A Teaser For

A Teaser for

Always You

Not my GIF

Rosalie Barlowe a highly trained agent working at the GBI, Georgia Bureau of Investigations. Has her life turned upside down when the world goes to shit? How will she feel when a band of misfits, are there to watch her back when no one else has ever been? What will happen when she starts to harbor feelings for one of them?

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Hello, readers. This is the first Fic that I'm publishing here. If you are hooked by the very small teaser above please think about following along for Rosalie's story. I am so excited for this story to come to fruition and not just live in my head as an idea. I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I do, however, own Rosalie Barlowe and her story. I do not give permission to translate my work or change it in any way. I do however invite you to reblog and comment to let me know your thoughts. If you want to be added to the tag list just message me.

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Loved this!

Whumptober 2024 No.8

Prompt: Forced to stay awake

Warnings: Allusions to torture

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif is not mine - google

“Oh, Daryl, Daryl, Daryl.” Negan swung Lucille around languidly as he paced the small cell, his smile one of amused condescension. “You know what you have to say. Just tell me who you are and the song stops.” Daryl trembled but remained silent, his nostrils flaring with each quick, restraining breath. “You’ll get a room, a bed, some real food and not this crap that—” Negan toed the untouched sandwich with his boot. “What the hell even is that?” With a cringe, he shrugged. “Anyway. Hell, Daryl, you tell me what I wanna hear right now and I’ll let you have one of my wives.”

One of his— The disgust must have echoed in Daryl’s expression because then Negan was laughing as he stepped across the threshold to hover just outside the doorway.

“You could have it all, Daryl.” The archer lowered his head, never giving the offer a single consideration. He knew he’d never kneel. He’d die first. When his name was said again, he looked up to find it was you in the doorway.

“Daryl.”

“What’re y’doin’ here?” He croaked, voice rough from disuse. He didn’t move. He dared not. If Negan saw what you meant to him, what would he do to you? “Y’need to go.”

“Go?” You stepped into the cell and his blood ran cold.

“The fuck’re y’doin?! I said ya need to go! Y’can’t be here!”

“Daryl.” The was a sadness in your expression but your demeanor was calm and unafraid. You were always so brave, especially when it came to him. “Daryl, you’re not there.”

Not— He looked around the cell, startled and confused. One blink, he was in the cold, cramped concrete room. The next, the light from the hall was the single candle on the bedside table. The walls were dancing with shadows cast from the flickering flame. There were windows and a bed. He was in a trailer.

“I—” It only took a moment to realize he was huddled in a corner, his knees pulled tightly against his chest. “I was—”

“You need to sleep, baby.” You crouched in front of him, tilting your head while that sadness shifted into concern. “You’re with me at the Hilltop. You’ve been back for two days.” His blue eyes tracked your movements as you reached for him, placing a hand on his knee. “I know they didn’t let you sleep. That they—” you swallowed hard, “they did things to you, but you’re not there. You’re here. You’re with me. It’s safe to sleep now.” He watched you stand, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “I’ll watch over you.”

“I—” He didn’t know what to say. Could he sleep? He had been dreaming, right? Or had he been hallucinating? The thought of closing his eyes was daunting. What if when he did, the song began to play and then you were gone when he opened them?

“I’m here, Daryl.” He hesitantly accepted your offer and allowed you to help him stand. He winced as the movement aggravated his healing wounds, the pain assisting in bringing him further into reality, closer to you. “I’m real.” You continued, stepping into his space to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Let’s get you settled.”

“Okay.” He finally agreed, following you to the small bed. You held up the blankets and he crawled beneath, nearly melting into the mattress. Maybe he could sleep after all. You climbed in behind him and molded yourself against his back, holding him loosely and placing a kiss against his shoulder blade.

“Sleep.” You whispered, pressing yourself impossibly closer. You began to hum a gentle tune, one that drove that vile song from his mind and brought him to a level of calm he had forgotten was possible. He was sound asleep within moments. “I’ve got you.”

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

I love this so much!

Wild Rooster Chase | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley thinks about you more than he should, and his feelings for you run deeper than they ought to. You've never given him an indication that you want to take the teasing touches and playful flirtation to the next level, so he never pressed his luck. When you surprise him by sending a text message that could change everything, he's ready to chase you all over San Diego for some answers.

