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[levis-reading-recs]

Tommy Shelby ~ Dust in the Wind

*I DON'T OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNER*

*I do not give anyone permission to repost my work in any way (translations included)*

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Discusses infant loss/stillborn, ANGST, mild language, possibly ooc Tommy

a/n: Alright, well, it has been quite some time since I've posted on this site. First, let me get a few things out. 1) This is the most self-indulgent piece I have ever written, so if you don't want to read it, please just keep on scrolling. 2) This does not mean that I am ready to start taking requests again or that I will be regularly writing again. As stated before, this is a very self-indulgent piece because I just experienced the loss of my daughter, who was born prematurely. It has completely wrecked me, and I have just finally decided to start writing again. I am trying to navigate my loss and thought maybe writing would help. It did, and although this piece is a little darker than I usually write, it was therapeutic, and I wanted to share it because I am proud of my work. I did write it as a reader insert, but if you all read it and think it would be better as an OC story, I'll change it. Anyway, this is the first time I've ever written for Tommy, so please forgive the potential out-of-character actions he has in this story. Also, it has been a bit since I watched season 3 so forgive any mistakes. I took some liberties with the story by adding different children for Tommy and Y/N and some of the things that happened in the show. Well, I hope you enjoy this story, and would really like to know what you all think.

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Y/N was no stranger to death.  It was Small Heath, for goodness’ sake.  Death practically ran in the water.  Being deeply entrenched in the Shelby family since she was a young girl only made her acquaintance with death’s steely grip all that much closer.  She had been to more than enough funerals in her 29 years of living.  She was present at the cemetery when her father finally drank himself into his grave, she was there to mourn when consumption took her mother, and she showed up to support Ada when they buried Freddie.  Y/N was always there when any of the Peaky boys were killed in the line of action, and she even showed up for her elderly childhood neighbor’s funeral.  But this time, it was different.  She wasn’t gathered in the woods on the outskirts of Small Heath to mourn for someone else.  There wasn’t a stranger tucked away in the wagon standing in front of her.  The Shelbys weren’t gathered to bid farewell to a distant relative or friend.  The Lees weren’t generously providing this funeral for a price.  No, the whole Shelby and Lee families were there for her and Tommy this time.

            The heat from the flames washed over Y/N’s face, making her sweat a little, but she didn’t move.  She wanted to be as close as she could possibly be.  If she had it her way, she would have jumped into the wagon and let the flames swallow her whole, but Tommy’s hand tightly gripping hers anchored her to the ground.  It had only been a few days.  It couldn’t have been more than four, but with how time was moving, it felt like a lifetime had passed.  The flames roared on, and Tommy squeezed her hand a little tighter, causing Y/N’s throat to tighten.  She swallowed down the sadness trying to claw its way out of her.  Y/N wasn’t going to break down in front of all these people.  She didn’t want to cry at all, for that matter.  It felt like it had been an endless stream of tears, and Y/N was done.  If only her aching heart would catch the memo.  Y/N’s eyes traveled the length of the flames until they landed on the little plaque one of the Lee boys carved for the wagon.  “Lily Eleanora Shelby,” it read, and suddenly, the sadness returned with a vengeance.  Y/N shut her eyes, and the events that led to this day played in her head.  She was supposed to be happy.  She was supposed to be full of unadulterated joy.  She was supposed to be cradling her newborn baby girl.  But she wasn’t.  Instead, she held onto her husband’s hand like a lifeline as she watched her daughter’s wagon burn.  One day.  That’s all it took to completely destroy her.

            Even as she stood there, watching the flames devour her daughter’s wagon, she still recounted everything she did four days ago, trying to figure out what could have possibly led to this result.  Four days ago, she was a cheery 29-week pregnant woman.  A stay-at-home mom who, with the help of their maid Frances, cared for her and Tommy’s three-year-old son, Benjamin.  That day had started like any other.  Tommy was already out, and she could hear Frances chasing Ben around his room.  The little boy’s giggles echoed through the house, and she remembers smiling as she slid a hand over her round tummy.  Y/N couldn’t wait for Ben to be a big brother.  She got ready like any other day and eventually made her way to her son, who welcomed her presence with a hug and a kiss.  The little boy rubbed her tummy, planted a chaste kiss to her navel, and smiled at her. 

            “I just wanted to let my little brother or sister know that I love them too, Mommy,” he had said, causing Y/N’s heart to clench.  Even at three, he was a charmer, just like his father.  She knelt to be at eye level with her son and lifted her hand to cradle his face.

            “You’re going to be a wonderful big brother; do you know that?”

            “Of course I will be, Mommy.  I’ve been practicing sharing my toys with Frances and making sure I listen real good to you and daddy.”  He said, standing up straighter to exhibit his full height.  “Frances says I need to be a good example for the new baby, or else Santa won’t bring me any presents this year for Christmas.  How outrageous is that, Mommy!?”

            Y/N stifled a laugh before brushing Ben’s hair back and looking up to see Frances smirking from her spot by Ben’s block tower. 

“I’m sure Santa won’t forget about you this year, honey.”  She told her son.  The boy gave her a toothy grin before trotting off to continue playing with his blocks. 

Y/N returned to her feet and watched Ben for another minute before retreating to the new nursery.  It was already put together, and she often found herself hiding away in that room.  She glided her hand over the bassinet and let the soft fabric tickle her palm.  The walls were already decorated with paintings of horses, some of which came from Ben, who insisted that his younger sibling have them.  She sat on the rocking chair and gently rubbed her hands over her stomach, earning a little kick from her unborn child.  A soft laugh fell from her lips as she looked down at her growing bump.

“Sorry to disturb you, love.”  She whispered, her hands still rubbing slow circles.  “Mommy just wanted to let you know she loves you very much.  And so does your big brother, who is very excited to meet you.”

Another kick came.

“You’re excited to meet him, too?  I’ll have to let him know.”

“Daddy loves you too, just in case Mommy forgot to mention that.”  Tommy’s voice came from the doorway, causing Y/N to look up.  He gave her a full smile, the one he reserved only for her and their son, and it fell over her like a warm blanket.

“Mommy was just about to get there.  Had daddy not interrupted her,” she said.  Tommy hummed in response as he floated across the room to kneel before her.  He looked up at Y/N through his lashes and said, “Sure you were,” before removing her hands and planting a soft kiss where they had just lay.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered against her stomach, his warm breath radiating throughout her body.  Tommy looked up at Y/N before standing and pressing his lips to hers.  When he pulled away, a smile matching his spread across her face.  She was beaming.  She had dreamt of being in this position for many years as a teenager, and now it was real.  Thomas Shelby was hovering over her very pregnant figure in their unborn second child’s nursery.  Their lively three-year-old son’s muffled laughter ricocheted off the hallway walls.  It was everything she ever wanted, and she was so happy.

“What’s that look for?”  Tommy asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing,” she hummed, gaining a skeptical eyebrow raise from her husband.  “I just love you.  That’s all.”

Tommy nestled his face into the crook of her neck, peppering kisses along the exposed skin.  Then he pulled back, looked into her eye, and said, “I love you more than you know, Y/N.”

He gave her one more swift kiss before standing and sauntering out of the room with a smirk.  The rest of the day went by like any day usually went.  She sat around and read, played with Ben, ate lunch at 1100, put Ben down for a nap at 1230, and then went back to reading.  Tommy was in and out, balancing work from home and the office.  She could tell that day was extra tiring from how he sighed every time he left the house.  It was after Tommy left for the last time of the day that Y/N got the idea to wander down to the kitchen.  When she entered, the cooks were hard at work peeling and slicing vegetables.

“Good evening, Mrs. Shelby,” the head chef began, “is there anything we can do for you, ma’am?”

Y/N clasped her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels like a guilty toddler.  “Um,” she said, “actually, yes, there is.”  She stepped into the kitchen and moved her hands to rest on her stomach.  “I was thinking that maybe tonight you and the rest of the staff could take the evening off and allow me to cook dinner.”

The head chef’s eyes widened at her statement.  Everyone else stilled for a brief moment, waiting for him to speak.  “Oh,” he stammered, “b-but, Mrs. Shelby, and please forgive me if I am overstepping, but shouldn’t you be resting instead of cooking?”  His eyes dipped down to her protruding abdomen before landing back on her face. 

“Resting?  I rest all day.  Really,” Y/N said, waving the chef’s comment off, “it would be nothing.  I actually miss being in the kitchen.  It’ll be nice.  Therapeutic.”  She couldn’t miss the wide-eyed stares from everyone in the room, but she chose to ignore them.  When they didn’t move to leave, she stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on the head chef’s back, and began leading him out of the kitchen. 

“Trust me,” she said, “I’ll be fine.  Thank you for your concern, though.”

Once she ushered the staff out, she began working on dinner.  It had been a long time since she cooked, but it came back to her like riding a bicycle.  She couldn’t escape the excitement that bubbled inside of her as she fell into a groove preparing dinner for her family again.  She boiled the potatoes the staff had peeled, sauteed the peppers and onions, and braised the beef that was in the refrigerator.  About an hour into cooking, a dull pain emanated from her lower back and into her hips.  The dull pain slowly morphed into a pressure that she just assumed was normal 29-week pregnancy symptoms.  It’s just the baby getting comfortable.  The baby is just moving around and pressing a little harder than usual on my cervix.  She ignored the feelings and finished cooking before asking the kitchen staff for help to bring the meal into the dining room.  Once the table was set, Frances went and fetched her boys, alerting them that not only had Y/N cooked dinner, but she had also served it.  She greeted the boys in the doorway of the dining room and gave each a kiss before they all sat to eat.  That pain returned in her lower back and hips, making it hard to get comfortable in her seat.  She let out a low groan of discomfort, and Tommy placed his hand over hers to gain her attention.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted together.  She swallowed another groan that threatened to come out and nodded with a strained smile.  Y/N could tell that her weak answer did nothing to reassure Tommy, but he didn’t press her. 

“How do you like the meal?”  She asked, doing her best to not sound strained against the constant pressure she felt pulsing between her legs.

Before Tommy could answer, Ben nodded with enthusiasm and stuffed a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  “I love it, Mommy!  This is the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he said through his mouthful of food. 

Y/N smiled, but it must have looked more like a grimace because this time, Tommy stood up and moved to her side.  “Y/N,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “are you sure you’re okay?  Should I have Frances phone the doctor?” 

Y/N grabbed his hand and squeezed it as she looked up to her husband.  “I’m fine, darling.  I promise.  Let’s just finish dinner.”  She pulled his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  Then, using her head, she motioned for Tommy to sit again.  He stared at her for another moment, the line on his forehead deepening, before sighing and retaking his seat.  She kept her discomfort under wraps for the remainder of dinner because Tommy didn’t mention anything until after they had put Ben down for the night and were about to crawl into bed.  The pressure and pain had only grown in that short time, and she was beginning to get nervous.  She was sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes shut, and taking some deep breaths when Tommy’s hands landed on her thighs.  She could feel him kneeling between her legs, but she didn’t open her eyes.  She didn’t want to admit that her anxiety was consuming her or that the pain and pressure had turned into abdominal cramps.  It wasn’t until she suddenly felt the bed beneath her sopping wet that she looked at Tommy.  He looked down and saw the fluid dripping from her nightgown and their duvet before his gaze landed on her.  She could see his mouth moving, but his voice was drowned out by her rapidly beating heart.  Something is wrong.  She thought.  This shouldn’t be happening.  I’m too early.  Tommy pushed away the hair that had begun sticking to her sweaty forehead, and then ran out of the room.  His voice was distant, but she could have sworn he said something about calling Polly and Ada.  She wasn’t sure because all she could focus on was the sharp pain that was puncturing her abdomen and the immense pressure building between her legs.  Before she could comprehend what was happening, Tommy scooped her up and lay her on their bed.  What about the sheets?  I’m going to ruin the bed. 

She must have said those thoughts aloud because Tommy quickly said, “Don’t worry about the bed, love.  We’ll get another one if we have to.”  The pain was only getting worse, and she had to shut her eyes and bite her tongue to prevent a groan from escaping.  She didn’t know how much time had passed before Polly and Ada came rushing into the room, shoving Tommy into the hallway.  When it was just the three of them, Y/N finally let out a guttural moan.  She didn’t remember this much pain when she gave birth to Ben.  Something is wrong.  Something is not right.  Those words chanted in her head like a mantra.  Polly set her up on her bed while Ada used a wet towel to wipe away the sweat beading on her face.

“Just breathe, Y/N,” Polly chirped soothingly in her ear. “Ada and I are here.  We’re going to take care of you.”

Anxiety coursed through her veins and unfurled in her gut when the pressure between her legs began to increase.  She tried to cross her legs and prevent the inevitable from happening, but Polly and Ada wouldn’t let her.  Tears of pain and fear streamed down her cheeks.  She wanted to scream at them to stop and let her try to stop this urge to push.  But the pain and pressure were too much, and the only sound that came out of her mouth was a low groan. 

She could feel Polly’s hand between her legs, and the words “crowning” and “push” floated to her ears.  Ada took her hand, and Y/N tried with every fiber in her body to not push, but her body had other plans.  She held her breath and begged her body to stop forcing her baby out of her, but it was too late.  The pressure was building.  Climbing to a peak that felt like it would rip her in half until suddenly, she felt relief.  Her heavy breathing filled the room, and she waited impatiently for the tell-tale cries of her baby, but they never came.  She opened her eyes and looked at Polly and then at Ada.  They both just stared back at her, and Y/N knew something wasn’t right. 

