#concrete fixing bolts

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

👍 Wedge anchor All production processes are inside our factory

[chericos]

SHUT UP AND DRIVE CHAPTER ONE: gear up

masterlist. || 2.2k

The scent of gasoline filled the garage. Sunlight streams through the oversized glass doors, pooling onto the polished concrete floor and glinting off the sleek frame of your car. Your pride and joy—a beast of a machine with a matte black finish and deep pink accents—sits waiting for your attention. Tools are scattered across the workbench nearby, a chaotic mix of wrenches, sockets, and screwdrivers, each coated in a fine sheen of oil.  

Hunched over the open engine bay, you work with the kind of precision that comes from both necessity and obsession. Your hands move deftly, tightening a bolt here, testing the throttle there. The faint purr of the engine vibrates through your chest, grounding you in the present for the first time in weeks. For a fleeting moment, excitement stirs in you. It’s familiar. Comforting.  

The peace doesn’t last.  

“You know, hiding in the garage isn’t going to fix everything.”  

The sharp voice startles you, and you glance toward the open doorway. Utahime stands there, clipboard in hand and exasperation etched across her face. Her sharp, professional outfit—a deep navy blazer and pinstripe slacks combo—looks wildly out of place against the gritty backdrop of the garage.  

Without looking up from your work, you twist the wrench tighter and mutter, “I’m not hiding. I’m working.”  

Utahime steps inside, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Hiding. Working. Same thing at this point,” she says, her tone dry. “You haven’t been to a single event since the... incident.”  

The word makes you freeze, it barely lasts a second, but it was just long enough for her to notice. Gritting your teeth, you keep your focus on the engine. “Can we not call it that? It’s not Voldemort.”  

“Fine,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to call it? The breakup heard ’round the racing world? The reason you’re trending on Twitter every other day? Because that’s what it is to everyone else.”  

Setting your wrench down with a clang, you finally meet her gaze. “I’ll show up. I always do.”  

“Oh, really?” she says, arching a brow. “Because last I checked, showing up means more than tinkering with your car like it’s a safety blanket.”  

“It’s called preparation,” you counter, the bite in your voice sharper than you intended.  

“Preparation for what?” Utahime throws her hands up in exasperation. “To stay in here forever?” Her tone softens as she lets out a sigh, but the frustration lingers. “You’ve been cooped up here for weeks. You can’t half-ass this season like last time. Le Mans isn’t just a race; it’s the race. No more late-night runs for thrills, no more headlines about your ‘personal life.’ Focus.” Racing isn’t just about the car. It’s about you. Your mindset, your presence. And right now, the scouts for Le Mans are seeing someone who’s gone completely radio silent.”  

You groaned, reaching for the rag to wipe your hands, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I am focused. Just because I’m not making dramatic speeches about it doesn’t mean I’m slacking off. And just because I’m not broadcasting my every move doesn't mean I’m “radio silent,” 

Utahime arched a skeptical brow, glancing over her clipboard. “First qualifiers are next weekend. Maki’s already clocked two practice runs, and Nobara’s been studying every corner of the Le Mans track like it’s her SAT. Meanwhile, you’ve been—what? Fixing your car?”  

“Hey, Camie is more than a car. She’s a masterpiece, and now she’s offended. We’re focused, stop worrying.”

“Focused,” Utahime repeated, her skepticism dripping from her voice. “Focused would mean you’re out on the track, working on your times, not holed up in your fortress of solitude.  

“Maybe I like my solitude,” you mutter, tossing the rag onto the workbench, a pout making its way onto your face.  

“And maybe it’s not doing you any favors,” she fires back. “Look, I get it. The whole thing with Megumi—”  

“Don’t.” Your tone is sharp, cutting her off mid-sentence. The room feels heavier now, the words hanging unspoken between you. “This isn’t about him.”  

Utahime’s expression softens, but she doesn’t back down. “Whether you want it to be or not, everyone else has made it about him. About you and him. If you don’t remind them why you’re you, you’re going to lose control of the narrative. And worse? You’re going to lose that Le Mans spot to him.”  

Now that… that hit. You clench your jaw, glaring down at the open hood of your car as if it might offer some magical solution.  

“I’m not going to lose to him,” you finally say, your voice low but firm.  

“Then prove it,” Utahime challenges, stepping closer. “Because Megumi’s out there training like his life depends on it. He’s not distracted by social media, drama, or whatever it is you’re doing in here. He’s racing. And you? You’re stalling.”  

Her words sting more than you care to admit, and for a moment, silence blankets the garage. The hum of the engine seems distant now, overshadowed by the weight of her honesty.  

Finally, you sigh and slam the hood of your car shut. “Fine. I’ll hit the simulators later. Happy?”  

“Ecstatic,” she deadpans, though there’s the faintest hint of relief in her expression. “But don’t just hit the simulators. Go upstairs. Talk to your team. They’ve been trying to drag you out of this funk for weeks.”  

You smirk faintly at her choice of words. “I don’t do funks.”  

“Call it whatever you want.” She gives you one last pointed look before turning to leave. “Just show up. That’s all I’m asking.”  

As her footsteps fade, the silence of the garage settles in once again. The car gleams under the sunlight, a testament to your meticulous care—but it isn’t enough. Utahime’s right. Racing isn’t just about the car.  

Grabbing your (empty) water bottle, you take a deep breath and head toward the house. It’s time to face the world, whether you like it or not. And you were going to show them that you’re better than ever.

You push open the door to your house, stepping into the chaos you call home. The sharp scent of motor oil clings faintly to your jacket, but it’s quickly replaced by the clean, crisp scent of the indoors. The foyer opens up into a spacious living area with polished marble floors that gleam in the soft sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The stark white walls are adorned with framed posters of old racing events, rock concerts, and abstract art, all splashed with animal prints and neon pink. At the center of the room sits a large black leather couch, adorned with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over one arm and mismatched pillows shaped like skulls and roses.

The coffee table is littered with evidence of your late-night antics—half-empty energy drinks, stray playing cards, and a small stack of glossy magazines featuring you and your teammates in various articles. In the corner, a tall, potted snake plant struggles to survive, its leaves curling as though begging for more attentive care.

The open-concept kitchen flows seamlessly into the living room, with gleaming black marble countertops and pendant lights hanging from above, their matte black and tarnished gold fixtures adding a touch of flair. A pink neon sign reading "Eat Fast, Drive Faster" hangs over the stove, casting a soft glow across the room. The place is clean—for now—but the faint smell of burnt toast lingers, evidence of Nobara’s recent cooking attempt.

The grunge charm extends to the little details: a shelf near the staircase crammed with trophies and medals, the pride of the team, and a mishmash of knick-knacks—a chipped pink skull figurine, a tiny replica of your car, and a Polaroid of the team from your first big win, framed in black. 

As you step further into the house, the faint thrum of bass from Nobara’s room upstairs mixes with the sound of simulated engines roaring from the game room. Somewhere, Panda’s deep laugh echoes, followed by the unmistakable crash of something heavy hitting the floor.

“Who broke something this time?” you call out, kicking off your boots by the door and hanging your jacket on the hook labeled ‘Speed Demon’—a label you swear you didn’t put up.

In the kitchen, Maki is sitting at the counter, sharpening one of her knives with a whetstone. She glances up as you walk in, her expression as sharp as the blade in her hands. “Just your ego, probably,” she says with a smirk.

“Still babying that car of yours?” she teased as you walked in.  

“Better than babying a weapon collection,” you shot back, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “What’s the deal with the knives anyway? Planning on taking out the competition?”  

“Just prepared for anything,” Maki said with a smirk. “You could learn a thing or two about that.”  

You smirk, walking away from the fridge. “You’re hilarious. Keep working on that. Maybe one day you’ll have fans like mine.”

“I don’t think I want any of those. I’ve got a blade and a flawless record.”

“Good for you, Miss Terminator,” you shoot back before making your way to the living room. It’s alive with energy, the heart of your chaotic little universe. You settle onto the black leather couch, its cold surface softened by the worn-in comfort of the pink throw blanket and a plush skull pillow you hug to your chest. Nobara is sprawled across the opposite end of the couch, her legs dangling lazily over the armrest as she scrolls through Twitter. Panda is cross-legged on the shaggy pink rug, fiddling with a miniature die-cast model of your car, occasionally making it "zoom" across the table to annoy Nobara.

Maki—finally leaving the kitchen—has claimed the pink velvet armchair in the corner, her posture rigid and imposing as she continues sharpening her knife. 

“Did you see what people are saying about you and Megumi?” Nobara says, looking up from her phone with a grin. “Twitter’s on fire about you two. Apparently, someone spotted him at the circuit yesterday, and now everyone’s debating who fumbled who again.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “Can we not? I’m tired of hearing about him.”

“Oh, come on!” Nobara teases, tossing her phone onto the coffee table. “You have to care a little. The people want to know: did you dump him because he couldn’t handle your vibe, or did he dump you because he realized he peaked?”

Panda snorts his laugh so loud it startles Maki, who glares at him. “I’m Team Megumi fumbled,” Panda announces, raising his hand (paw) like it's a vote. “The guy’s too moody to handle someone like you. You’re all speed and chaos. He’s... whatever the opposite of fun is.”

“Broody?” Nobara suggests.

“Exactly.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for the support, Panda. Super helpful. It’s totally not like you know the whole situation firsthand.”

“But,” Panda adds with a mischievous grin, “you did ghost him at that after-party last year. So maybe it’s mutual fumbling?”

“That party doesn’t count,” you retort, throwing the skull pillow at him. “I had better things to do than listen to him complain in the corner all night.”

“Like what?” Nobara smirks, dodging the pillow Panda tossed her way.

“Win a race, maybe?” you reply. “Something he didn’t do that night, by the way.”

Maki lets out a sharp laugh from her chair, finally looking up from her knife. “You’re all idiots. Who cares about whatever high Twitter wants to get off on? Just get over it and focus on the qualifiers.”

“Thank you, Maki, the only voice of reason,” you say, raising your water bottle in a mock toast.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Maki responds. “You’ve barely touched the simulators, and from what I hear, Megumi’s been practically living at the circuit. If you don’t get serious, he’ll wipe the floor with you.”

The room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound is the faint bassline of Nobara’s playlist drifting from the speaker.

“I’m not worried about Megumi,” you say finally, your voice steady. “He can train all he wants. I’m still faster.”

Nobara raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. Instead, she leans back, stretching her arms over her head. “Alright, enough yapping. Let’s hit the simulators. If we’re serious about this season, we need to start acting like it. And Y/n, if you’re not on that track tomorrow, I’m dragging you there myself.”  

You give her a halfhearted grin. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I’m calling dibs on the first run.”

“Dream on,” you say, standing up and tossing the skull pillow back onto the couch. “If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”

“Oh, so now you’re serious?” Nobara teases, following you toward the stairs.

“Always was,” you shoot back with a smirk.

The energy shifts as the team heads upstairs to the simulator room. The playful banter fades and it's replaced by the sharp focus that comes with a race. Even with the change in vibe, the camaraderie is there—an unspoken reminder that, no matter what happens on the track, you’ve got each other’s backs. There’s only one thing left to do.

It’s time to gear up.

break room!

I still suck at dialogue... but there is SLIGHT improvement (I think)

anyway! the break room is just gonna be the teams' hobbies!

maki has a knife collection, she guards them like they're hr birthed children. no one knows what she uses them for...

nobara runs a youtube channel, she mainly does blogs around the house but sometimes she streams game nights

panda has an insane amount of pokemon cards. he has pushed people on the streets while trying to find them on pokemon go (yes this is based on one of my friends)

megumi was definitely only at the circuit trying to get over it

get ready to turn on the ignition

taglist!

@brideads @sweettenderheart @sh0ot1ngst4r @bertqut1 @favbisexualh0e @Fushiguruzzzz @anonymity222 @harryzcherry @Janneeeexdxc @veevei @lightshowerrr @jasminasblog22 @gumims @samshine03 @yeehawnana @starrysho @1l-ynn @dovellici

if your tag isn't working please fix your settings or you will be removed!

also please comment if I can use you as a twt user!

[mysicklove-main]

“You’re staring again,” The low voice accuses from underneath the car. You watch his hand pat the concrete, searching for his toolbox, before quickly grabbing the wrench. His hands are black with dirt and oil, probably calloused from the heavy work. 

“Am I not allowed to?” You hum, sitting on your garage cabinet while sipping on some water. 

You watch Eijiro put a screwdriver in his mouth, now using both hands to tighten a bolt. Sweat drips down his temples and onto the floor beneath him. You sigh at the sight.

“It’s distracting” He mumbles around the tool, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

Kirishimas sanctuary was his garage. He spent a good proportion of the house budget on simply making this area perfect for him. It has everything a guy like him needs, and tons of room for him to work on his hobby. Fixing cars. 

Your hobby conveniently lines up perfectly with his. Watching hot men do manual labor, specifically watching your lover fix cars. So you also spend a great amount of time here.

He was currently under one, but the older truck is being suspended into the air (to your request) so you get a perfect view of him underneath the car dealing with all the technical stuff you cannot understand. You sit there and watch, not giving a damn about the broken car.

He lets out a groan as he tries to secure a pipe into place. You watch his biceps contract and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“You know, it's got to be hot under there. Don't you think you'll be more comfortable if you take off your shirt?” You tease, crossing your legs with a grin on your face.

Though, the black wife beater he was wearing was already making you swoon. And the way it was stuck to his skin? You had to be in heaven.

He glances back at you, taking the screwdriver out of his mouth, before using his arm to wipe some sweat off his face. Black streaks coat his cheeks. “You are looking at me like you are a starved animal,” He laughs, before using his moveable stool to kick back away from under the car toward where you're sitting.

He climbs off the stool, and over to you, while you swing your legs out lazily. He places his hands on the counter on either side of you, trapping you in his hold. You meet his stare, the corner of your mouth picking up in a smile. He is grinning at you, eyes tired from the work, but still pinning you in place.

“Thirsty?” You hum, holding up your cup to his mouth.

His eyes flicker toward the glass and he nods. You tilt the glass upward, watching the way his throat moves as he swallows it down.

When he looks back at you as to say, enough you just continue pouring. The water drips down his face and onto his shirt. He pulls away with a small cough. 

Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you. His shirt clinging now completely to his skin, his body glistening from sweat and now the water. This right here is why this is your favorite hobby.

“Really?” He sighs with a small grin, looking down at the black tank top.

You pout dramatically. “Aw, guess you gotta take your shirt off,” You tease, running your fingers up his shirt toward his neck. 

He chuckles low, before blinking slowly at you, leaning forward, and brushing his lips against yours. “Mmm? Can you take it off for me?”

You grin, fingers running up his arm. “Gladly.”

The day ends up like it usually does. With both of you covered in sweat, dirt, and car oil, but you didn’t mind, this is exactly why this is your favorite hobby.

[theteasetwrites]

Pay Attention

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: a bit... suggestive, sexual innuendos if you squint, implied dom Daryl ❧ Word Count: 2.3k

❧ Summary: While Daryl works on his bike, you can't help but pay a little too much attention. Not to his bike, though.

❧ A/N: Hiiii I know this oneshot came out of nowhere, but... yeah. Also thank you to @ivuravix, @okaycocoal, @devnmon, and @weretheones for brainstorming (aka drooling over Norman in that new video of him getting his bike) with me!

As he loosened the sprocket nut, cranking the breaker bar with a strained grunt muffled through tight lips, you watched with a languid gaze, only once in a while mustering a hum or two whenever a gruff voice of velvety sandpaper threatened to tear you from your stupor.

But the words were no more than ambiance, a vague collection of obscure sounds that only provided the score to a dizzying display of skilled, smooth movements, the sight of which you had the distinct fortune of beholding. 

With the clatter of metal hitting the concrete, you blinked and felt your senses return to you for a moment, so those indistinguishable sounds turned into words on his breathy, gravelly voice. 

“Now we got the transmission cover off…” He took a breath as he tugged the faded red rag from the back pocket of his old torn-up jeans, in which you had made various stitchings to patch up the holes with new fabrics. Sitting cross-legged, you tilted your head with a barely noticeable little smile on your lips. He wiped the sweat from his brow, raising his right arm until you could see the faded ink of the tattoo on his inner bicep, exposed by the black sleeveless button-up shirt he wore, with the little loose threads from where he’d cut it still dangling from the torn fabric. 

Now your eyes were glued to that spot, where the taut, lean muscles under his tanned, sweat-shined skin flexed and twitched with each movement as he attempted to wipe the grease from his hands. That poor rag had seen so much―grease, sweat, blood, dirt… You’d tried to get him to use something a little less worn, but he always came back to that old rag. He was stubborn about those kinds of things, or maybe it wasn’t so much stubbornness as sentimentality. It was one of the things you loved about him.

Kneeling as he shook his hair from his face, a few sweaty strands still sticking, he huffed another deep breath. Thank God he was so intently focused on his bike, lest he notice your lack of… attention. Well, you were paying attention, but not to the bike. 

When you said you wanted to help him replace the chain on his motorcycle, you did not anticipate he would give you a step-by-step tutorial on the matter. But that was just him, your Daryl―he had a few things he was particularly interested in, and one of them was mechanics. He’d always be the first to volunteer to prepare the cars for the runs, and he was good at it. It came naturally to him, you always knew that. He once told you that he liked to put things back together again, to fit parts together like puzzle pieces. It only made sense that he would build his own bike, and fix it himself. After all, it was hard to find a professional mechanic these days. 

You didn’t mind. Though you had to admit that you weren’t terribly engrossed, you found it quite endearing, his passion as he narrated each movement of his hands, each part of the bike, each tool he used so skillfully. He was always so good with his hands, those deft, yet thick and heavy, fingers. You knew those fingers quite well, quite intimately… 

If only he’d stop fiddling with that hunk of metal and start putting those strong, nimble hands to better use.

“See this nut here?” 

He gestured to a metal protrusion nestled amongst the gears near the back wheel. Though you lacked the knowledge of what a nut was in this context, you nodded with a small, “Mhm.”

“That’s the axle nut. Gotta loosen it, then unscrew this bolt.” He did the actions slowly, careful not to move too quick lest you lose track of him, but it was of no consequence, anyway, because all you could look at were the flexing tendons in his hands, and the bulging squiggles of veins that protruded beneath grease-stained skin. Those little rivers led up into his forearm, where defined muscles tightened and twitched as he clenched his jaw, a few grunts slipping between his tightened lips. He turned the wrench on the axle nut, loosening it with each movement. 

When he’d unscrewed the bolt, he relieved the tension by pushing the back wheel forward, loosening the chain until he could get a grip on the master link that kept the old linking metal pieces together. 

Now admiring the glistening sweat that gave shine to the chest that was exposed by the buttons undone near the neck of his shirt, you did not notice his eyes on you, watching you with a furrowed brow as he spoke.

“Can ya hand me those pliers, hon?”

His voice seemed to shake you awake with almost a startle. In a slight haze, you only blinked at him, your lips quivering without your own awareness, your mind drawing a blank as his sudden attention had hit a reset button on the back of your head. Rebooting, you took a few moments to catch up to speed, but even then, you had become lost in a gaze of ocean blue. 

“What?”

Daryl lifted his chin to nod towards somewhere close behind you, though even your own surroundings were a mystery to you. 

“Can ya gimme those pliers, right behind ya.”

“Oh.” 

You turned swiftly, as if taking your eyes off him for a moment would free you from your stupor. It did not. 

But at least you could locate the tool―nestled atop the other gadgets and gizmos scattered inside the toolbox behind you. 

“These?” You held the red handled tool out for him to see. 

He looked up from the chain that he fiddled with in his grease-stained fingers. “Yeah, that’s it.” He took the pliers to remove the master link from the chain, finally freeing it from the bike. “A’right,” he huffed with a slight satisfaction in his voice. “Now you see this thing ‘ere?”

Leaning forward, you focused your sight on where he was pointing—the long metal rod near the drum brake. “Mhm.”

“We’re gonna take that apart next.”

With the brake assembly dismantled, you watched as he removed the back wheel from the bike, carrying it to his workbench while you dutifully followed, entranced by his confident sway. There weren’t many things Daryl was secure about, but when it came to mechanics, he was assured of himself. In fact, he may have gotten a little cocky, having noticed that each time he instructed you on a new step, you responded either with an absent-minded hum or a dazed stare at his biceps. 

After he replaced the sprocket, much to your confusion with each procedure he explained, he replaced the wheel on the bike, this time adding on the new chain. 

And as he tightened the chain, he cranked the wrench on the locking nut, securing it into place. Again, his arms flexed with mesmerizing strength, the intrigue of which was only matched by the muscles bulging in his neck, the low grunts and redness that pooled in his cheek. It was all too familiar, the way his body moved and the way his muscles contorted in the strain of the activity. 

Though you desperately wanted to squeeze your thighs together, just to momentarily relieve a bit of tension between them, you could only sit still as you watched him, now totally unable to hear a word of what he was saying, despite your admiration for his passion.

But the longer you seemed to be in a distracted state of stupor, your mouth nearly hanging open enough to start drooling, the more he caught onto your lack of attention for the bike, and your excessive attention for him.

“Now… Don’t wanna screw this too tight, it’ll wear out faster, then I’d have to change this chain again. But ya want it just tight enough, and not too loose.”

If you’d been able to concentrate at all on what he said, you might’ve blushed.

But all you could do was watch his fingers work, nimble movements reminding you of how those calloused fingers would tickle your skin in your intimate moments, how he knew just how to touch you and make you shiver until that shiver became a deep, penetrating chill of pleasure. 

He’d always had that effect on you, even in the most innocuous moments. How could this man affect you like this, send a shiver down your spine, without even touching you? Not only that, but he was working on his bike, trying to educate you, and yet, you were still thinking about his filthy, grease-stained hands leaving prints all over your body.

And when he cleared his throat, you were back again, only with no clue what Daryl had just said. All you knew was he seemed to know what he was talking about, based on the assuredness in his voice. 

In a slight panic that you’d missed something important, you replied—“Mm… That’s nice, sweetie.”

His eyebrow arched in slight amusement, your words and the dreamy lull in your voice having confirmed his suspicion—you weren’t paying attention at all. 

Now he looked you in the eye, keeping your gaze with his intense stare, only weakened by a glint of playfulness, with a sparkle of mischief. There was an upward lift to one side of his mouth as he spoke, a smirk so charming that you found your breath getting caught in your chest.