Warnings: adult language, fluff, angst, drinking

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger

"What are you ladies doing here?" Bradley asked as you walked in with Halo and Phoenix on either side of you. "Thought tonight was the bachelorette party?"

"The Hard Deck is our first stop of the evening," you informed him as you planted your palm on his chest with a smirk, and he let you push him away from the bar. "We couldn't miss out on letting you guys see how nicely we clean up."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, as if he wasn't actively ogling you in your mini dress and high heels. He'd never been one to hide it, and he'd never been one to check out the other two, either. But that didn't mean he was going to act on it, because he was absolutely convinced this was just a game for you. One that he loved participating in. One that he knew was never going to go anywhere real.

"Yeah," you verified with a laugh. "We look hot."

"An indisputable fact," he whispered as he pretended like you were actually pushing him further out of your way. He'd move wherever you wanted him to, as long as you just kept touching him.

"Shoo," you scolded, looking up at him as your knee bumped his leg. "I need to buy some drinks, and you're in my way."

He covered your hand with his big one and immediately stopped moving. "Nice try, Blaze," he said with a grin as you attempted and failed to get him to budge more. "But I'm definitely buying you all a round for Callie's big night." He tossed his credit card onto the bar and draped one arm around Halo and the other around you before leaning in close to you and whispering, "And you always look nice. Even in your flight suits."

"What can I get for you ladies? And Rooster?" Penny asked, cutting him off just as he had you rolling your eyes. "Wait... he's not going out for Halo's bachelorette night, is he?"

"Absolutely not," you told her, tilting your head to look up at him with a devilish grin that made him a little nervous. His arm was still heavy across your shoulders as you said, "He's just here to buy us three Johnnie Walkers. Blue Label. Neat." 

"What?" His voice was strangled, and his eyes were wide. "That's over a hundred bucks!"

"But it's what we want. Isn't it, ladies?" you asked Halo and Phoenix as you tried not to laugh.

"It is," Halo confirmed. "And I'm the one getting married next weekend." 

When Bradley moaned and nodded at Penny, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Rooster. You're the sweetest."

"You mean I'm a sucker," he said, finally releasing both of you. "So where are you headed after this?"

Halo accepted her expensive Scotch as she said, "Cowboy Star for a steak dinner."

Bradley snorted. "Don't forget to take Jake with you," he said, nodding to where the other guys were hanging out near the dart board. 

"No boys allowed," you reminded him. "Especially not since we're taking Halo to Cheetahs after dinner."

"Strippers?" he asked as you picked up your Johnnie Walker. "Looking at hot, naked chicks? Sounds fun. What else?"

"Dancing at Pleasure Town!" Phoenix said, taking the last Scotch and holding it up. You and Halo both tapped your glasses to hers.

"Thanks, Rooster!" you said before taking a sip. He just shook his head as you pressed your lips to the glass, but a few seconds later, he ran his index finger along your arm and leaned a little closer again.

"Hey, you call or text me if you need anything, okay? I'll keep my phone on all night for you girls."

A chill seemed to run through your body, and just the mere thought of you calling him in the middle of the night left his mouth dry with need.

You chewed on your lip and looked up at him. "I'll let you know if I need you."

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

I'll let you know if I need you.

Bradley couldn't stop thinking about that sentence. If you ever told him you needed or even wanted him for anything, he'd be there instantly. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he'd had a crush on you from the first day you arrived at Top Gun. He was sure you knew it, too. But there were some things he just didn't want to mess with. Your call sign was Blaze for a reason, after all. Too fucking hot to handle. Too damn enticing to be interested in him.

So he did what he always did on Saturday nights. Found the second cutest girl at the bar and tried his luck. 

It was two hours later and three drinks in with the redhead, and he knew he could probably get as lucky as he wanted to. Her hand was on his thigh, inching closer to the hem of his tropical print shirt, and she was all smiles.

"Let's play something on the jukebox," she told him, and he agreed as he followed after her. To his dismay, she picked your favorite song, and now he was having a bit of a hard time staying focused on the task at hand as she tucked herself against the wall and pulled him closer by his shirt.

"You like this song?" he asked, glancing at the jukebox like he expected you to be standing there. 

She shrugged and said, "Not really. I just pushed some random buttons," with a little giggle. "Now, come here."

