#you should’ve been excused to a quiet corner with a juice box

[thepalerimitation]

The Bite: The Alternate Season 3

I first wrote the Bite in early August of 2023, a series of short stories, usually monologues from a certain character’s perspective. In late January, I started putting together a plot.

It would be about the journey for a Michelin star, told from Carmy’s point of view. As I mapped it out, it took themes from the earlier seasons. His ideas for new dishes. His relationship with authority. His anxiety and his rage.

But the more I wrote about him, the more I wanted to write about Syd. About her past, her fears. Her ambition, her frustration, her attraction to someone who’s the embodiment of chaos.

A dual POV evolved, fresh tension over new hires, over their pasts, and their dysfunctional kitchen. And with reviews, menu changes, the Michelin star sucked them into a spiral of mutually assured destruction.

There’s definitely some overlap with S3 (on accident, I wrote this before the trailers came out), especially with the themes around the French Laundry Chef, the mounting tension in the restaurant, and how Sydney wants to bash Carmy’s head into the wall.

Propaganda:

1. I quote Frankenstein about line cooks

2. The food is great, the restaurant is in tatters, and the word count is 29,000 words.

3. People are slapped, stabbed, and beaten to a pulp. *cough cough* (whooooo could it beeeee????)

[snezfics-n-shit]

it's only been two days and i'm already missing whumptober 😔i am craving sneezefucker phoenix so like... if you're interested 👀

Anon I love you and also of course I’m interested :3

Your wish shall be granted under the cut.

     Phoenix drummed the table with his fingers. He knew Miles wanted to make this a particularly special dinner, being their first night out since Phoenix had earned his badge back, but Miles was taking so long to arrive that Phoenix wondered if there was a mix-up in how the couple interpreted the reservation time.

The hostess took him to his table fine enough, so Phoenix knew he wasn’t the one who had misinterpreted the time. Why didn’t he and Miles just take the car and arrive together? Phoenix sighed through his nose and checked his phone, pleased to see Miles at least sent him an update.

Going to be late, love. Just left my last errand; on my way now. Sincerely, Miles Edgeworth. 

The timestamp was a minute ago, which meant, depending on distance and traffic, Miles could be at the restaurant anywhere from five minutes to a half hour. 

Phoenix took another sip of the sparkling grape juice he thought was in a far too expensive glass for a nonalcoholic beverage. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have ordered wine, which would have been more appropriate; he didn’t even drive, anyway. He just had a hunch that if Miles were to keep him waiting for long, he’d find himself absentmindedly sipping to the point of being inebriated before Miles even arrived. 

He knew well enough it wasn’t polite to stare, but Phoenix found his eyes wandering, imagining what conversations the other elegantly dressed diners could be having. It may not have been the most mature thing to do, but it passed the time.

Was that... Winston Payne and his wife? So it was true Payne’s wife was quite the catch, like an older version of the models Larry would attract somehow. Phoenix ducked his head as soon as Mrs. Payne turned her head in his direction.

“HrnxXT... gh.” The sound of a stifled sneeze perked Phoenix’s ears enough for him to look up.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Phoenix should’ve known the instant he felt his face heat up at the sight of a map of pink on Miles’s face, most prevalent under his eyes, just barely visible behind his glasses. Of course, if Phoenix wasn’t, well, Phoenix, he’d know from the large bouquet Miles was barely hiding behind his back. “Babe, you shouldn’t have.” Miles really shouldn’t have, for both the obvious reason and the fact they were in public.

“Do you like theb?” Miles’s smile contrasting with the clearly irritated features of his face made Phoenix want to stare for a longer time than what would be comfortable. He placed the bouquet carefully in the vase the restaurant had provided for romantic gestures such as this. “Flowers have a whole ladguage, I’ve heard. The florist said... saihhh-- HH’RnnXT!! HhNNXTT... guh. Excuse be. She said this bouquet was perfect for todight.” He sat across from Phoenix, almost giving him a show as he sniffed.

“Uuhh-huh,” was all Phoenix could coax out of his mouth. He anxiously fumbled his hands inside his suit jacket pocket. When Miles helped him pick out his new suit for work, a set of handkerchiefs accompanied the purchase, so at least one of them resided in each pocket Phoenix owned. He normally wouldn’t dare offer one for a purpose other than wiping lingering raindrops off Miles’s glasses, but tissue boxes were not exactly a common find at such an elegant establishment. Without another word, he presented the square of soft cloth with both hands, thinking how he could just die right here.

“Oh, thagk you, sweetheart.” Miles had to use some force to pry the handkerchief from Phoenix’s tight grip. He was just barely in time to use it for an extended stifling effort. “HhrrNNKTT! HnnXTT! HnggXXT!! HggKXTT... gh.” There was a wet quality that could be heard each time he pinched his nose. 

Phoenix would have focused on eye contact with Miles if it weren’t for those glistening allergic tears making his face almost as damp as the handkerchief against his nose. Oh god, he was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. 

“W-What do you want to order, hon?” Phoenix choked on his words. Miles was doing this to him on purpose, wasn’t he? The prosecutor may have been the type to show his affection with gifts from time to time, but Phoenix would eat his hat if this was merely a romantic gesture. “Um, bless you, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m hardly done.” Miles laughed, again going right for Phoenix’s racing heart. “There’s a lobster dish made especially for couples to share, if you’re interested.”

“I’m very interested!” Phoenix slapped his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “In the lobster dish, I mean.” He heard that light wet sniffle that served as a warning another fit was on its way. 

“Just a moment, love.” Miles held the handkerchief slightly farther away, giving Phoenix full view of his twitching pre-sneeze expression. “HiigGXTT! HigkXNTT! HrgxxNTT... kh.”

“I don’t think, um,” Phoenix swallowed, “stifling like that is good for you.”

“Look at where we are.” Miles used both hands to hold the handkerchief when blowing his nose into it. He had to know he was driving Phoenix wild. 

Why wouldn’t he look at where they were?

“Oh, uh, the server’s coming to our table!” Phoenix frantically waved his hand to let the server know he and Miles were ready, desperately needing to take his mind off everything Miles was doing to him. 

“Are you alright, sir?” The server’s voice was gentle enough on Phoenix’s ears to distract him from his mind’s broken record of Miles’s recent stifles. 

“I’m fine, ma’am!” Phoenix blurted out. If he looked anything like how he felt right now, he was sure someone ought to have called an ambulance by now.

“I mean your date.” She smiled.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Miles shrugged. “Just hay fever.”

He said that. He really said that. Yup, Phoenix was definitely going to die here.

The server glanced over at the full vase and made a face without saying anything. She proceeded to take the couple’s order, periodically blessing Miles after every single sneeze interrupting his inquiries on various wines. When she left, Phoenix let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you take anything, babe? If you really wanted to give me flowers, you could have taken some precautions.” Phoenix avoided saying anything that would make him even more flustered than he was now. Had he already crossed the threshold of merely being flustered? Most likely, yes.

“I was under the impression we would be drinking tonight.” Miles gently dabbed his eyes with one of the few dry corners of the handkerchief. “Antihistamines greatly lower my alcohol tolerance.”

“I thought that was just you being a lightweight.” Phoenix laughed nervously.

“Tonight is very special, after all. Why not celebrate?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Phoenix finished off his grape juice so as to not make a waste before the wine would be delivered. “Our first date since I got my badge back. It means so much to me that you’ve been such a great help, to both me and Trucy all these years.” Phoenix caressed Miles’s hands from across the table. “Thank you so much.”

“I think it could be--” Phoenix’s grip tightened as he watched Miles’s expression change, preventing Miles from pulling away for another stifle. “Sweetheart, I need t-to... HH’RRSHHOOOH! HU’RRSHCHOO! H’RRSSHOO!!”

Phoenix was so caught up in his fascination that it hardly dawned on him how quiet his surroundings became after Miles sneezed. Luck was in his favor when he only came back to the moment once the diners shrugged off the noise and returned to their own conversations.