“You payin’ attention?” he asked, though not with any kind of disappointment. 

Back straightening, you nodded as you hummed. “Mhm.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you, studying you with amused suspicion. “What’d I jus’ say?”

You sank a little, your posture weakening as you cleared your throat, buying time to keep you from admitting that you were less interested in the mechanics of his bike, and more interested in the mechanics of his arms.

“Well, uh… You were talking about…”

There was a shakiness to your voice as you lowered your head, focusing on your fingers which fiddled with each other in your lap. With your eyes averted, and your brain being ramped suddenly into third gear, you hadn’t noticed that Daryl scooted closer across the cold concrete, his own focus having separated from his beloved motorcycle completely.

“Hey,” he said, and from the mere vibration of his voice, traveling through the small space of air that existed now between you, you knew to look up at him, as if he had commanded it. And to you, he did.

When you looked up, he broke into a bigger smile, with a flash of faded white from the bottom edges of his teeth, the same ones that had left faint marks on your neck many times before. 

It was your innocence that amused him, made him huff a small laugh under his breath. You matched his laugh with your own nervous one, though you knew not why he made you so anxious, after so long of being his. Well, maybe he just had that effect on you, and maybe he always would. 

You knew he always would.

“You ain’t payin’ attention, are ya?”

Now, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of his stained, greasy hand, raising to grasp at your chin. His touch was soft, yet deliberate. He knew. Daryl was always observant, after all. Besides, you’d unintentionally made it rather obvious. 

When you failed to answer him, he narrowed his gaze again, just enough so he could hone in on your lips. They quivered now, just like they always did for him. He liked it—how your body reacted to his touch. It was always so predictable, so safe. Everything about you was, and he knew you so well now, that he had no problem making sure you answered him.

“Are ya, sweetheart?”

The very quiet, nearly undetectable whimper that slipped subconsciously from your lips could’ve gone unnoticed if he weren’t so attentive to your every action, but he was, and he heard it. How easily you crumbled for him, and how perfect your mouth looked—split open and plump, wet and aching. 

“No… I…” His fingers rubbed the curve of your jaw as he held your chin with more pressure, as if to punish you with the most affectionate touch. “Sorry.”

But the word went without reply as his grip pulled you forward. No movement on his part other than that pull, bringing you to him, your lips softly connecting as a sigh got caught between wet flesh, your mouth was forced open just enough by his tongue. 

The kiss was ended much too abruptly for your liking, though he punctuated it with small bursts of pecks upon your still quivering lips. On his own lips, a cocky smirk, taunting you. Rarely did Daryl tease you quite like this, though he could never pass up the opportunity. 

“S’all right.” He was still close enough for the vibration of his gruff voice to tickle you. “Long as you just sit there lookin’ all pretty for me.”

Just like that, you melted again, your head only propped up by his hand still caressing your chin. 

“Okay.” The word came out in a dreamy giggle, of which you may have been embarrassed if he hadn’t broken out into his own little snicker. 

It took him a few drawn out moments to peel himself from you, intent on finishing replacing the chain before his recruiting trip tomorrow, but eventually, reluctantly, he removed his hand, your chin now blotched with his oily fingerprints. 

Another huff of laughter escaped from his smirking lips, to which you tilted your head in confusion. 

Loosely, he gestured to his own chin. “Ya got a lil somethin’.”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 2 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

(TW: Dated Language and ideas of sex and consent)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

Preview:

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

Read on AO3.

The street light buzzing is so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

You can feel it between your shoulder blades, tense as the dry night air hits the sweat pooling down your back. The light casts a dark shadow beneath your feet as you stroll through the middle of the street trying to keep your feet on the faded yellow divider lines. You don’t. 

You’re still in Dallas. You think. 

You had a bed to sleep in tonight. Or maybe a couch, with the guy passed out across the covers like he did. You had already cleared out his pockets, peeked through a few drawers. 

You found a tiny gun. Fit right in the palm of your hand. Like it was left in that drawer just for you.

Then the poor fucker’s wife came home. 

When you heard the shotgun cock into place, you started running and didn’t stop, pockets considerably heavier. In the chaos, you forgot you nabbed the gun.

You’re glad you nabbed the gun. 

Now you don’t know where you are. As if you ever really knew anymore. Back streets like this all kind of blended together, no matter where in the U.S. you were dragging your sorry ass around. 

Empty dirt lot with a single bench, a sun shade and a bus stop to the left. Shit-hole liquor store, piss stained parking lot to the right. Food. Shelter. Pisser.  All one could ever need.

If only you had actual cash instead of valuables you needed to pawn.

You have a small gun now.

Stupid looking little revolver. Three in the chamber. Poor fucker couldn’t be assed to fill the thing? No wonder his wife wanted to kill him.

Your stomach growls. It wants to kill you.

Do you have it in you to stick up a place just to get something to eat?

You stop. 

Under the brilliant neon Open sign of the liquor store, in bright yellow, peeled-paint glory stands a pay phone. Handset intact. You suppress a cry of joy. You would fall to your knees in praise if you didn’t think you’d catch a disease on the rusted bolts holding it to the cracked concrete. One of the bolts is loose. It wants to leave too.

You feel in the change slot for a spare quarter, sticking your tongue out through the side of your mouth. Your fingertips brush against the ridged edge.

Holy shit.

If you’re not careful, you’ll use all your luck up in one night.

The miraculous quarter slips into the slot. You wait for the dial tone to buzz into your ear, white-knuckle-gripping the handset. 

Shit.

Who the fuck are you supposed to call in Dallas? A taxi? They don’t take gold chains. A shelter? They’re all closed. Did you want to get robbed?

You still couldn’t get to one even if you wanted to.

You hit the return button. Clink. At least you can pocket the quarter. 

As you slip it into your rear pocket, you feel the fuzzy, frayed edge of a business card. Why would you keep a business—

The Loveshack it says.

Why did you have a business card for The Loveshack? What even is The Loveshack?

You don’t know what possesses you, but you sniff the card. It smells unholy. Like beer, and sweat, and man-stink and— you need to sniff it again.

Why are you thinking of a mullet? 

It smells so familiar. Why does it smell familiar? And you feel like gagging, you hate tequila. 

Oh.

You slip the coin into the slot again, bouncing your heel as you wait for the other line to pick up.

“Front desk.” Crackles through the shitty speaker in the handset.

“Hi! G-Good evening—” Your old hostess voice possesses you. High and clipped and waiting to be reprimanded. An old reflex. You haven’t had a regular job in at least a year. You remember no greasy, stinking manager is breathing down your neck to sound pretty when you pick up the phone, so it returns to it’s deep natural state. 

“Hello?” The voice on the speaker croaks again.

“Patch me through to a room, please?”

“Which room?”

Shit. Which fucking room? You turn the card over. Nothing written anywhere. You don’t even remember the guy’s name. Maybe he didn’t know how to write. Honestly, all you remember is Bruce Springsteen and a mullet and thinking that his beefy hands might fit nice around your—

“Hello? Miss? Which room?”

“Uhhhh— don’t remember. He’s a guy, you know?” Of course they know, are you stupid? “Tall, big shoulders, shitty mullet—“ You motion to the top of your head as if the operator can see you.

“Patching you through.” 

The line goes quiet. You’re too anxious to bounce your heel anymore so you stand frozen, hunched over the pay phone box.

You hear heavy breathing on the line. Then a woman’s name, in a vaguely familiar, gruff Jersey accent.

“Who?” You question, confused.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

Oh. You gave him a fake name, you remember.

“It’s Lee.”

“I know! Lee!” You draw out his name overly-affectionately. “How the hell are ya?”

“You called.” 

“I did!” 

“...I didn’t think you would call.”

“I said I would call, didn’t I?” You shrug your shoulders, tucking the phone beneath your chin and leaning back against the phone box. 

You hear him scoff. “I don’t think you did.”

He’s probably right, it doesn’t sound like you to promise something like that.

“ 'S fine. I wanted you to call. I’m glad you did.”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s quiet on the line too, drowned out by the white noise. The plastic static of the handset against your ear makes you shiver even though it’s pushing 85.

“Look, Lee… I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’m in a bit of a bad way—“

“What’s wrong?” He asks quickly. His concern is cute. He doesn’t know you. If he knew you he’d know something’s always wrong. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You aren’t. There’s a pit growing in your stomach because you remember the last time you said those words to a semi-concerned party over the phone. About a year ago. You weren’t fine then, either. “You don’t have a car by chance, do ya? Or maybe just cab fare?”

“Where are you?” 

“Uh—“ You look around. The sign on the liquor store is missing letters. It's in a language you don't recognize. You aren't as worldly as you think.

“I got wheels. I’ll pick you up right now, sweetheart. Where are you?”

You silently cheer. You crane your neck and narrow your eyes to read a street sign, murmuring it into the receiver. You cross your fingers, bite your lip raw, and pray he heard you right. You can barely understand him through the crackling line.

“Give me twenty minutes, toots. An hour, tops. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’ll be here!” You have nowhere else to go.

The line goes dead.

The hook is broken. You leave the handset on top of the box, swallow back your false cheerfulness and sit on the curb.

The street light buzzes above you, a spotlight on your failed state. You cannot hear yourself think. You are grateful.

You don’t have a watch. Giant, tacky bracelets hide your wrists well enough. So who knows how long it’s been once cars start pulling over and hollering at you to hop in. 

Cutting your jeans into daisy dukes seemed like a good idea once you got south of Memphis and the nights regularly cracked 90. It felt less so now, while rough concrete and gravel dug into your seat, sticking to your skin from sweat. 

You ready an empty glass bottle, aiming to launch it at the dark red convertible that slows beside you next.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Watch where you throw that thing. Can’t afford to replace the window again.”

You stand up so you can see past the half-rolled window.

“Lee?” You peer inside. 

It is Lee. He greets you with a wide smile, sliding out his door and moving in to hug you until he sees you flinch back. He blinks and freezes before nodding his head to himself and crossing behind the car. 

“After you, Angelface.” He cracks open the passenger door for you.

“What a gentleman.” You wheedle for him, grateful for the cushioned seat. You keep your eyes on him as he slams your door shut and gets back inside. A bit of caution was healthy. You shouldn’t trust him. He definitely shouldn’t trust you.

The front seat is clean. Vaguely. There’s a couple full trash bags sitting in the back seat. And a few beat up boxes of some bright blue towel thing, dye seeping everywhere it touches, and other assorted brand new junk headed straight for a landfill. It was like he raided the world’s shittiest truck load of useless crap. Why was he lugging around all this stuff?

It still reeks like cheap cigarettes. But at least it didn’t smell like tequila. You crack open your window anyways. 

“Where to?” Lee asks, smiling nervously as he shifts the car into gear, hand staying on the shifter knob between you. 

God, his arms. He’s punishing the thread around the sleeves, rolling them up like that. He put on a clean shirt for the occasion. And gas-station cologne. How sweet.

He shaved, too. You’re a little disappointed, though his jaw is nothing to be ashamed of. You wanna run your hand over his skin, mourn his five o’clock shadow. For the love of god, the man has dimples. Is he Catholic? Would he smack you if you use the lord’s name in vain? You kind of hope he does. Maybe you'll let him borrow one of the rings you 'found'.

You know you look like shit. You can see the outline of your tangled, frizzed hair in the dark in passenger side mirror. You’re never teasing your hair again.

If you pass by a street light, you know you’ll see the rest of yourself in the dirty yellow glow, looking haunting as ever. You angle the mirror away. No need for another reason to bum yourself out before your— whatever this is— with Lee.

You sigh and relax back into the seat, closing your eyes with relief as the rough road jostles you. Almost rocks you to sleep, right there in the passenger seat. 

He says your fake name again as you’re drifting off. 

“Sorry.” You yawn and smack your lips.

He waits for your answer. He can't go nowhere, after all.

You sigh.

“I’m gonna be honest, Lee. I got no idea where to go.”

He nods as he drives with his eyes forward. You already caught him glancing down at your chest after a particularly bad pot hole. He was on his best behavior now. You get to study his silhouette.

“Ain’t you stayin’ anywhere?”

“Nah. Got kicked out of my room this morning. Had a place lined up, but it fell through.” 

You hope he doesn’t ask more. He doesn’t. Good man.

Your stomach grumbles and you hunch over, desperate to subdue the sound. You were used to that by now.

“How about we get you somethin’ to eat, huh? That sound alright?”

“You sure?” You look up at him, your hand cradling your empty stomach.

“Hell yeah. Been dyin’ to take you out since you first glared at me. Dressed up for the occasion—thanks for noticin’.”

“Is that so?” You huff out a laugh. “Color me flattered. You clean up nice. But you’re full of it. I wasn’t glarin’ at nothin’.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cos I liked it, you know. I thought you were makin’ eyes at me. I like when pretty girls make eyes at me.”

“You’re blind, bud.”

“Nahhh. ” He grins wider. “You like me. Think I’m handsome.” 

You neither confirm nor deny, but you smile as he turns away. You see him blinking and narrowing his eyes at the road signs as he drives. He’s probably blinder than you are. Maybe he regrets telling you to call him, now with your mess close enough to see.

“Pretty girls must be in short supply if you’re settling for me.” You mutter under your breath and lay back again. If he heard you, he doesn’t reply.

He pulls into a 24-hour diner. 

It’s like he read your mind. You could kill a breakfast combo right now. And however many coffees you can drink before they kick you out for not paying, unless Lee is more liquid than he looks.

You doubt it.

You spin around on your plastic-y little dinner stool, your busted heels hanging off your toes as you kick your feet around. The coffee is good . You would have preferred a booth for privacy, but this is fun too. 

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

He’s got nice teeth. Mom would be happy, if that kind of thing mattered now. You wonder if he’s Catholic. You don’t think you are anymore.

He makes you laugh ugly. It makes your cheeks hurt, the kind where you have to massage them for a while after. It feels good to laugh ugly.

He doesn’t ask about anything that matters. You like that.

You both check out the same waitress. You ask her for sugar free sugar, the real kind (whatever that means), and you both watch as she stands on a stool to look at the top shelf, her teeny uniform not covering much of anything. She’s probably eighteen. Doesn’t know any better.

Now you’ve been on both sides. It’s a rite of passage.

He tells you you’re prettier than her, but you pretend not to hear, flicking a folded up napkin towards the trash can behind the counter. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. You used to hear that a lot more often. You’d believe Lee if it were a couple days ago, when you were within twelve hours of a hot shower. 

The napkin misses the trash can. You meet his eyes. He smirks.

You have an unspoken agreement with Lee.

You chew your soggy, jellied toast silently and without alarm while he pockets another customer’s tip.

He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn’t mention anything as your fingers slip into the lady beside you’s pocket book. 

God bless 24-hour diners.

Combined, you probably have enough to pay for your food. You’re still a little short, not that the waitress would notice until you left, if she could count at all. But why leave it to chance? 

You both stand up at the same time, offering compliments to the chef, the lovely waitress—

“Where do you think you two are going?” A grimy hand wraps around your arm. It’s the cook. Or else he just smells like bacon grease. You feel less satisfied with how the food sits in your stomach, suddenly. “You ain’t paid yet.”

“Alright, keep your paws to yourself, pal—“ Lee knots his hand in the cook’s greasy shirt. Meaty fucking hand. God, the size of those fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey—“ You hold your hands up in surrender. “We’re cool. No need to freak out. We’re cool, aren’t we?” 

“Still gotta pay for your fuckin’ food.” 

You have a small gun now. Your fingers itch to hold it again, to squeeze the grip made for your small hand.

You glance at the laminated menu another customer ducks their head behind. Quickly you stand beside Lee, pressing your chest against his side with your hand on his sternum. He’s warm. Solid, beneath the softness. It’s nice when he’s not damp with beer sweat. You try not to think about it. 

“Are you serious ? You—you think Mr. Denny pays at his own restaurants?” You motion to Lee with your hand. 

The cook balks at both of you, and Lee puffs out his chest. You try not to laugh.

“Bullshit you’re Mr. Denny. He’s gotta be like eighty or something.”

“J-Junior! Mr. Denny junior, obviously!” You take Lee’s jaw between your thumb and forefinger and aim his face at the cook. You’re suddenly grateful Lee combed his hair back. And that he knows when to keep his mouth shut. “See this? Spitting image!”

The cook glances at a blown up photograph hanging on the wall. White hair, beady eyes, the kind of jaw that recedes back into a neck. About the only thing similar to Lee was that they were both human. Maybe. 

Damn. You almost made it, too.

A giggle bubbles out of Lee’s throat as he catches sight of the photograph and the cook’s face goes red, burn-calloused hand reaching for Lee’s throat. A busboy with a tray full of dishes passes by at the wrong moment and you swing your hand up and knock the entire tray back against the cook. 

You leave behind a calamity of broken porcelain and gasps in your wake as you pull Lee by his hand out of the diner. He throws down a few chairs on his way to muddle the path to follow you both as you run. 

Even in busted heels, you’re faster than Lee. 

His huffing, red face would be entertaining if he wasn’t the one with the keys. 

“Drive, drive, drive!” You hollar, grin plastered to your cheeks as you smoosh your face and hands against the passenger window, watching in amusement as the cook and the waitress scramble outside and look around for you.

Lee’s braying laugh fills your ears as his car pulls out of the parking lot. You’re laughing too, content with wherever he sees fit to take you. You feel safe. You shouldn’t, but you do.

You have a small gun now.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[cherrysha]

To Be Alone

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

A/N: Getting this tf outta my drafts,,, banishment style. if its formatted wrong its because im tipsy and im too lazy to fix it,,, itll get fixed in the morning <3

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Paranoia, weed, dubcon (since reader is under the influence), slight body horror

It’s already dark outside when you get to Yuuji’s apartment. Streetlights glimmer with a low electric buzz as you make your way up the concrete stairs. Its unseasonably cold outside, autumn air chilling through the light jacket you found haphazardly stuffed in the back of your car. He’s still blowing your phone up, probably ‘where are you??’ messages like he hasn’t been texting you that for the past fifteen minutes. Like he doesn’t know how far your work is from his apartment. You'd been friends long enough now to know when to answer his texts and when to ignore the incessant buzzing of your phone. “Jesus” you mutter as his ringtone plays. It’s been years but he’s always like this. A little too eager, like a child. Hitting mute, you finally round the corner and knock on his door. Yuuji could be so impatient sometimes.  It only takes one rap against the metal before you can hear the bolts turning, your friend’s cottony pink hair greeting you, eyes scrunched in a bright smile. You can't be mad, not when the smile that covers his face is so genuine.

“You're insane” you huff out at him, stepping into the threshold and shimmying out of your coat in the process. His apartment is always so warm, a little too warm, but his older brother blew a gasket any time Yuuji tried to turn down the heat for you.

 “Am not!” you giggle as he puts a hand to his chest, mock annoyance coloring his face “You just need to be quicker… making me wait and all.” You ignore him, haphazardly kicking out of your shoes before stepping deeper into the apartment.

“isn’t Junpei coming? We have to wait for him anyway.”

“He, uh, didn’t feel like coming out tonight” you can hear the disappointment in his voice at the statement and it’s contagious. Yuuji’s had a crush on the boy for almost an entire year, which is hard to believe given his short attention span and lack of romantic interest. With an audible ‘tsk’ you ruffle his hair, smiling at the little indignant look on his face that threatens to spill over at the touch. 

“There’s always next time, Yuuji” he nods, smile returning as he follows you into the living room. 

“Was thinkin’ we could watch Cast Away, since you don’t like the scary stuff”. If Junpei were here, you know he’d make you watch a horror movie anyway. Probably send you off to his room during the really scary parts so you wouldn’t ruin the mood. The thought makes you smile, and you eagerly nod as you sink back into the sofa. Yuuji sits down next to you with a huff, fiddling with the remote until the movie starts in the background. He’s probably watched this one a dozen times. You know you’ve seen it with him too many times to count. Without much thought he turns it up before setting the remote back down and picking the blunt up off the coffee table. Thank God he figured out how to roll them up. The last thing you wanted was another thirty-minute session of trying to show him exactly how to do it himself. 

Tom Hanks’ boring little life plays out on the screen in front of you as Yuuji mumbles something about how you would’ve rolled it better, and not to judge his sloppy technique. He’s still learning and all. You don’t look his way to reply, only muttering “Free weed is free weed.” as you focus on the movie. He's never told you who his dealer is, and you’ve never outright asked. Whoever he was, he never seemed to be in short supply. All the dealers you’ve met at college were either professional frat boy scam artists, selling little baggies of trash weed to stupid rich boys, or untrustworthy as hell. The type to sell you laced product and not even bat an eye. Good dealers were hard to find. It wasn't surprising Yuuji hadn’t told you, and it didn’t matter since he rarely liked to smoke alone. Yuuji leans back into the couch as he lazily hands the blunt to you, coughing a little at the end of his exhale. You don’t think about it as you take it from his hand. 

Friday nights at Yuuji’s feels like routine at this point. Leave work, smoke a blunt or two on his couch as he monologues about the random movie he’s put on, sober up and go home to your empty apartment and sleep in until Yuuji blows your phone up again. Sometimes Junpei or Nobara join in too, but most of the time it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. 

Time feels like syrup as you listen to him ramble, voice a breathy sigh as he tells you behind the scenes facts about the movie. How Wilson actually had his own lines in the script, how none of the sound was useable and had to be added in during post production. A treasure trove of useless facts that you happily indulge in listening to. It’s odd to think of him taking his time to learn such trivial things. The image of him blankly staring at the cast away wiki during lecture swirls in your mind, pulling a chuckle from your dry throat. He’d definitely do something like that. Probably wouldn’t care if he was caught either. 

“What’s so funny?” he mumbles, lazy smile almost infectious as you just nod your head at him, eyes averting back to the screen. 

Toms already stranded on the island, you think this is the part where he rips out an infected tooth, at least you hope it is. You didn’t want to be around to see that on the screen again.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” you mumble at him, pushing up from the couch.

  “Uh, can you get me a bottle of water?” you nod, with a small chuckle. His eyes are glazed over, half lidded as he watches the screen like he’s absorbing any information that’s being presented to him. In about five minutes he’d probably be asleep. 

You hear the scream from the kitchen as Tom finally pulls the tooth out with the blade of an ice skate. You were too squeamish to look at the screen the first time you watched it. Even now, the sound alone was enough to gross you out. 