Alright, so her lips were soft, and her tongue tasted like bourbon. She placed his hands on her hips, and he gave a little test squeeze which resulted in her tongue in his mouth. But the song was pulling up some other memories of you and him dancing together on New Year's Eve. When he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, it was almost a relief to pull away.

"Hey," she complained, reaching for him as he unlocked his phone. "I'm over here, Rooster."

"Sorry," he muttered, looking at her briefly, but he really wasn't. The text he got was from you. He held up one finger and took a step back as he opened it up. 

Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"What the fuck?" Bradley said out loud as his eyes scanned the message again. It was a joke. It had to be. Or else he was reading it wrong? "Holy shit."

When he finally looked up, the redhead was pouting with her arms crossed. He needed another opinion, and he'd already lost interest in her anyway. He held up his phone and asked, "What does this mean?"

He watched her eyes as she read it, and a little crease appeared on her forehead. "It says get a life, jerk." She went walking off toward her friends as Bradley looked around for someone else to help him out. The guys were all playing pool and darts, but he didn't trust them as far as he could throw them anyway.

"Hey, Penny," he called out, cutting off several people who were trying to order drinks. He leaned all the way across the bar top to where she was pouring a martini. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind."

When he held up his phone, she squinted at the screen, and then her eyes went wide as she smiled at him. "I think someone overdid it and finally stated the obvious."

He was sweating now, afraid he was going to get this all wrong. "Like you think this is actually how she feels?"

She laughed and handed off the martini before pouring some wine. "Well, I don't want to speculate on someone else's behalf..."

"Bartenders are supposed to speculate," he told her, ready to climb over the bar and chase her down as she turned away from him to serve the wine. "It's your god given obligation."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Well, then, merely speculating, I would say that the way the two of you cozy up with each other seems a little more than platonic."

He shook his head. "No, that's probably just me you're reading in the scenario." But she was shaking her head back and forth as well. "It's her, too?" Now she was nodding as she reached for a pint glass. "Like she might actually want to make something happen here?"

"Speculation," Penny told him. "But I think you should find out for sure."

He could call you. He pushed himself away from the bar, found a nice, quieter corner, and he tapped your number in his phone.

'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, probably because I'm flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'

"Damn it," he groaned, already thinking about how nice it would be to sling his arm around your shoulders and lean all the way in next time. Let his lips meet yours instead of hitting the brakes like he'd trained himself to do. "Wait!" he said to nobody in particular now that he'd walked away from Penny. "Cowboy Star!"

Bradley had the fortitude to keep his phone out and use the rideshare app he had downloaded. He was definitely not sober enough to do this in the Bronco, and he couldn't stop fantasizing about your song playing on the jukebox while he had your body pressed up against the wall. He needed to get to you and get some questions answered. 

He chose the closest driver in the app, and while he was waiting for Julian in his white Toyota Camry to arrive, he read your text again.

Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"Is she so serious right now?" he asked the night air as he waited in the parking lot. "Is she so fucking serious about this? I think about it, too!  A lot!" he practically shouted as he responded to your text.

Blaze, call me back. Are you talking about a kiss on the cheek? Or something more? We need to discuss ASAP.

"Hey, are you Bradley?"

He looked up to see the white Toyota was just sitting there. You had his head so messed up at the moment, he hadn't even noticed it.

"Julian?"

"Yeah, man," the driver replied, and Bradley quickly climbed in the backseat. "You're heading to Cowboy Star?"

"Yeah," he grunted as he buckled his seatbelt.

"I love it there," he said as he pulled out onto the road that ran parallel to the beach. "My wife got me the porterhouse for my birthday."

Bradley stared at his phone screen, hoping you'd write back or call him. "I'm not actually going for dinner. I'm trying to find a girl."

Julian whistled and shook his head. "Man, you should have just stayed at that bar."

He tipped his head back and groaned. "It's a very specific girl. And she's out with some friends for a bachelorette party."

"You know dudes aren't really supposed to go to those things, right?"

Bradley rubbed his free hand across his face and said, "I know, but she sent me this text that is very thought provoking." 

"What's it say?"

He kind of felt like an idiot telling his story to his Uber driver, but he still wasn't sure he was understanding your words correctly. It just didn't make sense. 

"Julian, I am very firmly in the friend zone with this hot girl from work, and tonight she sent me this message: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time."

