinted windows, dropped his head and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He had no idea how he was going to stay awake and aware through the PTA meeting later that day. It was to discuss how the first day had gone and such, but Zemo really couldn’t care less, especially considering he already had a full day of work ahead of him.

Sighing, he turned on his car and drove home. Oeznik greeted him and took the car keys and his coat. Zemo muttered a thanks and headed to his office, spreading a fake grin on his face as he began his day of online meetings and phone meetings with his accountants, lawyers and business personnel.

The hours dragged by slowly, and he was thankful when the time came to pick Carl up from school. He had gotten Oeznik to go out and purchase him some expensive, good quality concealer, which he generously applied over his eye bags. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he took his coat and keys from Oeznik, and headed to pick up Carl. Oeznik came along so that he could drive Carl home and Zemo could stay for the PTA meeting. He would either walk or call a car home, whichever he was feeling in the aftermath of the meeting.

Oeznik drove, which Zemo was grateful for, not trusting himself to not fall asleep at the wheel. He dozed slightly on the short drive to the school, but never for more than a few minutes. Oeznik quietly called out when they had arrived, and Zemo gracefully stepped from the car, looking every ounce of the baron that he was, and not an exhausted single-dad who was still mourning his wife and probably needed therapy.

“Thank you Oeznik,” he murmured quietly in his native tongue. He was still fluent, as were Oeznik and Carl. Even though Sokvia had technically fallen as a country, cannibalized by its neighbouring countries and removed from the map.

He plastered on a fake smile and took his place beside Sarah in waiting. She was talking to someone on the phone, once he heard the name he knew it was her brother. Sam Wilson. He did not know much about him, just that he left whatever he was doing to join Sarah in raising his nephews.

“Everything okay?” He asked, carefully making sure none of the residual tiredness leaked into his voice. Sarah was very observant when it came to the health of the people around her, so he couldn’t let her see anything at all. No signs that he was unwell in any way. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he did. He just- this was something he needed to deal with himself. He could comfort Carl and talk, he could. It was easier. He could tell Carl that it was okay to cry, that they could talk for as long as he’d like, as much as he’d like, tell him that acceptance wasn’t easy, that it was going to be okay. But when it came to himself, none of that applied.

He should be strong enough to handle it, handle everything. If he couldn’t handle it himself, then how was he meant to help Carl? He needed to stay strong.

He was broken out of his thoughts when Sarah responded. “Yeah, we’re just a bit tight on money at the moment, but Sam is insisting we need to keep the goddamn boat. And don’t you dare go offering anything, we’re fine.” Zemo pursed his lips but nodded, already mentally planning how he was going to get Sarah to accept help; he could, after all, provide more than just financial aid.

The bell rang, he had to make an actual effort to flinch this time, he was very tired, and felt disoriented. Sarah laughed at him, which means he must have done a good job. He blinked harshly a few times to clear his blurring vision. He just had to get through the meeting, or maybe he could skip it and just give the school a generous donation to “help” them forget about it. But then Sarah would worry, so he would suffer through it.

AJ and Cass came rushing out, with Carl trailing behind them, clearly tired. Although he perked up once his papa waved at him. He rushed at him, and just like always, Zemo scooped him up and gave him a hug, before gently setting him on the ground. The PTA meeting technically started fifteen minutes after the school day let out, but most members took longer, and no one ever commented, except Carol, because they all had kids, or taught kids, and understood.

Zemo led Carl over to the car, helping him in and telling Oeznik that Carl could take a short nap before completing any school work. Oeznik nodded and Zemo started his walk back down to the school. The secretary buzzed him in before he could even ask, and he gave her a polite smile as he made his way over to the teachers lounge turned PTA meeting room. He blinked heavily, staring at the door for a second. He was contemplating just turning around when he heard a voice behind him.

“Are you just going to stand there or…?” It was James, and Zemo blinked again, struggling to find his voice.

“My apologies.” He replied quietly, “Just debating whether or not I want to deal with Carol today.” He quipped, opening the door for James to enter. He put on his best smile and straightened his posture. It was time to put on his mask of “Insufferable PTA dad who knows he’s better than you.”

The only other people here so far were staff and Carol, who was sitting in the seat directly beside his usual one. His smile grew even faker and more tense as he reluctantly sat down. Carol was the type of rich person who flaunted it, even though she had never actually had a job before, and all of her money was from her father and her husband's father.

“Hey, Helmut~” She said in a flirtatious voice, and he couldn’t hold back the flinch at her butchered pronunciation of his first name. She said it like an American, not the way it was meant to be pronounced in its language of origin.

“Hello, Mrs. West.” He greeted quietly, hoping that she wouldn’t be like this the whole time. “And like I’ve said numerous times before this, it is just Zemo.” He hoped that she would finally accept the fact that he preferred to be referred to as just his last name, but that hope was quickly crushed.

“But I like Helmut!” She shouted, pouting, once again butchering the pronunciation. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, calming himself. He had to stay polite and perfect. He had an image to maintain.

“Mrs. West-” He began, but was cut off by a snort.

