#there's a good chance that the tree he last stood by is still standing.

[bobby-ross]

Never gonna stop thinking about the tragedy that is qDan. The last thing he ever said to anyone was "I'll see you later". He never made it home. He wanted to help. He promised to be back. He made a waypoint of Maxo's house so he would know how to get back. He played hide and seek with his child and sang him to sleep. He did his best to protect his partner despite never once having a piece of armor or a weapon. "Let me save you" is one of the lines he said that I remember the most. "Let me save you", he said, to someone who was much stronger than him. "I'll see you later", he said, to someone he would never see again. "Tell me when he wakes up", he said, about his child, because he wanted to be there. He wanted to help. He wanted so badly to be there. Let me save you. I'll see you later.

He never made it across the second river.

[sahkuna]

NOT SO INVISIBLE STRING — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: the universe has a funny way of working. gojo always knew he was destined to be with you and so did others. it just took some time for you to figure that out as well.

content warning(s): FLUFF! eventual smut so 18+ mdni, fem! reader, pining gojo (sooo cute), mutual pining, friends to lovers, unproetected sex, gojo calling you baby multiple times while going innn.

word count: 6.8k zoo wee mama... pls read anyway or i'll d—

SPRING 2008

“So, you’re not gonna miss me? Not even a little?” 

An arm was suddenly thrown across your shoulders, leaving you to bear its weight. The press of his uniform stuck to your nape, making his presence all the more difficult to ignore.

Fellow students bustled and sidestepped their way around you two, some even falter in their steps to ogle briefly at the scene unfolding before them.

“Satoru, move!” Shoko— your saviour— jabs Gojo’s side, urging him to budge, but to no avail.

He’s still tethered to your side, twirling around his diploma in his unoccupied hand despite your best efforts to create space between you two. “You’re literally blocking people’s way toward the gates,” she says.

It’s graduation day and the last day of school for the spring semester, bringing the school year to yet another successful end. It also meant that today would be the last time your upperclassmen would walk on school grounds as students.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the many trees surrounding the school, and its marvellous glow cast warm hues of pink and orange that stretched across the sky. Its rays descend onto the school’s campus; setting for a brilliant, comforting atmosphere. 

Answering Gojo’s initial question about whether you’d miss him, you avert eye contact with your persistent senior. “I never said that,” your voice teeters between a grumble and a groan riddled with exasperation. 

Your eyes sweep the courtyard and you spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. Some are gathered along the steps leading up to the school taking photos to commemorate today. Others linger on campus chatting amongst themselves, and some whack each other with their diploma scrolls while others treat theirs delicately.

And not too far off from where Satoru holds you hostage stood a small crowd of his classmates—specifically, his female classmates— waiting for their chance to bid their goodbyes...

Or stumble out an unprepared confession thrown out in the heat of the moment before they may never see Gojo Satoru again.

Who knows. 

All you’re sure of is that they are most definitely throwing you shady death glares from your peripheral.

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss you,” Gojo says, his arm still looped around your shoulders. He has half a mind to drag you away from standing right front and centre in the entranceway and shuffles you off to the side. “All the years we’ve spent together—”

“Two years, by force.” 

“— and now we’re being split apart,” he finishes, paying no mind to your sardonic comment. The infliction in his voice prompts you to turn to look at him, only to wind up and see a slight pout tugging at his soft, pink lips. “How ever will we manage?”

You smother down the urge to heave a loud and heavy sigh at the clingy characteristics he’s displaying today and decide to play nice.

Gojo’s always been one to be playful, perhaps even a bit pushy at times but it was all in good nature. However, for some reason, his antics have reached a whole new level today. 

Emotions were running high among staff and students alike. Some are more potent and… persistent than others.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure, patting his arm half-heartedly, “and I will certainly be fine. Everything will be just fine.”

In the middle of your sentence from the corner of your eye, you spot another one of your seniors— Geto Suguru. You watch him step out from a conversation with two classmates of yours (Haibara and Nanami) and is now trekking his way over to where you and Gojo occupy the front steps.

“Geto-senpai!” 

Geto greets you warmly by placing a comforting hand on your head and gives you a reassuring pat once, then twice. The action leaves your hairstyle a little dishevelled, nonetheless, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

You’ve only interacted with Geto a sparse number of times outside of class or at the end of the school day. Whenever you both would cross paths you appreciated how he would regard your presence with temperance. It always left you feeling at ease. You’ll miss him. 

You’ll especially miss how he was so quick to offer you and Haibara snacks from the vending machines on campus.

Gojo emits a pathetic squawk at the special name drop.

Pale, white brows are pinched tightly together with faux betrayal. “How come he gets honorifics but I don’t?!” he complains once Geto’s within earshot. 

“I see that Satoru's already started…”

Though Geto was talking to no one in particular, Shoko chips in given that she bore witness to Gojo’s incessant pestering toward you ever since the home bell rang. “You missed the part where he blocked her from getting to the lockers for a good several minutes.” Unzipping her bag, she carelessly shoves her diploma into it. 

“But anyway, I’m gonna head out for a smoke. I’ll catch you guys later.” Before departing, Shoko stretches her hand towards you and gives your arm an affectionate squeeze. “Get home safe, ‘kay? Don’t let these guys keep you out too long.”

Which reminded you…

“Gojo, this has been fun and all…” Being rag-dolled around by your upperclassman across campus has been anything but fun. “But I really should start heading home now.”

You wanted to beat the rush hour of students and working-class alike trying to go home on a late Thursday afternoon. Looking for empty seats on the 4:25 PM train was brutal and you did not have the energy to stand the entire ride home.

Sensing your air of urgency, he eventually relents. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Gojo steps back a few and gives you some space.  

“Gimme a second, yeah?” He rummages around in his uniform pocket, searching for something. It only lasts about a second before he pulls out his flip phone.

“Suguru!” A curt upward nod of Gojo’s head is the only warning Geto gets before he tosses his cell toward his best friend to catch. You’re appalled that he catches it so easily with the little to no notice that was given. “Take a picture of us.”

…Huh?

Your brows drew close-knit together with confusion. “What are y—?!” Before you can even finish your question, you’re pulled tightly into Gojo’s side. 

His arms circle your neck once more, but this time, he uses the opportunity of your close proximity to tip his head to the side and knock it against your own. 

“Smile,” Gojo murmurs into your ear, his slender fingers pinching at your cheek prodding for you to plaster on a sugary smile for the picture.

You don’t have enough time to register, let alone recover from how his lips faintly brushed against your skin, Gojo’s already obnoxiously yelling “Cheese!” towards the awaiting camera.  

Snapping the photo Geto sports a lazy grin admiring his work. “Looks good,” he says before he tosses the phone back to its owner. 

You’re still reeling over the gentle graze of Gojo’s lips against your cheek, too dazed to digest what’s going on around you. What. In. The hell. Just happened??? 

Sputtering out a laugh, Gojo grins down at the image on his phone. “What’s with that face you’re making, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you look up at Gojo curiously. Whatever was in that picture that made him smile that wide couldn’t have been good. “What do you mean?” You question, stepping closer to see what he was referring to on his screen.

Gojo tips his cell over and shows you the photo Geto took. There you both are in grain, Gojo looking the most lively out of you two. Despite the quality of the camera, you can see the proud and happy smile he wears compared to your frazzled and confused expression.

If anything, it looked like you were the one who was graduating and he so happened to snag a photo with you before your big send-off.

“I wasn’t ready…” you grumbled, looking away from his phone.

There’s a faint smile lingering on his face, blue eyes still trained on the screen. His voice's cadence grows warm and carries a small hint of affection.

“That face of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most.”

SUMMER 2009 

To no one’s surprise, you and Gojo kept in close contact, even after graduating high school. 

Well… More so Gojo kept in contact with you. Consistently. 

Whenever he can.

He was there during your spring graduation (shocker), much to the elation of the entire female population from your graduating class. Looking back, the number of times he stopped to pose with random students around the school when he came to greet you was absurd.

You’ll also never forget how loud he cheered when your name was called despite Principal Yaga telling the audience to hold their applause and hollers until after the ceremony.

Fast forward to the summer of ‘09 where Gojo consistently seeks your presence to go and hang out with him now that you have a freed-up schedule. Whether it's with him alone or with Geto and Shoko, you can always rely on him to shoot you a ‘u busy?’ text an hour before dragging you out for the rest of the day.

“Sooo,” you start slowly.

Your eyes skim across the playground, watching the few children who were there amble and climb on the jungle gym before you. The sun was beginning to descend below the skyline, and hues of warm orange press onto your features casting you and your surroundings in a soft glow. 

“You’re a… guardian now,” you state, eyeing how Gojo stretches his legs out beside you. 

You both sit at a park bench, the chorus of laughter and playful shrieks surround you as you watch Megumi— a kid Gojo now supposedly looks after— poke mindlessly at something buried beneath the playground’s sand.

“Yup!” he chirps, but then it’s swiftly followed by a hesitant, “Well, sorta kinda…”

There’s a mental warfare going on in his mind as he combs through the various explanations he can give you, searching for one that would be both concise and easy for you to digest.

“To put it simply, from here on out I’m going to be a constant in Megumi and Tsumiki’s life.”

You think of the step-sibling duo. They’re the sweetest pair of children you’ve had the delight of coming across, and now…

“They’re doomed,” you say with pity, your gaze still focused on the youngest Fushiguro. 

Gojo gasps in disbelief at your bold accusation with his hand flying to his chest, clearly having taken offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asks.

But before you could give him a smart alec answer, the cheerful exclamation of your name pulls your attention elsewhere. The soft thump of Tsumiki’s shoes approaching prompts you to smile brightly. With open arms, the girl practically throws herself at you and giggles.

You give her cheek an affectionate squeeze. Despite her being in the second grade, you couldn’t help but coddle her. “Why hello, Tsumiki!” 

It takes her a few moments to finally release you from the hug, backing up a bit she glances up at you. “Where were you? I missed you on Tuesday, the swings weren’t fun without you!” she says, pouting.

“I wasn’t feeling the best, so I had to turn down Gojo’s invite to meet you guys at the park that day.”

Upon hearing all the commotion, Megumi spots Tsumiki talking to you a few steps from the play area. It prompts the young boy to walk over and join you three at the bench. He nods his head over at his step-sister and says, “She thought you guys broke up.”

Huh?

You blink rapidly. “Broke— Broke up!?” You squawk, the inflection of your voice rising at the ‘up’ part.

Where could she have possibly gotten that idea from? You and Gojo weren’t even dating!

Gathering your composure you plaster on a sweet smile, ready to explain to the young pair that you and Gojo weren’t together like that before a heavy arm comes hunkering down onto your shoulders. “Even if she tried, she can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gojo comments.

Christ.

Tsumiki claps her hands together in glee at this revelation. “Yay! ‘Cause I like you!” she confesses. “I thought I’d have to deal with Gojo and his friend with the big ears pushing me on the swings forever.” And with that, the girl’s already off running to the big yellow slide, pulling Megumi along in her wake.

The sweet smile you wear grows more and more strained the longer you two sit there on that damned bench with Gojo’s arm still lodged around you like it belonged there. 

Long delicate fingers drum themselves along your bare shoulder which leaves a tingling sensation that lingers against your skin.

“Gojo Satoru…” you hiss between clenched teeth.

Your hand creeps up to give his knee a mean pinch, but as always, Gojo reads your movements like a damn book and catches your hand in his before that could happen. “Hm?”

“What do you mean ‘Hm’?” You gesture in the general direction of where the kids are playing. You feel your brows start to pinch together. “Why would you tell them that?!”

“It’s true though, no?” Snowy white wisps of hair fall in front of his eyes shaded by his signature round sunglasses. “We haven’t ‘broken up’ and we’re still together. Just not in their understanding of it.”

“You—! That’s not—” You flounder for words, trying to spit out why he can’t go around inadvertently feeding into the imagination of whatever relationship Tsumiki and Megumi thought you two had. But you come up blank.

“You’re irritating, you know that?” you say, as you try (and fail) at removing his arm which still rests comfortably around your shoulders, pressing you tight against him. “You’ll wind up confusing them.”

An easy smile slips onto his lips as he observes Tsumiki and Megumi scramble up the slides. “Relax,” he responds. “They’re smart kids.”

And until it was time for the Fushiguros to go home, there you two sat underneath the thinning ochre sky. Stuck under the guise of an unspoken relationship.

WINTER 2011

Being the “middleman” between two people who are so obviously into each other but cannot figure out how to hang around each other normally was all too common for Shoko.

It’s a shame that Geto wasn’t available to come down and hang out with the three of you tonight, he would’ve revelled in getting a kick out of this expected yet unexpected… turn of events.

Brought in as a buffer between you two, with an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from her lips Shoko leaned back in her chair and watched the buzzing scene before her unfold with bemused eyes. 

Underneath the comforting golden glow of the restaurant’s hanging table light, Gojo picks at the cookie dough chunks that litter your plate to which you turn a blind eye. Now, Shoko could’ve easily brushed this occurrence off, seeing that friends often eat from each other's share of food all the time.

But something was... different.

With Gojo seated to your left inside the booth, he neatly cuts up a piece of his soft, creamy cheesecake and leverages the small serving on his spoon. “Here, try some of mine,” he says.

Harmless, right? 

So, you reach for your own spoon to retrieve the sample of dessert that he was offering you. But without any hesitation, Gojo lifts his cutlery to your lips and prods the food toward your mouth.

There was no way that he intended on doing this right here, right now. In front of Shoko especially.

“Say, ‘Ahhh’!”

Concern creases your brow when Gojo continues to press the spoon against your lips, idly humming as he waits for you to open your mouth so he can spoon feed you as if he were your mother. A delicate, yet sure hand cupping your chin and everything.

He was being serious.

From your peripheral, you catch the slow spread of a Cheshire-like grin creeping onto Shoko’s face.

You press your fingers onto Gojo’s wrist and frown. Trying to retreat from his hand, a peal of nervous laughter bubbles out from you at his display of reckless affection at the table. “Give me a br—”

Gojo uses the opportunity of your uncertain state to slip his sharing of the  Japanese cheesecake into your mouth in the middle of your sentence. Your eyes widen a small fraction at its creamy taste, prompting him to comment, “It’s good, right?”

The cigarette threatens to slip from Shoko’s mouth, as her lips slightly gape at what just happened before they curve into a soft smile. Her brown eyes are warm with… something. It’s as if she knew something that you didn’t.  

“Ehhh…” Is all she says before you’re already jumping down her throat to clear up any misunderstandings.

“It’s nothing!” you supply in a rushed manner. Your main objective was to simply imply that this was nothing for her to lose her head over. Hell, even the friendliest of friends feed each other all the time! Right?

But at your remark, Gojo’s mouth downturns into a cute little pout. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” From the corner of your eye you glance at how he’s fixed another spoonful of the dessert, and it's hovering in your direction.

“Sato—” Fuck.

You quickly correct yourself on your mistake, and school your voice to have a bit more edge to it. Despite that, you don’t overlook how hard Gojo’s beaming at you. “Gojo, not now.”

“Ehhh?” Shoko exclaims once again, but this time the cadence of her voice has changed. It’s gained an amused note to its tune. “You call him Satoru now? Since when?”

“I’ve been begging her to use it for the longest time ever,” Gojo answers on your behalf, and he ignores your mutter for him to please stop talking in favour of jabbing an accusatory finger at you. “You know how painful it was to see you be all chummy and on a first-name basis with everyone but me?”

Lord. You’ve forgotten how dramatic he could be. 

There’s a teasing glint in Shoko’s eye that you quite don’t like, and her lips purse heavy with consideration at his comment. “You make him beg?”

Groaning, you cross your arms against the table and bury your face. You can’t with them. Your two former upperclassmen were the bane of your existence right about now. 

“I’ll kill you both,” you mutter, your speech muffled by the fabric of your sweater.

A FEW YEARS LATER

A calming blue nightly glow ripples through your curtains, casting your room in nothing but moonlight. Amidst the serene silence, you idly stare at your screen and read the text Satoru sent you right as the clock struck midnight.

Satoru: Are you home?

What an ominous question. Your eyes skim over his message again. And then again. 

…And again.

Thumbing through your phone, you glance at the time displayed on the top of your screen. It’s been five minutes since you’ve opened his text. You should probably send something back soon before he quintuple texts you.

As you’re about to respond right when Satoru immediately shoots you another.

Satoru: I KNOW you see this!!! ( `ε´ )

Satoru: Hurry hurry hurry

You: yes... why?

Now it’s his turn to take a while to respond. First, it takes a couple of minutes for you to receive that pinging chime; indicating that he’s texted you back— which isn’t too bad because you like to consider yourself a pretty patient person. 

But then five minutes slowly turn into ten, and that ten becomes a whopping fifteen until finally he answers.

Satoru: Open your door.

What the fuck.

Satoru: Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl

So that’s why he took so long to reply. The man was coming all the way down from his place to come and visit you!

You: you're actually insane.

You: hold on!

Rising from your seated position on your bed, you stalk over to your bedroom door and are about to exit when you spot yourself in a nearby mirror.

“Oh!” you exclaim to no one in particular. You can’t open the door for him looking like… this.

Wait, why do you care about what Satoru thinks of your clothes?!

 He’s seen you wearing much worse. Like that one instance in first-year, when you had to borrow Geto’s spare parachute pants because Haibara accidentally spilt his soda all over your lap during an informal outing with everyone.

Yeesh.

Shaking your head, you slip out of your room and pad down your apartment hallway wearing your discoloured oversized band tee and shorts. Upon reaching your door, your hand hesitates on the doorknob. 

It stays like that for a few seconds until the doorknob is rattled in a fashion that’s all too persistent, annoying, and all from—

“Satoru!” you hiss, swinging the door open. You’re ready to chew him out on how much of a nuisance he may be for your sleeping neighbours a few doors down. But your looming reprimand falls short on your tongue once your eyes take in the man facing you.

“Happy birthday!” 

In the darkness, the soft glow of sparklers illuminates your features and highlights the exquisite details of a beautifully decorated cake held in Satoru’s hands.

Wordlessly, your hand aimlessly searches for the light switch to brighten up your hallway so that you may get a better look at what’s on the cake. 

Something trembles in your chest and it hurts a little to breathe. But not in the way that you detest.

He’s cute.

Gojo Satoru is so heartbreakingly cute.

On the cake, you see that damn grainy photo you two took on his graduation day back in ‘08. The photo you love to hate.

Wetness springs to your eyes from the entire gesture, from the fact that he ensured he was the first one through text and physically to wish you a happy birthday, and from the fact that he’s here right now.

“Hey…” There’s concern creasing Satoru’s expression as he pokes his head down a little to get a better read on you. “Are you crying?”

You sniff back your tears and grunt out a watery, “No… Shut up and come in already.”

Ushering him inside, Satoru hands you your cake, toes off his shoes and heads straight to your living room. Good to see that he’s already making himself at home.

Plopping himself down onto your couch you hesitantly follow behind him, suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own home. “Come, come!” He waves a welcoming hand at you and pats the seat beside him, insinuating that you should sit.

With immediate interest, you do as he says and take a seat beside him after you position your cake in the middle of your coffee table. The couch feels so small now, with him spread out like that.

Pulling out something from his pocket with one hand and tugging off the party hat from his head with the other— had he been wearing that the whole time?— Satoru clears his throat. “Before you cry again, I gotta make sure you’re able to see your present first.”

He takes your head in his hands, and you realize his fingertips are a little cold as they press on your warm cheeks. Stretching the string down from the party hat a bit, he places it under your chin and snaps the cardboard cone into place on your head.

Breathing a noise of satisfaction seemingly content with how you look, a cheeky grin dances across Satoru’s face. “Perfect. You can now go ahead and open your gift,” he says, handing you a small black velvet box with the company logo HW scrawled across it.

“Wait, what,” you deadpan.

This can’t be what you think it is.

“It’s not a ring!” Satoru blurts. But composes himself seconds later with a quip of, “Unless you want it to be?”

Har. Har. Very funny.

You disregard what he’s said and peel open the box with caring hands.

Inside was the most extravagant necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. A diamond pendant laid bare inside the box in the shape of a forget-me-not with your birthstone at the flower's centre. 

That could’ve easily cost him a little over one million yen if you think about it deeply.

“Satoru!” you squeal.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze your longtime friend into your loving embrace. Satoru’s gift to you almost topples and sinks into the crevice of your couch had it not been for his quick hand to catch the necklace.

Your heart’s racing, and initially, his body goes rigid until he gradually relaxes under your hold. “You’re crazy, ’s too expensive!” you sparingly chastise him. 

Satoru swallows hard and brings a careful arm up to reciprocate the hug. You feel the warm press of his arm against the thin material of your shirt. 

“Nothing’s too expensive if you’re involved,” you hear him murmur into your ear. “So, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You give him one last bone-crushing squeeze, hoping that your rare show of physical touch does not go unnoticed and exemplifies how grateful you are. Pulling away from him you look him dead in the eyes. “Thank you, seriously.”

Shrugging you off like it was no big deal as if he didn’t blow double, maybe even triple the money the average Japanese businessman earns on a singular paycheque toward your necklace, Satoru casts you a gentle smile and changes the subject. 

There would be no need to dwell on it any longer with what’s to come.

“Now…” He gives your lower back a soft pat. Once, and twice. “A birthday kiss from the birthday girl.” Satoru puckers out his lips and shuts his eyes real tight, making a huge show out of it.

For extra effect, he even hums a prolonged Mmm-ing sound to emphasize him waiting for you to initiate it.

It’s a joke; you know he’s joking. He has a ridiculously long history of being overly affectionate with his teasings and whatnot. 

But this time, you really do lean in and take said kiss from him.

There’s something incredibly adorable about this kiss that has your heart surging in your chest. Partly because it’s the first time that you’re kissing each other, but mostly because of how frigid and careful it is. It made you feel as if you were in high school all over again, trying a plethora of new things for kicks and giggles.

The tension was almost palpable, thick enough to suffocate the air he breathed. Even when you pulled away creating space between you both, Satoru still felt a lingering lump in his throat.

Cracking your eyes open, you see that Satoru’s own are blown wide. Piercing cerulean eyes stare unblinking at you. Normally, you would’ve found that to be off putting as hell, had it not been for the slow rise of a blooming pink crawling up his neck.

“Sorry,” you offer weakly. Sensing that you may have gone too far, you make an effort to scoot off his lap. But a determined arm holds you in place.

“Again.” He swallows thickly, and your eyes follow that mesmerizing movement in his throat. “I… I didn’t do it right. Please.”

And who are you to make him beg? So, you do as he says.

Leaning in, your lips press against Satoru’s once more. And this time, he has the sense to close his eyes and bask in it, not daring to let his nerves get the best of him (though he’d never admit it). 

Slotting yourself to be more flushed against him, the tips of your noses brush and you feel Satoru’s hand smooth down your spine. The pads of his fingertips press onto your exposed skin peeking out from underneath the hem of your shirt bunched around your hips.

God, you wanted him bad.

It’s abrupt, the way you push yourself off him and force yourself to stand on your feet, breaking the kiss. The rise and fall of your chest is a bit staggered and Satoru’s is too. He’s all red-faced and his snow-white hair is a bit dishevelled, considering how many times you’ve combed your fingers through it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Cute. 

That alone made you want to jump his bones even more.

You shake your head and get one good look at him before you leave him to head down your hallway. He looked perpetually enraptured by you, eyes hyper-focused on your every movement.  “Come to my bedroom.”

Satoru’s stunned, the implications of your remark not lost on him.

And like a keen lost puppy, of course he follows. He joins you in your bedroom seconds after you and stands in the doorway, just kind of hovering there. Not sure of what to do.

Wait. Did he come here too fast? Did that make him look overly desperate? A million and one questions rush through Satoru’s mind as his neck grows red, stained with embarrassment, want… arousal. 

Seeing how he seems to be short-wiring at your doorway, you beckon him to join you on the bed with your hand. Once he does, he sits extremely close next to you. His clothed thigh brushes against your bare one, which sends a jolt of electricity through you.

Your fingers find his nape once again and they stroke up on his fresh undercut, prompting him to shiver a bit. “Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” you question, your voice going gentle with a provoking edge to it.

Gaining some of his personality back, Satoru pinches your cheek. “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me!” But his mean hand then turns soft and slides along your jaw, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the skin just below your ear. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say, scooting impossibly closer to the man beside you, “and wanting.”

Message received.

Hauling you onto his lap, Satoru cradles your face in both hands and kisses you deeply. It’s full of emotion, expressing all the things he’s been wanting to say for the longest time. A trembled exhale escapes you, and it’s through that that Satoru uses the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours. 

The kiss is frenzied, but so filled with love.

“So you like me?” he asks, his breathing laboured.

“Yes,” you bite, pushing him away from you and onto the mattress. “As if swapping spit with you wasn’t enough.” You guess you’ll have to show him how much you undoubtedly like him, love him even, through other means. 

He huffs a breath of laughter and drops his back onto your bed. Underneath you, you see Satoru’s eyes sparkle as he watches you have your way with him. 

But something’s up.

His eyes climb up a little higher and this time, he barks out a real laugh.

You still have that piece of fuck sitting on your head. You probably look stupid as hell right now.

Discerning that you’re about to raise your hand to your head, Satoru holds your wrist in his palm. There’s something bright that gleams behind those alluring pools of blue, warm and tender. He bites back a smile. “The birthday hat stays on during sex.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re so dumb,” you growl with artificial frustration and tear off the cone-shaped hat from your head, tossing it into the depths of your room. He whines at its loss, but you’re quick to placate him with a slow roll of your hips into his lap.

Satoru’s jaw clenches and his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly as you continue to grind yourself down onto his erection. Your ministrations pull a wanton whimper from his lips, one that has you grinding with more purpose— the purpose of hearing that sound again.

“Do you like that?” you ask.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, else he’ll let out a pathetic string of moans.

“I know, me too.” Satoru’s dick lurches in the confines of his pants as he watches you dry-hump him into the mattress slowly, your eyes shining with lust. Fuck, he could get hard just off your expression alone. “It feels reeeally nice being up on you like this,” you continue.

You have a fucking dirty mouth. One that Satoru’s growing more and more addicted to the more you speak.

There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs that you can’t quite alleviate. While rolling your hips into Satoru’s lap— with his occasional thrust to match your movements— felt good, it can only do so much. You wanted and needed more.

And so did Satoru, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants. His thumb loops two layers and tugs both his pants and boxers down, revealing his toned V-line. 

Fuck.

You fall victim to Satoru’s enamoured gaze from below, which makes you squirm hot with arousal. “Take it off,” he commands.

He wants you to strip him of his clothes. 

Caught taking a startled breath, you ignore the wicked, handsome smile that slinks onto his face as you slip off his lap so you may curl your fingers around his waistband and pull. Your pussy clenches when his erect dick springs into view, and the heat pumping through your veins runs a little hotter.

You shiver at how pretty and filling his dick looks. After a few seconds of openly ogling at his lap, Satoru clears his throat which successfully gets you to drag your eyes back up to his face.

“While that was nice,” he starts, leveraging himself up onto his elbows and grins at your cute error, “I meant you, baby. Take it off.”

“Oh.” 

Seriously? Just ‘Oh’?

Mentally facepalming, you shimmy your shorts down your legs along with your panties. They pool down at your ankles and you step out of them to stand between his legs.

Fully sitting up, Satoru pats his lap; encouraging you to sit on him again. “C’mere.”

