#Who knows when my room will be livable again! And who knows when my house will stop smelling like paint!

[remuslupinfarts]

Genuinely how are some people so incredibly stupid bc like how do you cover all of someone’s belongings in plastic so that they’re inaccessible and not tell them beforehand…I ❤️ construction workers!!

[cloveroctobers]

CUT TIES — Terry Richmond [Fall Crumbles] 🤎

A/N: There’s enough Terry to go around right? This is inspired by two things…OFC a song + taking another chance at writing something influenced by Love is Blind. Who saw that wasteful reunion?! Anyways that is what this is so get ready for angst.

WARNINGS: Reference to a intimate moment but a line at best?

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11:32pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I Need To Hear Your Voice…Can You Call Me?

Was the text message he sent you, which made you let out a long exhale.

11:43pm

TO: T. Richmond

I’m at work T [Deleted] Terry.

11:44pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I’m Aware. I’ll Feel Better When I Hear Your Voice…And I Know You’re Probably Saying That I’ve Got A lot Of Nerve To Say That To You Right Now…Yet This Will Always Be True, No Matter How Things Ended.

You were glad Terry can acknowledge that he did in fact have nerve requesting a call from you, when the both of you already had that final closure conversation weeks ago…however here he was back again, entering your life whenever he pleases.

Picking up your phone, after watching it ring for a while you debated about letting it go to voicemail honestly. You really didn’t need to hear many more angles about whatever situation Terry got fucked over in. Things seemed to be going well lately though, at least that’s what he tried to portray on social media…which was also new for him.

Always the type of man to be lowkey and out the way but after the exposure of being contestants on a certain love show, he stepped out just a little. It was never too much, Terry wasn’t the type of man to be in your face about his blessings but if things went south, then he had no problem stepping to you if common ground couldn’t be located.

“Hey,” He starts, his deep tone sounded as if he was ready to go to sleep, possibly lying down, whereas you were wired on your night shift, “Sorry for bothering you—

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but to let it slip through your lips, “Are you though?”

He hummed, “Nope, can’t say that I am, to be real with you.”

“Well, can’t ever say you failed at honesty.” You replied with a hint of sarcasm which made Terry chuckle humorlessly, “What’s up? What was so important that you needed to be on my hotline right now?”

It was Terry’s turn to roll his natural underlined eyes but he’s not trying to pick a fight or even think about you with someone else, “…the house is too quiet and I couldn’t sleep. The first person I wanted to talk to, to ease the loud silence…is you. I believe that’s how it’s always gon’ be.”

Not long after you called it quits, Terry closed on a house that he’s been eyeing long before he decided to go on the show. It was meant to be if they couldn’t get it sold. He of course talked to you about it once you were out of the pods, saying how some rooms needed Reno and asked your thoughts on if that could be your main home once married. Thankful that you already had your home that you owned at such a young age, You spoke about how much you already invested in your home and how you had no plans of selling just yet even if you two chose to get married.

Which isn’t something that he wanted you to do but questioned how this would work. He wasn’t down with sleeping in separate houses, although Terry knew it would take time to get everything right, the house he bought was livable and he wanted that with you.

Something that Terry always admired about you is, that you had your own mind and drive to do what you felt was best for you. He respected it, had to really learn how to when you said you two needed to put some distance between you after a final argument got too heated.

“…I’m sure you’ll get used to it at some point.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that.”

Terry listened to you sigh.

“I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear but I’m saying it anyway,” you start as you lightly flick your feathered pen back and forth at the desk, “You’re going to have to get comfortable being alone in that house, Terry. I know you’ve been used to being a lone wolf majority of the time…but you officially settled somewhere now and you’re building a life outside of the danger you once knew. Which I’m proud of by the way but you’re going to have to start finding comfort elsewhere or with yourself because I’m not going to provide that to you anymore.”

Terry was afraid that you were going to say this one day. Usually you both were good at having balance when your relationship was solid, giving each other the space needed and showing up when needed. Everything just took a turn once the chaos showed up again at Terry and his cousin, Mike’s business. This was the first time Terry ever lied to you and that came at multiple costs. It blew up in his face because leaving you in the dark and not communicating with his fiancée? led to being stalked and a home invasion that still haunted you.

Terry would always be sorry for that.

From bliss to passion to heat to closure to yearning. It was all stages of what this relationship was, for Terry it was the process of your love story whereas for you, it was part of your origin story.

“What if I say…I’m finding that’s not what I really want?” Terry speaks, “…That I don’t see much of a future without you in it? We talked through that hurdle, we wished each other the best after the reunion but what if that’s not enough for me? What if we’re each other’s best?“

This was another side you predicted would happen. One thing about you is, your mind was always turning just like the earth spinning on its axis. Which took another turn in your argument, speculating things that weren’t true once you found out that Terry lied about some new men targeting him. You predicted that once you both tried to move on and live without each other, the other would crack. It happened before, a month after the reunion when his aunt invited you to her forty-fifth birthday party. Your friends told you not to go and that night made you weak for Terry Richmond.

So weak you couldn’t feel your legs for days, Terry knew your body so well, had no problem burrying himself deep downstairs in his aunt’s basement, green hues trained only on you, while having your legs in the perfect V over his shoulders, and that man was a mountain.

A dangerous one.

Now it was your turn to fully stand on business and the year was coming to a close so you didn’t need Terry to find new ways in.

That was supposed to be understood but you both fumbled that at the party.

You had enough time to figure out what was best. Of course you experienced the what if’s yourself, been as loyal as they came but a structured life of constantly looking over your shoulder was just not it to you. To no longer feel safe with the man you thought you would grow old with. Now you had the world weighing in on what they’ve seen on their tv’s and online—you can handle challenges—you worked as a nurse on the oncology floor, however you have to be smart enough to realize when it was too much and that was enough to walk away.

“At a time we were,” you finally answered before reassuring, “Everything you’re feeling is valid. I hear you. I’ve been there and got through that. You will too.”

Terry’s silence was as potent on the phone as what he probably felt like the inside of his home was. The scratching of the branch that was too close to his bedroom window was similar to the clawing you were doing to his heart. He didn’t want to lose you for good, call him selfish but he didn’t want to just forget the unique connection you built.

Although he felt disrespected with the way you spoke (yelled) to (at) him during your breaking point, he was willing to come back and work through it but ultimately it felt like there was no trust there anymore. Terry did feel like you were looking for a way out because you two were “too” good together, unfortunately this was too big of a situation to come back from.

The stubborn one out of the two, Terry can sense that you already had your mind made up. Two tough conversations were had, one behind the scenes and another for streamers to dissect and formulate their own opinions on, should have been enough but Terry always kept his cards close. You were his most precious one, yet you were telling him how to store it away back into the deck for good.

“Is this really what you want? To fully walk away?”

A hint of annoyance hits you and could be felt as you start, “We went over this—

“So us going two rounds that day meant nothing?”

Sure it did.

“Terry that was goodbye, you had to have known that. The last hurrah. So let me make it clear this time without raising my voice because I know you hate that—and I’ve been working on it—I’m cutting ties.”

Half expecting the line to go dead, you still find yourself holding your breath as the quiet goes deadly silent. Until you hear shuffling on the other end, Terry’s sitting up on the edge of the bed now, feeling a stress headache arrive right on both sides of his temples which then radiate to the back of his neck.

“I don’t want this to come off the wrong way…but I love you. I need you to know that.”

That was obvious but again, sometimes love isn’t enough.

“Don’t do that.”

“What’s that?”

“Trying to find other angles to make this work. We tried after the big argument—that spark isn’t the same and would never be the same.”

Terry huffs, “Maybe we didn’t try hard enough.”

Grasping at straws, was not necessarily in Terry’s nature. He also knew that statement was just not true. Both of you put your hearts on the line and this was something the both of you would have never taken so lightly.

“…don’t let your loneliness overshadow what can’t be managed. We been made our decision but this is me finally enforcing a boundary.” You inhale air through your teeth before continuing, “You are headstrong, very structured and lived a life that I know nothing about if it comes knocking at our door again. What happens if we brought kids into that? It’s not that I don’t believe you couldn’t keep us safe, it’s the fact that our lives would always be at risk even if it’s not something you intentionally brought to the table.”

“We take risks every time we step out the door. That’s what life is,” Terry tried to reason, “I tried to leave the life I lived prior behind me, which is why I like to keep to myself and not open up. You changed that. I know we’ve been over this countless of times…I just don’t know if I’m ready to completely cut the rope. To never have you around is…a scary thought.”

In a minute, it wouldn’t just be a thought.

“It’ll be as if before we met. I’m not saying it’s easy by any means but I’ve accepted the art of letting go. Ending access to each other for real this time, does not automatically mean we never loved each other or there isn’t any more love there. If we fell back into each other, it would be a repeat of all the pieces we wouldn’t want to live with. It’ll be hard to fake and deal with.”

“Deal with?” Terry echoed in a tone that oozed frustration, “I’d be willing to be a team.”

“Then why wasn’t that taken into consideration when those men shot up your business? Or me being stalked by one of those men at work? Then being followed home.” You felt your blood pressure rising at what you thought you forgave—but everything is a process, “Or when Summer and I went out to lunch, just to find out that she knew about the drive by before I did? Or how I almost got ran over on purpose in the parking garage at work? That didn’t feel like team work. I was in the dark when we needed to continue to be a piece of each other’s light from the damn sun rays. Being the last to know often, did not make me feel like a priority. I feel like that part of you, you wanted to shield me from all the time…so now I’m going to be a shield on my terms.”

Terry Richmond never wanted to be responsible for changing the trajectory of someone’s entire life in a negative way. Although you said the love shared wouldn’t just vanish, it did feel like you thought about it and had time to sit on it.

He could make this easy and give you what you wanted, should have and it was once something he actually agreed to. However people change their minds all the time and he never saw himself falling out of love with you.

It wasn’t about being trained, it was about being in love.

He clears his throat, “I had no intentions on making this conversation out to be difficult…I knew I’d get push back, it’s one of the things I love about you,” Terry says, “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you, that your voice is actually what makes me feel safe and probably always will. And that I hope I’d get the chance to love you more in every lifetime. That was part of what I wrote to you in our vows by the way and I still stand by those words. If I had more time, those words would be actions. I’d make up for it, if you just let me.”

Him saying that over the phone, did make you feel a way. It made the back of your eyes burn but the shield was already in the works of being fully up. You didn’t need to hear this, you never doubted Terry’s love for you but it was over, you had the scissors slowly running along what kept you connected. Terry didn’t get the choice to go back on the agreement, yes people change their minds all the time but there was no time to compromise.

“There’s no use in crying over spilled milk, Terry.” Is all you can say, leaving each other to listen to each other’s breathing before the man is finally hit with the call ending.

He’s left holding on tightly to his phone, taking in the sound of autumn’s whipping air outside of his home. Tossing the phone behind him on the bed, Terry gets to his feet, determination shining his in his eyes while he begins to put his mind elsewhere opposed to holding onto you.

As you sat at the front desk, you snapped out of the dissociation that wanted to creep in, to place your phone on charge. Then grabbed onto some scissors returning back to the craft project you were working on to help decorate this level of the hospital for the holidays.

Snip!

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More autumn anthology prompts here.