“I hate to say it, but that felt a lot better.” Miles blew his nose again. Did he always get this pink when his allergies were acting up for this long? That shade of pink was taking up a rank in Phoenix’s favorite colors.

The stellar customer service advertised in the online reviews was evident with the quick arrival of both the wine and meal. Other than Phoenix’s quick glance at the server to thank her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Miles.

He had every opportunity to steal an extra bite each time he saw Miles hopelessly, furiously rubbing under his nose, but he abstained. He thought back to Miles teasing him for being in a similar situation when the two visited Phoenix’s mother, whose family of cats seemed to grow every time they visited her. Of course, the comments Miles made then were mostly regarding the irony of Phoenix’s circumstances rather than the temptation to steal the last slice of Mrs. Wright’s homemade pumpkin pie.

Phoenix felt a pleasurable tingling in his mouth that forced him to smile as he swallowed some wine, not losing eye contact with Miles for even a moment. 

“Phoenix Wright.” Miles using his full name grabbed Phoenix’s full attention to bring him to his senses. “I think I’ve had you on the edge of your seat long enough.”

What was this about? He was messing with him after all, wasn’t he?

“You think?” Phoenix’s voice cracked.

Miles smirked and stood up. He sent Phoenix’s heart out of his chest by leaning forward, face first into the bouquet, looking for something inside. So he meant Phoenix on the edge of his seat just waiting to keel over?

“Ah here it is.” Miles looked up, even more pink and dripping, no, streaming than before. He slid his hand in and out of the vase, making a fist. Whatever he was holding was small enough for him to use the same hand to pinch his nose. “HhgkKXT! HihgxXNTT!!” He let go of his nose and presented his elbow with the duty of muffling his sneezes. “Oh, I cad’t do this ady lohger. HuURSSHHOOOH! Hr’RRSSHOO!” 

“Oh my god.” Phoenix at last allowed himself to say something. He watched Miles crouch down on one knee. “Oh my god.”

Miles smirked; his timing was perfect, as he planned. He prepared himself, nose and all, for what he was so eager to say.

“It’s been an honor, no, a blessing to be your boyfriend.” He waited for the pun to register with Phoenix before he opened his hand to reveal a ring resting on his palm. “Would you further bless me by being my husband?”

Phoenix felt weightless as he took the ring. He knew he was going to accept; why wouldn’t he? In all but legal documents, he and Miles had been essentially married since Phoenix moved in with him eight years ago. But what would he say? Was a simple ‘yes’ too easy? Then it hit him that Miles was going for something here.

In that case,

“Bless you, hon.”

[pepperful-qt]

Citrus 🌿

Kita Shinsuke x Reader SMAUish ; Part 2

masterlist

Warnings: mentions of injury & blood (small) ; 

yk how I said this series is based on a oneshot? yea here it is (~3.2k words)

~

You huffed out a breath as you passed through the school gates. The early January air was just cool enough to chill your breath into a puff of visible vapor. Not quite freezing, but cold enough to warrant a layer or two.

Damn, should’ve worn gloves, you internally cursed and shifted your grip on the box in your arms. 

Within the parcel, as well as a tote digging into your shoulder, resided your surprise: a selection of bread rolls and freshly harvested fruits you’d picked up from your uncle’s farm the evening before. You knew that despite their confidence and reputation, most of the boys would still struggle to maintain a normal balanced diet and sleep schedule, so you decided to make sure they had no excuse to slack off. Hell, one of them had already proven you right. 

As promised, you’d stayed up for a full two hours helping Atsumu, who now owed you boba, make some amount of progress on his schoolwork before falling asleep yourself an hour later. So, about three hours of sleep. Oh, and thanks to that slacker you’d also had no time to prepare the oranges and watermelon the night before, and you’d be roasted alive if you were caught making a commotion in the kitchen before the sun had even risen. No, it was much easier to just call it “club stuff” and complete your work in the gym’s office you shared with Coach Kurosu. 

So here you were, lugging multiple pounds of food through campus while the sky had barely begun to light and the winter breeze lashed at your exposed skin. 

“What am I even doing”, you grumbled to yourself through gritted teeth.

Finally you reached the gym doors and set down the load before catching your breath and blowing warm air into your cupped hands. Not wanting to deprive yourself of heat any longer, you pulled out the keyring Coach had given you earlier and moved to unlock the padlock before realizing there were only two keys on the ring, neither of which were for the gym lock. 

You only had the key to the office. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” you exclaimed, yanking at the padlock. The office was connected directly to the gym, like the clubroom was, so no gym entry, no office entry. 

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, partially from frustration and partially to keep yourself warm, you pulled out your phone and pulled the scarf you were wearing around the bottom half of your face like a mask. 

You clicked off your phone and shoved your hands into your pockets, looking around in the vain hope that maybe Kita would come strolling by. 

Great. Just great. 

Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. Warming your hands with a breath once more, you set to work on preparing a makeshift fruit-prep area on the pavement, ignoring the thoughts of how much of an idiot you were for not realizing earlier that you were missing a key. It was only when you held the knife above the waiting watermelon (you figured you should do the difficult ones first) that you legitimately questioned your choices. 

 I could just go back home and bring the fruit tomorrow. You cast a wary glance at the mounds of waiting food, immediately dreading the idea of lugging it all back home. No, you already said that you would have a surprise today. Besides, this is supposed to go on for the whole week. Just be a good manager and suck it up.

With this new resolve, you brought down the knife expertly and began slicing. Before long the two watermelons were properly portioned and set aside, and you moved to the oranges. They were a true specialty of your uncle’s farm, and it just so happened to be the beginning of the perfect season for the fruit. A little bead of pride and excitement swelled in your gut as you pictured the faces of your teammates when they finally got to try them. 

As the sky grew steadily lighter, your fingers too began to stiffen and tingle in the cold. Before long they’d be numb despite you constantly blowing warm air on them, making the chopping process slower and slower. 

“Y/N?” 

You immediately jumped at the soft voice that broke the silence of the past...hour? You had no idea how long it had been since you started. Looking to the source of the sound you saw none other than the team’s captain. His head tilted slightly to the side and his eyebrows were knit in a reserved look of confusion, looking expectant.

“Kita!” you quickly greeted him, as if nothing were out of the ordinary and you weren’t surrounded by a mass of fruit. With the greeting you jumped to your feet, only to have a knee momentarily buckle in protest after being in a crouched position so long. The flash of the knife in your hand immediately prompted you to set the knife back on the cutting board on the ground.

“Uh, surprise?” You mentally slapped yourself at the less-than-smooth recovery.

Kita’s eyes followed the movement carefully, then swept over the scene in apparent evaluation. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked. The one question I don’t know the answer to.

“A little while,” you responded, deciding that wasn’t an untrue answer. It was strange. It wasn’t like you had been caught smoking or vandalizing or some other prohibited thing, so why did you feel so guilty? 

“I, uh, meant to use the office but, well…” you trailed off as Kita pulled out a small metal keyring, similar to your own. He didn’t smile, but there was a kind look on his face as he approached and opened the doors that had kept you at bay.

“You’ll catch a cold staying out here so long,” he sighed, leaning over and hoisting your school bag over his shoulder and picking up the largest parcel before moving to stand expectantly in the doorway. “You're our manager, which means you’re part of the team too. We can’t have you falling ill.”

“Right,” you nodded after a moment of temporary shock, and began to gather up what was left. For some reason, you were suppressing a small smile. After you slung on the tote and carefully gripped the cutting board in your now numb red fingers, you approached where Kita was patiently waiting. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude to break the awkwardness, but a moment later his gaze drifted downward and his lips downturned into a small frown. His eyes widened the slightest bit as they fixed on where your hand held the cutting board.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, his tone a bit too calm considering his words. You followed his gaze and sure enough one of the fingers you’d used to steady the fruit had a thin line of red. Apparently your fingers had gotten numb enough that you hadn’t felt the cut, not to mention the cold was turning your skin dry and red.

