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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 3 months

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Tear You Apart

Chapter 1: Paranoid

Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: soooo as you can probably tell I’ve been watching the walking dead… and I’m almost finished now and I’ve fallen madly in love with Norman. This fic is gonna be a series and slow burn romance and Daryl isn’t in this chapter but will be in the next !!

Era: Prison Era onwards (Pre-Woodbury Fall)

Warnings: allusion to death of loved ones, murder, typical TWD stuff

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist: here

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You had taken a large step over a display case of alcohol- the bottles now smashed, littering the ground with glass shards. It looked as though someone had thrown it down in a hurry, like they were looking for something hidden behind. Maybe they’d been running from the dead and took the case down with them on the way. You tried not to focus on the mess, and instead, your eyes flickered around the room, which felt much smaller because of the clutter and boarded-up windows. Eventually, your eyes landed on a medicine cabinet by the cash register.

A quick, sharp pain charred into your skin with each breath, so you took them slowly, and they shook against your lips as you inspected the shelves. There were a few brightly coloured protein bars in the road trip aisle so you quickly shoved them into your pockets. Your slouchy cargo pants were already packed full of your belongings- a box of ammo for your gun, your flip-knife and some bandages… a notebook and pen- and even a watch you managed to keep working that told you the date and time. It had been a gift before everything happened, and something your friend had given you on your birthday.

When you reached the cabinet, you shuffled around the boxes in search of some over-the-counter antibiotics. There were a few boxes of menstruation relief medication, so you shoved those into your pockets before throwing your backpack over your shoulder and onto the ground alongside the metal bow you'd been lugging with your sheath and arrows.

At the beginning, when the virus started spreading, the first thing you did was go and pick up as many survivalist books as you could find. You figured not a lot of people would think of that when panic buying. In the books you learned how to make toothpaste, soap and even string your own arrows. The few people you’d grouped with didn’t think it was necessary, but you deemed it more than so and found yourself using the knowledge you’d gained studying those books like gospel during your time spent alone- away from any kind of civilization.

Your free arm swept the boxes from the shelf into your napsack. Now hunched over at this level, you noticed some tubes of antiseptic cream and chucked them in alongside the boxes of pain medication. You struggled to fit it all in alongside your homemade toiletries- but eventually managed and went back to looking at the assortments the store still had.

Then, there was a crunch from the shattered glass and you raised your bow, arrow already equipped- it was second nature at this point yet still the sudden movement had your teeth gritting together so hard you thought you might break a filling.

“One wrong move and I’ll cut you in half”

Your eyes were met with those of a woman and man. She looked to be a few years older whereas he was maybe a year or two younger. Her eyes were dark and focused, her locks fell past her rich mahogany shoulders and down her back. The man looked at you with bright, wide brown eyes. His hair was a short, black mess on his head. He was wearing a navy button shirt rolled up to his elbows. And you noticed he had reached for the gun on his hip but hesitated.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

The man spoke first, holding up his hands as you kept your arrow pointed in their general direction- eyes flickering to the woman beside him. Her cold stare seemed to soften, having now taken you in properly. Your shoulder was wrapped in dirt-covered bandages that needed changing to avoid a gnarly infection, and your skin caked in filth and dried blood. Your clothes were just as bad, the bottoms of your pants were saturated with dirty water and your leather boots scuffed and plastered with dried mud.

“My name’s Glenn Rhee… This is Michonne,” he slowly referred to the woman holding the katana with his right hand. She shuffled on her feet as you swallowed and pursed your lips together- trying to ignore the stabbing sensation in your side. You glared them both down, fighting back tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as they looked at you like you were a small child who needed saving. The man - Glenn - spoke again.

“Are you out here all by yourself?”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, your knuckles white- the metal frame leaving a curved indent in your palm.

“As Glenn said, we aren't going to hurt you.” the woman - Michonne - added.

“He won’t, but doesn't…” you paused, feeling the sharp pain in your ribs again. “How can I be sure you won’t skewer me with that Katana?”

Glenn looked over with pleading eyes, his lips sewn shut in a straight line. As though communicating telepathically, she sheathed her weapon - yet still rested her hand on the tip of the handle. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“So,” she began again, “are you alone?”

You nodded.

It was then Glenn’s turn to speak. “You’ve been alone this entire time?- I mean, you’re far from home. It doesn’t sound like you’re from Georgia, let alone the states.”

You slowly lowered the bow yet kept the end of the arrow between your fingers and the handle- pointing it at the ground with less force as you had been a moment prior. “I was with a group, we were ambushed. There weren’t many of us; we couldn’t hold them off.”

You watched as Glenn regarded you with an empathy that many people seemed to resonate with nowadays. He didn't press any further about the group; from the look in your eyes, he could sense the wound was still fresh.

“So, you moved to the States before everything?” Michonne was the next to ask; from the looks of it, she seemed to have calmed down compared to how she had been.

“Yeah, I was a tattoo artist.”

She nodded and looked to Glenn, who looked back with the same blank expression you couldn’t read.