You crawl onto his lap, but you don’t sit down fully. Hovering a few inches away from his cock, your knees press on each side of his thighs, trapping him in. 

There’s no way in hell you were gonna sit down right now, knowing that if you do, you’d be pressing your bare pussy onto his naked thigh and he’d feel everything. Exposing how wet you are.

Humming, Satoru lifts the hem of your oversized top to your breasts and sighs. “Pretty,” he murmurs before he leans forward and captures your nipple into his mouth.

You gasp harshly at the titillating feeling. Your hands balance on his shoulders for support, as he rolls your nipple on his tongue.

“Sa— Ah!” You cry out. The hand between your legs startles you and has you whimpering in the open air.

“You’re wet,” he comments, slipping a finger against your slick pussy.

“Shut up about it…”

But he doesn’t. Another finger joins the first and delves down between your lips, gradually easing them inside you. They push against your walls, curling in a way that has you gasping into his neck. “You got wet from grinding alone, huh?” 

A breath stutters out of your mouth and you rock yourself against his hand. You can’t take this anymore. You want more. “Do you have a condom?” you ask.

“I—” he groans when your hand slides between you two, your fingers curl around his dick and stroke his tip along your leaking slit. “I didn’t bring one, because I didn’t think we’d—”

Oh.

Biting your bottom lip, you sling a heavy arm across Satoru’s shoulders. You meet his hungry gaze with one of your own and inch closer toward his dick that rests against his stomach. What you’re about to do could be risky, but at this given moment you couldn’t find it in you to be overly stressed about it.

“No worries,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, “I trust you enough to pull out in time.” And like that, you push down on him and ease Satoru’s cock into your aching cunt, making him bottom out inside you completely.

You’re so wet and slippery that it took little to no effort for him to slide inside. The noise of your slick sticking to where you two meet at the hips has you two moaning softly in unison.

The harsh mutter of your name echoes off your bedroom walls and goes straight to your cunt. “So tight,” he grits out behind clenched, white teeth.

Each time you slide up and down on his cock, Satoru grows more unrestrained with his vocal appreciation of how well you take him. Desperate little moans escape him each time your sweet cunt squeezes him of all he’s worth.

You were no better. Choppy, broken whimpers can be heard from you, loving how he stretches your walks with your length. He fits perfectly inside you like your cunt was destined for this moment, for him alone. 

“Let me fuck you,” Satoru blurts out. He was losing it, and he could feel him tipping closer and closer to the edge of release.

“You are— Ugn!” you say weakly when his hands grab your ass and he stands, lifting you with him as if it were nothing. Kicking off his bottoms, Satoru props you on your back against your mattress.

 Crawling between your legs, he positions the crown of his cock to press against your opening. “No,” he drawls, with one hand on the base of his shaft and the other propped beside your head. “Let me fuck you.”

He pushes in and you swear you see stars. 

Satoru pistons himself faster and faster inside of you, rocking your bodies against the mattress which makes your wooden headboard tap noisily against your drywall.

You fear your neighbours may have some… less than pleasant words to share with you about the noise tomorrow morning. 

“Ah! Fuuucking— shit!” You wail. Euphoric tears start prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop, please!”

The pleasure melts through you when Satoru presses down harder into you, his hand finding the back of your right knee and hikes your leg around his waist so that he can fill you at a new angle.

“Baby,” he murmurs into your neck. He says it like you’ve been his for years. “Say my name.”

“S—Satoru!”

Laughing a little, probably too fucked out of his mind, Satoru removes his face from your neck and presses a hot, searing kiss onto your lips.

You yelp when he drives his cock more harshly into you, growing more desperate with the urgency to come inside you.

Riding his high, Satoru says the first thing that comes to mind, which is a long drawn-out, “Haaa…”

What Satoru meant to accomplish was to wish you another ‘Happy Birthday’, but of course, it all gets garbled up in his throat due to his approaching orgasm and comes out sounding fucking obscene.

That’s what gets you.

You come hard, your back bowing off the bed. Satoru, remembering your initial statement about how you trust him to pull out, does exactly that. Albeit, he did it at the very last second, but you avoided a pregnancy scare. So you can’t be mad.

Thick ropes of his cum splash across your bare belly and some get on your top. You’re hyperaware of how it trickles down your abdomen, some dipping into your belly button.

Wow.

Breathing hard and heavy, both coated in sweat among… other sensual fluids, Satoru rolls onto his back.

“Stuck with me for life, huh?” he asks, delicate fingers intertwined with yours. 

You hum. “Seems so…” you agree quietly. 

Now that you think about it, there hasn’t ever been a moment where Gojo Satoru hadn’t been present in your life, ever since meeting him during your high school days.

You two lay like that for some time, soaking in each other’s company until the early traces of morning light ripple through your curtains.

You’re about ready to shut your eyes until your thoughts are accosted by something you offhandedly forgot. 

“Satoru?” you begin, tone nice and sweet.

“Hm?”

You sit up slowly so you can peer down at his blissed-out face. “By chance, was the cake you got for me made out of ice cream?”

You know how deep his love for sweets goes. You just pray and hope to whatever higher power that he chose the safe route and chose a normal ca—

“…Yeah, why?”

Jumping out of bed, you rush to the living room where the cake is probably spilling its guts out all over your expensive, mahogany coffee table. “You IDIOT!” 

A string of curses follows you out into the hallway, as Satoru sits on your bed confused.

“What’d I do?!”

Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with this bumbling idiot if he had any say in the matter, an invisible string keeping you two bound.

And maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Even if it’s at the cost of your ¥20,000 table.

if you read to the end we're making out.

© do not copy/plagiarize/translate/use ai on my work.

[emphistic]

Doctor's Orders

Synopsis: Sukuna catches a cold, and isn't able to make it to your guys' planned lunch. Luckily for him, though, you still take the food — as to-go.

A/N: i have a lot of works planned, but im kinda slow, thankfully i have a lot of free time now so i'll try to pump out as much sukuna content as i can

PS: i got sick the second day of writing this, why world? whyyyyy? also, i hated writing this. i am not proud of this whatsoever

Taglist: @starlets-things

You

Hey

R u dead or smth??

You're late

Delivered 25m ago

Those were the last text messages you sent Sukuna, before picking up two hummus wraps and drinks from Sunny's Diner. The two of you were originally supposed to meet up there and have lunch together, but the pink-haired teen wasn't answering his phone, at all.

Now, you stand before his front door. A to-go bag tucked under your arm, and another hand rapidly knocking on the door.

Mr. Itadori — Sukuna's grandpa — wasn't home, you assumed, so you were alone in this.

Sighing, you decided to do this the old fashioned way.

It took you less than five minutes to climb the tree outside of Sukuna's bedroom, and five seconds to crawl on a branch to his window.

Finally, you pressed your face up against his window, and saw Sukuna — still in bed — with the blankets covering all of his body.

You aggressively knocked on his window, and saw him moving under the blankets before sticking a head out. He immediately fell back onto his bed at the sight of you.

He looked awful; there were bags under his eyes; his hair looked like a bird's nest, not to mention, he was sweating all over.

"Open the window!" You shouted, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough to not disturb the peace in the neighborhood.

Despite being outside, you could practically imagine his groan at the sound of your voice.

Sukuna knew he had no choice, though, so he begrudgingly got out of bed, and walked — no, wobbled — over to his window. His arms felt like Jell-O as he opened his window, and you crawled into his bedroom.

As soon as your feet touched the floor, you felt a familiar weight fall upon you, before you crashed into the wall and onto the floor. You were in a pile of tangled limbs.

"Sukunaaaaa, oww!" You rubbed your forehead.

You tried to stand back up, but the boy's body would not give you the chance to.

"Get off of me, you slug."

"I'm good." He mumbled into your neck.

"You're too heavy," you pushed at the older's shoulders until he finally rolled off of you.

You sighed in relief. "Thank God."

You stood up, pulling Sukuna with you. Despite his size, you had to practically hold him, and yourself, up.

"You look like shit." You cupped his face to get a good look at his condition.

"Wanted to look like you."

"Well, you failed. I'm flawless."

You maneuvered the boy to his bed and let him flop down onto his stomach, before you rolled him over on his back to a more comfortable position.

You grabbed a blanket and placed it onto Sukuna, and you sat down on the side of his bed, your hand placed just inches away from his head.

"So, like, you gonna tell me what's wrong?" You raised a brow.

"What do you think, dumbass. I'm sick," he coughed, "duh." Sukuna quickly retorted, curling onto his side in order to put his head on your lap.

"How'd you get sick?"

Sukuna glared up at you.

You sigh, carding your fingers through his pink, unruly hair. He hummed, clearly content. And if you didn't know better, you would probably assume he was purring.

"Oh! I almost forgot," you rummaged through your bags; Sukuna grumbled at the lost feeling of your hands in his hair almost immediately. "I got food for us. Since someone decided not to show up."

You placed his hummus wrap — covered in foil — onto his bedside table, and set yours likewise.

"Have you eaten yet, 'Kuna?"

"I haven't had breakfast," he murmured.

"You could've just said a quick 'no'."

"Girls are so bossy."

"Hey—"

Sukuna cut you off with a whine. "Ughh, my throat hurts. And my head is throbbing."

You rubbed your chin with your thumb and index finger. You put the back of your hand against Sukuna's forehead. "You have a fever."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Take off your shirt," you demanded.

"In your dreams."

"More like my nightmares," you giggled, before helping Sukuna to remove his shirt.

You stood up to walk to his bathroom; Sukuna was quick to pull you back by the wrist. Even when he's sick, he's still got a strong grip.

"And where do you think you're going?"

You tugged your arm out of his grasp, "Don't."

You managed to enter the bathroom — without any more nagging from Sukuna — and grabbed a towel, soaking it in cold water.

Then, you walked back into his room, and placed it atop his forehead. Sukuna immediately went to remove it, before you swatted his hand away.

"Get this thing off of me. It's freezing," Sukuna scowled.

You had to restrain yourself from putting him in shackles, "This is literally helping you. So, shut up. You talk too much."

"This is literally," he coughed, "my house. Don't tell me what to do, girl."

"Doctor's orders."

"Nuh uh, you're far from a doctor. More like a witch instead," Sukuna snickered.

You rolled your eyes, already used to Sukuna's antics by now.

"Do you have medicine anywhere in the house?" You asked, caressing his cheek and rubbing it with your palm.

"Mmhm." He nuzzled his face impossibly closer into your hand.

You sighed, "C'mon. Work with me here, 'Kuna. Where's the medicine?"

A long break of silence, "'m not gonna tell you."

"Tell me, or else, or else I'll — ," you thought for a moment, "or else I'll tell your grandpa. And you know how he takes of people when they're sick."

Sukuna's eyes immediately shot open. He knew his grandpa's old fashioned ways.

"It's in the cabinet in the kitchen. The one above the fridge."

You struggled to reach, having to stand on your tiptoes, but at last, you brought a bottle filled with red liquid and a measuring cup to Sukuna's bedroom.

When you entered, he immediately started to move away from you. Alas, he only had so much room on his bed.

"I would rather die, than drink that shit." Sukuna pointed at the cup with his finger.

"Then die," you quipped back, shoving the cup — that you filled with medicine — into his hands.

Sukuna glared at you, but you remained unwavering in your demand. When he realized there was no point in trying to argue, he leaned his head back and drank.

"Weirdo," you sneer.

"What's the problem now?" Sukuna placed the now empty cup on his table and fell back onto his bed, covering his eyes with an arm.

"You drank the medicine like it was a shot."

"Doesn't matter."

Sukuna began to cough, and cough, and cough. He sat upright.

You rubbed his back.

Sukuna felt utterly selcouth. He never had someone help him through a sickness. Sure, Grandpa was always there, but he's different. Sukuna's had tutors, coaches, people whose jobs were to help. But it wasn't your job.

"Why?" Why do you help me? Sukuna asked.

You know why. But those words never left your mouth. Instead,

"Shh. Be quiet. Let me take care of you."

At the end of the day, you knew why you were helping Sukuna. And Sukuna knew how you were helping him.

You tucked him in, raised the blanket up to his shoulders, adjusted the towel on his forehead, and kissed his forehead.

"Don't overexert yourself," you walked to the door, "I know you will."

Sukuna wanted to call your name, have you stay by his side, run your soft fingers through his hair for just a little longer, but his throat itched, and he didn't even have the energy to cough or sneeze. So, alas, he shut his eyes, and dreamt instead.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, child injury, allusions to gunshot wound, pregnancy complications A/N: Okay, this one turned out to be a monster. My brain is fried so any mistakes I made, I'll fix later. I really really hope Daryl isn’t OOC here. I tried to put myself in his shoes, knowing what I know about him. Anyway! On with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You stayed closer to the RV while the group had gathered around Carol to provide support. While you wanted desperately to be there for her, you couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt. Your baby was safe inside your belly while her Sophia was lost in the forest. 

Rick had dispatched the two walkers that had scared the little girl into running, but found her missing when he returned. He had since taken Daryl, Glenn, and Shane back into the trees. Daryl was a tracker and a damn good one. If anyone stood a chance at finding her, it was him. 

“You okay?” 

You startled from your thoughts to see Andrea staring down at you with concern etched onto her face. You must really look like shit. You had completely forgotten about food and water along with the items you had gathered once you and Daryl had made it back to find that Sophia had disappeared. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” You didn’t sound very convincing even to your own ears. You were still dizzy with a trembling in your limbs that just would not subside. Your stomach was still uneasy. When wasn’t it uneasy, actually?

“You’re looking a little pale. Can I get you anything?” She laid a hand against the RV and leaned into it. 

“Some water, if they found any?” Your voice was so gravelly, your mouth dry. Your lips felt as if they’d split open should you smile. 

“Yeah! Shane found a ton! One second!” 

Then she was off! You didn’t have the energy to track her movements, instead deciding to place your forehead against your knees. You truly did feel horrible. If this was what women called the joys of pregnancy, you would pass, thank you very much, and just get handed the baby. 

“Here.” Reluctantly, you raised your head, finding a plastic cup at eye level. With a minute nod, you sipped slowly at the cold drink. It felt like heaven on your parched throat. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Huh?” You were absolutely abstracted. When she asked again, you really had to stop and think. “I guess at the CDC.”

“Oh, hun. That’s not good. Let me see what I can find for you.” Andrea began to turn but stopped when you laid a hand on her arm. 

“I really don’t think I can stomach anything. Everything makes me sick.” You ran a hand through your hair, grimacing when your fingers became trapped by some knotted stands. You had eaten the candies Carol had given you with only mild relief. There was not a second of reprieve from your stomach attempting to crawl out of your throat. 

“You need nutrients. For the baby.” She urged, crouching down in front of you. 

“I know. Maybe I can try when they find Sophia and we can go back to the normal amount of fear and anxiety.” One side of your mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile when you heard her chuckle. 

“Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Glenn and Shane returned first, the former handing out tasks to keep everyone busy. Most likely trying to control panic. You were no exception. The man sent you to grab the things you had found. You didn’t hesitate to inform him there was too much to retrieve on your own. 

“You’ll just have to make trips then, won’tcha? He scoffed, turning away and leaving no room for argument. 

You still wanted to show how useful you could be but you felt like hammered shit. The dizziness and trembling remained, and your ass met the pavement once you had arrived back to your treasure pile. There was no way you were coming back out there again. Listening for any signs of danger, you began to consolidate. Only the most useful things were placed in the suitcase, the remainder left on the ground. Zipping up the thing, you were beyond grateful for the wheels. 

Daryl and Rick had returned by the time you made it back. Sophia was not with them. Carol was in hysterics. Honestly, you weren’t sure that she had ever left the mindset. It didn’t take any persuading for you to relinquish the bed in the RV to her that night. 

Come morning, weakness and exhaustion were a suffocating blanket wrapped tightly around you. You wanted to stay there and sleep but that wasn’t even remotely an option. Not while Sophia was out there. 

Everyone was issued a weapon. You were given a second knife and holster, this one taking up residence on your hip. Only Shane, Rick, and Daryl were carrying firearms. Some bogus bullshit about everyone else needed to be trained. You were trained. However, there was no use arguing and you felt too horrible to engage in a losing battle. 

“What’re ya doin’?”

You lifted your head to find Daryl glaring at you. “My taxes. What’s it look like?” You replied with an over exaggerated roll of your eyes. 

“Ya ain’t goin’.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Unfortunately for him, there was no way you could care less. 

“Not asking permission, Dixon.” You made to walk by him but he caught your arm in passing. With a stern look at his hand on your bicep, you hissed “let go.”

“Nah, ya need to stay here.”

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Ain’t you m’worried ‘bout.” He shot a pointed look at your stomach. 

You snatched your arm free. “That’s sweet, but again, I’m not asking your permission.” It was getting easier and easier to walk away from him. You weren’t so sure that was a good thing. 

Andrea and Dale were engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation as you passed by. You had an inkling on what it was about but it was none of your business. It was Andrea’s choice and she felt it had been taken from her. You could sympathize, recalling the helplessness you had felt when Jenner closed those doors. You and the blonde were on opposite ends of that spectrum. You had wanted desperately to live while she had been ready to die. 

The group had already crossed the guardrail and entered the trees with you and Andrea pulling up the rear in a jog until you caught up. While she continued forward, you chose to hang back. Daryl had taken the lead, constantly scanning for footprints or other disturbances that could possibly indicate Sophia had been through the area. You could have helped him, but it would likely not be well received given he had rebuffed the idea of you being there in the first place. 

“Stop lagging behind.” Shane grumbled at you, halting his steps until you passed him. “Shouldn’t even be here.” You weren’t sure if he had meant for you to hear him. Nor were you sure of his reasoning. Because you were a stranger? Because you were pregnant? Regardless, you let it slide. You were there to help find Sophia. 

Your steps remained steady which meant Lori had slowed her own while talking with Carl. Yet another conversation you had no right to hear, but you did offer a tight smile in passing. You ended up behind Glenn, absently comfortable with that. He had said the least to you but when he did speak, he was kind. 

It wasn’t much further before Daryl gave a signal to slow. When he lowered into a crouch everyone followed suit, including you. The transition left you dizzy and leaning forward to place a palm on the dirt in order to maintain your balance. The all too familiar twist and cramp of your stomach signaled the impending purge. Maybe you should have stayed behind. 

Your steps were silent as a ghost. You retreated from the group, backtracking as far as you safely could alone before you no longer had control. All the water you had managed to drink splashed onto the dirt, leaving you once again empty. You were going to die from starvation or dehydration at this point. It was a terrifying reality. The only option would be to find a pharmacy and seek out something for nausea. But what was safe to take during pregnancy?

Your first few steps were unsteady but you managed to level your gait at some point while tracking your way back to the others. Before you could really gauge whether your absence had been noticed, there was a tolling of bells in the distance. Church bells?

The small group as a whole began to sprint toward the sound but you? You couldn’t run if you tried. The dizziness was worsening, your extremities feeling not unlike lead weights. You knew now Daryl had been right. You should have stayed behind. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Now, you had no choice but to move forward. Making the trip back to the RV alone would be more dangerous than falling a little behind your group. At least they could hear if you called for help. 

When you finally saw the space in front of you open up to an old church house and the familiar shapes of your fellow party members, you could have cried. Well, actually, you probably physically couldn’t cry. Dehydration was taking hold, a fact that you knew without anyone pointing it out. You hadn’t needed to pee since the previous afternoon. Your tongue was sandpaper. Your skin was dull and a bit itchy. You were going downhill and you didn’t know what to do about it. 

When you noticed that a portion of the group had broken away from Rick, Shane, and Carl, you wondered if your mind was beginning to go as well. Why were they splitting up? Lost in your confusion, Daryl was nearly on top of you before you even realized he was approaching. 

“What the fuck d’ya think you’re doin’?” He hissed in an exaggerated whisper. Oh, he was mad. Oh wait. He seemed to always be mad. “Don’t think I didn’t see ya sneakin’ off back there. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“You’re right.” You stood a little straighter. If you had to admit you were wrong, you would at least be confident about it. 

“D’ya think this is a game? There’s fuckin’ corpses out—wait, what?”

You barely suppressed a chuckle at his expression. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m a liability and I’m—not okay.”

“Daryl, we should go.” 

He held up a hand, silencing Andrea without even looking back. “Whaddaya mean ‘not okay’?”

“I can’t eat. I can’t even drink water without puking. I think—I think I might be—”

“Nah.” He interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even say that shit. Just need to getcha back to the RV. Y’can rest an’ I’ll take the bike. Find some meds or somethin’. Doubt anythin’ in Merle’s stash would be good for the kid but I’ll check anyway.” 

“Huh.” You raised your eyebrows, damn near astonished. 

“What?”

“I think that may be the most you’ve said to me at one time since we’ve known each other.” The corner of your mouth lifted and—it may have been a hallucination—you could have sworn you saw his lip twitch as well. 

“Stop. Can ya walk?”

“For now.” You took slow, albeit steady, steps to go around him, noticing that he never once tried to get ahead of you. He was worried. If you were this sick, what were the chances of your baby even making it? What if it was gone already?

“Let’s head back.” He instructed as the two of you passed by the suspicious gazes. Daryl had to lead them but his actions made it clear they would walk at his pace or venture ahead and get lost. Right now, his pace was your pace. You couldn’t make everyone suffer for your inability to keep up. The point was to search for Sophia, which meant as much ground needed covered as humanly possible. With a great amount of difficulty—and a few unsteady steps—you managed to pick up some speed. Daryl had taken only moments to be at your side once again, dipping his head as if requesting an explanation. 

“So this is it? This is the whole plan?” Carol’s meek voice came from behind you, both you and Daryl turning to regard her. With a hand on your shoulder, he steered you to a downed tree and pushed you to sit. 

“I guess the plan is to whittle us down into smaller an’ smaller groups.” You felt a tap against the front of your shoulder while holding your head in your hands. Daryl was still focused on the discussion but was offering you a tumbler of water. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You’d be stupid to let your pride persuade you into rejecting the offer. He gave you a nod and continued to listen to Lori's defense of her husband. Personally, you had nothing against Rick and believed he had once again made a call that was twisted to come back and bite him in the ass. No one wanted to blame him but in the face of fear and grief, blame was an easy scapegoat.

“C’mon.” Daryl gave you a moment to take one more sip and then helped you stand, clipping the water container back to his belt loop. It was blatantly obvious that his concern was for his baby, which in turn ensured that he made sure you were safe and healthy, but you couldn’t lie: having him be kind to you was something you wished you could grow to depend on. It was nice. Fleeting but nice. 

A wave of dizziness had you listing to the side, only briefly fearing you’d fall before you felt his arm around your waist.

“Easy.” His voice was calm, almost soothing to your frayed nerves. As you got your feet back under you, you nodded that you were okay. He lingered, watching you with those deep blue pools. If you weren’t careful, you could get lost. 

Several feet behind, Andrea cleared her throat, pretending to be looking at something up in the canopy when both you and Daryl quickly separated. How long had you been staring at him? Your cheeks warmed, actually managing to make you feel impossibly worse. Although, he had been looking right back. The tiniest of smiles upturned your lips, unbidden.

And then there was the unmistakable echoing crack of a gunshot.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Whether it was you or someone else in the group, the unease in your gut was more than the ever-plaguing nausea. Behind you, Lori had stopped again to look back from where you had all traveled from. 

You were all watching her, but Andrea was the one to speak up. “You still worrying about it?”

“It was a gun.” The dark-haired woman replied, her gaze still far away.

Daryl hadn’t moved from your side, and he was doing a terrible job at hiding his disquiet. “We all heard it.” 

Lori looked like she might start moving forward again, but she only managed to shift on her feet before looking back. “Why one? Why just one gun?”

You saw Daryl glance at you from the corner of your eye. He was losing patience. “Maybe they took down a walker.”

With a tilt of her head, her expression screamed unimpressed. “Please don’t patronize me. You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gun to put down one walker, or Shane. They’d do it quietly.”

Carol fidgeted where she stood, looking as if she felt she had to say something. “Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?”

Daryl took a breath. “There’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout it, anyway. Can’t run ‘round these woods chasin’ echoes.” He chanced a glance at you, and you knew then that he was eager to make them move to get you back to the RV. You’d never say anything yourself. That much was clear by how you had started to push yourself to move faster when you shouldn’t have been moving at all. Unfortunately, Lori didn’t seem to like that answer.

“So, what do we do? Same as we’ve been?”

“Beat the bush for Sophia, work our way back to the highway.” He hadn’t moved far from you at all, but extended an arm to indicate you should turn around and start walking. When there was a distinct lack of footfalls, you were the first to look back. Daryl looked at you before following suit. Carol and Andrea were engaged in conversation, though their hushed voices kept the nature inaudible. Daryl started toward them, waving you off when you tried to call him back.

“We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.” Andrea was offering a soft smile, extending some comfort to Carol. You winced when Daryl leaned in toward them.

“I’ll tell ya what s’worth—not a damn thing. S’a waste’a time, all this hopin’ an’ prayin’. We’re gonna locate that little girl. She’s gonna be just fine.” When he turned, you hid your smile behind your hand. “M’I the only one Zen ‘round here? Good lord.” There was nothing you could do to keep from chuckling. “Glad ya think s’funny.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, still smiling, but at least treading onward. 

It wasn’t much longer before your legs felt like they might fail to hold your weight. Not only weak, but aching. You could feel your pulse pounding in your head. Daryl continued to offer you water, never bothering to drink any himself, you noticed.

“How much farther?” Lori gave voice to the question you had been thinking for the last half hour.

“Not much.” Daryl reached for you when you stumbled but you shook your head. His eyes remained on you when he continued his reply. “Maybe hundred yards as the crow flies.” The answer seemed to satisfy her for the moment at least. “Hey.”

You grimaced as the cramps you had been feeling in your legs seemed to move into your stomach. You hadn’t realized that your hand had immediately pressed into the area. When you finally heard Daryl and looked at him, you were bombarded by the naked concern shining in his eyes. 

“Y’want me to carry ya?” 

Though taken aback by his offer, especially in front of the others after he had spent the better part of the day more focused on you than on the tracking he was out there to do, you shook your head adamantly. “No. No, I’m good.” Another cramp, only slightly sharper than the one that preceded it. It was still enough to have you draw a hissing breath through your teeth.

“Don’t mind. C’mon, ya need to rest an’ we’re losin’ daylight.”

Before you could turn him down a second time, Andrea began screaming somewhere nearby. When had she wandered off? Daryl was readying his crossbow, tapping Carol on the shoulder as he started running. “Stay with ‘er!” He pointed back to you. The woman nodded even though he was long gone.

“You okay, honey?” She asked, brushing some hair away from your face after you selected a tree to lean against. “You look terrible.”

“I just need to rest. Maybe try to eat something.” You all but panted. The pain was still sporadic but each seemed to hurt worse than the last. As it was, you were torn between needing to vomit and the urge to drink the entire container of water Daryl was carrying. 

There was an awful commotion from the direction everyone had disappeared. Daryl soon came sprinting through, slipping the strap of his crossbow over his head before he reached you.

“Sorry.” He huffed between breaths at the same time he swept you up against his chest and continued toward the highway, everyone else right on his heels.

“What happened?” You asked breathlessly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. 

“Some girl came ridin’ on a horse. Saved Andrea’s ass but she was lookin’ for Lori.” Wincing at being jostled when everything already hurt, you opened one eye and caught his grim expression. “Carl got shot.”

The remaining members of your group made it back to the highway in record time without you holding them up. Daryl gingerly lowered you onto the steps of the RV and pressed the water tumbler into your hand. Then he left to go fill in Dale and T-Dog. 