“Y/N,” was all Polly whispered, and she knew.  The silence was deafening.  She lay there, completely exposed, bleeding, and sweaty, and waited, but her baby gave her nothing.  Her eyes shut and then, without any strength to stop it, let out a crushing wail.  The tears overflowed, and when she opened her eyes again, she watched the door burst open and Tommy storm in.  He moved over to where Polly held their baby and looked down at their motionless child.

“Why isn’t she crying?”  He asked. 

It was a girl.  I had a baby girl.  Even through her tears and sobs, she could see Tommy’s chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“Why isn’t she fucking crying, Pol!?”  Tommy’s voice boomed through the room and mixed with her loud cries to create the saddest song.  She could see the distress in the slant of his shoulders and how he ran a hurried hand through his cropped hair.  He didn’t wait for anyone to answer his question before bounding across the room and landing on the floor next to her.  His hands found hers, and she could feel them shaking.  His lips pressed to Y/N’s forehead and cheeks, absorbing only some of the tears that continued to cascade down her face. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but the way his voice cracked in her ear told her he didn’t even believe those words.  “I love you, Y/N.”  She could hear that his words dripped with the same despair she felt.  “You know that, ey?  I love you, and it’s going to be okay.”

Tommy’s words echoed in her head as she watched the fire blaze around her daughter’s wagon.  She wanted to be convinced that his words were true, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.  When the funeral finished, they all returned to Arrow House, where the wake was being held.  Even being in a crowded room surrounded by family, Y/N felt alone.  Her whole body was like radio static – unfeeling.  Tommy’s hand was on her lower back the entire time, but she still felt like she was floating away.  Nothing could tether her to this reality anymore.

Several people approached her and Tommy, and with every person, a new empty comment emerged. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” which loosely translates to, “Boy, that sucks to be you.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” which means, “I’m really glad I’m not dealing with that!”

And, “At least you still have Ben,” equates to, “You shouldn’t be upset when you still have one kid alive.”

With every consolation tossed at her feet like the change she used to find on the ground when she was a child, this unknown sensation began to build in her chest.  It was heavy and wild, like an untamed animal.  It was red and bared its teeth, ready to bite.  It was something Y/N had never felt before.  She was usually understanding, calm, and collected.  She wasn’t hot-headed or easily provoked.  But now, she was quickly discovering that what she was feeling was rage.  Hot and stormy, it ravaged her insides, and instead of beating it back into its cage, Y/N leaned into it, letting it hold her battered and broken soul up.

After the wake, Y/N let her sadness swallow her.  She hid in one of the guest rooms daily and even went as far as to avoid Tommy.  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him because every time their eyes met, two things happened.  1) she could see the grief he was carrying like cinder blocks chained to his neck, and 2) she could see the way he looked at her like she was a broken piece of artwork now.  She knew she was a shell of the woman she once was, but it hurt her even more to know that Tommy saw it so plainly in her, too.  He didn’t see her as the strong, independent woman he fell in love with.  No, now she was a ghost of her former self, and she couldn’t take his pity for having lost their daughter and herself. 

Although clearly grieving, Tommy didn’t seem nearly as phased by their loss as Y/N.  He was able to jump back into work, and now, nearly a week since the wake, he was back to being fully invested.  If Y/N were being honest, she envied Tommy for being able to distract himself.  She couldn’t do anything but hide from the memories that haunted their home and do her best to still be a good mother to Ben.  When a week finally passed since laying her daughter to rest, Y/N knew she had to do something.  She would talk to Polly and beg for some sort of work.  She didn’t care that Polly insisted that Y/N take some “time to heal.”  She needed a distraction.  Being in Arrow House felt more like a prison than a home.

Y/N got dressed and began to head for the door after handing Ben over to Frances.  But, as she approached Tommy’s office, she could hear him talking.  She peeked through the tiny crack to discover John and Arthur sitting at Tommy’s desk. 

“Ada’s handling the Communists.  She’s got someone on the inside who’s giving us information,” Tommy stated.  “And,” he shuffled papers around on his desk, “I’m…dealing with Father Hughes.”

“And what about the horny princess?” John asked, leaning forward and adjusting his jacket.  “You gonna figure out where her family keeps the jewels?”

Tommy waved him off.  “I already know.”  That single statement had both his brothers and Y/N leaning forward just slightly.  Tommy lay a large blueprint on his desk, causing the brothers to stand.

“They keep their entire collection in this strong room.  There’s no way to get in from above without a key,” Tommy stated, flattening the paper and looking up at his brothers. 

“So, what’s your plan, brother?”  Arthur asked like a good soldier.  Tommy straightened slightly, and Y/N could tell he was a little uncomfortable.  He pulled a cigarette from his case and slid it across his bottom lip before lighting it and taking a drag. 

“We’ve gotta tunnel in,” Tommy said without hesitation.  Those four words landed on the Shelby men like a grenade, and Y/N could almost feel the atmosphere shift at the statement.  None of them moved.  It was evident that the idea of tunneling hadn’t been a thought in any of their minds since the war.  Tommy cleared his throat. 

“I know,” he began, “but there’s no other way.  I’ve already got Johnny Dogs ready to help.  He’ll set up camp where we’ll start the tunnel.”

The air was thick, and again, neither of the brothers spoke.  She knew they didn’t like the plan, but they would comply because Tommy was giving the orders.  Y/N watched as John and Arthur fiddled with their suit jackets, their anxious energy hitting her like a baseball bat to the face.  It wasn’t until Arthur blew out a puff of air and ran his hand through his messy hair, exposing his apprehension, that Y/N knew what she would do.  Without even a second thought, Y/N opened the door to Tommy’s office, and all three men turned to face her.  She was only adding insult to injury as the silence in the room became even heavier.  Neither of her brothers-in-law had seen her since the wake, and the uneasy energy was almost palpable.  Tommy stepped toward her but didn’t get too close, which Y/N could see his brothers noticed.

“Y/N, is everything alright, love?”

Her eyes flitted between all three of the Shelby men for a moment before finally landing back on Tommy.  She knew she probably looked like a deer in headlights.  Her stare was frazzled, and she knew she looked a bit harried.  But she still squared her shoulders and stated with the most conviction she could muster, “Let me help.”

All three men’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, but only one spoke. 

“Excuse me?”  Tommy asked, incredulity lacing each word.  There was no going back now.  Y/N had to double down on her commitment.  So, she waved her hand toward the blueprints on Tommy’s desk. 

“With the tunnel.”

Tommy’s eyes turned a shade darker, and Y/N could see his jaw tick.  She only glanced at John and Arthur for a second, and they both looked like they might choke on the thickness of the air.  She felt like she might, too, but she held her ground.  She was not a fragile porcelain doll and could help her husband like she used to.  Tommy coughed, then turned to his brothers and, in a calm voice, asked, “Would you mind giving me a moment with my wife, boys?”

Neither of the brothers wasted a second before hustling out into the hallway.  Once the door shut behind them, Tommy’s steely gaze landed back on Y/N.  Before, she would have felt a little nervous under Tommy’s intense glare.  She had never inserted herself into his shoddy business in the past.  But now, she didn’t care.  She needed a distraction and a way to prove that she was still a force to be reckoned with even after her loss.  Y/N could see Tommy trying to contain his anger as his nostrils flared and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.  His eyes shut for a brief moment as he took a deep inhale.

“Are you fucking insane, Y/N?”  He finally asked, his voice level.  Y/N’s mouth fell open, and she reared back just slightly.  But before she could say anything, Tommy continued.

“You’ve been avoiding me, your husband, for a week in our own home, and when you decide to finally speak to me, that is what you say?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Tommy.”

“No, Y/N!”  He shouted, causing her to startle.  “You can’t just move past this!”

That statement made Y/N see red.  In the week since Lily’s passing, Tommy did precisely that.  Y/N’s spine straightened, and her whole body became rigid.

“Why not!?” she shouted back, stomping toward Tommy.  “Is that not what you did?  Pretend like we didn’t lose our daughter?  You threw yourself into your work.  Why can’t I do the same thing?”  Her chest was heaving, and as badly as she didn’t want them to, she could feel tears pricking at her eyes.  She hated that she was a frustrated crier.  Her fists were in tight balls at her sides, and every muscle in her body was flexed.  She was ready for a fight.  She was prepared for Tommy to yell back at her.  In fact, she wanted him to yell at her.  She wanted Tommy to tell her how stupid her idea was and that she was out of her mind.  She mentally begged Tommy to scream at her for barging in on his meeting with his brothers and even thinking about tunneling.  Y/N wanted to feel the passion he usually had toward her before they lost their baby.  She needed him to reassure her that she was not a lost cause he was housing but his fierce wife.  But he didn’t yell.  The fire in his eyes dimmed, and his features softened.  The pity eyes were back, and she was struck by the sadness she was trying to escape.  She shut her eyes in a lame attempt to avoid looking at her husband and keep her tears at bay, but it was futile.  The tiny droplets fell down her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes again, Tommy was right in front of her.  He lifted his hands to cradle her face, and she hated how she melted into his touch.  It had been a week since she even looked at Tommy, let alone touched him.  She couldn’t lie, she missed him.  But it was easier to hide from the pain and suffering they both shared than deal with it head-on. 

Y/N let out a shaky breath and looked into her husband’s eyes. 

“Why can’t I, Tommy?” She asked, barely above a whisper.  “Let me help you.  Please.”

Tommy’s thumb stroked her cheeks, wiping away a stray tear.  He cataloged her features, and for the first time in a very long time, she wished she could see into Tommy’s thoughts.  She stared at him and hoped that everything she wanted to say was conveyed in her eyes.  I’m no longer the same woman I was a week ago.  I’m a failure as a woman and a mother.  I’m alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive.  I’m scared you won’t love this broken woman I have become.  Her eyes pleaded for Tommy to let her prove that she could still be the same person as before.  She needed to prove to him and herself that she wasn’t hopeless.  But when Tommy shut his eyes and let out a sigh, she knew his answer before he even said it. 

He looked at Y/N and said sotto voce, “You know I can’t, love.”

Y/N’s body went rigid, and that new familiar sensation began to bubble in her gut.  She could feel it rumbling and swirling, mixing with her fear and sadness, creating an uncontrollable fury.  It burned like venom, but she found herself welcoming the sting.  Her once soft features hardened, and Tommy noticed the change immediately.  Her stare was blank, and the joy that used to fill it had vanished.  Before losing her daughter, she never understood why the war had changed Tommy.  She supported him while his experiences ravaged him, but she never knew why he returned with a harder exterior than when he left.  But now, after suffering such a devastating loss, she understood.  There is no coming back from witnessing a tragedy. 

Tommy’s rough thumbs brushed against Y/N’s tear-stained cheeks and bent until his forehead rested on hers.  “Where did the woman I married three years ago disappear to?”  He said, his breath fanning over her face.  He pulled back, his distressed stare locking Y/N in place, and whispered, “I know she’s in there.”

The words stung like a slap to her already bruised ego.  She could feel the weight of that question in every bone of her body.  All her fears began raging a war inside her head, and she could feel her armor cracking.  She could feel the tears clogging her throat, burning as she swallowed them down.  Her lungs felt like they weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen, and she was only seconds away from either crying or breaking something.  With a swift step backward, Y/N separated herself from her husband.  She hated to admit that her body yearned for Tommy’s hands back on her, but she batted that thought away as quickly as it appeared.  Tommy slowly lowered his hands back to his sides, and she leveled him with a callous stare.

“That woman is gone, Tommy,” she spat.  “She burned to ash with her daughter a week ago.”  She could see the way her words landed on Tommy like bullets striking his chest.  Some of her felt bad, but the angry beast slowly becoming her new persona convinced her she did nothing wrong. 

Y/N waited for Tommy to say something, anything, back to her, and when he didn’t, she turned and reached for the door.  Confidence that felt different from what she was used to coursed through her body like electricity.  She was a little scared of who she was becoming, but those wild and fiery feelings of rage were the only things that brought her peace.  Before pulling the door open, she turned back toward Tommy and said, “If you won’t let me help you, Tommy, I’ll find someone else who will.  You forget, my roots run deep in this business, too.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh.  “You’re really threatening me, now, ey?”

Y/N’s grip tightened around the cold door handle, and, through gritted teeth, she growled, “It’s not a threat, Thomas.  It’s a promise.”  Without a second look, she flung the door open and stepped out. 

John and Arthur straightened at her abrupt appearance, and she just brushed past them, letting her feet carry her toward the front of their home.  She knew they heard her and Tommy’s conversation, but she didn’t care anymore.  This newfound boldness that her bereavement had granted her washed away any and all anxiety.   

“Hope you enjoyed the show, boys,” Y/N tossed over her shoulder toward John and Arthur.  “Next time, I’ll sell tickets and make talking to my husband more worthwhile rather than a waste of my time.”

She didn’t turn back around to see their reaction to her words.  Instead, she showed herself out and hopped into one of Tommy’s many vehicles.  She would find another way if he wouldn’t allow her to help.  The image of a tall Jewish man whom she briefly met a while back when Tommy first started expanding into London entered her mind.  She knew exactly who would be more than willing to give her a hand in her effort to help the Shelby family – Alfie Solomons.

[levis-reading-recs]

Hi, how are you. Can I request a Malcolm Bright imagine. Reader is kinda like a female Sherlock Holmes or an member of behavioral analysis unit from criminal minds…… Angst to fluff….

thank you

Little Parts

(Malcolm Bright x Female Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of murder, kidnapping, abuse, death, violence (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 3315

A/N: Thank you for this request! I chose to go the BAU route. Though I didn't necessarily mention Criminal Minds, I do use the lingo. I had a lot of fun writing this one and I definitely did not expect my OC Nancy to have as big of a presence as she does. I do think I need to work on my angst. I love reading it, but writing it is a different story. I hope you enjoy it!