“You have a name?” Glenn said, his hands now planted on his hips. You were suddenly aware of how filthy you looked compared to the pair. They must have come from somewhere with running water.

“y/n, y/n l/n”

“y/n, how many walkers have you killed?”

Puzzled, you raised a brow weakly, gripping the handle as though it had become fused to your flesh and bone. “I don’t… never thought to count, if I were to guess… about… upwards of 80.”

“How many people have you killed?” he asked that question with just as much conviction as the last. Michonne's gloved hands had now dropped to her sides as she peered down at your pile of belongings and the stray medicine boxes scattered at your feet.

“I… right now? two”

“Why?”

Biting your lip, you thought back to your friend. “The first tried to kill me, and the second killed my best friend, One I had known before this and after.” You fought back tears again, stroking your thumb across the metal frame. You had already cried so much - from the pain of your injuries and losing him - that there were now narrow streams of clean skin that went from your waterline to the curve of your chin. The rivers that had run down your cheeks starkly contrasted the mask of dirt, blood and sweat painted on your face.

“I’m sorry”, Michonne said first, “I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through.”

“Yeah,” you bit back a laugh, throat hoarse, “you really can’t.”

Glenn stepped forward, and you stepped back, which made you wince and hiss at the stabbing pain in your side. “ We come from a group. We’re all survivors- like you- but we managed to find a place where we can have a chance.”

As you listened to the man, you wondered whether this was too good to be true. You had been all alone, both of you. Hunting and gathering, living in dirt and squalor for the better part of 9 months and here was your chance to start afresh with new people. It may have been the hunger, exhaustion, or innate need to survive that forced you to go along with them.

“Wait, there’s something we have to do first before we go.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“Finn? It’s safe to come out now, kid”

You called out into a small wooden shed adjacent to a house which looked to have been burned down. Michonne and Glenn stood nearby with their weapons at hand, you could’ve scoffed as you watched them skittishly take in the view.

“We’ve been here for a few weeks, it was like that when we got here.” you kicked a twig by your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your side when a small boy walked out of the shadows with a knife in his grip. He was no less than 6, and his hair was a mess on his head. His skin was smudged with dirt- less than your own but it still looked as though he had been through a lot. Michonne forced a smile and took her hand off her blade. Glenn placed his gun back into his pack.

“Did you get the things?” he asked, pushing the knife back into his pocket. He had his own bag, and it was almost as big as him. Michonne peeked into your makeshift home, the floor was covered with a blanket and there were a few sacks of meat and cans laid out on the workbench. Beneath the bench, there was a sleeping bag atop a roll-out mattress. Then, on the blanket, adjacent to the bench, a sleeping bag without the extra support.

“I got some stuff, not really anything special but…” you ruffled his hair, picking out a stray piece of fluff that’d managed to work its way onto his strands. It’d gotten quite long, and it now brushed his collarbones. Whenever you offered to give it a trim, he refused and said he’d wait until everything went back to normal.

“Who are you?” Finn looked up at Glenn and Michonne, his eyebrows furrowed inwards- his attempt at a scowl.

“I’m Glenn- Is he your-?”

“Nephew” you cut in before asking the young boy to help you pack up your belongings with a smile. He nodded and got to it, only asking you questions about where you were going once you’d both left the pair standing outside.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

It took the four of you two and a half hours to get back to the prison. With having to carry your heavy belongings, Glenn suggested you all take regular breaks- he had noticed your struggle walking for long distances at a time with your injury. It was a journey you wished you wouldn’t have to make again in a similar shape. Finn, on the other hand, was fine and took the walk in his stride. He made idle talk with Glenn and Michonne- asking if there were other kids like him there. There were a few, according to Michonne, and he seemed more than excited to get back once having learned that.

A small boy, around 13 or 14, greeted the three of you at the gate. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a blue flannel shirt that looked as though it were a few sizes too big for him. Finn tried to hold back his nerves, and he opted instead to squeeze your hand. You squeezed his back twice, and looked down at him- smiling. The boy behind the fence opened it and greeted Glenn and Michonne, although he seemed to be struggling to comprehend what you and Finn were doing there.

“Hey Carl, where’s your dad?”

The boy - Carl - pointed toward the prison, a concrete slab of a building that seemed more cold than warm. You almost shuddered at the thought of the winters here, and Michonne seemed to sense your apprehension.

“It’s better inside, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s home for now.”

You nodded, having become quiet on the journey. She deduced that you’d only speak once you had been spoken to. As you started walking toward your new home, a slender brunette with short hair and a wide smile ran to you- to Glenn. She enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, and when he pulled back, she pressed her lips to his quickly. It was strange how people managed to find love in such desolate times. You couldn’t imagine falling in love before, but now, your fear of impending loneliness and abandonment settled to the back of your mind. Being lonely didn’t seem as bad as losing everyone you loved or got close to. Finn was the only exception these days, you loved that kid like he was your own. He was all you had left- after all.

“Who’s this?”

You snapped up from your thoughts and locked eyes with her. She was still smiling, though you chalked that up to the moment she had just shared with Glenn- her husband - by the looks of the ring on her finger.