Your hands were shaking as you sipped down some water. First Sophia went missing. Then Carl had been shot. Children weren’t spared from the cruelty of that world. You felt your eyes burn with the desire to cry, yet no tears would fall.

“There are no blessings anymore. Nothing real to hope for anymore.”

And for the first time, you considered the possibility that maybe what Jenner did had been intended as a mercy. How could you even consider bringing a baby into that hell? Maybe you should have stayed behind with Jacqui, letting her hold your hand as she had done after the blood draw. Maybe it would be better to let whatever was wrong with you steal from you until there was nothing left. 

Your chest began to pull tight again, your breaths quickening in an attempt to keep pulling in air. Your pulse was thrumming away in your temples, making your eyes ache and your vision blur. All you could think was how badly you wanted to cry but couldn’t. You sat up straighter in hopes that it would make breathing easier, a small sound escaping when your stomach cramped again. It must have been loud enough to alert Daryl because when you opened your eyes, he was walking toward you, his brow pinched in concern.

And in looking at him, watching him react to your discomfort because of the little life the two of you had created, you instantly regretted ever thinking your baby shouldn’t be allowed a chance. That Daryl shouldn’t be allowed a chance to be a father. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N.” 

You were grabbing at his arms and attempting to stand, but in your panic, your voice failed you. The ability to breathe went right along with it. Halfway upright, with Daryl’s hands on your upper arms to aid you, you managed two words: “Something’s wrong.” 

“Shit. Okay. Listen, we’re just gonna get everythin’ together. Leave a note for Sophia. Then we can—”

You cut him off with a scream that made his blood run cold. Your arms wrapped around your middle and held tight, trying to smother the pain stabbing relentlessly at you from the inside. In some distant, dark crevice of your mind, you felt him lift you and heard him shouting. There was the roar of an engine. Daryl’s bike. You blinked, dots and wavering images making it hard to decipher what was happening. You were sideways on the bike, cradled tightly to Daryl’s chest. How the hell? 

“Hey, listen to me. Ya listening?” You gave him the weakest of nods. “Need ta hold onta me. Means ya gotta stay awake. Can ya do that?”

“Son, take a car. We can move more around and make a—”

You blinked slowly and watched Daryl look up and away from you. “There ain’t time!” You blinked again, his blue eyes back on you. “Y/N, can ya do that?!” You didn’t– couldn’t –answer verbally, but moved slightly to wrap your arms around his middle as tightly as you could, which wasn’t tight at all. “Stay awake.” He was already moving, pulling his legs up as he picked up speed. When your stomach cramped again, you only squeezed him tighter with a sob. “I gotcha. Just keep holdin’ on. You’re doin’ great.”

Minutes felt like an eternity, and eventually, you sacrificed holding up your head so the strength in your arms could hold true. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was blue sky. Blue like Daryl’s eyes. Would the baby have had his eyes? 

The wind was no longer blowing. The sound of the engine had disappeared, but you were moving. Daryl was yelling. There were other voices but you were too tired; it hurt too badly. So when darkness beckoned, you took her hand.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[5.5k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 6 "The Book"

Green.

Green spanning as far as the eye could see. A thick, overflowing forest accompanied by such humid air it made you nauseous and slightly out of breath. It did well to shield you from the sun and you no longer had to use your blazer as a substitute for a poncho and avoid a sunburn.

It took you nearly two days to stop gawking at the luscious flora once you’d set foot in it and the ghoul had found it necessary to bark a threat at you a couple of times when your feet had stilled to take in the scenery. You didn’t let his grumpy nature affect you though. You’d never seen such a view and you let your eyes feast with mouth ajar and hands fisted. Sticky mud, twigs, and leaves clung to the soles of your boots and the vapor you were sure was radioactive frizzed up your hair.

You’d expected the forest to be brimming with life, from animals to insects, birds, and critters, but there was nothing. When you took the time to recollect the past three weeks while silently following behind your bounty-hunter-turned-tour-guide, you hadn’t seen any birds. The bombs wiping them out was the obvious explanation, they were gentle creatures, they didn’t stand a chance and it was a melancholic realization. Bird songs were the symphony of nature and it was painful to know you’d never be able to hear it.

You adjusted the backpack strap away from your throat and rubbed at the sore spot before taking a few springy steps to catch up with the ghoul. His pace had quickened for reasons unknown and you had to jog to be able to keep up with him. It was tedious considering the slippery ground actively worked on slowing you down, but you’d take this over going a faceoff with the sun any day.

Humanity’s traces could be spotted scattered amidst the greenery, bits of metal sprouting from the dirt, tattered cloth at the bases of the trees, or hanging off low branches, a plane wreckage in the distance. It was comforting that other people had passed by your route and left a piece behind, an echo of their presence. You wanted to believe they were good because so far there hadn’t been a soul you had encountered that hadn’t tried to attack you.

WELCOME FOR TO TILLBURRY

A bright red billboard was risen high above the treeline, fastened to a multitude of wooden planks nailed together. The once pearl white paint was now a deep yellow with spangles of rusty brown, the words were peeling off, weathered down by time, you could tell even from where you stood.

You stand shoulder to shoulder, except the ghoul’s is more at level with your cheek. He kicks some buildup off his shoes and opens his canteen.

The settlement is right down the hill. Tillburry. You made it to Tillburry.

“We made it?” you release your lips from their toothy prison and your face lights up with an untamable grin. You beam up at him and shake his arm excitedly. “We made it, Mister.” your eyes dart back to the sign, you’re practically vibrating next to him. “I can’t believe it!”

He pauses between swigs and glances down to where you’ve taken hold of his wrist. His lack of reply stirs your attention and you follow his gaze, then let go and step away with a wary expression.

“Uh…Sorry. I just got a little – ” you’re tugging at the frilly edges of your dress anxiously, one foot readies on its toes if you spotted even a glimpse of a rope peaking from behind his back. “ – I didn’t – No tying up, please? My ankles are still sore from last time, Mister.”

You’re an eye-bat away from bolting, again, and it never works because he’s scarily good with a lasso, but you’re stupidly optimistic. Last time you’d gotten on his nerve he’d tied you up and hung you from the ceiling lamp of an old farmhouse, gagged as well, mind you, because you wouldn’t stop talking. At least, he’d been kind enough to take your shoes off so you could stretch your feet and keep the blood circulation going. The fact that he’d used you as a sentient coat hanger was less nice.

Then again, you’d gotten another dose of his scent while he’d had dinner by himself and ignored your existence for a good hour or two. It wasn’t all bad, or maybe it was but you were too dependent on him to protest against his unorthodox punishments.

“Ain’t no point.” he clicks his tongue and glosses over his canteen before tucking it away. “You don’ learn nothin’ cept how to complain harder.” he taps a gloved finger against the center of your forehead, forceful enough to have your neck tipping back and you scrambling for balance. “Thought you were supposed to be smart. How come nothin’ sticks in that lil skull o’ yours?”

“Mm, have you thought about maybe…” your eyes squint at his rough gesture and you pull away with a wince. “Maybe a nicer approach to your lessons, Mister?”

“Nice don’t keep you alive, Darlin’.” he doesn’t spare a breath before answering and after a moment you reluctantly nod.

His malignity and somber methods were a necessity both for your development and safety yet you wished it weren’t so. You wanted for a kinder world and less spilled blood and were likely one of many, but no one had the privilege of choosing what they were born into. Despite all ill circumstances, you were still lucky to be taken under the wing of an expert, taught how to survive by someone who’d lived so long and accumulated enough knowledge to fill a library.

It wasn’t peaches and marmalade up here, although you had a can of both stuffed somewhere in the depths of your backpack.

The hand which had been resting on his hip reaches for the hefty tato sack slumped next to his boot and he secures it over his shoulder before nudging his head towards the welcome sign.

“Les go.”

You’re hot on his heel, stomping down the mucky hill with acute prudence, your dress was already dirty, you didn’t need to add mud stains to the extensive collection.

The peaks and roofs of ramshackle buildings loom above the shabby fence surrounding the settlement, dyed in varieties of reds and yellows, some fully, others unfinished because there was no more paint to spare. The vegetation became sparse and the soil soon gave way to dusty gravel that crumbled delightfully under your boots. Once close enough for a better inspection, you notice the defensive walls are nothing more than plates and pieces of different scrap metal bolted together. A swirl of barbed wire is draped on the top and rotting pikes are sticking out from the base.

It wasn’t exactly the warm welcome you were expecting.

Anxiety and excitement kept you glued to the ghoul, mostly hidden behind his unfriendly frame. A meager excuse came up as a means to start up a conversation that might ease your quickening pulse and sweaty palms. You decided to keep the silence, though, opting to restrain your questions for a later time, when there was less tension built up on his shoulders and his fingers weren’t instinctively gliding over the handle of his pistol.

You heard the marketplace before you saw it. Your stomach flipped once you stepped beyond the open town gates, now being able to put faces to the buzzing chatter lingering in the air.

“Holy moly…” you gasp with brows raised high and your step falters.

It was busy.

After years of solitude and countless dreams of a normal pre-nuclear war life, after nearly a month in the company of a single man who preferred action over word, the reality of civilization crashed into you like a boiling wave. Hot prickles pinched at random places around your body, beads of sweat are already trickling from your armpits and your skin becomes clammy. With a heart lodged in your throat, you stumble forward, giving in to the ghoul’s rough tug on your wrist.

“Keep movin’.” his rasp fails this time, impossibly outmatched by the turbulence simmering inside you.

“Mm…sorry.” it’s an empty apology, insincere because he sees your eyes flitting and knees wobbling.

You never expected the settlement to be this…overwhelming.

Strangers are passing by and blending together in a jumbled blur of worn-out clothes and limbs. Carts are being rolled between the isles, restocking items as soon as they’re bought, and smoke lingers high above your head, amassed from chimneys, food booths, and cigarettes.

You find it difficult to breathe the more information your short-circuiting brain is forced to process.

“Get your RadAway right here good people! Three for the price of one – ”

“ – Cactus fruit for sale! Fresh out the – ”

“ – Bullets, guns and more bullets – ”

Stalls were huddled together, adorned with junk and trinkets, things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And even if the owners already had at least one customer looking over their products, they still hollered at the crowd bustling around them. There’s a heavy stench in the air, of car oil and lack of hygiene, sweat and musk blending in with roasting meats that smell like no animal you’ve eaten before.

Shopkeepers had the doors to their establishments open, waving over weary wanderers with promises of a good time and helpful products.

“Stimpaaaks! Rad-X and more! Whatever your heart desires! Save a life! Buy a stimpaaak!”

You avoided eye contact, keeping your sights low and only skimming over the intricacies of the stands. The flood of strangers was cordial enough not to bump into you, but when a roasted cricket was shoved in your face and behind it a pair of foggy blue orbs stared right into your soul you recoiled.

“Ah, no thank you, Sir!” you give the merchant a wide apologetic smile and lift a hand to your mouth.

You latch onto the ghoul’s forearm when the merchant’s face falters for a split second before he’s already trying the unfortunate person behind you. For a moment there you’d thought he’d pounce on you, there was no telling considering the man looked half-dead.

“Aww, was wrong, Sweetheart?” your bodyguard barks out a laugh, sneering down at you. “Don’ want a cricket on a stick?”

You don a thin-lipped, unimpressed expression and detach yourself from him.

“I’ll stick to crackers and canned beans, thanks.”

His teasing tone unwittingly shook off a part of your anxiety. The overstimulation eases to a broiling irritation and most of the smells and sounds fade behind a wall of ignorance. You still sweat more than you’d like, but your pulse nestles back into a steady rhythm. You take a breath and squeeze your palms a few times, working through an alien mental exertion as your face settles with neutrality. 

“Suit yourself.” he snorts, guiding you towards a particular stand. “Dunno what you’re missin’ though.”

“Think I’d rather keep it that way.” you murmur under your breath and turn back for a more in-depth examination of the unappealing delicacy. “…Yeah.”

Bugs…Who eats fucking bugs?

There’s a steaming caldron propped up over a steady fire, but you can’t discern the scent and your upper lip is already twitching into a disgusted scowl. The owner has his elbows resting on the display counter, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to just below his meaty biceps. His thick mustache spreads into a delighted smile and he abandons his hunched-over posture when he notices your uncanny duo approaching.

“Welcome! Browse at your leisure.”

“One o’ those.” the ghoul motions towards the cauldron and you’re ready to fight back nausea, anticipating a monstrous fiend turned snack to emerge.

You were wrong.

The man sinks a ladle inside the lively water and fishes out a potato.

“Oh.” you blurt without a second thought.

“What d’you think it was?” he tosses a few caps on the counter and plucks the boiled potato from the merchant’s ladle and you can’t help but grimace.

“At this point, nothing would surprise me.” you answer honestly, then cock your head with a face scrunched at the unnerving sight. “Doesn’t that sting? He just…y’know…took it out of the water?”

Does this man honestly have no pain receptors or is he just high again? Either way, you were left stunted every time he took a blow without a flinch. From bullets to hot potatoes, nothing could scathe him.

“ ‘S fine.” he blows away the steam and unfastens his hunting knife to cut a sizable piece from the top, then tosses it at you.

You catch it with a precious glint in your eye, graced with a bittersweet smile. Him willingly splitting food was a new addition, but an act you cherished fervently. A display of custody so fleeting and illusive it was unclear how intentional it was.

Then the heat finally registers and you’re forced to juggle the mushy piece between your hands.

The ghoul dips his half in the disturbed salt pile next to the fresh vegetable crate, and you mimic him once the potato has cooled enough to hold. He’s already moving and you follow closely behind while giving your treat a few more needed puffs and tapping off the excess salt.

“So what are we looking for now, Mister?” you ask and dodge bumping shoulders with a dazed old woman while adopting a steady tempo by his side. You’re looking up at him with wonder while sinking your teeth into the potato and he’s very tempted to lick his thumb and try to wipe off that incessant glee from your face.

“Trader’s shop.”

“Oh, right! For the Pip – ” a hand is harshly smacked over your mouth. He shakes his head curtly and his mouth dips into a short-lived frown; you clear your throat and nod in understanding.

Right…Everything from the vaults was considered a rare treasure on the surface. People were ready to kill for a single one of the items each of you was carrying. Caps flowed whenever a mint-condition lint roller was involved, let alone more practical things. And Pip-boys were at the top of the pyramid. They were priceless. Some would sacrifice a limb to get their hands on one because it meant they were settled for life.

You scan over the current of wanderers for any prying eyes but find none. It was too noisy; your words had been drowned out the moment they’d escaped.

Maybe you should try not to forget you aren’t living in a vault anymore…

You hold onto a wrinkle at the back of his coat as he cuts through the busy market, then wipe away the remnants of potato bits with the back of your hand.

Everything seems to have the same coat of decomposition to it, from the persons to the buildings, but it has a charm to it, it’s lively and somewhat welcoming.

Familiarizing your surroundings presents you with a feeling of peace and the anxiety is finally washed away for good. Well, as long as you keep reminding your self-centered doubt that nobody’s gawking at you or paying you any mind. You’re just a nobody lost in a sea of nobodies and you like it that way, just you and the ghoul minding your business, not being threatened or attacked or anything that would coerce you into taking action.

A safe haven. Finally.

A gargled moo pierces through the din of chitchat and your head snaps. And there, amidst the stalls a cow is lazily sloshing at a bucket of water while simultaneously rearing its snout around and sniffing the air because it has two freaking heads. It looks skinned, reminds you of your grumpy gunslinger and you can’t help but titter. You make a turn towards it, handholding with your nosiness. Then you reassure the concerned squeal at the back of your head that you’ll find your way back by the distinguishable cowboy hat sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

Just a closer look and then you’ll be right back by his side.

A two-headed cow. How fascinating!

Your escapade is short-lived. An iron grip takes hold of your backpack no more than five steps in and jerks you back. The strap digs into your throat and you gag with a backward blunder.

“Ehugh – ”

“ – The hell you think you’re goin’?”

The back of your head collides with a solid chest and you gaze up to meet an acquainted scolding face.

“The cow. It has two heads.” you answer candidly, blinking up at him, dumbfounded. “I – ” your lips purse as you briefly mull over your next sentence. “ – I wanted to see it up close?”

“ ‘S called a brahmin, Darlin’.” he’s unimpressed with your revelation, lets you go, and spares a brisk, disinterested glance at the mutated cow.

You dust off his crude gesture and smooth out your dress and backpack. His barbarian tactics are slowly losing their charm; he makes a mental note to up the ante in the future.

“How does it work though. With two heads?”

“Take one good look a’ me ‘n tell me if I’m a fuckin’ vet.” his arms are crossed over his chest, weight rested on one hip. You disregard his snappiness as your eyes roll from him back to the brahmin.

“Do they bite?” you know it’s probably a herbivore, but considering its disfigured state and the scarce vegetation along your journey, you have reason to consider other possibilities. With a palm placed on your waist, you tap a forefinger against your hipbone in thought. “Can I pet it?”

“No. Now move.” he grips your upper arm like a disgruntled father and drags you forward as you keep your neck craned to the side to stare at the cow over your shoulder. “Ain’t got all day.”

“But – ”

“ – You stray more than two feet away ‘n I’m puttin’ a leash on ya.” he hisses you into silence and presses onward, towards the last few remaining stands.

The thickness of the crowd lightens as you approach the end of the market. Once you manage to escape all the fuss and buzz you give a gentle pat to his wrist and he releases you with a warning grunt to keep close.

Given more room to note the architecture and structure of Tillburry, it reminds you of an old cowboy settlement rather than a pre-apocalypse town. The buildings are raised in such a peculiar array, all random and each one different. There are no traditional houses, per se, everything is turned into a business, from a shady hospital to a loud bar made guest house because even travelers need a bed sometimes. You see a few tire-ridden trailers, but even they have a makeshift sign plastered on the door offering services for caps.

A label scribbled with coal rests above the entrance to a two-story shack.

Trade & Barter – If it exists, we have them!

Mm…Maybe you could become the local English teacher, give the folk a few grammar lessons, put that multi-subject dossier in your head to the test. Make theory into reality and try your hand at machinery, build a lamp or do some testing and create a water purifier. From what you’ve read, it’s not that difficult, but the materials needed can range from tricky to impossible to scavenge.

You step onto the wooden porch of the trader’s shack, the bell above the door springs to life when the ghoul enters and you follow suit.

First things first, you had to figure out if you were going to continue travelling with him or if he was going to keep his word and let you settle here. There was a small chance he’d forgotten and if you didn’t mention it, he’d let you trudge along. Tillburry was a nice place, but you’d choose him over anything else if you had to pick.

“Evening good people!” a scrawny old man peaks from behind the counter accompanied by a symphony of metal clanks and a few curses. He dusts off his hands and plants them over the register with a crooked smile. “Mah name’s Hank. Now how can I help you lot?”

He eyes the ghoul in an odd manner, then you.

“Oh, it’s you…”

“Got another deposit t’ make, old man.” said ghoul slaps all five Pip-boys on the counter and rests on one of his elbows as he leans down. “Thousand caps up front, the rest every few months till you pay em in full.”

You have to squint when Hank’s eyes bulge out of his skull and he hastily stuffs the merchandise under his desk.

“You tryin’na get me robbed?!” he straightens to look over the windows then hunches down and continues with a hand cupped over the side of his mouth. “Where did you find so many?” he pauses then, a certain grimness to his face. “Never mind, don’t wanna know.”

Your vision is overflowing with all the junk strewn about, hanging off walls, stuffed in dusty display cases, over tables and windowsills, there’s items even on the floor. Most of it is weaponry and repair parts, a trinket here and there, a greasy comb, gold teeth, and a half-built robot of some sort. You lightly kick at a stray margarine cap abandoned on the floor, then stop when an elbow is roughly dug into your side.

 You spare your assailant a bitter glare while tenderly massaging away the pain, then click your tongue but relent at the curt “behave” you’re tossed back. 

The trader has the light strapped to his forehead shining down on the Pip-boys. He fiddles with each one briefly, turning the cog and testing the menus, then tries them all on his wrist to check the security of the straps. He’s humming, muttering something incoherent while evaluating the treasures from your vault.

“We doin’ business or not, Grandpa? They ain’t fucken’ fake.”

“I might be old, but I’m still a babe compared to you.” Hank spits back with surprising vigor and disappears under the counter. “Now have an ounce of patience you grumpy bastard. Gotta check em or else Imma be the one dealing with the consequences.”

“Sorry?” your attention darts back to the ghoul who’s suddenly avoiding eye contact. “How old did you say you were, Mister?”

“Ain’t you got junk t’ stare at?”

The remainder of his reply is cut short by a snort of a laugh erupting from behind the register.

“Oh, he’s ancient that one.” the trader resurfaces with an old plastic bag stuffed to the brim with caps, he ties it neatly and pushes it forward. “Been around since – ” he sputters, frozen solid as the edge of a hunting knife is pressed flush against the collar of his shirt. “Right…” he swallows once, then gently steers the blade away with the tips of his fingers. “Ain’t my story to tell, sorry Lil miss.”

“Sure ain’t.” the ghoul nods, lower lip slanted.

“Uhm…can I – ” you pipe in and set your backpack between the two before blood is spilled. “ – Can I trade too?”

“Sure you can.” Hank nudges towards you, hands clasped together and stubby fingers intertwined in silent anticipation for your upcoming offer. “Watchu trading?”

You’re rummaging through supplies, pushing away food cans and bottles of water until you reach the very bottom of the bag. You grip a thin, plastic wrapper and force it past the sea of provisions before showing your open palm to the trader.

“Is this worth anything?”

“Well, well.” he snatches the item and settles the glasses dangling from his neck on the bridge of his nose as he concentrates on the label. “Pristine condition too. You don’t see these around much anymore.”

“A toothbrush.” the gunslinger is scowling when you turn to look at him. “You brought a fuckin’ toothbrush?”

“Three actually. One for each of us and a spare in case I lost mine. Which reminds me!” you’re digging through the bag again briefly before plunging another packaged toothbrush into his face. “Here’s yours.”

He plucks the damn thing from your grasp while you keep up a sickly sweet smile, twirls it in his fingers and he would have been annoyed if he wasn’t already so thunderstruck.

“Why do you have to be like this…”

“Twenty-five caps.” the trader declares and stuffs the merchandise in his back pocket.

“Deal!” you exclaim and gather up the caps as soon as they’re set on the counter.

“Workin’ through your debt already, Sweetheart?”

You squint at the question and shuffle away from your interrogative companion. Your foot is already tapping incessantly against the floorboards, a dead giveaway.

“Yes?” you clear the lump in your throat and lift your nose towards a book hanging just above a display cabinet. “But also I wanted to buy – ”

“ – No.” short and stern, no wiggle room. “You ain’t wastin’ no caps on a damn book.”

“Why not? They’re my caps.” you ask, but are promptly ignored when he gives you a cold shoulder and turns back to Hank. You aren’t even graced with the courtesy of debate.

With a regretful look, you secure your backpack over your shoulder and give the tome a last, pained glance as you rub at your upper arm.

“Gimme five packs o’ Grey Tortoise too.”

Hank stacks the cigarette packs in the ghoul’s outstretched hand before leaning back with a nod, instigating the end of their trade.

“Good doing business, Cooper, now get the hell out before I go bankrupt.”

You snort before you realize it.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Your body freezes and you’re looking straight ahead as your teeth clamp down on your lips. The laughter bubbles, pushing against your chest and throat and you barely manage to inhale a shaky breath.

“There somethin’ funny, Smooth-skin?” the ghoul, Cooper, tantalizingly engulfs you under his frame. Each hand is gripping the counter, on either side of you, as he forces his chest into your shoulder blades and leans down until his voice is right in your ears. “Hm?”

“No.” you rasp, and your jaw clenches immediately after as your vision blurs with tears and you’re fighting so hard not to fucking cackle. You’re suppressing yourself so violently that you’re shaking. “No, Sir.”

His name is fucking Cooper. The deadly gunslinger, the boogeyman, the ruthless killer, the zombie cowboy. Cooper…

You can’t breathe.

“I’m gonna…Gonna wait outside, Sir.” you proclaim with a strained voice and slip out of his dangerous embrace, ducking under his armpit and heading towards the exit with stiff footing.

After securing the caps and cigarettes in his bandolier, he’s ready to follow, but a curt whistle from Hank stops him and he turns back to see the man waving him over. Already lacking patience for the upcoming exchange, he sighs and spares you a once-over to make sure you’re out of ear reach, and then he’s back at the counter, glaring.

“Go on.”

You shift to the left of the door, leaning back against the windowsill and leaving your backpack to rest between your feet. The world is slowly dimming, crickets deftly chip in the distance and it would have been pleasant if you hadn’t known they can grow as big as your arm. A few people pass by, scuttling towards either their homes or the bar opposite of where you stand. Besides a muffled murmur, there’s nothing you can catch from the conversation and curiosity gnaws at your gut, but you don’t have the courage to peek inside the shop and risk getting caught. A steady whizz as the minutes pass by, you don’t care for being left out, there’s already too much you’ve witnessed and endured that you wished you never had.

An abrupt rise in octaves catches your attention and your eyes flick to the side. Something in their exchange wasn’t going right, a topic was unraveled that was acrid for both parties and you curse at your limited hearing for being unable to catch any particular words.

A storm comes out the door that nearly knocks the bell off and startles you. You step back to avoid him in his blind fury, a distinct “oof” escaping you when the book is blindly thrust into your stomach. The sun has sunken, and an array of moths flutter around the swaying light bulb above the trader’s entrance and despite Cooper’s soured mood, you’re happy to have him back. Plus, he’d relented and gotten you the book, either he or the shopkeeper had pitied you enough to hand it over.

You’re dancing around him like a butterfly, the title “The Count of Monte Cristo” bouncing in and out of sight as you twirl the tome around.

The bar is well-lit, Christmas lights hang from the windows and roof, and he’s headed straight toward it. The atmosphere is unpleasant, whatever discussion he’d had with Hank had left a sour taste on his tongue, pinched some nerve that you could only guess.

“Thanks, Mister.” you try with a soft note and secure your present under your armpit for safekeeping, hoping a little sugarcoating might help ease his frustration. “I’ll cherish it forever.”

He pays you no mind, not even when you pinch the sleeve of his coat to keep in toon with his hasty stride.

“I like your name.” you peep through the mingling silence and glance up to find a strained expression and a sharp glare directed away from you. Your smile does nothing and falters quickly.

There’s a gap there, one that didn’t exist until you left him to converse in private with the old trader. The lingering question of whether you’re staying here or going with him is dismissed for the moment despite the time you have together ticking away. There’s malice building on his features the longer he stays locked away in his head and your words drift past him without effect.

“Mister?”

No response.

It’s when you wrap a hand around his wrist just as he’s about to burst into the bar that he stops.

You release a breath and ignore your skittish nature yanking at you to run, or apologize and hope for the best. There’s a clog in your throat and you feel the air becoming harder to intake, but that doesn’t stop you.

“Whatever he said isn’t true.” your eyes search the display of shells fitted over his chest, then flick up to find his. “You’re not a bad man, Cooper.”

It’s a shot in the dark because you don’t know what was said or done. But this is better than leaving him to sulk. He gets to know that you’ll stick by him no matter what happens. You’ll be there, even if the whole world turns against him, he’ll have someone who will stand by him.