Yuuji’s cupboards are always well stocked with garbage. Chips, candy, instant noodles, anything you wanted. You take another drag from the blunt, head fuzzing over with smoke as you stare at all the options. Sukuna kept most of his food separate, not that you had to worry much about accidentally eating it. The healthy stuff was all his. Mostly stuff that had to be prepared and cooked. You weren’t looking for that shit tonight. 

“You should probably eat something!” you call out to him. After a few seconds with no reply, you peek around the corner, unsurprised to see him snoring away loudly on the couch. Go figure.

He usually fell asleep later, during the first half of the second movie. When the blunt was at least half finished.  At least he left room for you on the couch this time.

Not thinking much about it, you grab a pack of cookies and two water bottles. One for you, and one for the bonehead if he decided to wake up any time soon. 

Yuuji had left another blunt unattended, letting it idly burn away in the ashtray while he snored unashamedly on the armrest. It wasn’t really a problem, if anything it meant more for you. Yuuji wouldn’t mind, if anything he’d probably be happy that it didn’t go to waste… He probably wouldn’t mind if you smoked the third one either…

~~~

Idly you sip the water, heart pumping faster than it should be, skin feeling clammier than normal. You didn’t feel normal. Nothing felt normal.

He’s been passed out for too long to be easily woken up by the time you start feeling it. ‘It’ being the ever-pressing creep of paranoia along the edges of your psyche. Tom Hanks is screaming as Wilson bobs away from the makeshift raft and you can't help but to think the neighbors hear. That they’re calling the cops for a wellness check as you sit there, unmoving. The ambient lights flickering in through the curtains no longer feels warm, but rather very, very insidious. What happens if you go to jail? Will you lose your scholarship? Do you even have a fucking scholarship? You shake your head to try and clear the thoughts away to no avail. Yuuji’s groaning in his sleep, drool pooling out of the side of his mouth and the sudden impending doom bubbles back to the forefront of your mind. What if he chokes on all that drool and dies and you go to jail because you weren’t keeping an eye on him? Is it possible to choke on your own spit? 

Your fears seem to be confirmed as the apartment door swings open, deafening compared to the low mumble of the tv and Yuuji’s deep snores. You can hear whoever it is close the door before walking down the hallway. What if it was the cops? Or even worse, someone here to rob Yuuji? Fuck, if that were the case, you'd have no qualms with them taking everything they wanted. It’s Yuuji’s fault he didn’t deadbolt the door.

You let go of the breath you'd been holding when Sukuna rounds the corner. Eyes flickering to his brother, then to you, then to the blunt burning away in the ashtray. 

You must look startled, wide eyes locked on him as adrenaline surges through your body. You must look a little suspicious too. 

“You good?” he asks, and you can't help but look away from his heavily tattooed face, eyes instead focusing on how his chest slowly moves under his plain white shirt with each breath. You blink, trying to mimic the natural motion, the steady in-and-out of his lungs filling up and exhaling air. 

“Yeah… yeah. I just thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” his voice is demanding, sharp. Its always been that way. Deep and rich and hard to ignore. The only time you’ve been able to hear him speak more than a few words is when he’s bitching Yuuji out over something.

Taking, what you think is a very short moment, you answer.

“The cops?” he’s sighing at the sheepishness in your voice. Obviously connecting the dots as he moves to snuff the lit blunt out in the ashtray.

You can't help it as you continue to talk, to give him more proof of your paranoia as you try to defend your own emotions to him. After too long, he stops you. Hand coming to rub his face in a movement that exposes his true irritation.

“I just wanted some peace and quiet” Sukuna groans. He takes a moment to stare at the ceiling. 

Silence hangs in the air like smoke as you try and find the words you need. Tell him that this is a mistake, a misunderstanding.

“I can go, if, if that’s what you wa-“ 

“Just shut the fuck up y/n.” he snaps, eyes finding yours just as tears threaten to spill. You don’t know why you were being so sensitive. Maybe it was because you’d never even met eye contact with the man, maybe it was because of your mental state, who was to tell. He groans again, moving closer and placing a hand on your head. Big arms encircle your waist as he hoists you up, free hand wiping at the tears sliding down your face as he walks down the hallway. 

He’s so warm, how have you not noticed before? It’s not like you had ever been this close to him to truly know. In fact, this is the closest you’d ever been to him, physically and emotionally. You’d never felt comfortable enough, even the other times he’d come home to find you and yuuji stoned out of your minds, he usually left you two to your own devices and acted as if you weren’t there.

Before you know it, he’s plopping you down on his bed, and even just being in the quiet dimly lit room with him is more comforting than it should be. After all, he was being kind, a side of him you rarely saw.

“Still in your work clothes” he mumbles to himself, that layer of irritable disappointment still threading through his words as he curses again. Whispering something about kicking Yuuji’s ass before his big frame disappears out of the room. It hits you then just how focused he is on your well being. He’d focused in on something you thought was a non-issue, fixated on your comfort even if you weren’t.

You can hear him, doors creaking open and rummaging noises distantly echoing from down the hall, but all you can focus on is how the ambient light in his room looks sinister now that you’re by yourself. It doesn’t take long before he’s back, tossing you a pair of Yuuji’s sweats and sitting a glass of water down on the bedside table. 

“Come out and let me know when you're changed.” he mumbles, but you already have a hand around his wrist. The touch softly begging him to stay and let you find comfort. Even if Sukuna is as comforting as a rock, it felt wrong being alone. You know it’s wrong, this is yuuji’s older brother, his older brother who’s rarely home, who’s done nothing but ensure your comfort, and yet, you can’t stop the well of feelings bubbling up in your chest at his casual decency. He stays, begrudgingly sighing as he sits down on the edge of his bed. You don’t expect him to give you any privacy, and he doesn’t, but you're too focused on keeping your cool to truly pay attention to the way his eyes roam over your exposed skin, eyebrow raising at the sight of you undoing your bra and tossing it into your pile of clothing. 

When you’re finished he asks if you're tired, quieter now, observing you as if he’s come to some new realization while watching you undress. You nod your head, hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. Hoping that maybe if you were lucky he wouldn’t make you sleep in yuuji’s room. The thought of being left alone with your own thoughts much scarier than the man in front of you. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably find yourself on the couch next to yuuji, being kept awake by his incessant snoring. Even now you could faintly hear it, the sound reverberating through the hallway and into Sukuna's room.

Before you can think too much about it, however, hands find your hips, maneuvering you onto Sukuna’s chest as he lays down with you. Every inhale moves your body on his, deep breaths as he slides his palms up to the back of your head, lifting it so you have no choice but to stare into his eyes. 

“Feel any better?”. Vaguely, you think this is the nicest sukuna has ever been to you, even if he is forcefully tilting your head back. Usually, you only see him in passing, any words spoken on his part come out as a grunt and nothing more. Yuuji had told you that you were Sukuna’s favorite, whatever that meant. And when you had pressed Yuuji on that sentiment he had clammed up. Said Sukuna only let you stay the night, had only ever been himself around you. Of course you hadn’t known what he meant by that; Sukuna barely acknowledged you, never speaking to you unless he could do so in monosyllabic words or grunts. But tonight, he'd been nothing but kind, at least kind in his own right. 

You nod, breath hitching as he mutters out a “good girl” before kissing the crown of your head. There’s nothing further than that, and after a while his deep breaths even out. You feel like a cat, some sort of small animal that their owner has allowed to sleep on their chest. It’s all too docile. Slowly you find yourself drifting off as well.

Your rest ends up being shorter than you would’ve hoped because Its hot. Too fucking hot. Too hot to sleep, too hot to breathe. You need out. Slowly, you slip off the huge t shirt, uncaring of your bareness underneath. You need relief in some form. It takes a few tries before you can roll the sweatpants off of your hips. Maybe if you were sober you would’ve remembered that this was not the time nor the place to be laying yourself bare, but for right now, its hard to remember your propriety. In truth, you forgot about the fact that your were a guest in a grown man’s bed, In truth, you really didn’t stop to think about repercussions. By the time you’re done, you realize you have an audience. Sukuna’s eyes are staring down at you, fingers digging into the meat of your hips to still your movement.

“Sukuna I’m sorry-“ 

“You trying to start something?” 

“No, no I just got hot and- “

“You could’ve gotten the fuck off of me” it only takes a moment before tears threaten to spill at the harsh words, at the mean look on his face as he stares down at you. Its embarrassing, mortifying, that he’s right. Before you can make much progress on getting your body off of his a tight grip on your hips stills you as he readjusts, and places you squarely back on top of him again. 

“Such a crybaby” his hips rock up, hands pressing you down further as he moves languidly against you. “Feel that crybaby?” you nod, eyes still focused on his as he continues moving. He’s hard between your legs, every press of his hips squishing into that soft spot at the apex of your thighs, igniting a new type of heat inside of you.

“There’s no use trying to take advantage of me like that,” he grunts, still moving against you “coulda just asked. I’m more than happy to give you what you want.”

Its not like that, at least in your head it wasn’t. You had made too many bad choices tonight, and all of them had led you here. Straddling his wide hips, hands on his chest as you slowly grind back and forth on top of him, gasping at the delicious friction with every swivel. Its surprising he allows it, but Sukuna just calmly rests on his elbows, transfixed with the way the material of his sweatpants moves underneath you, how he can feel the heat radiating from your core like a furnace. 

Before long he sits up, hand wrapping around your hip to force you to still. He laughs at the whine that bubbles up from your throat, eyes searching your face as his free hand tangles in between you, pressing in between your bodies until he finds what he’s looking for. His thumb presses down softly at first, gentle and languid strokes over your clothed clit until your eyes flutter shut and you mouth drops open at the sensation. The syrupy feeling doesn’t last long, only a few minutes of his hips bucking up into yours, jostling you each time as his thumb traces careful circles, until he’s had enough and presses down on your clit harshly. His body shakes with laughter as you cry out in overstimulation.

 “such a glutton” his mouth finds your throat, lips closing over your pulse point as his eyes flutter shut  at the feel of your whines vibrating through the skin there. On a harsher thrust your nails accidentally scratch down the expanse of his muscular chest, ripping a growl from him in the process. Before you can apologize, he’s cursing again, hips moving against your own as he pulls and pushes you against him. Your best friend’s brother, beneath you, panting and groaning at the feeling of your nails in his chest. It doesn’t seem real, if anything it’s more believable that you passed out beside yuuji and ended up in a fucked up dream. Unfortunately for you the dull, bruising, ache of his hands on your hips solidifies this as reality, and unceremoniously you're dumped onto the bed, underneath him as he pants above you. 

His eyes look crazed, an inch away from terrifying, as he sloppily rips your underwear from you, ignoring the sound of the fabric protesting at such harsh treatment. It feels wrong, and that alone turns you on further. Sukuna’s chest rises and falls in his excitement, and two fingers push into you, gathering slick and messily smearing it over your pussy. His hand is still wet, glistening in the low light as it wraps around your knee, pushing both of them together and up. 

“Sukuna – “ 

 “who told you to speak?” he’s lining himself up, eyes focused as he slowly rolls his hips forward. You never even noticed his sweats came off, never wanted it to get this far, but before you can find your voice -

You expect to feel the harsh burn of him pressing inside of you, but it doesn’t come. instead, his cock is pushing through your thighs, glistening head squishing through sticky flesh as he starts to set a harsh pace. The underside brushes along your folds, gathering the slickness there with every pass as his pace only gets faster. 

“Fuck” he groans, hips twitching as he stills, trying to catch his breath at the sensation, at the fucked out expression on your face. He hasn’t even fucked you and yet you look an absolute wreck. You don’t feel much better either. Every slide of his hips forces more wetness from you, more noises from you. The feeling of his fingers digging into to crook of your knees keeps you firmly planted in the moment.

“All of this,” he sighs, finally picking up the pace after being a tease the entire night, “right under my nose this whole time.” the air is pushed out of your lungs as his cock finally rubs against your clit. 

The sound of his body slamming against your own fills the room. Sukuna leans down, and for a shocking moment you think he may actually kiss you, but his head goes even lower before you can feel his teeth biting against your neck. There’s no room to breathe with him like this, your hands curling into the red sheets, his mouth unabashedly leaving marks against your throat, its all too overwhelming. The sound of slapping echoes through the room. You’re left adrift in the sensation of Sukuna fucking your thighs so vigorously, the wet schlick of skin on skin, the sound of his panting breaths. Only a few more thrusts against your clit before you’re whining, thrashing against the bed, close to an orgasm that doesn’t come. 

“Did you really think I’d let you?” He breathlessly laughs “i’m not that kind sweetheart.”

Sukuna pulls back at the last second, hand on his cock as he jerks off in front of you, kneeing at your spread legs until you’re situated just the way he wants: legs spread, breathless, as he pumps his cock in front of your tits. 

“Such a pretty thing” he murmurs, “shame this is all goin’ to waste… maybe one day-“ the groan, and sudden release that bathes your chest, is startling. You’d never thought of yuuji’s brother in this way, moaning above you as he paints your chest white. But now the truth of it was jarring enough for you to see the truth for what it was. You had fucked your best friend’s brother. Had let him finish on your chest, even let him clean you up afterwards and croon sweet nothings into your ear during the process. You were even shameless enough to fall into a peaceful sleep next to him.

When you wake, the room still faintly smells of sex. Fear grips you as you hear something down the hall. Sukuna is long gone, something you’d expected before you even opened your eyes. You know he’s probably left the apartment already, that’s not what scares you. The sound reverberating down the hall is yuuji. Singing over some shitty pop anthem blaring through a speaker. How could you explain away fucking his brother?

[atarathegreat]

Angry-Chiro Shinichiro Sano

Nestled down a dark, wide alleyway between two much larger buildings was SS Motors. A squat little mechanics shop where you could buy spark plugs, gas caps, and tools on the shelves, and in the back was the garage. The garage was a little smaller than the whole building, big enough to fit a car while still having enough room for the mechanic to shift how he needed.

Shinichiro Sano took tremendous pride in his little shop, even had dreams that it would be bigger and placed in a more accessible space in the city. Fixing things was his passion, ripping out the bad parts or, in his current case, gutting a whole bike frame, was also part of the fun. Normally.

"Mother-" The sounds of ricocheting tools echoed up to the shop where you were helping customers. Steel on concrete or bouncing off the other metal work tables made you cringe as you hurled excuses again and again at Shinichiro's expense.

"Our mechanic is currently indisposed." You were all kind smiles and soft words when people were asking for him. They would sigh and nod and leave names and numbers, all while hearing the temper tantrum from the back of the shop. It wasn't new and many of the patrons were ignoring it for the most part, but you still worried about Shinichiro and the temper you knew he was capable of having.

While the rest of the shoppers were busy, not that there were many in such a secluded shop, you snuck back to the garage and peeked in. Shinichiro was fixing the bike frame back on a stand, leaving you to assume that maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to kick it over. "Shini?" The sound of your voice was enough to make him take a deep breath and look over his shoulder. He looked tired, his dark eyes not even really looking at you, "It...the bike...bolts..." Shinichiro was so mad he could hardly form a coherent sentence as he waved both arms at the frame, and that was fine, you were used to piecing together the issues. "It's alright. Steady hands, remember? Take it slow." Another soft smile and a little wave as you returned back to the front counter.

Closing early was surely going to set Shinichiro off even more, if he ever came out of the garage, but you closed early despite that. It wasn't good for business if the manager slash mechanic slash owner was seen as an angry man who couldn't keep tools from becoming an airborne item. Wrenches weren't meant to be birds and bolts definitely weren't rain drops.

"Son of a bitch!"

You sat up in bed, rubbing quickly at your eyes as more clanging woke you from a short nap. It was dark and your eyes hadn't yet cleared enough for you to see the bright red lines on the alarm clock. Moonlight almost kept you from tripping over the pile of shoes, your stumble becoming a valuable reminder that you would, eventually, have to buy a shoe rack. Cold air hit you quickly as you stepped from the mini living quarter and you reached back in to grab a coat before heading back out to trudge through the shop and to the garage. It got colder the closer you got.

"Shinichiro?"

The man turned quickly, a glare set in his features, as if a sculptor had snuck in and using clay and water to fix his beautiful smile into a scowl. "It's freezing, darling, come inside." You crossed the coat over itself to pull it tighter in hopes to keep some semblance of warmth for your skin.

"Can't. This stupid fucking thing isn't working with me and now this bolt won't even line up correctly." He slammed a wrench to the ground, glaring at the gas tank he was trying to connect to the newly cleaned bike frame. "To top it off, the rust took me nearly all day to get off and I can't even track down the right kind of seat for it!" Shinichiro huffed, leaning back against the toolbox, "How am I supposed to fix this by my deadline?"

Tools and dirty rags covered the garage floor as you stepped around and over them and bigger parts, crouching next to him, "How about I hold the tank steady and you secure it, and then we go in so you can get a drink, eat dinner, then we'll go to bed?"

Shinichiro shook his head, wiping a rag at the frame as if he was doing something, though he knew he just wanted to look busy, "I set a deadline for myself, Y/n, I want, need, this damn thing to be on the streets come spring." He always reached the goals he set for himself, so you knew it would kill him for yet another deadline with this particular bike to be pushed back.

It already wasn't a promise that he would've found the frame in Puerto Rico, and then the airlines tried to run you both around in circles over the metal until you went in and dragged it out by yourself. And then all the parts up to this point had to be ordered and the deliveries were delayed due to the winter weather, further ruining Shinichiro's plans. He stayed up night after night just to get a little bit further along in the process, all while neglecting his bodies needs for food, water and sleep. Being cooped up in the cold, horribly lit garage wasn't good for him. He looked gaunt and exhausted.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, getting trapped somewhere between the rusty trashed parts and pile of boxes filled with new parts that had yet to be used. "I can't let it sit for a long time, I'll never get back to it." His bones spoke loudly as he stood and stretched, each pop was another cry for rest.

"You'll return to it, Shini." A weight was lifted from his shoulders when you smiled like that, like you believed in every move he made and every decision he was set on. "You never leave anything unfinished, y'know." The warmth from your hands was stolen from you as you held the tank steady for him, "And you can always call on me if you need help. I can work more than a register."

He was sure you could absolutely do more than a register, but your hands weren't supposed to be covered in grease like his, or calloused like his. You were supposed to have clean hands, manicured hands, dainty hands. Yet you didn't seem to care about any of that. Not as you leaned over the de-rusted handlebars to hold the gas tank so Shinichiro could fix the washer and bolt where they belonged and tighten them.

[itsabouttimex2]

A Brand New Journey:

Part Four

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

Your mentor’s dojo is pretty far out, but you’ve gotten used to the trek. This part of Megapolis is… gloomy, to say the least. It seems like a dark cloud falls over every building here, leaving the atmosphere sluggish and tense.

Your mentor’s dwellings especially fall into the pitch hands of darkness, tucked uncozily between crowded buildings.

With no greenery and little color, this part of the city has always left you with a slight sense of unease. Once, you had attempted to amend this in some small way, potting up freesia and yellow roses to try and add a splash of brightness around the house.

Only a few days after the flowers had bloomed, someone had come by in the night and sliced them to pieces, leaving the shredded stems and petals scattered across the concrete.

Taking pity on your efforts, your mentor had dragged those pots inside and planted something more to his liking- tansies and black dahlias.

“At least they left the pots alone,” you had said, sighing at the pointless destruction of something utterly harmless. You’d been misting the new flowers, ensuring they’d grow healthy and vibrant even when deprived of direct sunlight and fresh air.

“How do you stand living in this part of town when people pull things like this?”

“Heh. No one’s ever bothered me before, kiddo. Could just be that you look like an easy target for some of the freaks in this part of town.”

“Actually… you know what? I think we’ve gotta get something that leave you looking a little fiercer. Cause, uh… no offense, kiddo… but you look like a baby.”

“I do not,” you had quickly insisted, putting the spray bottle down to fold your arms and frown at him.

“You keep telling yourself that, kiddo. And hey, maybe one day it’ll be true, but, as it stands… you’re adorable and no one is scared of you.”

His hand comes to rest over your hair, ruffling the strands out of place.

“Look, we’ll have to fix you up something that’s more intimidating than endearing. Next time you come over, alright?”

“…next time sounds good.”

———————————————————————-

Even though the weather is still decently warm, coming all this way out leaves you fighting chills as you traverse the shadowed streets. Something about this place feels wrong.

Maybe that was; in part, what had driven you to wearing concealer. Not only to prevent the concern of kind souls like MK and Mister Pigsy, but to prevent yourself from looking weak in front of dangerous enemies or opportunistic freaks that lurked in dirty alleyways.

Picking up the pace just enough that you don’t seem to be running (another sign of weakness), you hurry to the house- you’ve always referred to it as a ‘dojo’, but the man training you has always liked calling it a ‘lair’. Given the location, it doesn’t seem like too much of a misnomer.

He’s always had a knack for the dramatic, acting at times almost like a theater major.

Another chill, like you’re being watched or followed.

Now, you start to run. Maybe it’s childish, maybe it’s outright stupid. But you’re actually scared.

Moving just fast enough that you won’t jostle the mooncake boxes, you throw one hand upon his door, hoping that he’s home.

From a nearby alleyway, two faces of pitch black, golden eyes with leering expressions. Arms and hands and ears painted red.

Oh, god.

With a shared laugh, they move forward. Their eyes do not leave yours.

Oh, god.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You smash your fist against the sturdy barrier, uncaring if your frantic banging draws more attention. You need to be inside and away from this awful, awful neighborhood and whatever the hell is approaching.

“C’mon, c’mon! Open the door! Please!”

At the sound of even a slight pleading in your tone, the wood in front of you flies open, a powerful black-furred arm reaching to snag you.

Macaque drags you inside without hesitation, slamming and bolting the door shut.

“Kiddo, what the hell?”

You throw yourself into his arms, breaking into tears. The Mystic Monkey takes a moment to regard you, just barely able to bite back a knowing smile.

“See something scary, huh?”

He breaks up your sobs and hiccups with a few firm back thumps, using his free hand to take the pastry bags from your arms and set them aside. The simian loops both of his arms around you, hugging you tight to his chest.

“Easy, easy. C’mon, kiddo, deep breaths.”

But you can’t seem to stop the frightened crying, no matter what you do or what he says. Instead, you cling to Macaque and quake, staining his ru with tears of fear.

“I can’t, I can’t! I’m s-sorry, but I can’t! Macaque, I can’t! My- I- I can’t! In the… in the alleyway, there’s, there was- augh!”

All your frantic cries are cut with a particularly sturdy thump to your back, leaving you to sharply gasp for the breath that’s been knocked out.

At least you’ve stopped crying.

“Better, kiddo?” As he asks, your mentor sits you on the couch and wraps his tattered red scarf around your shoulders. In a better mindset, you might’ve seen it and thought of the scrap he gave you a few months back. You might’ve thought of your book.

But right now, there’s more important things to think about. Like what you want to do next.

[abiteofhoney]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

3036 words | Chapter Navigation

Chapter 4

Magdalena wakes in a gasp, the instinct to fight for her safety pulling her out of the lull of sleep. She sits up where she’d been lying on the floor, and something heavy pulls at her neck, the dread-inducing sound of chains rattling as she moves. Panicked, she reaches up to grab at the collar, but touching it only drives the metal prongs deeper into her neck, not yet piercing her skin, but threatening it, and it hurts enough to get her to stop touching it. From the pronged collar runs a thick chain, snaking across the floor to where it’s bolted on the wall behind her.

Looking around, she finds that she’s in a nearly empty, concrete room. A metal door is set into the wall directly across from her, but nothing else. No windows. No other way in or out. 

Her legs ache as she maneuvers to her knees, her joints creaking and popping, and acutely aware of how she moves with the chain and collar. She feels too weak to stand up on her feet so she stays on her knees and eyes the door across from her. The chain doesn’t look nearly long enough for her to reach the door, so escape is not an option unless she can get the collar or chains off.

Magdalena turns towards the wall behind her, scooting until she’s directly in front of the bolted hook holding her chains to the wall. Even though it strains her stiff hips, she puts both feet on the wall on either side of the hook, and then grabs the chains and yanks with all of her might. A few puffs of dust cloud the air, but it otherwise doesn’t give. So she tries again. And again, and again, and again, until she’s sweating and she can hardly feel her arms. 

Defeated, she lets the chains fall and lies down where she is, trying her best to keep from crying through her frustrations. 

“Giving up already?” a taunting voice calls through the door, which opens a moment later. 

Magdalena sits right back up, turning so that her back is to the wall,  not to the black-eyed man walking into the room. He smiles at her, flashing a smile of pearly whites – too white and too straight to look natural. They shine too brightly in the dim room, only one single bulb hanging from a wire overhead. 

“Fuck you,” she spits at the cherry-skinned man. 

“There’s that fight. I like watching you fight, Mags. Thought you almost gave up on us there for a bit, but we fixed that, didn’t we! You can’t go dying on us now, and besides, you’re going to look adorable with fangs.” 

Fangs. 

She has some, doesn’t she? 

She runs her tongue over her teeth. Everything feels in place, her canines poking into her tongue, but there are no fangs. She remembers having some, biting those devilspawn with them, and she gets an odd sinking feeling like she might actually … miss them. 

They were so fun to bite with. The blood she drew tasted so good. 

She snarls at him, but he only laughs. “Oh, Mags, stop it. You just look ridiculous. Maybe you’ll be a bit more menacing once those fangs come in.” He ventures a few steps closer, and Magdalena wonders if she has enough slack in her chain to reach him. 

She studies him where he stands, struggling to see him in the dim lighting. He’s dressed in all black with dark red skin and eyes as black as a moonless night. That’s about all she can see of him, the shadows across his face obscuring any noticeable features. All she needs to see are those empty black eyes for her anger to spike anyway. 

“Fuck. You,” she repeats through clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to rip into his flesh. 

Her wish is partially granted when he pulls a small blade out of his pocket and rolls up one of his sleeves. A wicked smile curls his lips as he drags the blade across his forearm. Her focus immediately zones in on the blood that bubbles to the surface as it assaults her senses even from across the room. 

On instinct, she lurches for it, fingers just scraping his skin as she’s yanked back by the collar. With a cry of pain, she falls to the floor, grabbing at the pronged collar as it digs into her throat. 

But when she touches her neck, there’s nothing. Her fingernails only find skin. Fighting for breath, Magdalena sits up, eyes wide as she looks around the bedroom. 

The bedroom. 

The events of the past day flash through her mind as she remembers where she is and realizes that what felt so real a moment ago was only a dream. Maybe a memory. 

The pain felt so real. The scent of his blood still lingers in her senses. 

Her hunger is definitely real. Her tongue finds her fangs right where they should be, sharp and ready to sink into flesh. 

She trembles from head to toe, using the wall to lean on so she can stand, the pain in her stomach near unbearable. She stumbles first to the door closest to her, but a strike runs through the center of her forehead like a jolt of lightning and Anzurin’s words echo around her skull: If you feel like you have to bite someone, you bite me. 

Her feet carry her towards the bathroom door instead. Numbly, she shuffles through the bathroom and into Anzurin’s room, keeping as silent as she possibly can. She walks slow and soft enough that her steps don’t make a single noise, and she opens the door handle with impeccable caution. The hinges don’t even squeak as she pushes it open. 

Anzurin’s bedroom, in the dark, seems to be mostly the same as her own, his bed positioned right where hers was, and he is peacefully asleep on it, his face towards her. Running her tongue over her flesh-hungry fangs, she sneaks right up to the edge of his bed, taking a moment to stare down at him and make sure she hasn’t woken him up. She studies his face, watching to see if his eyes open, but her focus doesn’t stay there, trailing down to his neck instead. Her tongue screams for another taste of his blood. 

Magdalena drops down to her knees and reaches out for him, but her hands only hover. Her mouth pools with saliva, her breaths shallow as she leans forward, sniffing. He smells so delicious. He tasted even better, and she feels like she’s starving once again. 

She sinks back on her heels when Anzurin moves, turning onto his back as he throws his arm over his eyes. The thin silk sheet over him gets pushed down to his waist when he turns, leaving exposed his bare torso, so much skin she could bite. 

Quickly but quietly, Magdalena hurries around to the other side of the bed and climbs onto the mattress carefully enough as to not wake him, making it all the way to his side on her hands and knees. To test how deep he’s sleeping, she reaches out, running her pointer finger down his arm where it lies on the bed. 

He doesn’t stir as she drags her finger from elbow to wrist, so she takes it a step further, sinking down into a fetal position so that her mouth is only a breath’s width from his arm. 

Then she bites him. 

Softly, she sinks her fangs into his meaty bicep and tries to keep from moaning as his blood touches her tongue. So sweet, so warm and delicious and filling. As his blood floods her throat, a memory touches her, a flash of what might have been her human life. A memory of sitting next to a roaring fire, ash and smoke filling the air with the sweet scent of marshmallows and chocolate, warmth and comfort in the gentle air of night. It’s more of a feeling than a taste, a comfort of something familiar and joyful. 

He stirs, grumbling something incoherent, but doesn’t quite wake, so she keeps drinking. She swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood, grateful for the warmth of it that fills the freezing hole in her stomach. Not even taking every drop of Herra’s blood satisfied her as much as his does. 

Losing herself in the taste of him, she sinks her teeth in further, grabbing his arm to hold it tight to her mouth. 

But then it’s brought to an abrupt end by a hand wrapping around her throat, shoving her back onto the bed. Magdalena blinks and Anzurin is directly above her, rage in his eyes as he glares down at her and snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Magdalena swallows the blood in her mouth, struggling to do so with his hand tight around her neck. “Hungry,” she gasps, more an airless rasp. 

“You have no right to come in here and bite me,” he seethes. “Don’t ever –” 

“But you said,” she cries. “You said to bite you.” 

Anzurin grumbles low in his throat. “I did not tell you to come into my room and bite me while I’m sleeping. That’s not okay, Magdalena.” He finally releases her, climbing off of the bed to head into the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, “At least you were gentler this time. Still a bit too rough, but better.” 

She sits up but stays where she is on the bed, licking every inch of the inside of her mouth for whatever blood still lingers. She sits there until Anzurin’s head pokes back through the doorway, peering at her curiously. “Well, are you coming?” She scrambles off of the bed and into the bathroom with him and as soon as she rounds the corner, he says, “I told you that when you’re hungry, I’ll feed you, but you have to ask me first, Magdalena. You can’t just sneak into my bed and bite me. One, that’s my personal space. Two, it’s dangerous to wake me up like that; I could have hurt you. And three, I don’t want to get blood on my sheets and things.” 

She stands by the door while Anzurin cleans off his arm, the wounds from her bite already healed, but the spilled blood still clinging to his ruby skin. It seems like such a waste to watch it run down the drain; she could lick it off of his skin. She’d get every drop, too. 

Briefly, Magdalena notices that the glass she’d previously broken is completely cleaned up off of the floors and vanity counter, though the shattered remains are still on the wall. She wonders who cleaned it; they must have done it while she was sleeping. How long was she sleeping? 

She looks around the room for a clock or something to tell her what time it is, but there’s nothing of the sort, so she asks, “Is it morning?” 

Anzurin shuts off the water and walks past her, back into his room, motioning for her to follow. “No, it’s probably about midday, actually, but it’s still ‘nighttime’.” He puts the words in quotes with his fingers. “You’ve only been asleep for an hour or so.” 

Magdalena nods along like she understands, but she doesn’t. How can it be midday and nighttime at the same time? Not to mention that it feels like she was asleep for a lot longer than an hour. She continues to follow Anzurin, just accepting what he says without asking any questions – not really sure what to ask. 

He leads her to the other side of the bedroom to a small, two-person sofa that sits against the far wall. Anzurin drops into the corner of it, a yawn escaping him as he gestures for her to join him. “Come on, come feed so I can go back to sleep.” 

Magdalena sits by his side, pressed right against him as she stares at his neck, waiting for the go-ahead, but Anzurin shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “No. I’m not letting you drink from my neck until you learn how to bite without tearing. Arm only.” 

She pouts. “I’ll be gentle,” she promises. 

“Prove you can be – on my wrist.” 

She whines, but relents and turns her attention to his offered wrist. Still trembling, whether from her lingering nightmare, or from her hunger, or just her excitement to feed, she grips his arm and sinks her teeth in, digging into his supple skin. 

“Alright, I can’t keep doing this.” Anzurin – for the last time – fists the hair at the back of her head and yanks, ripping her teeth from his flesh. 

She throws her head back, slamming his hand into the wall so he lets go of her, and snaps for his face, teeth just barely grazing his cheek. “Stop it!” 

Anzurin lifts his hand to the scratch along his cheek - not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark. “I needed you to stop biting –” 

“Ask. First,” she hisses through her clenched teeth, rubbing the back of her head to soothe the stinging. “I don’t like it.” 

The hard edge in Anzurin’s gaze softens and the tension leaves his shoulders. “Alright, that’s fair, I apologize. I just –” He sighs, then runs his long forked tongue across his forearm, repairing the damage her teeth did in the blink of an eye. “You have to be gentler, Magdalena. You can’t just keep taking chunks out of me every time you feed, and when you’re out on your own, you can’t tear apart everyone else you drink from.” 

She nods along, seeing sense in what he’s saying. It’s just that her hunger gets so overwhelming that she can’t help herself. And flesh feels so good between her teeth. 

Anzurin leans into her, putting his wrist in front of her mouth once more. “When you bite, Magdalena, only use your fangs. Pierce me once, then take your fangs out, and then you can just drink. Your regular teeth should never touch my skin. 

She frowns, gnashing her teeth. “I like biting. Tearing.” 

“We can find you something else to tear into later, but it’s not going to be me. Bite like I just told you, or don’t feed at all.” 

Too hungry to go without, Magdalena relents and does as told. Only her fangs pierce his wrist, and when she pulls them out, the flow of blood doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t flood her throat like she loves, but she draws out as much as she can, gulping it down to soothe the ache in her gut. 

That ache is the most familiar thing around her. The pain of hunger is the only thing she knows, the only constant in the fleeting mess that the last day has been. There’s nothing she remembers about a life before it. 

Finally, the roar starts to settle, and just as her hunger is fizzling out completely, Anzurin murmurs, “Alright, that’s enough for now.” 

She whines, but licks the two puncture wounds and then pulls her mouth away, but she doesn’t yet let go of his arm, pressing her nose into his skin and inhaling as deeply as she can, filling her lungs with the scent of him, the summer sweetness. 

Anzurin chuckles and smoothes his hand over her hair, brushing it back out of her face. “Good enough? Think you can go back to sleep now?” 

Her lips part and she grazes her fangs across his wrist, but she doesn’t bite. He told her to stop, and she promised she’d listen if he asked. “Nn-hng,” she mutters, nodding. Her tongue teases the wounds once more to lap up the blood that’s still drizzling out of him. 

“Not a drop wasted with you, is there?” he teases as he finally pulls his arm out of her grasp. With a quick flick of his forked tongue, he heals the puncture wounds on his wrist, leaving behind not a trace of her bite. 

“Tastes good,” she pouts. “Like s’mores.” 

“S’mores?” he laughs. “Those little marshmallow treats that humans like?” 

She nods, excited that he knows what she’s talking about - that she actually remembers something, anything, about a human life. “Mhm! Sweet, but - but fiery, too. Smoky.” 

“Many have fed from me, but I must say, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that comparison before. At least you like it, hm?”

“My favorite,” she purrs. 

He laughs once more, a bark of a noise. “Not Herra? You drained her.”

She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head. “Too sweet.” If she wasn’t as hungry as she was, she probably wouldn’t have killed Herra. The sweet, flowery taste of her blood would have driven her away sooner if she hadn’t been starving. And her blood wasn’t bad, but just too sweet for her taste. 

“What about Brem’s?” Anzurin asks curiously. 

“Sharp,” she complains. 

His head cocks to the side. “Like, spicy?” 

She shakes her head. “No, sharp.” She thinks about the way it stung her tongue slightly, trying to find a comparison, and finally, she lands on, “Like pineapple.” 

“I’m sure Brem will be interested to learn that he tastes like pineapple. I don’t think anyone’s ever bitten him before; he’s not a mentor so he’s never had to feed anyone.” Anzurin yawns once more. “Alright. If you’re fed, you should go back to your room and go to sleep.” 

She thinks about the dream she had, the reason she woke up so hungry, and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to go back there. She doesn’t want to see that too perfect smile and those empty eyes again. “I don’t want to sleep,” she refuses. 

“Well, I do,” he says, standing. “And you probably should get some more sleep, anyway, so just go back to your room and try.” 

Reluctantly, she does go back to her own room, but she doesn’t even attempt to sleep. In order to stay awake, she plants herself in the middle of the room, standing there with nothing to lean or sit on, staring at the bathroom door to wait until Anzurin is done sleeping. 