“‘Maggie, this is y/n and Finn. We found them out alone in the woods… y/n’s injured, but she’s a tough one, I think, a hunter as well.” Glenn held up the knapsacks you’d crammed in the shed. Finn held your hand a bit tighter

Michonne nodded, “Mmhm, we’re gonna go see if your dad would check her up… then talk to Rick about what to do; he’ll probably wanna talk to her.”

You didn’t mind that they talked about you as though you weren’t there- or that you couldn’t hear every word they were saying - in the shape you were in, you couldn’t engage in a full-blown conversation. The only thing on your mind was the ache in your body and the grinding of your joints upon one another from all the walking you’d been doing.

“Ah, that’s great, well… it’s nice to meet you, y/n. I hope we get to know each other better.. you too, little guy, I love your shirt”

Finn’s cheeks flushed red at the compliment, and he thanked her politely- just as his mother had taught him to. You managed to smile small at how kind she was despite your and Finn’s appearances. Caked in blood and gore, you were still being treated like humans and not a pair of animals being taken to the slaughter.

“Me too.”

Maggie grinned before pecking Glenn on the cheek, exchanging a few fleeting words, and smiling at Michonne. Then, she was off in suit of the guard tower you’d passed on the way up.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The cellblock was cold, as you’d expected, but it was refreshing in a way that the Georgian summer couldn’t provide on days like this. You’d run into only one other person on the way in, Beth, a young lady who was Maggie’s little sister. She seemed sweet enough, her eyes were kind, and her smile was bright with that whimsical nature teenagers seemed to have at that age- full of hope and wonder for what could come next. Finn seemed to like her too, and he made a passing comment that she reminded him of his primary school teacher.

As the three of you trailed further, you heard a baby crying and shushing from a man with the beginnings of a thick beard growing upon his jaw. A baby, you hadn’t seen a baby since before everything, and even then, it had been almost 7 years since your sister had given birth to Finn. You’d wanted children at one point- when you had a job and a home- a boyfriend and even a pet dog. Thankfully for your sanity, the boyfriend had been gone long before the outbreak, and unfortunately so was the dog.

Ozzy was an old, gentle rescue, one you remember fondly for the years you had spent together. That dog had been your lifeline for a while, your main reason for getting up in the morning for work. Sometimes, when you got anxious, you would trace your fingers across your arm- where a tattoo of his name lay in cursive amongst some of your others. Your fingers brushed across the skin now, drawing his name with the pads of your fingers as you and Finn approached the man and his child.

“Rick, can I talk to you real quick?”

Rick turned to Glenn, still holding the baby. You twitched a little in your spot and shuffled your feet, trying to avoid his cold, blank stare. His brow was furrowed with lines that held years of pain and torment. You swallowed thickly as the slate blue of his eyes glowed in the stream of light that peeked through the high windows of the prison, between the bars and onto the floor.

“Sure. Beth, can you take Judith?”

The young lady, Beth, whom you’d met on the way in, nodded with a smile and took the infant from Rick’s arms. The baby - Judith - looked only a few months old. Maybe a few weeks, if you were to guess. Rick walked over to you, Finn and Glenn. Michonne had left on the way up, saying she wanted to clean her blade. After a long morning of slicing through rivers of the undead, it was crusted with dried blood.

“Glenn, what the hell is this?” The older man regarded you with a blank stare. His accent was thick- thicker than Maggies - and his voice rough against his tongue. He then looked down at Finn- his brows raising and eyes widening. You pushed your nephew further behind you, lips tight together as Rick glanced you over again. Finn was still holding onto your hand.

“Y/N and her nephew, Finn. They've been on their own for a while, camping out in the woods a few hours away.” Glenn motioned to you and Finn as he introduced you to Rick. Mouth still shut, you swallowed back the fear and it sank to the pit of your stomach.

“She’s got meat- venison, with her- she’s a hunter, look I-“ Glenn looked at you quickly, “can you step out for a second, please?”

Once a decent space had been made between you, Finn and the two men, you stared blankly at your feet. You could only hear the whispers that reminded you of hissing and the occasional coddling from Beth in the other room. A sick feeling began to creep up inside of your gut, and you instinctively wrapped an arm around yourself to try and keep the bile from rising up your throat. “Do you think they're gonna kick us out?” Finn asked, his voice a slight hum over the buzzing thoughts in your head. “I.. I don't know, kid.”

A few minutes passed, and you were taken out of your head by the sound of Rick and Glenn approaching you both where you stood.

“Alright,” Rick placed his hands on his hips, almost tucking them into his belt. They looked like they had been lightly dusted with a thin layer of dirt and grime.