Nancy Whitmore had murdered six people: five women and the husband who came home early and found his wife mid-abduction. Two shots to the chest, the first time Nancy ever used the gun she held to force the women to come with her.

Those two gunshots were what started this all. Nancy had panicked and fled with the wife, not worrying about the scene she left behind.

When the NYPD connected this to the other missing women, they called you. As skillful as Gil and his team were, your expertise would be invaluable.

And it was. So invaluable, in fact, that Nancy Whitmore knew she had to do something.

—

The bullpen was abuzz with every available person preparing for tonight. Nancy had escalated since word got out that a profiler had joined the investigation. And if you were right, there would be another victim before midnight. You had to get her before then.

“We know she stays within this area,” Gil said, tapping a marker in the circle he drew. “And we’ve released a statement telling everyone to stay indoors when it’s dark.”

“Staying home isn’t going to prevent our unsub from kidnapping who she wants,” you said. “We’ve seen her murder outside of her preference when cornered. I doubt that’s changed.”

“Everyone else is just a means to an end,” Malcolm said.

You nodded.

It hadn’t taken long for you to figure out these women represented Nancy’s mother. From what you gathered, Mrs. Whitmore ruled her household with an iron fist. No one, her husband or her children, was safe from the abuse she inflicted.

Nancy’s father protected Nancy from his wife, but once he died, Nancy had to step up and protect her younger brother. The brother's death at the tragic age of twenty-five was the catalyst for all of Nancy’s crimes.

“As long as Nancy feels the need to protect others from her mother, it doesn’t matter who gets in her way. Nothing's going to stop her from reaching that goal,” you said, rubbing your temple.

“What I don’t understand is how she can’t remember that her mother is dead.” JT’s frustration was evident.

“She’s blocked so much out. Her brother’s passing triggered her, and the only explanation she could come up with was that her mother murdered him,” you explained. Nancy’s brother died in a freak accident at his job. A cable snapped at the construction zone, and that’s all it took for his life to be taken. Nancy’s trauma filled in the blanks and then some. She thought her mother had returned or that she didn't actually die, and Nancy had to do the one thing she’s been doing since she was thirteen—survive.

“We need to figure out where she is. We have patrol cars at every address of hers, but not one of them has seen her.” Gil dragged both hands down his face.

“It’s getting late. What if Nancy already has her next victim?” Dani asked.

“It’s possible,” you said. “But even with Nancy's escalations, she follows a pattern. She grabs them once it’s dark, not before, and she keeps them alive for three days. She has to follow that.”

“I hate to say this, but if worse comes to worst, we have seventy-two hours to find her and the vic,” JT said.

You nodded, stifling a yawn.

Gil gave you an empathetic look. “I know we still have a ways to go, but none of us will be any help if we don’t get some sleep.” He paused, scanning the four of you. “We’ll take shifts. Some of us should be here if anything happens.”

“I’ll stay,” Malcolm said.

You weren’t surprised. It didn’t take a profiler to know Malcolm Bright was an insomniac.

“Me too,” Dani said. “Go tuck your kid in.” She nodded to JT, who gave her a grateful smile.

“Alright, you two, go home. I’ll call you if we hear anything.” Gil gestured for you to leave.

You were about to protest when Malcolm cut in.

“We’ll be fine.” He leveled you with a look. “You’ve been going since you landed two weeks ago. A few hours of rest will only help us catch our suspect sooner.”

You sighed, knowing he and Gil were right.

“Fine,” you said. The clock read 8 PM. “But I’ll be back here by midnight.”

A bit more than three hours should be a good enough power nap.

Malcolm gave you a gentle smile. “Wouldn’t have expected anything different.”

—

You and Malcolm had taken to each other like fish to water.

You had arrived at the crime scene and met everyone except Malcolm, who had been running late.

Edrisa had finished her preliminary evaluation when he walked up to you, speaking to anyone who would listen about his theory on how the vic ended up here. Every part was pretty plausible, but one.

“Everything about our killer is tactful. She doesn’t let her anger get the best of her because she can’t afford to. There’s more at stake for her,” you said.

It was like you pulled him back to reality. His brow furrowed, and he finally registered that you were new.

“She?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Like I said, I don’t see anger when I look at this woman’s wounds. I don’t even see pleasure. How many male serial killers do you know that you can say that about?”

Malcolm couldn’t help but think about his father. The person who took more pleasure in his work than anyone he knew.

“SSA (Y/N) (L/N).” You held out your hand.

He gave you his name. You didn’t bat an eye. It made him think—hope—you had no idea who he was. It was a day later that hope came crashing down.

“You know who my father is?” His eyes widened, a pang resounding in his heart.

You shrugged. “Course I do. Did you really think I wouldn’t read up on the team I’d be consulting with?”

“Well, no. I just thought maybe you’d focus on the case more.” Malcolm couldn’t look you in the eyes. And your heart went out to him. He’d probably been judged by his father’s actions his entire life.

“We’re not our parents, Malcolm,” you said gently. “If we were, I’d be a cheating accountant or a bitter middle school teacher.”

“Those are two very different professions from dear-old Dad,” he said.

“Yeah, they are, but the point is everyone has a shitty little part of themselves that they keep hidden. And some of us do a better job than others.”

“And what shitty little part are you hiding?” He tried to disguise it as a joke. However, he also desperately wanted to know the truth. He wanted to know if maybe, just maybe, you were a little like him.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

—

The taxi to Dani’s apartment dropped you off a block away. Traffic in the city was no joke, and you weren’t about to pay to sit in line for who knows how long.

You and Dani had attended the academy together. When she found out you’d be consulting with them, she offered you a place to stay. The problem was she only had one key, and you’d typically carpool to and from the precinct.

Pulling out your phone, you clicked on her number.

“Everything okay?” She greeted you, concerned.

“Yeah, but I may have to pick the lock to your door,” you said, trying to remember if you had a bobby pin in your bag.

“Shit. I completely forgot.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve kinda been focusing on more important things,” you said. 

“I can run it over to you. We haven’t gotten any calls yet, and it’s not like my place is far,” she said.

“That’d be great. It’s been a minute since I had to break in somewhere,” you joked.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” Her voice sounded like she was facing the other direction, but you still caught it. “Everything’s fine. She forgot to take my key.”

There was a brief silence as whoever responded, and then she was back.

“Your boyfriend’s concern is touching, but you should tell him to cool it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “My boyfriend?”

“Malcolm.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing.

Unconsciously, you caught the steps of someone jogging behind you and moved to the right out of their way.

“Malcolm and I are just friends,” you said, thankful to be alone as heat surfaced to your cheeks.

“Yeah, and what about the dumb smiles and little glances you give each other,” Dani asked. You could hear her smirk through the phone.

“I don’t give him dumb smi—”

—

The unmistakable crack of metal hitting something bounced through Dani’s head as she rushed back to the precinct. Everyone had returned and convened in the conference room after she had called them.

Malcolm paced as he ran through everything they knew about Nancy.

She abducts women from their homes, taking them away from the place they have power. Three days later, the women are found beside dumpsters, handcuffed. It was Nancy’s way of handing over her mother to the police. Deep down, she believed she was helping.

Malcolm shook his head. That didn’t make sense for you. There was no telling what Nancy would do now that she had you. The only hope Malcolm had was where you were abducted outside of Dani’s apartment—outside of your temporary home.

The clock was ticking, except they didn’t know how long the timer was set for.

They had to find you.

Malcolm had to find you.

—

Nancy paced in front of you. She hadn’t said a word. You weren’t entirely sure she knew you were awake.

By the looks of the beams of light pouring through the slats of wood, it was early morning. You’d been out for a few hours. Hopefully, the team had a decent start on finding you.

Your arms were cuffed behind your back, and the metal chair you sat on dug into your biceps. Nancy had even tied your ankles to the legs.

You had to find a way out. There was no telling what Nancy would do now that she had you—to you or to a potential victim.

She was unraveling, and you had to make it seem like you understood her. You had to stay calm. She had to think you were on her side. If at any point she felt threatened, you’d be done.

“Why did you have to get in the way?” She mumbled it as if to herself, then repeated it louder, frustration baring her teeth.

“I was asked to,” you said, trying to make yourself smaller.

She had to believe she was in control.

She rubbed her face roughly. “You could’ve said no. You should’ve stayed away! But you had to stick your nose into family business! She’s gonna hurt someone because of you!”

Angry tears lined her eyes. You made sure to look down in shame. You had to make her think you were submitting.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you whispered.

She stepped closer until you could smell her breath.

“I don’t believe you.”

You didn’t see her raise her hand, but you felt the searing heat of the bullet rip through you.

—

“What if she’s already dead, Gil!” Malcolm asked, staring at the man, willing him to see that they had to find you.

“You know you can’t think like that,” Gil responded. “(Y/N) is a seasoned agent. She’s been trained for this. You need to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

“It’s not (Y/N) that I don’t trust. Nancy has deviated so far from her usual targets. There’s no telling what she’s done or will do to her.”

“Fine. You’re right, but panicking won't help (Y/N). You need to take a deep breath and work this case with the rest of us. Got it?” Gil was leaning forward, hands on his desk and eyes pleading with Malcolm.

He’d finally nodded after exhaling loudly through his nose.

“Good. Now tell me why Nancy is doing all this," Gil said slowly, urging Malcolm to do what he did best.

—

The pain in your shoulder made it harder to concentrate.

You weren’t sure if she meant to hit you there, and that thought didn’t comfort you. Nancy was spiraling, making your stomach churn at the possibility of not getting you or her out alive.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she had whispered as she wrapped your shoulder. She had said that so many times you were starting to repeat it in your mind. You had begun to believe it, and then she did this. She showed you a little light that maybe she wasn’t that far gone.

Maybe you could still help her.

—

They were so close.

They’d been able to piece together where Nancy was keeping her victims. And they were on their way, sirens off so as not to scare her.

You had to be alive. Malcolm didn’t know what he’d do if you weren’t.

The small shed they arrived at looked ready to collapse.

After Gil announced their presence, you appeared out the door. Nancy followed, gun pressed to your head.

“She needs to be stopped!” Nancy cried.

“Your mother is dead, Nancy! She’s gone. You’re safe,” Malcolm said, keeping his voice calm.

“No! She’s not! She keeps coming back!” Hysteria crept into her tone. You had to do something.

“Nancy,” you said. “I promise, if you let me go and go with them, they will get you help. You’ll never see your mother again.”

She let out a pitiful whine. “You can’t know that. She’s always there. She won’t leave us alone.”

“Nancy.” You tried to make your voice as soothing as possible. “Have I ever lied to you?”

This seemed to stump her. She was quiet for a few moments.

You looked around. Malcolm and the team watched you both, waiting for any sign that she’d take things too far.

Malcolm’s fists were clenched like he wanted nothing more than to rip you away from Nancy and shelter you in his arms. If only it could happen that easily.

“No,” Nancy finally whispered, letting the realization settle in her bones. “No.”

Her hold slowly loosened on you, and the gun lowered until it hit the ground.

You turned to her.

“It’s going to be alright,” you said as JT cuffed her and read her her rights.

You hadn’t noticed Malcolm had come up behind you until your arms were freed. You hissed, the wound in your shoulder flaring up and dizzying you.

He kept a hand on your back as Nancy was led away.

“Come on. We need to get you checked out,” he said, ushering you to the ambulance.

You nodded, his voice coming through fuzzy. Now that you were out of danger, everything hit you all at once. The kidnapping, the pain, the fact that you could’ve died.

Your body was heavy.

The last thing you remembered was Malcolm’s arms around you as you fell.

—

You opened your eyes to the darkness out your window. The smell of the hospital and the beeping of your heart monitor told you where you were.

Slowly, you turned your head to face the other direction and met Malcolm’s exhausted eyes.

“Hey.” He said it softly as if you were still sleeping. “How are you feeling?”

You missed the way his fingers twitched toward your hand.

“Tired,” you said.

He nodded. “Get some rest. I’ll let the doctors know you were up.”

He placed his hands on his thighs to push himself up, but you stopped him.

“Sit with me for a bit? While I’m still awake.” The sight of Malcolm comforted you the longer you were conscious and the more you remembered. You didn’t want to be alone.

“Okay,” he said.

You lifted your fingers as if reaching for him.

“I think you’re supposed to be holding my hand,” you hummed. You could blame your bravery on the morphine later.

He chuckled and ducked his head but pulled his chair closer to your bedside and slipped his hand into yours.

“Better?”

“Much,” you whispered. Your grip was weak, but Malcolm could still tell when you tried to squeeze his hand.

His under eyes seemed darker than usual, and instead of his hands trembling, his index finger grazed your inner wrist in a steady back and forth.

“When did you last sleep?” you asked. You wanted to stay awake. You wanted to live in this bubble with him before reality set in. It didn’t matter how long you’d been out or the questions you’d be asked. All that mattered was being here and having him close.

He shrugged. “A few days ago.” He paused. “I was preoccupied.”

With finding you.

You let out a slow breath. “Sorry to be such a bother.”

He heard the edge of teasing in your tone, but he couldn’t let even a smidge of you think that.

“You could never be a bother. Just don’t go getting kidnapped again, will you? I’d prefer it if you were out of harm's way,” he said.

“I’ll try my best. Maybe you should put out a statement. Make sure all the bad guys know.” This time the teasing was prevalent.