[doublekanble]

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,��� a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

[blood-red-hummingbee]

The End...?

Three's a good number :)

~~~

It had only been a couple hours, but the sense of relief that rushed through her at returning to Twisted Wonderland was immense. After her first few trips through Dark Mirror portals, the woozy feeling that came with the rush of magic went away. Her family, however, was feeling it heavy. Even the dog!

They had sat down, looking around the Mirror Chamber in awe.

Rose was just reveling in being home.

Her joy didn’t last long though, Crowley sweeping into the Chamber in a flurry of feathers. “Miss. Prefect! What is the meaning of this?!”

She tried her best not to let her dislike of the man show. For three years he’d put off sending her home, to the point that she’d given up. Not to mention all the shit she’s been through because of him. She took a deep calming breath. “I’m back.”

He huffed. “Yes, but why?”

She crossed her arms, glaring at the man. “Because.”

His glowing green eyes narrowed to slits. “Prefect, even my bountiful kindness has limits! It’s one day to graduation! If it were just you I could make do, but you’ve brought people with you! I can’t allow this!”

She grit her teeth. She’d figured there’d be a time difference between the two worlds, but graduation hadn’t been for a week! It’s… honestly better than she’d expected considering time had been frozen before. At least a couple hours in her world didn’t equal thousands in this one. Focusing on her current problem, anger surged up in her chest.

“Are you kidding me?”

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

“Are you actually serious right now?”

She was going to die.

“You horrible, narcissistic prick! I have dealt with so much shit because of you! From the Overblots, to organizing events and handling your duties while you fucked off to God knows where, not to mention the thousands of thaumarks I spent - on a limited allowance, might I remind you - on renovating that dump of a dorm; you owe me so much more than letting me and my family stay in the house that I made livable with my own two hands!”

He was going to smite her on the spot. Bravo, genius, you do the impossible just to die within minutes of returning, stranding your family alone in another world. Fantastic.

She waited for the blow to come, but it never did. Instead, the bird man said, “One night.” and disappeared. Falling to her knees she tittered nervously.

“Who was that?” Her mami asked, a confused look on her face. 

“Oh, no one. Just the headmage.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment, contemplating existence. “I see.”

At that moment, Jack came racing in like his tail was on fire. He immediately spotted Rose, still on the floor, the dog on the lead attached her wrist nudging her worriedly. 

In a heartbeat, he scooped her up, hugging her tightly. Her dog, Loki, started barking, startled by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, but she didn’t pay him any mind, just enjoying being in Jack’s arms again (even though it’s only been about four hours for her).

Behind them, her mother cleared her throat, shooting Rose a look. Oh. Yeah. She regretfully eased herself out of his hold, though didn’t let go completely, and turned to her mami. “Right. So, I remember what I promised, but in my defense, I didn’t two and a half years ago.”

Seeming to just notice the other people in the room (and the dog intensely sniffing his pant leg and shoe), Jack blinked and looked at Rose, confused. “Uh… what?”

She giggled nervously. “Well, I promised Mami I wouldn’t date ‘til I was eighteen. Though, I am almost nineteen…”

Her mami faltered, her face scrunching up. “Right. I forgot about that…”

Rose rushed over and gave her a hug, yanking Loki away from where he was trying to get Jack’s attention.

Noticing the puppy, Jack knelt down and was immediately attacked with kisses. “Ack!”

Rose gave a watery laugh - when had she started tearing up? - and knelt down to help him. “Loki, off!”

The large puppy listened, sitting back and utterly content. She helped Jack up, subtly rubbing at her eyes. “Uh… phew, okay. Mami, this is Jack. Jack, this is Mami, my brothers and Loki.”

At his name, the dog’s tail started thumping the floor, and he yipped happily.

She watched as Mami’s eyes snagged on Jack’s ears and tail for a second, but ultimately regarded him with approval. “It’s nice to meet you. It better stay that way.”

His ears swiveled and his eyes went wide for a moment, but that was all there was to his moment of surprise, before he stuck his hand out for a shake. “Of course. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Mami nodded and shook his hand. “Well. Today has been long, and I’m still unsure it’s even been real, but how about some food?”

~

Wheeee, onto to more brainrot!

@screamintoad, @babyghoul138, @skriblee-ksk, @gimmeurmoneyagh

[ronearoundblindly]

sweet sunday request!

i've been thinking about reader giving Ari a massage. He could be complaining about his stiff shoulders and back (bc he's beefy🤤 or his muscles are sore after a workout) and reader insists to help him feel better.

( I guess reader doesn't have much strength and didn't really relieve the tension on Ari's shoulders, but Ari likes her hand on his back, so it's a win-win 🤭)

and congrats on 600 followers!😘😘😘

Do you know? I never realized until yesterday that I hadn't ever written Ari. (Why???? I've read soooooo much of him.) But I love this. He is a big, burly, beast of a man, and he deserves attention. I originally thought this would wife!reader, but upon further thought, I'm going with best friend!reader and mutual pining...kinda.

Tension (see previous)

Warnings for oh my Gawd this got steamy and I didn't even mean for it to, light/vague smut, some dirty talk that made me walk away from my computer to cool down, hot!Ari you've been warned.

Summary: Your best friend helps you around your new house.

The step stool is wobbling while you carefully unscrew a blown lightbulb. Your body seizes in fear momentarily, and you can't help but grumble, "I don't know how you talked me into this."

"What was that?" Ari calls from the kitchen.

"Nothing, dear," you joke back.

Buy this one, he said. It's a fixer-upper, he said. I'll help.

It's a piece of shit is what it is. The house needs more than just TLC; it needs to be saged and bleached, needs all this horrifying wallpaper stripped off, and needs roof repairs badly. Luckily, it doesn't rain much here, so Ari can wait for that part. The goal today (more like this week) is to make the master bedroom, one bathroom, and the kitchen livable.

Otherwise, your best friend is about to have a surprise roommate because this is his fault.

"Shit," Ari hisses. You can hear a soft bang.

"What happened?" Before you're off the stool, he's poking his head around the dividing wall.

He holds his hand tight with his other. "Nothing," he groans, "just got myself on a nail from the cabinet. Where's the kit?"

"Let me see--"

"No, no, I'm fine."

He flashes a pretty, white smile before his lips curl back down.

"Medicine cabinet." You point across the living room. "Second shelf."

Ari lumbers off to clean up while you inspect his handiwork for the first time.

Say what you will about men's eye for detail, but damn, Ari is babying every surface of the kitchen, smoothing every corner, polishing every inch, leveling every shelf. If the man shows even half this devotion to his own house one day, it'll be the prettiest place on Earth. Also, the man is good with his hands. Hopefully, he's not hurt too badly.

All seems well when he returns though, and you inspect his bandaging to see if he's okay to keep using the hand.

"You wanna take a break?"

Ari looks at you while his hand is palm-up in yours, smirking.

"Maybe just for some of that lemonade in the fridge."

Good because that's 'bout the only thing in the fridge at this point. You tell him to go sit while you rinse out two dusty glasses and pour each of you a serving.

He's reclining on the sheet-covered couch, which is again one of the only pieces of furniture here already, and you hand him his drink.

"Thank you kindly." He gently tips the glass in a toast to you and takes a huge gulp, puckering at how tart it is. That's how he likes it, you know--little less sugar, little more lemon.

He's just starting to sweat through his cut-off shirt, pushing his long hair out of his face as he runs his fingers through it, wincing as the bandaged hand pains him.

You sip your lemonade and lounge on the other end of the sofa. "The fixer-upper fights back, huh?"

"Oh, I'll win the war. Don't you worry," he booms with a cocky smile.

"I'm not," you mutter.

If you can trust anyone in your life to follow through on helping you with such a monumental undertaking, it's Ari Levinson. He's the kind of friend who sticks around. He won't even leave when you two argue, which is borderline annoying, but he is that reliable.

I'm not going anywhere until you see sense, woman.

Granted, half of the time it's Ari who sees sense and admits you're right. That's when he sticks around to apologize and makes sure you both cool down. He's bull-headed and strong, strong like a friggin' ox, so he's--

Ari puts his empty glass on the floor and rubs his neck with his undamaged hand. You can tell by the way his bicep bulges and the veins in his forearm pop that he is using whatever force he can to get at a knot.

"Here, let me help." It's the least you can do.

Sheepish blue eyes flicker over to you. "Yeah, okay." His voice is softer than usual as he scoots forward for you to position yourself behind him, seated up on the back of the couch.

The height gives you good leverage to knead into the taut muscles of his shoulders, but you can't make much headway over the cotton shirt.

"Why are you built like a brick shithouse," you grumble loudly, digging as best you can while he seems barely affected.

Ari snorts. "Thank you?"

You jump off the couch and head to the bathroom. "This isn't working."

He's standing in confusion by the time you return with your bottle of lotion.

"Sit," you insist. "Shirt off."

He flops back down but eyes you questioningly. "You sure?"

For such a big man, he looks so cute when he pouts, so you kiss his temple playfully.

"Yes, I'm sure. How else am I gonna stop you from filing worker's comp?"

That makes him snort again, and he rips the tank off over his head.

Now, you've seen Ari shirtless probably hundreds of times, but there's never been an occasion to touch him other than a bit of suntan oil at the beach several summers ago. Sitting this close behind him gives you full view (and access) to the expanse of his back--

--and hoo boy, is it expansive.

Right at the base of his neck and down his spine, Ari's slippery with sweat, but you add a pump of lotion, working first at his right shoulder and then his left, warming up his muscles and your hands until everything is a bit more pliable.

When you grip and knead at the column of his neck, his head lolls forward and Ari moans, a sound that somehow makes you giggle and clench your thighs all at once.

"Sorry," he mutters, "feels nice."

Seems so, you bite back. Instead, you simply say, "good."

It's indulgent and fascinating to see and feel such strength yield beneath your touch, so you get lost in working his back, his shoulders, his neck, and then his chest when Ari melts backward to lean between your spread legs. You're following the corded bands in his pecs. You've grabbed more lotion three times when he finally breaks again.

"Fuck, you've got magic hands, woman."

Up until now, he's made pleased noises and offered soft praise for your efforts, but the timber of that statement is much lower and undeniably more sexual.

Ari's your best friend, so you know when he's dating someone. You know it's likely been a few months since he last got laid, and since he's a relatively affectionate man, you rationalize that he just can't help his phrasing at this particular moment.

That's what it is.

He's a bit touch-starved, but he's not starving for your touch.

You only realize you've stopped moving when his hand encircles your wrist.

You can't think of anything to say, so your mouth hangs open as you watch Ari crane his neck to look up at you with brilliant, blue eyes.

Don't undo my handiwork, you think. The angle of his head looks uncomfortable, but Ari doesn't move.

You're completely frozen in place, wondering what he's thinking, what you're thinking, if you should be thinking it at all, and then he pounces.

He stands so fast and pulls you so swiftly to him that the couch tips over, and you both land along the back cushions as if they are the seat.

Ari's plush lips and rough beard sear a hot trail across your jaw till he finds your mouth, and that same dirty moan of his vibrates down your own body this time. His hands paw at your baggy work shirt until you feel the textured bandage slide across your bare ribcage. The contact makes you shiver up into his hold and open for him, allowing his tongue in, a gush of arousal soaking your underwear.

Ok, fine, maybe it's been a while for you, too.

Your fingers dig into the lotion-slicked skin of his back while he ruts against you, each roll of his hips pushing your shorts tighter and tighter against your heat.

But the top half of the couch isn't angled for this. You two lose balance and topple halfway onto the floor. The fall knocks Ari out of whatever feral trance he was in, and his hips stop moving.

He buries his face in your neck, panting.

You can hardly hear him say your name.