“You can both stay for now. We’ll see how it goes, and in a week or two, come back and decide if you can stay permanently or not”

You managed a thank you and a small smile, adjusting your metal recurve bow slung over your back. Rick hesitated momentarily, clearing his throat and shuffling where he stood. “One thing, for uh, the first week, we’re gonna keepa’ holda’ your weapons. We have kids here and-“

“You don’t trust me yet,” you sighed and unsheathed your bow and quiver- handing them over alongside your drop-point black hunting knife and glock 22. You also handed over the 6 full boxes of ammo you had scavenged from a camp that had been overrun by walkers. “Don’t worry, non-taken. I get it. I wouldn’t want a stranger around Finn with guns and knives either.” you nodded at Finn, who then pulled out a large hunting knife from the loop on his pants. Sometimes people you crossed paths with would look at you as though you were a bad parental figure for allowing him to carry that, however, you thought it was more than necessary to teach him while his mind was still malleable. Just in case anything happened to you.

He huffed “Well, I guess we can agree on that. How old are you, Finn?”

“I’m 7 soon, Sir”

Rick almost laughed, and you smiled weakly at the small boy as he insisted on being formal- as though that'd be what made their minds up as to whether you could stay.

“Rick’s just fine, Finn”

The boy nodded and handed Grimes the machete, the blade pointing down to the ground just as you had told him.

“You moved here before, then?” He added, quickly changing the subject. You nodded twice. Having explained this already numerous times, you weren’t that pissed about Rick asking. It was all procedural- he was the leader. It only made sense that he knew where you came from.

“I did before the apocalypse, I was a-.” you took in a sharp breath and pressed your hand further against your hip to try and dull the pain. “I was a tattoo artist and worked in a studio- learned how to shoot a bow in summer camp, kept up with it… a friend of mine before and after, he taught me all the survival stuff, he was ex-military so…”

Like Michonne and Glenn, Rick seemed to relax as you told him part of your story. He - more than anyone - understood that everyone had their demons, and that there were probably things you didn’t want to tell him.

“Well, thank you for telling me. Glenn, take her to Hershel, She can stay in the medical cell until we know she’s not sick.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Hershel was a kind man. Kind, old and wise. The way he treated you so carefully and gently- even excusing himself whenever he added pressure to your ribs- It almost brought tears to your eyes. He had told you (and Finn, since he’d refused to leave the medical cell whilst you were being treated) how he had Irish and English ancestry and that his father and grandfather before him took pride in where they’d come from. You chatted back and forth for what felt like hours, and before you knew it, you were all bandaged up. He’d suggested bed rest for your broken ribs, and with the gash on your shoulder, he advised being careful when showering and coming back to see him in a day or so to have it changed or if you accidentally got it wet.

“Now, if I were you, young lady, I’d go wash up and get some rest; you’re gonna need it for your injuries…” you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed, gritting your teeth together so hard it felt as though you were going to crack a filling. “And you, Young man, you take care of your auntie okay? Make sure she doesn’t get herself in any sorta trouble” Finn nodded, adding a ‘yes sir’ as Hershel reached out to ruffle his head. You pinched the bridge of your nose with your finger and thumb. “But i- Rick said-”

“Never mind what Rick said. I’ll let him know you’re healing up, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Before you could get up to leave, a woman with short grey hair knocked on the gate- in her arms, she had what looked to be two towels, a pair of shorts and a clean black vest along with some clothes that’d probably be a bit big for Finn, ones he’d grow into. As she entered, Hershel excused himself, letting the woman know where he’d be if she needed him. She then turned her attention back to you and Finn, a smile spread across her face as she moved to place the clothes and towels on the bed beside you.

“Hi, heard you guys were gonna be staying for a while, thought you'd need some fresh clothes and a towel each for the shower”

You nodded in response, and she sheepishly chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m Carol, by the way”

“y/n”

“y/n,” The lady - Carol - repeated, as though trialling the name on her tongue to see if it fit. “And what’s your name, hm?” She crouched down to Finns level, and you edged forward on the seat, looking around the room for any sort of weapon in case she tried anything.

“My name’s Finn, Finn L/N”

“It’s nice to meet you Finn, I love your hair, it's very long” She held out her hand, and he took it after examining her for a few seconds. “Nice to meet you too Carol” she smiled at him again and stood to her full height

“Well, y/n, are you alright with walking? I'll show you where the showers are, in the meantime I’ll get those clothes cleaned up for you”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she spoke, your eyes glassy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just… everyone here has been so kind to me’

Carol sighed, helping you to your feet, an arm wrapped carefully around your shoulder.

“Well, we’ve all been in your position, honey.”

You can only nod, lips pulled taut in a straight line as you concentrate on not toppling over Finn or ripping the bandages when stepping out into the hall.

As you turned to look back at the lady, you notice her eyes trailing across your skin.

“I like your tattoos, do them yourself?”

“Some, though it’s pretty hard to do it yourself… most of them are my own designs but done by other people, mainly those I worked with…” having taken a towel and a pile of clean clothes from Carol, Finn asked her where the showers were.

“Just down the hall to the left and then straight on, there should be some shampoo and soap already…”

“Thanks again, c’mon Finn, I'd race you, but I don't think I'm in any shape for running.”