“Your name is Helmut?” James asked incredulously, looking at him in exasperation. “What kind of rich person name is that?”

Zemo took another breath to calm and compose himself. “That is not the correct pronunciation, and it is not a traditionally “rich person” name as you put it, Mr. Barnes.” Zemo gently corrected, trying not to let any anger seep through his carefully constructed words. “And I prefer to go by my last name. Just my last name. Zemo.”

James hummed in consideration, and Carol let out a huff at her flirtations having fallen short. Zemo struggled to keep his eyes open in the lull of conversation as they waited for their final members, Sarah among them.

When Sarah arrived she took the seat on the other side of him, and he almost cried in relief at having a familiar, friendly face. It seemed that while James was nice to look at, he had some sort of dislike for upper-class people, which Zemo knew was not uncommon. Not that it didn’t hurt, being judged for something he personally had no control over.

But that's beside the point. The meeting started, and people started talking. Zemo kept himself awake by repeatedly pinching his hand, squeezing the soft flesh tightly everytime his focus started to slip. Several of the mothers attending tried to make flirty conversation with him, but he politely shut them down. All of them were married women, and he was not going to get involved with a married woman. Nor any woman for that matter, or man. He was not planning on ever seeking out a long term connection, not after Heike.

The meeting dragged on and Zemo, while occasionally participating, mostly stayed quiet. It wasn’t as though he was extraordinarily vocal at these meetings anyway, but he was more quiet than normal.

“I know you think I’m a dream but pinching yourself is not the right way to prove it.” A husky voice murmured to him. He looked over to see that Carol had physically gotten up to rant at some point, and James had taken her seat.

Zemo blinked in confusion. He was pretty sure James was flirting with him, which seemed unlikely, considering the man's attitude when they last spoke.

“More like this meeting is a nightmare I want to wake up from,” he replied, keeping voice as quiet as James. Carol had grown louder in her shrieking and it was giving him a headache. Well, at least now he couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to.

“Carol.” He said just loud enough to interrupt her and gain everyone else's attention, but he did not yell. Yelling was unfitting of a man of his stature. Baron’s do not yell, they command a room with silence, or with patience and a steady voice.

“Yes, Zemo?” Carol asked, eyes going half lidded and practically turning into hearts. He gave her a patient smile back, like she was a toddler too excited to wait.

“I’m afraid I have a rather potent headache at the moment,” he said, perfectly coaching his expression into something a tad more vulnerable than normal. “And I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep your-” ‘temper tantrum’ he thought to himself “-louder ideas, for the next meeting?” He pushed as much pain and tiredness into his eyes and smile as he could, which was a lot at the current moment.

Carol looked properly scolded and shrunk in slightly. “Sorry, Zemo.” She said quietly, sitting in James' original seat since he was still in hers.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” He replied, giving her a tight smile. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and hoped it was because he got Carol to be quiet and not because of his admission of a headache. He could feel James staring at him, so he looked at him, tilted his head so that only James could see his face, and gave him a smirk. He hoped it wasn’t too obviously fake, and it seemed like it was real enough because James let out a huff of laughter (and oh how that made his heart soar) and turned away.

The meeting continued on for a while longer before everyone packed up. He had recorded the audio of the whole meeting on his phone, so he didn’t worry about missing anything. He was looking forward to listening to Carol’s rant a second time, but he did catch James’ laughter. He smiled giddily at the thought.

“What made you so happy?” Sarah asked from behind him as they were leaving the school.

“I got Carol to shut up.” He responded, biting his lip. He knew that if Sarah knew the true reason behind his smile she would never drop it.

“Uh huh.” She replied teasingly, before saying her goodbyes. They parted ways and he decided to walk home. He had just started walking when he heard loud, fast approaching footsteps behind him. He instinctively stepped out of the way and put himself into a loose fighting stance. Despite his now good mood, he was still very much sleep deprived and high strung. Thankfully the person, who he saw was Carol, had not attempted to grab him in any way. If she had, he probably would have broken her arm, or at the very least tried too.

“Hey Zeze!” Carol shouted, and he winced, both at the nickname and her shrill voice.

“Just Zemo, Mrs. West. And what can I do for you?” He asked, still perfectly polite. He would not allow himself to be anything but perfectly polite in any situation, public or otherwise.

“Well I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you after you declared having such a horrific headache!” She declared, following just a step behind him as he started to speed walk towards his home. Then realised if he led her to his house she would never stop showing up. He pulled out his phone and called Oeznik, ignoring Carol when she asked what he was doing.

“Oeznik, come pick me up. A lady won’t leave me alone. She is not a threat, but a nuisance.” He explained, talking in Sokovian as to not insult Carol in a language she could understand. Carol was quiet as he talked to Oeznik, who said he’d bring a car right away.

“Thank you, old friend.” Zemo replied and hung up. “My apologies Carol, it was a serious matter. My butler will be around shortly to pick me up, so I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this conversation short.” She blinked and he noticed how she seemed dazed when he mentioned his butler. Was she not as rich as he thought?