“I’m a rotten man, Sweet pea.” his gaze is steady as he replies. He doesn’t believe you and not because you’re naively spewing words of comfort, but because he’s seen a lot more than you. He remembers the things he’s done and will keep doing and he knows himself well and you’re just plain wrong. “You jus’ don’ know it yet.”

“You’re a survivor.” you repost, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “And we’re all a little rotten inside.”

He rests a hand on your head, then moves to slump an arm around your shoulders and puffs out a breath. He’s not up for such a conversation, not now, not with you.

You don’t know him, not really. You don’t know that his vials are running dangerously low while your presence is turning into a solid option to get more. There’s a good reason he’s kept you safe and barely scathed and it’s not a measly three hundred caps.

And you hadn’t done anything to deserve such a fate, but his life came before yours, a rule of survival that you’d never learn.

Hank had had his suspicions the moment he’d laid eyes on you, but it wasn’t his business and despite having grown soft from decades living in a settlement, he had no right to dictate how others survived in the wasteland.

It might be cruel to keep you in the dark while your life is being weighed by a constantly shifting scale, but the ghoul would rather you enjoy the time you have left. Maybe they’d be kind and sedate you before harvesting your organs and you’d remember him as the hero he wasn’t, or maybe you’d grow a brain and stay in Tillburry. At least now he has the caps to buy off two large whiskey bottles and wash away the image of your face when struck with betrayal.

He was a survivor, you’d said so yourself, he did what he had to do, but that stupid conversation and Hank’s stupid expression wouldn’t budge from the back of his eyelids.

“What’re you gonna do if she doesn’t stay here though?”

“There’s always Super Duper Mart.”

“Oh, by the way.” your voice is a spark in the void of hopelessness, ripping him out of the maze of thoughts he’d unwittingly fallen into. He leads you through a haze of clinking tankards and lively, drunken chatter, a heavy smog of cigarette smoke that makes your nose wrinkle, and dim lighting to hide people’s identities. But you’re just happy to be with him and it’s visible by the perky smile on your lips. It’s painful to look at. “My name is – ”

“ – Don’t.”

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Chapter 7 >>>

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[hbowarbabes]

Living to See Another Day Pt. 4

John "Bucky" Egan x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are found unconscious in the middle of a forest. They are taken by two German officers, both getting separated upon arrival at the transit camp. Now being in front of an all-too-relaxed interrogator, Bucky is unsure of where he’ll go, or if he and Y/n will be reunited again.

Warnings: Violence, and overall disturbing topics based in episode 6 of mota

Words: 3.9k

Previous

• • •

As Bucky and Y/n lay bruised and unconscious in the middle of the dense forest, the sounds of leaves rustling and wind blowing were the only things to break the silence. They remained there for what had to be longer than an hour since it was still daylight.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the forest was shattered by the aggressive shouts of two German officers.

Y/n's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Her muscles ached badly, and she couldn’t find the strength within herself to stand up.

Before she could turn her head and see who was there, she felt the cold metal tip of a rifle poking her in the back, causing her whole body to tensen up.

With a jolt, Bucky was kicked over onto his back by one of the officers, his eyes fluttering open groggily. The other officer kept a pistol pointed directly at Y/n's head, the threat of violence looming heavily in the air. Y/n's heart raced as she tried to process the gravity of their situation. They were caught once again with no way out.

Bucky struggled to sit up, his head spinning from the impact of being beaten back in the town.

His eyes locked onto Y/n's, a silent fear lingering in them. Both of them knew that much worse things would be awaiting them.

The officers barked orders in German, their harsh tones sending a surge of panic within Y/n.

Left with no choice, Y/n and Bucky stood up, following the officers to wherever they would be taken.

• • •

Faces still covered in blood and bruises, Y/n and Bucky now sat in the backseat of a car. Next to Y/n, one of the guards sat, staring at her with a threatening glare.

The two of them sat in silence, their hands bound to their side’s as they were being escorted to an unknown destination by two German officers. 

The trees blurred past the windows of the car as it sped down the dirt road, the sound of the engine drowning out any chance of conversation between anyone in the vehicle.

Y/n's mind wandered to their close call with death in that city. She remembered the way Bucky had tried keeping her from getting harmed. The image of him getting beat and the other men being slaughtered wouldn’t leave her mind.

The last thing she remembered was rushing to Bucky’s side before she was knocked out.

In the forest, where they had never felt more vulnerable, they stuck together. Y/n was beginning to feel hopeful about the situation between her and Bucky.

Now, sitting side by side in the back of the car, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of regret. If only they had talked, she thought. If only they had put their feelings aside and just forgave each other.

But now it was too late. They were going to some place they didn’t know, with their fate still in question. The idea of ever getting back to England seemed so distant now. 

Bucky sat with his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He too had recalled that moment in the forest when he and Y/n had come so close to being together. And now, all it would become was a memory. One they might never have the opportunity to build on.

If he were able to speak, he would’ve said so much to Y/n. He would’ve held her and kissed her and told her that everything would be ok. But what good would lying do for them?

For now, it was best that they be realistic and not break any rules. From there and beyond, they had no rights. They had no freedom.

• • •

Dulag Luft Prisoner of War Transit Camp,

Frankfurt, Germany

Y/n sat alone in the cold, dark room. She could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing, the silence weighing heavily on her. She missed Bucky desperately and wished she could see his face again. Even if he was only a room away, it still felt like he was too far for Y/n.

The room was small and cramped, with only a tiny window high up on the wall letting in a sliver of dim light. Y/n shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She could see her breath in the chill air, a stark reminder of just how isolated and helpless she felt.

She had been separated from Bucky when they were being led down the halls of the transit camp. Bucky shot her a subtle grin. It was a genuine one.

“I love you, Y/n!” He shouted as the two were being led into different parts of the dimly-lit hall.

“John-” The guard aggressively yanked Y/n’s arm away from Bucky as she tried to reach for him, causing her to be slammed against the wall.

It didn’t matter; woman or not, they were still going to treat her as a prisoner.

Bucky tried to help Y/n, but he too was held back, pushed against the ground by the guard.

“Macht schnell!” “Hurry up!” The guard shouted at Y/n, forcing her to continue as if Bucky wasn’t just thrown to the ground.

The last time she saw him, he was being dragged away to a room right across from hers by the aggressive guard. It helped ease Y/n nerves, knowing he wasn’t far. But not for long.

Now, all she could do was wait. Wait for the uncertainty of what would happen next, wait for any sign of hope that she would see Bucky again. But the minutes stretched on endlessly, each one blending into the next in a monotonous haze of despair.

Y/n tried to keep herself busy, pacing back and forth in the small room. She counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours, trying to stave off the gnawing feeling of fear and loneliness that threatened to consume her.

She felt like she was going crazy even though she had only stayed in that room for what would be longer than an hour. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that settled in the pit of her stomach.

She longed for Bucky's strong arms around her, for his reassuring presence to chase away the darkness that clung to her like a shroud.

Y/n eventually gave up trying to convince herself that she’d see him again, and fell back in the weak seat behind her, leaning her head against the cold wall. She still felt the pain in her head, but it had felt a little less sore as she started to get used to it. The feeling of pain.

• • •

“Major Egan, come in.” 

Bucky was pushed into the room where his interrogator sat, sounding extremely calm given the situation. It had to be an act. Bucky could feel that this man’s intentions were far from genuine.

Taking a quick glance behind him, Bucky watched as the officers who had dragged him into that room slammed the door shut.

“I am your interrogator, Lieutenant Hausmann. Please, sit.” The interrogator’s eyes motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk.

Just as Bucky got settled in the chair, Hausman stood up.

“Can I pour you a whiskey?”

His eyes went wide in confusion. “How could this man be acting so nice?” He wondered. Either way, Bucky went along with it. It wasn’t like he had an option.

“Thanks.” Bucky commented dryly, a feeling of unease settling within him.

As he looked up at the wall in front of him, he noticed the picture of Hitler sitting neatly on the wall. How one man could cause so much damage was beyond Bucky’s understanding.

Hausmann brought two glasses, both filled barely halfway. Handing the glass to Bucky, the interrogator held a grin that was almost intimidating. Something felt off, but Bucky just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Here’s, uh, mud in your eye.” Bucky made the toast to himself before consuming the much needed drink.

The liquid burned his throat, but he welcomed the warmth spreading through his body. He didn’t know how much he missed it up until now.

Hausmann, still with his glass in his hand, watched as Bucky downed his drink.  Hausmann simply grinned, his mouth wrinkling at the corners. His other features remained still, almost as if he wasn’t even real.

“I don’t know that one.”

Breaking out of his motionless manner, he held his glass up.

“Here’s mud in your eye.”

After having a taste of the whiskey, Hausmann slowly set his glass down on the table, then bringing his attention to the pile of papers on his desk. He grabbed the thin file on top, centering it as he scanned the writing on the file.

“So . . .where shall we begin?”

“How about I was in a town and, um, someone shot four of the guys with me.” Bucky spoke in a gruff voice, his head hanging low as he avoided eye contact with the interrogator.

“Oh, my God. What town?” Hausmann put on the concerned act, still keeping his face stern and still.

“Rüssheim, something. I don’t know-”

“Rüsselsheim.” The interrogator cut in, already familiar with the city Bucky was referring to.

“That’s tragic. I will add it to the report.” There was no sincerity in Hausmann’s tone or his demeanor. He reached for a pen and some paper.

“Your colleagues, the ones who were killed, if you give me their names and rank, I can pass it on to-”

“I don’t know their names. We just happened to be put together.” Bucky was growing more suspicious of Hausmann’s tactics.

“Look, I appreciate the drink and, um, would really appreciate a thicker blanket, but as far as what you’re gonna get from me, it’s gonna be name, rank, and serial-”

“And serial number. Yours is O-399510. Yes, I already know that.” A smug grin was plastered across Hausmann’s face as Bucky’s head shot up.

“I also know you were born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

Hausmann began flipping through the pages in the file and reading off whatever information was stated in Bucky’s file. That did not sit well with Bucky. 

“Married?”

Bucky remained silent, his jaw clenching at the fear that this man might try to do something to Y/n if he even thought to mention her. But there was no need to think about it.

“From what I hear, you’ve been accompanied by your partner, Y/n y/l/n, yes?”

The sound of her name nearly brought Bucky inches from grabbing the interrogator by the throat. He had to remain calm. Not just for himself, but for Y/n. He didn’t want them to hurt her, or worse- kill her.

“We spoke. She’s. . . different from the many pilots I have encountered. Not the most cooperative.”

On the inside, Bucky prayed that Y/n didn’t sign her death wish during her interrogation. But he also wanted to laugh at the thought of Y/n arguing with Hausmann. She always had a rebellious streak in her since Bucky had known her.

“Female pilots are not common these days. She must have a lot to bring to the table, even with an attitude like hers.” As the interrogator chuckled in a mocking manner, Bucky could feel his fists clenching up.

Hausmann continued to the next page of the file, repeating all information put down.

“Squadron, 418th. Group, the 100th Bomber Group. H for Heavy. Headquartered at Thorpe Abbotts.”

Bucky couldn’t stand Hausmann’s scheming approach. Not knowing what to hear next, he watched as the interrogator continuously flipped through pages, eventually coming to a pause.

Hausmann brought his eyes away from the file and on to Bucky, holding the same devious grin that he had been putting on the whole time they had talked.

“Are you a baseball fan, Major?”

Bucky kept his stoic expression, not allowing his eyes to meet Hausmann’s.

“Certainly that’s not a national secret.”

Hausmann reached for a carton of cigarettes laying next to his empty whiskey glass as he smirked deceitfully.

“Cigarette?”

He held the open carton out in front of Bucky, urging him to take one for himself. Unsuspecting, Bucky took a cigarette.

As he brought the cigarette to his lips, Hausmann stood up from his chair, taking out a lighter. Bucky leaned forward, allowing the interrogator to light his cigarette.

“Sorry they are not as good as your American brands. Lucky Strike is my personal preference.” Hausmann sat back down, still keeping his eyes glued on Bucky as he took a puff of his cigarette.

“Baseball is still a bit of a mystery to me,” The interrogator was quick to change the subject.

“With all the sticks and bases, running in circles. Hausmann’s eyebrows shot up as he shook his head.

“There was the big championship last week, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah, the World Series.” Bucky didn’t sound eager to discuss the topic of sports. This wasn’t something he would really consider an interrogation. There were just a plethora of topics, along with some pieces of personal information being brought up. Nothing more. But what was it that this man really wanted to know?

“Yes, the World Series,” Hausmann nodded to himself, laughing dryly. “The New York Yankees versus the St. Louis Cardinals. A rematch, yes?”

“We were up two games to one when I went down.”

“So you are a Yankees fan?” He watched Bucky with a wicked grin.

“Would you like to know the outcome of the World Series?”

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, a look of annoyance visible on his face. He knew that Hausmann was fishing for information, trying to break him down with small talk and false camaraderie.

“Was Buck Cleven a Yankees fan?”

Bucky’s breathing began to quicken as he grew more angered by the mention of his best friend. How did they know every little detail of his life? Was there anything they didn’t know?

“No? Yes?”

Silence.

“I hear he was quite a flyer.”

Extending his arm across the desk, Hausmann grabbed a newspaper, revealing the newspaper under it with the headline “Eighth air force smashed Bremen.” Bucky recognized it instantly. That was the last mission Buck had went on when he went missing.

“I read of his exploits in the Regensburg attack. He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

The interrogator’s eyes skimmed over the newspaper, and moved back to the pilot who had now had all the little aspects of his life exposed. Grinning strongly on one side of his mouth, Hausmann’s eyes burned into the front of Bucky’s head.

 Bucky met Hausmann's gaze, a sense of rage building up against him.

“It seems we’re shooting down all the good pilots.”

Not wanting to hear the interrogator’s comments, Bucky started fiddling with his cigarette.

“Did you know that on your Münster attack, only one of your planes returned?” Hausmann brought about the news with little sympathy in his voice.

He stuck his index finger up, subtly grinning.

“One.”

Bucky was in disbelief. Out of 17 aircrafts and one made it? He only wondered who the sole survivors were. They got lucky. Much luckier than him, at least.

“But back to you, Major Egan.” Scanning the page on his file, Hausmann’s grin quickly faded.

“I regret to inform you that you are, as you say, in a bit of a pickle.”

Bucky knew what he was here for. For news of going back to England or far from Germany would be near impossible. Whatever news he would get would be a punishment nonetheless.

“We know you were originally apprehended near Ostbevern . . .but we don’t have you in any record as a crew member on any of the planes from the Münster attack. The Gestapo would say that makes you a spy.”

“They would be mistaken.” Bucky denied everything. The words coming out of his mouth were nothing but the truth.

“One thing I can tell you, Major, the Gestapo is never mistaken.” Hausmann smirked proudly as Bucky looked him dead in the eyes, no longer wanting to hear him and his good-guy act.

“So, I need verification of your group, your squadron, and your plane so that I can confirm to them that you are indeed what you say you are.”

Bucky took a puff of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

“John Egan. Major. O-399510.” He repeated the information once more. Hausmann inhaled sharply, his demeanor going from calm and contained all to irritated.

“Major. . . may I say that you’re not doing yourself any favors?”

Once again, silence.

“The Gestapo, they are different than me. Me. I’m like you: A flyer, a man of honor. And I can understand things in a way that perhaps my colleagues from the highly indoctrinated security forces might not.”

Bucky was having none of it.

“I’d like to talk to you about Buck Cleven, John. . . but I’d like you to talk to me as well. The number of replacement B-17s expected at Thorpe Abbotts next week, for example.”

“John Egan. Major. O-399510.” Bucky swallowed thickly as he had refused to give up any information that could be useful to them.

The room fell silent as the interrogator's mask of tranquility slipped away, revealing the cold, calculating man beneath. Hausmann's eyes narrowed as he realized that Bucky was not going to give in, and that no amount of threats or promises could force the information out of him.

“I see.”

• • •

Y/n quickly shot up from the cold bench of her room as officers burst in, shouting in an aggressive manner. An officer grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her out into the hall, along with many other airmen.

As she walked down the hall, she watched as airmen were thrown out of their rooms, almost hitting the ground as they were shoved out.

Y/n felt someone stumble into her, almost knocking her to the ground. Turning her head, she saw the one face she thought she might never see again. It was Bucky.

Bucky grabbed Y/n’s hand without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her head as they continued to move out.

“Hey, careful- my head still hurts.” Y/n chuckled dryly, bringing her hand to her temple.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, John,” Y/n wrapped her hand around Bucky’s wrist, her eyes glimmering as she looked into his. “It’s gonna be okay-”

She was cut off instantly as officers pushed and shouted at the two, forcing them to move out of the building.

• • •

At the rail yard, men jumped into the train one by one. All of them were kept in a tight formation, an unorganized line of people bumping into one another every second.

Y/n continued to hold onto Bucky’s hand, trying not to get lost among the many men who would be riding with them. The two had to stick together.

As Bucky was pushed up onto the train by an officer, he immediately extended his hand to Y/n, helping her up onto the train, where the floor was covered in filth and was slippery enough for one to fall.

Bucky continued to help the other men onto the train, helping to speed up the process as many had struggled to get on by themselves, many of those individuals being injured.

The officers kept pushing men closer to the train, shouting at their faces in words none of them could understand.

The loud echo of another train across the way caught everyone’s attention. As they all turned their heads, the desperate screams and cries began to fill the air.

Bucky and Y/n watched in horror as the people in the crammed boxcar seemed to be crying for help, all of them reaching their arms out through the slats.

Even as the boxcar passed, none of the men getting on the train could shake the image out of their heads. They had never seen anything like this before.

“In! Now! In! In!” An officer shouted at the remaining men on the ground to keep going. Bucky got back to helping the last of the men who hadn’t gotten on the train.

Just then, one man tried to make a run from the train, but was immediately shot by an officer before he could get far enough away. Many bullets were shot at the man, causing him to die instantly.

Everyone on the train watched in shock as they witnessed the killing of the innocent man, whose life ended within seconds.

The officer continued to shout as if nothing had happened.

As the last of the men were being helped onto the train, one officer started to shout at Bucky and point his finger in his face. Bucky shot the man a dirty look as he knew he had done nothing wrong.

An officer walked towards the train, the dead man who had been shot hanging over his back. He aggressively dropped the man onto the filthy train floor, leaving him with everyone else.

Y/n looked at the dead man on the ground as the officer slid the door of the train shut, leaving the inside of the train dark.

Now they would be going to their destination with a bunch of men and a dead body for god only knew how long.

• • •

The screeching sound of the train brakes filled the air as Bucky and Y/n arrived at their destination, which would most likely be their final.

After hours of being in the train with no light and no fresh air, the door slid open. Bright lights shone in their faces, almost blinding them.

They were immediately welcomed by the aggressive barking of two German shepherds, along with long lines of angry officers, all shouting at them.

One by one, they each jumped out of the train.

Bucky went before Y/n, and she jumped out after him, keeping a close distance to him as they couldn’t hold hands out in the open where their every move could be seen.

• • •

Luftwaffe-Controlled Stalag Luft III,

Sagan, Germany

October 17, 1943

Exhausted and weak, the POWS were reaching their destination. They had walked for hours. To Y/n, it all felt like a fever dream. She couldn’t imagine herself doing this. It was only months ago that she was living a carefree life in the states.

Two officers quickly opened the gates, revealing the many men already there. As they walked through the gates of the camp, the POWs who were already there began to line up against the wired fences to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals.

The camp was surrounded by high wired fences, with guard towers looming over them ominously.

Y/n caught up with Bucky, now standing next to him as they both searched for any familiar faces.

It was instant when Bucky had recognized one of the men.

“Johnny! John! Y/n!”

“Egan! Y/l/n!” They heard their names, but couldn’t see their faces.

“Hey, Johnny! Y/n!”

Y/n and Bucky continued to hear their names being shouted, still not knowing who was calling them. But knowing that someone recognized them left Y/n relieved. 

“Bucky! Y/n! Over here!”

Just then, they both caught sight of their old crew members, all shouting and waving at them, full of excitement. Y/n thought they had all disappeared. But she felt better knowing they were all alive, and together.

“Crank!” Bucky shouted, his face lighting up.

“You made it!”

“Murph! Glen!” 

Bucky happily shouted the names of his crew members, whom were standing together.

“Hey! Any of you know if Buck made it?” Bucky asked urgently, scanning the faces of his crew, hoping one of them had some information about his friend.

“What?” Crank shouted, unable to hear him.

“I said Buck-” 

Before he could ask again, a familiar voice called out to him.

 "John Egan! Your two o’clock."

Bucky's heart skipped a beat as he saw Buck standing on the other side of the wire fence. Relief flooded through him as he and Y/n passed by the person that had been presumed missing. He was alive.

“What took you two so long?” Buck grinned from ear to ear.

This had been the one of many times that Y/n saw Bucky smile. She missed seeing that smile so much.

“Welcome to Stalag Luft III, boys,” A man standing behind the fence shouted.

Being led by the officers into the camp, no one could speak to their friends and old crew. Everyone’s smiles faded instantly as the reality of their situation sunk in. They were officially prisoners of war.

[rainbowfey]

Day 2: "Left. Other left!" @flufftober

Several thoughts raced through Sanemi‘s head, all of them competing for his attention, when he hastened towards the Ubuyashiki Estate. Of course, the most pressing question was why he had been summoned by Oyakata-sama. The Kasugai crow had refused to give him any explanation for this sudden invitation and even though Sanemi had threatened to catch it and cook it under the grill, the crow had kept its beak shut. Thus, he had no idea what to expect and this circumstance was something that he deeply disliked. While it was always a pleasure to speak to Oyakata-sama, he did not usually invite any of the Hashira outside of their regular meetings without a good and often grave reason. Sanemi’s heart started beating faster when ideas started flooding his mind, one more menacing than the other.

Sanemi quickened his pace and turned the last corner – and froze at the sight that unfolded in front of him. He did indeed see Oyakata-sama who was already looking into his direction as if he had sensed Sanemi arriving, a warm smile on his face. Next to him kneeled two of his children, their pale faces calm as always as they both followed their father’s gaze. And in front of them stood another person who had not yet noticed Sanemi. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the dark hair flowing down on a haori that was split into two parts, one half being red and the other having a very distinct pattern that Sanemi would have recognized everywhere.

“Shit,” Sanemi muttered before he could stop himself. This already odd invitation had now taken a rather dreadful turn and he was not sure anymore whether he really wanted to attend the meeting. But since Oyakata-sama had already spotted him, he had no other choice than approaching them, teeth gritted.

As if he had felt Sanemi’s gaze burning holes into his haori, Giyuu turned around. As always, his face did not show much of a reaction but Sanemi noticed his eyebrows slightly furrowing. Apparently, Giyuu had not been informed about his presence either which was somewhat reassuring. For a moment, they exchanged an unenthused look. Then, Sanemi turned towards Oyakata-sama and his children and bowed deeply, his eyes fixed at the ground.

“Welcome, Sanemi. Thank you for coming,” Oyakata-sama said, his voice soft as always. “Now that you have arrived, we can speak about the matter at hand.”

Sanemi looked up and noticed that Giyuu was still standing around as if this did not pertain to him, his gaze wandering over the trees and paths surrounding this part of the estate. If it were not for Oyakata-sama’s presence, Sanemi would have hit Giyuu over the head for this disrespect towards their master. While it was still tempting, he did not move a muscle though. For the moment, he had to leave it at a nasty look – and if he was lucky, the chance to go through with it would present itself at a later point. “Yes, Oyakata-sama,” he said as calmly as possible, listening carefully.

Oyakata-sama smiled at him before his face turned earnest. “As you are aware, both of you are Hashira and therefore two of the strongest demon slayers. However, it has been brought to my attention that both of you still have potential to grow in your respective areas.”

Sanemi tilted his head and looked at his master pensively. It took him a moment to filter out the meaning behind those elegant words and his heart sank when he realized that he had just been told in a very kind way that at least one of his skills was lacking. He shot Giyuu an angry look when he noticed Giyuu glancing at him with what looked like a slightly amused gaze.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said hesitatingly and this time, he was fairly sure that he saw amusement sparkling in Giyuu’s eyes. It was only for Oyakata-sama’s calm presence that he did not jump up and grab Giyuu by the collar of his ridiculous haori. While Sanemi was not shy of confrontations, there was one person in the world he never wanted to disappoint – and he was pretty sure that Oyakata-sama would indeed be very disappointed in him, should he lose his temper this easily.

As if he had read his mind, Oyakata-sama nodded to him, an encouraging smile on his lips. “I apologize, I should have explained it better. While both of you are impressive fighters, both in your respective breathing styles as well as in your strong minds, it has come to my attention that you both struggle working with a partner.”

Sanemi paused and stared at Oyakata-sama. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Giyuu had also turned to look at their master, a slightly uneasy expression on his pale face. Oyakata-sama smiled at them. For a moment, Sanemi absentmindedly thought that his master had to be the only person in the world who was able to both smile at someone and give them a stern look at the same time.

“Giyuu, you have to learn how to communicate your plan to others, especially when working as a team,” Oyakata-sama continued. “And you, Sanemi, have to learn how to trust others instead of only relying on yourself. And since both of your struggles stem from the same root, you will be working together to outgrow them and become even stronger.”

For a moment, everything was silent. Sanemi felt his blood rush through his body when the meaning of what Oyakata-sama had just said sank in. And while he still struggled for words, he heard Giyuu quietly say what was on his mind as well. “Oh no.”

Nichika – or Hinaki, as Sanemi could not tell the Ubuyashiki daughters apart – smiled at them and bowed after she had finished explaining the instructions. She turned to leave, followed by Hinaki – or maybe Nichika, who knew. Sanemi watched them leave the training ground close by the Ubuyashiki residence, his mouth still slightly agape. It took him quite a bit of willpower to turn around and face Giyuu who stood a few steps behind him, leaning against one of the many wooden dummies they were supposed to use for their training. Of course, Giyuu was once again too pretentious to reveal any big emotion but even from where he stood, Sanemi saw his eyelid twitching. And for once, Sanemi could relate to him.

For a while, they both kept quiet, lost in their own bewilderment at what had been asked of them. Sanemi contemplated leaving, simply sneaking away from the training ground. He was sure he would be able to do so without being seen but since he was well aware that his master’s mental abilities well exceeded those of his eyes, he knew that this plan was doomed before he could even try. Oyakata-sama would know, in one way or the other, and while he would maybe not intervene, he would be direly disappointed in Sanemi’s actions - and however much disdain he felt at the idea of training with Giyuu, Sanemi was not willing to disappoint the one person who had never disappointed him.

Thus, he gritted his teeth and turned to Giyuu who stared at the cloudy sky as if it was about to reveal an out of this situation to him. “Well,” Sanemi growled. “Since we have not much of a choice, we might as well get it over with.”

For a moment, Giyuu did not react and Sanemi was about to say something rather unkind at this ignorance, when Giyuu finally nodded reluctantly. “Yes,” he muttered, avoiding Sanemi’s gaze. “So … are you going to bend down or do I have to jump?”

Sanemi felt his own blood rush through his ears and he dug his fingernails deep into his palms, desperately trying to cope with the absurdity of the situation. It took him all his willpower to keep breathing calmly instead of exploding when he begrudgingly crouched down. He heard slow footsteps behind him and clenched his jaws when he felt Giyuu coming closer. His whole body tensed up when Giyuu came to a halt behind him. And then, he felt cold fingers hesitantly touching his shoulders before grabbing ahold of them and even though he tried his best to suppress it, Sanemi flinched at the touch. He felt Giyuu freeze and for a moment, they were engulfed by silence as both Sanemi and Giyuu held their breath at the same time.