The small boy laughed and reached up to hold your hand, you took it in your own, the towel and clothes tucked under your free arm as you walked with him slowly toward the showers.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Once you and Finn had finished cleaning up and gotten changed into the fresh clothes Carol had pulled out for you, you paced around the stairs of the cell block and eventually heard someone coming down behind you. It was Carol again, and she seemed a little bit faster with her steps as she locked eyes with you. Finn was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to make his clothes look more normal by rolling up his sleeves.

“Hey! It's nice seeing you both not covered in all that muck, hand those here honey I’ll get them cleaned for you,” you handed her your, and Finn's clothes and brushed the dried blood and dirt from your palms. You didn’t realize they were that gross. “You guys have met everyone, right?”

You shake your head, “ I don’t know, we met Maggie and Beth briefly, Rick of course… Michonne and Glenn found us, Hershel… the kid- Carl” as you listed off the names (which took you a few seconds to remember) you began to wonder whether you had met everyone. That was a lot of people.

“Oh, well, Daryl is out hunting and Judith can't exactly talk yet…” she picked at the hem of your old shirt before eventually placing them at the bottom of the stairs. “you’ll probably see Axel around as well- he’s the skinny guy with the mustache and light hair, he was apart of a group that was here when we arrived.”

“A prisoner?”

“I guess you could call them that, though I suppose we’re all sort of prisoners now if you think about it”

You nod, huffing as you draw your attention back to the hunter she had mentioned and try not to focus on the fact there were felons (convicted of GOD knows what) living amongst the kind people you had met. It was weird how she talked almost like Axel was a friend and not someone to be suspicious of. Hell, even if they were nice, you couldn’t help but be a little skeptical when showering or when taking off your shirt in front of their doctor.

“I don’t like feeling trapped… like a prisoner”

Carol nodded, smiling at you still. She had a nice smile, a lot of the people here did, although you couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath hers there was a lot of pain. You could see it in her eyes that she was tired.

“That’s great, we kinda need more hunters… food running out and everything, Rick said you’d brought some stuff in with you?”

You nod and call Finn to follow Carol as she makes her way up the stairs and takes you both down the aisle toward a cell on the furthest side, adjacent to the wall.

“Luckily for you, Daryl isn’t all that talkative either” she shrugged, laughing to herself. Part of you wondered whether she was seeing this Daryl person. “But he has a big heart and would die for this group- listen, I don’t know you much yet but I kinda have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine, y/n- and you too, Finn. It’s nice having new faces around, especially when they’re as adorable as yours, little guy”

Carol pinched Finn’s cheek with her forefinger and thumb, to which Finn groaned and blushed pink like he had when Maggie complimented his shirt earlier. You smiled down at him and ruffled his hair, when you said he could pick which bed he wanted, he was off and sat down on one and then the other. Trying to gauge which one was most comfortable. To your surprise, your belongings (minus weapons and food) were already shoved underneath the metal bed frames.

“Thanks again, Carol. For this.”

“Like I said,” she lay a hand on your arm gently, “we’ve all been there.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x female reader #twd x reader #Tear You Apart #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic

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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 3 months

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Oh, also I updated SOC if you guys are unaware

SHADES OF COOL: VI

Chapter 6: No Good Men

A/N: Hey guys, it’s been a hot minute since I updated this fic, but I’ve had a lot going on recently in my personal life (I.e. university and getting assignments In) that by the time everything was complete, I no longer had the motivation to work on chapter 6. I think from now on I’m gonna aim for more frequent, less wordy chapters as this one in itself is already over 8k… I hope you understand and I hope you enjoy my shit attempt at smut lol… lmk what you think and if you want more

WARNINGS: Lalo and reader being pervs, oral sex (f receiving), allusion to alcoholism, shit childhood for reader, turbulent ‘friendships’

Word count: 8.4k words

Shades of Cool Masterlist: Here

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As the music flows from the speaker, Lalo glances at you from where you’re sitting, your knees pointing in his direction and your eyes half-lidded. He extends his arm once you reach a red light and places his palm atop your bare thigh. You're smooth against him, yet there’s a chill to your flesh. Slowly, he begins to draw shapes into your pillowy skin. You don’t jump at his touch or flinch as he starts to move the pads of his fingers across the surface, though the warmth that settles in your stomach is almost too hard to ignore.

“Lalo?..”

He doesn’t answer and instead presses on the accelerator with the ball of his foot. The sudden jolt makes you jump, yet his hold remains firm, gripping—the houses in your neighbourhood flash by the window. When you reach your home, he parks up and turns to you, the car keys now in his pocket. You smile at him, and he smiles back.

“I had a great night tonight, Lalo..”

He shrugs, and his eyes are closed as he does.

“I know,”

“No, really, I did enjoy myself, though I… maybe we should… do it again?”

Lalo hums and taps on his lap. He doesn’t answer and instead steps out of the car and rounds his way to your side. The breeze whips at your exposed legs as he opens the door, outstretching a hand for you to take, a soft ‘come on’ falling from his lips. You almost can’t hear him; his voice is muffled beneath the pounding of your heart against your ribcage.

He walks you to your front door and chimes in as you reach the doormat.

“I think we should go out again soon as well. You’re a good person, and I mean…” he rubs the back of his neck, feigning bashfulness. “If tío Hector likes you, you must be an angel.”