“Oh, I am,” you acknowledged with a nervous hollow laugh. “I guess the knife slipped at some point.” Tentatively, you flexed the finger. It was a shallow cut so the bleeding had already stopped, and the only discomfort came from the protest of your numb joints. As you brushed your other hand over it to inspect it further, a sharp pain shot through your hand and a small hiss escaped your lips. 

Ah, the orange juice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Kita tense when you flinched. In two quick steps he was in front of you, placing the box on the ground near your feet. 

“It’s nothing, it’s not deep or anything,” you insisted, a bit startled at the sudden proximity. Kita held out his hand and paused.

“Can I see it?” he asked, his eyes carefully watching your own in gentle query. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remarked on how much lighter they were than you remembered.

You gave a conceding sigh and met his hand halfway with your own, nearly jumping at the warmth of his palm. Almost immediately he curled his fingers underneath yours to examine them in a delicate but sure grip. His eyebrows shot up at the touch.

“You’re freezing,” he commented. From the breathiness of his voice you assumed it was close to a gasp for him. His thumb traced around the wound. The warm contact sent a shiver through your body. You noticed the skin around it starting to turn red and irritated, likely from the cold and acidic liquid. 

A moment later Kita pulled away and turned towards the gym doors, reaching out to give your arm a gentle pull.

“Come on, you need to warm up and get that taken care of,” he spoke matter-of-factly. It was a familiar tone that didn’t command, but simply stated the obvious truth, and it was useless to argue against. Suppressing a grumble, you allowed yourself to be guided into the gym by the captain. 

“Do you have the key to the coach’s office?” Kita asked as we placed our things outside the door to the aforementioned office.

“Oh, yeah.” You pulled out the keyring from your pocket, giving it a jangle for emphasis. Kita held out a hand expectantly.

“Go to the bathroom and run warm water over your hands and clean out the cut,” he began at your questioning look. “Don’t come back until you have full feeling again.” Ah, that tone of his was back.

“Fine,” you sighed with a smile and dropped the keys into his waiting palm. Suddenly, a horrible thought dawned on you. “Oh, how long did I have that cut?! Some of the oranges might have gotten blood on them, the knife too!” With a groan you brought the heels of both of your hands to your temples, rubbing them in frustration.

“Y/N,” the captain’s quiet voice captured your attention after a few moments of silence. His expression was almost blank, with the downward quirk of his lip giving the only sign of disapproval. “Your priority right now should be taking care of yourself, not the oranges.” 

“Ugh, sorry,” you grumbled, feeling rightly scolded. You knew you were acting like a child. “It’s just first the gym, and now this. Nothing seems to be going right for this stupid surprise.” Your sleep deprivation must’ve been getting to you as your eyes started to burn. No, no, don’t you dare cry over something like this! 

“It’s not stupid.” Kita stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. You could only blink in response. His gaze travelled to where the fruits were piled up, seemingly in deep thought, before finding you once more. “And it’s not ruined either.”

“I...suppose not,” you said softly. His head tilted just slightly in consideration.

“I didn’t take you as someone to easily give up, either.” 

You gave a thoughtful hum, a few moments later letting out a soft chuckle. He’s right. Somehow he was always right. There was a strange comfort in his words. He always spoke sincerely and straightforwardly, which was one of the reasons everyone held him in such high regard. To hear anyone else say an assessment like that might’ve normally come across as an attempt to console or fan your ego, but with Kita, it was just the truth. It was something he believed.

You didn’t care to suppress the smile that pulled at your lips this time.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you laughed, finally feeling warm again. “Thank you.” 

Kita merely nodded as you turned to go, but you could’ve sworn that there was a ghost of a smile on his face too.

It took about ten minutes to fully warm your hands and thoroughly clean the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it happened to be just where the first joint of your index finger was. The skin stretched when you bent it, causing only mild discomfort. It was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

You were also able to check your phone. No messages from Suna, unsurprisingly, and it was almost half past five. Vaguely wondering why on earth Kita was here so early, you strolled back to the office, finding it open with the light on. The scene that greeted you, however, made you freeze in the doorway. Kita had cleared off a portion of the desk and arranged a professional looking setup for fruit preparation. He’d shed his outer layer and now stood over the cutting board with the sleeves of his sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows and latex gloves now adorning his hands. It seemed as though he’d already resumed work on the oranges, and the pleasant scent of citrus wafted to your nose.

You would’ve laughed at the amusing image had you not been equally shocked to see him there in the first place. 

“Ah, Y/N, you’re back,” he greeted when he noticed you in the doorway. One after the other he removed the gloves, gesturing you to sit in the desk chair. Wordlessly you obliged.   

“I’ve cleaned the knife and cutting board and checked over the other oranges, so there’s no need to worry about that,” he informed you as though reading off a list of chores. 

 “In ten minutes?” Your eyes widened in amazement. It seemed he really was capable of anything, though you cringed a bit when you realized he may have had to wash your blood off the utensils. As you lowered yourself into the chair you noticed an open first aid kit that Kita was now combing through. 

“Hand,” he commanded, holding out his own with antiseptic in the other, apparently ignoring your inquiry.

“Oh, I can do it,” you insisted with a reassuring smile, reaching out for the tube. “Believe me, I’ve bandaged myself up from far worse than this.” The hand holding the tube retracted as Kita let out a deep sigh.

“Let me guess, you’re also going to try to stop me from cutting the rest of the fruit, too?” he guessed, quite accurately, with a small quirk of an eyebrow. Your smile faltered a bit and you brought back your outstretched hand. “I don’t doubt that you can bandage your wound, or that you can continue preparing the fruit with little difficulty, but you don’t have to push yourself. I’m offering my help because I want to.”

You stared at him again, trying to process his words. Out of instinct you almost muttered Are you sure? but you were also positive that Kita had already made up his mind. With a small nod, you placed the injured finger above his hand for him to take.

“Didn’t you say yourself I’m not one to give up easily?” you questioned as he went to work wrapping up your finger. 

“Yeah, I did,” he affirmed, a recognizable spark of fondness in his eyes. “You fit the team well.” The warm feeling of Kita’s praise swelled in your chest once again.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled softly. “Though support from the sidelines is all I can do,” you sighed, your gaze fixating on the literal fruits of your labor.

“Do you think it’s insignificant?” he asked bluntly. 

“No, not exactly,” you answered after a moment of thought. “I won’t deny that there’s times when I wish I could do more, but as long as I can do my best to help us fulfill our potential, well…”

“It makes it all worth it?” Kita’s quiet tone might’ve been imperceptible if you weren’t in a room alone in the last hour before dawn, but you heard him clearly. His hand had paused where it was wrapping your finger, and he caught your eye. Slowly, his cheeks lifted in a genuine, knowing smile. “I think I understand.”

The moment passed quickly, but you found the image of his expression burned into your mind.  

“You put in just as much effort as everyone else.” Kita caught your eye again before focusing on wrapping the bandage and taping it up. “It doesn’t go unnoticed.” 

He released your hand and stood up, allowing you to test out the expertly dressed finger. Satisfied, he readorned his gloves and began chopping the oranges, leaving you to ponder his words in a moment of comfortable silence. 

Kita had always been a constant presence during your time on the team. Despite not being captain your first year, it had been him who had shown you the ropes of managerial duties. It wasn’t just for you either. Kita was the rock, reliable and strong, that kept the team together, though ever so quietly. It wouldn’t surprise you if he felt that he had a sideline role as well.

Eventually, the two of you fell into easy conversation. You told him about Suna, who you’d been neighbors and childhood friends since before middle school. He mentioned his grandmother, and you noticed the softness in his eyes return. You told him about your uncle’s farm, and even told him to try one of the orange slices, though he refused until he had finished his work. 