"Bro," Julian said as he hit the accelerator a little harder. "You're so in, man."

"Am I?" Bradley asked, squeezing his phone and wondering why you weren't calling him back. "Like, this girl is smoking hot. She's cool as hell, too. And we flirt a bit, but it never goes anywhere. And now she's not answering me."

"Just hang on." Julian went a little faster still. "I'll get you there so you can sweep her off her feet."

Bradley hung onto the door handle, not even sure he knew how to sweep you off your feet. What kinds of guys did you usually go for? He'd be lying if he said he never noticed that your last boyfriend kind of looked like him. And in general, you seemed to have a thing for guys with brown hair who were pretty tall. 

"Shit," he grunted, just torturing himself by imagining he could be the one holding your hand and making you laugh. "Are we almost there?"

"Hell yeah, dude. Next block up."

When Julian stopped at to the curb, Bradley lunged out onto the sidewalk as he shouted, "Thank you!"

"Good luck!"

The restaurant was absolutely packed, and even the line to talk to the host was long. After a few seconds, he simply walked to the front and cut everyone else off.

"Hey!" complained the woman who was now behind him as he cleared his throat and addressed the host. 

"Excuse me, but do you know if there are still three hot women here eating dinner together?" he asked the host who gave him a bland look. "They were all in tight little dresses. One was red, one was blue, and one was like a gold color. And one of them was wearing a bachelorette sash!"

"Oh," he replied with a little smirk. "Those three." Bradley didn't appreciate the way his little grin grew as he said, "Hot is certainly the right word to describe them."

"Are they still here?" he asked impatiently, trying to look past him into the dining room now.

"No. They left about an hour ago."

"Fuck," he groaned, pushing away from the podium and storming back outside into the night. He found a spot on the busy sidewalk where he could stand, and he tried to call you again. 

'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, because I'm probably flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'

He wanted to scream, but he calmly said, "Blaze, it's Rooster. Call me back." When he hung up, he opened the rideshare app again, and he luckily saw Julian on the map immediately and tapped on his little icon. "Come on, Julian," he muttered, already looking down the street for the trusty Toyota to make its return. "Yes!"

Bradley threw himself into the backseat once again as the driver asked, "That was quick, bro. What happened?"

"They already left for the strip club," he groaned.

"Cheetahs?" Julian asked, tapping at his own phone before he started driving again. "Not gonna pretend I've never been there before."

Bradley tried to call you again, and once again he got to hear your voice tell him you weren't available. "I just don't understand why she's telling me this now, you know? I've known her for almost two years."

"Two years in the friend zone? Bro, do you have no game?"

"Julian, do not test me right now," Bradley said with a laugh. He held up his thumb and index finger and added, "I was this close to sealing the deal with another girl at the Hard Deck when I got the text from her."

"Ohhhh. So you're in love with her. Understood, my man."

Bradley sat back against the seat and stared out the window as the city lights streaked past. In love. Was he? You always seemed too perfect to get involved with. But love? Is that why he never pushed for more? 

"Damn," he muttered. "Maybe." Was the fear of crashing and burning what was ultimately holding him back? 

That was when Julian pulled a slick u-turn and coasted into the parking lot of Cheetahs which was advertising fully nude girls. He should have been concerned that suddenly the only girl he wanted to see that way was you. "Thanks, Julian," he said as he hopped out and slammed the door closed.

"You got this!"

Well at least Julian thought he could pull off something impossible tonight.

"Whoa, I'm going to need to see some ID." 

Bradley realized that his path was suddenly blocked by an absolutely massive bouncer with a bushy beard. 

"Come on," he complained, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. "I'm thirty-five."

"No ID, no entrance."

"Yeah, yeah. Understood," he said trying to get his driver's license free as one of the strippers walked outside for a break. He craned his neck to see through the open door as the loud music filtered out before the door closed.

"Hey, Cherry," the bouncer grunted, and Bradley looked down at the stripper who was leaning against the wall wearing a pink wig, the tiniest g-string and some pasties. 

She was looking at Bradley a little skeptically as she replied, "Hey, Murph." She kicked a rock out into the parking lot as she told Bradley, "You're getting here awfully late. All of the private rooms have been reserved for the rest of the night."

"I'm not here for that. I'm just looking for some girls," he replied, waiting patiently while Murph inspected his ID.