“I think I can put up a few billboards.” He tried to fight the smile forming. “I’ll even have Ainsley do a whole segment.”

You chuckled until the pain in your side made you stop.

“The doctor said you have a concussion,” Malcolm said, brow furrowing in concern.

“Nancy hit me with something.” You steadied your breathing.

“You don’t need to worry about her anymore. Just getting better.”

You weren’t sure if he noticed that he was squeezing your hand, but you didn’t mind. It grounded you. And the way Malcolm was staring at you set your heart fluttering. And the damn heart monitor was giving you away.

Malcolm looked at it, then you. “Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?”

You shook your head. “No. No, I’m fine. Promise.”

“If something’s hurting, you need to tell me,” he insisted.

You bit the inside of your lip, debating whether or not what you were about to say was a good idea.

“That’s not why it did that,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“...What do you mean?”

You glanced up at him through your lashes. “I mean…you make me nervous.”

He tilted his head, still not seeming to get it.

“I don’t understand. Do I make you uncomfortable?” He was about to pull his hand away, but you kept your hold.

“You make me nervous because I like you,” you said, giving him a shy smile. “And according to Dani, you like me, too?”

“I…well, of course, I do. I just figured nothing could come out of this since you’d be back to Quantico…” The blush was evident on his cheeks, and it made you all the more smitten.

“After this? A cushy 9-5 sounds incredible,” you said. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

He grinned, leaning his elbows on the bed. “Where should our first date be?”

You answered him with a smile of your own. “Go find us some jello, and I’ll say yes to a second.”

He stood, still smiling, and was going to leave until he bent down to kiss your forehead.

“Be right back,” he whispered, thumb coming up to brush your cheek.

For a moment, you leaned into his hand with closed eyes. The subtle motion of his finger lulled you into a sense of peace.

You hummed, sinking further into the bed.

By the time Malcolm returned, you were fast asleep. He took up his position by your side again and started making a mental list of where he should take you for your second date.

[levis-reading-recs]

Can you write a little scenario where Malcolm falls asleep in the office and when he starts having a night terror, the reader is the only one who can calm him down and lull him back into a peaceful sleep? I actually recently did this with a friend of mine who has ptsd- all I could think of to do was hum a song, and she woke up a while later and was like 🥴 "wow that was the best nap I've had in a while". And she thought it was just her being at my place with me, and I didn't have the heart to tell her she had a nightmare, because that was the one time she didn't remember it. 😭 Also I think I might be in love with her, idk how this ask ended up as a confession

Hum Me Something Soothing

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Mention of nightmares

Word Count: 571

A/N: First of all—HOLY SHIT! Second of all—I hope you don’t mind that I used your confession as inspiration for this. I also need an update. Did you tell her? What’s going on? I am fully invested in this saga and am shipping it so hard! And thank you for the request and for being so patient! I really hope you enjoy it!

Working with Malcolm Bright was a little like working with a cross between a child and a German Shepherd. He was duty-bound and protective, mixed with unpredictability and chaos. Also, like a child, he would run himself until exhaustion. However, you couldn’t blame him.

These cases had kept the entire precinct up for the past few days. Really, it was a miracle Malcolm was finally sleeping. Gil basically had to lock him in his office and order Malcolm to nap on the couch.

He’d been in there an hour now. You sat at your desk beside the window into the office, your view of Malcolm partially obstructed by the blinds.

You leaned back to stretch and noticed movement from inside. Malcolm seemed to be curling in on himself, his fists clenched and sweat glistening on his forehead.

Your heartbeat picked up. You knew about the nightmares and how secretive Malcolm was about them. So, as calmly as you could, you slipped in and shut the door, kneeling beside him.

You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him. All you could think about was how you wanted to comfort him. Then you remembered that song your parents sang to you before they tucked you in. They always switched off every line or so, and it never failed to lull you to sleep.

With a deep inhale, you hummed that song as you stroked his hair off his face. The creases in his forehead slowly smoothed out, and his hands and shoulders relaxed.

His hair was soft beneath your steady touch, and he still smelled of his cologne even after being here all day: earthy and sweet. You rarely saw him vulnerable like this, and a selfish part of you wished you could keep him this way. Maybe then he’d find a little peace.

A few minutes had passed, and he had yet to fall back into that terrible space in his mind. You carefully rose and retreated back to your desk. Hopefully, he’d sleep a bit longer.

Finishing your reports was simple enough. A half-hour later, you were ready to take your turn on Gil’s couch when Malcolm emerged.

He walked over to the chair against the side of your desk and sat.

“Good nap?” you asked, closing out your computer.

“Best I’ve had in a while.” His brow furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out why that was when he had slept on Gil’s couch a few times already. It never held back the nightmares before.

You kept a neutral expression. You didn’t want Malcolm to know. Best in a while. You were happy to let him believe he had a dreamless sleep—he deserved that much.

“Maybe I should take it for a test run then,” you joked, meeting his gaze. 

Malcolm let out a small laugh. “Guess it depends on if you want a stiff neck.”

You scrunched your nose. “I’ll pass.”

He chuckled again and checked the time on his watch.

“Want to go grab a bite? I’m starving,” he asked, looking at you through his lashes.

You nodded. “Diner down the block?” You both stood.

“Their burgers sound great right now.”

You walked to the exit side by side, waving goodbye to your coworkers. As Malcolm held the door open for you, you gave him a small smile in thanks. 

And at that moment, looking into his soft eyes, you realized something.

You were in love with him.

[levis-reading-recs]

Do you think you can do a tyrion short where his wife is haveing there baby and watches over the baby as she is geting some sleep from the brith . And he names their son after Sana and his wife older bother rob?

Lannister Heir

Throwing my head back onto the pillow completely tired my hands stopped clutching the bedsheets after I try to get my heartbeat down from birthing my child. The nurses left the room helping me get comfortable for the night. The chamber door opened for me to see Tyrion enter carrying a infant in his arms, our child. "He's perfect Y/n." He breaths out a huge grin, actually probably the biggest one I've ever seen is on his face. He comes to sit beside me on the bed letting me hold our son. Brushing my hand over his sleeping face I saw the red curls that match my brown hair and he opened his eyes flashing lion green at me.

I released a yawn feeling my husband rest a hand up brushing hair behind my ear whispering. "Get some sleep my love. I'll watch the little lion." He puts our son in his lap as I pulled the covers over me snuggling into Tyrion's side. He draped one arm over my shoulder and his other arm holds the baby close to his chest. Tyrion was afraid that you might die in child birth like his mother. But you proved to be as strong as your mother Catelyn. I started snoring a little making him chuckle at your cute little habit. When you were in a deep sleep you would snore and sometimes druel on your pillow. To most it was annoying but to someone like him it was adorable.

"Hi my little lion it's your father." I whispered looking to my son in my arms then to my beautiful wife sound asleep. I had been waiting outside the door clutching the fabric of my tunic hearing her crying from the hours of pain. Word was sent to my father Tywin about the babies arrival that probably pleased him that I am carrying on our family line. "I'm gonna promise you something little one even though you don't understand anything I'm saying. I promise from this day until my last to be nothing like my father. To let you do whatever you wish with all your heart." The little boy tugs at my curls tugging them.

Y/n stirs in her sleep beside me draping her legs over mine under the covers because she's a very cuddling person. Before our wedding her sister Sansa told me some things about her so we didn't feel like strangers to one another. Thinking of Sansa I bit my tongue knowing the name for our child. "You my little lion son shall be named after the young wolf. You shall be Robb Lannister." A smile appears on my wife's face in her sleep and I mirror it knowing she and her sister shall love the name, the name that was their brother's.

Comments really appreciated 🤗

[levis-reading-recs]

Hi im huge Tyrion fan and i was wondering if you can do a one short where his wife is sick and he tacks care of her till shes better

Lioness Cold

Tyrion entered your chambers and instantly knew something was wrong with you being curled up under the blankets. Nobody was in the bed like this unless it was nighttime, but it’s even more serious because you're a Stark. "Y/n dear, what's wrong?" He asked as I didn't remove the covers from my face so he crawls underneath them finally seeing my face. Wiping away something under my nose he could visually see it was red and stuffy. And every once in awhile I would shiver even though we're completely underneath the blankets. "You're sick again aren't my love?" He finally put the pieces together as I snuggle into his warm embrace.

Since my marriage to Tyrion we had moved to King's Landing where it's always warm. Growing up in the North all the children were able to build a strong force against colds most of the time. But ever once in awhile I'd be how am I right now shivering in the South warm weather of King’s Landing. Tyrion's taken me to see the best healers and none of them can figure out why it happens. "I'll have a handmaiden bring up your food and I'll buy whatever will make you feel slightly better." My husband said quickly talking with my maid in the hall who rushed to the kitchen after he gave her some gold. Peaking my head up from under the covers I saw him open the blinds more trying to let the warmth in.

"Tyrion I know you are rich but you don't have to spend money to make me feel better." I croaked out taking a drink of water sitting the cup on the bedside table. He comes over sitting on the edge of the bed brushing my knotted brown hair from my face resting his hand on my forehead. "You have a fever this time. Let's get you into a warm bath." I snag his wrist as he started to leave making him raise a brow. "I just want to cuddle with you Tyrion." He sighs turning so he can face me hearing the maid sit the food down and he replied to her. "Thank you Chloe." She curtsyed leaving the two of us alone.

His green eyes stare into my Grey ones for a few moments of silence before he gently pulled me to my feet having me eat something. "Eat something while I get it ready and then we can cuddle dear." I ate a little bit of food sneezing a couple of times where I wiped my nose again. Tyrion entered our room again watching me get to my feet stumbling a little towards him. "I've got ya Y/n." He reassuringly told me as we both removed our clothes getting in the water. He wrapped his arms around me and I smiled at finally be close with him. "I love you Tyrion, you're the best caretaker ever." Leaning up I kissed his cheek making him smile when I wrap my arms around his neck laying my head on his bare chest. "I love you too Y/n and I'll always take care of my wolf."

Comments really appreciated 🤗

[levis-reading-recs]

Marriage Trade - part 2

Y/n Stark heads to confront Tywin about her sister's marriage to Tyrion. She hopes to trade places to be with the man she loves.

Y/n's POV

I love Tyrion.

I can't lose him.

Sansa shouldn't be forced into this family. Not after what Joffrey has put us through. Quickly maneuvering through people in the busy halls of the Red Keep I finally reach the chambers of the Hand of the King. Deep breaths Y/n. You can do this. You're a wolf of House Stark.

I know what you're thinking. Why marry into this family by choice. All they've done is ruin your house since the day they rode into Winterfell with king Robert Baratheon. The truth of all this is that Tyrion isn't like the other Lannisters. He's kind, funny and smart. Ceresi is the vicious one and Jaime is a lost man without her.

Don't get me wrong he's attractive and all. A man every young girl like my sister dreams to have when they grow up. For years all Sansa ever talked about was leaving our home to come live here in the Capital. I, on the other hand never wanted to leave the North. But being the oldest daughter means you have to represent your house through marriage and providing heirs. Yet I'm not like a normal girl. I'm half like Sansa and half like Arya.

Turning the door handle I entered the Lion's den. "My, Lord. I'd like to speak with you." I curtsey picking up the ends of my dress bowing a little as Tywin Lannister sits at his desk. The golden Hand of the King pin on his shirt with tons of scroll documents laying in front of him. "Lady Y/n, you do understand this is my private chamber's and that I am very busy?" I simply nod my head yes before straightening my back head up high.

"Then what is your business." He questioned in a stern tone. "I'm here to switch places with my sister, Sansa. I'll become Tyrion's wife and the future lady Lannister without any resistance." He dropped the Quill in his hand in shock at my words. Tyrion has told me that his father only cared about keeping the family legacy alive for as long as he was around.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear I explain, my hands intertwined together in front of me. "He told me you want an alliance with the North." He cuts me off. "Yes. Are you here to beg we release your sister and you both be sent home?" I shake my head no, taking a few steps closer to his desk. "No, my lord. Like I said earlier I have an important negotiation to discuss about how you can strengthen your household."

Tywin leans forward on his elbows slightly curiouser. "If you release my sister and let her return home to Winterfell. I will take her place as Tyrion's wife. I'll be a loyal wife to my new house and I can provide your heirs. I have been able to bear them for over a year now. I'll keep the Lannister line alive, Lord Tywin."

"Done. Y/n Stark you shall marry Tyrion within a fortnight and you'll give up your claim to be heir of Winterfell." He lightly bangs his fists on the table as I bow thanking him quickly exciting only to bump into the golden armor chest of Jaime. "Uh - Jaime! What are you?" Rubbing my head I get cut off as Tyrion's arms wrapped around my belly, hugging me tightly.

"Oh thank the Gods. Was he mad. Is he marrying you off to the Tyrells or the Bolton or even the Freys. If so Jaime can maybe help us escape...through the - the tunnels underneath the keep. We'll be safe, Y/n I-" Bending down on a knee I grab him by his tunic shutting him up with a kiss. "I don't understand was that a goodbye kiss?"

A huge grin plays on my face at his nervousness. "I think it's the opposite, brother. If she had to say goodbye a smile wouldn't be on the beautiful lady's face." Jaime chuckles admiring my reaction. Right you are Jaime. I'd be a complete mess of tears and anger if he hadn't said yes.

"Tyrion he said yes." I breathe out resting my hands on his shoulders. He raises a brow still hardly believing it. "Really?" I nod my head yes once more feeling his hands cup my face softly.

He leaned up and kissed me softly for a few minutes before we broke for air. "I love you, Y/n Stark. And as your husband I can promise you for certain that I won't ever hurt you, I'll do anything in my power to help you and I'll love you until my last day." He vows staring up into my eyes with those perfect Lannister green eyes.