Then, Sanemi closed his eyes and sighed, conquering his repulsion. The quicker they started, the quicker it would be over. And with a swift movement, he reached back and heaved Giyuu onto his shoulders, almost overhearing the surprised yelp coming from behind him. “Great,” he spat out. “What now?”

For a moment, he was met with stunned silence. Apparently, Giyuu had not expected this sudden ascent and it took him a second to adapt to the situation. “Well,” he said slowly. “Before we start, we have to … uh, put on the blindfold.”

With his jaw, Sanemi also almost dropped Giyuu. He noticed just in time that he had let go of him and quickly grabbed his legs, cutting Giyuu’s startled cry short. “The what?” he bellowed, desperately hoping that he had misheard Giyuu’s words.

But only a second later, his hopes were shattered when Giyuu repeated himself, this time dangling a dark piece of cloth in front of Sanemi’s face as if to prove his words. “The blindfold. You’ll have to put it on. Nichika explained it to us.”

Dumbstruck, Sanemi stared at the blindfold softly swaying before his eyes, moving in an almost hypnotic rhythm. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare and while his brain still tried to process this new development, he heard himself weakly say, “I can’t put it on with no hands free though.”

And without hesitation, Giyuu replied, “Then I’ll do it for you.”

Sanemi froze when he felt Giyuu’s hands grazing his face as he quickly slipped the blindfold over his eyes. For a split second, Sanemi contemplated ripping the blindfold away and strangling Giyuu with it but even in this humiliating situation, he saw Oyakata-sama’s smile before his inner eye. And with clenched teeth, he let it wash over himself. When the dark cloth almost entirely drowned out any light, Giyuu finally retracted his hands. It was only then that Sanemi realized that he had held his breath throughout the whole ordeal and when he now gasped for air, he felt Giyuu shift uncomfortably on his shoulders as he leaned forward.

“Everything alright?” Giyuu asked, his voice sounding strangely timid. And instead of snapping at him, Sanemi left it at an exasperated sigh and nodded.

“Let’s get it over and done with,” he groaned, blinking rapidly as one of his eyelashes got stuck on the fabric. He felt Giyuu’s weight on his shoulders and even though Giyuu was not particularly heavy, it felt like he had shouldered nothing less than a boulder. For all he knew, this was at least a one-off occasion and this thought gave him the strength to tighten his grip when he felt Giyuu drawing his katana. As one of the Ubuyashiki daughters had explained to them, they would have to work together, Sanemi being the legs and muscle while Giyuu bore the katana and acted as the mind behind their strategy.

“Uh, let’s get moving then,” Giyuu said, sounding a bit unsure. He shifted his weight a bit and Sanemi clenched his teeth again, trying not to snap at him that he was no horse that had to be steered with the legs.

“Where?” he growled instead. “I can’t exactly see, if you haven’t noticed.”

Giyuu paused before he muttered, “Sure. Hm, turn to the right. There are a few dummies up ahead.”

And begrudgingly, Sanemi followed suit. The next hour – which did feel like an eternity – consisted mostly of Giyuu giving him increasingly precise commands where to go while Sanemi slowly got used to supporting Giyuu’s weight while he brandished his sword. And while his insides where still burning with anger at this training method, he did come to appreciate the satisfying thump when Giyuu’s katana hit another of the wooden dummies.

However, Sanemi was well aware that in the speed they were moving right now, an enemy would have enough time to gather a whole army before they even got to him. And thus, he spoke up after a while, cursing silently at himself for having to make this suggestion. “We should move quicker if we want this to be a real training.”

A moment of silence followed and he heard Giyuu’s soft breath before he finally replied, “Are you sure you are, uh, strong enough for that? I mean, you’ve been carrying me around for a while now.”

This caught Sanemi entirely by surprise and for a moment, he was at a loss of words as rage started bubbling up in his throat. He tightened his grip around Giyuu’s legs until his nails had to dig into his skin and he smiled grimly at the sharp breath drawn above his head. “I’ll show you just how to strong I am,” he murmured, more to himself.

Giyuu did not react to his threatening tone but Sanemi could feel him move into a more secure position, seemingly expecting Sanemi to burst into motion at any moment. And then, he did.

In the blink of an eye, Sanemi charged forward. Giyuu let out a small yelp and clung to his shoulders as they flew across the training ground. “Right,” Giyuu screamed, apparently just in time as his katana hit something hard way quicker than it had before.

But Sanemi did not let this knock him off course and he continued to sprint, led only by Giyuu’s hasty directions. Over and over, he heard the impact of Giyuu’s katana and when his muscles started burning and both of their breaths came ragged, he released all of his anger in another mighty burst of energy. They whirled across the training ground, drafts of air and the fierce impacts blurring into each other. Giyuu’s voice came quicker as he tried to keep up with Sanemi’s speed, his commands sounding more rushed by the minute which made Sanemi grin to himself.

“Left,” Giyuu gasped out and Sanemi instantly followed suit. Giyuu’s body tensed up as he screamed, “Other left!”

And before Sanemi had the time to react, something akin to a brick wall materialized in front of him and with an earthshattering thump, they collided. He yelped in surprise and pain as he staggered backwards, letting go of Giyuu who fell from his shoulders with a cry. Giyuu landed hard on the ground with a loud groan and Sanemi, still blinded by the dark fabric, stumbled over him, toppling over. Before he could reach out to catch himself, he landed on something rather soft which evoked another groan, this time slightly muffled. And when Sanemi ripped the blindfold off his face, he noticed that the squishy something he had landed on was Giyuu who stared up at him with his eyes wide as saucers.

Sanemi quickly struggled to his feet, hastily moving a few steps away from both Giyuu and the unexpected barrier which turned out to be less of a brick wall and more of an especially broad wooden dummy that now – if one looked closely – had the silhouette of a weird, humpbacked figure imprinted into its frontside.

Sanemi turned back to Giyuu, glaring at him, already opening his mouth to give him a piece of his mind when he suddenly heard a soft hem somewhere behind them. Giyuu’s gaze fell on something behind Sanemi and with a start, he turned around. His heart sank when he found himself face to face with Oyakata-sama, accompanied by his daughters. A slightly amused smile formed on his master’s face when he looked at first him, then Giyuu.

“As I can tell, this training was a good idea. I am glad that you are taking this very seriously, my children. And since you have both proven that you still have a ways to go, you will continue this training until you work in perfect harmony.” For a moment, everything fell silent. Like in trance, Sanemi turned his head and when his gaze met Giyuu’s blue eyes, he knew that this was only just the start to a few particularly unpleasant weeks. And the worst of it all: he would only break free if he and Giyuu actually managed to work as a team.

[s-creations]

Comes in Waves - Who Did This To You?

Entries for the 2024 RadioStatic Week.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Cursing, Angst, Fluff and Angst, I'll try and write a good mix of both happy and sad, They're both idiots when it comes to love.

Every step hurts. Every breath was painful. His vision was horrible with how cracked his screen was. It was amazing that he was even still standing. He was pretty sure he was running off of adrenaline and the moment that fell away, he was going to drop. 

Vox couldn’t hold back the hiss that escaped him when he met with some uneven ground. Needing to dig his claws into the closet surface to gain some balance for himself. Unable to move from the new wave of pain, Vox tried to catch his breath as he tried to ‘look’ around. When his vision did clear, he’d been able to catch some snippets of the path he was on. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he picked this way. He could have just gone back to his Tower. It would have been easier. Less damage to his already bruised ego. Less chance of being seen by demons who shouldn’t know about his condition. 

But, at this point, with how much pain he was in, Vox was just on a one track mind of just getting to safety, to comfort, and that wasn’t back at his Tower. 

It was at that stupid, fucking hotel. If he was even allowed to come in. He could just barely make out the large structure. He was about halfway up the path from where he stood. It felt…so far away. But he was also so close, closer than before. He can make it. He can, he has to…

He was so tired…

He couldn’t move…

It took everything for Vox to place one more step. Only to freeze when the shadows shifted to form a familiar figure. Alastor’s smile tight as his eyes narrowed down on the injured Overlord. 

Vox couldn’t tell if the other was angry, annoyed, or both. 

“Well, you’re rather far from home.” Alastor said so casually, you would have thought they’d just met on the street any old day. But that damn smile was still tight. 

Vox’s retort was nothing more than his words being cut off in a stream of broken static. Pain coursing through him once more, causing his hand to become dislodged from the tree he’d dug them into. Body convulsing for a moment before he began to fall. Unable to pull the feeling back into his legs or arms to catch himself. 

But the landing never came. 

Instead, in the blink of an eye, Alastor had closed the distance between them. Staff disappeared to allow both arms to be free as they caught the unresponsive Overlord. Vox, on his part, was just barely online at this point. Knowing that he was open to whatever attack the Radio Demon might have for him. Expecting to feel the sting of a knife to cut through his back and into his heart, putting him out of his misery. 

Shock flickered through Vox once more when he was easily lifted off the ground. Wanting to feel some bit of annoyance or embarrassment to hit as he was basically cradled in the arms of his rival. But all he could do was lay his head on Alastor’s shoulder. Just able to make out the sharp smile pointed at him through his fogged vision. 

“I suppose you and I will have a long chat after you wake again.”

Vox merely blinked back as a reply. 

Alastor didn’t seem to care as he turned and made his way up to the hotel. Seeming to take his steps deliberately as if to not jostle Vox too much. The Media’s last memory was that of the double doors opening, the residents inside peering at them both with a mix of worry and panic, and Alastor pushing past them with ease and without a word. 

Vox was out before they reached the base of the grand staircase. 

.

.

.

When he woke, Vox was pleased to see that his vision had cleared up. That was the millisecond of relief he had before he realized he was not in his room. He was on a bed, a plush one. One that felt as if he was on a cloud, far softer than any of the beds the Vees’ owned. The canopy overhead was a deep red, a blood red, nothing like the reds from Valentino’s room. And Velvette didn’t like deep red. 

“W-Where…” Vox winces hearing how terrible his voice sounded.

He couldn’t move his head, still too tired from healing himself. But he could hear footsteps approaching where he laid. Confusion grew as Alastor came into view. That smile still in place as the Radio Demon sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, look who finally decided to wake. You were giving Sleeping Beauty a run for her money.” Alastor said calmly. But Vox could tell there was another emotion hidden underneath. You don’t study your biggest rival without learning a few cues.

With how tight Alastor’s smile was…was he…worried?

“What…happened?” Vox asked weakly. 

“I was hoping you could tell me, good man. You come shuffling your pity parade of one towards the hotel and I thought you were being your foolish self. Going to make another silly proclamation to fight me or what not…” Alastor’s chipper tone slowly disappeared as he started the other down. 

“Only to be colored surprised when I find you clinging to consciousness and barely able to stand. I thought, at first, maybe it was a ruse? Some way to have my guard be dropped. To foolishly let you in…”

Vox blinked, slowly, trying to remember. “...How long have I been asleep?”

“2 days, 11 hours, 52 minutes, and a few seconds… But who’s counting really.” That tight smile was back. 

“Where…am I? I mean, the hotel but…one of the rooms?”

“My room, to be more exact.” 

That caused a hit of confusion. Vox still couldn’t turn his head, to confirm if Alastor was telling the truth. But the Radio Demon had no reason to lie about something like this. So…

“You deliberately brought me to your room?” If Vox was his usual self, he would have put a teasing tone. Openly mocking the other for his action. But he was more surprised to have been not only brought into the hotel but specifically into Alastor’s room. 

His domain. 

Allowing Vox to just sleep on his bed. 

“Of course I did. The only one allowed to see you in such a state is me…” Alastor’s voice was just barely a whisper. Reaching out to run the back of his hand along Vox’s frame. 

Only to pull away quickly with his eyes a bright red, “Because only I should be able to take such pleasure in seeing you this broken.”

Vox growled as the laugh track played throughout the room. “Fuck you, Alastor!”

That gave Vox enough energy to sit up in defiance. Only to feel his body jolt in pain from the sudden movement, causing him to lay back down in intense suffering. 

“Ah ah,” Alastor wagged his finger, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You were, and still are, in bad shape and none of your electrical annoyances are here to help you along. Your recovery is going to take some time.”

“Did I get any calls?”

Alastor tilted his head at that. “How should I know?”

“What- Just, tap the screen on my phone and tell me what it says.”

“What phone?”

Vox let out a pained growl. “Now’s not the time for your technophobia or whatever. I need you to find my phone and-”

“Your phone’s not here.”

That gave the Media Overlord some pause. “...What do you mean it’s not here?”

“I mean it’s not here. Not sure how much clearer I can make it for you. You arrived here, but your ‘phone’ did not.”

“Don’t use air quotes, you ass.”

Alastor merely laughed. “Tell me, where do you remember your ‘phone’ being?”

Really wishing he could smack that smirk off, Vox contented himself with rolling his eyes. Looking away from the other as he tried to recall what happened. 

He was heading back from a meeting.

It was dark and he decided to duck into an alleyway. 

For everything he couldn’t remember why he didn’t call his limo or move through the current as he normally did. But he hadn’t felt like it that night.

He was engrossed in his phone, planning the next big event or meeting or something. 

He didn’t see the entrances being blocked. 

He didn’t see the first attack. 

He remembered fighting back. 

He’d dropped his phone to focus on everything else.

But between being jumped and with how many there were…

It’s shameful to think an Overlord would allow himself to be jumped so easily. 

“Well?”

Alastor’s voice pulled Vox back to the present. The Media Overlord nervous with how close the other was leaning over him. Red eyes narrowed as he waited for Vox to reply. That tight smile was back. 

“I…just lost it,” Vox replied weakly, “It’s fine. No one can access it. I’ll get it later.” 

He tensed when Alastor let out a low growl. Vox heard a tearing sound right next to his head. His mind helpfully offered that Alastor’s claws were digging into the bed. 

“What a horrible answer.” The Radio Demon’s voice was distorted as he spoke. 

Vox felt his heart racing. “What?”

“Since you seem to want to make this difficult, I’ll just cut to the chase.” Alastor’s face was barely an inch away from Vox’s. The Media Overlord knew the other didn’t have hypnotic powers, but he found he couldn’t look away from the deep red eyes staring into him. 

“Who did this to you.”

Vox swallowed weakly. “Just…some sinners. It’s not- I was just off- I wasn’t paying attention. It’s fine.”

The deep growl said otherwise. “Who. Give me descriptions. Detail. Locations. Something.”

“I- Why?” 

“Because I’m going to make them suffer,” Alastor hissed, “I’m going to send their screams of panic and fear through the airwaves for all to hear. I’m going to make an example out of them. I’m going to tell this wretched place that the only demon who’s allowed to even look at you is me. Do you understand? Y̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞u̳̿͟͞ b̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞l̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞n̳̿͟͞g̳̿͟͞ t̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞ m̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞.”

Vox knew he should be terrified. That he should fight back in some way. To stand his ground and say he could handle this himself. But an ever growing part of him warned to not fight this and he quickly sided with it

“I-It was the alleyway off of 6th,” he started to spill, “Next to that little bakery, I think, I-I don’t know, but it has a weird name. They were sharks, loan sharks maybe? I don’t know. I know a few of those organizations owe me money so maybe this was them trying to clear the debt. There were about 5, maybe 6 of them? I didn’t get a good look.” 

The air suddenly cleared up. Vox letting out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he sunk back into the bed. On his part, Alastor looked as if nothing had just transpired. Merely corrected his tie before addressing Vox once more.

“Rest easy know that while you’re in my domain, no harm shall come to you.”

“Alastor-”

“I suggest you rest a little longer. Maybe you’ll get some feeling back in your limbs instead of just your mouth.” 

“Alastor-” Vox froze again, feeling fingers under his chin. Eyes following said hand as it was casually waved over his screen. Exhaustion suddenly gripped him. Just barely able to keep himself awake as he watched the other stand. “Alastor…”

“Rest, Vox. I’ll be back soon.”

As Alastor fully turned away, making for the door, Vox fell into the calming darkness and slept. 

[eviebakes]

'til morning comes

Summary: In the twilight years of gunslingers and outlaws, Mattie is used to being on her own—and then she meets Flora.

Word Count: ~4.5K

Warnings: Violence, Explicit Language

A/N: This story was inspired by @drizzledrawings amazing cowbians art, which you should definitely go check out!! Mattie and Flora are their characters, but hopefully I did these two cowboys justice 🤠 The title is from Tessellate by alt-j. Thank you so much for reading!

__________________

Mattie stood beneath the shade of an oak tree, an unlit cigarette between her lips.

She patted her pockets, biting back a sigh when the search failed to yield any matches.

Damn. Mattie tilted her head skyward, lifting her hat and pushing her bangs back into her hair.

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, hinting at the promise of rain. Somewhere overhead, a hawk screeched.

June grazed nearby, just visible through the trees. Mattie debated calling her over so she could look through the saddle bags before quickly dismissing the idea.

She’d resupply when she got the chance. Maybe stop at that muddy little town she’d ridden past this morning and grab a hot meal while she was at it.

Later though.

Now, it was time to rob some bastard blind.

Mattie hummed beneath her breath as she strode through the trees, her hand brushing against the worn leather of her holster. The ground, still wet from last night’s rain, sunk beneath her boots with every step.

She found a good vantage spot on the edge of the road and tucked herself against a tree, half-obscured by the surrounding foliage.

A covered wagon rolled past, a man and woman arguing loudly over supplies. Then, a group of men on horseback, all of them grim faced and armed to the teeth.

Mattie waited patiently, biding her time.

Experience had taught her that it was better to wait for the right target. Even if there were less lawmen in this part of the country, picking the wrong person could lead to trouble.

Mattie straightened from her lean when a woman appeared down the road sitting astride a piebald horse, a white hat pulled low over her face.

Mattie eyed her consideringly—but to her surprise, the woman raised her head and looked straight at her.

Their eyes met. The woman gave her a once-over and smiled, touching the brim of her hat as she rode past. After a moment’s hesitation, Mattie returned the gesture and resumed her vigil.

Half an hour passed before another single rider appeared. A man this time, unarmed and covered in road dust.

Perfect.

“Help me,” Mattie gasped, limping out of the brush and stumbling to the ground in front of him. “Oh, God—please help me!”

“Whoa!” The man pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, eyeing her warily. “What’s wrong, miss?”

“I-it’s my ankle,” she whimpered, clutching at her foot. “Somethin’ is wrong with my ankle!”

He hesitantly took a step closer, the watch chain on his vest glinting in the sun. “What happened?”

“My horse bucked me and r-ran off into the woods,” Mattie panted. “Please, mister. Can you help me find him?”

He shifted on his feet, seemingly torn between pity and suspicion. But Mattie was a good liar and, after several days of traveling, she didn’t have to feign dishevelment.

“Please,” she said, her voice cracking, and his expression finally softened. Got you.

“Here, let’s get you up,” he said, crouching beside her. “We’ll find your horse, miss.”

He helped her to stand and, as soon as she put weight on her foot, Mattie pretended to stumble into him.

Her fingers skimmed against the watch chain right as he moved to catch her, causing her hand to knock into his stomach. Shit.

Before she could play it off, he grabbed her wrist. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Let go of me!” Mattie snapped, dropping all pretense.

Her free hand went to her holster when he only tightened his grip. “I should’ve known better! You’re nothing more than a goddamn—"

They both froze when a horse appeared down the road at a full gallop, heading straight for them.

The man released her with a curse, and Mattie dove away as the rider desperately pulled back on the reigns to avoid them.

The horse reared, the rider tumbling off the saddle and hitting the ground with a cry.

The man rushed over to help, and Mattie took advantage of the distraction to crawl into the undergrowth. Breathless, she peered through the leaves to watch the scene unfold.

“Miss! Miss, are you okay?”

“I-I think so. J-just a little shaken.”

“Here, let me help you sit up. Careful now—take it slow.”

Mattie narrowed her eyes. It was the same brunette who’d ridden past earlier. Why’d she come back this way…?

“Thank you, sir,” she said as the man helped her up, hastily offering an arm when she swayed unsteadily on her feet. “I truly appreciate your kindness.”

“If anything, I should be thanking you. You interrupted some ugly business—a would-be thief trying to rob me.”

“How awful!”

She clutched the man’s arm more tightly, and the sleight of hand was so subtle, so natural, that Mattie almost thought she’d imagined it.

But no—the woman smoothly tucked the watch up her shirtsleeve a moment later, her eyes never once leaving the man’s face. “I’m lucky I ran into you instead—I could’ve been in even more trouble!”

Unlike Mattie’s fumbled attempt at pickpocketing, the man didn’t so much as blink. “Don’t worry, now. She seems to have scampered off in the chaos.”

“Thank goodness for that! The roads can so unsafe sometimes.”

Mattie ground her teeth, fuming at the turn of events. This had to be a damn joke.

But as the man helped her onto the horse, the brunette turned to look right at the spot where Mattie had concealed herself—a flash of dark, mischievous eyes.

And then she winked.

What. The. FUCK.

_________

A few hours later found Mattie at the saloon, nursing a lukewarm beer while she sulked.

What a waste of a day. Hours spent staking out a decent spot along the road, and nothing to show for it but a bruised ego. She’d been outmaneuvered and out—out thieved, and it pissed her off to no end.

She took an angry gulp of beer, slamming down the bottle in a futile effort to relieve some of the frustration prickling beneath her skin.

No one paid her any mind. It was late afternoon, and the saloon was blessedly empty save for a few men playing poker.

Tomorrow, she’d start fresh. Ride to that town north of here and rob any easy targets she found along the way.

Tonight though, Mattie just wanted to forget the whole shitty day.

She drank her way through several more beers while the saloon slowly filled with people, the wall lights flickering to life as the sunlight faded. Carts and stagecoaches rumbled past outside, joining the piano music and the hum of conversation.

One of the poker players sidled up to the bar, squeezing into the open spot beside her. He was around her age, his hair slicked back with too much pomade.  

He ordered a whiskey, subtly glancing at her while the bartender filled a glass for him. Mattie ignored him, keeping her gaze forward.

She bit back a sigh when he fully twisted to face her. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore—"

“Not interested,” Mattie broke in flatly, not even bothering to look at him.

“I’m just trying to have a conv—”

“Get. Lost.”

His ears reddened, but there were too many people around for him to do more than shoot her a dirty look. “You aren’t that pretty anyways.”

“Good one. Very original,” Mattie said beneath her breath as he staggered away.

“Right? A real charmer,” someone said at her elbow.

Mattie tensed. It was the brunette—smiling at her like they were the best of friends. “You.”

“Me,” she agreed easily, resting her arms on the bar and nodding at the empty bottles. “Tough day, huh?”

“No thanks to you,” Mattie hissed accusingly, jabbing a finger at her. “You robbed me.”

“I thought about robbing you, but you didn’t look like you had much.”

She gaped. “You serious?”

“No, I’m Flora.”

“You—that’s not—!” Mattie pressed her lips together, glowering. “So…so you just came here to gloat then?”

“I came here for a drink, sunshine.”

Sunshine…? Mattie mouthed stupidly, her glare faltering. It was like she’d encountered a whirlwind—one that was two steps ahead of her.

“This was the closest town in riding distance,” Flora said, gesturing at the sunflower on Mattie’s hat in answer to her unspoken question. “And I was gonna rob the first good target I ran into out there. Don’t read too much into it.”

Her voice was friendly, but lacked the flirtatiousness from the road. It’d just been part of the act, like pretending to fall off her horse or Mattie’s damsel in distress ploy.

“Well aren’t you good at what you do,” Mattie said, like she had a mouthful of marbles.

“Awful sweet of you for noticing,” Flora said, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “Tell you what. Your next round is on me.”

“No thanks,” Mattie said, scowling. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Hey, if I feel bad for anyone, it’s that poor bastard from earlier.” Flora leaned closer, one of her braids sliding over her shoulder and grazing Mattie’s arm. “He was the one getting robbed today, one way or another.”

A laugh bubbled from the back of her throat. Mattie barely managed to turn it into a cough because—yeah, she had a point. “Just one drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” Flora said cheerfully, catching the bartender’s attention and tossing a few coins on the bar.

“But this doesn’t make us friends,” Mattie added, catching the drink Flora slid her way.

“Whatever you say,” Flora agreed amicably, clinking their bottles together. “Cheers.”

She waited until Mattie took a sip, smiling with the lip of the bottle still pressed to her mouth. “That wasn’t so bad, was—"

“Hey,” someone interrupted loudly. They simultaneously looked over their shoulders. “Hey, you. Irish.”

“Oh good,” Flora said lightly, turning and propping a hip against the bar. “Mr. Charmer is back for another round."

“Course he is.” Mattie clenched her jaw, twisting to face the man. “What do you want now?”

It took him a full second to focus on her. “I want to know what your problem is.”

“My problem is that I’m tryin’ to have a peaceful evenin’, and you keep botherin’ me.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly.” He leaned closer, his breath making her nose crinkle. “What, you’re too good for a conversation?”

“Is that what you call this?” Mattie looked at him coolly, her lip curling. “If you want to talk so badly, go pay someone for it.”

He flushed a dark red when Flora snickered, something ugly flashing across his face. “You really think you’re better than me, huh.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t go that far, but at least I don’t spend my time harassin’ folk and—what was that other part again?”

She pretended to mull it over before snapping her fingers. “Oh right. I don’t smell like fucking pig shit.”

Mattie raised her bottle in a sarcastic salute and turned back toward the bar, already anticipating his next move.

Sure enough, he grabbed her arm and tugged her toward him. “We aren’t done talk—"

The words cut off in a howl of pain when Mattie deftly flipped her bottle and smashed it against his face. He stumbled backwards and tripped over a chair, taking another man down with him as he fell.

The uproar was immediate. A few people ran for the exit, but the drunkest men joined the fray—hooting and hollering as they laid into one another.

Mattie didn’t wait to see the outcome. She sidestepped two brawling men and beelined it toward the exit, dodging neatly out of the way when someone ran past with a chair and threw it through the window with a whoop.

She’d almost reached the saloon doors when a hand clamped down on her arm and yanked her backwards.

Mattie twisted, catching a flash of Pig Shit’s bloodied face right before he plowed her in the cheek.

She spun with the force of the blow, tasting blood as pain erupted across her entire face. Mattie barely avoided his next few swings, landing a single punch before he decked her again.

Her vision went white. She flew into a table and crashed to the floor, shot glasses and bottles raining down around her.

Mattie struggled to her knees, shards of glass digging into her skin. Pig Shit’s boots appeared in her line of vision, the leather worn and muddied.

“Not so superior now, huh,” he sneered, kicking aside her hat as she spat out blood. “Bet you’re regretting that smart mouth of your—"

He staggered when something connected with his head, his expression frozen in surprise for the briefest second before he crumpled in a heap.

“With a mouth that big, he’s sure one to talk,” Flora said disdainfully, tossing aside the broken table leg while Mattie gaped at her. “Come on, sunshine—on your feet.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Mattie panted as Flora hauled her up and pushed her hat into her hands. “Figured you’d be long gone.”

“Well, you’re glad I’m not, right?” Flora retorted, her gaze locking onto something across the bar. Mattie wiped at her bloody lip and looked over her shoulder.

Two of the poker players—likely Pig Shit’s buddies—were shoving their way through the crowd in their direction.

“Can you run?” Flora asked urgently, grasping her wrist.

“I think so.”

“Then run,” she ordered, already tugging Mattie towards the exit.