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "We've got plenty of those. The hottest ones in San Diego, if you believe the neon sign above your head."

"No," he told her, really not in the mood to recount his story again. "I'm looking for some women I work with."

Now Cherry looked downright unconvinced as she asked, "Are you a stripper?"

Bradley accepted his driver's license back and gave Cherry a hesitant look. "Well, no, I'm not."

"Didn't think so," she muttered, and Bradley stopped in his tracks before he even reached for the door handle.

"Excuse me?" he asked, giving her a much more scathing look. "What's that supposed to mean? I'd be a fantastic stripper."

She shook her head and adjusted her tiny underwear. "You don't have the right build for it."

Bradley burst out into sardonic laughter. "Cherry, you must be joking," he said as he tucked his wallet away and flexed his biceps. "I could totally be a stripper."

"What song would you dance to?" she asked in an accusatory tone. 

"Sweet Emotion," he told her immediately. Yeah, he'd thought about it before, and yeah, he knew he'd absolutely kill it up on stage. But she just made a face in response. "What's wrong with my song?"

"Nothing, I guess, but there's no way you'd be raking in the tip money."

Bradley pointed across the parking lot to Hard D Boys, the male club that was associated with Cheetahs, and said, "Just for that, I'm coming back for their open auditions night, because you have no idea what you're talking about." She shrugged, and he shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Have you seen three hot women? A red dress, a blue dress and a gold dress? Like short dresses?" he asked, tapping his thigh with his hand to indicate that your dress left little to his imagination. "They are like around this tall?" he added, sticking his hand in the air around your height.

"Sorry, Mr. Sweet Emotion, but I only take note of the biggest tippers."

Bradley groaned and pushed the door open, and the music was so loud, it wasn't even worth trying to ask the bartenders if they'd seen you. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he walked around the cavernous club, trying to locate you three, but it was mostly men. And then he had the disturbing thought that maybe some guys tried to pick you up.

"Why are you doing this to me, Blaze?" he whispered to himself as he walked back through every corner he could find. He even asked a woman to check if you were in the ladies' restroom. He came up empty handed again. 

"God damn it," he said once he was back outside with Murph.

"To be fair," Murph said as he lit up a cigarette, "I think you'd make an okay stripper."

"Thank you for that," Bradley told him sincerely as he tapped his rideshare app again, but then he heard a horn honking and looked up. It was Julian, hanging out his car window. He'd waited for him. 

"She's not here?"

"No, Julian. She's not here!" he said as he rushed toward the Toyota and climbed in.

"Well, where are we going next?"

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about what Phoenix had said earlier at the Hard Deck. "Pleasure Town. They were going dancing at Pleasure Town."

"On it," Julian told him and shifted into drive.

It was after midnight now. Pleasure Town wasn't too far away, but he'd be lucky to even find you in there on the weekend. But if he did, you'd be dancing like crazy with the biggest smile on your face, pretending you liked the music they were playing while you thought about your own playlists instead. You'd be drinking some neon colored cocktail and trying to talk the girls into leaving to get cookies from that place that was open all night. You'd maybe even be checking your phone and finally, finally texting him back.

"Yeah, you're right, Julian."

"About what, my man?"

Bradley rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm in love with her."

Julian reached his arm back at a red light, and Bradley fist bumped him. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! I could tell right away. Don't worry. We'll find her."

But it got harder to be hopeful the longer he was in the dance club. There was barely any room to walk around, and there were dozens of women in little dresses that looked like the one you were wearing, but none of them had your face or your smile. You weren't here. 

He stood on the dance floor and read your text one more time.

Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

He wanted to know what kissing you would feel like. Now that you opened his mind to something more, he'd never be able to stop thinking about it. But this time, he let himself finally focus on the word regret in your message.You'd regret what you said in the morning. He knew you; he knew you would never go for the idea sober. But he texted you one more time anyway.

Blaze, please call me when you get this. It doesn't matter what time it is. Just call.

When he walked back out into the cool, night air, Julian was right there at the curb waiting with a hopeful look on his face. "Bro, is she here?" When Bradley didn't respond, his face melted into sadness. "Or did she say the 'just friends' shit?"

"She's not here," he replied, once again climbing in the back of the now familiar car.

"We going somewhere else now? The pursuit continues?"