~~~~

I don't remember if I told everyone, but book one of this story is only 15 chapters, so we're just a chapter over being 1/5th of the way there!! only eleven more mondays!

taglist!! go to this linked post or let me know if you'd like be added/removed!

@pizzamanstan @leahnardo-da-veggie  @dyrewrites @trippingpossum @possiblyeldritch

@godsmostfuckedupgoblin @jgc-comeundermybridge @shortcircuitthegreat @seastarblue @bloodmoodtrash

@theaistired @korol--reznii @simonnebethel @danimia @written-among-stars

@lofiyaketyblr @quill-main @bellascarousel @alexanderflowerbird @lead-to-code

@annothersummerofsleep @saecarnell @albatris @solaristawrites @the-letterbox-archives

@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese @threedaysgross @corinneglass @fifis-corner 

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX Concrete screws all size large quantity with best price

[janovavalen]

I NEED PT2 TO RECKLESS.. MAYBE WHEN THEYRE AT THE GOLD CHAIR THING??

an: GTFO OF HEREEEEEEE THESE R AMAZING WTHHHH IM LITERALLY UP AT 12:54 GOING THROUGH IT SO BAD RN THIBKIJG IF I SHOUOD GO TO BED OR DO THIS RNNNNN OMG OMG OMG YES?

✧NOT LEAVING WITHOUT YOU. || percy jackson x fem!reader

summary: in which the group make their way to their new destination only to run across a bit of a bump in the road.

word count: 7,939 (what the actual…)

warnings: awkwardness between percy and y/n, near death experience, the gods literally shipping y/n and percy lowkey bc why not, slight argument. (a little twist in the story<3)

as the group walked and walked on the endless road somehow thinking they’d get somewhere with this pace. y/n walked in the middle of percy and annabeth.

percy would momentarily look at y/n who didn’t meet his gaze. lot to lie to himself but that probably stung almost as bad as the stinger from the chimera.

deciding to talk along the quiet atmosphere around the group, percy began—‘i’ve been thinking.’ as he started, his words gained all their attention.

‘i didn’t steal the master bolt— you guys didn’t steal the master bolt. we’re pretty sure hades has the master bolt, but he couldn’t have stolen it himself. i mean—we don’t even know who actually stole the thing…or why…or, how deep this thing goes’

as they walked and listened to percy speak who talked his thoughts he looked between the group and let his gaze set upon y/n who turned to look at him the second he turned away.

after seeing grover and annabeth not talk or back him up he came to the conclusion—‘i’m the last person to realize this aren't i?’

‘yup—‘ y/n spoke while still not making contact with percy who turned almost immediately to her direction to see she hadn’t been looking at him which he didn’t want to admit but it kinda hurt in a way.

‘yeah’ annabeth spoke while grover nodded to percy who almost rolled his eyes at how he’s just now catching up.

‘okay, so…maybe when we started my head wasn’t fully in this…but since the river…’ looking at y/n who sucked in a breath and turned her head, she turned to the horizon as percy kept talking—‘it all feels different somehow.’ he boldly claimed.

smiling to himself as he thought of two things—mostly one over the other but maiming the second, he spoke once more—‘he saved me. my dad. i guess i just never really thought that’s something he’d do for me. so maybe i gotta take things more seriously now—‘

as he spoke and the group listened, grover couldn’t help but hear something approaching. y/n seeing his head turn to the road behind them she turned as well to see a small dot in the distance.

‘car.’ grover told them. the sound of the engine becoming more prominent as it got closer.

‘that can’t be a car you hear how loud that thing is?’ y/n squinted her eyes trying to see.

‘that’s not a car, it’s a bike. just let it pass.’ annabeth told them, seeing that they had people looking for them on a most wanted, y/n lightly tapped percy’s arm—‘come on’ she spoke as he turned and followed but not without looking behind him.

the group hurrying to hide behind a concrete block on the side of the road to hide; they all sat down into the grassy dirt. their legs outstretched in front of them. annabeth sitting on the side next to grover as percy sat on his other and y/n sitting next to percy.

‘i’m saying, we’re not just trying to retrieve a thing. o think we might need to be detectives here, too.’ percy looked at the group as they listened to him once more to his continued talk.

‘yeah.’ y/n agreed silently as she fixed her legs in front of her along with her pants that had still felt a bit wet. percy looked at her as she looked down at her legs and he felt a slight twinge in his stomach that felt horrible.

reading her face he noticed she was back to her quiet, and awkward self with him—did she somehow hate him again? he just saved her life doesn’t he at least have his name on a talk to list?

‘why are you being weird with me again? i thought we were doing that anymore.’ he asked out loud. grover and annabeth turned their heads to the two to see y/n look up for a second and only squint her eyes and turn her head back down, letting out a sigh as she began—

‘i’m not being weird?’ she frowned her eyebrows as he nodded a bit.

‘yes you are. you’ve been weird since we left the arch.’ he told. as he said this she felt herself get awkward again and blinked her eyes while turning around.

annabeth could almost laugh at this, grover however had never seen her like this before.

‘oh…i get it.’ he boldly claimed while blinking in understanding. did he possibly? y/n turned to him with frowned eyebrows once more.

‘it doesn’t have to be a thing; you know. that we had to—‘

‘stop! it isn’t that, we don’t talk about that—‘

‘i mean, we’re like friends now, best friends. that seems like a best friend thing to do, at least i think they do?’ percy tried so hard to get y/n to speak to him as she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.

grover fired his best not to crack a smile or even laugh to earn a hit from anyone so he bit his lip and shook his head—annabeth could practically feel y/n begging for help so she spoke.

‘i saw the fates. back at the arch, i saw the three fates and i saw atropos cut a piece of thread.’ she told them. y/n could almost celebrate when her mind was fed something to distract her.

‘and that’s bad or…?’ percy cluelessly asked them.

‘the fates weave the life of every living thing. when you see a string cut—‘

‘it means one of us is going to die.’ y/n said while looking over at percy.

percy however didn’t catch the hint yet so he claimed—‘we’re all gonna die eventually.’

‘soon. it’s a warning’ y/n told him as annabeth nodded her head.

‘an omen’ annabeth added.

as percy looked at y/b for a bit longer they heard the engine of the motorcycle approaching them from behind.

‘okay guys, we need to talk about this whole fate thing. three old ladies with a ball of yarn can’t know what's gonna happen. what i choose to do changed what’s gonna happen, and i can choose to do anything i….want’ as they listened to the fact the engine didn’t pass them y/n frowned her eyebrows along with annabeth.

‘need some help?’ a man asked.

as the group turned to the brick in front of them as if they could see who spoke they turned to each other before raising to their knees to peer over the brick that stood in their way.

as they poked their heads over the group, they seen a man biker with a long leather jacket that draped over the backside of his black and silver bike. he wore a black helmet and had a large beard on his face.

‘beg pardon?’ grover politely asked.

‘i asked if you could use some help.’ he repeated.

grover looked over at y/n who had wide eyes as she slowly shook her head, which percy noticed and smiled too.

‘nope. no we’re—we’re good. appreciate you asking, though. so long.’ he furnished as the group slowly turned back around to hide once more as y/n gave a awkward tight lipped smile.

the man sighed as he looked ahead of him before saying—‘you don’t seem too good.’

y/n decided to turn and talk this time—‘we don’t need help and we don’t really need anything from you’ she claimed while lowering back down behind the brick and next to percy.

‘you sure? because you guys are so behind schedule’ he scoffed.

as the group heard him say this they immediately rose from the ground to reveal their full bodies and confused faces.

‘i mean, summer solstice is just a few days away. and as much as i’d love to see a good war pop off, as your big cousin, i feel like, maybe, i wanna give you a hand.’ percy frowned as y/n and annabeth knew right away. grover as well but he decided to play a bit cool.