The skin of your cheeks is hit with what feels like tiny pinpricks, the fuzz of your face slightly lifting as Lalo compliments you. An angel, perhaps an exaggeration from your visitor, but still, with the darkening hue, there was no denying how he made you feel.

“You don’t.. you don’t mean that.”

“I do. You think I don’t?”

He steps closer, and you don’t move. He delicately brushes back strands of hair, tucking them behind your ear. There’s a tenderness in his touch, as though you could break at any moment beneath him.

“What I think is that you’re exaggerating a little bit.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and then your head. “Exaggerating, you think I’d lie to you?”

“I-“ you stammer, swallowing back the nerves that settle within the pit of your stomach. “Do you wanna come inside for a little bit? I have… have a bottle of wine we can crack open.”

Lalo sighs and locks his car before looking back at you, his dark eyes fixed on your own.

“We’re not just going to sit and drink wine, are we?”

He lets go and steps back, allowing you to unlock the door. You struggle to fit the key into the lock as he stands behind you, the scent of his cologne lingering in the night breeze. He smells like old money and expensive perfume, and you want to bury your face into his chest and take big breaths through your nose to savour it.

“It’s…well, you’ve been here before, so…”

As you enter the building, you kick off your heels, and they make a dull clicking sound as they land on the soft carpeted floorboards. Lalo follows you but doesn't immediately remove his shoes because he's too busy glancing at the pictures on the walls and the mirror adjacent to the front door.

“I have a small TV in my room. We can see what’s on?”

As you invite him into your bedroom, he takes his time observing the space and examining each piece of furniture. The room is coated in a muted, rosy pink wash, and the shelves are filled with books. The pages having been thumbed through countless times, resulting in a warm, buttery colour. His fingers gently trace the words on the spines of the books, "Stephen King? I never would have guessed that you were a fan of horror. Didn't he write that huge book about a creepy clown?"

“Yeah, pennywise… that book freaked me out when I read it, though Salem's Lot is my favourite…”

Lalo hums again. Your collection is so extensive he isn’t sure where it starts and where it ends. There are even books piled up on the floor and beneath your bed, by the looks of it. Their spines peek out from the bedcover, which tickles the carpet. “Do you have a favourite book, Lalo?”

“I… I don't have much time to read anymore, but when I was younger, I liked Blood Meridian. It’s perfect. The guy that writes it… He’s smart as hell.”

“I love that one. It’s a little gruesome in places, but I think it adds to the atmosphere?”

Nodding, Lalo turns his attention to the stuffed animals that sit propped against your pillows. He notices the little faces of the plush toys smiling at him and reaches for a pink, floppy cat, “Es muy lindo.”

The warm light of your bedside lamp highlights the gentle smile on your face. Your makeup appears smudged, but it doesn't detract from your beauty.

“Could you…”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

Lalo takes a few steps closer and pinches the zip between his forefinger and thumb, slowly pulling it down your back until it reaches the band of your underwear. You thank him, though you pause when he doesn’t move to turn around or cover his eyes.

“Aye- where’s your bathroom again?”

“Just down the hall to your right- near the kitchen.”

When he leaves for the bathroom, you let the dress fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. You unclip your bra and toss it haphazardly across the room with your dress. They land down by the cupboard, and you cover yourself quickly with an oversized graphic t-shirt that is a similar length to the dress. You sit on the bed, curled into the pillow closest to the wall and reach for the TV remote propped against the window ledge.

Lalo is quick in the bathroom, though he takes a moment to look at your hair products and the body wash. Picking up the shampoo and flipping open the lid, sniffing, He’s Hit with the scent of peonies and jasmine. The man can’t help but take one last breath before putting it down and looking at the others. He washes his hands before returning to the bedroom; even your soap smells of flowers. He makes a mental note.

“Hey, you okay, Lalo?”

You’re curled into a cushion leaning against the wall, and he smiles, the thrum of the TV drawing out the comfortable silence between you both.

“I’m fine; you have a lovely home. It’s so…cosy.”

You quirk a brow as he sits - having kicked off his shoes - on your bed with one leg folded atop the other, his back to the headboard with one arm leaning against it. You turn into him and smile, “Cosy, are you trying to say that I’ve got a small house?”

He chuckles, and you can feel his body shake as he does. “No, of course not. I mean- it’s small, but I meant that it feels… homely, you know?”

It’s your turn to nod, and when you do, Lalo rests a hand on your shoulder. “I do know. I’m only messing with you… I wouldn’t need a big house anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm, it is only me, after all.”

The film playing is a western from the 60s, something with Clint Eastwood that Lalo looks as though he’s somewhat enjoying. “Do you ever feel lonely here all by yourself?”

He doesn’t look at you when he asks, though you can feel the question pointed in your direction as he concentrates on the film. “No, not really. I like my own space. I spend enough time with people at work, though it can be a bit… not scary but tense when I find stuff outside my house from that weirdo.”

Lalo nods again, though he looks down at you with his brown eyes this time. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll stop bothering you.”