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Part 2: "oops"

A/N: Whoaa title namedrop. Suna is NOT a morning person y'all. Also, yes I have cut myself while my hands were numb and didn’t realize it’s a thing. also also, this was originally a oneshot, which is why this part is so goddamn long.  

Reply or send an ask to be added to the taglist (my reply will be from my main blog bc stupid tumblr rules)!

@therealwalmartjesus

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S III

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Prologue - S2E1

Part 1 - S2E2 + S2E3

Part 2 - S2E4 + S2E5 + S2E6

Part 3 -  S2E7 +S2E8

Wordcount: 3.6k+

A/N: So Tumblr is being weird and won’t let me use part of this GIFset by teenwolfedits from Raving but here’s one of Stiles and the mountain ash so!! Anyway, feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome. Hope you guys like it!

After your fight with Isaac, you’d gotten out of the car and started walking without a particular destination in mind. A small part of you kept hoping that he’d come after you and make some grand gesture to make everything better, but he never did. Neither did Scott or Stiles, so clearly they weren’t as worried about you as they’d pretended to be. With the sun setting, though, you knew you had to go home. Being alone in Beacon Hills was dangerous enough, but alone and in the dark? 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as you could and tiptoed into your room. Once your door was closed and you were faced with both familiarity and unawareness, you curled up on your bed and sobbed. You couldn’t go back to the pack after how you ended things and you’d completely ruined what you had left with Scott because you were too stubborn to listen. Although you’d been lonely since coming back, this was the first time you’d felt alone. 

The creaking of your bedroom door caught your attention and you quickly wiped away your tears and sucked in a breath, turning so Melissa couldn’t see your face. “Mom, I’m fine,” you lied with a faltering voice. “I just watched a sad movie and with my hormones-” 

“Can we talk?” Your muscles tensed when you heard Scott’s voice. You nodded and shifted again, listening as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The edge of your bed sagged under his weight and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he started gingerly. “This all started like two months ago and I haven’t been able to slow down since. And then you came back and I- I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you involved in this. Any of it.” 

You bit your lip and turned to get a better look at him. You took in his tired features as you formulated your response. “Scott, I was already a part of this long before I came back,” you confessed. “Two months ago I was attacked in the woods behind my school. I wasn’t bitten, but it did change me. The reason they kicked me out is because I completely withdrew myself from everything. I spent days locked in my room, not leaving to go to classes or eat or anything.” You took a shaky breath. “The only thing I did was draw them. All over my body in harsh lines, on the walls in deep gashes, on my books-” 

“I didn’t know.” You looked back up to see the exhaustion in his face betrayed by disappointment in himself. He didn’t know you were hurting and yet the first time the two of you had spoken you asked if he was okay. “I didn’t help.” 

You reached forward and held his hand. “It’s not like we were completely honest with each other,” you said gently. “I thought you’d think I was crazy.”

Scott chuckled under his breath and squeezed your hand. “There’s nothing you can say that would make me think you’re crazy,” he smiled. “Can you show me what they looked like? The ones that attacked you.” 

You looked down again but nodded. You went to your desk and pulled out one of your old books - they were too damaged for the school to take back. You watched as Scott worked his way through the pages, taking long looks at each of the different drawings. You wondered if he felt the same fear looking at them that you did.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said a little breathlessly. “But you shouldn’t have had to go through that. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve-” 

You leaned over and closed the book. “What could you have done, Scott? I was like two hours away and you were human. You couldn’t have protected me even if you knew what was going on.” 

“I know now,” Scott urged hopefully. “And I can protect you now.”

You rolled your eyes at his determination to protect everyone. “Okay,” you conceded eventually. “But this time I get to protect you too, deal?”

“I don’t think that just because you can beat up Stiles means you can protect me,” his joke made your heart stop. You’d hurt Stiles. “But it’s a deal.” After a few seconds of you not answering him, he added, “He’s okay, you know. You should talk to him.” 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” you shook your head. That made him roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, he does,” Scott told you. “He spent the whole day complaining about-” he shook his head and took a breath before looking at you. “Tell him what you told me. He’ll understand.” Reluctantly, you nodded and he put a hand up to squeeze your shoulder encouragingly. “Get some sleep. It’ll be okay.” 

You watched as he got up to leave. You weren’t going to tell him but you had to. “Uh, Scott?” you blurted out. “I- I’m not with Derek anymore.” 

He looked like he was going to ask why but decided against it. Instead he said, “Oh. That’s, uh, that’s good to know,” with a goofy smile. You returned it and watched the door come to a close when he left. 

---

So it turned out that the reason no one on Team Scott came looking for you was because everyone was too busy kidnapping Jackson - a terrible decision that never would’ve been acted on had you been part of the team, or at least that’s how you pointed it out to Scott before leaving for the police station that morning. Your leg bounced as you waited, and you were out of your seat as soon as you heard Scott and Melissa arguing. You stopped a few feet away when you saw Stiles and tried to give him an apologetic smile, but he didn’t return your gaze. 

“Then no computer,” Melissa said, snapping your attention back to the two of them. Scott argued that he needed the computer for school and she looked around as she thought of a new punishment. “Then no, uh …” her gaze fell on Stiles. “No Stiles.” 

“What?” Stiles whined, rushing forward to argue. “No Stiles?” He came to a sudden stop when your mom pointed a finger and raised her voice. 

“No Stiles!” she yelled. “And no more car privileges. Give me your keys.” Scott began searching his pockets as she held out her hand, but he wasn’t quick enough. “Give them to me!” she repeated. It hurt to see her frustrated like this. She wasn’t even this mad when she got the call to collect you from Willow Creek. You shrank into the corner as they continued to talk. 

“Okay, you know what, um …” Melissa’s voice was quiet as she spoke as gently as she could. Frustration replaced with guilt over her outburst. “We’ll talk about this at home. I’m gonna go get the car.” She gave you a smile as she walked past, but you could see her heart was breaking. 

“I’m the worst son ever,” Scott declared while moving closer to Stiles. You did the same, though without the added commentary. 

“Well, I’m not exactly winning any prizes either,” Stiles confessed, gesturing vaguely to where Jackson’s dad was berating Noah. You bit your lip as you caught Scott’s eye. 

“I’m gonna go smooth things over with my mom,” he said cautiously. “You guys, uh, you talk.” Subtlety wasn’t his specialty. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Stiles exhaled, looking over at you for the first time since your argument. You smiled but he looked away again as Scott retreated, saying that he’d tell Melissa you’d be a few minutes. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, clearly not in the mood for another confrontation. 

“More of an apology than a talk actually,” you corrected lightly. You were fiddling with your hands and avoiding eye contact. “I was upset that you guys were shutting me out, and I-I lashed out. I hurt you and you’ve gotta believe me when I say that’s the last thing I ever wanted.” You stopped to take a breath and still your shaky voice. “And I’m sorry. I felt so alone and they- they gave me a place where I fit. It’s not an excuse and I get if you don’t want to see me again but I-”

“Stop.” Stiles put his hand over your shaky ones, stopping your fidgeting. Old feelings bubbled to the surface as he continued, “You’re gonna unravel that whole sweater.” You smiled and listened to him take a deep breath. “Look, I mean, yeah, you messing up my shoulder didn’t make me feel great but … how could you think I wouldn’t want to see you again? Y/N, you and Scott are my best friends.” 

“I know but Scott didn’t literally twist your arm to get his way in an argument,” you said pathetically and shrugged your shoulders. 

“No, but he did try to kill me,” he replied. “Like more than once.” He used his other hand to scratch his head. “He also, uh, made out with Lydia for this weird power thing.” 

You pulled a face and tried to stop yourself from laughing. “He made out with Lydia?” 