"I love you too, Tyrion Lannister. And I'll care for you, love you and have fun with you until the end of my days." I vowed back pulling him in for another deep kiss feeling Jaime smirking at the two of us.

Comment you're thoughts and reblog.

[levis-reading-recs]

Marriage Trade - part 1

Tywin announces Tyrion is to wed Sansa. But what happens when her older sister Y/n steps up to bear the Lannister name. Tyrion slighty disagrees at the possibility of losing his love.

Tyrion's POV

"You can't mean it?" I knew the look in my father's eyes as he spoke, a smirk on my sister's face. "I can and I do. You will marry Sansa Stark and give us an alliance with the North." Looking at my open book on the table then back at my father baffled at the thought. "Joffery has made this poor girl's life a miserable since the day he took her father's head. Now she's finally free of him...and you give her to me. That's cruel, even for you."

My father just straightened in his chair. "You intend on mistreating her?" I just stare at him having no reply. I'd never hurt Sansa. If I did it would break Y/n's heart. "The girl's happiness is not my concern nor should it be yours." Raising my voice I shout in anger hoping to end this conversation. "She's a child!" But of course my sister must make my life miserable.

"She's flowered I assure you. She and I have discussed it at length." Parting my lips he declared out. "There you see. You will wed her, bed her and put a child in her. Surely you're capable of that." Clutching my hand under the table into a fist I snapped back. "And if I refuse!"

Father revisits my request after battle and I knew that he would no longer discuss this arrangement. "You wanted to be rewarded for your valor in battle. Sansa Stark is a finer reward than you could ever dare hope for and it is past time you were wed." Pushing my chair away from the table I storm out of the small counsel room, rushing as my small legs can bring me to Y/n's chambers.

Y/n Stark is Ned's oldest child. I'd helped her escape her own arranged marriage before her father was beheaded by our child of a king. We've grown rather close but I warned her of the dangers that people play in this city. Luckily the girl is smarter than she let's on and skilled with a sword like my brother. Jaime was her first proposed marriage but being a Kings Guard forebays marriage and having children.

Finally reaching her door I knock softly three times before she opens the door. We had made this our code, seeing as my sister's spies are everywhere. Quickly I rush inside as she locks her door uptight before spinning in her light grey dress from Winterfell to see tears slip from my eyes. "Oh Tyrion. What's wrong?" She drops on her knees to wipe them away and be on the same level as me.

"My father is forcing me to marry your sister. But I refuse...or at least I want too. I love you and only you." My hands clutch her the fabric of her dress in a shacky fashion. The flames of our relationship was strong and I can't see myself with anyone else but the girl before me. "My sister just sat there and smirked. I know they're doing this to torture me...for not only ending your marriage to Jaime. But...also killing my mother by just being born."

Y/n pulls me into her chest and I wrap my arms around her lightly sobbing. She hugs me back running her freehand through my curly locks. "Ssshh I'm here. I'm right here, Tyrion." We stay in this position for a few minutes before she pulls my head back making me look in her eyes. The gears of her mind working by the look on her face. "Y/n, my love. What are you thinking...?"

"You said you're father wants an alliance with the North, right.." She trails off as I nod my head yes. "And that since my mother and the rest our family is dead. It leaves Sansa and I as the heirs to Winterfell..." Taking my hands in hers I run my thumbs over her palms curiously. "Y/n I'm not following you." What exactly is she getting at. I'm usually good with out witing people with my mind, but she's a sneaky Wolf of the North.

She cups my face in her gentle hands smiling. "What I'm getting at, my lion is...that I'm going to solve your marriage problem. By...taking my sister's place..." Knitting my eyebrows together I mumbled. "You can't mean?" But she leans forward planting a kiss on my cheek before rushing to her feet unlocking the door.

"Y/n! Please stop, you don't have to do this." I try to catch up with her but she's a lot quicker when she's wearing her hunting boots. She bumps into Jaime who gives me a werid look when she doesn't stop running. I stop still shocked at what she's about to do. "Tyrion. What has gotten into Y/n?"

Running my hands frustratingly through my locks I feel my heart beating fast in my chest. "She's going to switch places with her sister and marry me." Jaime tilts his head in confusion since he enjoys seeing the two of us happy together. "And that's a problem, how?"

Locking a deep gaze with my brother I shiver at the thought of losing her. "Father doesn't know about our relationship. If she tells him. I'll have lost her forever." Gods please don't let me lose the woman I love.

How will Tywin react. Will Y/n end up with Tyrion?

Find out in part 2

Comment you're thoughts and reblog.

[levis-reading-recs]

Being Betrothed To Tyrion Lannister Would Include

At first, Tyrion would hate the idea. Not because he didn’t like you, but because he felt guilty for being the one you were sworn to. In his eyes, you could do much better.

You didn’t mind the arrangement. Tyrion was far kinder than many other men you'd known, and you personally felt that you could do a lot worse.

One thing is for sure, you’d never be short on laughter. Tyrion always kept you smiling and laughing, even during the hard days.

By the time your wedding drew near, you’d be good friends, something you never would have expected of any other man you could have been betrothed to.

He’d be such a gentleman to you. However long it took you to become accustomed to having him as a husband, he’d wait. He’d never pressure you for anything more than you wanted or were ready for.

For anon

Tyrion Lannister: @riveranddoctorsong123

[levis-reading-recs]

Summary: “Hawkeye visits the Hunnicutt family for the Fourth of July and discovers that he hasn't left the war behind like he thought.”

[levis-reading-recs]

Eloquence

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: implied injury, implied past emotional abuse

Summary: A short one shot/drabble.

Era: Season 2, the Farm

Daryl has never had much of a thing for words. His whole life he'd toed the line; two steps away from saying the wrong ones and paying the price. Words shine a light upon thoughts (which he preferred to keep to himself), and feelings (which almost always got out of hand.) They had perhaps been the worst weapons of his past, like hammers demolishing and striking down relentlessly instead of building up. Intentional or not.

After Merle left, blessedly taking his limited vocabulary with him, a rather peaceful silence emerged. It wasn't long before the absence grew to become it's own annoyance though, and that's when he found himself drawn to new words - yours. He'd never found words beautiful until he really heard you speak. As skillful and precise as a master practicing their craft, each word a genuine and perfect combination of head and heart. For the first time Daryl was intrigued enough to truly listen.

That didn't change how he was wired though. His frustration only grew each time he proceeded to act on his own impulsiveness and snap at someone, or when he reacted in the way he despised most. It felt as though his admiration for you in that regard was pushing all of his own shortcomings to the surface.

Regardless of his own insecurities, you must've at least found him to be a tolerable conversationalist. With increasing frequency he'd suddenly find himself the object of your attention, inquiring about his opinion on whatever the group had been discussing, or even just asking about him on a more personal level.

Most often though, you'd ask him to explain some aspect of hunting, tracking, or other obscure wilderness knowledge. Every time he immediately felt like an idiot, your patience and attentiveness making him nervous enough to stumble over some words and forget others. 

"See how tha' one got cut off all sharp an' attan angle?" He asked, gesturing with the toe of his boot at a stem eaten off a few inches from the ground. "An', there ain't any leaves left."

You crouched down to get a better look at what was left of the little twig. "Rabbit?" You guessed, squinting up at Daryl's face.

A quick nod. "Yup." He replied.

"Yes!" You stood, pumping your fist in mock victory with a laugh. "You're a good teacher, Daryl." You smiled at him and his heart did a tiny summersault.

Truthfully you were quite intuitive. He'd barely had to teach you much of anything, and definitely nothing worthy of being praised for. "Naw." He grunted, turning to continue on your trek trough the woods. "Best get a move on."

"Hey." You huffed, jogging a bit to catch up with his quick strides. "I really do appreciate you taking the time." You grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. You didn't start speaking again until he met your eyes. "You do make a good teacher. Unless you think I'm a liar." Your eyes were as unwavering as your grip on his arm and it made him feel like some unfortunate raccoon caught in headlights.

Your sudden firmness caught him off guard. Where your fingers wrapped around his bicep his skin practically burned, the heavy Georgian heat weighing down on him. He swallowed and then managed to scrape together a, "Course I don'."

Immediately the corner of your mouth quirked up. With a hum of satisfaction you released him, continuing your search for Sophia.

---

The next evening Daryl was more than relieved to hear your voice. Earlier that day the two of you had split up on your search in order to cover more ground, and after barely making it back in one piece himself he couldn't help but worry until your return. 

Breathless, you called out his name, peeking into the bedroom that had become a sort of infirmary, your face twisted up with... worry? "Oh, thank God." You gasped. 

He was pleased to see that you looked no worse for wear, but still he didn't like you being so upset for no reason. It agitated something within him to be anyone's burden. "What're y'all worked up about, woman?" He asked.

You hurried to his side, trying to slow your breathing. "Carol said you'd been shot in the head. I just- I..." You panted, eyes darting around, inspecting all of him enough to make him feel self conscious.

"Ya what?" It came out more gruffly than he'd intended.

You shook your head. He couldn't recall ever really seeing you at a loss for words. "I was afraid that you..." Your hand started to stretch towards him before you pulled away. "You're okay?" You asked, eyes wide.

He almost wished you hadn't pulled away so soon. Just to see if your touch still burned like it had before. "Yeah." He said quietly.

You hovered over him, apparently in no hurry to leave. He realized he didn't actually want you to leave, in fact, he desperately wanted you to stay, to have your company instead of being confined to this perfectly quiet room alone. Selfishness began to bloom inside him and he longed to hear you, to have your attention all to himself. He was certain your voice would soothe and heal more powerfully than any medicine or even time itself. Was it wrong to want that from you? 

"Could ya read ta me?" He asked before he'd even decided to let the words out.

The red on your cheeks from the summer sun began to darken. "What?" You asked, slightly taken aback. Your eyebrows were drawn together as they always were when you were thinking. 

He hadn't meant to say that aloud; sounding like some sort of small, scared kid asking for a bedtime story. Hell, he'd never had any of those even when he was a kid. "Sorry, nevermind." He muttered, pulling the covers up and turning his back to you.

"No, no. I can." You blurted, maybe a little too loudly. "That sounds nice. Haven't had the time to read, what with the end of the world and all." You laughed dryly. Had he made you uncomfortable? You sounded nervous the way you were rambling - he could hear your boots shifting on the hardwood floor. 

The bed creaked as he rolled back over, but there you were, a small smile unhindered by the grime and dirt sprinkled across the rest of your skin. "Any uh... any requests?" You asked.

"Whatever ya like." He replied, then added, "Nothin' trashy."

And as you sat on the bed beside him, the soft candlelight flickering gently across your features in the darkness, his heart slowed and an unexpected warmth filled him. It was as if every kindness he'd ever experienced was multiplied, each one crammed inside of him until he was practically bursting and then the feeling flooded over him bringing the warmth to every part that he thought was doomed to stay cold forever. 

He listened to the melody of your words, watched the way your eyes were losing the struggle to stay open, felt the heat from your side pressed ever so slightly against his. He felt like a child again, the overwhelming desire to be protected that had never been fulfilled when he was young. In this moment he felt more love than he had his whole life. 

As sleep finally claimed you he quietly set the book aside, pulling you down into the comfort of the bed. He hesitated to blow out the candle, secretly relishing the peaceful look on your face. As the red glow of the wick faded away, he promised himself that someday he would have the words to tell you everything.

[levis-reading-recs]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood

Chapter: 3.04

You hand the crying newborn to Carl so that he can take her to Hershel to check over. Although she appears healthy enough, she will need to be fed soon. You look over to your brother, who is still in a state of shock.

“She won’t survive unless we get a formula.”

“Nope, not her. Not her.” Daryl picks his crossbow up off the ground and says, “I’m going on a run. Lily, have you still got that list?”

You nod, then kiss Jace on the head before following Daryl. You didn’t want to leave your son or nephew, but this supply run was essential. Glenn and Maggie agreed to join too, which allowed you to cover more ground faster.

Daryl waves Beth over and nods his head in Carl's direction. “The kid just lost his mom, and his dad ain’t doing so hot.”

“I’ll look out for him.”

Daryl looks over to Axel and Oscar, the two remaining prisoners. “You two get the fence. Too many pile up; we have ourselves a problem. Glenn, Maggie, vámonos.”

After sitting still for so long, your brother suddenly grabs the ax lying on the ground and storms to the doorway leading to where Lori’s body is. “Rick! Rick! Don’t go in there!”

“Come on, we’re going to lose the light,” Daryl says with urgency.

You're rubbing your hands over your face while going over to the car, Daryl says. “I think it would be better if you stayed here. Hershel is still recovering, and Rick’s clearly not coping. The kids are going to need an adult to be in charge while we are gone.”

You take a deep breath and try to push away the guilt you felt for not going. You always felt as if you weren’t doing enough to protect your son or contribute to the group. Pulling the list from your pocket, you hand it to Daryl and say, “Okay, be safe.”

—

“Do you think they will be back soon?” Glenn asks, pacing back and forth.

Since Daryl could only fit another person on his motorcycle, Maggie went on the supply run with him, and Glenn stayed with you. You were actually thankful Glenn stayed behind; your brother kept disappearing, and with Hershel attempting to get through to Rick, you needed the help.

“They will be back soon.”

“Man, Maggie was so upset with what happened to Lori, I should have gone in her place.”

Your heart drops at the mention of her name, and you think back to your life before the apocalypse. You remember how happy Rick was when he proudly announced Lori was pregnant? It was only roughly thirteen years ago, but it feels like a different lifetime.