“It’s funny you say that; I haven’t seen or heard of anything over the last few days… which is weird.” Lalo traces the skin of your arm and nods along, humming as though he hadn’t a clue whether or not Daniel would quit his torment.

“You’re pretty observant, then?”

“I try to be. Well, I am when I have a full night's rest.”

Lalo huffs and slightly pulls at your T-shirt sleeve to reveal a floral tattoo that goes from your collarbone to your inner bicep. “Tattoos, huh? You surprise me more and more every day.”

You shuffle a little so you’re curled into him, your finger tracing across his chest, feeling the imprint of the pendant beneath his button-through shirt. “Mmhm, you don’t like it?”

“No,” he began, drawing his fingers across the delicate linework. “ I love it. It's well done.” You shiver beneath his touch as he mirrors the leaves with his fingertip. “Plus, it suits you. When did you get it done?”

You sigh and close your eyes for a second, glancing now and again at the screen. “When I was 18 years old, it was a birthday present to myself, I suppose. It only cost 120.”

“Not bad at all; mine was around a similar price, maybe more, but… I’ve had it for years now.”

You reach out to take hold of his arm, leisurely tracing over his tattoo armband- following each curve and swirl that the blackwork harbours. “Does it have any special meaning?”

“Not really,” he sighs and looks down, “just thought it looked cool when I was about your age.”

Laughing, you slowly place his arm back down, though you stay in a similar position to how you had been before. “You’re making yourself sound so old, Lalo.”

“Old? 43 isn’t old, princesa.”

“You’re old enough to be my dad, just about.”

You hear him hum and slowly reach down to place his hand on your back, rubbing circles into the T-shirt that bunches up as you wiggle closer to him. “Oh yeah? And you like that?”

“Maybe,” you brush his hair back. “The older the fruit, the sweeter the wine.”

Lalo scoffs and presses his strong nose to your hairline, taking a deep breath. When he sighs, you glance up at his lips. And when he moves back, you close your eyes and press your lips to his. The hair above his upper lip tickles your own, and you bunch your fists into the cotton sheet draped loosely across your bed. He seems to falter against the headboard but kisses back moments after, gripping your shoulders with both hands. You stay like that for a few seconds, savouring the warmth and pillowy velvet feeling of his lips driven between your own.

Your kisses become more desperate, and his hold tighter as you sigh against his mouth. He presses you down against the mattress, leaning over your top half, one hand curled into your hair whilst the other clutches at the exposed flesh of your thigh.

“La…Lalo,” you tilt your head back as he stamps hot, wet kisses down your jaw and neck. Lalo drags on the fragile skin that lies taut across your collarbone and pulls his large hand from your hair to your throat. His breath blisters as it fans out across your body.

“So whiny, and I’ve hardly touched you…” His laugh vibrates against the crook of your neck, and you roll your eyes and hips as he teases you by slipping his hand across your underwear.

“Can you stop with the teasing and just…do something?”

He huffed and sat back, pushing your hair out of your face. His knuckles had barely grazed your skin, yet he could feel the heat radiating from you. “You think that the first time I’m going to have you, it’s gonna be on this tiny bed? No way, you deserve better than that, amor.”

Tossing your head into your pillow, you let out a frustrated groan and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. Leaning on your elbows, you smirk at him and trace your fingertips across his abdomen until your fingers meet the metal clasp of his belt. It’s enormous, though, you know, as your hand cups the bulge tight against his pants that he isn’t overcompensating.

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

“ Oh, shut up.” he presses his lips to yours, and you hook your fingers into the loops of his trousers, pulling his hips flush against your own. He lets out a groan as you grind up against his clothed erection.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to take care of that?”

“I’m pretty sure. Besides, you have work tomorrow, hm? I don’t want you being bed-bound before work.”

You take your lip between your teeth, and he brushes his thumb across the lower. Parting them slightly, Lalo moves his thumb across your tongue and into your mouth. He watches as your tongue wrestles with him, and you whine and writhe under his shadow.

When he pulls out his thumb, there’s a lewd pop, and he chuckles to himself, muttering something in Spanish that’s almost inaudible due to the sound of your shallow breaths. The man then peels off your T-shirt and throws it to the ground, kissing down the valley of your breasts, leaving little bites in his wake.

“Fuck, Lalo”

He kisses your breasts and slowly takes your swollen bud between his teeth. Pressing your legs together, you whine into the cotton pillow as the tingling sensation stirs within your stomach and at the apex of your thighs.

“L-Lalo, please…”

He chuckles again, removing your nipple from his lips, a bastardly smirk across his face. “Yeah? Are you going to beg for me, princesa? Want me to play with your little coño?”

You scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous-“ he resumes kissing, his free hand kneading the soft flesh, and you moan before slapping your hand across your mouth. Your cheeks burn against your palm, and Lalo quirks a brow at you as you narrowly avoid eye contact. “Oh, I’m ridiculous now, hm? You don’t have to cover your mouth, querida. I wanna hear all your pretty little sounds.” Lalo momentarily cups your face in his hand, caressing the side with his thumb. You might melt with how he looks at you, with those gorgeous brown eyes.