They shouldered through the saloon doors and raced across the street, Flora leading them into a dark alleyway between a row of buildings and a fence where several people were loitering.

Without warning, Flora pulled off her hat and crowded her against the wall, pinning their hats between them.

“What’re you doin’,” Mattie hissed as Flora casually wrapped her arms around her waist. “This is the opposite of runnin’.”

“It’s called hiding in plain sight,” Flora whispered, settling into the embrace. She was a few inches shorter than Mattie, her temple fitting perfectly in the curve of her jaw. “Play along.”

Mattie bit back a retort when footsteps echoed down the alley, bowing her head as the men ran past—but young lovers hiding in the shadows was nothing unusual, and they didn’t so much as spare them a glance.

Flora stepped away as soon as the footsteps receded, placing her hat on her head. “Where’s your horse? You might be able to sneak away without them noticing.”

Mattie rested against the wall, biting back a wince while she probed at her cheek. Her left eye was already swollen shut. “The only place I’m goin’ tonight is a hotel.”

“Right,” Flora said, drawing out the word into multiple syllables and somehow injecting skepticism in all of them. “And you’re doing that why…?”

“’Cause they’ll be expectin’ me to jump town tonight,” Mattie explained. “Better to hunker down now and head out early.”

“That’s…actually pretty smart.”

She sounded insultingly impressed. Mattie huffed. “Give me some credit here.”

“The hotel is just around the corner,” Flora said, ignoring her. “We should head there now before our new friends decide to come calling again.”

Mattie looked at her sharply. “We?”

“You’re not the only one in danger,” Flora said, her tone losing some of the levity that’d been there all night. “They’ll be looking for me too.”

Mattie shook her head, too tired to argue. “Fine, but you’re not—"

“—your friend,” she broke in, raising an eyebrow. “I know.”

“No, that’s not—” Mattie put on her hat and pulled some coins from her pocket, pushing them into Flora’s hand. “I was gonna say that you don’t need to pay for the rooms since it’s my fault you’re in this mess.”

Flora gazed down at her palm for a moment, looking taken aback for the first time that day. Her eyes were bright when she glanced up, a smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, partner.”

Mattie grunted and made her way toward the street. Flora fell into step beside her, undeterred. “Buddy?”

“No.”

“Pal?”

“Ugh.”

She thought for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Compadre.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mattie warned without heat, tilting her hat down to hide her smile when Flora just laughed.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Flora suggested when they reached the hotel. Light spilled through the windows, casting flickering shadows across her face. “You might, uh—”

Mattie snorted, sinking into a squat beside the water barrel sitting on the edge of the hotel porch. “Draw some attention?”

“Just a little,” Flora agreed. She hesitated, then untied the red bandana from her neck and held it out. “Here, sunshine. Your lip is bleeding again.”

“Mattie,” she corrected, gratefully accepting the piece of cloth. She realized Flora was staring at her after a second. “My name’s Mattie.”

“Mattie,” Flora said slowly, like she was testing the weight on her tongue. “It suits you.”

She looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. Flora was already walking away, her boots clunking softly across the wood.

Mattie exhaled and pressed the bandana to her mouth. It smelled like clean linen and something slightly floral.

She closed her eye and leaned her head against the barrel, breathing in the scent of water-soaked wood. Her face throbbed, the pressure almost unbearable around her eye socket.

Someone was humming nearby, the tune fading in and out. A horse walked past on the street, its hooves thudding against the packed dirt road.

Mattie didn’t realize she’d dozed off until someone touched her shoulder. She jerked away, her hand shooting to her knife, but it was just Flora.

She pushed unsteadily to her feet. “We good?”

“Kinda. They only had one room left,” Flora said, trading a key and the remaining coins for her bandana. “You alright with sharing for the night?”

Mattie shrugged one shoulder. “If you wanted me dead, you’ve had a few chances.”

“And we’ve already established you have nothing worth robbing,” Flora joked, moving toward the hotel entrance.

“That too,” she said dryly, tipping her hat over her face as they passed the front desk and climbed a creaky set of stairs.

The room was surprisingly spacious, with a lit hearth and two neatly made beds.

Flora opened the window while Mattie tossed her hat onto the closest bed and went over to the washstand.

She pulled a towel from the rack and poured water into the basin, wincing when she caught sight of her reflection. Shit.

Flora was watching her when she turned around, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “That’s looking pretty bad.”

“Feels worse,” Mattie muttered, sitting on her bed and balancing the basin on her lap.

She wet the cloth, pausing when Flora stepped in front of her and touched her wrist.

“Let me help you with that,” she offered softly, waiting until Mattie gave a terse nod before sliding the cloth from her hand.

Flora retrieved the chair from the corner of the room and sat down, shifting forward until her knee bumped into her thigh. Mattie tensed when she grasped her chin, her fingers cool against her overheated skin.

“So, ‘peaceful evening,’ huh,” Flora said, dabbing the cloth against her lip. “I hate to see when you really let loose.”

“I doubt you could handle it,” Mattie said more airily than she felt, her eye darting to Flora’s face when she laughed.

“Oh, I think what I can handle would surprise you,” she said lightly, her fingertips sliding across Mattie’s jaw as she turned her face—the pale imitation of a tender touch.

“Why’re you helpin’ me so much?” Mattie demanded, feeling suddenly defensive.

Flora glanced at her through her lashes, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Maybe I have a soft spot for underdogs.”

She bristled. “I’m not a charity case.”

“And I’m not your enemy,” Flora said quietly, her thumb resting on the soft underside of Mattie’s chin. “Besides, everyone needs a little help now and then—even tough cowboys like you.”

Flora dipped the cloth in the basin and ran the cloth over her swollen cheek, the motion achingly gentle—and Mattie abruptly realized the answer to her own question.

Kind. Flora was helping her because she was kind.

Mattie shot Flora a subtle glance, her eye moving from the furrow of concentration between her brows to the soft curve of her face.

Flora lifted her arm to inspect the cuts left behind from the broken glass, the motion causing Mattie’s knuckles to skim against her shirt.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by the soft patter of raindrops against the window. A gust of wind fluttered the curtains, filling the room with the scent of rain.

“There,” Flora said after securing a makeshift bandage over the deepest cut, sitting back in the chair as she surveyed her handiwork. “Good as new.”

“Just about,” Mattie said, cradling her arm to her chest. She hunched in on herself when Flora smiled, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling. “What?”

“You aren’t so tough, are you? You just need someone to look after you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Mattie muttered, her cheeks warming. She picked at a thread on her pants as Flora stood and stretched her arms over her head. “Hey, uh…”

Flora looked at her, letting her arms drop to her sides.

“Thank you.” Her eye darted to Flora and away again. “For everythin’.”

Mattie stared fixedly at the peeling wallpaper, but she could still feel Flora’s smile. “You’re welcome.”

_________

Mattie woke early the next morning, her entire face aching.

She stared blearily at the ceiling, breathing through the pain for a few minutes before sitting up and pulling on her boots.

It was still dark out, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. Mattie put on her hat, glancing at where Flora was sprawled across the other bed. For a moment, she thought about leaving her.

The impulse faded as quickly as it had come. It would’ve been a shit way to repay her kindness.

“Flora,” she said quietly, touching her shoulder. Flora sat up, instantly—enviably—awake. “We should go before the sun is up.”

They left the hotel a few minutes later and retrieved their horses from the hitching post in front of the saloon, following the road northeast until the town had disappeared behind them.

The ground was still wet from the rain, mud splattering onto their boots while they rode and a cool breeze ruffling their hair.

When the town was several miles behind them, they paused beside a river to refill their canteens while the first glint of sunlight pressed through the trees.

“Your horse is beautiful,” Flora said, shaking her hair loose from its ties and redoing her braids. “She seems so sweet.”

“Looks can be deceivin’,” Mattie said with a snort, glancing at where June was drinking from the river. “Tamin’ her cost me a sprained ankle and two cracked ribs. June’s a feisty one.”

“Just like her rider,” Flora teased, grinning when Mattie scoffed. She swept her braids over her shoulder and nodded at her horse. “Meanwhile, Bandit would gladly sell my soul for a peppermint.”

Mattie released a startled laugh. “Everyone has their price.”

“Oh! Speaking of...” Flora rummaged in her saddle bag and tossed Mattie a small sack. “Your cut.”

“My cut?” Mattie frowned and opened the bag, nearly choking when she saw the contents. “Where the hell you get this?”

“From the saloon,” Flora said innocently, her eyes shining. “I took the liberty of robbing the place blind after the fight broke out.”

Mattie gaped at her. “But why are you givin’ me half your share?”

“Because you started the fight.”

“You are somethin’ else,” Mattie said, shaking her head and stowing the money in her saddle bags. “How’d you get so good at stealin’, anyways?”

“Lots of practice,” Flora said, looking pleased as punch. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply. “Your brand of chaos isn’t half bad either.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks. Matie retrieved a cigarette too, more for something to do with her hands than because she wanted a smoke.

She put the cigarette between her lips and patted her pockets for a match before abruptly remembering the previous day.  

“Goddammit,” she sighed, shaking her head when Flora looked at her questioningly. “I meant to pick up matches in town, but then—”

“You picked a fight instead?”

“Well—yes, but—” Mattie smiled winningly, the cigarette still between her lips. “These things happen.”

“For some more than others, I imagine,” she laughed, exhaling a cloud of smoke from the side of her mouth. “Come here.”

Flora leaned forward, tilting up her face so the ends of their cigarettes touched. Her eyes flickered up for a breath, the light catching on her face.

Mattie had spent time in Arizona before realizing how much she’d preferred the plains and forests to the unyielding heat of a semi-desert, but the land out there had been something special.

The ring of color around Flora’s pupil was the exact same shade as the rocks had been in the soft light of morning, a richness and depth of color that faded into the same warm tones found in coffee or the earth.

And then Flora straightened, leaving Mattie to take a deep, shaky drag of her cigarette.

She held the smoke in her lungs before releasing it through her nose. “So, where’re you headed next?”

“I was thinking of going to a town about twenty miles north of here,” Flora said, flicking cinders from the end of her cigarette.

“I know the place,” Mattie said, cutting her eye to the side. “It’s more of a proper city than this dump was.”

“Exactly.” Flora grinned, propping a hand on her hip. “Lots of places for folks to drop some money or lose some valuables.”

Mattie chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“What about you?” Flora asked once they’d finished their cigarettes and had mounted their horses. “More bar fights in your future?”

“Not for the time bein,’ no,” Mattie said, leaning down to stroke June’s neck. “I was plannin’ on headin’ north too. You know, if you don’t mind ridin’ together for a bit.”

“That depends.” Flora tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You always this much trouble?”

“Sometimes,” Mattie admitted, leaning forward in the saddle. “But I can usually make it worth your while.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt it,” Flora said, her smile as bright as the new day. “Lead on, sunshine.”

Mattie ducked her head to hide her own smile, facing the horizon.

Together, they rode towards it.

[alyssaforevermore]

Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season two, part two

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Tags: @1ivinqdeadqir1 @callmeyn @thegeorgiahuntsman @mellxander1993 @bigbaldheadname @cjmonsterwolf @abbi23323 @actuallyklee @lanxsee @livingdeadblondequeen @sweetz1919 @moonmark98 @sarahbaker2010 @ririi-3 @ryoujoking @hayley1998 @crazyunsexycool @Lettersfromyourlove (can’t tag last one)

Masterlist

The next morning you were all up bright and early, ready to go back to searching for Sophia. Rick laid out a knife sheath across the hood of a car, which Carl had apparently found yesterday.

“Everyone takes a weapon.” He spoke.

“These aren’t the kind of weapons we need.” Andrea huffed. “What about the guns?”

“We’ve been over that. Daryl, Rick, Y/N and I are carrying.” Shane explained. “We can’t have people popping off rounds any time a tree rustles.”

“It’s not the trees I’m worried about.”

“Say somebody fires at the wrong moment, a herd happens to be passing by. See, then it’s game over for all of us, so you need to get over it.”

Daryl stepped forward. “The idea is to take the creek up about five miles, turn around and come back down the other side. Chances are she’ll be by the creek, it’s her only landmark.”

 “Stay quiet and stay sharp.” Rick warned. “Keep space between you but always stay within sight of each other.”

“Everybody assemble your packs.” You spoke.

Rick turned to Dale, who was sitting on the steps of the RV. “Keep on repairs, we need this RV ready to move.”

Dale nodded, standing up. “We won't stay here a minute longer than we have to. Good luck out there.”

“Keep an eye on Carl while we’re gone?” Rick asked and Dale nodded.

“No, I’m coming with you.” Carl protested. “You need people, right? To cover as much ground as possible.”

Rick looked at Lori, who shook her head. “Your call. I can’t always be the bad guy.”

“Well, he has all of us to look after him.” You spoke up.

In all honesty, after Sophia went missing, you weren’t quite happy to have Carl far away from the rest of the family right now. As much as the woods could be dangerous, you would feel much better having him nearby.

Rick sighed. “Okay, but always within our sight. No exceptions.”

Rick and Lori walked away and Carl looked up at you, smiling.

You gave him a wink before getting serious. “Please don’t make me regret this. I mean it, you stay close to one of us always.”

Carl nodded. “I promise. Thank you.”

You nodded back, hugging your nephew before turning to Dale. “Please keep an eye on T-Dog. I’m worried about his arm.”

Dale nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I will, don’t worry.”

You smiled, heading off to get your backpack together for the journey.

…

You all had been searching the woods for a little while when suddenly, Daryl crouched behind a bush. Everyone followed his lead, crouching down behind him. Shane was the only one still standing.

“She could be in there.” Shane gestured towards a tent in a small section surrounded by trees and bushes.

“Could be a whole bunch of things in there.” Daryl responded.

Daryl stood up, slowly making his way towards the tent with his crossbow raised. You followed close behind, clutching your knife tight in your hand. Eventually, Daryl signaled for you to go ahead of him.

Approaching the tent, you tried your best to focus and listen for any noises coming from inside. As much as you hoped to find Sophia in there, you had to be ready for other possibilities.

Behind you, Rick whispered for Carol to come join them.

“Call out softly,” He told her. “If she’s in there, your voice should be the first she hears.”

Carol nodded. “Sophia, sweetie, are you in there?”

There was no answer, and you gestured for her to continue.

“Sophia, it’s mommy.” Carol tried again. “We’re all here, you don’t have to be afraid.”

With there still being no answer, Daryl, Rick and Shane came to your side. You took a deep breath, slowly unzipping the tent and pulling back the opening. As soon as you did, a strong smell of death hit you.

You began coughing, covering your nose. Inside was the corpse of a man, who had probably been there for weeks at this point. Daryl stepped inside the tent with you, grabbing a gun from the man’s hand.

“Daryl?” Carol called out.

Daryl placed the gun in the back of his pants, stepping out of the tent ahead of you. “It ain’t her.”

Carol let out a sigh of relief, Lori giving her a comforting hand.

“What’s in there?” Andrea asked.

“Some guy.” You responded.

“Did what Jenner said. Opted out.” Daryl added. “Ain't that what he called it?”

Your mind raced back the events of yesterday morning. After the last twenty four hours, it felt like forever ago. You hadn’t really had a chance to process it yet; the decision you had almost made. In a way, you felt like that might be a good thing.

Suddenly, bells began ringing in the distance, causing you all to look around anxiously.

“Maybe that’s Sophia?” You suggested.

Rick pointed to an opening in the brush, running forward as everyone followed close behind. Before long, you arrived at a small church.

“That can’t be it.” Shane spoke. “It’s got no steeple, no bells.”

Rick ignored him, racing through the cemetery. Reluctantly, you all continued to follow his lead. You finally made it to the front doors of the church, preparing your weapons. When you were all ready, Rick swung the doors open.

Sitting in the pews were five people, facing the podium. The sound of the doors opening caused them all to turn around, revealing that they were walkers. You all stared in disbelief as the walkers slowly stood up, making their way towards your group. Shane, Rick and Daryl made their way forward, taking out each of the walkers.

Rick began to call out for Sophia, as your eyes remained fixed on the scene in front of you. You were never religious, but this felt beyond surreal.

“I’m telling you, Rick. It’s the wrong church.” Shane spoke. 

As if on cue, the bell began to ring again. You all raced outside, looking around. Finally Daryl pointed to a PA system on the side of the building, which Glenn quickly shut down.

“It’s on a timer.” Daryl shook his head.

Everyone remained silent for a moment, a sense of dread washing over you all. For the first time since Sophia had gone missing, you could feel that everyone was starting to lose hope.

“I’m going to go inside for a bit.” Carol choked out, turning around and heading back to the church.

…

A while later, your group stood outside the church with Shane approaching.

“Y’all are gonna follow the creek bed back, okay?” He spoke. “Daryl, you’re in charge.”

“Wait, what about Sophia?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest. “I know we’re all feeling discouraged, but we can’t just give up.”

“Rick and I are going to hang back here, keep searching for another hour. Just to be sure we didn’t miss her.” Shane responded. “We’re not giving up, no chance. I just think we need to rest and regroup.”

Daryl shifted his feet. “You’re sure about splitting us up?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, we’ll catch up to you.”

“I want to stay with dad.” Carl spoke from behind you. “I’m her friend.”

Lori looked at her husband for a moment before stepping forward, placing her hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

“When did you start growing up?” Lori smiled, kissing her son on his forehead.

You hated the idea of leaving Rick and Carl with Shane. After that night at the CDC, despite all the history there, you had a hard time trusting him at all. You knew he was dangerous, but all you could do now was pray he would never put Carl in harm's way.

“Here, take my gun.” Rick spoke to Lori.

“And leave you without one? I don’t think so.” She responded.

“I have a spare.” Daryl spoke, reaching into his pants and handing it to Lori. “She can use it.”

Rick nodded, placing his gun back in its holster. “You guys be safe.”

“You too.” You smiled, both groups going their separate ways.

…

“So this is it?” Carol asked, sitting on a log. “This is the whole plan?”

You’d been walking for a while now and everyone was beginning to feel even more irritated. Not finding Sophia was taking a toll on everyone, and some part of you all were hoping you’d have found her by now on your walk back.

“I guess the plan is to whittle us down into smaller and smaller groups.” Daryl mumbled.

“Carrying knives and pointy sticks.” Andrea added before glaring at Lori. “Except for you, of course.”

“Do you want my gun, Andrea? Take it.” Lori responded, stepping closer to her. “I’m tired of the looks and the petty comments. From all of you.”

Andrea stared down at the gun in Lori’s hand for a moment before reaching out and taking it from her. Lori turned her attention away from the scene, kneeling down to Carol’s level.

“Honey, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I would do anything to stop it but you have got to stop blaming Rick. It shows on your face every time you look at him. ” She spoke. “When Sophia ran he didn’t hesitate, did he? Not for a second. I don’t think any of us would’ve ran after her the way he did. We couldn’t have made any of the hard decisions he’s had to make nor could we have done things any differently.”

You knew she was right. From the moment your brother had arrived at the Quarry, things had changed. You all finally had someone you could really look to when things were hard. As much as Shane ran things before, he’d never truly taken on what Rick had. If it wasn’t for Rick, you had no doubt you’d all have died the night the Quarry was overrun.

Lori shook her head, continuing. “You all look to him and then blame him when he’s not perfect. If you think you can do it without him, go right ahead. Nobody is stopping you.”

Andrea’s eyes were focused on the ground for a few moments, before finally she approached Lori. She handed her back the gun, an apologetic look across her face. “We should keep moving.”

You looked at Lori, who nodded in agreement as she stood up. As soon as she did, a loud bang echoed throughout the woods. Everyone froze, looking up at the sky.

“What was that?” Carol asked.

You took a deep breath, your stomach turning as your skin turned pale. “I-I think it was a gunshot.”

“Doesn’t matter right now.” Daryl spoke up. “We need to keep moving.”

Nodding, you took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

…

As you moved further through the woods, Lori began to turn back to face the direction you’d been coming from.

“Still worrying about it?” Andrea asked.

“It was a gunshot.” Lori reminded her. 

“We all heard it.” Daryl agreed.

Lori shook her head. “Why one? Why just one gunshot?”

“Maybe they took down a walker.”

“Please don’t patronize me.” Lori huffed. “You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gunshot to put down one walker, or Shane. They’d do it quietly.”

“Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?” Carol asked.

“There's nothing we can do about it, anyway.” Daryl responded. “Can't run around these woods chasing echoes.”

“Daryl’s right.” You responded. “Rick wouldn’t want us all getting lost trying to look for him. It was one gunshot. We have to believe that one of them is safe and will find us.”

“So, what do we do then?” Lori folded her arms across her chest.

“Same as we’ve been doing.” Daryl spoke. “Keep looking for Sophia and work our way back to the highway.”

“I'm sure they'll hook up with us back at the RV.” Andrea spoke before turning to Carol. “I'm sorry for what you're going through. I know how you feel.”

“I suppose you do- Thank you. The thought of her, out here by herself.. It's not knowing that's killin' me. I just keep hoping and praying she doesn't wind up like Amy.” Carol gasped at her own words. “Oh, God! That’s the worst thing I’ve ever said.”

Andrea’s eyes fell for a moment. “We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.”

“I'll tell you what it's worth– Not a damn thing. It's a waste of time, all this hoping and praying.” Daryl snapped, his eyes landing on Carol. “We're gonna locate that little girl. She's gonna be just fine. Am I the only one Zen around here? Good lord.”

Daryl went back to walking towards the highway and you all continued to march after him.

“How much further?” Lori asked.

“Not much… Maybe a hundred yards as the crow flies.” Daryl shrugged.

“Too bad we’re not crows.” Andrea responded.

Daryl, Glenn and Carol walked ahead of you, while Andrea and Lori remained further behind you. Suddenly, Andrea began to scream.

You turned around, spotting a walker approaching her and she laid on the ground. She was slowly crawling backwards, but the walker was gaining on her.

Pulling your knife out, you began rushing towards her when the sound of a horse distracted you. It was trotting towards Andrea, a woman holding a baseball bat on its back. As she rode by Andrea, she knocked the walker down with the bat before coming to a complete stop.

“Lori?” She asked. “Lori Grimes?”

Lori looked back at the woman. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You need to come with me. There’s been an accident. Carl’s been shot.”

------

AN: Here we are with another part! I hope you all enjoyed it. Please remember to like/reblog if you did <3

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 3

Part 3: The Desperate Type

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count:
 4.9k  Warnings: description of injury, blood. A/N: early update! i was just so excited to post this lol. considering how much action was in the last two parts, i figured these two deserved a break. but while they might be clear of danger (for now), theres still some nasty tension to deal with... 

No, no, no.

Your head snapped left, right, then left again. It was the same blur of trees, the same piles of ashes, and the same empty spot ahead of you no matter how many times your eyes ran across the camp. 

With a deep inhale, you tried to soothe the increasingly frantic thoughts in your mind before they became rampant. Inhale. Pick away the moments of silence to cling onto so that you could just think. 

Daryl had left you alone. Defenceless and hurt— asleep. 

You weren’t sure for how long, exactly; the fire burned to ashes hours ago by the look of it, and mid-day rays of sun landed across the scatter of leaves where he’d been sitting last. He could’ve slipped away in the middle of the night or just as dawn was breaking. Hell, maybe he left the second your eyes shut. 

The steadily increasing pound of your heart seemed to drown out the muted throb of your leg. Enough that when you gripped the bark of the tree behind you and pulled yourself to a stand, you barely hissed as your weight shifted onto the hurt muscle. The tending of your wound had been done well, considering the circumstances; it helped counteract the effects of yesterday’s sprint, which couldn’t have been good for a healing injury. 

But, neither were the dull teeth of the dead ripping you apart. 

Stood upright with a quiet prayer to find a glimpse of that angel-winged vest beyond the tree’s cover, you scanned the area. A small bottle on the ground caught your eye. The blue label was peeling. Familiar. 

The ibuprofen he’d given you. 

You gingerly bent down to pick it up and dry swallowed another pill in anticipation of the day ahead— regardless if he’d really left you behind, or not, you knew you couldn’t stay at this camp much longer. With no walls, even if you had your knife, neither of you were safe. 

As if to remind you of that fact, a branch snapped in the distance.

Still clutching the tree’s curved bark, you leaned forward a couple of inches and peaked toward the general direction of the noise. 

Please don’t be a biter. 

Then, every curse and panicked thought slipped away from the simple sight of that crossbow strap wrapped across his chest. A furry animal hung limp in his grip and his shoulders were low underneath his poncho. 

It was obvious he was exhausted. Still, the sight of you standing upright made his other hand tighten around the strap of his bow and his shoulders tense again. In an almost ironic manner— considering he still had all your weapons— you raised the hand that wasn’t holding you steady in surrender. 

You gave a timid shrug. “Figured I shouldn’t just sit here all day.” 

He scoffed something under his breath. From the way his eyes slipped back down to the ground, you assumed that answer was soothing enough. It might’ve been arrogant to assume he regarded you as a significant risk, but it was clear that he wasn’t the type to take those chances, anyway. 

As he walked past, prey still in hand, your attention followed; you hopped on your good leg to angle yourself the way of him and that rabbit. 

A low growl rumbled from your stomach. 

Of course, he heard it, glancing back at you in the second between straddling the log to your left and slicing into the animal’s belly open. Your grip on the tree dropped as you lowered yourself back onto the soft ground, watching him pull out the guts and bring those ashes back to life. Throughout the entire process, he never once said anything, never gave you more than a glance before his attention was back on the slow rotation of meat over fire. Not even a whisper of an apology, no sorry for letting you think I just left! 

But you weren’t even sure if that mattered anymore. Certainly not the way it did ten minutes ago, because all you could think about was how every brush of the breeze against your face, laced with smoke and the smell of cooked meat, practically had you drooling. 

When your stomach rumbled again, you finally asked, “Would you share?” 

Quick to take a bite, he didn’t show any sign that he heard you, even if he’d been aware of every shift in your spot and growl of hunger, prior. Your chapped lips parted again, ready to plead a second time just to soothe that hollow ache in your gut. 

Something hot fell in your lap, and that smell of cooked meat was at its most intense. You looked down to see he threw a leg your way. 

You’d been hungry before— gone three days without a single bite of anything, once. The lightheadedness and that rumbling in your stomach, like something caving in on itself, weren’t new sensations to you, or anyone else in this world. Thankfully, you also knew the sweet relief of that first bite, and it never failed to shine a beacon of hope on an otherwise dull world, even if all you were biting into was a dry, unseasoned rabbit leg. 

A good while passed in silence. The crack of the fire died down and the rustle of the wind was softer than before. It was like everything around you was settling, and you briefly wondered if the anxiety from the expanse of trees and the overwhelming unknown around you sparked from that dull hunger in your gut, after all. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t you who finally broke that peace. 

“Ya should change tha’.” Daryl nodded to your leg after he swallowed his last bite. 

Your eyes fell to the makeshift bandage. 

“I don’t have another shirt.” 

“Then find somethin’.” He threw the bone into the pile of ashes. “’S gonna get infected if ya keep tha’ on too long.” 

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed. “Got any ideas?” 

Elbows locked around his bent knees, he looked down at the light shine of grease coating his fingers. His brow was straight, his mouth in a tight line, and even that pessimistic part of your mind couldn’t claim it was an effort to find a witty remark; he was serious about whatever he was thinking. 

“Should be a town not too far from ‘ere. You’d have a better chance’a findin’ somethin’ there.” 

It seemed the mix of food and pain relievers did you some good. The tree’s truck was less necessary to stand up, and beyond some dull pain when you put your weight on the leg, it didn’t hurt as bad. 