Bradley grimaced and said, "I think I should just throw in the towel and regroup. Can you take me back to the Hard Deck? I'm definitely sober enough to drive home now."

But even Julian sounded disappointed now. "Of course, dude. Anything you want."

"Thanks," Bradley grunted, watching as the city lights faded a bit as they got closer to the beach. When Julian parked near the Bronco, he said, "I appreciate all your help tonight."

He gave Bradley another fist bump. "You gotta start fresh tomorrow, man. And you can't leave me hanging, okay? I need a wedding invitation."

Bradley chuckled as he climbed out for the last time. "I'm about to leave you the biggest tip."

He tapped two hundred bucks into the app as Julian drove off shouting, "Good luck!"

With nothing else he could do right now, he climbed in the Bronco, cranked the engine and started to drive himself home for the night. He was tempted to swing by your place or at least try to call you one more time, but he decided to let you get some sleep before you started to regret your message. That way he'd have a little more time with this hopeful feeling in his chest.

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

There was pounding. There was so much pounding. Maybe someone turned the music up even louder at Cheetahs? Or were you at Pleasure Town now? "Make them turn it down," you moaned, trying to cover your ears. That's when you realized you were in your bed. At home. Someone was knocking on your front door.

"Wait," you croaked as loudly as you could, your ears still buzzing from the loud music all night long. The bachelorette evening had been highly successful. Halo had a great time. But now you were hungover and not in the mood to deal with anyone. 

As you climbed out of bed, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand to check the time. The battery was almost dead, and you had a bunch of missed texts and calls, but you couldn't even focus on that until the pounding ceased.

"Please stop," you whined, flinging your door open before you even checked to see who it was. When you saw him it felt like someone poured warm caramel sauce on your heart or shoved you hard into a wall made out of soft foam: he always made you feel good and gooey and squishy in the most heart pounding, confusing way. "Rooster."

When he moved slightly, he stopped blocking the sunlight behind him and you squinted your eyes and groaned as you took a step back. "Blaze," he said in that raspy as sin voice as he blessedly closed your front door behind him. "You have a hangover."

You nodded, but even that was too much. "What gave it away?" you asked him softly, still holding your phone.

He snorted. "Well, for starters, you're still wearing your dress from last night."

"Oh." You hadn't realized that as you looked down at yourself for confirmation. "We went pretty hard. I can't even remember much after you bought us the Johnnie Walker at the Hard Deck."

He remained quiet until you looked back up at his face. "You... remember texting me?" His tone was one you'd never heard before, and it took you a few seconds to realize he was nervous. On edge. Hesitant. He was never any of those things with you, and you didn't like this at all.

"I texted you?" When you lifted your phone higher, you started to wonder why he hadn't hugged you when you opened the door. He usually always did. He swallowed hard, and you watched the scars along his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed.

"You really don't remember?"

Now he just sounded really fucking sad, and for some reason your brain was screaming at you that there was something you were definitely supposed to recall from last night. Something about Bradley. You left him at the Hard Deck after he paid for the Scotch, and then you went to dinner and drank more while you thought about him the whole time. But there was definitely something else.

"No. I really don't remember," you whispered, annoyed with yourself. You felt like it was somehow your fault that his lips were pressed in a tight line and his brow was creased.

"It's not important," he replied, all businesslike now. "Can I see your phone for a minute?"

"Yeah," you told him, handing it over and watching while he punched in your passcode. "What did you end up doing all night?"

He sighed and looked at you. "I ended up following you around to no avail."

"Why?" you asked, still clearly missing a piece of this whole puzzle as he started tapping your phone screen with his thumb. 

"That's not important either," he whispered, and you decided you didn't like any of this. 

You snatched your phone out of his hand and wrapped your arms around his neck. Almost reluctantly, he hugged you back before reaching his hand up to where you were holding your phone, trying to get it again. "What do you want my phone for so badly?"

He was acting strange, and when he said nothing in response, you lunged out of his grasp and tapped on your text thread with him. 

"Blaze," he barked out, but it was too late. You read what you'd sent him last night.

Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"Oh my god!" you screeched. "I didn't delete that?! I hit send!" You couldn't even meet his eyes now as you tried to figure out how to get him to leave so you could cry in peace.

"Blaze, it's okay," he promised, but you knew it wasn't.