“Whatever.” Carol huffed insolently, and strutted away. Zemo let himself relax just a little bit, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He flinched when someone put a hand on his shoulder and reflexively defended himself. His vision was blurry and he was almost certain he was a minute away from passing out, but he could not allow himself to get caught off guard.

“Woah!” The person exclaimed, and Zemo blinked. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve just been standing here awhile, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Zemo stared at the person, it was James. He had just attacked James after staring at nothing like an insane person.

“M-My apologies.” He stuttered out, “I am just waiting for my ride. You startled me.” Zemo had no idea how to explain what was actually going on. How do you tell your son’s teacher that you haven't slept for more than a few hours a night for almost a month and were practically delirious with sleep deprivation, which had caused you to disassociate, and then when he touched your shoulder your brain thought he was a Nazi so it made you flip out? That's right. You don’t. “Mm. Well since we’re both already here, I wanted to talk to you about Carl?” Zemo froze, had something happened? “I read the note you sent with him and just wanted to let you know that the school has a counseling program that I am required to recommend.” James continued with a huff of laughter at the end.

“Well thank you, but I assure you and your requirements that Carl is already seeing a licensed therapist.” Zemo replied. Despite the rocky start to the conversation, just being around James made his heart and head happy.

“Are you?”

“Parodon?” Zemo asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“Are you seeing a therapist?” James clarified. Zemo blinked in shock. No one had asked him that before. Well Oeznik had, but not again once Zemo had told him no. His entire world revolved around Carl and keeping him happy, so wasting time and resources on therapy for himself would be pointless.

“No.” Zemo answered, keeping it short and to the point. He was not, and it was not up for debate.

“I see.” James responded, pursuing his lips. “This may be out of line, but I don’t particularly care. Have you considered seeing a therapist? I think it might benefit your son if he saw that you were also actively taking measures to keep your mental health in a good place.” Zemo blinked, having to make an actual effort to keep the smile on his face.

“Well, thank you for your opinion. I will take it into consideration.” He wouldn’t but that doesn’t matter. It would keep James happy and Carl would stay happy, and he wouldn’t be happy but what does that matter? Keeping everyone else happy was key to staying in control.

“Right.” James sounded like he didn’t believe him, but Oeznik pulled up right after. Zemo held out his hand for a shake.

“It was nice conversing with you, Mr. Barnes. Please, do let me know if you have any more concerns regarding Carl.” Zemo said as James shook his hand.

“Of course, and just Bucky, please.”

Zemo nodded and ducked into the passenger seat of the car. Oeznik was in the driver's seat, and Carl was sitting in the back. As Carl started to excitedly tell him all about his day, Zemo allowed himself to drift into a semi-conscious state.

When they arrived back home, Oeznik started on dinner preparations and Zemo went over all of Carl’s school work with him, before sending him off to play in his room until dinner. After checking in on Carl, who was playing superheroes, he headed into his office. While everything regarding the legal side of his finances and immigrant status in the US was technically complete, he still had to manage his own finances and continue adding to Carl’s trust fund. There was always work to be done, especially when you were a baron. So while waiting for dinner, he worked on some paperwork. The mindless task felt numbing, in a good way. It was simple, but he did need to be present for it, meaning that his brain was flooded by words and numbers instead of thoughts of Sokovia and his wife. Oeznik called for both him and Carl, so he gracefully exited his office, intercepting Carl on the way down to tell him to go wash his hands. He waited for his son, before they walked down the stairs together and into the private dining room. They had a dining hall for guests and meetings, but also a family dining room for their everyday meals. Today Zemo quietly asked Oeznik to stay, which he did. They enjoyed a family dinner, and Zemo could feel his emotional state improving every minute he spent with his son.

After dinner was completed, Zemo ran a bath for Carl and kept an ear on him while finishing up some paperwork. Once Carl had finished Zemo helped him get dressed, brushed his hair and sent him to go brush his teeth. After Carl had done that, he tucked him in and quietly told him stories about Sokovia, speaking Sokovian of course. Carl quickly fell asleep and Zemo just watched him for a few minutes, soaking in every detail of his perfect son.

He took a long shower, letting the water wash away the pains of his day. He completed his extensive skin care routine and eventually found his way into bed. He stared up at his ceiling for a long time, just thinking.

It took quite some time, but he did manage to fall asleep, for a few hours at least. Carl slept through the whole night for once, but he didn't. He woke up only a few hours after he had initially fallen asleep and had been unsuccessful in his attempts to fall back asleep. He sighed, and headed into his office.

If he couldn’t sleep, then he might as well work.

-

Tagging @morganbritton132 (Who created this AU) and @i-ll-be-the-moon (Who is a supportive friend and likes my writing <3)

#pta dad zemo #pta au #tfatws #zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #fatws #fanfiction #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes #tfatws fanfiction #fanfic #no powers au #au #au fanfiction #no powers #sarah wilson #oc #ofc #carl zemo #aj and cass #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #cuteness #grief #mourning #ptsd #zemo has ptsd