With a weak smile, you asked, “Mind showing the way?” 

“I’ll take ya there.” He stood, too. “But then you ’n I are goin’ our separate ways.” 

Your smile fell. “Why?” 

“Cause ya ain’t my problem.” He slid his crossbow over his back. “I already helped ya more than once. We’re even.” 

“I can keep helping you,” you said adamantly, though that slight shake of anxiety undermined your words. “I’m not always gonna be hurt. I—I know how to deal with the biters, how to scavenge. I’m smart, I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” you huffed a weak laugh. “I’m not asking you to babysit me or to like me because you probably have every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still all you got.” 

He scoffed, “Didn’t peg ya for the desperate type.” 

Daryl certainly knew how to get under your skin— already— but you’d done much worse than stick by the side of a grumpy man in order to survive before. 

Your demeanour turned pensive. 

“No one can make it alone now.” 

Daryl’s glare lost its arrogance for a moment; a blink of contemplation. 

That seemed to sway him, in or out of your favour, you weren’t sure yet. The way his features tightened, like they had when he first mentioned the town, made you wonder what heavy thoughts plagued him this time. 

He turned on his heel and walked ahead. 

Uncertain if it was even worth it to call out after a man as stubborn as he was proving himself to be, time and time again, your shoulders slumped in defeat.  

“Keep up,” he barked over his shoulder, and your chin snapped back up. “I ain’t carryin’ ya this time.” 

You limped behind.

Compared to the running, falling, and general panic of yesterday, it was relatively easy to keep up with Daryl’s pace today. Without biters on your tail, the two of you fell into a comfortable stroll, weaving between trees with even breaths in your lungs. It helped that your leg was more heavy than painful, only a dull throb that echoed your heartbeat and the pace of your steps. 

Even if the pain had been unbearable, if every nerve of your body was crying, begging, pleading for you to stop, you weren’t sure you’d be able to. There was a sinking feeling in your gut that Daryl might’ve kept walking, anyway. He suddenly seemed to be itching for an opportunity to leave you behind, which disoriented you. His constant reiteration that you weren’t his problem seemed to contradict his actions— coming back for you, wrapping your wound, giving you food. 

You weren’t sure if you’d convinced him that the two of you should stick together— long term— back at that makeshift camp. He could’ve been planning to leave you behind the second you passed the town’s border. But, you did know that with an injured leg, even a healing one, it was really you that couldn’t survive alone. 

Although, maybe it was a bit unfair to blame that fact on your leg. You’d never been a loner, not in this world, anyway. It was part of the reason you joined that camp, a couple of months before Brian did, even if you didn’t get along with everyone. It wasn’t that you had been lying to Daryl— you were smart. You knew how to sneak by and avoid the biters. You could find even the best-hidden supplies. Could think on your feet. You just never liked to be alone. 

Safety in numbers and all that. 

When you did reach the town, or at least the outskirts of its centre, he didn’t immediately bolt. That was as good a sign as any. 

Too bad that was when the lightheadedness came back in full swing. 

You stumbled to a stop, gripping the brick wall of what used to be a post office as an anchor. You closed your eyes and tried to fight through the inevitable exhaustion weighing you down. Blame it on the dehydration, mostly empty stomach, and, of course, the lingering effects of blood loss for an already bruised and battered body. 

“Pharmacy’s jus’ up the road.” 

Daryl was just up ahead, facing your way and squinting from the direct rays of sun. The light caught in small drops of sweat along his arms and the metallic shine of that heavy crossbow in his hand as he waited for you. 

Too busy trying to ground yourself to that rough brick you palmed, you hadn’t even noticed that Daryl had stopped once the shuffle of your feet was no longer echoing his. 

You took a deep breath and nodded once, pushing yourself forward. In four steps, you were able to finally wade past the worst waves of nausea and focus on the cool air in your lungs, instead. 

Daryl glanced back at you once— twice— more. 

“Hurtin’ again?” 

“No. It’s just… everything else.” 

Slightly, he nodded. That seemed to be the most care he had to offer— reserved looks your way and a quick question. He never reached out a hand or, God forbid, offered to carry you there. 

Regardless, the pharmacy really was only up the road. After five or so minutes of mindlessly watching the debris lining the road dance in the wind while giving your head a chance to stop that slow spin, Daryl cleared the store and led you inside.

It was sparse and smelt like rot. Sun peeked through the windows, bare of the newspaper or wooden boards that usually lined shops nowadays. You could see most of the room, the sprawl of crushed supplies under fallen shelves, broken cardboard boxes across dirty, grey-tiled floors, and the yellow hue of water damage staining the ceiling. Past the store's clear windows and unlocked door, its welcoming appearance ceased. 

You stepped forward and caught Daryl’s look from your peripheral. 

“Sit down.” 

“I told you I’m good at—” 

Mid-sentence, he turned on his heel. You huffed a breath, then sat on the window ledge behind with a scowl. His overcautious behaviour was beginning to make you feel useless. 

Daryl came back with fresh gauze and a small tube of topical antibiotic cream. And while that seemed like a damn miracle, you both knew what you really needed was a good rinse with clean water and soap, proper antibiotic treatment for the dirt and sweat that inevitably got into the wound, and a full dressing accompanied by crutches and a week's worth of rest. But all he could offer was what was held in his left hand.

It would have to do. 

You shuffled deeper into the store and away from that clear window. As you sat on the cold ground and adjusted your leg so that it was laid straight out under a particularly strong ray of sunlight, you glanced up at Daryl, lingering a few feet away, on guard. 

“How’d you know this was here, anyway?”

“Been through ‘ere before.” 

He continued to stare out the window, oblivious, or maybe just indifferent, to your attempt at distraction. 

Without another word, you got to work in silence. The knot he tied was good, and it took you a bit too long to figure out the way his fingers had weaved the fabric so that you could reverse the work of a stranger’s kindness. The shelves of the aisle were pressing into your back, but you were more focused on the reemerging pain in your leg. The raw wound was rubbed, gently, with a piece of gauze in a miserable attempt to clean it better. There were bits of dirt that you could see under the sun, bits that he probably missed with nothing but the moonlight to guide his first attempt. 

Sometime in between your soft whines of pain, he grabbed your gun from the back of his pants, weighing the weapon in his hands. The way he held the weapon like it was heavier than his crossbow caught your attention. That, and you were thankful for a second to not stare at the shallow, swollen gash of red and pink ripping through your thigh. He seemed to have felt your stare burning through him, though, and his narrow eyes snapped your way. 

A moment passed in silence, the two of you watching the other, intently, until you finally opened your mouth.

“I wasn’t gonna shoot you,” you confessed, “back at the cabin.” 

He waited for you to continue.

“I was just scared.”

“Why’d ya come back for me?” he asked, gruff voice just above a whisper. 

Deep in thought, you looked between him and the gun. 

“You would’ve died.” Your eyes fell to the ground as you added under your breath, “Enough people already died that day.” 

The slight furrow of his brow, the sudden blink, and every other subtle sign of confusion that flashed across his face weren’t lost on you. Above all else, you understood his bafflement; you’d saved a man who made it abundantly clear that his interest lay in your death. He was going to kill you. It wasn’t a spineless threat or a mean look that could’ve killed— no, he cocked that gun against your forehead. He felt the solid bone of your skull underneath, and if it hadn’t been for the threat of the dead, that bullet would’ve shattered your head open. 

Again, his expression shifted in the silent tension, twisting into something that he might’ve not even known himself. Something hesitant and reserved. 

You wrapped a fresh bandage around the wound as he watched. 

“Then why the poncho?” 

You paused. 

“I know what it’s like to find something that belonged to someone you lost.” 

Your eyes shifted, staring further than they saw. A moment passed like that, you lost in thought and him processing that meaning, until you sucked in a breath and reigned your attention back in. 

You gave a half-hearted smile. “And… maybe I can be a bit foolish.” 

His tone sounded more confused than scolding when he said, “Ya coulda died.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.” You laughed, “Wouldn’t that be ridiculous? Eaten alive because I went back to save a poncho.” 

For a man that probably hated you, no less. 

Those pensive, blue eyes slipped from your timid smile, falling on a much more serious sight; the flimsy wrap of your bandage. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying to wrap it well, but you didn’t exactly have experience tending to your own stab wounds, even if they were as shallow as this one. Your heart dropped an inch, teeth digging into your cheek from the worry that he was about to tell you exactly what an idiot you were, for almost dying and not being able to take care of yourself. 

“’S too loose.” 

You sighed because he was right. Working overtop of your jeans was difficult enough as it was, the risk of infection likely a scary percentage, so the bandage you did manage needed to be stronger. Tougher. Of course, he knew that. 

Right as you began to undo the dressing, calloused fingers wrapped around your hand. Your breath caught in your throat, lips parting as shock froze you from the inside out. His hand moved yours, a stark contrast of warmth against your stiff fingers. He began to unravel the gauze from your grip. White tissue tangled, tied your cold fingers to his meticulous ones, briefly, until the rest of the bundle freed. 

There was something incredibly tender about the whole moment; the silence, for once, was not weighed down completely by a thick, overwhelming tension. Though, whispers of it lingered, understandably so. This was the first time you saw him show you care, beyond saving you from the dead, and it gave you an idea of just how much work he must’ve put into getting you away from that first herd, wrapping your wound, and finding that house to hide in all while you were passed out. 

And suddenly, despite all the mean glares and harsh questioning, hate seemed too strong a word for someone as merciful as Daryl proved. 

“How’d ya get it, anyway?” he asked in a raspy tone. 

You blinked. Inhaled, as if you’d forgotten to breathe until then. 

“Brian,” you answered. “I kinda… jumped him when I realized what it was— what he was. He had a rock or something.” 

He wrapped the last pass of the gauze. It was tight, but it was a lot stronger and safer than your attempt had been. 

“Lucky he didn’t jus’ shoot ya.”

“He lost his gun while fighting that guy.” 

Daryl tensed, leaning back to look up at you. The warmth at your leg was gone then— comfort sorely lacking as the chill of the tile and shelves surrounding you numbed your skin again. Yet, it was the look in his eye that almost made you shiver. 

“Wha’ guy?” 

“The one he was talking to at the fences… Rick, right?” 

The clench of his jaw confirmed your suspicions. 

“He’s not dead.” You leaned down an inch to catch his fallen gaze. “After Brian stabbed me, the woman he took hostage killed him. Probably would’ve killed me too if I hadn’t run away.” Your expression fell at the memory of that dark, vengeful look in her eye. “But I— I think they got out together.” 

Daryl stared at you. It wasn’t cruel or indignant, but it wasn’t soft or kind, either. Blank, if anything, like he was holding everything back. 

He turned toward the front of the store and then stood up. “‘M gonna look for more supplies. You stay ‘ere.” 

The air sucked out of your lungs as a bolt of fear struck you. 

“Daryl?” Your head turned to follow him. Lower lip quivering with blatant anxiety, you croaked out, “You’re not gonna leave me here, are you?”

The tension in his jaw didn’t release. 

“Nah.” 

You bit your lip. “I had to ask.” 

He nodded, then left. 

Not even an hour later, that little bell above the front door you’d been intently watching rang. Daryl’s broad frame passed through with that same backpack strapped behind him, only this time, it looked heavier than before. 

God, please have water. 

You sat up straight. “You’re back.” 

“Told ya I would be.” He slid the bag off, dropping it to the ground in front of you. “Found somethin’ to drink.” 

You smiled at that— actually smiled, teeth and all, and it might’ve been the first time he ever saw it. In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the way his hand steadied, hovering above the bag’s zipper as his attention stuck on you a second too long. 

He pulled out a bottle of some orange sports drink. It was too sweet, swimming with higher sugar contents than you’d been exposed to in the last two years of scavenging and hunting, but it soothed the dryness of your throat, all the same. You drank at least half the bottle, glancing at him between big sips until he finally nodded. 

“There’s only a couple more,” he said, screwing the cap back on. 

“That’s fine.” You shook your head and wiped your chin. “That was good.” 

“Found somethin’ to eat, too.” He pulled a silver can out of the bag. “Lemme heat it, first.” 

You did. He started a small fire just outside the store, letting the can sit above the flames until the soup was boiling. When it was safe to touch, he trailed back through the store and he held it out to you with a single spoon. 

Your brows furrowed at his otherwise empty hands. 

“Ya need to eat.” 

“But what about you?” 

Passing the can off to you, he dug inside the front pocket of his patch-worked pants. He pulled out a granola bar, barely half the width of his wrist, and your heart dropped. 

Hunger, pain, dehydration— he’d helped you through it all. And the combination of those feelings, with the heaviest weight of what you did to his home dragging your heart into the deepest pit of your stomach, brought a sudden tear to your eye. You looked down at the full can of vegetable soup sitting in your hands, the thin wisps of steam lifting off it, and that same tear rolled down your cheek. 

If he saw it, he didn’t say anything about it. The air was heavy but silent. When you finally looked up and met his soft stare, laced with something you hadn’t seen in his blue eyes before, you knew he had seen the single trail down your face. 

With a quick, nonchalant sniffle, you looked around the back room he’d led you into. The carpet was more comfortable than the title outside and considering that the floor was likely to be your bed for the night, you were thankful for the change in scenery. There were office supplies in the room; pens, paper, and a couple of filing cabinets. Placing the can down for a second, you reached over to grab a mug tossed on its side and used the end of your shirt to wipe away the dust. 

When it seemed clean enough, you poured half the soup inside.

Daryl’s eyes never moved off you— not once— and that same hesitancy you saw earlier was back. 

“Please,” your voice broke, gesturing the mug out closer to him. 

His heavy stare lingered a second longer, then he finally accepted. 

Daryl tilted the mug up, taking a large swig. It was only then that you allowed yourself to take a bite— no matter how hollow you had felt waiting for your next meal. 

His throat tightened around the warm liquid. It tasted like bile. You were eating the soup just fine, except for the stray tears marking your face, so whatever he tasted, whatever that feeling was, aching deep in his chest, was coming from him. 

Daryl had known anger his whole life. This wasn’t quite that. His chest tightened the same, muscles tensing, but there wasn’t a yell caught in his throat. No harsh words were about to slip off his tongue. And yet, if there was ever a time to be so, Daryl should have been angry now. Most people would— hell, even you had told him he’d had every right to hate you. 

See, maybe that was the problem. Daryl had dealt with more than his fair share of liars, before and after the world ended. He practically knew how to sniff them out, but you were clean of it. So damn sincere with every word you said. Even the way you looked at him, big eyes, timid and full of remorse, almost made him feel guilty for every mean look he gave you. 

Almost. Because then the red staining Hershel’s skin spotted his vision, and maybe he wasn’t angry at you, but he certainly couldn’t like you, either. Even if you had helped Carl and Rick. Even if you told him, with a pretty glimmer of hope in your eyes, that at least some of his people had made it out. 

After you scraped the bottom of that can and your face dried, you said, “You should sleep. I can keep watch.”

Daryl looked back to the wooden door he led you through, the only thing between you and the rest of that open, vulnerable store. 

“You’ve barely slept,” you added. 

He still ignored you. 

But then you sighed, and it was hard to miss the hint of guilt in your tone, “I get you don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. What I did, what I was a part of… It— It was horrible. I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you why I did what I did, how Brian convinced us to—” 

Daryl closed his eyes. He already knew how manipulative and convincing the Governor could be. He’d seen people even as headstrong as Merle fall into line for him. A girl like you, compassionate and maybe a bit naive, would do the same, easily. 

Merle had always called him the softer brother. That was probably one of the few things he was right about.

“I know wha’ he told ya.”

Your eyes widened, shocked by his interruption and admission. 

“We dealt with him before. Called himself the Governor back then, ‘n he did the same thing. Found himself a group ‘n turned ‘em into soldiers. Lied about us, said we’d kill ‘em if they didn’t kill us first.”

You swallowed as a heavy feeling sunk into your stomach. “He said you— you killed his daughter. Took his eye and his town.” 

“His daughter was a walker,” Daryl huffed. “They came after us, ’n when we scared ‘em off, the Governor opened fire. He slaughtered his soldiers. All of ‘em.” 

You could only nod. 

“The survivors, the ones he didn’t kill, we took ‘em in. Jus’ like Rick said.” 

Your expression was blank as your gut twisted, afraid that any emotion you spared might come off as pitiful when really, all you felt was shame. An all-consuming dread amongst aching wishes that things hadn’t placed out the way they did, and a pang of sickening guilt that your hands had played a part in the reason why it happened— 

“He woulda done wha’ he did with or without your help,” Daryl mumbled, “ya didn’t do tha’, he did.” 

The swarming guilt didn’t clear, but it was certainly a surprise that Daryl was the one to slow your spiralling thoughts. And in the thick of your conscience, a wave of something else, something fervent and altruistic, filled the doubtful holes that shame left you. 

Your voice was soft and steady when you said, “Maybe it wasn’t just Rick and that woman.” 

Daryl looked at you, confused. 

“More of your people could’ve gotten out.” 

Daryl wasn’t expecting that. Just like you were shocked to find comfort in him, he was shocked to find bravery and confidence in you. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were those things. He knew you were, you went back for the damn poncho, for one— that was brave, reckless, but brave. But it was his family. He should’ve been the one to be firm on their survival. You should’ve held that pessimistic tone in your voice when you spoke about them— not him. And yet, here you were, fiddling a piece of string between your fingers, demeanour as gentle as you spoke, offering him a hint of hope to hold onto again. 

“And, if you’re gonna look for them, I want to help you.” 

Daryl’s eyes softened, but he hadn’t grabbed onto that hope, just yet. He wasn’t sure if he could. 

“But you need to sleep, first. Please.” 

That, he could do. Which was another surprise; you seemed to be full of those. He obliged and for the first time since you’d met Daryl, you held watch late into the night. 

————————————————————

-> part four

A/N: I love this part hehe. they finally start to bond and him HELPING WITH THE BANDAGE??? I am screaming (at my own story lol...)

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

[angstyaches]

The Hexagon: Part Four

Parts One-Two | Part Three

CW: effects of exhaustion/hunger, magical whump, dissociation, auditory hallucinations, supernatural hunger, body horror, emeto, guilt, fear.

___

On a primal level, Shayne felt the forest's demonic inhabitants bristle and awaken to the presence of a predator. Not that he was much of a threat now.

He reached for his hunting instincts, but his stupid, useless attempts to break down the wards had emptied him out. And after two and a half days of no food, little water, and practically no sleep, his human energy reserves were just as low. 

With everything he had boiled down to fumes, all he could do was try to funnel those fumes into the chase.

The cloaked figure didn't sprint for too long before stopping in a small clearing.

As he slowed down, Shayne's stomach cramped sharply, the pains made much worse by the ragged breaths he was forcing into his lungs. The figure turned, their face in profile over their shoulder. He didn't see their eyes, but he felt their stare.

The air seemed to take on a thick consistency, and Shayne was struck by a wave of dread.

If you step into that clearing, something terrible will happen to Charlie.

Shayne's legs became rooted to the spot, and he stood there, trembling. He couldn't cross the invisible barrier into the clearing any more than he could have passed through the hexagon's walls.

Was this... magic?

“Who the fuck are you?” He pushed every ounce of strength he had into his voice, and still it came out quieter than his frantic breaths. All he wanted was to step closer, to look at their face, to... to know – 

And then a door unfolded itself from the forest floor. 

Shayne blinked, willing the impossible image away, but when he opened his eyes, he saw it again, standing isolated amongst the tree trunks. It was painted a greyish colour, in neat, yet visible, vertical brushstrokes, and had a large, brassy-looking doorknob.

The cloaked figure turned to face it, as though it were the most natural thing to find tucked away in the middle of the forest.

A fucking door. 

Their hand reached for the doorknob.  

“Wait...” Shayne tried pushing himself forward, groaning as nausea rolled over him. “Please, just fucking wait –” 

One push on the wood, and the cloaked figure was gone, and the painted door along with them. There was a short burst of those same purple orbs, though they descended and dissolved a lot more quickly this time. A weight lifted from Shayne's shoulders as the magic dispersed, but a hefty amount of that sickening dread seemed to have belonged to him all along.

He staggered forward, alone, and collapsed onto his hands and knees. 

His vision was blurry. His breath came faster and faster as he realised he had no way to know if what he’d just seen had been real. If any of this had been real. If his own hands, numb with adrenaline, were real. If the demons that began to circle the clearing, some cautious, some eager to investigate, were real. 

They were coming close. Too close. 

Aren’t you hungry?

Red eyes in the dark, twisting in the edges of his vision. Dispersing and reforming each time he blinked. Cold on the back of his neck as her mouth twisted into a sinister smile.

Don’t you know that this is all you are good for, little monster? 

Shayne curled forward, blocking the back of his neck with both hands, and whimpered. Not real. She didn’t get to be real. She didn’t get to be... here... 

Right?

But that demon magic –

Shayne didn't have the chance to finish that thought, because every nerve was now screaming at him. He raised his head, watching as glimmering puddles took shape in the air and spiraled towards him. 

Demons. Real.  

Shayne closed his eyes and reached for the very last thing that he had.

The hunger had been so easy to push aside for the sake of escape attempts, and then keeping a level head, and then giving chase to whoever or whatever had taken down the wards. And it had been easy for the forest to forget what he was when he’d been conveniently tucked away. But Shayne was a predator here, and his prey didn’t have the luxury of recognising him for what he was.  

So instead of fleeing, they swarmed inwards, curious. 

Saliva flooded into Shayne’s mouth as he growled – or tried to, but the sound became a drowned gurgle in his throat. Instead of threatening, he sounded wounded, pathetic.

Hungry.

He didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want it to close in around his thoughts, but it was there. Always lying in wait.

He picked up a hand from the forest floor and pressed it to his belly, felt it shift and rumble under his burned palm. He exhaled and let his jaws relax, and they fell wide. His mouth water directly onto the pine needles, saliva almost turning to acid as his stomach roiled.

He fought the urge to let himself curl up as the demons crept closer. They needed to see him. They needed to know what he was. And he couldn't show them his strength, so they needed to see that his weakness was just as dangerous.

They needed to see exactly what he was good for.

He worked the empty clawing in his stomach into a growl.

The demon closest to him flinched into a retreat, never revealing its shape or hinting at its remnants. It was just gone. The others slowed their approach, their curiosity evaporating into an overly-familiar haze of fear.

Once the danger was lifted, the hunger brought clarity with it like a slap to the face.

“Oh, god, Charlie,” Shayne groaned.

Someone had taken down the wards, and he had immediately abandoned Charlie to chase after them. He wiped his mouth and stood up on legs that just would not stop shaking. It didn’t matter; he didn’t get to take it easy on himself after he had left Charlie alone, unconscious and half-starved and fearing for his life.

He had to find his way back to him.

Shayne had never gotten turned around in a forest in his life, and he dreaded that this would be the first time. His stomach was roiling – as much with stress as with hunger – his head was reeling, and this wasn’t any of his usual haunts.

Demons still stalked the shadows between the trees. Some hadn’t quite caught on, and sneaked up close enough that Shayne had to keep baring his teeth to get them to fuck off. 

After following what he hoped was the right way back, his legs lost a battle with an gentle incline. He sank onto his knees, growling weakly at three demons who had convened around one spot.

They ignored him, their attention elsewhere.

Shayne whimpered softly. God fucking damn it. He lifted his chin and tilted his head back, but jaws remained where they were, unhinged. The aching chasm inside of him screamed out, and he lunged, barely stopping himself from snapping his teeth shut around one of the scattering demons. He managed to dial the desperate hunger down to a warning snarl, and dug his fingers into the pine needles until the three demons shrank in on themselves and fled.

Shayne twisted to the side and retched acid onto the ground. “Charlie.”

He crawled to close the last bit of distance between them. He hadn’t fully registered Charlie’s curled-up form behind the curious demons, at least not with any of his human senses.

But he’d found him.

The first thing he did was quickly scan him over, searching for scratches. Then he felt for CT’s horn; still active, but weaker than it should have been. Charlie himself didn't seem to have stirred from his .

“Fucking heavy sleeper,” Shayne whispered. He gritted his teeth, fought back tears, and tried not to think about how badly he wanted to just curl up and sleep too. “Charlie?”

He brushed a thumb beneath over Charlie’s cheek, lingering beneath his eyes, where darkness had gathered and sunk into his skin.

“Charlie, wake up.” 

“Ugh,” Charlie mumbled.

“You have to wake up, love.”

A twitch went through Charlie's limbs. He lifted his head from his arm, squinting in the golden sunlight that cut through the tree trunks.

“Hi, lovely.”

“Um, yeah. Hi, Charlie.” Even now, even here, after everything, Shayne’s stomach fluttered as Charlie’s blue eyes looked up at him from under heavy, sleep-drawn eyelids. “The wards are down.”

Charlie flung himself upright. “What?”

“We're going home,” Shayne said, and he could barely believe it himself.

“H-how?” Charlie glanced about, steadying himself by clutching Shayne’s shoulders as he flung his own from side to side. “I don't get it. Wh-what did...?”

Charlie paused. His Adam's apple bobbed as he eyed Shayne up and down. Shayne's heart sank, and he pressed the heels of his hands to his jaws, working them back into place with a grinding pain and a grimace. There wasn't much he could do about the saliva and acid spilled down the front of his t-shirt and jacket.

“What did you do?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing. It wasn’t me.” 

“Somebody came for us?” 

“No. Yeah...” A tightness rose in Shayne’s chest. The figure in the cloak. The wards disappearing in an instant. The disappearing door. Was there any way of explaining it all without sounding like he’d hallucinated all of it? “Kind of. Maybe.” 

Charlie shook his head. “What?” 

“Ugh. Later,” Shayne said through his teeth. He stood up. He swayed slightly until he forced himself to focus again. The forest was still very aware of both their presence, but being back with Charlie, he felt sharper. More restless, too. He lowered a hand towards Charlie, resisting the urge to just grab hold of him and drag him up. “It’s still just you and me, so let’s get back to your car. Come on.” 

“Car,” Charlie mused, as though he’d thought he’d never say the word again. Or have use for one. “I-I can’t... I can’t... remember the way back.” 

“It’s okay. I do.” 

Charlie placed his hand into Shayne’s. “What if... there's more traps?” 

“There weren’t any on our way here. Until we got... here.” Shayne could feel the tremble in Charlie’s grip as he helped him to his feet. “We’ll take the exact same way back.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Shayne winced at how easily Charlie’s weight dropped against him, but he was kind of relieved to feel the warmth of him in his arms. His legs shook and his jaws were killing him, but he had the chance to get Charlie to safety after he’d acted so stupidly, and he wasn't going to fuck it up. “We're getting the fuck out of here, love.”

[hungry-tum-stuff]

if you’re doing them: "Well, if you're good, I guess you won't mind holding down the fort while the rest of us grab some pizza…"

Important bit of context: Dante is a monster hunter

Dante sighed and rubbed his temples as Buck and his buddies yelled at the game on their TV again, clearly audible through the door to their bedroom. They’d been out there all afternoon watching football, cheering and booing and yelling at the referee as if they were in the stands.

And Dante had been in his and Buck’s bedroom all day, trying to find any sort of break in the case he was working on. Dozens of birds had been found impaled on tree branches in the local woods, sending the town into a tizzy. And seeing as the police and local wildlife experts were stumped on what was happening, Dante figured he’d take a crack at it. Sure, it could just be some freaky teenagers pulling a prank, but it could also be a local witch up to no good, or worse, an omen. And he really didn’t feel like taking any chances.