"You were going to delete that message. And the ones you sent to me after it," you accused. "Weren't you?" When he just stared at you silently, you realized he was trying to save you from being embarrassed, but it was way too late for that. He didn't want you. He was never going to want you.

"No hard feelings," he said softly. "Go ahead and delete it yourself. We can pretend this never happened."

"No hard feelings?" you practically wailed, afraid you were going to cry in front of him. "I just ruined everything. You were never supposed to know how I feel about you, Bradley."

As soon as you ducked your head away from him, his fingers were under your chin tipping your face up so you were looking him in his impossibly endearing brown eyes. "I need you to explain this to me. Okay?" He took your phone gently from your hand and held it up with the message displayed. "Please, Blaze. Did you mean it? Is that how you think about me?" When you nodded slightly, he readjusted his hand on your face so he was cupping your cheek instead. "Baby, I followed you everywhere last night. I called you and texted you and rode around in a white Toyota with Julian for hours on end."

"Who's Julian?" you ask softly as Bradley slid your phone into his jeans pocket.

"He's my new friend," he replied, which cleared up exactly nothing for you. "I went on this insane chase from Cowboy Star to Cheetahs to Pleasure Town just to try find out if there was even the slightest chance that you really meant what you said."

He closed the distance between your bodies as he stroked his thumb along your cheek. "It was supposed to be my little secret," you whispered. "I just typed it out to see how it would look. I read it in my head and imagined how you might take it. It was supposed to get deleted. You were never supposed to know."

"Is it really so bad that I do?"

His question hung in the air between you, and once again you nodded. "Yes, Bradley. Yes, because it's going to complicate everything now. Work, and our friends, and hanging out at the bar. It's all ruined. Because you'll never look at me the same way you used to."

"Blaze," he rasped. "Baby, I don't want to look at you the same way I used to. Like I was never going to measure up. Like I could never be what you wanted."

You gasped as your eyes went wide. "What are you saying?"

He groaned and pressed his lips to your forehead, and you melted against him. "I'm saying that I chased you all over the city last night hoping like hell that you meant what you said. And that you didn't regret it."

Your head was spinning, but not from the hangover as you thought about how it could feel to be with this man. "You want this?" you asked in awe as your hands eased up along his chest to slip around his neck again.

"Desperately. And if you think you want to see where it goes, we can take it slow, you know?" he asked, his brown eyes hopeful once again. "We don't have to rush into anything crazy."

But you knew you were already kind of crazy about him. You had been for a long time. So you whispered, "I think I could fall in love with you," and his lips came crashing to yours. You moaned into his mouth. His lips and his mustache were even better than all those times you'd imagined kissing him. His huge hands were bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips. You wanted every part of your body to be touching him from now until forever.

This was how good it felt when you and he stopped pulling your punches. When you both stopped pumping the brakes. You raked your hands through his wavy hair, gasping for breath as you asked, "Did you really try to find me last night?"

"Of course," he promised as you kissed along his mustache and across his cheek. "It was enlightening. I learned a lot about myself. Hey, do you think I'd be a good stripper?"

"God, Rooster," you groaned just thinking about it. "You'd be an excellent stripper."

"I fucking knew it," he grunted, half guiding you and half carrying you to your bedroom. "Listen, we should cuddle right now, but I'm going to need you to come to Hard D Boys with me one night. I'm pretty sure it's just to prove a point, but you never know."

You really weren't positive what he was talking about now, but it didn't matter. His lips were on your neck, and his weight was pressing you down onto your bed, and he was saying the most wonderful thing.

"I know for sure I could fall in love with you."

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

He's such a simp, he would chase you anywhere. Imagine taking your brand new boyfriend to his stripper audition just because he has to prove a point. I mean, I wouldn't complain lol. Thanks for reading! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @thedroneranger

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You know what I think its grossly under-rated in fandom? Second loves.

What it's like to love and lose and then love again. To suffer through either the death of a loved one or the death of a love you used to share. To know that loss, to know that hurt, and to still make yourself vulnerable to someone again. To love scared, to love wounded, to love anyway.

BEAUTIFUL. This was beautiful

Whumptober 2024 No. 1

Prompt: Panic Attack

Warnings: Mentions of torture; anxiety attack

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It happened so fast. 

One moment, you were in the kitchen, preparing dinner—a stew of venison and vegetables. The next, you were crouched in front of Daryl, whispering words of encouragement while he tried to catch his breath. 