"I'm sorry, I--" he drags his hand away from your breast to press it to the floor and hold some of his weight "--I didn't want to tell you like this." He won't remove his head from its hiding place.

"Tell me what," you gasp, scrambling to control a frantic heartrate and throbbing core. "That I have magic hands?"

You expect a laugh and instead get a heavy thrust of his pelvis in response.

"Fuck, honey."

Yeah, no chance you're gonna wrangle that throbbing now.

Ari still won't lift his head, but he does turn slightly to suck a mark beneath your ear. The tickling suction makes you keen again, arching up off the floor and cushion enough that his arms thread through the gap beneath you. He has you pinned and wrapped up tight now. You feel him everywhere.

"The times I've imagined this..." His gruff words trail off as he latches another kiss to your collarbone.

Your turn to dry hump him helplessly from below. You're hot all over and about to writhe right out of your skin for more contact.

You swallow harshly, closing your dry, gaping mouth. You have to think while his lips drag up and down your throat, and that is hard to do.

"So what you're saying is--" you take a few big breaths "--we have work to do in the bedroom now?"

Ari groans into your skin.

"Yes," he shouts with elation, using all of those thick muscles to haul you upright.

Your legs cross over his expansive back and hold on as he thunders across the empty house to the lonely mattress beyond.

Buy this one, he said. It's a fixer-upper, he said. I'll help.

Have an idea for a Sweet Sunday Scenario? Send me an ask!

Turns out I wrote a sequel (smutty)! Or you can check out the Bedrock and Blueprints Masterlist.

While I do try to maintain a taglist for series and/or characters, you can also follow @ronearoundlibrary and turn on notifications.

Find a typo? Is the formatting off? Let me know! I’m happy to fix it because English may be my first language but we all make mistakes.

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Find more on my Main Masterlist!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 6

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 5 🍂 Part 7

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: Mostly fluff, some frustrations (we're still remodeling, folks), some angst? We're collectively getting mad at Jules...

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae is now officially so far ahead that I owe her until part 10... You're an absolute powerhouse, babe, keep it up! ❤️❤️

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn

This weekend was going to kill you, you were sure of it. It was Friday, you were free. Jules had taken a day off, so had Sy and Patrick – you’d begged them not to, but they insisted. The shipping company hadn’t been able to find your stuff, and had agreed to reimburse you for the costs of service and the lost furniture. Now, you were left with the lovely task of buying new furniture. Some things you’d been able to order online, but others you wanted to check out in person. Like a mattress. And a couch. That meant you and Julie had some shopping to do, while the boys had agreed to start painting the rooms downstairs - there was plenty of time to take care of the second floor, but first you needed at least one room in that house to feel livable.

“You said what?” You sure were glad Jules thought it was funny. Her hysterical laughter stopped at once when you told her about his reaction – which was probably for the better, because she almost drove you into a ditch.

“Girl, get some!” she practically begged you. “And get this man off my boyfriend’s couch, please!”

“Are you suggesting we move in together?” you asked her sarcastically. Julie did seem to realize that that was possibly a bit more than she could hope for at this point.

“Did anything else happen?” This interrogation was never going to end… You replied by casually mentioning the shoulder-pinching, and the way he’d leaned his leg against yours underneath the table while you’d been eating.

“Ooh, he’s getting touchy!” Julie almost sang the words, and looked very excited. Touchy. That was new and scary. You’d never even kissed him and – Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Julie honking at some douche who cut you off in the parking lot.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” Jules yelled before sighing and turning to you. “Oh well, let’s buy you a bed!”

“Need some help with that?” Patrick called when you and Julie were dragging boxes out of the back of Sy’s truck. It had been a good idea to take that, instead of Jules’ tiny car. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been yours, or even hers.

“Told ya that it wasn’t gonna work with your li’l Fiat, Jules,” Sy teased as he also stepped outside to lend a hand. You threw your head around to tell them they could continue painting, not expecting both of them to be standing there without a shirt on. It was 35 degrees out, sure, but did that mean they had to be half naked? Well, ‘they’… Patrick could be half naked all he wanted, he was taken and – if you had to be honest – a little scrawny for your taste. If you allowed yourself to be superficial, you know. Seeing Sy, however, fuck… He was something else.  The little sneak preview of his abs hadn’t prepared you for the rest of him. Your arms were jelly – in part because they were still sore from the carpet-adventure, and in part because of Sy, who you only now realized was walking over to you, just as the box in your hands started to slip.

“For someone who spends a lot of time yelling at everyone who offers her any help, you seem to get yourself in a lot of situations that look a whole ass lot like you’re in need of some help, Sugar.” He picked up the box like it weighed nothing and winked at you. Or, again, tried to, which made you crack up. Of course that didn’t knock the stupid grin off his face, no. You just knew it only got wider as he walked your stuff back to the house while you just stood there, unable to move, watching the muscles in his back move…

“Earth to Lara?” Jules waved her hand in front of your face impatiently. “Hi, yeah. Thanks for joining us today. Pat and I have some errands to run, you and Sy can hold down the fort here, right?”

“Errands to run? What errands?”

“Someone’s got to pick up your new floors, right?” Jules smiles deviously. Yes, someone had to pick up the new floors, but not them?

“Can't we go together?”

“Let’s see… No.” And just like that, she was gone. Patrick waved with a sheepish grin on his face. You were pretty sure he knew exactly why Jules insisted they go together, and you didn’t like it at all.

“Sugar, can you come lend a hand?” Sy leaned against the door frame, still not wearing a shirt.

“Of course,” you said as you walked towards him.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Oh, great, another cute little nickname to stop your heart in its tracks. Pat called you the exact same names, you knew they were pretty damn casual around here. Then why couldn’t you just take them that way when Sy said it? Sy walked you to the three rooms on the ground floor. He and Patrick had somehow managed to do the work of five men while you and Jules were out. That being said, it probably helped that they were tall enough to not have to step on and off a ladder the whole time. The last room you walked into had the boxes that contained your new bedframe.

“Sy, just so you know, I’m practically worthless when it comes to putting furniture together,” you said. Not to mention you were beyond exhausted at this point, and therefore practically worthless when it came to everything.

“That’s why I’m gonna do it for ya, Sugar, I just need an extra set of hands.” He grinned. You were far too tired to protest, so you just did as instructed while Sy did most of the heavy lifting on putting the bed together. Thanks to Sy, you were done faster than you could have even figured out the instructions. Dragging that mattress to the other room would have cost you your back, but not Sy. You grabbed the sheets from the bag in the kitchen, kicking your stupid air mattress demonstratively before finishing up in your new temporary bedroom. For the first time in months, you had a decent bed, and you were very excited about that. 200 housewife points for you! Sy sat down on the edge of the mattress and bounced up and down for a bit while flashing you a suggestive smile. “Feels sturdy enough,” he said. His smile turned into a grin when he saw you roll your eyes, barely able to control your own face, where a smile threatened to break through.

“Sy,” you said as you took a step towards him, “thank you.” You knew you were about to cry the same tears as you did after that phone call that Sy had handled for you, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. He pulled you in so you were standing between his knees.

“It’s just a bed, Sugar.” It wasn’t. You knew it, he knew it, Julie would no doubt know it if she were here. Patrick would probably be clueless, but that was just who he was most of the time. It wasn’t the bed itself, but the fact that he made you go out and buy it, the fact that he put it together for you. It was the fact he was taking care of you, even though you’d never asked him to do that. You were reminded of a random line from Grease; ‘the only man a girl can depend on is her daddy’. Well you couldn’t even depend on him, so why depend on anyone else, ever? Over the years you’d built walls around the walls you’d built around your walls. But you’d seen Sy with a sledgehammer. You were fucked. You could kiss the independence you’d worked so hard for goodbye. Maybe it was time to swallow your pride.

“I could never have done this without you, Sy,” you whispered. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it louder, it already hurt too much to throw everything you were away like this.

“Know what, Sugar, I think you’re right.” Sy laughed, which you found incredibly annoying. “You think, if I bought this house, that I could have done all of this by myself?” Part of you was convinced he would have pulled it off, but for the most part, you knew he wouldn’t even have tried.

“Thanks, Sy, you’re a great…” Your voice trailed off.

“Friend?” Sy added. His voice was rough, his expression grim. Unconsciously, one of your hands reached for his cheek. The hair of his beard was surprisingly soft.

“Maybe more.” It wasn’t even a whisper, it was just a breath.

“Sugar, if you think this could be something, kiss me.” His eyes were intense, his voice low and gravelly. It was incredibly sexy, and you were incredibly turned on. And incredibly scared. You couldn’t fuck this up again – Jules would have you drawn and quartered, and you’d gracefully accept your fate because you wouldn’t want to live in a universe in which you were so goddamn stupid as to ruin a chance with a man like this twice. The problem was: you couldn’t move. Sy scoffed and started to turn away, you had to do something…

“Sy, I need your help,” you said shyly. It took him a second to catch up, and then he chuckled. A large arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you onto his lap with ease. Your hand was still on his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck. His face came closer, your eyes fell shut…

“We’re back!” The already very unwelcome exclamation was followed by an even more unwelcome shriek.

“Jules, you have the worst goddamn timing,” Sy growled.

[lafseanchai]

Today started nice and cozy, but wow it has ended in total suckage.

I had a slow cozy day hanging out with the greyhound Apollo that I was dog sitting, and doing a few things around the house. Then I went to the comics club meeting and that was fun and relaxing.

As I was just getting ready to head out, my dad text me, asking me to call him. He was doing his normal gruff check in, "you alive?" "I called you, so yeah." He gave me some advice for my furnace now that the weather is getting to get cold. That was fine and cool.

Then he was like, "Oh, and one more thing. You're gonna vote Republican/conservative in November"

My stomach dropped and I just said, "I am not having this conversation."

"We don't have to have a discussion, but you'll vote Republican, right?"

"Okay, fine, we'll have this discussion. You know I won't. The Republicans want people like me and so many of my friends gone. I would like to have a livable planet for the future. And the Republicans aren't going to do that "

"oh, you know that isn't true"

By this point I have started crying cuz I have been scared about the election, and crying is my stress response.

Dad goes and tries to tell me to not cry, to have a thicker skin, that it was a joke.

"It's a joke until it's not! You've heard the things Trump and the Republicans have been saying. You've got to have heard what they are saying in project 2025,"

"oh that's not Trump"

"it's the people that follow him! And if the Republicans get into power, who knows what will happen"

I am not 100% sure what I said to end the call but it was something like "this is why I didn't want to have this conversation, it always goes this way." And Dad saying something about how yeah we won't have the discussion, but that the family loves me and will always take care of me.

I hung up and threw the phone down and cry screamed for a bit.

Then I started driving, blasting music and yelling lyrics and half formed sentences of frustration.

I headed towards the rainbow house cuz I knew they'd let me vent and give me a hug which is what I needed.

I also got Culver's and absolutely just rage ate that burger, fries and custard. This is not a great coping mechanism, I need to figure out how to not eat my feelings. It is something I am working on.