But he’d hardly been able to get any research done with Buck and company outside. It had been impossible to focus with all the noise, and he’d been at this for hours but he didn’t have a single thing to show for it.

Dante’s stomach grumbled and he pressed a hand against it, frowning as he tried to regain his focus. That was partly why he’d been unable to focus on research; he hadn’t eaten all day. Granted, he could have gotten something from the kitchen this whole time, but that would mean being pulled into a conversation with Buck and his friends that he lacked the social skills to get out of. So in favor of his work, he had neglected his belly.

The living room behind the door erupted into cheers suddenly, followed by excited chatter. Not long after, Buck pushed open the door and crossed the room to plant a kiss on his partner’s head, and Dante smiled.

“You win?”

“We sure as shit did.” Buck said excitedly. “They had us on the ropes but we got ourselves a touchdown at the very last second. Anyways, me and the guys are headed out for pizza, you wanna come along?”

Dante’s stomach rumbled quietly, begging him to take a break and eat something. But he shook his head. Buck frowned.

“Aw c’mon, you been in this same spot since this morning. You’ve gotta be hungry…” Buck’s hands slid down towards Dante’s belly, but he swatted them away quickly.

“I’m fine, Buck. I haven’t gotten anywhere in all this, I gotta stay here.”

“This still that bird thing?” Buck leaned over to look at what Dante was up to, and as he did, Dante’s stomach growled faintly. Buck glanced down towards the noise, then back up at his blushing partner.

“You’re not gonna get nowhere on an empty tank, y’know.”

“Buck, I’m good, really.” Dante snapped, hunching down over his work, partly to get Buck off his case and partly to fold in his belly so it would shut the hell up. “You can go without me, just leave me alone and let me get this done.”

Buck stood back up straight and put his hands on his hips. “Well someone’s grouchy. But fine, if you’re good then I guess you won’t mind holdin’ down the fort while the rest of us are out eatin’ pizza.”

Dante didn’t respond, but his stomach groaned pleadingly. Buck waited for a moment for Dante to change his mind and come along for pizza, but when he didn’t, he sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll bring you some back.” He said, leaving and closing the door behind him.

But unfortunately, even with Buck gone Dante was having more trouble concentrating than before. He’d just been reminded of how hungry he was, and he’d just snapped at his boyfriend. After a few moments of reading the same sentence over and over again, his guilt and hunger bubbled over and got him out of his chair.

As soon as he opened the door, Buck’s friends cheered upon seeing him, and Buck smiled faintly as Dante walked over to meet them just as they were heading out the door.

“I’m sorry.” Dante said quietly.

“I know, you were just hangry. There’s a way to fix that, y’know.”

Dante rolled his eyes as he plopped into the passenger seat beside Buck. “Quit being a smartass and drive.”

[crazycurly-77]

Lost in the Jungle - pt. 4

“She's my girlfriend,” Gibbs said and then went to sleep. 

Tim sat quietly in his chair as before, staring at the spot where Gibbs had stood seconds before. Wow, that was a burner. He tried to wrap his head around this revelation, but mainly he was simply shocked. You, his best friend, and him, his boss…since when? And what with rule 12?

At least Tim had the satisfaction that he was right. Gibbs had a reason to be beside himself and what a reason he had. Who would have thought… 

As Tim went to bed a few minutes later everybody was already asleep. So he laid down and fell asleep really fast, too. That was good, because tomorrow would be a hard day and nobody knew what to expect.

What he didn't know was that Gibbs wasn't asleep. He was sick with worry about you. He still had the drive to walk directly in search for you, but the others were right. 

He wouldn't make it out alive. But he would gladly give his own life to protect you if necessary. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Despite that he very much hoped to find you alive, he just had to. And with this determination he finally fell asleep. 

The next morning began as the sun rose. All of them stood up very groggily, but there was no time to lose. With every second that passed, the chance of finding you alive became less. 

So they got up, washed themselves as good as possible and got dressed for the day. They ate a little bit, but only because it was necessary. Slowly the amazonian climate began to get to them. They sweat profusely because it was hot and there was a high humidity. 

But they all had to go on and had endure this, because this was what they had agreed to do. And they were absolutely willing to take this on. 

They were absolutely ready to go through with it. No matter what will happen, they will find you.

So they checked and packed all necessary things and they discussed the mission and their approach one last time. 

Gibbs and Tim were going to look for you and Stan and Olli would stay at the base in case of an emergency. 

This settled, Gibbs marched towards the direction of the signal they were receiving from the black box with Tim hot on his heels. 

Poor Tim struggled with the climatic conditions and Gibbs' pace, as he accelerated despite all the difficulties.

But Gibbs couldn't slow down. He had to find you, because he couldn't bear to wait any longer. 

He chopped down plants in his way with his Bowie and always searched for anything dangerous in their surroundings. 

Tim was panting and groaning because of the climate. He was feeling like collapsing any moment and wondered how Gibbs could go on so fast, seemingly without any problems. Probably this was due to his training as a marine. 

Yes, mainly it was. But he was not as young as Tim anymore and was struggling too, but not as much as Tim. 

“McGee! Watch where you are walking!” Gibbs suddenly yelled beside him. And before Tim was able to react in any way, he was falling to the ground with a loud thump. 

He had tripped over a big root of a tree and was now laying flat on his stomach. He started to try to get up and was immediately stopped by Gibbs who ordered “don't move.”

“Uhm, boss…” Tim replied a little bit worried why he shouldn't move. 

“There is a poison dart frog 30 cm beside your head,” Gibbs explained. 

Hearing this in Gibbs’ command tone, Tim's heart nearly stopped out of shock. 

He turned his head around as slowly as possible and watched the tiny yellow animal suspiciously. Then he heard the calm, but firm voice of his boss “move very cautiously away from it and come to me.”

He did as he was told and breathed hard as he was finally standing beside Gibbs in a safe distance to the frog. 

Before he could say anything, Gibbs stated “watch where you are going. This animal would have killed you with his poison in a few seconds and a little contact is all that is needed. It's highly poisonous. Now come on. We don't have time to lose.”

With that he marched forward purposefully again. He was worried for the safety of Tim, but he had to find the woman he loved as soon as he could.

This drove him further forward no matter what. He was determined. He would not and could not rest until he had found you.

He had to know if you were hopefully okay and his worry for you grew with every second more.

(To be continued...in Chapter 5)

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Here you will find the other chapters of this story and the other stories I've written to date.

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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[kittysarchive]

Failing to escape yandere Xdh

i couldn't physically wait a week for the poll to finish....so i wrote this. THIS IS FROM MY OLD ACCOUNT yeonjunswifeee!!!!!!

Gunil

In the crowded mall, you felt out of place.

With all the happy children, couples, decorations. You were the one emitting sadness and darkness. Yes, Gunil had been the one taking you here, yes he allowed you to go outside just this once. But even here, he was controlling you. Until he wasn't.

Gunil had given you very strict instrcutions. He was in the toliet and had very sternly told you to wait on the on bench by the fake tree. You had done all that until you realsied this was your chance to get away.

With careful eyes you stood up from the bench and blended in with the crowd. walked as fast as you could, got on as many floors as you could, all to get away from him.

Everything was going to well until you heard your name over the intercom.

"Y/N L/N Please make your way down to the help desk, located near the food court, ground floor" You froze when you heard your name. Yes you could continue walking but what if he hurt the employees here? what if he put the mall into lockdown? what if he got the police involved?

With all the possibilities Gunil could do, you quickly made your way to the help desk. Hoping your speed would please Gunil and not get you in to much trouble. Finaly you round the corner, Gunil spots you and thanks the employees, making a quick walk to you. Fuck. He looked pissed.

"Where were you baby?" He tightly grabbed your arm. His actions didn't meet his sweet voice which melted the hearts of passer-by's, "I'll have a chat with you at home" He whispered in your ear, as he pulled you out of the mall and towards the car. He didn't wait till home to talk, having decide the car was the best place.

"Where the fuck were you?" Gunil yelled at you, sliding into the car, you flinch at his tone.

"I...got lost" That wasn't entirely a lie, but it still seemed pathetic to Gunil.

"You got lost? When I told you to stay at the bench?" He voice raised again. You quickly nod your head, a tear slipping at his loudness, "No I know what you did, you tried to escape again didn't you?" He asks, glaring at you as he buckles his seatbelt. You don't want t get in any more trouble, you nod your head yes.

"You lost your outdoor privileges. Fucking stay inside and rot for all I care" Tears burned your eyes, shielding your vision as he drove home. You look outside the car window, realizing how bad you fucked up.

Jungsu

Standing in line, next to Jungsu in a crowed food court may have been the best choice of escape. Thats if you were good at being sneaking.

For days, your mind has been racking with new ways to escape him. Today you were joining him at the mall, not for a treat, but following him around as he shopped. Jungsu didn't trust you home alone since your last escape attempt, two months ago. It was time for another one.

With the line being small, you were shouldering the other line goers. You look to your left, Jungsu is busy looking above at the menu board. You don't bother looking up, knowing you won't be getting any. Looking at him again you know this is your chance.

Without touching him in anyway, you start to walk in between the many people ordering and getting their food. You go around tables, cleaners, you dodge hot bowls of soup. All to get away from Jungsu.

All of that just to feel a hand grip your elbow. You turn around and Jungsu holds his burger and soda. You quickly think of an excuse.

"I was finding a table" Jungsu scoffs at you, not even replying with words as he drags you out of the mall.

"I can't believe you, I order a meal and you try to run away?" He doesn't hear your input as he shoves you in the backseat of his car.

That would have been an easy escape if you were faster.

Gaon

His hand scoped dangerously high up your thigh and he showed no signs of bringing it down.

You were seeing a film with Gaon, one you never heard of and never had any say. But who were you to complain, he brought you some popcorn. Even with this treat, your mind was begging you to leave. Just go to the toilet and escape!

"I need to go to the toilet baby" You say in Gaon's ear. He sighs and moves his hand away, giving you a quick glance and it boner. That from touching you? Moving out of the row and towards the toilets, you realize how easy it was. He didn't even tell you when to come back!

You look around and notice the lobby is right after the toilets. You stroll past the toilets when you hear his voice Echoe, stopping you in you escape.

"The toilets are behind you" You turn around and see Gaon stroll up to you, placing

an arm on your waist, guiding you to the public bathroom. You smile, letting him lead you to the toilets. You should have known he was so easy letting you leave. You enter the bathroom and he guides you to the furthest stool, he turn around and see he walks in, closing and locking it behind him. Gaons hands ghost around his buldge.

"Kneel" He says, unbuckling his belt. You show no sign, "I saw you trying to escape, so fucking kneel" His patience was growing thin.

"P-please, not here" You plead with him. You knew you were going to get punished but why here? Gaon rolls his eyes in response.

"Here or the bedroom?" Knowing the bedroom would be more painful, you take the risk. It would be humiliating to blow him in public.

"B-bedroom" you flinch as he yanks you out of the bathroom.

O.de

O.de was already in a bad mood so why did you have to go ahead and ruin it more?

You were in a clothes shop, having a small ounce of fun when you walked out of the store when he wasn't even looking. What made O.de pissed off more was he didn't know you were gone until a good five minutes later. O.de who was freaking out, refused to go over the intercom.

you on the other hand, was slowly walking around the mall trying to find a good exit. Finally you found a busy one and walked through, ignoring the constant buzzing of your phone in your pocket.

You were only loud one contact in your phone. No apps, no games. Only O.de's number. So when yo pocket kept buzzing, your happiness was replaced by fear. You hands went to your pocket and fearfully held your phone. O.de was calling you. Taking a deep breath you pick, instantly you are met with his raised voice. He was calling from outside.

"Where the fuck are you? You decided to take the chance and run huh?" He yelled in your ear. You flinch, as if he is yelling at you in person. You don't respond. You hear him calming himself down.

"Okay baby....You come to me and I won't be so harsh at home okay?" Silence, you don't respond, "Do I have to repeat myself?" You feel him coming angry.

"I'll c-come" you quickly respond, not wanting the situation to get any stranger. guessing from how loud he was speaking into the phone, he was standing next to the car. Preparing yourself for the worst you make your way down.

Seeing him in the distance, he hops into the car. Fear growing into you, you know you can't back down know. You hop the passenger seat. Silence fills the car. Only your seatbelt buckles and him reversing is heard.

"Why today huh?" O.de asks, placing the car in drive. you fumble with your fingers.

"Y-you.... were distracted" you say quietly, knowing he can hear. O.de hums to your answer. O.de unoccupied hand makes home on your thigh, tightly griping it.

You try your hardest not to squirm on the way home. You didn't want to make O.de angrier than he already was.

Jun Han

trying to escape as you put the trolley away was one of the dumbest things you ever tried.

Jun Han gave you an easy job, put the trolley away as he started he car. Of course you couldn't refuse so you put the trolley away. But as you made your way back to the car, you realised you could run. And you did just that.

You stop walking towards the car, instead turning away and starting to bolt. You ran own the road, not the footpath. you never looked back.

Full of adrenaline, you didn't stop even when you legs cramped. You didn't know how far or how long you ran, but assuming from how quickly Jun Han was in his car behind you. You must have been slow.

"Get in" He said sternly. You ignored him an sped up. Knowing you would out run him if he stopped the car, she suddenly sped up, pulling in front of you on the footpath.

Having to quickly slow down, you fell in the process. You couldn't do anything and he dragged you into the backseat of the car.

"Did you think you could outrun me?" He talked to the air as he sped home. You legs were jelly, they were cramped. You had a stich, you were puffed out. Your adrenaline did to benefit you today, "You had me worried when you fell" His voice changed into a soothing tone.

You tried to not succumb to it. After all you did, trying to escape, you hated being in his clutches again.

Jooyeon

Seeing people you know at the mall isn't always the best, especially when they don't know social cues.

Thats how your failed escape attempt went. You were walking around the mall with Jooyeon, shopping for a few things when you bumped into a distant friend from Highschool.

Jooyeon, who was in a happy mood didn't stop you from engaging with her. You skilled and laughed as Jooyeon was behind. You talked about your lives all the while you gave out signals.

"What does SOS mean?"

"I really need to try the Angela drink!"

"Have you ever been in a bad relationship?"

You were so desperate to escape you even gave hand signals. while talking with your hands you folded your thumb then folded your fingered above, facing her. But it all went over her head.

Jooyeon who knew what you were doing pulled you away from her, saying he needed to go home, of course that meant you had to go. After being pulled away he whispered in your ear.

"You think you're so smart? she didn't even care"

[rebelwrites]

Fourteen: Can’t Steal Something You Own

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

A/N: I think we have all been waiting for this moment 😍

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

“Where did you disappear to?” I asked, pulling the glass to my lips. Less than an hour ago I was pouring my heart out to Charles and now I'm sipping champagne, soaking up the summer rays. There was no lingering awkwardness like I thought there would be, instead I felt lighter.

Leaning back against the pile of pillows behind me I let my eyes flutter closed, feeling the warmth of the sun kiss my skin. This was the life I could get used to, although I wasn’t one for the lavish life but every once in a while it was nice to dip my toes into the water.

“You will see soon, Sunshine,” he hummed, holding his hand out for me to take, “right now we need to jump onto the tender which will be taking up to the surprise,” taking his hand I let him pull him to my feet, guiding me towards the smaller boat that was in the water.

After a short trip we were on a secluded beach, I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes at the fact Charles had planned this little excursion, “how did you know?” I whispered, pulling my hand over my mouth the moment I saw something in the distance that I hadn’t seen in years. I didn’t give Charles a chance to respond as I sprinted over to the large cedar tree that stood alone amongst the palm trees.

Running my fingers over the initials carved into the bark I couldn’t help but smile.

“Sunshine, what is it?” Charles breathed, appearing next to me.

“This tree, this beach,” I whispered, looking up at him, tears threatening to spill over my lash line. “Pops used to bring us to this beach every summer. The last time we came, me and Jax were 17, he carved all of our initials into the tree. Some of my favorite memories came from the trips here.”

Feeling Charles wrap his arm around my shoulders, he pressed a tender kiss to the side of my temple, “I honestly had no idea, I just saw it in the distance and thought it was a good place to stop,” he chuckled.

“It was like it was meant to be,” I smiled, resting my hand on his chest, “like the universe wanted us to be here.”

Charles moved his arm from my shoulder, taking a step so he was now standing in front of me. The way he was looking at me made me feel like time had stood still. My heart was pounding against my chest as he raised our hands up, interlocking his fingers with mine. His other hand came up to my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

In my head I knew what was about to happen but I hadn’t quite processed the fact he was slowly closing the space between the two of us. His hands dropped to my waist, pulling me closer to him until our bodies were pressed together. Before I could react his lips were pressed against mine, it took a moment for my brain to catch up with the situation.

The feeling of his soft kiss sent my whole body into a frenzy.

Once my brain had kicked into gear processing the fact that Charles was kissing me, I snaked my arms up around his neck, letting my fingers run across his skin, focusing on the feeling of his lips against mine. My heart was pounding against my ribs as he deepened the kiss, if it wasn’t for his arms securely wrapped around my waist my knees would have given out on me.

Pulling back slightly, I rested my forehead against Charles’, I had never felt this much emotion from one single kiss, “not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting that,” I whispered, giggling softly, I felt like a giddy teenager that had just had their very first kiss.

Charles chuckled softly at my question, “this place is special to you, Sunshine,” he hummed, pressing another tender kiss against my lips, “I guess I just wanted our first kiss to mean as much to you as this place does.”

“Oh Char,” I whispered, feeling tears prick my eyes.

The whole world suddenly felt right again, nothing else mattered.

-

“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered, resting my head against Charles’ chest. In such a short space of time he had become my safe space. My fingers danced across his skin as I spoke, “I don’t think I am ready for the conversations that need to happen.”

Charles pressed a kiss to the top of my head, “we don’t have to go back if you don’t want to,” he hummed, running his fingers through my hair, “I will text Pierre telling him to find somewhere else to crash tonight and we can go back to the lodge if you want.”

A small smile played on my lips at him willing to kick his best friend out of the accommodation for the night, “tell him to speak to Jax, he can stay in the guest room, plus Elenor would love him staying over. Although you are her favorite, much to Jax’s annoyance.” I smirked.

“She is an amazing kid,” Charles said softly, pulling his phone into the air as he texted Pierre, “Jax doesn’t need to worry, he will still be number one in her eyes no matter how old she gets, I can just be the cool Uncle Charles.”

My eyes practically popped out of my head at his words, he had only been in our lives for such a short space of time, although in a way it felt like we had known both him and Pierre our whole lives. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, this man was setting my entire world on fire and I didn’t plan on stopping him.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I cocked my brow at him, “one kiss and you are already calling yourself cool Uncle Charles,” I giggled, moving my hand up to his cheek.

“Eh, it was alright,” he said with a cocky smirk on his face.

Shaking my head at him, “we can’t be havin’ an alright kiss, can we?” I hummed, pushing myself up allowing myself to move closer to him, without any warning I pressed my lips against his, feeling him wrap his arms around my body pulling me on top of him. Our bodies worked in sync with each other as he ran his tongue over my lips seeking entrance, I couldn’t help but smile into him. I happily parted my mouth letting him deepen the kiss. Once again I felt the sparks light up my skin like the fireworks at the end of summer, everything with Charles felt right, like the universe had been guiding me to this moment.

“Babygirl,” he whispered against my lips, his breathing was slightly heavier than normal from the make out session which put a massive smile on my face, “as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think you lying on top of me in this bikini is going to end well.”

The man that was lying underneath me was driving me crazy, without even trying he was bringing out a side of me that I didn’t know existed. Pushing myself up so I was now straddling him I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, grinding my hips against his. The movement caused him to plant his hands on my hips, letting out a low growl.

“Je ne ferais pas ça si j'étais toi, Sunshine. I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sunshine,” he groaned, brushing his thumb over the exposed skin of my hips.

“Ou quoi, Leclerc ? Or what, Leclerc?” I giggled, repeating the movement once again.

Within seconds Charles had flipped us over, his hands wrapping around my wrists, pinning them above my head. His green eyes darkened with lust as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Mon Dieu, tu me rends folle, Nova! God, you drive me crazy, Nova!” he growled, leaning closer to me, his lips brushing over mine, the feeling of his warm breath tickling my skin caused my heart to do somersaults.

The sound of my name falling from his mouth felt right, the way he pronounced it with his accent made me practically fall in love with my own name, “as much as I want to see where this goes, I don’t want to rush anything,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss against my lips, “I am not going to let our first time be on a yacht,”

“Why not?” I whimpered, looking up at him through my lashes, “feels pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

“I have my reasons,” he whispered, running his thumb over my wrist, flashing me a soft smile.

"I dunno how much time you spend on yachts, this is actually kinda an unusual occurrence for me, so I dunno," I shrugged. Then it hit me, maybe it had nothing to do with our location at all. Nervously I ran my teeth over my bottom lip, feeling my chest start to tighten as the man that had set my world on fire was turning me down. The feeling made my stomach churn, causing my insecurities to take over.

Did he not think I was attractive?

Was everything he said earlier just a lie?

Was I being played again?

It was like Charles could read my mind, he released his grip from around my wrists, moving his hand to my cheek. His touch was soft as he brushed his knuckles across my skin. “Sunshine, if it was my yacht then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” he whispered, “like I said I want our first time to be special and I don’t want to rush anything.” he hummed, adjusting his position so he sat back on his heels, pulling me up with him. “We will know when the time is right. I promise.”

-

Anarchy lodge

The bright neon sign shone bright against the dark gray paint of the building, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as Charles killed the engine of the Ferrari.

Once again he jumped out of the car before me, jogging around the bonnet so he could open the passenger door. Flashing him a smile I took his hand allowing him to help me out of the vehicle.

“How you finding the lodge?” I asked, watching him as he grabbed the duffel bag from the trunk.

“It’s great,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, “the bed is so comfy I never want to leave it,” he paused for a moment, “kinda feels like home.”

The smile on my face grew wider, knowing that he was finding his stay pleasant, he was used to jet setting across the world, staying in fancy hotel rooms. The club always strived to make all our business feel like a home away from home so hearing him say the words made my soul happy.

Walking into the building it felt like the walls were closing in on me the moment I saw the state of the main room. I wanted to scream seeing that no one was manning the front desk, and the housekeeping cart was abandoned in the middle of the lobby.

The whole place was a damn mess.

When Jax put Juice in charge of this place I had my worries and doubts. The boy knew he was on his last warning, yet it was apparent all he cared about was his stupid weed and colonic irrigation shop. I made a mental note to talk to Jax and Chibs, the clubs President and Vice President, about what our next step was with the lodge. We needed someone that wouldn’t fuck up, this place was one of our main income streams, especially over summer. Along with the bar it provided the club with enough money to get through the off season. I wasn’t going to let this place fall to the ground even though the recent storms had scared a lot of the tourists away.

Yet again life had a way of punching me in the face, when things were going well there was something that always caused my head to spin. Running my hands over my face I let out a shaky breath, I’d love to know what I did in a past life to have the cards stacked against me like this.

Normally I would be instantly reaching for a trash bag running around the room like a headless chicken trying to fix the mess that was the main lobby of the Anarchy Lodge. There was no way I would have left it like this but right now I felt like I needed to pack a bag, hit the road for a while, letting Charming grow small in the rear view mirror, and give myself a chance to put a plan together to get my life back on track.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall above the large fireplace in the center of the main wall, “I just need to grab something,” I hummed, dropping Charles' hand, rushing across to the fire. Standing on my tiptoes I stretched my body out as far as I could, my fingers brushed against the wood but I couldn’t reach. I wasn’t going to give up, glancing to my right I spotted the small footstool. Within seconds I moved over to the stool, dragging it into position, stepping onto the leather feeling it move slightly under my foot. Reaching up I wrapped my fingers over the neck of the instrument, carefully lifting it off the hook.

“Dites-moi que vous ne volez pas cette guitare. Tell me you're not stealing that guitar?” Charles asked, wrapping his arms around my waist, I jumped slightly at his touch, “sorry babygirl, didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“I just didn’t hear you move across the room,” I chuckled, leaning into his chest.

“Now about the guitar, did you just steal it?”

“Can’t steal what you own,” I giggled, moving so I could wrap my arm around his waist, ignoring the questioning look I was receiving, “now what room are you staying in?”

“16,” he laughed, pressing a kiss against the top of my head.

The smile on my face quickly vanished as a wave of embarrassment washed over my body. I had completely forgotten about my number system of the lodge, “okay confession time, again,” I whispered, approaching Charles' room. “When the club took over the place I persuaded Pops to forgo the standard numbering system like all other places, instead we used driver numbers.”

“That is actually kinda cute,” he laughed, swiping the pass key against the reader, “you keep mentioning the club, but I’m not quite sure what you are on about?” Charles asked, holding the door open for me.

Taking a breath, I stepped over the threshold. I knew I would need to explain everything to Charles, sitting on the edge of the bed placing the guitar down next to me, “so you have probably heard of the Sons of Anarchy right?” I asked, patting the empty space next to me, “I mean you’ve been in town for a decent amount of time now so you have got to have heard people mentioning the club, the Sons, etcetera.”

“I’ve seen people wearing leather vests with it on,” he chuckled, kicking off his trainers before sitting next to me.

“So anyone that is a member of the motorcycle club wears a Kutte, the leather vest,” I said softly, running my fingers over the reaper tattoo that sat proudly on my right bicep, “each of them has a patch on it signaling their position to the MC. I don’t have a role within the club as such, the guys are my family and I’d do anything for them. So when Jax was old enough to become a patched member I kinda followed suit but not in the traditional way, I tend to help behind the scenes organizing things and keeping up with the day to day running of things and I got this tattoo on my 18th birthday to signify my loyalty to the club.”

Charles stilled for a moment before speaking. “So it’s kinda like a gang?” He asked, resting his hand on my knee. I could hear the gears turning in his mind, “please tell me you aren’t involved in drugs, guns and stuff?”

“It’s nothing like that,” I said softly, placing my hand over his, “the club used to be involved in all that shit, but Pops managed to turn everything around and for the last 10 years the Sons have been a legitimate business,” a proud smile appeared on my face, resembling the struggles Pops had when he was getting the club on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t an easy task but he never gave up. “The club owns most of this town, we even have the local police department on our payroll.”

“Oh wow,” Charles whispered, “no wonder you are always tired.”

“Don’t worry I only run the bar and cafe,” I said with a small laugh, “I ain’t got a death wish,” It was true there was no way I could have taken on anything else and neither Jax or Pops would allow me to anyway, “to make it easy to identify everything the club owns, to the locals at least. We painted all the buildings dark gray, each of them having the same style of neon signage,” pausing for a moment I decided tonight wasn’t about a history lesson, “I doubt you want to spend your whole night listening to all the trials and tribulations of the club.”

A small laugh escaped his lips as he placed his hand over mine, “I could listen to you talk all night, Sunshine,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over my skin, “but I can sense you want a night off from everything.”

I felt the corners of my lips tug into a small smile, silently I reached behind him grabbing the guitar. Resting the instrument on my knee, my fingers automatically started strumming. At first I wasn’t playing anything in particular but soon enough it turned into ‘Yellow’ by ColdPlay.

The soft sounds of my voice bounced around the room, letting my mind drift back to the events of the day. Charles had made me feel lighter, something only two other people in this world could do. Looking up I felt my skin heat up from the way Charles was looking at me, his green eyes shone with a mix of emotions; pride, happiness and the one that took me by surprise, love.

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