‘cousin?’ he confusing asked as y/n turned to him—‘he’s aries—‘

‘you two girls must be athena’s kids. always gotta be the wisest one in the bunch.’ ares squinted his eyes as he leaned forward on his bike a bit.

‘why would you help us?’ annabeth asked.

‘how do you even know about what we’re doing here?’ y/n asked as well.

‘because i’m doing exactly the same thing as you. zeus sent all of his kids looking out for the master bolt, too. listen dummies, im hungry. there’s a halfway decent dinner up the road. if you want my held you’ll meet me there. but done dawdle. won’t wait forever.’ he finished before placing his sunglasses on.

before he even fully left he gave a look to them before driving away.

‘that’s my cousin? what kind of family is this?’ percy kind of in awe asked.

‘he didn’t want to offer a ride…?’ y/n squinted as she looked off into the distance.

annabeth sighed before tapping grover, ‘come on’ she told them as they began to walk into where he went off to.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

after a bit of their walking they finally arrived at a pretty quiet dinner of which they saw the bike of aries.

walking into the restaurant with the sound of the doorbell and a few distant talking from the people inside, percy made sure that the door stayed open for y/n who gave a small nod and smile which he was quick to return.

looking around as they looked for them they were all met with the sound of loud laughing and a table slap. turning to see ares himself laughing at his phone as he had two plates, a mountain of fries and five big cheeseburgers in a stack.

‘guess this is the right place’ percy told the three as y/n walked forward along with grover, annabeth and percy who was close to y/n.

aries let his outburst of laughter die down as the group walked behind him which he acknowledged and looked at them—‘gimme a second, i’m just starting a fight on twitter here.’ he told them. annabeth slid into the booth first then y/n who was followed by percy and grover.

‘nothing makes me happier than a good old-fashioned, burn-it-down fight. ah…okay, done’ he clicked his last words before looking at the them.

‘so your quest is going to fail. ask me how i know’ he grinned at them as y/n rolled her eyes in annoyance then only to reach forward for a fry which ares seemed to not really care about, percy noticed this and suppressed a smile.

‘it isn’t gonna fail—‘

‘sure it is.’ ares cut of percy with a scoff—‘for starters…’ pulling out his phone once more to show a video of percy’s step dad.

‘percy was always troubled, but i never thought he was capable of something like this.’

‘wh—who’s that?’ grover asked percy who stayed focused on the phone, his face frozen in shock—‘my stepdad, what’s he doing?’

‘and in addition to the destruction at the gateway arch…’ a news reporter added before ares scoffed with a smile—‘wait for it’

‘you believe he may also have had something to do with your wife’s disappearance?’

‘a kid that messed up? what wouldn’t he do?’

‘what?’ percy frowned as y/n looked at him in a bit of pity before back at the phone.

‘wild right? the FBI is already spreading your picture around.’ ares added as they still listened to the phone.

‘it’s a camaro. i really—we really loved that car…so much…cut!’ his stepdad cried like a baby over camera as they stopped the recording.

‘i’m gonna kill him’ percy angrily promised as he shook his head.

‘i knew i was gonna like you’ ares nodded his head with a smile.

‘but safe to say, the chances of you three idiots hitchhiking the rest of the way to L.A. without getting arrested are slim to none.’ he told them.

y/n tiredly scoffed a bit while trying to somehow lean further back into the seat.

‘why are you sitting here then? if you had this to say you could’ve said it back at that brick before you rode off into the sun.’ y/n asked and mumbled with a roll of her eyes. annabeth pinched her a bit, leaving her to aggressively push her arm into annabeth.

percy sighed softly and looked at y/n, noticing how tired she was and made his way a bit closer to her without her knowing it. he hoped she’d at least try and lean on him for a bit of comfort compared to this wooden chair.

‘if your supposed to be looking for the master bolt too, shouldn’t you be out there looking for it?’ annabeth picked up for y/n as she frowned her eyebrows.

‘hmm there’s no fear in the two of you, is there?’ he asked the girls who started him down in the eyes with nothing but pure confidence.

‘doesn't matter. whether the bolt’s retrieved or not, zeus is going to war with poseidon.’ he told the four as they all looked at percy who looked at them before back at ares.

‘no. the oracle said if we return the bolt, there wouldn’t be a war.’ percy told ares.

‘is that what she said? or is that what chiron said she meant?’ as ares finished his sentence he noticed percy’s hesitation who looked around the room before back at ares.

‘yeah. your new to the family, young one, so let me fill you in on how we work. see, years before i was born, my grandpa kronos ate my aunt and uncle’s. yeah. then my dad made him puke them back up, then chopped him into a million pieces and chucked ‘em into a bottomless pit, so that kinda set the tone right outta the gate.’ the bunch taking this in as they looked at each other letting ares continue.

‘olympians fight. we betray. we backstab. we will push anyone down a flight of stairs to get ahead. and that’s why i love my family so much’ he smiled as percy sighed and leaned back a little.

‘my dad knows he’s not getting this bolt hack with quests or goose chases. he knows there’s a war coming. and in reality i think he’s okay with that. i think he feels it’s just time for a way; so we’re gonna have a war.’ as he finished his sentence y/n cringed her whole face as he placed a balled fist on his lips and inhaled.

‘isn’t that great?’ he asked then as if they would even agree. well, maybe y/n, she made bets with people on who would win in a war if there ever was one any time soon and she betted on loads of books.

‘we’re completing this quest. we’re stopping this war. you said you can help. can you?’ percy asked ares with his hard face expression.

‘okay, so here it is. there’s an amusement park up the road. i left my shield there. you get me my shield back, and i’ll get you to the underworld by lunch tomorrow with a plan to invade hades’s palace’ he explained to them.

‘you left your shield? like…you forgot it on the merry-go-round?’ y/n squinted her eyes at him once more as annabeth sighed in annoyance at her sisters words.

ares leaned forward and under the light the hung above to get closer to y/n who leaned forward as well.

‘okay. the chirping was funny to me for a minute, but it is getting old.’ ares warned her as she squinted her eyes and tilted her head a bit.

‘y/n…’ percy whispered trying to get her attention but she still looked towards ares.

‘so do we have a deal, or am i killing all three of you so i can eat in peace?’ he angrily shouted a bit at the bunch as percy became a bit nervous and looked around to see y/n biting the inside of her cheek.

‘okay.’ percy accepted leaving ares to smile and lean back—‘great. one catch. i really do need that shield back, so i'm gonna keep the satyr and wise girl here as collateral so you can’t run off—‘

‘what? no your not keeping them that’s not—‘ y/n shouted as she frowned only to be cut off by annabeth and grieve who spoke at the same time with—

‘okay.’

‘no way’ percy said while y/n turned to annabeth and shook her head immediately.

‘we don’t split up again—‘

‘it’s okay.’ grover reassured as annabeth nodded.

‘if he wanted to kill us, we’d be dead by now.’ grover told them as ares grinned at grover who asked—‘can we just walk them to the door?’

ares sighed and allowed it letting a wave of his hand go in front of them giving them the signal to walk.

‘okay look, don’t engage with him—don’t speak too much and don’t try to make friends, he’ll want to get your riled up, get in your head and you can let him.’ y/n tired to stress as grover shook his head.

‘it’s okay. really. i know what im doing. go. get the shield. we’ll be here when you two get back.’ grover told them.

‘there’s nothing to worry about y/n. besides, this will be quick knowing you’ annabeth added as y/n sighed and nodded a bit.

as the two of percy and y/n hesitated to leave the two they slowly turned around to the door before leaving grover and annabeth with the god of war.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

as the night sky had fell over everyone and the town, percy and y/n walked to the dimly lit amusement park with the sign that said ‘Welcome to Waterland’

‘i haven’t seen a lot of horror movies but this seems like exactly the kind of place they’d suggest to avoid.’ percy commented as the two stopped and stood in front of the entrance.

‘well…i never seen any kind of movie, is it good?’ she asked while looking over to him as he shrugged.

‘okay then, i’d have to take your word for it—‘

‘wait never? what do you mean never like, never-never?’ he asked almost completely shocked at the fact she’d never seen a movie before.

‘is there another kind?’ she responded as he lightly nodded his head.

‘well, if neither of us is dead in a few days, we really ought to fix that. your missing out.’ he told her almost as a promise as she lightly nodded her head in agreement.

‘in the meantime, we should probably get this over with, though.’ as he walked in front of her she slowly followed a bit far behind.

as percy walked through the metal moving doors right when y/n realized what he just did—‘wait, percy stop.’ she told him as they listened to the sound of ticking above percy.

‘what just happened?’ he asked frantically.

‘just hold still—don’t move at all okay?’ she instructed with her hands out to keep him where he was.

‘let me think…’ she replied. the sound of the metal moving against one another above percy clicking.

‘in the mechanism there, that’s Celestial bronze—‘

‘oh, fascinating. y/n, what’s happening right now?’ percy interrupted not too much interested in the subject of bronze.

‘Celestial bronze is what your sword is made of. if your human, it’ll pass right through you. if your a monster or a demigod…’ she trailed off as percy used the rest of his imagination for the rest of her sentence.

nodding slowly he breathed a bit more heavily—‘well what’s it doing there?’ he asked her while looking up, focused on the bronze.

‘i’m wondering the same thing. safe to say this place isn’t some fun amusement park for everyone. a god built this.’ she finally came to the conclusion.

‘what kind of god builds amusement parks?’ percy asked.

y/n looking around and scratching her brain for a answer she finally answered—‘Hephaestus.’

‘why would Hephaestus build an amusement park?’

‘maybe he finds them amusing?’ she answered with her hands lifted a bit.

‘that’s really not funny, y/n.’

‘it could be a little funny, i’ll say the joke again later and you’ll laugh.’

sighing as he rolled his eyes a bit to focus on the situation in hand y/n still looking at the tucking bronze she mumbled—‘oh…oh, look at that.’ she felt mesmerized by the bronze turning and clicking more—‘that’s kinda cool’ only for percy to get her back to reality—y/n!’

snapping back she closed her eyes and focused a bit more—‘just relax, i’m thinking okay?’.

as the two of them looked up at the clicking she finally sighed—‘i get this. just…push through it.’ she instructed.

hyperventilating, percy turned to her with a look of uncertainty—‘push?’

‘yes.’

turning to do so he stopped before actually going and turned to her—‘cause weren’t you the one this morning who was all, “the Fated says one is us is gonna die and we should take it really seriously?”

looking to the side as she recalled her words she rolled her eyes a bit and in a calming voice—‘percy?’

‘yeah?’

‘just push.’ she told him once more.

sighing with nervousness, he placed his hands on the metal bars and started to walk, pushing them on front of him. the gears of the machine clanging together he finally got thought and hurried his way on the other side before anything could happen.

looking up at the yellow boxed of 0’s one turned into the number 1.

‘what’s was that?’ percy asked with a sigh.

‘the machine isn’t designed to hurt us. it’s meant to scare us. it’s a test.’ she told him as she made her way through.

the one on the yellow boxed turning into a 2, representing the number of people who’d entered.

‘Hephaestus wanted to know any time one of us came poking around his playground. i guess now he knows.’ she commented as they took their last look at the machine and started to walk.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

back at the restaurant sat annabeth, grover and the god ares who laughed at his phone.

annabeth and grover gave each other side eyes before he sighed and nodded his head slowly.

‘we’ve met before.’ he told him.

‘been around a long time, little boy. i’ve bet a lot of people.’ ares told him as he still poked at his phone with one finger.

‘i’m 24’ grover told him.

scoffing he replied with—‘good for you.’

giving a tight lipped smile grover continued as annabeth sat back and listened—‘we met at the solstice. on Olympus.’

sighing with a small groan ares mumbled—‘protester.’

‘oh i wasn’t one of the protesters. i’m a fan.’ annabeth looking at him a bit before back at ares who’s finally looked up he replied.

‘i think you got me mixed up with someone else, kid.’ before looking back at his phone, grover shook his head with a small smile.

‘no i don’t’ he stated with a head shake.

sighing ares placed his phone on its face on the table and spoke—‘Satyrs eat tofu. Satyrs worship flowers. Satyrs sing songs about their feelings. Satyrs are no fans of mine.’ he told him with full confidence.

‘Satyrs are children of nature. nature is brutal. red in tooth and claw, right?’ he asked getting a bit more comfortable in his seating next to annabeth who nodded her head as ares looked up at him—‘maybe unpleasant. but that doesn’t make it untrue. you are the champion, all of that. i respect it.’ he told him.

ares squinting his eyes a bit began to speak—‘so what are you like, a casual World War || buff? you’ve seen Saving Private Ryan, have you?’

nodding a bit he looked to the side before looking back at him—‘i prefer the Turbot War. the Lobster War. the Three Hundred and Thirty-Five years’ war. your deep cuts’

‘huh…those are wars where hardly anyone died.’ he noted as grover nodded a bit.

‘i like your mellower stuff. there’s something cool about overwhelming force and a quick surrender.’ he tells him as ares begins to think.

‘no one talks about those anymore.’ he remembers.

‘they should.’ grover told him truthfully while looking him in the eyes, annabeth agreeing.

sighing ares sat a bit closer—‘so tell me where we met again?’ he asked as grover smiled a bit.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

back at the quiet amusement park, y/n and percy walked around as they looked at things trying to find where ares long lost shield was.

‘oh wow, look at that. tell me the god of craftsmen didn’t build this. have you ever seen anything like this?’ y/n asked as she was interested and amused at the rides around her.

‘if it belongs to the god of craftsmen, what was the god of war doing here? aren’t they enemies? then why’d he split without his shield?’ percy asked and wondered while y/n listened to his questions.

‘if i’m guessing…ares has always had a thing with—‘

‘aphrodite. she’s Hephaestus’s wife. oh your kidding, he met her here? in her husband’s park? that’s so wrong—‘

‘in so many ways’ y/n sided with him as she and him walked side by side.

‘they must’ve got caught and he had to leave in a hurry. one thing ares was telling the truth about…this family is a mess.’

as she finished—a song started to play, grabbing the two’s attention. as they looked over they see a pink sign that blinked the words ‘Thrisd Ride O’ Love’ with a small heart above it and a tunnel with pink.

y/n felt hers grow a bit sweaty along with percy who’d looked over at her, the sense of him looking catching her attention as her eyes stayed forward—‘don’t you even try to tell me not to be weird about this.’

‘i didn’t say anything’ he said while looking back at the pink tunnel.

‘yeah but i can feel you thinking it…this must be where ares and aphrodite got caught. the shield must be in there. we just…gotta go get it i guess.’ she said.

percy turning to her and when she turned to him he faced forward, sighing he said—‘sure. let’s go check out the scary ghost ride. why not?’ he said while walking forward.

‘it’s a tunnel of love. what’s so scary about that?’ she teased only for him to roll his eyes.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

after boarding the boat made for two, they sailed along the water in silence, the only noise being made was an occasional light flicker and the water moving together.

y/n letting her face stay forward to avoid any awkward eye contact, they both heard a sudden thud in the distance making percy turn to her as he adjusted his seating in worry.

suddenly the lights made a quicker more aggressive flicker only to hear the song—‘What Is Love’ played throughout the whole tunnel.

the lights dim and the tension gets very awkward.

‘are you kidding me right now?’ y/n commented as she looked around the tunnel brick walls.

‘feel like i’ve heard this before. i think from an orthodontist’s office maybe?’ he tried to remember.

just then a decorative multicolored light stuck down the tunnel, the pair following its glow. the colors now painted a purple that showed over the two. percy looking at y/n but before he could notice she looked at him back once he faced forward.

just then they focus on a back cartoon figure on the wall with a crown on and multiple legs, it moved along the wall to grow and show a small boy who was birthed from the figure.

‘wait. i know this.’ watching more of the cartoon on the wall he finally came to his conclusion—‘it’s hephaestus’s story.’

the two watching as the cartoon hephaestus hammers down onto something and tried to reach and give what he built to the other figure only for it to turn away—its signs of rejection. perturbing to y/n and he turned only for her to look at him then face forward.

‘rejected by hera. rejected by aphrodite…my mom told me these stories all the time. i remember this. she said…’ as he went a bit quiet y/n turned to him studying his face.

‘what?’ she asked.

‘she said this is what the gods are like to each other. this is the kind of family they are.’ he told her.

frowning her eyebrows y/n asked—‘why didn’t you wanna say that just now? she was trying to keep me away from you guys.’ with a bit of shock y/n let her eyebrows lift up while looking at him.

percy turned away and shook his head—‘maybe you were right. maybe she should have been preparing me better.’ he said.

‘maybe she was preparing you. so when you got to us, you’d be different than this.’ y/n told him as he looked at her for a bit longer he finally turned as the cartoon life story of hephaestus finished with him falling on the ground in failure, the light around them turned off.

suddenly a tunnel of green was in front of them and the duo was shot forward and down the waterfall—screaming in shock as they held onto the boat tighter. both of them being thrusted and moved around aggressively, percy looked over at y/n to see if she was okay and once he say that she was he turned forward, her doing the same.

the opening at the end showing more water—‘is it a bad time to say i barely know how to swim?’ y/n exclaimed while frowning, percy looked over to her shaking his head—‘it’s okay!’

as they reached a more settled but aggressive moving water they looked over to see a stage of a gold chair and a gold woman holding ares shield.

‘there it is. ares’s shield.’ as they looked forward to seeing the end of the tunnel as an empty boat was thrown off the ledge of lightning striking in the air they both looked at each other in worry.

‘jump!’ he said as she took a deep breath in and followed him.

panting as y/n struggled to stay afloat she sunk underwater unable to keep up with the pressure. percy swimming under with his hand outstretched with hers, he heard her yell his name in a muffled voice.

outstretching his hand towards her more a force of water threw itself at her then a bigger one once again only for the both of their worlds to go dark.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

waking up with a gasp as they panted for air, the two laid down on their stomachs next to each other on the floor. coughing a bit they both sat up and looked around to see they were face no longer in the water and on the surface of the chair and the woman statue.

‘did you just pull me out of there with that water power stuff?’ she asked while he looked around the floor in confusion.

‘no.’ he said.

‘did you just—‘

‘i don’t know. maybe? i’m figuring this out as i go.’

‘yeah well, u owe you twice…’ she said as the two of them sat to their knees, looking up at the golden statue and the chair in front of it.

‘how are we supposed to get that thing down?’ percy asked as they looked at the shield being held and the chair. y/n studying it she noted—‘these things are connected somehow. it’s a machine but how do you start the machine?’ she asked herself.

the town of them looking around for any clues as to where to begin.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

‘i hate kids. all of ‘em. i hate my own kids.’ he told the two as they listened and only could really nod.

‘um, maybe less than other kids, but still not fond of them.’ scoffing as he recalled some of their prayers to him—“look what i made”, “what are butterflies for?”, “my knee hurts.”—he finishes with a groan.

‘i love my job, but that night everyone's kids show up for the winter solstice and i have to sit through their “presentation.” that night is the worst night of the year, every year, by far.’

‘this one in particular, it seems. since one of those kids somehow walked off with the master bolt.’ scoffing ares shook his head a bit—‘says you. who knows who actually took it. plenty of people hate my dad enough to try.’

‘maybe, but not many people could pull it off.’ he reminded as ares took that into account as he turned his head to the side.

‘someone hades could’ve recruited for the job.’ he tries to say only for ares to shake his head—‘says you’ he replied once more.

‘and someone who could slip away long enough to do it without being missed, bold enough to cross zeus, stealthy enough to get their hands on the thing—‘

‘en—enough. not everything is a puzzle that needs to be solved. your as bad as my sister.’ he groaned. the mention of her mom bringing her attention a bit more making her think about y/n.

‘was she always like that?’

‘who?’

‘your sister, athena.’ grover told.

‘what do you mean?’ ares asked him.

‘always making things more complicated than they need to be so people will think she’s smarter then you.’ as the tension got tight and his eyes staring down grover who was growing a bit nervous along with annabeth who almost gulped—ares slammed his hands down onto the table making a loud thump scaring the two as they jumped in shock.

‘thank you! i can’t be the only one who sees it right?’ he asked.

‘no, not at all.’

‘it certainly feels that way sometimes. and seriously, she’s the smart one? really? if she’s so smart, explain the owl. she talks to it, like, all the time. this fat nasty little feathers rodent. and it’s like her best friend’ he told him in aggression as annabeth thought about her and y/n’s mom with a owl.

that might explain why y/n thought about getting one not to long ago, she definitely had to tell her about it later.

‘and we’re so sure that she’s a genius and i, no owl, am not?’ he said as grover replied—‘totally!’

‘it’s like people only see what they wanna see and ignore anything at all that doesn’t fit the story they like to tell themselves.’

‘exactly! like you being the one to find the lighting thief and not her.’ ares had gone quiet once grover exclaimed this making annabeth a bit tense as the two did then looked at ares who leaned forward.

‘what did you mean by that?’

‘by what?’ grover asked as he played confused.

‘found the thief. we both know your friend didn’t steal the bolt.’ he told him.

‘yeah, but zeus thinks he did, which is kinda all that matters, right?’

‘shut up.’ he instructed grover who watched as ares began to think.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

as y/n and percy looked at the golden chair, the two of them trying to figure out what to do next.

‘it was a gift with a hidden purpose. hephaestus offered it to hera, but as soon as she sat in it she couldn’t get up. all the gods tried but the machine was too smart. it was too strong. it was too much. even for them.’ percy told y/n who looked over at him with her eyebrows scrunched.

looking up he continued—‘finally, they said if hephaestus let hera free, aphrodite would be his wife.’ looking over at y/n as he licked his lips a bit he told her—‘the chair is the bargain. one of us goes in, the other gets the shield—‘

‘i’ll do it.’ y/n immediately said as she began to walk forward.

‘what? wait a minute.’ percy was quick to grab her wet sleeved arm—‘whoever goes in, isn’t coming out. that seems pretty clear.’

‘i know, that’s why i said wait—‘

‘this isn’t the arch, seaweed braid. your not telling me to stay behind, it didn’t work then and it won’t work now—‘

‘yes, i am and yes it will.’

‘i’m not going to let you do it. it doesn’t work that way.’

‘it’s why you’re here.’ he told her as he scrunched his eyebrows, his eyes looking at her.

‘what’s that supposed to mean…’ she asked him.