I was feeling better after petting the critters at the rainbow house and getting some validation on my feelings, a hug, and just letting me ramble vent.

Then Dad text me again saying he hoped I wasn't upset with him.

My automatic response was to be like, "no it's fine", but I did not send that text. I sent a much longer text explaining that it sucks that he pushed when I said I wasn't going to discuss politics, it sucks that I am not allowed to bring up politics cuz it upsets people, but that he and everyone else can "joke' about it. About how he did raise me to care about people and the environment and society, but apparently now that concern I have changed shape from what he expected it to be when I was younger, it was suddenly not okay. I said that yeah, I am upset, but I am going to process my feelings and be okay. But it still sucks.

I followed it up with that I did love him, but I also know we're too damn alike in our reactions so he better not beat himself up about this, just think on things. Cuz I was already feeling bad that I had said all that, but I wanted to be honest instead of skinning over a wound and letting it fester.

THEN.

I got into the house, and every goddamn light on the main floor was on, there were dirty dishes in the sink, stuff all over the dining room table. And the roommate in her room, door closed, lights off, apparently asleep.

I have had several conversations about how dirty dishes in the sink are one of my biggest pet peeves, especially when the dishwasher is like two steps from the sink. Just put them in there. I have said to make sure the lights are turned off when you're not in the room, and especially when you go to sleep for the night, cuz there is no point to having them on.

So I am just extra pissed off now.

I have been going between crying and just being mad for a while, though Jax coming to sit on my torso and purr for a bit did help.

Dad just text me back and said, "sleep well my child" and I said "you too"

So hopefully he does think on what I said and doesn't beat himself up, cuz I am trying not to beat myself up for actually saying something instead of trying to be nice.

[caxycreations]

I think I'm going to have to move back to Arkansas.

I fought tooth and claw to get out of there.

Took every ounce of charity I could get, begged and pleaded for help, struggled and bled and sweat and cried to break free.

And it looks like I might have to go back.

Our lease ends in a few months, and I have no idea what happens after that. My roommates both want to move. One wants to move closer to her family in another state, the other wants to move in with his boyfriend, who wants to move to the city near our current house.

I wouldn't be able to live with those two, there's too much sensitivity and discomfort there. I would be bad for their living situation. I'd be poison.

I couldn't live with one without the other. Our habits clash, we're not compatible as roommates, and it only works out because our other roommate is there to mediate and help us collaborate.

I can't get a job, I've been trying since I moved in here in January. I can't do it.

I can't earn enough money doing what I want in life. The only people who bother paying me for my art or anything else are a very small handful of close friends, and it's not enough to live off of.

Which means I can't live alone, I can't afford it.

And if I can't live with either of my roommates when they go to their respective places...

And I can't live by myself again because of a total lack of ability to make reliable, livable income...

I have no choice but to go back to Arkansas, don't I?

Back to Mom's, her sunroom, with the broken door and the winter cold and summer heat with no insulation, the constant harassment by anyone and everyone, being made to let everyone use my room as a hallway anytime anything happens, being reprimanded at every turn for trying to be my own person...

Or to Dad's, with the roaches and the mosquitos and fleas, the dirt and dust and grime and filth, the mountains of old clothes nobody will ever wear again, and junk tools long since forgotten, being lectured on every little thing, listening to rants about mom being awful, listening to shouting and yelling every time my little brother visits him...

...I don't win.

I can't win.

I never, ever...win.

I lost, living with them growing up.

I lost, moving in with a girlfriend that didn't love me.

I lost, proposing to her knowing she didn't love me.

I lost, moving into my own apartment after she kicked me out.

I lost, moving out to save cash by living with Dad to avoid bills.

I lost, moving in with Mom to avoid Dad.

I lost, moving in with my friend.

I lost moving in with my boyfriend.

I lost moving back in with Dad.

I lost moving back in with Mom.

And now I've lost moving in here.

...And I'll lose again, moving back to Arkansas.

Keep losing.

Stay losing.

...I'm not allowed to settle into a physical home.

I'm not allowed to know the security of four walls I won't have to leave.

But I'm not allowed to travel or use that impermanence to my advantage.

I'm not allowed physical comforts. Why should I be?

I gave up my right to that when I was a teenager.

[lenniharrisonsims]

Behind The Scenes...

Winden Palace, Windenburg, 9:28am

Part III

Jonas: *sighs* Alright, Captain, let’s go.

Cptn: Sir. *looks at Emma*

Jonas: You can say anything you need to in front of my niece. Princess Emma is very wise for her years.

Cptn: Very good sir. If you’ll follow me.

*they begin the walk into the palace*

Cptn: We had quite a big staffing problem when we first got in here- many had quit your father’s employ. He was reportedly cruel.

Emma: Doesn’t surprise me.

Cptn: So we’ve done what we can to get this place back up and running for your return. We’ve hired a housekeeper, Mrs. Fleming, and she’s been working overtime for the last week. She’s very good, if I do say so myself. Whipped the staff we do have into shape, reorganized the management, and crafted a short list of candidates for other positions she would like you to look at.

Jonas: Good. I’d like to look at those, actually, and I want a full report on every member of staff here, every delivery person, and independent contractor. Full background checks, especially if they worked for my father.

Cptn: That’s a lot of work that I would spare you, if I could, Sir. You have staff for that.

Jonas: At least for now, in the beginning, I need to know everyone here is loyal to us. My father was a hateful man, who inspired hateful ideals. It’s my responsibility to keep my nieces safe from anyone who may want to harm them in my father’s name. I don’t want any conspiracies under my roof.

Cptn: Of course, Sir. I understand. I’ll bring you those reports asap.

*They walk inside, staff are busy cleaning*

Cptn: I apologize for the staff still cleaning, Sir. Your father neglected the care of this place during the last few years, and there’s a lot of work to get it livable again.

Jonas: I don’t mind, whatever they need to do.

Cptn: We should also discuss your… other relatives?

Jonas: Who?

Cptn: We have the… Queen? Adelheid, and Princess Margarette in custody here, under house arrest in their rooms. As well as Isabella Bray and her younger son, Austin Fitzroy.

Jonas: I think, until I make a decision, we’ll refer to them as Lady Adelheid, Ms. Bray, and Mr. Fitzroy. Margarette is still the daughter of a king, so you can continue to style her a Princess.

Cptn: Very good, Sir.

Emma: Uncle Jo, I think I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.

Jonas: Of course, do you know where-

Emma: I’m going to Mamma’s room.

Jonas: Right. Of course. Rest well.

*Emma heads upstairs*

Cptn: So your decision about Lady Adelheid-

Jonas: I haven’t made a decision. I need to think about it, consult advice. Until then, keep them here, please, but treat them all well. They’re… guests… not prisoners.

Cptn: Of course, Sir.

*Jonas & Captain Finlay enter the office*

Jonas: …

Cptn: Sir?

Jonas: I think first order of business is removing that portrait, Captain.

Cptn: I completely understand. I’ll get on it right away, Sir.

*Captain Finlay leaves*

Jonas: What am I gonna do…

Part III

[project-v175]

Out On A Limb

Brutal fighting. That's what the wizarding world had succumbed to. Violence. All her life, she had only known the peace of magic. That changed when she became an apprentice at the ministry. She wanted to be an auror. She wanted to restore peace. He who shall not be named had ruined everything for her, and it needed to be set right. Nothing felt normal for her.. not until him. Chapter 16: Months

Venus sat in her room. She was no longer in the House of Black. Her home had been cleaned up rather nicely. The workers who came to her aid even offered to help her finish renovations. The house was finally livable, physically. Mentally, she couldn’t stand the place. The walls were always too close. When she stepped outside, the world spread out so far she couldn’t find the oxygen in the air. Being in the water wasn’t helpful either. The darkness made her shudder, cold water only worsened her mood. When summer came, there was minimal relief. Warmth flooded her home for the first time in months. The warmth never lasted long. She fled her home during the nights, using the time to hunt down Deatheaters who had escaped the wizarding war. 

Each mission was the same. Intel. Hunt. Fight. Prison. Repetition became a two-faced friend. There was a comfort in the motions, one that let her know she had made it yet another day without dying. No matter what injuries she gained. No matter how many times she had to go to St. Mungo’s because her mermaid body couldn’t heal the way a wizard’s body would. Venus had earned a massive collection of scars. A couple burns, over a dozen cuts, and a handful of bruises remained on her skin at all times. Anytime she thought she was finally able to wear a dress again without looking as if someone had gotten up close and person with her, she was thrown across a room or grabbed harshly enough to leave a mark. The pain was welcomed on most days. It made her feel something. Something other than numbness. Something. Pain reminded her she was alive, and that was what mattered. For the most part. She was alive. If you could call the gaunt, pale creature she had become alive. Venus avoided the Ministry of Magic building like the bubonic plague. Seeing Alastor was painful enough. Seeing the guilt in his eyes.. The guilt he had since that night. Since he had left her to her own devices. He wouldn’t even answer the letters she sent him. She had went to St. Mungo’s a few days after Alastor left. Creech had done a good enough job at making sure she didn’t die, but the concussion still needed checked out. A clean bill of health sent her right to work. No congratulations. No mentor to hand her the first mission. Straight to work. A file in her mailbox was the first indication that she was meant to move on. Not that she was capable. Every night was miserable. She missed those breakfast conversations. The quick banters and brief glances. Her life had grown so.. Dull. Alastor was all she could think about anymore. She saw him in the hall occasionally. Even got stuck in an elevator with him once. He wouldn’t spare her a glance. The one thing she craved from him, his acknowledgement, had been denied. So she kept to work.

One particular morning, she stared at her empty mailbox. Untouched for three weeks. That’s how long it had been. Was there no more work? Was the work too difficult? Was she.. Loosing her job? She couldn’t have been. The door opened and she turned, meeting one of her coworkers with a practiced smile. 

“Question. Have you seen anything in my mailbox?” Venus pointed to her mailbox. Her coworker cocked their head. They took their own mail, sorting through a stack of paperwork, mail, and other papers. “Yeah. I was in here yesterday. There was a folder in there. Did you not get it last night?” Venus stood, wide-eyed for a minute. “A folder? Like an assignment? No, I haven’t seen anything for three weeks.” Her coworker shrugged and left. Someone had her work.  She spent the next week coming in early in the morning. Even right as the mailroom opened, her mailbox remained empty. So they were coming in late at night. Wrong. The later she stayed, the less she saw, and the less sleep she had to function from. Money was still coming in regularly. It was like whoever had her work was giving her the money for the missions they were completing. She stepped foot into the mailroom one more time. She waited for hours for anything to slide in, to appear out of thin air. Then something did. A small brown owl fluttered up to the mailbox and tossed in an envelope. On it, was Venus’s full name. The writing was messy and scribbled in a hurry. She opened the envelope, pulling out the wrinkled, stained sheet of paper. The only words written were “House of Black. Sunset.” 

----

Author's Note

Hi everyone! I know it's been a LONG TIME. Like. A long. long time. Uhh- quick update. I had a lot of physical therapy that took a ton of class time and my writing time. My back and hips are better now, but still not fully functioning bc my nerves were 100% fucked. I'm back though! Out of high school, working my big girl job, and getting ready for university. I have a lot my time now and two chapters written in advance. I've got them scheduled to come out next week.

V-175, signing off.

[kiarathefox]

prime numbers

2: I drink both tea and coffee, I prefer coffee tho, love my bean soup. I take it almost anyway that involves milk. Hot/Cold latte capp flat white. If it's good coffee I don't need sugar. My tea is just kinda english breakfast with milk. I like Spearmint as well.