Tara hadn’t meant any harm. Over for dinner, she had been rummaging through a box of records—a bonus from a recent run that had gone smoothly. The record player and vinyls had been the reward you had bestowed upon yourselves when you had extra time due to the lack of walkers to dispatch. 

First, to Daryl’s utter joy—expressed by a grunt and appreciative nod—she had chosen Johnny Cash, allowing the record to play through in its entirety before deciding to try her luck with a random choice. The moment the song began, you knew—even before the sound of Daryl’s knife and whetstone clattering on the floor—what would come of it. 

We’re on easy street

“Tara, no!” The spoon you had been using to stir was abandoned somewhere in the kitchen to be found later. Your steps were hurried, finding Daryl with his back pressed against the wall, eyes wide and shining, unseeing. “Daryl. Baby.”

“What’s—I didn’t—” Tara stammered from across the room, her hands flailing uselessly. You waved her off, somewhat urgently. 

“Just turn it off.” Your focus was centered on the man in front of you, his face pale, breaths quick and shallow. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

“Can’t—can’t breathe.” He gasped, a hand coming up to lay against his throat, the other palm flat against his chest. “Don’t—I can’t—”

“You’re not there, Daryl. You’re here. With me.” You yearned to touch him, to ground and comfort him, but knew that he would only flinch away, lost in the torment of those days trapped and tortured at the Sanctuary. “You’re safe.”

“Ain’t—” His breaths were sobbing rushes of air that he thought he couldn’t capture. He was pale, his skin glistening with perspiration. “Y/N—”

“I’m right here.” You followed him as he slid down the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Breathe, Daryl.”

“Can’t—I can’t—”

“You can.” You replied, encouragement outlining each syllable. “Do it like me.” Your gaze honed in on the flutter of his pulse beneath the skin of his neck, too fast. If you didn’t help him gain control, he would pass out. He would be mortified by the display of weakness, an entirely new issue but not a surprising one. Still, if it could be avoided, that would be ideal. “Like me, Daryl.”

He finally dropped his hands, swaying where he sat as his gaze locked onto yours. He blinked hard, attempting to focus. You drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling, slowly for but a few seconds more. Daryl gasped and hiccuped, trying to imitate your efforts with intense struggle. 

“I’m going to touch you, okay?” You said, simultaneously reaching for him. With a gentle but firm hold on his wrist, you placed his palm against your chest and continued your breathing techniques. “There we go.” You whispered. The redness coloring his skin was receding, the strained tendons in his neck beginning to relax. He was wheezing but each hiccuping breath appeared to come easier than the one that preceded it. 

While you continued your gentle coaxing, you glanced at Tara from the corner of your eye and thanked every deity you could possibly recall that she noticed and grabbed her coat on her way out. You didn’t want her to dwell on guilt. You would talk to her later. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” You could have cried when Daryl finally dragged in a deep breath, the fog that had clouded his eyes mercifully receding. He said nothing while all but collapsing toward you, his forehead meeting your shoulder roughly. “You’re okay.” His willingness to lean against you was all the permission you needed to fold your arms around him. One hand cradled the back of his head while the other rubbed circles over his back. 

“M’sorry.” It was barely a whisper around breaths that still seemed too fast but came without struggle. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, Daryl Dixon.” He tensed beneath your touch but for a mere heartbeat. “What you went through was not just cruel. It was barbaric.” You held him tighter and felt his right arm encircle your lower back. “But you survived. You came back to me. You’re here and you’re safe.” Nuzzling your cheek against his hair, you pressed a kiss against the spot right above his ear. He had yet to pull away and buried his face against the junction of your shoulder. 

“Ain’t none’a us safe.” He mumbled, the words muted. He was right, of course. The world that existed didn’t offer safety or security. All you had known since the turn had been running, surviving. Still—

“We have each other, Daryl.” You pulled back, willing him to meet your eyes. It was a struggle for him. He loathed any display of what he thought was weakness, of what was truly just humanity. His gaze was searching, a hint of sadness outlined with something akin to hope. “Isn’t that enough?” You offered. You brought a hand to his cheek, your thumb wiping away moisture there. Sweat or tears, who knew? 

After a moment, he sniffed and cleared his throat, his hand coming up to cover yours. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah. S’more than enough.”