‘when choosing my team, i told chiron i needed someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me if the quest required, he agreed, that was you.’ he told her as she sadly shook her head and faced forward.

‘you were right, i can’t believe it but the fates were right. there’s no getting around his. we dodged it at the arch, barely, but…maybe this isn’t something you can dodge forever.’

‘the oracle chose you. the gods chose you!’

‘stop! it isn't about that.’

‘what could it possibly be about if it isn’t about that?’

‘your better at this than me.’ when he told her this y/n couldn’t help but sadly look at him in the eyes with her brows scrunched together.

‘you just are. and you know it.’ shaking her head in denial he continued to talk—‘believe me, i wish there was slither way this quest succeeds. i just don’t see it.’ he finished as she sadly looked over at the chair, her heart clutched in a way she can’t explain.

as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pen she gasped when she knew what he was trying to say.

‘percy no…’ she told him while shaking her head. looking up at her ad she kept her eyes focus to his hand with hers pushing it away slowly, he confusingly shook his head.

‘i’ve let you sacrifice your life for mine twice..and i’m not letting you do it again. i owe you a great amount for saving me and this is the way i’m going to do it—‘

‘y/n no this isn’t how it goes—‘

‘it’s how i want it to go! i want it to happen like this and it will. you will get the shield and get out of here to get the bolt and save your mom. you will see her again and you will finish this quest. percy, we barely know each other and you’ve saved me twice. let me return the favor please.’ she told him. he shook his head in denial while his eyebrows frowned only for her to give him a small nod and smile.

placing her hand in his before giving it a squeeze she let go as he could only stare in the spot she was once in and turn his body to where she walked towards the gold chair.

‘can you promise me something?’ she asked while turning around—‘i’m not going to let annabeth get sad and stop the quest.’ he told her as she nodded.

‘i was going to say maybe try and come back with annabeth and get me out this chair? i don’t want to be forever young in an amusement park.’ she tired to lighten the mood, making him scoff with slight tears in his eyes as she smiled.

‘do you really think you had to ask?’ he asked her as she smiled a bit—‘just reminding you’.

turning around to climb up into the chair, she sat down with both of her hands on the sides of it as it started to make noise. looking a bit worried, percy looked at her as she looked around.

‘this is kinda weird. it feels…warm.’ she told percy who had tears forming fast.

looking down, gold started to run up from her shoes and started to make its way up her body.

‘this is a bad idea—y/n stand up!’ he told her.

‘i can’t…’

‘y/n stand up, i mean it!’ he told her more urgently, his face growing more sad but he second as his heart clutched.

‘it’s okay percy…i’m okay….im okay…im—‘ just then the gold finished consuming y/n’s body as she turned into a gold statue in the chair.

shaking his head, percy sadly looked around as he watched the shield fall loose. making his way over it he ignored it and immediately went to work on the gold chair y/n sat still in.

not knowing what he was going he just started to twist random screws and geers. just then a man walked through a door with a beard and a cane.

‘can i help you?’ he asked him only for percy to ignore him completely and try to get y/n out of the chair.

‘do you need some help finding your way out?’ the man playing a flute as it made steps appear out of the water below.

‘so off you go.’ he told him as percy shook his head and started to turn random things once more—‘i’m not leaving without my friend.’

‘yeah that isn’t really how it works. it’s kind of a one way sort of thing. it can’t be undone.’ he told percy who rolled his eyes.

‘how do you know?’

‘because i built it.’ he revealed himself—hephaestus.

‘i’m not leaving here without my friend.’ percy told him once more. ‘and if you aren’t going to help me, could you maybe leave me alone so i can focus?’

‘in spite of what my brother might have told you, i am not someone who’ll be pushed around.’ignoring him as he continued to turn geers and try to get y/n out, hephaestus continued to talk—‘i know her mother was displeased with her recently, but how will your father feel if i told him this?’ he asked percy, making him almost focus on what he was saying.

‘you might not know how he gets, but i do. and this is a lot. even for him.’ standing up for a second percy listened and looked at hephaestus who’s hand held the railing in front of him.

‘you leave out of here with that shield, your a hero, on your way to the greatest glory. he will be proud and your friend might even be forgiven. and all will go back to being as it always has been, always will be, as it should be—‘

‘but it isn’t how it should be! it isn’t! eat or be eaten. peer and glory and nothing else matters. ares is that way, she’s is that way her mother… is that way.’ he told hephaestus who started to look to the side.

‘she isn’t that way. she’s better than that. maybe she was that way once, but she didn’t want to be that way anymore. we won’t be like all of you. i just won’t.’ hephaestus listening to percy as he sadly looked down and turned back to the chair, he almost went back to work only for hephaestus to blow his flute again and the geers started to turn.

clicking and making noise, percy hurried and made his way in front of the golden statue of y/n. her naturally colored eye started to show as she blinked it and the rest of her face coming back to normal, breathing heavily as y/n looked around at herself in the chair, the rest of her body coming undone.

percy happily looked at her as she looked up at him and loved her hands.

getting up as she stumbled forward to percy who grabbed her immediately he held her hands in his while looking over her face with a small smile and a tear dropped from his eye down his face.

‘some of us don’t like being that way either. your a good kid percy.’ hephaestus told him as he held y/n’s arm who worked on standing right.

‘i’ll put in a good word with your dad for you…same with you y/n with your mom.’ as he turned away from the two who looked at him before each other. the door he once went through shut.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

at the restaurant the three heard the bell of the door chime through the restaurant to reveal y/n holding the shield and percy close behind her. annabeth let out a breath of relief she didn't know she was holding as grover did the same, ares looking at the two not really believing they did it.

as they walked over to the table, she placed the shield down into the table. y/n and percy looking at ares whilst annabeth and grover looked at percy and y/n.

‘where’s our ride.’ percy started off.

as they walked outside to ares standing behind a semi truck both y/n and percy said—‘your kidding’

ares with a straight face clicked his two fingers together as the doors opened to reveal animals and stacks of hair in buckets and boxes.

‘get in, don’t. i really don’t care. but in a few hours this thing is gonna be at the Lotus casino in vegas. hermes hangs out there, you play your cards right and his personal driving can get you to L.A. in minutes.’ ares told them as he threw a bag at percy who caught it.

‘here. clothes, cash, drachmas to summon hermes. i’d wish you luck, but what good would it do you?’ he told them in his honesty.

‘we’re not gonna fail.‘ percy told ares who grinned.

‘don’t worry. your dad had plenty of kids he stopped caring about once he lost interest. you’ll have lost of company.’ ares tried to make percy feel bad but it didn’t work.

‘we’re not gonna fail, and i’m getting pretty tired of you saying it.’ he started as y/n looked at annabeth and grover.

‘percy…’ y/n and grover said his name in a warning town as ares’ face dropped from its grin.

‘you think you know who i am but you don’t.’ he stated while walking up to ares who kept his eyes trained on him—‘and if you're not careful…your gonna find out—‘

‘percy…’ grover and the two sisters walked up to his side as y/n placed her hand on his arm. percy’s glare not leaving ares’s who stayed the same.

‘so, thank you for the emotional abuse and the cheeseburgers…and the ride! we’re gonna take you up on that, too.’ grover told ares as he looked back at percy who finally walked off as he was being dragged by grover and given a push by y/n.

the group walking into the bus as ares looked at them as they stood in the portable barn, grover asked—‘hey, do you think we could get some paper towels or something, it’s not that nice in here.’ he finished while they looked around.

ares however only grinned before clicking his fingers once more as the doors shut.

‘well…this smells.’ percy commented.

‘if it gets us where we need to go, that's all that matters.’ annabeth told him as y/n nodded.

‘assuming ares was telling the truth.’

grover turned and picked with his hands as he shook his head—‘he wasn’t…not entirely, at any rate. he was holding something back.’ grover told him.

‘how do you know?’ y/n asked.

‘because, i think i got it out of him. i know who stole the lightning bolt.’

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 3 “Make It Stop.” | No. 30 Bridal Carry

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Pre-relationship)

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Gunshot wound, mentions of blood

“It… hurts.”

“I gotcha, Y/N. Ya jus’ hang on fer me, girl, y’hear?” Daryl was running as fast as he humanly could with you cradled against his chest in a bridal carry, desperate to get back to the prison. You needed Hershel and you needed him now. 

He should have never taken you out with him. You were inexperienced, clumsy. He had really just wanted to spend some time with you away from the prying eyes of your home. Those knowing smiles and giddy whispers were enough to set his nerves on edge. 

He couldn’t have known someone else would be hunting the same area. He couldn’t have known they would be tracking the same buck. He couldn’t have known that they would lay claim even though it was his bolt that took down the animal. And he definitely couldn’t have known the man would aim his gun at an innocent woman and pull the trigger before Daryl could even blink. The man went down fast with a bolt to the brain but the damage was done. 

“Make it stop. Please, Daryl.”

His heart felt as if it were being crushed in a vice, your strained pleas tearing away at him like a walker on flesh. “Almos’ there. Doc’ll fix ya righ’ up.” He could feel the warm, sticky blood spreading onto his own shirt and knew he was running out of time. His legs were burning, threatening to give out. He could barely manage a full breath. But he couldn’t stop. 

When the gates of the prison came into view, he nearly sobbed with relief. It was short lived. “Y’see? We made it.” You didn’t respond. “Y/N?” Your eyes were closed, face pale. “Fuck!” He was stumbling with exhaustion as he rushed past the few walkers shuffling around in the grass. “Open the gate!” He didn’t have to say it twice. 

Daryl made sure to stay close enough to the make-shift infirmary to be called if needed but far enough away so he couldn’t hear the urgent demands of the veterinarian as he tried to save your life. The archer sat on the floor, face in his hands, kicking himself for ever putting you in this position. He had been selfish and you were paying the price. 

“Daryl.”

The bowman quickly met Carol’s exhausted gaze. The weariness made it hard to read whether she was bringing good news or coming to tell him you were gone. 

“She… is she…?”

“She’s alive.”

Daryl let himself fall back against the wall. He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and did his best to push it back, but the shine of tears was already evident. 

“Hershel says any longer and…. Anyway, she’s going to be fine.”

The archer nodded, not trusting his voice. Carol, ever vigilant, noticed his plight and slid down the wall next to him. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Pfft.” He responded too quickly. There was one of those knowing smiles he couldn’t stand. “She ain’t the wors’ person ta be ‘round.” The silver haired woman hummed and nodded. 

“She was thrilled you asked her to go with you.” She offered, twisting the bloody cloth in her hands. Daryl looked over at her but quickly looked away when she tried to meet his eyes. “She’s sweet on you. Has been for a while.”

“Stop.” 

“She really is, and what’s so terrible about that?”

Daryl’s face burned hot. “She can do a lot better than me.”

Carol reached out to brush his longer hair away from his face. He never flinched from her touch anymore. Hers or yours. “I don’t think so.” And with that, she stood and padded across the concrete to disappear back into the cell where you currently lay resting. 

Daryl let his friend’s words tumble around in his head, equal parts hope and fear spreading throughout. There was no way a classy little thing like you could ever be interested in a grumpy old redneck. But…maybe you had said something. Carol seemed so sure of it. 

With a shaky breath and trembling hands, the archer climbed to his feet and forced himself forward. He would sit with you until you awoke. And when you were stable enough, he would talk to you. Maybe. No, he would. He would. 

[oceaneyesinla]

I started writing this in July, and the first few paragraphs have been sitting in my drafts for months. A bolt of inspiration hit me after a rough week, and here it is. It was so cathartic to put all of this into words, and I think it's turned out pretty great.

CW: suicidal ideation, discussion of death, heavy reference to depression - please proceed with caution if any of this affects you. This is pretty heavy, but there is a hopeful ending. Below a cut just in case

Anyone who can relate to this, I'm sorry, and I hope things get brighter for all of us

divider by @/cafekitsune

Sunrise

You're not sure long you've been up here. Long enough for the sunlight of day to fade into the darkness of dusk. You stopped paying attention to the time when you turned your phone off, unable to stomach the worried messages from those who love you - or at least they claim to. Whether you are someone capable of being loved is a question you ask more and more every day.

Part of you wants to hop up onto the wall, to sit on the edge and stare down on the city lights. You know better than to stare into the abyss, however - nothing good will come from tempting yourself and fate.

You don't want to die. Not really. You want this to stop. You want to smile so wide it makes your cheeks ache, and you want to bask in the sound of your own laughter again, like you did before the demons that haunt your mind took that from you too.

There's an empty hole inside of you, all jagged edges and tender flesh. You can't help but wonder if that marks the place where your soul should sit; if that gaping wound in your psyche should be filled with warmth and light and love. You think it was, once. You know it still is, sometimes. When you sit around a restaurant table with Jiro and Mina and Momo and Tsu, chatting about the latest pro hero rankings or whatever 'secret' the gossip magazines think they've uncovered this week. When you meet up with lzuku to go hunting for new All Might merch, Bakugo trailing behind pretending he's not just as excited as you are. When your schedules align and all of your school friends gather together and you end up refereeing an intense bout of Mario Kart.

When you're surrounded by your friends, you feel almost human. You can almost believe you deserve to love and be loved in return. You almost believe whatever is broken inside you is worth fixing.

You step towards the edge, elbows on the waist high concrete as you lean over, trying to take what small comfort you can from the city living and breathing below. Streetlights are beginning to flicker on, and the billboards and buildings are glittering like a starlit sky. You've never put your finger on why, but the city lights have always made you feel just a little less empty.

Would it really be so bad if this was the last thing you saw? You could close your eyes and find your peace in those lights burned into your eyelids and wind rushing all around you. The world would continue to turn, and your friends would find a way to exist without you. You're not so for gone that you can't admit it would hurt them, at first. They're nothing if not resilient, though; after everything you've all been through, you know they will be just fine.

You push up onto your tiptoes, leaning just a little further. It's so tempting, the idea of escaping, of finally feeling anything but broken.

A soft call of your name stops your thoughts in their tracks. You would know that voice in a chorus of thousands.

"Shoto. Why are you here?" Why would he bother ? Why would he seek you out? Why does he think you're worth even a second of his time?

You're not looking at him, but you can feel the concern radiating off him. For his sake, you take a step back - the last thing you want is to worry him. You suppose you would be worried too, in his position.

"Denki called me when you stopped answering his texts. He's worried about you." He doesn't voice his own worry, but you feel it all the same. You can imagine his furrowed brow, and the frown settling across his pretty face, and your stomach aches uncomfortably.

"How did you find me? I turned my phone off." Partly to isolate yourself, and partly to avoid anyone coming to find you. They all have more important things to do - none of them should have to deal with you like this.

Footsteps signal Shoto's approach, but you don't mind. Your selfish desire for comfort and connection overrides the shame and guilt building in your gut. He stops when he's standing next to you, shoulders only millimetres apart. You get the impression he longs to move closer.

"You always come up here. Best view of the city." His words are nonchalant, fact of the matter. As if he hasn't pressed a tiny Band-Aid over the hole in your soul, just by knowing that tiny, insignificant facet of who you are. You turn your head to look up at him, and he's already watching you. Mismatched eyes meet your own, and you feel like he's seeing all the broken pieces you've tried so hard to tape back together. That should terrify you, but it's him. If anyone can be trusted with the last struggling embers of your heart and your hope, it's Shoto.

Tears start to sting at your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them from making hot tracks down your cheeks. It's only when Shoto shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders that you realise you're trembling. Whether it's because of the cold or the emotions running through you doesn't matter, because the residual warmth and familiar scent of Shoto's deodorant will soothe you all the same.

Shoto watches as you slip your arms into the sleeves, and he reaches out with deliberate care, holding out his hand to you in silent offer. You don't know what he's planning, but is it really important when you would follow him anywhere? He's already proved he'll do the same for you tonight.

You place a still shaking hand in his, and the smile he gives you is like a lighthouse in a storm. He cradles it reverently between both of his before rolling up the sleeve of his jacket. He repeats his actions for the other hand, and once he's done, he hesitates for a second before lifting your hand so he can drop a kiss to your knuckles. He lets your hand fall to your side, but he doesn't let go. Neither do you.

Sunlight breaks through your stormy skies - his warm side is closest to you, his hand toasty and soothing in yours, and something fledgling and hopeful tells you he planned it that way. Planned to reach out to you, planned to warm you from the inside out.

"Stay with me tonight." You open your mouth to protest, but you're silenced by the silent anguished desperation in his eyes, "Please."

"Okay."

Another warm little smile and a squeeze of your hand. His relief is palpable, and you make a mental note to thank Denki for raising the alarm. You don't know what you would have done if you stayed alone up here, but you know there's a chance you would have made a decision you couldn't come back from.

You don't want to die. Not really. You just want to feel the sun on your skin without always waiting for the stormclouds to roll in and obscure what makes your life worth living.

"You can make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. I could ... come with you, if you like?" He looks so hesitantly hopeful, and a tiny smile tugs at your lips as you nod your approval. The two of you have been tentatively plotting a path towards each other since your school days; growing closer with every late night conversation and casual daytime adventure. Life together feels inevitable, which is why neither of you is in any rush - you would wait an eternity for him, just as he would for you.

Surrounded by him and reminded of the love your friends freely offer, rational thought is slowly but surely coming back to you. You're not okay, not by any means, but you want to be. You think you could be, with your friends by your side.

You don't know how long you've been up here, but as Shoto leads you away from the edge of the roof, his hand still warm in yours, you think it's been long enough.

[alphaleathergearhead]

Part III: The weekend service - its start

After his release from the dungeon and the humiliating complete shave of his head and eyebrows, Ben, full of shame to be seen like this, stayed at home and took a day off at office. Not feeling good, he lied on the phone.

Far too soon, Friday came and passed and 6 pm was nearing. Ben considered not to go back for the threatening „service weekend“. On the other hand he was curious about what was to come. And thinking about it, he got incredibly horny. But his cock was closed up in a metal cage which made pissing quite difficult and jerking off impossible.

At last his curiosity won the better of him and he put on the bleachers, boots, leather shirt and ma1 bomber jacket he was given after his shave. He went to the apartment block of Alpha skin on a run because it was getting close to 6 pm.

The skin boy, who shaved him yesterday, was waiting for him. „Better hurry up, bro, he will get very angry if you are too late“ he called out and dragged Ben inside. They went down the stairs to the cellar but instead of entering the dungeon, Ben already knew, they turned left and started to go down a long corridor until they reached a huge metal door which was lockes with two huge metal levers. Skin boy moved them and the door swung open. Ben was tossed inside and the door was closed from outside. Ben whirled round, but it was too late. Inside it was pitch black and silent.

Ben stood there for a moment, unable to move. Then he started to stretch out his hands to explore the unknown room. The air was gently warm and dry. He soon reached a brick wall and turned to the other side. Then he heared a move next to him, his hand touched cloth and he cried out with surprise. A gloved hand closed his mouth, he was roughly pinned to the brick wall and a well known, demanding voice said „Silence, fag.“

Alpha skin was waiting for him.

Soon a cellar lamp was lit and Ben could see a big room with three doors, the one he was shoved in and two other doors, all closed. There was a table and comfortable chairs. Bolts on the floor and in the walls. Threatening bolts. A rather small iron cage in one of the rooms corners. A leathered rack on four legs with slings to fix you. Cuffs and chains on the wall. Iron bars with locks.

And HIM.

Alpha skin was wearing an Injector III bomber jacket in woodland camo, a leather shirt, combat pants in matching camo, leather gloves and his 30 hole ranges which were rather muddy and soiled. He let Ben go and smiled.

„Welcome for your first service weekend“, he said. „We will receive some guests later and they will use you as they like. So we have to prepare you well.“

Suddenly the skin boy was in the room, standing behind Ben. Quickly he brought Bens arms on his back and cuffed him. He then knelt down and fixed iron locks with a short chain around Ben´s ankles and unceremoniously bend him over the table. The back zipper of his bleachers were opened. Ben felt a hand at his hole applying some oily liquid. Then he felt that something was inserted in his hole and soon enough warm water gushed inside him. He cried out in pain and astonishment.

Alpha skin stood in front of him and hit him hard in the face. „Press your butt cheeks together, fag, and don´t loose anything of it.“ A second gush was inserted and then Ben was dragged to one of the doors, which was opened quickly. It was a bathroom and Ben was thrown on the toilet seat. He let go and all the water came out, cleaning his rectum.

After having finished he was dragged out again and Alpha skin fixed a leather collar with a leash around his neck. Ben was dragged in front of one of the chairs and pressed down on his knees. Then the skin boy fixed the leash at a bolt in the concrete floor. Bens possibilities to move were quite restricted now.

He knelt on the floor and waited, anxious about what was to come but at the same time horny as he never was before. Alpha skin sat down in the chair and the skin boy brought him a drink and a cigar and lit it. Alpha skin took some draws, inhaled the smoke deeply and blew it in the direction of Ben. He stretched out his feet and Ben came close to the end of Alpha skins boots. Alpha skin started to kick Ben, first gently, soon harder, and tried to knock him over. Ben tried not to loose his balance which was quite difficult. The skin boy laughed.

„Silence“ shouted Alpha skin. „Don´t think that your advancement in our brotherhood gives you the right to talk or laugh as you like. Understood?“

„Sir, yes my Master, Sir“, spluttered the skin boy. „Sir, please punish me if you like, Sir“, he added.

„We´ll see later to this“, shouted Alpha skin angrily, „now get out you dirty cum and prepare everything for our guests“.

„Sir, yes my Master, Sir“, spluttered the skin boy again and left the room.

„As we are talking about preparations for our guests“ said Alpha skin and eyed up Ben, „you will have recognized that my boots are in a bad condition. „As a host they have to be shiny. See to it, fag“ he barked at Ben.

„Sir, yes, Sir, but were can I find shoe polish to clean them? Sir?“

Alpha skin laughed humorless and cold. He kicked Ben in his face and Bens eyes filled with tears. „Bloody fag, with your spit and tonge. Now move“, another blow.

Ben trembled. He started to lick the tip of one of the boots. „Faster. And don´t you dare to miss a spot.“ Alpha skin bent forward and hit Ben in his face.

To avoid more kicking and hitting Ben started to work on the boots and cleaned out first both soles and then the boots up to their end. It was a disgusting and dirty work. Soon his tongue got sore and he had to swallow down the dirt which he had to lick from the boots. Alpha skin sat comforatbly in the chair, smoking and dringing and he groaned with pleasure.