3: "Scream" from Final Fantasy XIV, free to play up to level 70 including award winning expansion stormblood

5: I usually do sleep with my plush Eevee, Blahaj and Bulbasaur, but recently I've had to give them up because now that I'm moved in with my gf, there isn't enough room in the bed for me, my gf and the plushies. When I upgrade to a bigger bed I can have my beloved plushies back :3

7: Usually, the minimum possible. I live in a hot country and I NEED to be cool when I sleep. But during winter I like 2, because of the addition of a weighted blanket. I LOVE sleeping with a weighted blanket.

11: Blue babyyyyy

13: Abandonment is the biggest one, I have severe issues with being left behind, it happened alot growing up, I had a bunch of friends just exclude me or straight up ditch me. It has led to a terrible habit of overthinking every negative interaction, and thinking I have to be a "perfect" friend or else they won't want to be around me anymore. The other crippling fear is bees/wasps, I have such a fight or flight reaction with them, such an overwhelming fear for something so small. Maybe me being attacked/chased my wasps when I was small affected that.

17: I already have ear piercings, tho I only just got them a year ago after I started transitioning. This revealed that I can't easily get piercings because of the medication I am on, nor tattoos. Because they just won't heal. Either way I don't think I want anymore piercings, but I might just have to miss out on a tattoo :c

19: I have 3 people whom I consider best friends. Two of which I retained from primary school, and one I met early in high school. The high school one has become a brother to me. Which is funny to think that he only had sisters, then finally got me as his bro, then a few years ago I turned around and went "ummm, I'm a sister too actually." Gottem

23: Kind of yeah. I like to think there is some other life out there. (I mean of course right? Even if a planet that's livable like Earth is an incredibly rare thing it COULD happen more than once) BUT I think it might be more likely that we came about so early in the universe's life, that we could be long gone before another civilisation finds us.

29: I either make snap decisions without thinking about it, or if I do make the mistake of thinking about something too long, I'm stuck in an endless loop of indecision until I break down over it.

31: Distant future? God I don't like thinking ahead too much, I think because most of my life I've had nothing to look forward to I guess. In a couple of years I hope to have a permanent home and a pet again. Is that something?

37: Ahh the classic.. I grew up with both and really have no preference for either one. I am very playful with pets, so I would have an inclination towards dogs, but I can still grab my cat and wrestle it with my hand just as well. Plus both of them are capable of being cuddly, or even go off and do their own thing for a bit. I'll put it this way. If I am living alone, I'd prefer a cat, for more peace of mind and less maintenance.

41: I CANNOT PICK ONE FAVOURITE WTF! I'll list a few "winners" My fave recent one would be "The Owl House" My fave older one would be "Avatar: The Last Airbender" And My nostalgia pick would be "Teen Titans"

43: One younger sister. Bit of a rat, especially in her teen years but she's grown, gotten better. We are slowly rebuilding our relationship but I really struggle to trust those who have hurt me in the past. So while I don't know how she feels about me exactly, I kind of have her at arms length for a while.

47: Yeah, muscle memory and all that

[renee-writer]

Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Forty

AO3

Many hands make light work is true. Within months, the main house and several smaller structures are made fully livable. They are living like their ancestors, without electricity.

 

Candles and gas lanterns light their way. They have a few torches for emergencies but use them sparingly, as no batteries are being manufactured for them. Water is heated over open flames. It is used for bathing, cleaning clothes, and dishes.  Cloth nappies flap on the lines. Those will be increasing and soon with Charlie near term and Asha expecting her first.

 

Jamie’s priority is Charlie and William.

 

“They will be here soon.” He exams her in the clinic they made by the main house. Then he brings William in. The poor lad is bone white. Heather comes over to him and takes his hand. Charlie, to her credit, offered to let him off the hook. She told him that she could, with the support she has, do this alone. William, to his, rejected her offer. “They are my children. I will help see to them.”

 

Now, with their births approaching, Jamie wonders of he is regretting that. It is as if he spoke aloud for the lad says, “ We will be ready.”

 

“Speak for yourself. They have to come out of me.” Her eyes are wild, her hands run through her dirty blonde hair.

 

Heather moves to her, taken one of her hands and soothing it down in hers. “Yes, and you can do it. Your body is made to do it. We will be right by your side.” Charlie tries to smile at her, her mouth half way turns up.

 

“Thanks. You know my mind knows it but…”

 

“It is a hard thing. Something you don’t know how you will do until you are doing it.”

 

She nods.

 

It is only a few nights later when a frantic knock comes to Jamie’s door. Claire, nursing Mac, pushes him. “It is for you.”

 

He raises when he hears his wife and William ‘s voice. He and Charlie are sleeping in the same room, on separate beds. The lad is saying, “It is time!”

 

“Aye, lower your voice. No need to wake the entire household.”  Most of the people live in the big house. Jamie, Claire, and their children plus Faith, share one floor. Jenny, Ian, and their children, with Daniel with them part time, share another.  Simon and Heather and their daughter are in half the bottom floor. Charlie and William the other half with room for their coming children.

 

As for the others, Asha and Danny have a small croft where they await their own and co-parent, Daniel. Murtagh and Mary share another with Alex and Naomi, and Fergus, who chose them as parents. Well, they choose each other.

 

The other building is the clinic/ hospital/ birthing center. That is where Jamie brings Charlie and William after rousing Heather.

 

“You are at five centimeters. Definitely in labor.” He announces after examining her.

 

“Bleeding hell this hurts!” She calls out, bent over her heaving uterus. William reaches for her hand and she slaps him.

 

Heather, sterilizing the equipment that might be needed, sees. “Don’t touch her unless she asks you to. Talk to her but stay silent if she requests it.”

 

Both healers see clearly and starkly, in that moment, how young they both are. William’s voice has yet to crack and Charlie, for all her bravado, is still only fourteen. Yet, they will soon be parents. All they can do is guide them into it as easily as they can and be there for them.

 

It is a long night that flows into a long day. They walk her around the building and then grounds to encourage the ebbing and flowing contractions.

 

“Is there something wrong?” she asks at one point, as they walk around the garden under the raising sun.

 

“No, you are still contracting and dilating. First babies can be stubborn about coming out.”  Jamie assures her.

 

“I don’t want to be cut open.” She says before the force of her pains pull her back again.

 

“We are no where near that.”

 

As the sun goes down and she remains at the crusp of seven centimeters, He and Heather whisper together.

 

“Can we even do a C-section here, under these circumstances?” She asks him.

 

He has been thinking about it for a minute. He believes he can. It will be dangerous for Charlie. He has to weigh that danger with the danger of letting her go on as she is. Fetal heart tones are holding steady as is her own and her blood pressure. If either change…

 

“Let’s give it a bit longer.”

 

“I know but just a bit more.” All changes a few moments after their conversation. Suddenly, her pains were coming one atop the other. Thirty minutes later, she was at ten. Pushing now.

 

“I am to tired. I don’t want to.” She whines, lolling back against an equally weary William .

 

“You must. Now, up and bare down like you have to poo.” Heather pulls her up and, with a groan of protest, she does.

 

“Wonderful. Almost out. Now pant like a dog for a moment,  good.” Jamie sweeps out the infant’s mouth and nods, “ now push and your first born will be here.” A grunt and she feels the giving way. Jamie holds the lad in his arms.

 

“What is it?” William asks, straining to look around her.

 

“You have a son. He is braw.”  The baby is pinking up. His face screws up as he prepares to yell.

 

“A son! Oh Charlie, we have a lad!” He is handed to her. She exams him and smiles, for a second, the pain is forgotten.

 

“Hi. I am your mammy. Yeah I know. I would wail too. Your daddy and I aren’t  very old but…”

 

Tears fill her eyes and William takes over. “We will do our best to see to you.”

 

An hour later, she cradles her son and daughter. One of each. Exhausted but happy it is over and they are both healthy, she gives them her first meal as William, proudly sits beside her.

[moonieshinesims]

Generation One - Chapter Fifty Four

Big things are happening for Roh and Cassandra. River and Ichiban too! What with the new business proposition from Arakawa. Were they ready to take those next steps though? And where in the world has Havarti gone off to?

Just recently, Cassandra had finished the "passion project" she'd been working on in their backyard for the past few years. She told River she was going to take it into space on a mission, but she was pretty hush-hush on the details.

River wasn't sure why Cassandra needed stuff from space, but she figured Cassie would tell her when she was ready.

Meanwhile, Arakawa-sama had sent over the details to Ichiban and River about the facility that he'd purchased for them.

River couldn't go inside yet, but from the outside, she could tell that it was going to be bigger and more amazing than she could even imagine! She wasn't sure what she was going to do with all the space... Thankfully she'd have Cassie and Havarti to help her fill it with stuff.

Havarti hadn't been around in a while. She disappeared after telling them she was working on a secret project, so River hoped she was alright.

She wouldn't be seeing Cassie for a while anyways, since she was going off into space, so they would have to talk about their plans when both of them returned from wherever they were.

River and Ichiban did get a visit from Roh and her new girl Yelena.

The two of them had news that they were getting eloped, and were moving into a house right down the road together!

River was happy to see Roh actually happy, enamored and smitten. All the ways she could describe being "in love".

And the vines...! How could River keep forgetting about them? They'd appear for a little while, then disappear for months. Just long enough for River to forget they existed.

Something about them though seemed so alien. So powerful. River wondered if Cassie and Havarti had the technology to study them in their new place...

If they could tap into the power that controlled them, they would be a very powerful company of villains indeed!

Months had gone by and finally Cassie returned from space. She looked strange though, and said she was exhausted. She retreated to the room she'd taken from River back when they swapped, and hadn't been seen since.

Havarti did call though! She told River she'd be able to come back home soon and she hoped that she hadn't missed her too much. River mentioned the new facility and Havarti nearly busted her eardrums from screaming in excitement.

River supposed that was a good thing!

But of course, setting up the place was going to be the first step. Getting everything ready to be livable and stable for Michiko to come join them.

River was going to have to call in another favor.

Ako arrived to the house unsure of what River was going to ask him to do this time.

And when she revealed it was watching over Michiko, Ako was shocked.

"Why don't you ask your mother? Your sister? Anybody but me?! I still look like a teenager! Why are you asking me to do this?"

"My mom's getting old! And my sister is... Well, she's a troublemaker. I can't expect her to be a good influence on Michiko."

"And you think I will be?!" Ako was still dumbfounded.

"You can keep her safe. You may look young, but you're like, what? In your..."

"Seventies, technically." He sighed, "I guess I am the best pick of the litter considering I don't know who else you'd ask..."

River pleaded with puppy dog eyes until he agreed.

"You are going to owe me WAY more than blood this time though! Way more!" Then he poofed into a cloud of smoke and flew away.

Michiko still didn't know what was going on, but could sense some type of tense-ness from her mother. It made her uncomfortable, and of course, in toddler fashion, not understanding feelings or having any way to express confusion, she started being grumpy again.

River knew she shouldn't laugh at her, but she couldn't help it.

She was going to have to enjoy her last few weeks with her daughter before they moved off to the facility. She hoped it wasn't going to be a long time before they could be reunited... But when it came to her luck, she wasn't thinking on the bright side of things.

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