“Hey, don’t laugh!” he pointed a finger at you and then moved his hand to his heart as he feigned offense, which only made you laugh more. “My nine-year-old self was heartbroken.” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, smiling up at him. “I’m sure it took many juice boxes and sleepless naps to get over, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Stiles said quietly, looking down to see his hand still covering yours. He took a breath and pulled it away, taking his warmth with it. “I guess we should head to school.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you echoed. You looked up at him again. Something was different. “You’re sure we’re good?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he smiled. “See you at school.” 

“See you around, Stilinski.” You touched his arm lightly and added, “Take care of yourself, okay?” 

“God, Y/N, I’ll see you in like half an hour at school. Relax,” he laughed and punched your shoulder playfully, making you roll your eyes and mumble something before walking off. As you did though, you turned to get another look at him. He was watching you and sent you a little wave before you rounded the corner and went to find your family.

--- 

“Wait, so what’s my job?” you asked. Deaton had already given Scott the ketamine to sedate Jackson and put Stiles on mountain ash duty, but he hadn’t said anything to you.

“You could, uh … run interference,” Scott said, looking at Deaton and Stiles for confirmation. They didn’t answer.

“Interference,” you repeated, folding your arms over your chest. 

“You know, make sure everything goes smoothly and everyone knows what they’re doing,” Scott explained what he meant while simultaneously giving you absolutely no information about what you actually had to do. 

“Make sure Erica and Isaac don’t kill anyone,” Stiles clarified, making you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, ‘cause I have the necessary skills to keep them in check,” you mumbled. You checked your attitude when you met Deaton’s eye, he didn’t say anything but it made you realize that at least you were a part of the team this time. “Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll run interference.”

---

The plan changed pretty much as soon as it was in motion. Allison had told her dad about Jackson’s murderous tendencies, so the hunters were there as well. Scott got Derek and Boyd to keep them occupied and trusted Isaac to sedate Jackson so he could help with the fight. Despite everything you’d been through with them, he and Erica refused to let you get close to Jackson, and it’s not like you could do anything to the hunters, so you ended up with Stiles and the mountain ash. 

“Is it always like this?” you asked teasingly as you walked along the inner arc of the boundary Stiles was creating. Outside was surprisingly quiet considering the rave inside, gunshots and growling breaking through the night occasionally. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stiles answered with a sigh. “Hey, does it look like this bag is getting empty?” He brought it closer to his face to take a look, but before you could answer, he’d poured what was left into his hand. “Crap, crap, crap, cr-” 

“Stiles,” you interrupted. “Calm down.” You put your hands on his shoulders and shook him lightly. He was looking straight at you now and looked extremely freaked out.  

“Calm down?” he repeated. “Y/N, there’s like fifty feet of ground to cover and I’ve got like three sprinkles of magic fairy dust left!” He took a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll call Scott. Scott always knows what to do. I’ll call him.” 

He started fumbling for his phone and you moved your hand to catch his wrist. “Stiles,” you said gently. He stopped moving. “You don’t need to call Scott. You’ve got this. Plus, he probably won’t answer anyway.” 

“Y/N,” Stiles repeated, mimicking your tone of voice. “We don’t have enough mountain ash. Scott will help us.” 

“Stiles!” you sighed exasperatedly, dropping your hand. “This is your job. It’s all on you. You’ve gotta believe you can do this. Scott believes you. Deaton believes in you. I believe-” You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. The hand that was still on his shoulder moved up to cradle his neck, your fingertips lightly covering his jaw. “What was that for?” you breathed after he’d pulled away. 

“For believing in me.” Stiles sounded more surprised than you did that he’d kissed you. He cleared his throat and looked down at the mountain ash. “I, uh, have a thing to do. So I’m-” 

“Yeah, say no more,” you took a few steps back. You watched him turn and take hesitant steps away, and you moved your hand up to your lips. That was … odd. Kissing you was a frantic action, but the actual kiss was soft, tentative. A small moment that went on forever. You were probably reading into it because you used to have a crush on him, but this was Stiles. Stiles! And after everything you’d been through- 

Your train of thought was interrupted by his cheering. “We did it!” He clapped and jumped on the hood of a car in his excitement, setting off its alarm. You winced and held out your hand for him to take as he ran over. He grabbed your hand and pulled you forward as he ran to meet Erica and Isaac at the rendezvous point.

--- 

Stiles opened the storage room door and immediately put his hands out defensively to block your way in. The sudden stop made you walk into him. “Uh, no, no, no!” he exclaimed when Erica almost attacked him. “Just us. It’s just us.” You peered over his shoulder before the two of you came inside and caught Isaac’s gaze. Stiles told them not to freak out as you turned to close the door behind you. 

Turning back, you looked over to where Jackson was passed out on a metal folding chair. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. “Is he okay?” you asked, aiming a finger in his direction. 

“Well,” Isaac exhaled and walked closer to him. “Let’s find out.” He raised his hand up with his claws out and moved to slice Jackson’s chest, but he caught Isaac’s forearm and tightened his grip. You rushed closer when you heard bone cracking and saw Isaac begin to twist down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him back to the group. He sat on a crate and you moved your arm up to his shoulder, using your other hand to examine his injury. 

“Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay?” Stiles warned, waving his finger around to emphasize his point. You rolled your eyes at him and rubbed Isaac’s back gently. The two of you hadn’t really spoken since you broke things off, but you’d made a silent agreement to look out for one another. Stiles didn’t know about that, though, and just noticed how close the two of you were again.

“I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out,” Isaac groaned, still very clearly in pain. Your comfort couldn’t do much to ease his suffering. 

“Yeah, well, apparently this is all we’re going to get,” Stiles exhaled. You looked up to see him looking at the two of you and pulled your arm back to your side. Was he jealous? “So let’s just hope that whoever’s controlling him decided to show up tonight.” 

As if on cue, Jackson’s eyes flew open. You sucked in a breath and pointed to Jackson to make sure the others saw it too. 

“I’m here,” Jackson told you all. His voice was distorted and deep. “I’m right here with you.” 

Despite your protests, Stiles moved closer to him. “Jackson, is that you?” he asked. 

“Us,” Jackson answered. “We’re all here.” 

“Are you the one killing people?” Stiles’s voice was just above a whisper. Erica moved closer towards you and Isaac. 

“We are the ones killing murderers,” he corrected. His blank stare at the wall creeped you out, and when Erica was close enough you reached out to hold her hand. 

“So all the people you’ve killed so far-” 

“Deserved it,” Jackson snapped. 

“So we’ve got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers,” Stiles started cautiously. 

“Anything can break if enough pressure’s applied,” Jackson replied. 

“Okay, so the people you’re killing are all murderers, then?” 

“All. Each. Every one.”

“Well, who did they murder?” 

“Me,” Jackson growled.

“Wait. What? What do you mean?” Stiles asked, voice rising slightly. 

“They murdered me!” Jackson yelled. Isaac stood up and moved closer to you and Erica as Jackson started shifting. “They murdered me.” 

“Okay, maybe we should try upping the dose?” you squeaked out, pulling Stiles closer to where the three of you were huddling. You held onto his shoulder protectively.  

“We don’t have anymore,” Isaac answered, holding up the empty bottle as evidence. 

“You used the whole bottle?” Stiles asked, clearly annoyed with him now. You were about to tell them not to argue when Erica started patting Stiles’s arm frantically and pointing to Jackson. He stood up and hissed at you.

Stiles started stammering some words, but you pushed him and Erica towards the door. “Go!” you yelled, pulling Isaac forward and shoving the others. “Go! Get out of here!” You all ran out and Isaac slammed the door behind you, the four of you flattening yourselves against it to keep Jackson inside. 

“Okay, find something to move in front of the door,” Stiles huffed. Wedged in front of Isaac and behind Stiles, you began to look for something but couldn’t see anything. It didn’t matter much anyway, because before you could say anything, Jackson burst through the metal wall and into the nightclub.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath and felt everyone collapse a bit more into each other. “It’s okay. We’re all okay. We’re okay.” The four of you gathered yourselves and shared a look before immediately splitting up to find Jackson. Stiles grabbed your hand and the two of you ran to the front of the building. 