At last Ben thought that he had done it. He looked up to his Master. „Sir, I think they are ready for your guests. Sir?“

Alpha skin put down his drink and the cigar. He looked at his boots. Then he grabbed Bens head, shook him and gave him several quick blows. Ben cried out in agony. „You call that clean, dirty faggot? Do it again, all over, Now.“ Ben received more hard pushes with the boots. Hurridly he restarted his work to stop the kicking.

On it went. Four times he had to clean the boots until Alpha skin was satisfied. He received a final hard blow and then some water which he drank greedily. Panting he sank to the floor, Alpha skin standing over him. He gave Ben another kick in the ribs. Ben groaned.

„Where is your obedience?“ shouted Alpha skin. „You received water and you are not grateful for it.“ Ben received anothe kick in his side and he bend over in pain.

„Sir, Master, thank you, forgive me, Sir“ he cried out.

Alpha skin dragged Ben to his feet. He stared hard at him. Out of nothing he had a rubber ball gag in his hands and put it roughly into Bens mouth. Then he fixed it around Bens neck so that Ben could not remove it.

„I´ll silence you now. There is some time left until my guests will arrive and you will be presented to them. Don´t talk to them, don´t look at them. You are scum for them, faggot. We will call you scumfag from now on. And you will adress them as Sir or Master, when you are allowed to speak to them. For now, in here.“

Alpha skin dragged Ben to the cage in the corner of the room. Some hard and well placed kicks forced Ben inside. Then he locked the cage.

Ben could not stay inside, only kneel or lay with tightened legs. He still was cuffed and now gagged. Every inch of his body was aching. He wondered what would come next. Then he realised that his dick was again hard as rock. It was aching in ist cage. Double caged, Ben thought.

He heared Alpha skin open one of the doors. „Come here and kneel down“ he shouted. Then Ben heared some thrashing and yells of pain, which soon were muffled by another gag. Ben knew, the skin boy was punished for his disobedience.

Part IV, The weekend guests.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 36

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board!

Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

"Harley?"

Merle. It's Merle!

My voice comes out as a screeching cry — "Merle!" — like I've just watched him get shot at the climax of some dramatic movie, before I'm breaking free of Glenn and crashing into my Uncle's arms, and he's warm like the Georgia sun around me and he's alive.

"Holy shit," I hear him rasp in my ear as he hugs me tight. I'm thinkin' the exact same thing! Holy shit!

"You're al— You're a—," I blubber, pulling my face away from his neck to look him in the eye. "You're alive!"

It's been a whole year since I last saw him, but almost nothing about him has changed. His face is broad and wrinkled by the sun, nose ugly and crooked from all those bar fights, and he's still got that look of a brute about him that my Dad never quite mastered.

He didn't die in Atlanta. He didn't die anywhere. He weren't layin' out on the concrete roof of a skyscraper, slathered in sweat and blood as the dead tore into him with wet fingers like greedy kids at a barbeque — Not like he was during so many late nights, dyin' over and over again in my nightmares — because he lived. I got no idea how, and I sure don't got no idea how I ever doubted him, neither.

"I sure am," He smirks, his dark blue eyes tinged with adrenaline.

He glances over my shoulder at Dad, chuckling to himself at the sight.

Dad hasn't moved. Not even an inch. He stands there, staring at us with that same look on his face as when he watched me step onto that frozen river last year, afraid for my life but without anything he could do to save me, help me, pull me back into safety.

His gaze darts between Merle's face and mine over and over again, as if he can't decide who to look at.

Why ain't he happy to see him?

Merle's chuckle dies away, leaving us in a terrible silence. I can't figure out what's wrong.

"I asked you nicely to drop yer shit," One of Merle's friends warns them. "Or did you forget?"

Reluctantly, Dad and Glenn throw their weapons aside, lifting their hands in surrender.

"Merle," Dad eventually says in greeting, tense and unfeeling, glancing at me once again. "Long time."

"Forever," He agrees. "And Harley's barely grown a hair's width, haven't ya, princess? Woof. What the Hell happened to yer hair?"

"It got a bunch'a blood in it, so I cut it all off and now I just keep it short. Daddy helps me." I giggle as he ruffles my hair, my gaze dropping down to his other hand — Or, well — Blade. He ain't got no hand at all. I gasp, "What the Hell happened to yer arm?"

"You like it, huh?" He lifts it up, the metal glinting just a few inches from my eye. "Fixed it up myself."

"Woah," I breathe, looking into my own pupil in the reflection.

"You can tell her all about it back in town," His friend with the brown skin angrily butts in. He shoves his gun at Dad and Glenn, his wavy, black hair suckered to his forehead with sweat as he sneers at them. "I know a few guys who'll wanna have a chat with these fucks!"

Merle lowers his blade as he stands to his full height. "Hold up, India. You're really gonna ruin my nice family reuni—?"

"I don't give a shit if it was Christmas, Merle. They gotta pay."

"Arjun's right." The other man steps forward, snatching the gun and knife from my holster and throwing them aside, making Dad and Glenn tense up, relaxing only slightly when he steps back. "They're comin' back with us. Frankly, whether you like it or not."

I don't know why, but I back away from Merle, slowly at first but then I'm running to hide behind my Dad.

What? Coming back with them?

Back, where?

I thought it was all just a big misunderstanding, and that now I got my Uncle here, everything's alright?

Uneasy, I glance at the dead man laying off to the side. His vacant eyes stare at the sky as his blood trickles out from around the bolt lodged between his eyebrows, slowly dripping into a big puddle on the tarmac. Eric, I think they called him.

"Are you serious?" Glenn exclaims in outrage. "We've got a kid! Merle, that's your niece!"

"Wanna tell me where you're holed up?" Merle asks, and when Glenn's stammering is met with a smug look of indifference, almost like he's bored, I realize he's not going to save us from this. This isn't a reunion anymore. "Didn't think so. Wherever you're set up, I'll bet'chu my other arm our place is ten times the fuckin' paradise. Just make this easy for us, man. Harley won't be in no typa trouble."

Peeping around my Dad, I look up at his face. "Daddy, what's goin' on?"

I don't wanna go nowhere with these people when the invite's like this. They're angry with us — Real angry.

Dad looks like he's about to explode. "Merle—"

"It's either that or the Indian and the fat-ass shoot us all in the head right now," He deadpans. "And while I wouldn't be too sad about Glenny here gettin' his shit rocked, I don't fancy it happening to you or Harley. Okay? C'mon. This is a favor, brother."

I look up at Dad again, but he's silent. What's gonna happen to us at Merle's paradise town?

Glenn takes a step forward. "You can't do thi—"

BANG.

His hands fly to his thigh. "Fuck!"

As Dad gasps, I squeal, "Glenn!"

He shot him!

"I'm not messin' around, cowboy," The white man snarls, marching forward and grabbing Glenn's arm. "Get movin'!"

We're leaving with them. We really are.

Dad quickly picks me up and protectively cups my head to his shoulder, his grip on me tight. I wrap my legs around his waist, not realizing how much I'd been wanting to be in his arms. Oh, my God. I know we killed their friend, but can't we just tell them we're sorry? It was in self-defence, and nobody alive this far into the end of the world ain't done it at least once. We were only here for baby formula.

Dad grunts as the Indian man shoves us forwards with his gun, the sound of Glenn struggling to walk behind us.

He needs a doctor. We can't run away even if we wanted to, not when he's like this. That man knew that when he shot him.

Merle's laughing his ass off. "Holy shit, Boyd! Ya ain't have to shoot him!"

"Whatever, Merle. Just get the keys outta my pocket 'fore I shoot you, too. You're drivi— Shit!"

Mouse suddenly lunges at him, biting onto his ankle and shaking his head from side to side, growling nastily.

"Shit! Shit, get him off!" He cries out as Merle rears his leg back and kicks the dog in the face.

Yelping, Mouse backs off before a couple gunshots split the tarmac around him and he turns on his heel, scampering away through the trash and litter. My heart jumps and sinks at the same time, watching him disappear into the trees with his tail tucked.

I feel Dad's muscles tense under me.

Lowering his gun, Merle calls out after him, "Scram, poochie!"

"Shit, that hurts," Boyd winces down at his blood-soaked jeans, shoving Glenn forward. "Hurry it up. I got a date with the med bay."

"It's gonna be okay, chicken," My Dad's mumbling into my ear as we all make our way across the parking lot, fingers squeezing the back of my neck. "I can feel yer little heart racin'. It's gonna be okay. Me and Glenn and Merle ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you."

Merle said this was a favor. If we told them where the prison was, we'd be leading a bunch of angry people right to our family, and they might want to take our food or our beds or even our lives, just like those people that Jim was with who threatened the Greene farm. If we just let them take us to their paradise instead, then maybe— Maybe they can sort this out? They won't shoot us all in the head?

"Where are we goin'?" I mumble into my Dad's shirt, watching the forest shrink behind us. "I don't wanna go."

"I know ya don't, chicky. Me, neither." He steps up onto the curb of the pavement, then back down on the other side and through the main parking lot, approaching their car. The man keeps his gun on us as he pulls the passenger door open. "But it's gon' be okay."

"Shut up and take shotgun," The man nods at the seat. "Your kid can sit in your lap."

Without answering, Dad climbs into the car, door slamming shut behind us. I watch over his shoulder as Glenn is forced into the middle of the back seats, his face wrung in pain, his fingers curled around the blood gushing from his thigh. Arjun and Boyd take a seat on either side of him, the fatter man shoving him upright before pointing his gun at the back of Dad's head, scaring me into looking away.

"We're gonna take a little drive," Merle sighs as he swings into the driver's seat and pulls his door shut.

He twists the keys into the ignition, engine rumbling to life.

As he peels outta the car park, Glenn's pained groans growing louder by the second, I wonder where that beetle went.

We end up at a checkpoint gate.

Merle's got his window rolled down and he's chatting it up with another one of his scary-lookin' friends, who I guess is a guard. They're talking about work schedules and other gossip, until Glenn makes a loud noise and he bothers to ask who we are. Oh, that's the guy from my old group up in Atlanta, he's telling him, And my brother and his daughter. My niece. I told you about her. Can you believe it? I ain't really listenin'. I'm looking out at the tall walls of sheet-metal, the barbed wire curled along the top of it, the people holding big guns up in the tower, spitting on the ground and smoking while they stare down at us with loose smirks. Somehow, it feels a little like the prison.

"No shit?" The guard eventually exclaims with a grin. "Hey, congrats, man. That's some crazy luck you got."

As he looks us over, twiddling his fingers in greeting, I feel my Dad's grip on me tighten before Merle pulls his attention back. "You're tellin' me, man. But listen. We gotta head on down to the blocks — Tell ya about it later — so get Philip for me, will ya?"

"Sure. I'll radio him," He nods. "But, yo? Where's Eric at?"

"Just open the fuckin' gates, Mendoza," Boyd snaps, pressing his gun harder to Glenn's temple. "I'm gettin' impatient."

The guard makes a shrugging gesture before he takes a step back, whistling sharply at somebody. "Open up! They're good!"

"What the Hell are, 'the blocks', Merle?" Dad grits as the guards begin to pull the gate open and Merle drives through. All the barbed wire and metal walls fall away, revealing pretty town houses and flower beds lining the streets. Merle weren't lyin'. This place looks like— Well, it looks like paradise. It feels like we've gone back in time, to before all the blood and death and walkers. "What's the plan?"

"The blocks are where we put the undesirables." We pass a woman and a man walking together with a baby stroller and a cute little dog on a leash, and they're happy and clean, and I wonder if they know what 'the blocks' are. They look like all they gotta worry about is what they're gonna have for lunch. I also wonder where Mouse is right now. Poor little guy. "They're gonna question you and the Asian."

"His name is Glenn," I mumble unhappily, knowing nobody gives a shit. They shot him.

Dad scoffs. "Should'a known you wasn't gonna send him to a doctor. Y'all ain't the special-treatment type, is ya?"

"Fuck you, Merle," Glenn whines from the backseat. "Fuck you."

"W-wait," I frown. "Ya can't leave him like this, Merle. Herschel says it ain't right."

Merle shrugs. "Who's Herschel?"

"He's an animal doctor. And he says you always gotta take the bullet out, or it might not get better. Please?"

"Princess, I think what you're sayin' is adorable," He says as we turn a corner, the streets suddenly becoming a little duller — No flowers, less people, open dumpsters and construction cones lining the curb. "And I get it, but it's outta my hands, okay?"

"Well, can't ya at least give him a bandage?"

"What about Harley?" Dad cuts me off before I can argue any more. "She sure ain't goin' to no, 'block'."

"Hey. I'm stayin' with you," I turn to face him. If that's where he and Glenn are goin', that's where I'm goin'. I'on care if the blocks is where they put their 'undesirables'. I'll be an undesirable with them. I can't be on my own. "Daddy, I gotta stay with you."

He ignores me. "Merle?"

"I know she ain't. Don't worry," He reassures him, pulling in next to a half-built house. "She can stay in my apartment."

"Good," Dad slowly nods, but it's not good at all.

"No. Dad, don't leave m—"

"It's better this way. Okay?" He scolds me, brows raised as he waits for me to answer, but I know that look in his eyes. I know why his fingers are shaking. He's scared. I give nod, before he pulls me in for a hug. "Okay. So, shut up and give yer Dad a hug."

Merle cuts the engine off.

"We're here. Get out." Arjun shoves his door open and climbs out, pulling on Glenn's shirt. "I said, 'Get out'. Come on."

"Fuck you," He whines again.

Dad places a kiss to my hair, pulling away as Boyd rips our door open. "It's gonna be okay. I'mma see you soon."

I shake my head. "How you know?"

"I'mma make 'em."

"What's the matter, asshole?" Boyd taunts as Dad reluctantly climbs out, leaving me in his seat. "Never been to prison before?"

"Sure," Dad jokes, pinning the man with a unamused look. "I'm gettin' fuckin' deja vu."

The door slams in my face.

"Come along, then, tough guy."

It's gonna be okay, I repeat in my head as he shoves my Dad forward with his gun. I'mma see you soon.

I watch them go. I want so bad to run out and cling to my Dad's leg, so tight they'll have to let me stay with him, but I remember what he's always told me. Sometimes, little girls don't get what they want. It's always for my own good, so I bite my tongue as he and Glenn hobble down the steps of the building's cellar door, a cold sense of grief washing over me as the top of their heads disappear.

It's only now that I realize I don't even know where I am.

"You heard yer old man," Merle says to break the silence. "It's better this way."

It's like I'm back in the parking lot at Arrendale State Prison, sitting on Merle's hip while they take my Daddy away. That jury was just a bunch of pansies, princess, he told me, They don't get what it means to be a Dad. He's innocent.

"They're just gonna ask him a few questions," He tells me now. "Nothin' he can't handle."

"I wanna go with 'em," I murmur to myself, staring longingly at the closed cellar doors.

If it's just questioning, why can't I go, too?

"No, ya don't," He laughs a bit, twisting the keys into the ignition. "C'mon. Let's go kick back at Uncle Merle's place, huh? Like old times?"

I say nothing as he pulls into the street.

"It'll be fun. Ya still like Twinkies?"

The door to Merle's apartment closes behind me.

Dumping his backpack on the floor, Merle stretches his arms over his head, groaning as he meanders up to his kitchen cabinets.

"Got 'em stashed away up here somewhere."

"Woah," I mumble, looking around. "You live here?"

"Welcome to my humble abode," He chuckles to himself. "It ain't too big, but you won't hear me complainin'."

We ain't never had no apartment. Apartments are for hipsters and rich kids, as Dad liked to say, but it looks like Merle's been living it up since the world ended. I'm kinda jealous, but it ain't his fault I sleep in a cell and had to eat mushrooms for four months.

As he paws through his groceries, I head over to the lounge area, picking up the magazine laid out on the coffee table. The shiny lady on the cover smirks at me, and when I notice how she got no clothes on, I quickly drop her back down. The cashews scattered at my feet and the empty bag of crisps shoved under the sofa suddenly seem very interesting, and also the baseball bat laying across the cushions. Merle was never very good at cleaning up after himself. Turning away, I pass the dining table, approaching the open window.

Sunshine sweeps over me as I push the curtains aside. The street below is loud, busy, normal. A pair of ducks wade around in the still, green water of a stagnant fountain in the nearby gardens, one dunking its head under as an armoured truck drives by.

"There they are."

If Dad was here, he'd prolly tell me that joke about ducks I like — What time does a duck wake up? At the quack of dawn. We read that in a fortune cookie when he ordered Chinese food one night. I hope he and Glenn are alright, but I ain't so sure.

Merle drops the box of Twinkies on the table. "Here we go, princess. Sit down."

Turning away from the window, I take a seat opposite of him.

"Are those real?" I ask. "No way."

"You know you sound like some sorta feral animal, askin' all these questions." He throws one to me. "Yeah, they're real."

"Thanks, Uncle Merle."

"We got a lotta catchin' up to do. You gotta be nine by now, right?"

"Yeah, I think so!"

"So, little miss nine-years-old, wanna hear the rest of that story?" He grins, taking a Twinkie for himself.

Tearing the plastic open, I nod, taking a bite. "We all thought you was dead."

"So did I, girl." He jokes, shaking his head. "Oh, man, I thought I was dead. Weren't no way any old Joe was gonna get himself outta that pickle, but I ain't any old Joe, am I? Nah. I thought of you, I thought of yer Daddy, and I cut myself outta them cuffs."

"That's how ya lost yer hand?" I giggle in disbelief, earning myself a nod. "You crazy, Merle. Did it hurt?"

"'Course it hurt. But I got it cauterized, got it all bandaged up with my shirt. You know, y'all was gone, time I got back."

"Wait, what? So, we missed ya?"

"By at least a day, is my guess. Fires were cold. I found one of yer socks on the ground. Kept it with me for weeks."

Oh. My Uncle is a real asshole — He's exactly the typa person he used to pride himself on protecting me from — but I know he loves me. To think, if we'd left just a few days later than we did, he could'a been with us this whole time. I used to think about that every day. Things prolly would'a been worse with him around, sure, but he's family. You're supposed to stick around when things get worse.

"Sorry, Merle," I sigh, fiddling with the crumbs on the table. "We didn't wanna leave. Really. But we had to."

"Yeah," He sneers. "Was it Officer Friendly?"

"Nah, it was me." I admit. "I got real sick. We thought I got scratched by a walker and we went to the CDC."

He deflates a little. "Well, shit, huh? What happened?"

"It was like I was dyin'. Dad was angry at everybody. He broke a walkie. Turns out, I just had food poisonin' from some bad jerky Glenn made. Ain't nobody ever taught him how to cure meat properly, you know. After that, he was kind of our only friend."

"What, y'all like that little twerp, now?" He chuckles awkwardly, taking another bite of his Twinkie.

"Merle," I pause, a little embarrassed I have to say it out loud. "Merle, I like all of 'em, now."

It's been a year — A year.

I like Officer Friendly. His woman, Lori. I like the Asian, and the housewife, Carol. I like all of 'em. I don't know when it happened, or if I really had a choice in it, but everything is different now. Even if some things are still the same, like Merle.

That group is my family, but he don't need to know that. I know he'll just say call me brainwashed.

"And to be real honest," I reluctantly add, "They're prolly wonderin' where we are right now. Y'know?"

This Twinkie is nice and all; I'm finally back with my Uncle again. I even saw a dog on a leash. But I hope he don't think I want to stay here. It ain't really a paradise if my family ain't here with me, or if my Dad and my friend are locked up in a cellar right now, being questioned. I gotta go back to my real home sometime. I don't belong here. Ya don't belong in a place that you got taken to at gunpoint.

Merle looks down at his empty wrapper, wordlessly crumpling it in his hand. I can tell he's pissed off.

"How much do you like it here?" I ask, suggesting, "I know you got new friends and all, but what if you came back with us?"

"Baby, I got an inklin' that's not how any of this is gonna go down," Merle scoffs lightly. "I'm sorry, but it ain't."

"I—? I don't get it. Why not?"

Don't he wanna be with me and Dad?

"Think about what yer Dad said just now." He straightens, his metal blade clanking as he lays his arms on the table. "Things are better this way. We got running water here. Plumbing. Electricity. Hell, girly, I can even get'chu some of them Disney movies you like."

"I don't—"

"What was it again? Fox and the somethin'? Fox and the Hound? I can trade Patty for it. We can watch it tonight."

Swallowing the stale glob of Twinkie in my mouth, feeling it slide down my throat like tacky glue, I leave the last bite on the table.

"I don't know, Merle," I guiltily shrug. After a long, uncomfortable silence, I ask, "Can I have some water?"

He relents, sighing. "Sure, baby. Hang tight."

As he stands up to go back into the kitchen, I forget all about his promises of snacks and movies, thinking of my group back at the prison instead. They don't got no Twinkies, or TV, or my favorite movies, or even electricity, but I would still rather be there than here. There's gotta be some way I can convince Merle to leave this place with us. He must love us more than he loves his apartment.

I begin to wonder when we are actually leaving. They can't make us stay here, can they? This is just a visit?

Dad and Glenn are gonna get questioned for killing that man, Eric, and then Merle will vouch for us?

Either way, everybody must be worried about us. If not now, then definitely in a few hours from now when they realize we ain't came back. That trip never takes more than an hour. They'll wait for us, and then they'll wait just little longer, and then Rick will grab his gun and come looking, but he'll find nothing but mine, Dad, and Glenn's weapons laying next to a body in the abandoned parking lot.

We only drove for about ten minutes to get to this town. We never ran into it, but it can't be so hard to miss.

I really hope we ain't stuck here long enough for it to come to that. I just wanna go home.

BLIP.

The sound of a walkie chiming makes me jump.

Putting the cup down next to the sink, Merle groans to himself and digs into his backpack. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"It's gonna be Mendoza," He complains, before he presses the button down and there's a voice the other end. "Hear that?"

I shake my head. "I can't hear so well, now."

He pulls a face at me. "How ya mean?"

Instead of explaining myself, I just push my hair back from my ear, revealing my hearing aid before smoothing it back down.

"You got a hearin' aid?"

"I got two. Without 'em, I basically can't hear nothin', and with 'em, it's kinda hard to hear fuzzy things, or faraway things, but it's mostly like it was before," I say timidly. "Shane accidently shot my ear off last Fall. Messed me up good and proper."