What to be When I Grow Up

From a young age, I knew I would always be poor. I loved too many artistic paths and made peace with the fact that they wouldn’t bring in much of an income. Granted, neither does working a normal people minimum wage job, but I digress.

Fashion designer: I love clothes, I love putting together outfits. I also loved the concept of designing whatever I wanted, whatever I couldn’t usually find in stores. I wanted also, to create styles that fit larger body types or, at the very least, curvy ones. Then I realized I had to know math… which I don’t.

Interior designer: organizing is a desirable pastime for me. I thoroughly fancy fitting items in my house into the perfect spots. I enjoy making livable spaces in less-than-ideal places. I find it satisfying to turn a room into a home. I still dream about doing that with a future home, and I dreamt about doing it for the homes of others. Then I realized I had to know math… which I still don’t.

Manhunt participant: I vaguely knew of the show Manhunt, but I really wanted to just play the game for a living. I wanted to run around in the forest and hide and climb trees and bound over mud and dive into thorny crevasses. I knew this wasn’t exactly a realistic option, but I could still hope.

Actor: I did an acting program after graduating for three months. I had an agent. I went to three auditions, though one was for a magazine shoot and only one was for a show. The agent dropped everyone on his roster to pursue making youtube movies, whatever that means. I decided against moving to Vancouver when I moved out because the pandemic was beginning and I didn’t want to be alone in a city as the world went to shit. I also knew that since it’s so ungodly expensive there, I’d have no time to go to auditions since I’d be stuck working multiple jobs to pay my rent.

Digital artist: I still hope to do this one someday, I just cannot afford an iPad right now. I love drawing and creating and have a lot of interest in animation. Maybe when my brain starts working and my wallet stops crying, it could become a reality.

Author: Again, hoping to do this one someday too. Just need time and a working brain. I have three books in my head, probably around eighty characters now, a show, a soundtrack, and many spin-off side-quest stories within the existing fictional universe. I have all the things in my noggin, just no noggin fuel to get it all out.

Dancer: I was always on and off with this one. I’ve done dance for twenty-one years but I don’t have a lean figure, I like food, and I never really knew if I was good at it or not. In the last year, this occupation’s spark has been rekindled, for now I know I’m good enough, I know people who think I’m worthy, and I know I can keep improving. The only thing holding me back is my deteriorating body, but once I figure out why I’m suffering, dancing is first on the list.

So there you have it, my answers to “what do you want to be when you grow up?” They haven’t changed, I’ve had the same hopes and dreams for more than a decade. I still want to gallivant in the forest, design my own clothes, decorate my house, act in fascinating shows, draw fanart for my unwritten book, and dance away my chronic pain. If I have a high school reunion, I’m curious to see how many of these dream occupations I’ll have crossed off my list.

[caxycreations]

New Housemates are fucking stupid. Both of them.

My roommates and I took in more housemates. There's a baby, a kid, and two adults. The reason is they got evicted and have nowhere to go until June.

They're SUPPOSED to be staying in the garage, which we specifically set up to be livable for them.

I was in the restroom, and the guy walks up to the door, stops, and yells out "Baaabe, there's someone in the bathroom...I think..." and walks away before I can confirm. A second later, the woman comes up, knocks on the door, I confirm, and she says "Yeah, there is someone in the bathroom!"

As if the guy couldn't knock himself to check

A second later, I hear the woman say, in a panicked voice, "Are those cameras!?"

For context, my VR Base stations that track my full body trackers are still mounted to the living room walls, we haven't moved them yet.

The guy goes "Nah babe those are monitors for a VR headset, they keep them from going outside the barrier so they don't go too far and get hurt."

She storms over (literally stomping) to my roommates bedroom door and full-on cop-knocks (you know the knock... BANG, BANG, BANG, POLICE, OPEN UP type knock)

Roommate answers and she goes

"Are those cameras in the living room!?"

Guy, in the background, AGAIN says they're VR monitors.

My roommate confirms this.

Woman goes "Oh, okay."

Followed by them trying (and failing) to say quietly "We probably shouldn't go any further" to the guy, who responds with "Given the circumstances, yeeaahh" while laughing.

WERE THESE TWO ABOUT TO FUCK IN OUR LIVING ROOM??? ON THEIR VERY FIRST DAY HERE??? WHAT THE FUCK?

She ignored him twice even though he (sort of..) knew what the base stations were, and only accepted it when my roommate said the same thing. And what did they decide not to do?? What "further" were they going to go to had that not happened???

THEY HAVE A BABY. AND A CHILD. IN THE HOUSE WITH THEM.

Fucking hell, they were evicted for being behind on rent and on top of that they can't even CONSISTENTLY take care of their kid, but still wound up having ANOTHER baby anyway. Irresponsible, stupid motherfuckers...

[naughtyneganjdm]

Trapped

Summary: After Negan and Maggie become trapped in a home from The Reapers' attack on the group, they are forced to be together to talk about the tension going on between them.

Characters: Negan & Maggie

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33529606

Warnings: Swearing, smut, mild dubious consent, rough sex, hate sex, etc.

Notes: This was a request. At first, I thought it was a joke, but when the person wrote me very kindly to ask me for this, I agreed. I know Negan and Maggie as a couple would enrage a big part of the fandom. If that's you, just don't read the story. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I hope the person who asked me for it enjoys it. Warning, this does have some spoilers from the end of episode 2, in case you haven't seen the episode yet.

“Come on,” Negan called out, waving his hand on when he made it to the broken-down home that he had found with Maggie while running away from the attack that The Reapers brought down on their group.

Clinging desperately to the door at his side, Negan waited for Maggie to catch up and the moment she made it into the home, he slammed the door shut behind her. Immediately locking up the door, he reached for the nearest china cabinet that was right beside the door to block off the doorway. Testing the weight of the cabinet, Negan made sure it would definitely be hard for someone to open the door. There was no way someone could open that door without struggling to do so.

The windows were already boarded up and Negan moved over toward one of them to look through the gaps that were there to see if they had been followed. Thank God, it seemed like they had snuck away without being spotted. Then again, these people were good. They could be out there and they would have never even known it until one of them got hit again. Fuck. How did he get stuck in a situation like this? He knew that he should have said no when they asked him to come on this trip. For some reason, he just felt forced into trying to continue to prove his worth in the community. Then again, if he would have said no to begin with, he was certain they would have forced him anyways. There was no way that Maggie would have let him stay back in Alexandria. There was a reason he was here and he knew that by now.

After standing there for a few minutes to make sure there was no movement in the distance, it seemed like they were safe and Negan took a moment to finally catch his breath. “I think we are safe. For now.”

When he turned on his heel, he let out a grunt when he saw that Maggie had her gun raised once more at him. It was pointed directly at his face and Negan held his hands up in the air defensively. “What now?”

“You made me leave them,” Maggie scowled, her face scrunched up in rage making Negan theatrically bob his head before lowering his hands at his sides. An irritated smirk pressed in over his exhausted features and he shrugged his shoulders. Here they were again. He did something right and that led him to having a gun pointed at his face. This seemed like it was going to be a never-ending cycle between them. “I could have saved Agatha. We could have helped her.”

“If you didn’t leave and I didn’t save you, you would be walker food right now too,” Negan snapped, his eyes narrowing while he stared out at Maggie. There was tension in the air. It wasn’t the first time she had that gun pointed at him today and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. “Instead of letting you die, I saved you. Your friends…all of em’, they are dead. There was nothing you could do to save them. You would have lost your life if you would have tried.”

“Those people were like my family. It should have been you out there instead of them!” she declared making Negan mutter something under his breath and roll his eyes when she said that. Somehow, he managed to save her life and he was still the bad guy. If he did something wrong, he was the bad guy. If he did something right, he was still the bad guy. There was no escaping this tiresome cycle. “They were some of the best fighters I knew.”

“Well clearly it doesn’t matter how good of a fighter you are when it comes to these people. You are dealing with master tacticians here Maggie. If you would have stayed and I didn’t do what I did, we wouldn’t be having this little stand off right now. You would be dead if I didn’t do what I did,” Negan pointed out, wiggling his fingers between the two of them, his eyes big with annoyance. “I made sure that your little boy just might have a chance that his mother might return to him after all of this.”

There was a deafening silence that fell over the both of them and Maggie’s eyes narrowed. A moment later her gun lowered. At this point, he was just getting sick of constantly being threatened with death even when he was doing something morally right. Negan wobbled over to the stairs to see that the upstairs area was blocked off. Checking the rest of the house, Negan confirmed that they would be safe in the small living room that they were locked up in. Everything else in the house appeared to be locked up very well.

A pained wince fell from his throat when an ache flooded down his right leg. Looking down toward his leg that had gotten injured in the attack, Negan could see the blood that was seeping through his pants. After the injury, he had wrapped the bandana around his leg to stop the bleeding, but who knew if it was actually fucking working. It burned like hell.

“This is your moment to relax. Gather yourself. In case they find us again. ‘Cause we are either going to have to run like hell or fight back,” Negan instructed, nodding over toward one of the chairs that was in the corner of the room. Instead of listening to him, she simply glared at him and Negan threw his hands up in the air. If she wasn’t going to take the time to do it, he was. “Or just ignore me. It’s not like I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about or anything.”

Moving over toward the corner of the living room, he dropped down in the corner to rest himself. Clutching tightly to the tire iron in his hands, Negan surveyed the dark room around them. The lights from the cracks in the boarded-up windows is what filled the house with light and he grumbled to himself. The house looked like it had seen better days. The green walls had dirt caked on them and there was a smell of mildew that lingered in the air. A floral chair was sitting upright in the corner and Negan found himself surprised that even though this place was a mess, that it still looked somewhat livable. Setting the tire iron aside, Negan tried to give himself a moment to let the tension from his body leave him. If he continued to be anxious, he knew it would make him fuck up. In order to get through this alive, he knew that his mind needed to be clear.

Loud, uneven breaths fell from Negan’s throat. Dropping his head back against the wall, Negan bit down firmly on his bottom lip and groaned when he felt the pain radiating from his leg. Clearing his mind and thinking of a plan was hard to do with the immense ache. Lazily, his eyes opened and he could see that Maggie was looking him over from where she was standing by the window. Her eyes locked onto his leg and the expression over her face was cold.

“I hope it hurts,” Maggie slurred after finally moving over toward one of the seats at the other end of the room and it made Negan crack a smile after she said that. Nodding, he looked down toward his leg and let out a grumble.

“It does. You’re in luck,” Negan sneered back knowing that things had been tense since the subway station between the two of them. Well, hell…they were always tense. Just not trying to save Maggie when she slipped undoubtedly made everything worse. It felt like only a minute had passed before Maggie was getting up from where she was seated to pace through the living room. She was looking from window to window as if trying to come up with a plan. “You’re going to wear a hole in the damn floor with the pacing if you keep that shit up.”

“Do you ever shut up?” she jeered and it made Negan snicker. Part of him wanted to be a smart ass and give her the answer he often would others, but instead he stayed quiet. “I’m trying to think of a way to go back. Maybe one of them…”