The two of you were arguing over the best way to handle it when Derek strode up. “So we kind of lost Jackson inside, but it’s-” Stiles started telling him as you looked up at Isaac and Erica staring down at the mountain ash. They couldn’t cross it. They were trapped in there with Jackson. “Oh my god!” Stiles exclaimed. “It’s working! Oh, this is-” 

“Stiles, ne quiet,” you warned. You were worried about them and you didn’t even know where the others were. 

“You need to break it,” Derek rushed out. 

“What? Why?” Stiles questioned. 

They started arguing, but as soon as Derek said that Scott was in trouble, you bent down and broke the boundary. He looked at you briefly, for the first time since you’d left the pack, before running off to save your brother. 

--- 

Derek took Scott to Deaton so Stiles drove you home. Neither of you were talking about what had happened, and you fiddled with your seatbelt to pass the time. When he pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, there was no avoiding it. “So, uh,” you exhaled. “The whole kiss thing-” 

“Was super out of line,” Stiles interrupted, making your heart sink. He regretted it. 

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” you lied, nodding your head. 

“It was a one-time thing-” 

“We were both freaking out-” 

“It’ll never happen again,” Stiles finished. 

“Right, never again,” you echoed before actually realizing what you’d said. He never wanted to kiss you again? You were quiet as you thought, and Stiles didn’t say anything else. “Well, I should, uh- I should head inside,” you started. 

“Yeah, Melissa’s probably bugging out that you guys aren’t home yet.” Stiles’ attempt at humor meant he was at least as nervous as you were. 

“And Noah probably really wants to see you after hearing what happened,” you nodded, unbuckling your belt. 

“Yeah, uh, not so much,” Stiles mumbled. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear that, because he looked surprised when you asked why. “He got fired today. Because of me.” 

“Oh, Stiles, that’s really rough,” you said sympathetically. You started reaching for his hand but stopped over the armrest. “Do you know why?”

“His son having a restraining order filed against him didn’t reflect well on the county,” he sighed. The way he said it must have been word for word what Noah had told him. 

“I’m really sorry, Stiles,” you whispered. “I hope it blows over soon.” 

“Yeah, me too,” he said, more to himself than anything. He looked at your hand and then up at you after a second. He didn’t make another move. “Have a good night, Y/N.” 

You smiled. “You too, Stilinski.”

Part 4 - S2E9 + S2E10

[exyjunkies]

Prompt for andreil...bc I don't feel like we talk enough about andrew self-harm past, what about he does it again and neil finds out

 valid sentiment. as much as this is uncomfortable to write, i’ll do the best i can.

trigger warning: self-harm, blood, blades, and alcohol

*under the cut for those who’d rather do without reading this*

It was a quarter past seven in the evening, and Andrew felt like he could stay here forever.

Their bathroom floor has never felt this inviting, this… accepting. Andrew ran his hands all over the tiles, feeling the cold of it reach his fingertips and go all the way up to his wrist.

Never mind the trail of blood that he spilled across one of the tiles. If anything, the dark red actually made the surface a lot brighter. The world was spinning too much for any of it to look bad. He made a mental note to thank his second whiskey bottle, a quarter of it already circulating in his system.

Whatever. It didn’t matter.

None of it did.

“Hey, you’ll never believe what I just saw in the hallway,” Neil’s voice came from outside, and Andrew heard the faint opening and closing of the door. The clink of Neil’s keys against the bowl on the table.

Shaking a little, Andrew put a finger to his mouth and shushed himself. The shaking came from his held-in laughter, not from fear.

If you keep really quiet, he won’t hear you.

“Andrew?” Neil’s voice sounded curious, unaware. Andrew heard a glass being set down on the counter, a liquid (maybe some fruit juice) being poured into it. “Are you home?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Andrew was thankful that he remembered to turn off the faucet. His knives, piled on top of one another, were in the sink.

“Eh. Maybe he isn’t.” 

Neil still had that habit of talking to himself. He thought no one knew, but Andrew did. Some of the other Foxes did. And it was something that no one wanted Neil to change about himself.

“Neil, you wonderful, wonderful man,” Andrew muttered to himself, inhaling a bit.

Briefly, Andrew wondered what excuse he’ll be able to come up with, on the off-chance that Neil does come across him like this - slumped against one corner of their bathroom, one bleeding wrist on top of his stomach, and the other slowly releasing blood onto the tile beside him. The empty whiskey bottle sat at the edge of his right foot, while the second, still mostly full, was beside the tissue box by the toilet. 

It had been a textbook breakdown. Andrew knew all the stops. The clock had said 5:32 PM, and his mind had screamed fuck it, fuck everything. Only this time Andrew had decided to skip the cry-for-help part. Even the having-second-thoughts bit. He had gone straight into the downfall of the curve.

Life had seemed more exciting that way.

“Alright, so after a bit, I’ll watch that tape Kevin asked me to…”

The hurt wasn’t extremely unbearable. At least not the whole time. No, what Andrew was experiencing right now was more of a rank five thrumming along his cuts, an ache in the back of his neck, and a dryness in his throat from all the whiskey. Enough for him to be informed that he was still conscious.

Enough for him to know that this attempt hadn’t worked.

Yet another failure to add to the pile.

He thought about where he’d try again next. Their apartment bathroom wasn’t the wisest decision, but he knew he was smart enough to keep Neil out. He won’t need to use the bathroom for another hour at least, and that was enough time to get himself together and pretend that nothing had happened. He’s done it before, and Nicky was dense enough that he bought it. 

And Neil will have to listen to some lie later on, too. Andrew just… took particularly long on the toilet. Had some bad clams for lunch. That’s all.

Andrew heard the front door being opened, and a soft mumble of voices. He could only make out Neil’s voice, polite as always.

“Oh, no, thank you Mrs. Whitley. I couldn’t possibly– oh, wow, okay, that is a lot of casserole. Well, if you insist… Okay, thank you again. Bye.”

The apartment complex they lived in was still relatively spacey, save for them, Mrs. Whitley, and the guy with all the tattoos. He was always oddly suspicious to Neil, even if Andrew has seen him a couple times cooing at the birds by the window near the fire escape. He really wasn’t much of a problem.

Mrs. Whitley, a homely 65 year-old with white curls and a hat for each day, always made it a point to stop by and ask how the both of them were doing. At first, Andrew had one-word responses and a grunt for everything she said, but she’s gotten close enough to get a full sentence out now and then. He had Neil’s look of amusement memorized, the one that came every single time Mrs. Whitley would take his hand in hers and reminisce about his grandson that looked just like him.

As much as he hated to admit it, Andrew was going to miss the old lady.

“And then maybe you and King can sleep with us on the bed. Only if the both of you behave. How about tha– hey, why is this locked– Andrew?”

Oh shit. Andrew hadn’t heard Neil walk near the bathroom door. It was probably the damn carpet.

“Andrew? You in here?”

Think, Minyard, think. He stayed completely quiet and completely still.

Which… probably wasn’t the correct course of action.

“Alright, I’m coming in,” Neil went, then Andrew heard a few footsteps. “Oh, God, this is gonna bruise tomorrow.”

Unexpectedly, Neil went up against the bathroom door with his entire body, and Andrew straightened up a bit as the entire door quivered. He wasn’t ready. There was still so much fucking blood–

Neil got in after three more body slams, the door swinging open. “Andrew, what in–”

Weakly, Andrew lifted a few fingers off his stomach. He even had enough in him to smile a little.

It was sick of him.

“Hiya, Josten.”

Neil’s face showed all kinds of emotions as he swiftly went to Andrew’s side. He began to hyperventilate as he put a hand against Andrew’s arm.