"Shane," Merle sneers, laughing to himself. "Shane Walsh. I'll kill that motherfuc—"

"Dad already did."

"Oh," He chirps, sounding pleased. "Well, that works out, then, doesn't it? How?

"Beat him and kicked him 'til he ain't never got up again."

"Good to hear yer Daddy's still got his balls intact. What, so you know sign language and shit now?"

"Sure. So, what'd the radio say?"

With a sound of annoyance, he grabs his keys from his backpack and shoves them in his pocket. "I gotta go help out with sum', and I wanna see yer Dad down at the blocks soon, anyway, do some catchin' up. I'll prolly see you in a few hours."

I perk up. "Can I co—"

"No, ya can't come," He deadpans, opening the door. "I'mma lock this behind me. Don't open it for nobody."

"O-okay," I nod, obedient.

"Help yourself to anythin' you want, princess. See ya later."

The door slams shut, the lock clicking loudly — SNAP — before his footsteps retreat down the corridor.

Letting out a breath, I slump against the table.

Old times. 

Lucky me.

Merle's got a big collection of movies.

While the fiery colours of a cool gunfight flash over me, voices shouting war cries, I flip the cover of a different CD over in my hands. I figure I gotta keep myself occupied while Merle's gone, and he did say I could help myself to anything I want.

"Tom and Jerry," I read aloud to myself, smiling at the cartoon animals and shrugging.

The movie cuts out when I press the eject button, and the disc comes sliding out. I take it, replacing it with the new one.

A colourful menu pops up on the screen. Aw, cute!

I find myself grinning up at it like a monkey who's discovered electricity for the first time, pressing play on the remote and absentmindedly watching as the episode plays out in front of me. I'm surprised I even remember how a TV works. It feels like I've snuck outta my bedroom in the middle of the night, snacking on ice cream straight outta the tub while everyone else sleeps. I feel naughty.

I wish I could share this with the rest of the group, especially Carl. Ain't none of us watched TV in forever.

Jerry the mouse is slapping Tom the cat in the face with a banana peel when there's a knock on the door.

Flinching, I turn around.

I wait a moment, watching the door, making sure I really heard it. If it was Merle, he'd probably just open—

"Hello?"

Shit.

That's not Merle.

I press the eject button, and the silly noises and bright colours cut out.

"I don't think you should've done that," The man behind the door muses in the silence that follows, his voice calm, amused, like he's talking to somebody he knows, but I don't recognise the sound of it. "See, now I know you're in there. It was a bad move."

I really wish I had my knife or my gun on me.

Who the Hell is that? Wh— Who would want to talk to me?

"Now I think it would make sense if you would come and open the door for me. No point in hiding, Harley."

I can't help it — A sharp gasp leaves me.

"Yes, that's right. I know your name," He laughs, sounding almost fond, as I slowly rise from my position on the rug and creep over to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to hear him better. "My name is Philip, but people call me the Governor."

Phil. Merle mentioned that name at the gates.

A friend of his?

"Your Uncle Merle probably told you not to open the door for strangers, but we're not strangers any more, are we?"

How do I make him go away?

"I know your name," He muses boredly. "You know mine. If you want, I'll even tell you my favourite colour. It's green."

I don't give a shit what his favourite colour is.

Maybe if I just keep quiet, he'll think the TV is broken, or that he made a mistake — There ain't no little girl named Harley in here. Because there's no way in Hell I'm opening this door for anybody, even if I know their name and their favorite colour.

My heartbeat hammer, hammer, hammers against the door. Please go away. Please.

After a long pause, I hear him laugh to himself again. "You're not going to open the door, are you?"

No, I ain't.

"Smart girl."

Suddenly, I hear the sound of keys jingling.

My blood runs cold.

I jump back as the doorknob rattles in front of my face, watching it turn, gasping as the door opens. He had keys the whole time?

The man lets himself in and closes the door behind him like he owns the place, like I ain't just gave him a very clear message I don't want him in here, walking past me and coming to a stop in the middle of the room with his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks, smiling quaintly at me. He looks like an office worker, a harmless one, his clothes ironed and clean, hair damp and combed to the side.

I stare at the stranger — because that's what he is — horrified, violated, wanting to jump out the window. 

"Who are you?" I frown with my chest puffed out, trying my best to sound confident.

"Well, I just told you," He jokes, nonchalant. "My name is Philip."

"You ain't supposed to be in here, Philip," I warn him. "My Uncle, he's gonna kill you."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," The man chuckles to himself, like I've just made a very funny joke. "Mind if I sit, honey?"

I do, but that don't seem to matter.

He rounds the sofa and carefully dusts the crumbs off the cushions before taking a seat, gesturing for me to do the same.

"Come on," He beckons nicely. "Sit where you like. Don't be scared."

"I really don't think—"

His face hardens. "Don't be rude, either."

Shit, this is bad. What the Hell do I do?

I glance at the front door. I could make a run for it, but it might be better to pretend everything's okay. I don't wanna make him mad, and I definitely don't wanna get lost out there, so I shuffle my way over to the lounge area and sit on the rug again.

When my eyes dart to the baseball bat laying next to him, his smile returns. I think he likes that I'm scared.

"I'm going to confess something," He decides.

Too afraid to speak, I keep my mouth shut.

"Before I came here, I'd planned to promise you I would take you back to wherever your group is. Get you to tell me where they were that way," He explains, lacing his fingers in his lap as if he's in a business meeting. "But I realize you wouldn't fall for that."

He's right. I wouldn't.

I guess that's why he's here. He wants to know where my group is. "You ain't here 'cause you're mad about Eric?"

"Did you kill him?"

I shake my head.

"Then, no," He simply says. "I hope you're good at keeping secrets, because between you and me — I never liked him."

"Well, I sure as Hell ain't tellin' you nothin'," I say bravely, thinking of baby Judith. "I ain't even told my own Uncle."

"I know that." He continues smiling at me in a way that makes me wonder if his face is stuck like that permanently. "I could also tell you that the only reason I'm asking is to help your people out, share our resources. But you wouldn't fall for that, either."

Where is he going with this?

"So," He says patiently, "It turns out I'm not going to do either of those things. Do you know what I do here?"

"You're the president," I guess.

"That's cute." His smile lifts into a smirk for a moment, before he shakes his head. "No. I'm Woodbury's leader. 'Governor', remember? Everything I do is in my people's interests, just like I'm sure your Dad does everything in yours. When I start hearing that there's a new group around, I think of what that might mean for us. Have you ever had something like that happen? A new threat?"

"There were people who wanted our farm," I hesitate to admit. "And no, that ain't where we're livin' now."

"I didn't think so. What did you do about it?"

"We hung one of their guys in a barn. He was our friend, but... Sometimes, you gotta kill yer friends."

Philip is still smiling at me, but his eyes are all empty, like they're not really his. I've seen those eyes on dead people.

"I'm glad we have an understanding," He nods slowly. "In the past, I've had to kill my friends, too."

"Good for you."

For the first time since he opened that door, his smile completely drops. "You know who else I'm prepared to kill?"

My heart beat starts to hammer, hammer, hammer against my ribs again.

"Your Daddy," He says with that expressionless look on his face. He don't look so much like an office worker no more. He's a killer in fancy britches, with the blood freshly washed off his forearms. He's a wolf and I'm the little piggy, and I made a mistake when I didn't run away. My fingers tighten around my knees, the sweat hot and slippery on my skin. "If you don't tell me where your group is, I will cut your Daddy's throat open and make my apologies to the unlucky fool who has to clean up all the blood he leaves behind."

I can't speak. I can't. The words are congealed somewhere at the back of my throat, making it very hard to swallow.

"I wouldn't even have to kill the other one," He smirks a little. "I'm sure that gunshot will do it for me. Sepsis is nasty stuff."

Dad and Glenn. Oh, God, I knew it. We didn't question Jim when he was our prisoner, so why would they question them?

Of course Dad didn't want me there with them. They're in danger. They're in danger, and I'm up here in this apartment, eating snacks and watching cartoons and that's all I'll be doing when they cut their throats open or hang them from the ceiling.

"Oh, ple— Please don't," I huff, grabbing my belly so I don't throw up on Merle's rug. "Please don't."

Lifting his hands up, the man makes a gesture of peace, his smirk widening before he drops them in his lap. "Oh, I won't. I haven't exhausted all my options, yet, honey. It wouldn't be wise to kill your Dad right now. This is just something to think about."

I hug myself tighter as he stands from the sofa.

"For when I come back," He adds, staring down his nose at me, cowering at his feet in a ball.

I don't have it in me to glare at him.

All I want is to go home with Dad and Glenn and Mouse and never step foot in another paradise again.

Smiling that stupid, empty smile of his, Philip steps past me and crouches down next to the TV, picking up the Tom and Jerry cover. He chuckles to himself at the picture on it, before putting it back down and pressing the disc back into the player.

On the screen, Jerry starts hitting Tom with the banana peel again, but it's not so funny any more.

"Enjoy your cartoons, honey," He says oddly sincerely.

I watch him stand back up and make his way to the door, not sparing me a backwards glance as he closes it behind him. A grating burst of laughter comes from the TV, and before I can stop myself, I cry out — "Ugh, shut up!" — and punch it hard.

The disc slides back out, silently landing on the rug.

"I wanna go home," I whine to nobody.

Author's Note.

This chapter took a while to come out, but I hope the wait was worth it!

I can't believe I finally get to write Merle! Harley is very glad to see him again, even if she knows he isn't perfect. Meanwhile, Daryl isn't too pleased. Things have definitely changed.

Writing the Governor was SO fun. He's very creepy. Whenever there's I have a character who's really smart or has a way of dictating a conversation, it's always humbling when I remember that means I have to be those things in order to write them lmao. I hope I'm doing him justice.

Also hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you in the next one!

@poetoflawed

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Fourteen: An Argument/Making up after--@rowaelinscourt

Link back to the Month Masterlist

No idea what this is, but I really wanted to write for this prompt…and this happened…and I don’t know how I feel about it, I kinda hate it. so forgive me for the mess.  Pretty sure it’s the worst thing i’ve ever written. werewolf novel included.

warnings: angsty, hurt/comfort ~2.8k words

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

fall together

The apartment was quiet as Aelin paced up and down the hallway between the bedroom and kitchen.  The golden light of dusk cast long shadows through the apartment, stretching over the couch and the coffee table.  Over the past hour the light had only grown longer and longer as it slowly shifted into night.

Normally she would be curled up on the couch with a book in hand.  Rowan would be seated beside her, computer in hand while he finished up reports.  They wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t need to, they were both just content to be in each other’s presence.

And then last night happened.

And Aelin’s entire world shifted.

She turned and headed back down the darkened hall to her room.  She hadn’t bothered to move the curtains of turn on the lights.  For no other reason than she just didn’t see the point. Everything was spotless after a morning of cleaning so there was nothing to trip over.  Just a pile of Rowan’s things she’d put together in a fit of rage.  She couldn’t quite bring herself to put it in a box.  Not that she wanted to, but as a just in case this couldn’t be fixed.  But everything could be fixed, right? 

In any case, this side of the apartment was dark, reminding her that she was alone.

Her stomach pitched violently and she stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet.  She emptied what little was in her stomach before leaning back against the tub and flushing.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  This wasn’t how she thought any of it would go.  Her job.  Her relationships.  Life.

All of it had taken a nosedive into a concrete slab.

Groaning as another wave of nausea washed over her, Aelin shifted to lean over the toilet.  She didn’t know whether to be relieved when nothing came up or not.  She’d used her last bit of energy in her pacing and now couldn’t bring herself to get back up.  That was supposedly alright, it wasn’t like she had an appetite or anything else to do.

From the kitchen, she heard her phone buzz with an incoming call.  Aelin let it ring, not wanting to try and stand.  She’d get a second wind eventually.  But she had an idea of who was calling and she didn’t want to talk to them.  Not after last night.

Because last night…last night…it was supposed to be a good night of celebration and excitement.  Instead, it had turned into a fit of yelling and blame.  Maybe she shouldn’t have pinned all her hopes on everything going perfectly but she’d at least thought…

Her phone went off again.

“We can do this,” she muttered before slowly easing to her knees and then her feet.  

She rinsed her mouth out with water and then splashed her face for good measure.  The cool water felt good and helped revitalize her just a bit.

After a few deep breaths, Aelin met her own gaze through the mirror.  She looked terrible.  Her cheeks were splotchy, hair a tangled braid, and she hadn’t washed her make-up off very well.  She should just go to bed.  Go to bed and maybe this would just turn into a bad dream.

She’d just managed to convince herself to walk the few feet to her bed when someone pounded at her front door.  Aelin looked up to the ceiling praying for strength.  She really, really, wanted to ignore what was waiting for her but realistically knew that she had to face this.

“We can do this,” she said again.

She put on a mask of confidence, or as near as she could in the situation, and shuffled to her door and undid the bolt.  With a leveling breath, she opened the door and stared at her boyfriend.  Ex-boyfriend?  She wasn’t sure what they were at the moment.  Either way she was pissed at him.

“Aelin,” Rowan said.  He stood just a little ways back from the door and looked just as bad as she felt.  Good he deserved it. “I tried calling.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t answer,” she replied.  

“Can we talk?” he asked.  He wore jeans and a t-shirt, nondescript.  He held a paper bag in one hand.

“I think enough was said last night,” she said.  Her heart was beating too fast and she was sure that if she wasn’t clinging to the door she would start shaking.

Rowan flinched at her words.  He looked down, causing his hair to fall in his eyes.  It looked messy and unkempt in the way it flopped around.  Aelin tried not to get a sense of satisfaction at the bit of pain she caused.  Really, she did, but after what he’d said she couldn’t stop her chin from lifting.

“Please, Fireheart?” his voice was soft as he spoke.

Her hard resolve faltered and Aelin sighed.  She stepped aside and let him in.

She could have sworn she heard a thank Mala whispered.  

Rowan slipped past as she locked the door behind him.  He stood in the middle of the room, as if unsure where to go.  Just a few days ago he would have made himself at home.  He would have made sure she’d gone to the store like she said she did and got a decent supply of vegetables.  Or he would have fallen onto the couch, pulling her with him so they could relax the entire night.

Aelin went to the kitchen table with its mismatched chairs and the stained wood.  It had been the first thing she’d bought when she moved into the apartment and she had a special connection to it even five years later.  She took a seat, figuring this was a conversation better had sitting down.  And she still felt like crap.

Rowan remained standing, only setting down the paper bag on one of the other open chairs.  He froze when he saw the small item sitting center stage.  Aelin had left it there after the mess of last night, unable to bring herself to do anything about it.  Besides, it felt like she was supposed to keep it, for memory’s sake or whatever.  But Aelin had never been someone who held onto memories.  Her childhood and young adult years had been miserable enough that she wanted to move on.

But she’d held onto that pregnancy test like it was a million dollars, like it would solve all of her problems.

Instead, it just caused them.

“How are you feeling?” Rowan finally asked.  He leaned against the chair next to her, arms outstretched and elbows locked.

“Fine,” she lied.  What else was there to say?

What the hell are we supposed to do? 

I don’t understand.

Are you sure?

How can we raise a baby?

They weren’t terribly young, he being twenty-six and she twenty-three, plenty of people had babies at their age, younger in some cases.  Though, Aelin would admit this wasn’t what she’d had in mind for her life, what she’d wanted to have happen.  But now that it was going to be her reality, she’d decided she would fight for it.  Even if she had to do it on her own.

“You’re lying,” Rowan said, quietly.

She could feel his eyes on her, but Aelin wouldn’t look. “Are you surprised?  Why would I tell you the truth after last night?”

Let’s just talk about this.

I can’t do this right now.

A slamming door.  

Panic.

Rowan exhaled long and slow before he pushed away from the chair so he could begin pacing the kitchen, similar to what Aelin was doing earlier, but he didn’t rove all the way down to the bedroom and instead kept to the kitchen and living room.  Like her, Rowan appeared to be a mess of anxiety as he kept moving.  The only other time Aelin had seen him like this was while he was waiting for his acceptance letter into his graduate program at the university.

A part of her knew that she shouldn’t blame him for being scared or worried.  She was too.  She knew that he would need time with this, she did too.  But after everything they’d been through together—years of hating and pinning and learning and growing together—she’d hoped they could at least keep their heads on straight.

Even if they were just kids, even now.

Rowan came to a stop beside her chair and laid a hand on her shoulder before slowly moving it up to cup her cheek.  Aelin didn’t let him tilt her chin up.  She didn’t want to react to him at all, but it was still Rowan.  And she still loved him.  Her skin prickled with gooseflesh and she felt a surge of tears rush unbidden to her eyes.

“Hey,” Rowan said, “will you look at me please?”

Exhaling slowly, Aelin raised her gaze to his.  His green eyes were guarded and his features drawn sharp as though he were trying to hold something back.  He searched her face, looking for something in her as she was in him.  Whatever he found must have affected him because he crouched down beside her, dropping his hands to her lap, braced against her thighs.

He didn’t pressure her and Aelin knew she could push him back and he would go, but having him close and feeling his warmth against her skin was all she’d wanted that day and she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered as he flattened his palms against her legs.  She wore a thin pair of leggings and swore she could feel his callouses through the fabric. “I’m sorry for how I responded yesterday and for leaving.  I shouldn’t have done any of that.”

Aelin looked away, back toward the counter where there was a pile of dishes in the drying rack that she hadn’t touched in two days now.  One of her library books was turned upside down after she’d abandoned the miserable attempt of reading.  A dirty rag was wadded up behind the sink because of a leak.

She was a mess, she decided.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, drawing her attention back again.  He ran one hand over her knee in that soothing way he knew she liked. “I know I hurt you with how I reacted and I should have made sure you were okay.”

He let a brief flash of emotion flicker across his face--panic, worry--as he leaned into her just a little bit.  When he didn’t say anything else, Aelin drew in a breath, unable to hide the slight hitch.

She’d been on the verge of crying all day and had managed to stave it off.  Of course it was now, with Rowan beside her that she felt the floodgates start to give way.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Ro,” she whispered.  Blinking rapidly, she shook her head as she tried to bring herself back to equilibrium.  She dropped a hand to her stomach, flat as it still was, and looked at him. “And I’m terrified.”

Rowan reached out and took one of her hands in his, gripping tightly. “What can I do for you, Fireheart?  Do you want—”

“I want to keep it,” she said, immediately, surprising herself with how fervently she spoke.  But the words felt right as soon as she said them. “I want this.”

Rowan nodded once before he stood. “Then we can do this.”

“I’m not going to force you into this,” Aelin said. “Last night—”

“Last night I was a bastard,” he cut her off, “and I was scared too.  But we should have been scared together.  Because at least then--then I would have known it would be alright instead of wandering around like an idiot.”

He started pacing again along with his rambling and Aelin had no idea where he was going with it.  She had tears in her eyes and her heart was still beating out a worry signal, ready to take flight if needed.

Turning back to her, Rowan wet his lips. “You’ve always been my strength, Aelin.” His eyes flashed then with something more than the cold persona he always wore. “And I’ll make this up to you.”

She wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant what he said.  And maybe to an extent she did—it was after all Rowan.  Her Rowan, who up until last night, had always been there for her.  And she knew last night had been a shock and overwhelming—but she had needed him then.

Aelin told him as much. “I don’t want to do this alone, Rowan.  I always thought—I always wanted to do this with you.  But if you don’t want this—”

He was back kneeling at her side in an instant.  One hand cupped her face as the other remained at his side.

“I’ll be here,” he promised, “every step of the way.  I’m still terrified, Aelin, but I won’t leave.  I love you.” 

A tear finally tracked down Aelin’s cheek and she sniffled. “I love you too.”

Rowan wiped the tear away, leaning in to kiss her, softly.  He didn’t push her boundaries or linger very long.  But Aelin still relished in the contact and feel of him.  She’d always been so attuned to his touch, reacting to every little thing, that, even with her lingering anger, she didn’t quite want to let him go.  But Rowan did eventually pull back, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked as he brushed a few loose tendrils of hair from her face.

Aelin sighed, looking away guiltily. “I’m a little hungry.”

“I can fix that.” Rowan launched to his feet and went to the paper bag he’d brought.  Immediately he began pulling out jars of pickles, cartons of strawberries, Nutella, and even a pint of ice cream that he took the to the fridge before it thawed anymore.

“What did you do?” Aelin asked staring at all the items, reaching for the pickles.

“I may have called Sellene,” he admitted.  He took the pickle jar even at her protests and opened it. “She yelled at me before telling me to buy these specific things.”

Aelin rolled her eyes.  Rowan’s cousin, one of his only living relatives, had always had been one of her favorite people.

“I see,” she said, drawing a pickle out to eat. 

“She said she’ll help you beat my ass if ever needed,” Rowan added as though that were the most important bit of information. “She also wants to come by sometime soon for a visit.”

A smile, a real smile, took over Aelin’s face.  She’d like to see Sellene, the woman was a few years older than them with a family of her own.  After Rowan’s parents passed, he was raised with Sellene and her brother.  The three had become thick as thieves and Aelin had decided long ago, she wouldn’t mind calling them family.

Rowan busied himself washing the strawberries and putting the other items away.  He left the pickles out for Aelin to continue to munch on as he insisted on making her a real dinner.

Aelin only smiled and let him work.  She knew he still felt guilty about the way he’d acted and for the things he said.  He often showed his love through action and silent deeds, though he wouldn’t say no when Aelin pulled him into a hug and wouldn’t let him go.  Now, as he puttered around the kitchen and drew out what few veggies, she had available, he made small promises and assurances that everything would work out, that they would be alright.

Aelin stood and went to his side.  She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.  He was well over six feet tall and practically dwarfed her.

“Fireheart?” Rowan set down the cutting board he found and turned in her arms, hands settling on her waist.

Aelin looked up at him, seeing the worry in his eyes.  It was worry for her, worry that his words or apology wouldn’t be accepted.

“Do you promise?” she asked.  He frowned at her words. “Do you promise we’ll be alright?”

His hands tightened as he leaned in closer. “I promise.  To whatever end.”

“To whatever end,” she echoed.

Aelin might not have known exactly what the future would hold, but she would race toward it with Rowan by her side and she knew that would be enough.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

reblogs and comments appreciated <3 thanks for reading, im not trusting the tagging system still