“None of them made it out Maggie. They are gone. You saw it. I saw it. Pretending that you can somehow save them is only going to get you killed. We need to move forward,” Negan instructed, swallowing down hard. Visibly she hated the answer, but so did he. The more numbers they had, the better chance they had against The Reapers. It was just the two of them and they had no chance of making this work. “Before we keeping moving, we first need to take a few minutes to gather our strength. If we run on empty, we’re just going to be easy targets for these people. You saw how easily they killed everyone. We have no chance just the two of us.”

Instead of listening to him, she continued to stare outside the cracks in the window. With a frustrated grunt, Negan reached to pinch at the bridge of his nose and shook his head, “You know, just because you hate me doesn’t mean you have to be stupid. Sometimes I know what the hell I’m doing and saying. I could be helping you here.”

“You don’t care about helping,” she yelled at him from where she was standing by the windows and Negan dramatically threw his hands up in the air before rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit.”

“You’re right. I don’t give a shit. If I didn’t give a shit, I would have left you to die! I didn’t!” Negan maintained, his eyes getting dark with anger when he rose his voice back at her. “I am so sick of you people telling me how I feel and what I’m doing when my actions are going against what you are actually saying. You’re right, I left you there at the subway train, but let’s be honest you would have pushed me off the fucking thing if roles were reversed and you fucking know it.”

There was a silence and her face twisted with an emotion he couldn’t quite read. Lifting his finger, he spun it in the air and pointed at her, “Exactly! You would have and you know it! But I just saved you a few minutes ago. I could have just left you to die and then I would have been fine. You would have been out of my life and I would have been so much safer. Yet here we are after I just saved your ass!”

Maggie’s face twitched in irritation after he said that and a defeated breath fell from her lungs. She moved over to the opposite side of the living room and dropped down in the corner facing straight at him. Her bright eyes glared out at him and pierced through him making an uncomfortable sigh escape his throat.

“Listen,” Negan panted, still trying to catch his breath. His heart was hammering inside of his chest and he reached up to wipe at his face with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry that your friends died out there. I know that…”

“Don’t,” she held her hand up in the air to cut him off, to keep him from saying anything else. “You’re not someone who is sorry. You may have saved my ass. Okay. But you’re not someone that is sorry. If you were sorry, you would have already apologized a long time ago. You’re a cold, dark piece of shit. Where your heart should be is a blackhole of emptiness. So don’t sell me that you are sorry.”

“Are you talking about Glenn?” Negan inquired, his thick eyebrows arching up when her head tilted to the side. Yeah, he fucked up knowing that she hated even the sound of Glenn’s name falling from his lips. “What would apologizing for what I did to Glenn do for you?”

“Shut up,” she demanded and Negan shook his head, his loud breathing filling the air around them. “Don’t say his name.”

“Are you telling me that saying I’m sorry for what I did to Glenn would make you feel better?” Negan pushed the subject harder and his voice filled with just a little bit more venom. Her body locked up upon hearing his words. Shaking his head, he bit at his bottom lip and threw his hands up again. “Me apologizing would do absolutely nothing for you Maggie! It won’t bring Glenn back. It won’t make up for the pain and the agony I caused you. It won’t bring your little boy’s father back…”

Almost immediately Maggie stood up from the ground and stomped over toward the corner where Negan was to whip the gun against the side of Negan’s face again. This time it connected hard enough for him to get a bloody nose. The taste of his blood over his lips was enough for him to prove that. Instead of moving, Negan watched as Maggie brough the gun up to point at him again.  

“I don’t know what you want me to say Maggie. Do I regret what I did? Every fucking day of my life. I didn’t know you were pregnant, but at the time I didn’t give a shit. I saw a group that killed my people and I was out to get revenge. I thought back then the man I became was the man I was supposed to be. I was wrong. I didn’t think about the awful, horrible things I was doing, but me apologizing is not going to make up for the things that I did,” Negan insisted with a sadness in his tone, his hazel eyes almost tearing over as he spoke. “I still did those things. Yeah, I’m the not man I used to be anymore. I hate what I did to people. I hate the man I became. I hate the person that I was. I wish I could go back, but I can’t. But what good would apologizing do? I can’t change what happened. I took the person you loved away from you. I can’t make up for that. I never will, no matter how hard I tried.”

There was rage in the way that Maggie was breathing, her finger was over the trigger and Negan’s bottom lip was trembling while he stared up at her, “So am I sorry Maggie? Yeah. I’m sorry. But does it change the way you feel about things?”

Maggie’s whole body shook while she kept the gun raised up and when she lowered the gun to look away from Negan, he cleared his throat. Pushing the blood away from his nose, Negan knew that it hurt like hell, but there were other things on his mind. Inside of his chest, he could feel his heart pounding away, but he knew that he needed to get it off his chest, “If you find peace in killing me, then do it Maggie. Do it now. Get it over with. I’m accepting of it. This cat and mouse game of constantly threatening me is helping neither of us. I’m trying to be a better man and if the threat of death is over my head all the time, then what’s the fucking point? I know you hate me. If killing me…”  

“Shut up,” she lowered down on her knees and he heard her shuddering breaths filling the air. Uncertainty filled his body at how to handle this whole situation. Getting up from the corner of the room, he moved across the room and knelt in behind her. Placing his hand over her shoulder, Negan for some unknown reason even to himself was attempting to comfort her. “Don’t…”

“Listen, I know you’ve lost a lot,” Negan began and he felt the power of her turning toward him knocking him over onto the floor.

Scrambling backwards toward the corner of the living room where he was originally, Negan knew that he wanted to let her have her space. God, that was a stupid idea. The stare she was giving him made him cuss to himself when she took her time walking over toward where he was seated. Looking up at her with his big eyes, a grunt escaped his lips when she smacked him firmly across the side of the face.

“Do you ever shut up?” Maggie repeated an earlier question, hitting at Negan’s face over and over again. Lifting his hands up, Negan tried to block his face, but her hits lowered to his chest and instead of fighting those, he let her do it. The face he wanted to keep safe so he could still think with his head when the time came, but if beating on him helped her release whatever was going on…he could handle a few bruises. “Do something!”

“No,” Negan shook his head with a grimace when she hit him determinedly in the center of the chest. There was confusion that flooded her face. A loud grunt fell from Negan’s throat when she reached out to slam her hand into the center of Negan’s throat making his head slam back against the wall. A pained sound fell from his throat that was replaced with shock when he felt her lips over his. The kiss was rough, but Negan didn’t react to it because he didn’t know what was happening. Frozen, Negan was utterly confused with her actions while she kissed at his lips with quite some strength.

When Maggie pulled away, Negan’s eyes narrowed out at her and he cleared his throat uneasily. Staring in Maggie’s vibrant green eyes, Negan knew that she was still furious with him. So, what the hell was happening here? Did he just picture that whole fucked up scenario in his mind? “What’s going on here?”

“Just, shut up Negan,” she demanded, her hand still sturdily placed over the center of his throat and Negan hummed when her mouth covered his again.

Part of him was fucking terrified still. How couldn’t he be? It just had been so long since he had the soft caress of another pair of lips over his. Because of that, his better judgement was slipping away. Gradually, he started to kiss Maggie back. The adrenaline was flooding through his body while she kissed him. There was a need to want to reach out and touch her, but he kept his hands firmly at his sides. Just now, he wasn’t holding back in returning the gesture with his lips against hers.  

“Fuck,” Negan growled out when she bit at his bottom lip and tugged on it with her teeth. Wincing when she looked him over with her big eyes, Negan didn’t know how to respond. Was that her angry at him for kissing her back? Was that her way of being rough? Pretty much right now Negan was staying still because he didn’t want to make the wrong move. His breathing had gotten louder and he watched her shift over him. When her hands reached out for his belt, he finally lifted his hands to grab a hold of hers. “You don’t want this. You don’t.”

“For all you know the two of us could be dead in the next few minutes Negan,” she reminded him and his eyebrows arched in curiosity when she said that. Sure, that would usually make someone look at sex differently, but sex with Maggie made him think he would certainly be dying within the next few minutes. It felt like some kind of trick from her end. “Now do us both a favor and shut the hell up.”

Against his sense of logic, Negan lowered his hands and watched her pull apart the belt in his pants. Truthfully, his breaths were panicked ones. Biting down on his bottom lip, Negan adjusted his hips when she struggled to get the material of his pants apart. When she got the zipper down, Negan felt her hand pushing beneath his pants to grab a hold of his manhood to pull it out into the cool air surrounding them.

Looking down, he watched her hand pumping over his length clearly working to get him hard. Licking at his bottom lip, Negan didn’t know if he should be asking her what was on her mind. Was she going to get him hard just to cut it off? At this point, that’s what he thought she was doing. So yeah, he probably sounded like a scared little bitch, but he was. With his dick out and his enemy being the one in control of it, that wasn’t exactly something he was comfortable with.

A deep rumble of a moan fell from his throat when his body reacted to the firm grasp her palm had wrapped around him. Even frightened he was getting hard and he cussed to himself wishing like hell he wasn’t having this reaction. Involuntarily, Negan’s hips arched up toward her closed fist that was pumping over his length. Damn, he wished this didn’t feel as good as it did. The moment was horrible. They had people after them. They needed to be quiet, yet here Maggie was giving him a hand job. That in itself was confusing enough.  

“Fuck,” Negan grumbled, his throat flexing while watching the determination in her eyes. Even though he tried to force himself to be quiet, muted moans fell from his throat. Dropping his head back, short jolts of pleasure filled his entire body and he didn’t know how to react. When he was completely solid in her grasp, he let out a wince and bit harshly at his bottom lip. “What’s happening here Maggie?”

Silence. Nothing in return to his question. Looking down toward his lap, Negan gulped loudly. There were a lot of thoughts running through Maggie’s mind. She wasn’t saying anything, but he could tell that there were so many things she was thinking about. The look in her eyes told him that. Maggie bit at her bottom lip before getting up. Pulling her jacket from her body, Negan watched it drop to the ground and his throat went dry. When she reached for her pants, Negan felt a warmth flood throughout his cock making him grunt. There was no lying that his body was excited at the idea of sex with the incredibly beautiful woman before him. Just, he kind of wished he knew what the hell the outcome of this was going to be.  

His thick eyebrows bounced up in surprise and a panicked exhale escaped his throat. Maggie was swiftly tugging at the material of her pants after she kicked out of her boots. When she kicked the material aside, Negan felt his mouth go dry. Licking his lips, he let out a shuddering breath when she moved in over him.

“Maggie?” Negan tried to get her to look at him to find some kind of reason as to why this was all happening. Reaching out, Negan tried to grab her face in his palms and she slammed his hands back down at his sides. Obeying, Negan kept his hands down with tension in his body. When she crawled in over him, Negan let out a sigh. Reaching down, Maggie pushed the material of her panties aside and Negan couldn’t help but steal a glance. Noticing that she was getting more comfortable over him, he couldn’t keep the idea that this was fucked up out of his mind. “Wait, are you sure about this?”