Glenn catches the look on your face and says, “Aw, shit, sorry.”

You lift your gaze from the pieces of paper in front of you and say, “It’s fine. Besides, me and you are going on the next supply run.”

“Yeah,” he says, sitting across from you. “What is it you’re doing?”

Glenn tries to reach over and take the paper from you, but you gently swat his hand away. “Don’t; I’m not finished yet. I need to write this down before I lose my trail of thought.”

With Lori dead, T-dog attacked by walkers, and Carol missing, presumably dead, staying on top of different tasks became more important than ever, and with both babies fairly settled, this was your opportunity to try and figure it out. When you've finished writing, you slide the paper over to Glenn, his eyes widening as he skims through it. “This is… I’m a little scared at how much we still have to do. I mean, until this morning, I thought we were safe.”

“I know.”

Although grim, you needed to burn the dead, excluding your own people, who would be buried. You’d need to clear the remaining prison cells, gather more poles to reinforce the fences against the constant pressure of walkers. To try and lower the chances of infection spreading, you would need to wipe down every surface with boiling water every day, from the bathrooms to the cells you slept in. Your group was already rationing food and ammo, but other supplies, such as soap and flashlights, would need to be as well.

“Bet you think I’m crazy for writing this down,” you say lightly.

“No, I think you’re organized. Do you think we should have a family meeting?”

“We could try, but I don’t think everyone is ready for it.” In truth, you already had a few concerns you were hesitant to share, but now you don't. “I think we should find a way to blackout the windows in our cellblock; we will look like a lighthouse during the night to anyone going by.”

“Yeah, a beacon for walkers.”

“Not just the dead, but also the living as well.”

—

Behind you, various fast-paced footsteps echo within hallways, along with wig-muttered voices. Daryl enters the room first and takes the screaming baby from your nephews, while Maggie quickly makes up the formula.

You smiled watching Daryl feed the newborn. She was so soft and gentle with children.

Later, once you made sure Jace and your niece were safe, you quietly put on your shoes and jacket so you could take over from Maggie, who was on watch outside. Beth was still awake and mending more of her father's trousers, so you knew she would keep an eye on them.

“Thank you,” you say.

—

Stepping outside, you are immediately hit with the smell of decay. You look around and see that the yard is in shambles, with blood, guts, and rotten bodies sprawled out. A problem that would be best dealt with during the day. The air is thick with dust, and there is an occasional drip of water from a leaking pipe. As you move further towards the watchtower, you notice a figure leaning against the wall outside it.

“You’re not Maggie.”

Daryl spits out whatever he’s chewing. “Nope, I let her go early. I got you something.”

He tosses a dead possum at you. You catch and, in a feigned high-pitched posh voice, say, “For me? Why you shouldn’t have.”

Daryl laughs, sits on the ground, and places his blade beside him. “There's no point in you learning how to hunt if you can’t skin what you catch or pull its guts out.”

“I’m supposed to watch next,” you point out.

“We can keep watch from here.”

The thought of skinning any animal turned your stomach, but he was right. And this was the best way to learn. Before sitting down beside him, you scan the area. You say nothing while Daryl explains and demonstrates what he’s doing, but when he cuts the animal open, your lower limp begins to tremble. You do your best to try and hide your emotions, but he could see right through your act.

Daryl attempts to sound unconcerned when he asks, “How are you holding up anyway?”

“I’m fine.”

He cocks his head to the side and says, “No, you’re not.”

You open your mouth to say something, but only a sob comes out. Shaking, you dig your hands into your hair and take a few deep breaths. “I can’t stop thinking about Carl. His face when he saw Sophia come out of the barn... he’s just a little boy.” With the back of your hand, you wipe away fallen tears. “He shot Shane. After he turned, Carl shot him in the head, and now he’s done the same with his mom. I want to keep him safe. but I’m terrified that I can’t protect him or Jace.”

“Listen to me.”

You look up at Daryl, hearing the seriousness in his voice.

“You are a great mom; I’ve seen you risk your life not only to save Jace but others as well. Nothing is going to happen to those boys, or little ass kicker.” When you lower your gaze, he cups your face so that you look directly at him. “You Grimes are strong, stubborn as hell, but strong. Carl will get through it with you and Rick watching over him.”

You press your forehead against his and say, “Thank you.”

Closing your eyes, you relish in the small moment of comfort feeling Daryl rub a circle on your cheek with the pad of his thumb before pressing his lips against yours.

[levis-reading-recs]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Blood, childbirth, character death

Chapter: 3.03

“Come on, you can do it.”

Jace wraps his small hands around your fingers and manages to take a few steps in front of you before stumbling forward, but you use your hand to break his fall, so your hands are between his knees and the ground below. Jace repeats this action a few times until he becomes too tired and curls into your arms.

Carl claps his hands and says, “Well done, little guy.”

“Wow, big day for the both of us,” Hershel chuckles. “Give it a few days, and me and Jace will be racing each other in the yard.”

Hershel had adapted quickly to his leg amputation and learned how to walk with crutches. He looks great considering how much trauma his body had gone through a few days prior. Hershel really was a strong man. “You’re looking great; it’s good to see you up and about.”

“Well, Beth told me you helped her alter my trousers; I just wanted to say thank you in person.” Now leaning against the wall beside where you’re sitting on the ground, Hershel uses one of the crutches to point at a folded-up piece of paper falling out of your pocket. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you say as you stand and shove the paper back into your pocket. “Me and Daryl are going on a supply run later; I was just making a list so I don’t forget anything.”

Carl cocks his head to the side. “I thought my dad said we had plenty of food.”

“I need more baby supplies, not just for Jace but also for your new brother or sister as well.” You didn’t want to embarrass your nephew by explaining that your breast milk was drying up. Daryl had overheard you telling Maggie at breakfast and immediately offered to accompany you. Changing the subject, you look to Hershel and ask, “So, how far have you walked now?”

“Only up and down this cell block so far, but I'm going for a stroll outside. Care to join?”

—

“Can I hold him?”

“Sure,” you smile down at Jace, who was trying his hardest to fight sleep. His eyelids would flutter shut, then he'd force them, then he’d whine and open them again. When Beth holds him, he beams up at her before his eyes betray him and close again. “You’re really good with him.”

Beth was only sixteen, and regardless of losing so many people at such a young age, kindness radiated from her. Beth would make such a good mom someday. You smile, noticing the proud look on Maggie, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn’s faces as they watch Hershel walk outside for the first time with his crutches.

Carl raises his gun. “Walkers!”

“Everybody, get inside now!”

You cover Beth as she runs to safety. Hershel hits a walker with his crouch and makes it into the small, fenced-off area with his daughter and Jace. The undead continue to close in on you, their hands reaching out to grab hold of your clothing and pull you down, but you manage to dodge their grasp and continue to fight, the bullets you fire landing in their rotting bodies. Rick, Daryl, and Glenn sprint to the prison yard, but you didn’t have time to wait for them.

“Lily, quick!” Maggie waves you over to join her, Carl, and Lori as they go into the prison.

You narrowly avoid walkers while getting to the doorway. But you’re unable to close the door behind you, knowing Jace is on the other side of the yard. But when you look back, you see that your brother has reached them and is taking the dead out one by one. Knowing your son is safe, you slam the door shut.

As you run from the walkers already in the prison, your heart pounds in your chest as you catch up with the others. You swear you can feel the hot breath of the undead on your heels, and when you glance back, you see Shane. Except it couldn't be him; his body is still on the farm. The walkers' moans and groans grow louder as they close in on you.

“Aunt Lily! In here!”

You run to the cell block Carl, Lori, and Maggie are in. Soon as your nephew slams the gated door shut, while catching your breath, you notice Lori crouching over in pain, her hand pressing against her back. “Somethings wrong.”

“Are you bit?” Carl asks, panicked.

“No, no, the baby is coming.”

A deafening alarm starts to blast through the prison. You clap your hands over your ears. “We need to move; that damn thing will draw every walker right to us.”

—

You manage to make it to the boiler room without coming into contact with many walkers. You help Lori stand; her screams of pain fill the air. She lets out a deep breath. “The baby is coming, now!”

While Maggie helps Lori lay down and take her pants off, you go to Carl, who is terrified and crying. You gently squeeze his shoulders. “Carl, keep an eye on the door for us, just not, okay?”

His voice is filled with fear and uncertainty. “Is my mom going to make it?”

Unable to respond, you kiss him on the forehead and turn him to face the door. He didn’t need to see his mom give birth.

When you hear Maggie saying, “Okay, it’s time,”

You go over to where Lori is standing, gripping tightly onto the metal poles tightly as she starts to push. You're not sure how to help, you let Lori squeeze your hand so tightly that it will probably bruise as she tries to push again.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Maggie says. Maggie holds up her blood-coated hands. “Somethings wrong.”

—

“Mom, look at me. Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

As you watch Carl cry, your heart breaks not only for Lori but also because you know he’s about to witness his mother dying. Tears stream down your face as the realization sinks in that she was going to die during childbirth.

“I know what it means, and I’m not losing my baby.” She looks directly at Maggie and says, “You’ve got to cut me open.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You won’t survive.”

“My baby has to survive, please. My baby... for all of us. Please! Maggie! Please!”

“Carl? Baby, I don’t want you to be scared, okay? This is what I want; this is right. Now you... you take care of your daddy for me, all right? And your little brother or sister, you take care.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Carl weeps.

Lori breathes through the pain and says, “You’re going to be fine. You are going to beat this world. I know you will. You are smart, and you are strong, so brave, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maggie holds onto you while sobbing; she wasn’t ready to perform a C-section with Carl’s knife. The baby was breech, and this was the only way to save them. Lori knew that and was saying goodbye. When she meets your gaze, you immediately crumble. No matter how much she hurt you in the past, you never wanted this.

When you kneel beside her, Lori wipes your tears away. “Lily, when this is all over, you need to do what we talked about; it can’t be Rick.”

“No, no, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can; you need to. And promise me you will love this baby as if it were your own, and you'll take care of Rick and Carl for me. They will need you.”

Kissing the back of her hand, you nod, tears obscuring your vision.

Carl hands Maggie the knife.

All three of them were being so brave. Hershel had taught his daughter the basics of a c-section, so Maggie would take the lead. “Carl, baby, turn around.” Through your blurred vision, you see him still watching. “You don’t want to remember your mom like this; please turn around or close your eyes.”

When Maggie makes the first cut, Lori screams out in agony, and Carl begs for the brunette to stop. Lori suddenly goes still; you weren’t sure if she had bled out or passed out due to the shock of the pain.

“Lily, give me your hand. Lily please.” Maggie places your hand on Lori's stomach, where she needs it. “Keep that site clean, okay? If I cut too deep, I’m going to cut the baby.”

Everything that happens next feels like a blur. The alarms have been cut, and the room remains silent except for the distant growling of walkers. Behind you, Carl froze, unable to talk or move.

“I can see the ear. I’ll hold this open, and you pull the baby.”

You follow Maggie’s instructions and pull the baby out. “It’s a girl.” When the baby doesn’t make a sound, you turn her over and rub and pat her back until her cries fill the room. You sob, “She’s breathing; she’s breathing.”

After Maggie cuts the umbilical cord, Carl takes off his jacket and gives it to you to wrap the baby in.

“We can’t stay long,” you whisper to Maggie. “The walkers will smell the blood.”

“I can’t leave my mom like this; she’ll turn.”

“He’s right,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, and when you open them again, Carl is pointing a gun at his mom's head. “No, no, no!”

He pulls the trigger.

—

The closer you get to exit, the louder Jace’s cries become, which is a relief knowing you’d see him any second, but it didn’t change the massive gaping wound in your heart. Lori was gone. If it wasn’t for the newborn baby in your arms, you would have thought everything that just happened was a horrid hallucination.

Your voice breaks as soon as you see your brother. “Rick…Rick…”

Upon hearing your voice, he smiles for a split second, but the horror etched onto your face and the baby in your arms, and immediately knows that his wife didn't make it.

“Wh-wheres Lori? Where is she?”

You try to answer him, but only a sob comes out.

When Rick tries to go up the staircase you just came from, Maggie stops him. “No,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Rick, no!”

If he saw Lori as you left her, it would completely break him. Rick looks to Carl, hoping his son can reassure him that Lori isn’t dead. “No…no…no.” He cries, “No, no, no!”

Your heart breaks for the innocent baby screaming in your arms, as well as your brother and nephew. She was born into a world that is so cruel and full of darkness and death. You start to shake, your body wracked with sobs, as the guilt of not being able to save Lori sinks in.

Daryl hands Jace to Beth and comes over to you, his eyes full of concern. He wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder. Softly, he asks, “What is it?”

“A girl,” you say, your voice wavering. “She’s—she’s dead. Lori’s dead. The baby… she was the wrong way.”

Holding you tighter Daryl whispers, “There was nothing you could have done.”

[levis-reading-recs]

Bloody Hands

@febuwhump Day 15: “Who did this to you?”

Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Prison (S3)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: injuries, blood, guns, suggestion of attempted SA (by description of injuries), explicit language

A/N: This was my original idea for a long term Daryl x Reader fic that I ended up not writing. It’s a little dark - please read with care.

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It’s dark in the woods. Thank god, you think as you lay back against a fallen tree, using the cover of the darkness to hide. You let your body rest but fear keeps your mind alert. There’s no sounds except for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the chirping of crickets. This puts your mind at ease. Until you hear the snapping of a twig.