“Oh– oh my– fuck, Andrew, what the hell– I’m gonna… gonna call for some help, yeah? You’re– you’re gonna be okay– oh God–” His eyes kept surveying the blood, and the scene all around him. “Oh my God.”

Andrew didn’t like the look on Neil’s face. That had to go away.

“No, Neil, listen,” Andrew mumbled, putting a hand over Neil’s. “I’m gonna… take a few words from your dictionary, okay? Listen: I’m fine.”

“No, you fucking aren’t,” Neil’s eyes were wide with worry. “Fuck, I should’ve– I should’ve gotten home sooner. Andrew, I’m so sorry. I–”

He couldn’t understand why Neil was being the way he was. “Neil, this was all me.”

“And I wasn’t there.”

The insistence in Neil’s voice startled something up Andrew’s spine. Before Andrew could reply, the dial tone in Neil’s phone ended, and a voice inquired about how they can help. Neil rattled off their address and “There’s a lot of blood, please, hurry,” before hanging up.

Neil looked Andrew in the face. “I wasn’t there, and you needed someone, and– God, I don’t even know how long this has been going on. I’m such an idiot.”

Andrew said nothing, because he didn’t think he could say anything more. The blood loss was making him a little woozy.

After a shaky exhale, Neil stood up and took the bottle of whiskey off the toilet, along with a roll of toilet paper. He went to the sink, got the knives, and ran the faucet over them.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” It was all Andrew had at the moment, and he didn’t know if it would be enough.

“Well, then you still tell me.” Neil’s voice was rough. He let the knives clatter to the side of the sink, and he sat back down beside Andrew. After some hesitance, Andrew nodded at Neil’s silent offer of cleaning him up with toilet paper.

“What if you aren’t here–”

“You still tell me. It doesn’t matter how hard it is or if there’s no right way. I need to know.”

Nodding, Andrew closed his eyes, and felt wet toilet paper dab on one of his arms. It stung, but he felt a lot better than he had a few hours ago.

[ingloriousblasters]

Yours and Mine (Merle x Female Reader)

I’m not really sure if this played out as well as in my brain, but oh well. Here’s some Merle angst and fluff for your evening. 

Warnings: brief smut, fluff and angst. 

The beam of morning sunlight snuck through the bars of the cell and you turned on your side in reaction to the bright light. Reaching your hand out for the warm body that was usually next to you, your fingers found nothing but the old scratchy sheets of the bed. Peaking an eye open you glanced around the cell, noticing the pile of dirty clothes Merle conveniently left in the middle of the room when the basket was in the corner. The ornery man nowhere to be found.

Since the fall of Woodbury a few weeks ago, it was taking some time for things to return back to normal at the prison. With the threat of the Governor gone, it was weird to suddenly live in peace for the foreseeable future. The few residents left of the town joined Rick's group and many of you were teaching them the ropes around the guarded building. Even though you and Merle were still relatively new as well, Merle’s history to the group and your relationship to him made you two approachable to Woodbury’s leftovers.

Finally getting out of bed to start your day, you slipped into your usual dark jeans and fitted v-neck. Gathering Merle’s clothes, you placed them in the basket with your own. You had a few things on your schedule today and couldn’t remember when his next run was and he’d need fresh clothes. Merle had a tendency to go through his whole wardrobe without leaving any spares while everything was being cleaned. Collecting the basket you left the cell, on the lookout for anyone who might have seen Merle this morning so you could talk to him on your way out to the stream near the prison. You passed through the dining hall when Carol came out of the kitchen area with a can of fruit and an opener.

“Hey, have you seen Merle lately?” you asked, moving the basket of clothes to rest on your hip.

She shook her head as she fixed the opener to the metal can and began twisting the handle. “He was down by the fences this morning showing some of the new ones how to ‘properly kill’ the walkers,” she said emphasizing her last words. The lid of the can popped open and the semi fresh scent of peaches filled the air. You gave a forced smile at her words, but there was a slight falter in your heart  “Might still be there.” she said. Nodding your head, you thanked Carol, accepted the slice of peach she handed you, and continued your search for the man.

Even though you and Merle had been seeing each other for a couple of months now, the relationship was still new and you still had your doubts. All you ever overheard about him was his past. When you first arrived at Woodbury, you heard the whispers about how he’d hit on anything with two legs and how he had slept with more than a handful of the town’s female population. Then at the prison, it was the quiet talk of how he treated the group and tried to sleep with Andrea. Over time, you rationalized with yourself that all that was in the past, but it was still hard to ignore. Merle had a personality and on more than one occasion you had seen him showing off at the fences to the newcomers that were put on duty. A particularly perky red head was on your radar as she seemed to reciprocate Merle’s flirting. The man could be charming when he wanted to, it’s how you fell for him, with that stupid grin and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. And that’s what you had to keep reminding yourself; Merle was with you. At the end of the day, he came back to you in your shared cell.

The heavy door screeched open as you glanced outside towards the fields. The humidity hit you immediately as you looked over the barren fields. Cupping a hand over your eyes from the sun, you saw a few people standing out on watch. Looking up, you saw Glenn and Maggie in the guard tower, but no sign of Merle. Thinking to yourself if he was on fence duty this morning, he might be over in the armory cleaning off and returning the weaponry. Letting out a sigh, you released the metal door and returned inside the concrete walls. By this time, the laundry basket was just an annoyance and you hoped your Merle scavenger hunt would be over soon. As you neared the open door to the armory, you heard the unmistakable raspy voice.

“Hey Merle,” you called out. Turning the corner, your heart froze at what you saw. Merle stood with his hand on the shoulder of the red headed woman, their lips parting at your entrance. A wave of lightheadedness came over you and the basket of clothes you were holding fell to the ground with a thud. Merle’s head turned at the noise.

“Shit,” he muttered when his eyes connected with yours. Feeling tears prick at your eyes you exited from the doorway, wanting to leave the scene as quickly as possible. Merle pushed aside the red head and called after you. Each call of his voice sent more sharp pains to your chest, like he was stabbing you in the heart with his own knife. As you passed a stack of boxes down the dimly lit hall, the voices you tried so hard to ignore surfaced. You knew something like this would happen. How could it not? Merle was Merle, and yet somehow you let him wiggle his way into your heart, which was crumbling with each step you took. Halfway down the hall, you felt his hand grab your forearm.

“(Y/n)! Will ya stop?” he barked, spinning you around to face him.

“Why?!” you responded. Ripping your arm from his grip you quickly brushed the tears that had leaked from your eyes.

“It’s not what ya think. I can explain!”

“Let me guess,” you crossed your arms. “She tripped, right?”

“What? No!” he said, taken aback by your response. You rolled your eyes at him which caused a low growl to escape under his breath. Both of you were running high off your emotions, and before he could get another word in, your mouth spat out the thoughts that had been attacking your head.

“Well bravo, Dixon,” the hurt sarcasm dripping from your words. “You really had me fooled. Thought you might have actually care about me, but I should’ve known better.” You turned to leave again as you couldn’t hold in the tears anymore.

Merle let out another growl. “Damnit, (y/n)! It ain’t like that!” He punched the stack of cardboard boxes you had passed. His strides quickly drew nearer to you and you turned on your heels, causing him to stop in his tracks. Sticking out your finger, you pointed accusingly at him.

“Don’t follow me, Dixon!”

You glared at him one more time and made your way back towards the front of the prison in silence. The only footsteps heard in the hallway your own.

Later that evening when you knew Merle was on watch, you gathered some of your things and went to bunk with Carol. She understood your relationship with Merle, never judged you for it. Being close to Daryl, she understood their background like you, and said you could stay as long as you needed to.

--------

It had been a week since your fight and Merle kept his distance, but your days were filled with those piercing blue eyes on you. You felt them from the guard tower when you were out in the fields, on your returns from runs, and in the dining hall. Whenever you caught him watching you, Merle’s eyes never budged. Sometimes he would move towards you, but you’d find a way to excuse or involve yourself in something else to get away. Truthfully, you missed him but we’re just as stubborn, and you were still angry at him.