“What? You don’t want this?” Maggie reached up with her right hand to grab a tight hold of Negan’s throat again, putting a tiny amount of pressure on the soft spot at the center of it. Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his throat and his teeth gritted together. “That’s a shame. I thought you might be the kind of guy that likes to be dominated by a woman.”

“Well, yeah…” Negan stammered, his body quivering when he felt her warmth hovering just over him. In another world, yeah, he would have jumped right into this. No questions asked. Maggie was fucking beautiful. But knowing their past, knowing what happened…he was having a hard time having this all make sense. “I’m very interested, but I just…”

“Then sit back, shut up and enjoy it,” she ordered and Negan’s jaw flexed when she reached down between them with her free hand to caress over Negan’s solid form. Lifting her hips up, Negan kept his eyes hooked with hers. When the tip of his cock traced through her folds, a moan fell from his throat and his eyes got heavy with lust. “For the first time I think you’re speechless Negan.”

A grunt fell from Negan’s parted lips when Maggie lowered her body down his length. The sound of Maggie’s gasp filled the air and he felt her fingers clinging tightly to his shoulders when she attempted to brace herself. Damn, Negan wanted to touch her. To put his hands on her hips, but this was all Maggie.

Attempting to look down at her body lowering down over his length, Negan felt her bang his head back against the wall again making him hiss when she did it. Tugging her fingers through his hair, she demanded his eyes to be hooked on hers. The warmth of her surrounding him was almost too much to take. Watching her lips part and her eyes come to a tight close, Negan felt his heart pound harder inside of his chest. God, he was looking at Maggie in a new light and he had no idea where this would leave them afterwards.

By the time she lowered over him completely, Negan lifted his right hand and slid it in over her side. Grasping loosely to her body, he was surprised that she didn’t force it back or yell at him. Maggie adjusted herself over Negan, trying to find the right positioning to keep herself comfortable before her hips started to raise over his length before lowering again.

There was a fire flooding Negan’s veins while he watched her face scrunch up. She was taking her time getting used to his body and it was causing chills to run through his whole body. Grunting, Negan felt Maggie’s nails biting into his shoulders from where her hands were grasping firmly at his shoulders to help her movements over him.

Each roll of her hips over him had started to become more confident. The rocking of her hips up and down had become steadier, fluid movements. They had to be quiet, he knew that, but he couldn’t help the occasional moans that fell from his throat while Maggie had absolute control of his body. This was something he could never even imagine in his dreams. Even in his dreams he would have known better, so whatever was happening now was a mystery to even him.

“Maggie,” Negan spoke her name and she hushed him, lifting one of her hands to place it over his mouth. Each thrust down over him started to get more powerful and his eyebrows clenched. Pulling his head away, he wondered if she was thinking of someone else. With her eyes closed, he didn’t know what was going through her mind. Leaning forward, he claimed her lips in a kiss and it seemed to shock her when he did it. Negan was unsure of himself at first, but the more she seemed to get into it, the more he did as well. Brushing his tongue between her lips, he flicked it faintly against hers before growling out when he felt her dominant movements over him. “Fucking hell…”

Maggie was rough. She was using him the way she wanted and there was no fooling anybody. This wasn’t out to be romantic. This wasn’t out to be a gentle moment between the two of them to fix what had been happening. This was a hard fuck and she was using his body the way she damn well pleased.

Hissing out, he felt her biting into his bottom lip again and undoubtedly this time she broke the skin. Curling his fingers around the back of her neck, Negan let his thumb drag over her throat and down her jawline. There was a darkness in Maggie’s eyes that he hadn’t quite seen before. He hated to admit it, but he liked it.

Going to speak up, Negan felt the firm smack of Maggie’s hand against the side of his face and he made an angry sound. Instead of saying a word, Negan powerfully wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her in firmly to him. Using his strength, he helped her bounce her hips over him. Their breaths became more frantic when they started to work together. Another firm smack filled the air after she hit him again, but Negan took it. This was hate sex. That’s what she wanted, so what the hell? Negan was going to give it to her.

Starting to thrust his hips up from underneath her, Negan was matching her movements over him. Each time he would buck upwards toward her, a whimper of sorts would escape from her throat. Kissing her again, Negan knew that they were attempting to be quiet. The last thing they needed was walkers hearing them and drawing them to the house. Then it would certainly lead The Reapers to them.

The sounds of their bodies smacking together were loud. Maggie was grasping to him tightly, trying to take control of the moment, but Negan kept bucking his hips up toward her. Maggie’s body froze over him and he could feel her nails digging into the cotton of his shirt. Keeping up with the movements of his body beneath her, he watched her eyes slam shut. Her palms dropped to press in over his abdomen as if to try to stop his movements. Maybe she didn’t want to have an orgasm because of him, but Negan picked up on the want of her body and continued to use his power to thrust up toward her repeatedly.

With a cry from Maggie, Negan pulled her to him. He felt her body start to tremor and shake over him. His mouth covered hers and he felt her forcefully pushing into his abdomen to get him to stop when she reached that orgasm he had worked so hard to build up inside of her. With shaking, tremoring thighs and her body flushed, Negan took his time to admire the woman he knew fucking hated him over him. If things were different, he could easily find himself getting attached to a strong woman like this, but their pasts would make it impossible. The natural glow she had after having an orgasm made her look stunning to him. The hate still lingered in her eyes, but the pleasure laced into her expression turned him on so much. Visibly, it seemed like she was not exactly happy with herself that Negan had been able to make her climax, but her body certainly enjoyed it.

By the time she finally shook the feeling, her eyes lifted to his and she looked angry. With a firm shove, Negan’s back hit the wall again. Her right hand pressed in over Negan’s mouth and her left reached back to brace herself over him. It was the hurt leg she grasped to and Negan immediately let out a pained sound against her hand that was covering his mouth. Using the stability she had in the moment, she sturdily brought her hips over his again and again. It was hard to focus on what he was feeling most in the moment. The pain from the injury she was digging her fingers into or the incredible amounts of pleasure she was drawing out from inside of him while she had her way with him.  

Growling against her hand, Negan’s eyes slammed shut. There was a fire burning in the pit of his stomach and he felt the muscles in his abdominal area start to flex. Desperate moans began falling from Negan’s throat when he could feel his orgasm approaching with her forceful movements over him. A frustrated, mumbled sound pressed against Maggie’s hand when she lifted her hips from Negan before he could cum. Her fingertips wrapped around the tip of his penis where the head met the shaft forcing him to hold back on his orgasm. A pained yelp fell deep from his throat when his body was absolutely ready to fall apart.  

God, she was fucking torturing him with this. When he was denied his orgasm, she crawled back in over him and with ease her body slid back down over his. Shakily, Negan reached for her hips and tried to help move her over him so he could work his body back up to that pleasure point. Almost immediately though, she reached for his hands and forced them back against the wall over his head. Holding tightly to his wrists, Maggie continued to control the movement over him and Negan cried out into her mouth when she began to kiss him again.

“Please…” Negan begged noticing that her movements were rough until she felt him tensing up beneath her. Whenever he was close to coming, she would stop all movements and it had him a shuddering mess. Negan wasn’t one for begging, but his body was tingling. Everything was eager for a release of some kind, but she wasn’t allowing it from him. “Maggie, please.”

“It hurts to want something so bad, doesn’t it?” she hovered her lips over his and Negan’s eyelids were heavy with lust. There was a want in his eyes and she knew that she had him in the palm of her hand. “To be controlled in every way possible.”

Negan didn’t say anything, he just desperately tried to move his hips, but she had the power and the strength over him right there. Maggie’s eyes were locked on his. The grasp she had around his wrists was getting tighter and Negan’s lips parted. He was panting, his chest rising and falling repeatedly.

“I asked you a question, does it hurt?” she repeated what she had said and Negan’s head fell back. His eyelashes fluttered and he felt her adjusting his wrists so she had them hooked together with one of her hands over his head. Using her free hand, she smacked at the side of his face again making him grunt before she grabbed a tight hold of his chiseled jaw. “Speak when you are spoken to Negan.”

“Yes,” Negan finally gave in and gave her the answer that she wanted to hear. She was using his own words against him and he was picking up on all of the hints. “Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot.”

“Good,” she nodded her head, keeping her hips still over his while he remained inside of her. “Now beg me. Tell me you want to cum.”

“Please Maggie,” Negan felt her smack him again and he winced when she did it. The side of his face was starting to burn, but the sensitivity of his body was increased from it. Her beating the hell out of him surprisingly turned him on more than he expected when her hips started to unhurriedly move again. “Maggie, I’m begging you…”

“Do it better,” she demanded with another smack and Negan felt her hips starting to bounce powerfully over his extremely aching body. He was ready to explode and he knew that. It wouldn’t take much more. His body was shaking beneath her. His thighs were tremoring and his thick jaw flexed.

“Please, I’m begging you with everything that I am, let me cum,” Negan whimpered and after a few more steady movements over him, Negan threw back his head and let out a roar of a moan. His jaw dropped, his body shaking when his orgasm started. His hips eagerly bounced up toward hers and he was surprised how good his release actually felt. When she stopped moving over him, she dropped his wrists down and firmly shoved his head back again. Pulling her hips away from Negan, he cussed out a slew of incoherent words while she shakily pulled herself back and away from him. “Fuck me.”

Licking his lips, Negan looked down at his aching body and felt butterflies in his stomach. No one had ever taken control of him like that before and he found himself in awe of Maggie. When his eyes connected with hers again, Negan could see that she was fixing her panties and reaching for her pants. While she was still sitting on the ground, she was tugging her pants back up her body.

It took Negan a while before he could even gain the strength to pull his pants back together. Pushing himself back beneath the material, Negan started buckling them back together and his throat went dry. Doing that had Negan looking at Maggie in a new light and he was surprised how just having sex with her could affect him so much.

Almost immediately, Maggie had herself put back together and she was looking out the window again. On wobbly legs, Negan managed to pull himself up and finish putting his pants back together. Taking the time to gather himself again, Negan moved across the living room and reached out to try to touch Maggie’s shoulder.

“Maggie…” he wanted to find out what that was. Yet, he felt her pulling away from him.

“I still fucking hate you Negan,” she informed him, looking over her shoulder at him and Negan’s jaw flexed upon hearing her say that. “I want you dead and it’s still taking everything inside of me not to kill you. It was just hate sex. That’s all it was. It’s changed absolutely nothing.”

“Okay,” Negan simply responded knowing that sadly, it changed some things for him. It wasn’t like he was in love with the woman before him, but he definitely was starting to see her in a different light. While he wanted to talk about what just happened, he knew better than to do that. She was done with it. She didn’t want to talk about it, so it was best for him to forget it. That was probably half the torture in itself. It was something he wanted to think about. It was something that felt so good, yet she didn’t want to acknowledge what happened. That was torture in itself. “So, what’s the plan boss?”

Maybe it was for the best for Negan to forget this all happened in general. Hell, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that, but this changed nothing for Maggie. And no matter how much he wanted there to be something more to this, he knew there wasn’t. It simply was what it was and nothing more.