You’re on your feet in seconds. They found me. Crouching, you peek over your log, straining your eyes to see through the dark trees. At first you don’t see anything, but you don’t relax. That sound was definitely from a footstep, so you continue watching the spaces between the nearby trees. Then you see it.

A solitary figure moves through the woods almost silently. Your grip on your knife tightens as you watch the person navigate the trees as if it were broad daylight. Glancing around, you don’t see or hear anyone else; he’s alone. So you decide to follow.

Climbing out from your hiding place, you follow the person, staying a few trees back, out of harm’s reach. Fear tightens your throat. Like his hands did, you think but you quickly shake the thought away. You can’t focus on that or you’ll freeze up. You won’t be able to strike.

The figure stops walking, and you quickly jump behind the nearest tree. Trying to keep your breaths quiet, you count to ten before peering around the trunk. The person is crouching now, like they’re inspecting something on the forest floor. You hear a low grumble, and it sounds like the man - it has to be - is talking to himself. Now’s your chance.

You creep up behind the figure, silently, before reaching forward. You grab a fistful of his hair and yank back, pressing your knife to his throat. 

“Don’t move,” you whisper into his ear.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he murmurs in response. Before you can respond, he hits your knife hand away from his through, ducks out of your grasp, and turns on you, aiming a crossbow right at your chest. “Hands up,” he spits at you.

Resigned, you raise your hands slowly, but don’t let go of the knife.

“Who are you?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Without dropping his crossbow, he fishes a flashlight out of his pocket and shines it directly in your face.

“Asked you a question. Who are you?” he asks again, stepping closer.

You still don’t answer. This strange man - not who you expected to find - is no joke. You can’t see him clearly around the beam of the flashlight, but you can see the crossbow and the muscular arms that hold it up. You can hear the gruffness of his voice; this man is dangerous.

That’s why you’re surprised when he lowers the bow.

“You alone?” he asks, his voice a little less harsh but you wouldn’t exactly call it polite either.

Against your better judgment, you nod. 

“Got a camp nearby?”

You shake your head. “Not anymore,” you answer bitterly.

“Why?” he shoots back.

You don’t answer again. You can feel the man’s stare, and it feels as if he can look right into your soul. You swallow nervously. What does he see when he looks at me?

“You hurt?” His question surprises you.

You nod. You’re not sure why you’re being honest, but it feels like the best thing to do in this scenario.

The flashlight lowers to the ground. “I’m with a group. We got a camp not far from here,” he explains quickly. “We can help ya, but I gotta make sure yer not a threat first.”

“O-okay,” you stutter out, surprised at the turn this conversation has taken. You both were ready to kill each other a few minutes ago, and now this strange man is offering to help you?

“How many walkers you killed?” he asks.

You shrug again. “A bunch.”

“How many people you killed?”

Your chest tightens. How are you supposed to answer this? What is the right answer? He might kill you on the spot, regardless of what you say.

“How many?” he asks again, stepping even closer. You can see his crossbow lifting again.

“One,” you say so low, you’re surprised he heard it.

“Why?” he demands.

You don’t answer. You just lift your chin to meet his gaze, which you can just barely make out in the dark. He raises the light back up to your face and makes to ask you again, but the sound catches in his through as he sees the answer written all over you.

The beam of the flashlight highlights your busted lip, then dips down to your throat wrapped with the purple bruises in the shapes of handprints. Dropping even further, it focuses on the tear in the front of your shirt and the specks of blood on the white fabric. 

“Who did this t’ you?” he asks, anger lacing the question. Before you can even answer, he spits out another one. “Did you get them?”

“Just one,” you answer quietly.

He grunts. “They close?”

When you nod in response, his voice grows darker. “Show me.”

From the safety of the treeline, you and the man - you still don’t know his name - look over your old camp. Around the small campfire in the middle of the road, three men sit, while another stands several feet away, on watch. There’s a bloody heap not far away. Right where you left it.

“That bitch!” one of the men is nearly shouting. You flinch at the word. “After all we do for her, this is how she repays us? By killing Lenny?”

“Lower your voice,” one of the other men snaps. “You don’t know who or what’s around.” 

“I hope it’s her,” the first guy continues. “When I get my hands on her, I swear I-”

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence as a bolt pierces his shoulder, knocking him off of the log he was sitting on.

The man with you jumps up from your hiding place, reloading his crossbow. Before any of the other men can react, he shoots another one through the neck. The sound of the man choking on his own blood is sickening, but it also wakes you up.

You follow your new companion, walking into the middle of the camp.

“Oh shit, it’s h-” the last man around the campfire starts to say, but you slash your knife across his throat. He brings a hand up to cover the wound, but blood pours out from between his fingers. Hearing another bolt cut through the air behind you, you take the time to watch the man sputter before falling backwards off of his seat. Standing over him, you watch him twitch on the ground until he stills.

A thud draws your attention. You turn, and find the strange man from the words kneeling over the last man, landing punch after punch on his face.

“You think-” Punch. “s’ alright-” Punch. “to hurt-” Punch. “women?” Punch. 

“No!” the man cries out in between the blows. “You don’t understand-”

“There ain’t nothing to understand!” your companion yells in his face. “Just cuz the world’s gone to shit doesn’t mean you can do whateva the hell you want!” He lands another punch. 

Shaking his hand out, he turns to look at you. “You wanna do it, or want me to?” he asks, pulling a handgun from his waistband and holding it out to you.

Slowly, you step forward and take the gun from his hands. You’ve never held a gun before. He must be able to tell because he reaches over and flicks what must be the safety off. Standing, he moves away, giving you space. 

You stand over the man on the ground. His face is bloody and swollen, but you can just make out his eyes, wide with fear, bits of orange from the fire flickering in his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he moans out. “I didn’t mean it, it was Len-” The rest of his sentence is drowned out by the firing of the gun and the bullet landing between his eyes.

You don’t move. You don’t even lower the gun. You just stand and stare, watching the blood leak out of the wound.

Behind you, you can hear the man from the woods rifling through the meager supplies around the camp. He stops by each of the bodies and you hear the quiet slide of a knife through flesh.

“This yers?” he asks you, holding out a small purple backpack. You take the bag with your free hand, and slide it onto your shoulders. Realizing you're still holding his gun, you hold it out to him. “Hang on to it,” he says, heaving the rest of the bags onto his shoulders. 

Nodding, you look around at your old camp, your old group, the ones who tried to hurt you, and you let out a deep sigh, like a heavy weight being lifted off of your shoulders.

The man clears his throat. “I’m Daryl,” he says, extending a hand to you. Taking it, you tell him your name. “Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer.

Daryl nods, then the two of you head back into the woods, still holding bloody hands.

[levis-reading-recs]

Floral Sheets

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Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader Tags: Fluff. Word Count: 2.1k "Not ready for tomorrow yet."

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆

The sun had set over Alexandria long ago.

The hues of orange and purple had faded with the falling sun and transformed the sky into a canvas of inky black, speckled with twinkling stars -- a perfect end to an otherwise arduous day.

Alexandria was thriving, and everyone in it was better than they had been in years...possibly since the apocalypse had begun.

Once a quiet suburban neighborhood, it had become a safe haven for Rick and his fellow survivors in a world full of the living dead. Alexandria was more than another camp...it was a symbol of human resilience and a testament to their will to survive.

There was a consistent supply of food, shelter, water, and (most importantly) safety. It was the safest and the healthiest that Rick and his group had been in a long time.

Alexandria had blossomed into a perfect sanctuary, and everyone was grateful for it. But such a thriving community required intense and constant work to keep it to that standard. Keeping track of weapons, supplies, and all the basic resources was vitally important. When certain supplies were to the point of restocking, Daryl was almost always the errand boy.

He could handle himself better than anyone in Alexandria. He worked well alone, and he could get himself out of a dangerous situation if he found himself in a pinch.

Daryl knew that he had a long day ahead of him from the moment his feet hit the floor early that morning. He had several stops to make on his journey outside of the walls of Alexandria, and a few of those stops were quite out of the way.

Not to mention, the blazing heat of summer was nearly blistering during the day, and even during the night hours, it wasn't much cooler. It was so humid that sometimes it made the air so thick that it felt like breathing soup.

Daryl was used to the heat, and while it didn't bother him all that much -- it still made a long, tiring day even longer and more exhausting.

And the moment that he stepped through the door late that night, he felt a sense of relief crash over him. It was significantly cooler inside your house, and he was so glad to be out of the heat and at home.

He had three things on his mind when he entered your home: food, a shower, and you.

If he could have it his way, he would've liked those things in reverse order -- but he couldn't bring himself to wake you just for a shower you didn't need, and he doubted you wanted to be disturbed just to sit with him while he horked down whatever he could scrounge up for dinner. And he knew you definitely wouldn't want him crawling into bed without eating or showering.

His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, his steps heavy and not as quiet as he wanted them to be. He knew that you would be long asleep by now, and he wanted to do his best to keep you sleeping peacefully.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, his stomach grumbling and growling with the simple request to be fed. He smacked himself for not snatching a can of something for himself when he was unloading the goodies he had picked up that day, but when he opened the refrigerator -- he realized that he didn't need it.

Right there, sitting perfectly wrapped on the center of the top shelf, was a plate of that night's leftovers that he knew you had saved just for him.

He didn't even need to see what the leftovers were to know that he was about to scarf down every last morsel on that plate. He didn't even bother heating it up because eating it cold didn't make a difference to him in the slightest.

He rinsed his plate (a habit that he only came to have after living with you full time) and left it in the sink to be washed in the morning before moving on to his next step.

He opted to use the shower on the opposite side of the house, knowing that using the one connected to the bedroom would surely end up with you waking up to the sound of him clambering around.

He was caked in dirt, sweat, and who knows what else. He felt five pounds heavier just with whatever was sitting on his skin and clothes. Daryl didn't mind getting dirty and staying dirty, but tonight it was actually bothering him a bit.

Needless to say, a shower was needed.

It was well appreciated nonetheless, and the stream of water felt incredible on his tired muscles that were in need of rest. He took his time though, maneuvering around the tiny guest bathroom shower and scrubbing his body until his natural skin tone wasn't obstructed by muck and grime.

He lathered soap on his face, ears, and neck thoroughly, watching the evidence of the long day wash along the shower floor and down the drain to never be seen again. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his eyelids grow heavier by the minute.

The fatigue was setting in fast. Between his fed belly and the relaxation of home, several hours of sleep were calling his name...and no matter what anybody said, Daryl had made the decision to sleep in the next morning.

After all, he knew you were awaiting him just across the small house, and he would never pass up an opportunity to wake up with you.

Once he felt fresh and clean, he turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist to make the short journey to the bedroom. He gathered his dirty (an understatement) clothes so they could be washed later, knowing to toss them in the hamper (also a habit he developed post-living with you) by the closet.

His feet made it to the closed bedroom door, and he was slow to open it. As he knew you would be, you were curled up in bed

He stopped in the doorway for just a moment to observe you. Your eyes closed softly and your breathing steady brought a flutter to his heart. It let him know you were comfortable and safe...you felt safe.

You were the balm to his weary soul, your presence a comfort he had come to rely on. He didn't watch you for long, knowing that he would much rather be with you up close than from afar.

He approached his side of the bed, carefully adjusting his pillow and peeling back the covers...to reveal quite the surprise.

Ordinarily, Daryl wasn't sure if he would've even noticed. However, this was such a difference that he wasn't sure if he couldn't have not noticed.

New sheets. He thought to himself, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.

In terms of quality, this bedding was a major upgrade. Your last set of sheets were very plain and, despite the fact that they kept you warm, were just plain overused.

But in terms of looks? Daryl wasn't so sure that this new bedding was an improvement.

You had mentioned to him a time or two that you wanted to change up your bedroom. Alexandria was proving to be your permanent home for the foreseeable future, so making your house the way you wanted seemed logical. Over time, Daryl had managed to find random furniture pieces out in the world outside the walls. Lamps, chairs, and whatnot.

Sheets, on the other hand, were much harder to come across. Frankly, Daryl hadn't ever found a set of sheets that were suitable for sleeping on...no matter how many times you washed them.

Daryl studied the sheets. They were light pink, decorated with a simple printed pattern of roses. It wasn't the tacky grandma type of floral/rose design -- this pattern was much more simplistic...dainty even.

Daryl didn't exactly love the sheets. But a bed was a bed, and as long as you were in it, he didn't rightly care.

Least the comforter is the same. He thought to himself.

He climbed into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He tried to keep his movements slow and gentle, but Daryl wasn't exactly known for being graceful.

He winced when you began to stir with a whimper, a brief look of panic in your eyes when they opened.

“Hey, hey…” He rested his hands on your shoulders. “It’s just me.”

You stared at him through squinted eyes for only a moment before sighing out a breath of relief and falling back into your pillow. You wasted no time moving closer to him, snuggling up to him with a content, soft smile.

"Hi." You whispered.

"Hey, pretty girl. Sorry I'm so late gettin' in."

You shook your head, not even giving it a second thought.

"It's okay. How was today?" You asked groggily.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. He felt the stress and pressure of the day melt away in the feeling of you.

"Can't complain. Got what we needed," He said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," You shrugged. "I'm happy you're here."

Your face was nuzzled into his neck, the smell of bar soap from his recent shower filling your senses. Daryl danced his fingertips along your back, noting that you were much warmer than he was from being in the bed for longer.

Speaking of, he knew it wouldn't be long before you wanted to discuss your new addition to the room.

“I got new sheets.” You mumbled, but even in your state of half sleep, he could tell you were excited about it.

“Mmhm.” He hummed. "I noticed."

The sound of his indifference caused you to pull your head back to look at him.

“You don’t like them?” You asked.