After coming back from a run that lasted most of the day, you were covered in sweat and grime. When you went to bunk with Carol, you had forgotten your coveted strawberry scented body wash in your cell. It was your favorite brand so you only used it sparingly and whenever Merle asked. He was like a moth to a flame whenever you did, almost smothering you in bed inhaling your sweet scent to rid himself of the rotting stench that now covered the earth.

You never went back for it in case you ran into Merle, but with the way your day had gone, nothing sounded better than lathering up in the soothing soap and crashing into bed. Taking a chance, you gathered a new set of clothes and towel before walking to Merle’s cell. Pulling the plastic tarp away from the door, you hurried inside. Bending down, you reached underneath the bottom bunk and pulled out the pink and gold plastic bottle. When you got back to your knees the swish of the tarp moving made your heart race. Merle whispered your name and slowly you got up and turned around. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you gathered your things and bolted out of the cell.

You heard the heavy footsteps follow you to the shower station and hoping he’d get the hint, you entered the door and slammed it closed. There were four stalls in the prison showers, all divided by half tiled walls that only came up just past your waist. The generator in the area still had enough juice to heat the water, and everyone in the prison rationed the amount of time everyone could use the source. Picking the second stall from the right, you stripped of your sweaty clothes, set the towel and fresh clothing on the top of the dividing wall, and started the shower. The semi warm water hit your shoulders, running down your back and your muscles began to relax. Taking the bottle of body wash, you squeezed some into your hands and began to massage the liquid into your skin.

Consumed in the healing water, you failed to notice the slight click of the door opening. It was only when you turned around and saw him standing at the end of your stall did you let out a shriek.

“Merle!” you yelled, cursing yourself for being so stupid and forgetting to lock the door. You walked as fast as you could on the slippery floor to your things, but Merle grabbed them before you even had a chance. He placed the towel under his arm and when you went to try and swipe the clothes from his hands he backed away. You watched in utter disbelief as he sprinted towards the door and threw your clothes into the hall. Merle twisted the lock on the knob and sauntered back over to your stall.

“What the hell are you-” you started to yell.

“No, damn it!” Merle cut you off. “Ya been avoiding me all week and now ya finally got nowhere ta go.” After a moment of intense silence, you surrendered to him by turning around and finishing your shower. Merle leaned against the dividing wall, setting the towel back down and crossing his arms over the top of it.

“I never wanted what happened at the armory to happen,” he started, his voice as calm as you had ever heard it. “She...she kissed me and I tried pushing her away when you came in.” As Merle talked, you stayed underneath the flow of water from the shower head, trying your best to mask the tears on your face.

“Damnit (y/n), I got the whole goddamn bunk ta myself and I haven’t had one lick of sleep cause I can’t stop thinking about ya.” You didn’t respond and continued rinsing your hair.

“Ok, I get it,” Merle stated when you didn’t acknowledge him. His voice was quiet with resignation, and you heard the clink of his metal attachment on the tile as he went to leave.

“Wait,” you called out for him, shutting the shower head off. “I’m sorry too.”

Merle cocked his head to the side as he walked back towards you. “Why?” he asked confused.

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh. Merle had been honest with you and now it was your turn.

“Because I let my emotions and insecurities get the better of me,” you finally admitted, opening your eyes. “I was scared I wasn’t enough for you. That you’d start to get restless and it…” you paused trying to control the cracking in your voice. “It scared me because I really, really like you.”  

Merle nodded at your words and glanced down at the floor deep in thought. “I, uh, guess if we want this thing ta work between us we probably shouldn’t go a week without talking about stuff, huh?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged your shoulders.

Merle leaned over to grab the towel he had been hoarding, placing part of it under the crook of his bad arm and holding the opposite corner in his hand. The gray fabric covered the front of his body and he motioned his head for you to come forward. Slowly, you crossed the distance between the two of you, turning when you got to Merle so he could wrap the towel around you. You gathered the ends, tucking the corner inside and circled back around to look at Merle. His eyes softened, finally being able to be near you again. He leaned forward but you turned your face at the last moment, your cheek catching the scratchy kiss meant for your lips.

“Merle,” you whispered warningly. He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his forehead against your temple.

“Come on, sugar,” he pleaded against your ear. His voice sending a warm tingle throughout your body. “What else do ya want from me? Hmm? Tell me.” He started to place soft pecks on your cheek, which you allowed. You wanted him badly, but couldn’t bring yourself to it, not until you admitted what was really bothering you.

“Am I yours?” you asked.

“Mhmm,” Merle agreed as his hand snaked down to your bottom, underneath the towel, and started to massage and knead the soft flesh.

“Are you mine?” you whispered.

Merle moved his head to look you in the eyes. “Of course.” He leaned in again to try and kiss you but you caught his chin with your hand.

“I mean it, Merle. If I am, I need you to really show it. I don’t want another woman thinking she can make a move on you because you tell her she’s a good fence watcher.”

“Sugar, nothing like that is ever gonna happen again. I swear on my baby brother’s life,” he promised you, his eyes never breaking from yours. You nodded your head, deciding at that moment to move on. If your relationship was to keep going, you both had to move forward. Merle’s tongue peaked out and ran over his lips as he waited for you to make the next move or not. You gently tugged his face closer, your hand still very much attached to his chin and kissed him. It started slow, gentle as you both hadn’t connected in a week, but soon turned deeper when you parted your lips allowing Merle access.

“Mine,” you whispered as you finished the kiss, sucking on his lower lip. Merle’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“Yes Ma’am,” he grinned back, placing a kiss to your palm. Your hand slid from his face, tracing a line down his body from his strong chest, to his sturdy abs, and stopping just above the button of his pants. Merle’s chest was rising and falling as quickly as your own and you waited one more beat before slowly sliding your hand down and palming his bulge. Squeezing softly, Merle let out a groan and his grip on your side tightened.

“Mine,” you repeated.

“Yours,” he moaned as you continued teasing him through the fabric of his pants. Merle captured your lips with his again and backed you into the corner of the shower. His hand sneaked up your side and unhooked the corner of the towel wrapped around you. It fell to shower floor with a soft puff and you wrapped your arms around Merle’s neck, tugging softly on his hair. His attachment settled around your lower back and you gasped when the cold metal hit your skin.

In a few seconds you had his cargo pants undone and pulled down just enough for him to spring free. He lifted you off of your feet and braced you against the corner of the shower, where the back wall and dividing wall met. Your legs clung to his sturdy frame and Merle slid into your wet core with ease. Moaning at your connection, you braced an arm on the ledge of the dividing wall while your head fell back. Merle wasted no time setting a fast pace, both of you frantic for each other after no contact for the last few days. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking all along the area.

“Oh god Merle,” you moaned. The familiar warmth starting to spread over your body.

“That’s it, sugar,” he whispered as he felt you getting closer to your release. Merle started to pump faster as he knew both you wouldn’t last much longer. Your voices echoed off the tiled walls and with one last thrust, you came shuddering around Merle’s length.

Merle dropped you to your feet as he pulled out, coming on your stomach. He braced you up against the wall as your legs still trembled from your orgasm. You two stayed like that for a few minutes, collecting yourselves and catching your breath. Merle inhaled your scent and moaned.

“God ya smell good. Ya use that strawberry stuff?” he asked. You giggled at his statement and nodded your head.

“Yeah, but now I’m all dirty again,” you smiled. Merle placed a kiss on your lips and proceeded to rid himself of his clothes and attachment. The two of you showered together, taking turns using the scented body wash to clean each other with.

Forgetting that Merle threw your clothes out, and your towel on the shower floor was sopping wet, Merle slipped back into his pants while he let you throw on his button up shirt. You left the showers and collected your clothing that was spread along the hallway. Returning back to the cell you two shared, Merle spent the rest of the evening continuing to show you just how much he was yours.