“A bit girly for me. Glad you like ‘em though,” He said. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"Michonne actually. She and Rick were out today and found a place stocked with that sort of stuff," You explained. "It must've been a Bed Bath and Beyond or something."

"A what?" He snorted.

"Bed Bath and Beyond. It was a furniture/home decor retail store back in the day," You explained. "That was a joke, but it had to have been some kind of home decor store. I don't know how else they could've found bedding this nice and new."

Daryl gave a small chuckle, amused by your high enthusiasm for just a set of new sheets. But he understood that they were much more than just sheets to you. They comforted you, and they gave you something to be excited about.

"What do you have to do tomorrow?" You asked, and Daryl couldn't help but groan.

He didn't want to think about tomorrow yet. He had literally just finished today. He knew that, even with a late start, he would have a day just like today: busy, hot, and exhausting.

For now, he wanted to enjoy the end of today...or what was left of it at least. He wanted to hold you close, get some sleep, and be thankful for another day survived.

And hope for many more to come.

"Same ol' things," He sighed. "Not ready for tomorrow yet."

You understood what he meant and ditched the topic. He smirked when you kissed him, which was your way of changing the subject and when you had run out of things to say.

Not that Daryl minded.

He held your face in his hand, keeping you close and preventing you from straying far from him. He felt himself melt into you, the best feeling in the world after a day like this. He wished he could have this every night.

His kisses were lazy and slow, which was a bit out of the norm for him. You could tell he was fighting sleep, and you didn't blame him in the slightest for being tired.

"How about we get some sleep? I know you're exhausted." You brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, noting how heavy they looked.

Normally, he would've fought for a few more minutes...but tonight, sleep sounded all too good.

"Yeah." He agreed.

"Talk more in the morning?" You asked, and he gave a grin.

"'Course, baby." He pressed his lips to the crown of your head.

Daryl shifted further under the covers, making sure that you were snuggled in and warm. Daryl kept you close for the rest of the night, sharing kisses when he could and keeping you in his dreams.

All wrapped up in those pink, floral sheets.

[levis-reading-recs]

Protecting What's Mine

Daryl Dixon x reader

The sun had just risen over the horizon, and the members of the prison community were already up and about. Daryl Dixon had been up for hours, scouting the surrounding area for any sign of danger, as was his duty. But now he had returned to the prison, looking forward to breakfast with his girlfriend, you.

Daryl and you had been together since before the apocalypse, and your relationship had only grown stronger since then. You had known each other since you were young, and your connection ran deep. Daryl loved you with all his heart, and he would do anything to protect you.

As he entered the mess hall, Daryl noticed a new face among the group. It was a man, around his age, who seemed to be trying to get your attention. Daryl watched as the newcomer flirted shamelessly with you, and his jealousy began to bubble up inside him.

You, oblivious to the man's advances, didn't notice how he was trying to get your attention as you perched on the very front of the chair. Daryl took a deep breath and walked over to you, sitting down in the empty space behind you. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your neck softly.

"Good morning," he whispered into your ear.

You smiled and turned around to face him. "Good morning, Daryl."

Daryl could feel the newcomer's eyes on them, but he didn't care. He held you close, marking his territory and letting the other man know that you were his.

The man seemed surprised to see you with a guy like Daryl, but finally he gave up and left you alone. Daryl felt a sense of relief wash over him as he watched the man walk away.

As you finished your meal, you noticed Daryl's tense demeanor and the way he kept glancing over his shoulder. You knew him well enough to sense when something was bothering him, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the new guy.

"Is everything okay?" you asked, placing a hand on his arm.

Daryl hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. "That guy, he was flirting with you."

You felt your cheeks grow warm as you realized how oblivious you had been to the man's advances. "I didn't even notice."

Daryl's expression softened as he looked at you. "I just don't like anyone trying to take you away from me."

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm not going anywhere, Daryl. You're stuck with me."

Daryl's lips curved into a small smile, and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "Good," he said, resting his chin on your head. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You leaned in and kissed him softly. "I'm all yours, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl smiled, knowing that he would do anything to protect you, no matter what the future held.

[levis-reading-recs]

Hi there! 😀 Could I request a set of headcanons about Daryl falling in love with the eldest Greene sister!Reader?

Farmer's Daughter (pt 1)

I'm going to make this a series because I'm obsessed with this. I actually have a very strong personal love for the reader character as a Greene sister, so I'm really happy that you requested this! I can't tell you how often I bring this concept up to my roomate, now I finally get to share my thoughts here. 💕

content warning: 18+ for implied smut & some sexual themes, mention of Beth's self harm, reader throwing hands at Andrea, mention of the reader character and Maggie's mother passing away, Daryl being grumpy, mentions of Daryl's scars.

You weren't much older than Maggie, but old enough that she looked up to you. She was always mistaken as the oldest because of how head strong and outspoken she always was, but even she looked to you as a figure of authority after your mother had passed away. When your dad remarried and Beth was born, you taught Maggie everything she needed to know about being an older sister.

You were younger than Daryl, you never cared to ask by how many years. Age wasn't important to you when it came to him, you never thought he was too old, not even once.

You took care of your siblings and part of him wished Merle had been like you, protective and loving and kind, but he never let himself think about that for long. That wasn't the dynamic he wanted to associate you with, not at all.

He thought you were so beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. You weren't used to men seeeing you like that, your sisters were always the ones who had dates and boyfriends, never you. Daryl thought you were even sweeter than Beth and even more of a badass than Maggie, you weren't a perfect blend of your two sisters like you always thought you were. He saw you as so much more.

The first time you approached him, it was after Andrea had shot him. You went up to the room your dad had put him in for the night, and he was half asleep with his back facing you. It looked like he had been through so much that day and it made your heart ache. You wanted to take care of him, but of course he brushed you off- but not before you had seen the scars on his back. You didn't say anything to him about it, but he knew you saw them.

He avoided you for a while after that, but he watched you from a safe distance and admired everything about you, especially how you handled your family. Daryl noticed the way you protected both Beth and Maggie, and how you damn near killed Andrea for encouraging Beth to hurt herself. He was very amused and a bit turned on when he heard you had backhanded Andrea that day.

He was never good with feeelings, and he was embarrassed that you had seen his scars, so he pushed you away. Far away. He stayed busy, brushed you off even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. After what felt like a lifetime of him ignoring you, you finally spoke up for yourself.

"Why do you hate me, Dixon? My dad took ya'll in, we give you food and shelter and medicine, and this is the thanks I get? You don't even look at me anymore."

He didn't want that to be the first actual conversation he had with you, it hurt him to know that you thought he hated you. He knew he was being cold to you, cruel even. He knew you just wanted to help. He didn't have the words that night, so despite all the warning alarms going off in his head, he just kissed you instead.

Of all the places you had ever imagined making love to Daryl Dixon (because you definitely had imagined it, and so had he), the field on your father's property was not what you expected.

You made sure to tell him over and over again as he made love to you that he was perfect, that his scars were beautiful, that he was handsome (and that his cock was big and felt nice, but that's beside the point).

"I don't hate ya. I hope ya understand that now, sunshine," he'd whisper, all the while holding your hand and wiping the sweat from your hairline.

You didn't have the words, you were content laying on your back in the grass, staring up at the stars as you caught your breath. While you watched the stars, he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

After that night you two were inseparable, always holding hands and kissing on the farm when you thought no one could see. Everyone around you noticed, but you and Daryl were too busy falling in love to care.

[levis-reading-recs]

To The Bone

Plot: You can’t stop shivering and Daryl can’t sleep. (Season 2-3 interim)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count:
 1.2k (I can’t believe I wrote something this short)

A/N: it has been so cold lately, hence this small, barely proof-read fic. I hope it gives u some warmth :*

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The farm fell and winter came. 

There wasn’t a moment more heartbreaking to lose your home. Where the walls that fostered generations of Greenes would’ve warmed your heart, the cold and sprawling forest took their place. 

Some nights the walls of a different home kept you warm. Homes that once belonged to people you would never know, absolute strangers that were just gone; dead or lost.

Tonight was not one of those nights. 

Tonight, there were no strangers whose pictures still lined the walls— because there weren’t any walls. Only the forest and a small fire. Barely embers. 

“They might see.”

Rick’s voice echoed in your head frequently these days. An hour wouldn’t pass before he had another demand to make. His last, before patrolling the camp’s boarders with T-Dog and Daryl, was to keep the fire down. Since the incident with Randall’s group and the herd that ripped through the farm, you had a pretty good guess who they were; the living and the dead. A fester of fear and exhaustion lodged in the back of your throat the night you lost the farm, and it’d kept you in line with Rick’s order since. 

The fire was nothing but a soft glow. Enough light to see the colour of the fallen leaves beside your head, but that was it. No warmth and certainly no comfort was found in the glowing ashes. 

Your shivering had started an hour ago and despite your best efforts to curl under the scratchy blanket, the damp floor of the forest chilled you to the bone. The others had fallen asleep by now, lulled by the aches of exhaustion and the body heat of their closest family, and if you hadn’t spent an extra hour on guard duty, you were sure Lori would’ve pulled you in alongside her and Carl. But the constant worries in your mind kept you awake and alert— so your guard shifts lingered longer and longer with each night, and by the time you retreated, your ‘bed’ for the night was only yours. 

Months ago, when the farmhouse had been packed with suitcases and sleeping bags, you would’ve cherished the space. That was before the empty air became cold and bitter, biting at whatever slivers of exposed skin it could find. 

Now, being alone felt almost like another type of fight. A struggle to just get through the night without catching frostnip. 

There were footsteps ahead of you. It took a moment too long to register it— blame the exhaustion— but when you had, your mind was awake again. Light and calculated, they avoided the crunch of crisp fallen leaves like they knew the forest floor off by heart. 

Daryl. 

You knew it even before your eyes peeked open. Fighting against the weight of your eyelids, you narrowly watched his shadowy frame sneak through the sleeping bodies of your people, until he moved around the fire and behind you. Your eyes shut again and you listened for the soft rustle of him laying down a blanket. 

Another shiver hit and your muscles clenched.

Beyond the clatter of your teeth, a second or two passed in silence. Eventually, your shiver subsided and your body relaxed again, but your jaw was still stiff from the frigid air. You yanked the blanket up further, covering you up to your red-tipped nose, and waited for the tension to pass. 

Something touched your shoulder— a hand— and your head snapped to the side. It was Daryl, crouched behind you. 

“’S jus’ me,” he mumbled. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He didn’t answer. 

In one swoop, he draped his blanket onto yours and laid down on his side beside you. 

“Come ‘ere,” his voice was low. Not only quiet but soft, like he was worried it might break if he spoke any louder. 

The blanket helped initially, you felt an extra layer of coziness engulf you, but when he finally moved closer… 

It was almost instant, the way your body melted into his. 

So tender and whole that every bit of you that had frozen from the constant death and heartbreak cracked open. It’d been months since you felt even a hint of comfort, since you’d even been touched beyond Maggie’s supportive hand at your shoulder. The way you curled into him was almost instinct; your nerves, once turned to ice, finally thawed again and felt. 

Against your better wishes, your voice shuddered, “Are you sure?” 

His arm snaked around you, pulling you closer by the waist. 

“Can’t sleep with your teeth clatterin’ so loud.” 

You huffed a breath, huddling your shaky fingers closer to your lips to catch a moment of the hot air. Even with his body heat sinking into your skin, your body was still stiff with the last effects of the chill, and you shivered once more. 

He moved you— you couldn’t register where his hands touched specifically, but there were spots of heat up your arms and around your shoulders, like the touch of his skin was separated by thick gloves instead of the thin sweater you wore. You vaguely registered how cold your skin must’ve been for the sensation of his touch to be so numbed. Without any protest, nor much thought, you followed his directions, guiding you deeper into him. Even if it hadn’t been for that pesky crush of yours making you a willing listener of the man, his body heat alone was enough to convince you entirely. As long as you never had to feel that cold and disheartened again, you’d do whatever he asked. His hands stopped moving when you were facing him, forehead touching his chest and face almost completely hidden under the blanket. 

Save those big, beautiful eyes that you looked up at him with. 

“Thank you,” your voice was smothered under the thick fabric, but he knew what you meant from your stare alone. 

He mumbled something, but you barely heard it, finding distraction in the way his chest rumbled with the effort— or the quick pound of his heart. 

Daryl wasn’t particularly known as an affectionate man, hell, the stories you’d heard of his interactions with Merle sounded more like resentment than love. And for a while there, when he pulled away after Sophia, you wondered if he knew love existed beyond what his brother defined it as. 

His pounding heart made sense, then. A life of inexperience didn’t give him the necessary bravado for sudden, almost intimate, contact with a person he only met a few months ago. No matter how necessary it might’ve been with the dropping temperature, holding you in his embrace seemed like an understandable source of nerves. 

The feeling along your back, the slow rub of his thumb down your spine, became less fuzzy as your skin warmed up. By the time you lost your last chill, his heart slowed to a steady pace, and you could even feel the way he’d chewed his nail down to the edge through your shirt. 

Thump. 

When you inhaled, the air was still cold, but it was tolerable. 

Thump. 

His heat sunk into you, deeper with every beat of his heart.

Thump. 

Daryl held you throughout his sleep. You weren’t sure how inviting your body could have been after hours of lonely shivers, but he held you closer and closer as the night passed. 

Perhaps he just needed a little comfort, too. 

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A/N: if daryl was ooc in this… no he wasn’t <3

also– not sure if I should put a read more on this or not bc its so short… please lmk if it was taking up too much room in the tags/on ur dash :) 

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3