“Mmhm, stop; you’re gonna embarrass me…”

“With all due respect, you’re almost naked…shouldn’t be embarrassed for whining.”

You nod, and he kisses your sternum before moving down your stomach to the underwear band. He takes a deep breath and sighs, “Ai, pinche cabrón, you smell good enough to eat.”

You giggle, resisting the urge to cover your face with your hands. “Don’t be disgusting, Lalo…”

He smiles and hooks his fingers into the elastic, slowly tugging the material down your legs. He leans back to pull them from your ankle, where they hang momentarily, before throwing them across the room. They join the place alongside your shirt. “So pretty, is this all for me?”

“Only for you, Lalo..” you sigh out.

Lalo hums and presses wet kisses across your thighs before arriving at the space between your legs, where he takes time drawing stripes with his tongue across the smooth skin. You cry out when he reaches your clit. You curl your fingers into his greying hair as he pulls you closer and latches his lips to the swollen bundle of nerves and suckles. He moves his head from side to side as he does, and one of his hands moves from beneath your leg to your hole. He toys at your entrance with his index and middle finger, drawing circles with the tips as you gush around him.

“Fuck Lalo, please, stop teas-”

“Stop? You really want me to stop?” He smiles up at you, his eyes drooping as if half asleep. You think you hear him laugh as you instinctively try to push your thighs together, but Lalo’s grip on your legs is firm, and you give up against the strain of him.

“No!- No, I didn’t mean that.” You want to hit yourself with how stupid you sound whining; you’re giving him all the satisfaction he needs. “Please, Lalo,”

He pauses his kissing and tilts his head, “ I don’t want you to think I’m just gonna fuck you and leave. I’m not. You’re all in now, querida.” The man between your legs lowers his head of dark hair. You move your hand to his greying soft curls and pull. There’s a groan, and beneath the sounds of your pleasure, you aren’t sure where it came from, but the sound vibrates against your core as two fingers enter you slowly.

Whimpering, you hit your head into the pillow and moan. It’s loud and obnoxious, but the cotton muffles your noises, and Lalo hums against you.

There’s a hot, bubbling feeling in your stomach, and the knot tightens as Lalo moves faster and curls his fingers inside you. You move your legs over his shoulders as he grips your right thigh with his free hand. Your feet are locked together, one ankle crossed over the other against his back. They twitch slightly, and his lips on your clit pull harder.

“L-lalo,” you almost feel like crying. You’re on the edge as he slams into you repeatedly. You inhale and exhale and feel the rush of heat leave your cunt. It’s sticky and warm against your thighs, and the sound that leaves your lips is embarrassing. Your legs twitch as he stays there, pushing into you and curling his fingers in a ‘ come here ‘ motion, his lips still secured around you.

You think you can see black filtering into your vision in bursts, like dahlias that come and go as sweat drips from your head and your nails sink into thick, dark brown. Your lungs' breath is warm, and as you pant into your pillow, now slightly damp, you feel him shifting slowly away. His kissing becomes more loving and drawn out, and he licks away the river between your legs that seeps into the mattress.

When Lalo sits back on his knees with his hands resting on your thighs, you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a beautiful man. His greying hair was slightly dishevelled and falling against his forehead, and the deep lines on his face fell, each holding so many years of human emotion. You think you smile at him in your fucked-up daze and reach out.

He lowers himself, and he’s talking, but the words aren’t registering as your palm meets the side of his head. Lalo presses his wet fingers against your lips, and you don’t hesitate to swirl your tongue around them, tasting the remnant of your pleasure, the way he makes you feel.

When he takes them from your lips, he leans back again, and you sigh. He’s gone for a moment but comes back with a warm towel from the heating rack in your bathroom. He presses the softness against your middle and slowly, lovingly cleans away the evidence of your arousal until there’s nothing left. Lalo then moves to a clean part of the towel and dabs at the sweat on your forehead. He draws back the strands of your hair that stick to the skin, and once dry, he presses a kiss there. It’s long, and in the silence of your room, the TV static is the only source of light. You feel safe.

“You’re sleepy now, huh? Ai, sweet girl,” he positions himself against the headboard, and you shuffle into his side, head against his chest with a hand on his stomach. You press, and he’s warm against your naked body.

Lalo combs his fingers through your locks and twirls the strands. He’s wide awake as you slowly feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness. The man throws a blanket over you, and you hum against him.

“So precious; get some rest, amor. I’m not going anywhere.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You wake up to the smell of pig fat frying and the sound of eggshells cracking. There’s no one in your bed, and you’re tucked into the covers with your head lying flat against the pillow. You nestle into the blanket, pulling it to your chest as you bend your knees and curl into a ball. The lids of your eyes feel drawn with sleep, and they almost flutter shut before you glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 5:50, you had to be at work for 7, and the realisation is what threw your body from beneath the covers onto the carpeted floorboards.

Your clothes from last night are folded and placed nicely on your dresser. Smiling, you pick them up and plop them into the washing basket before getting dressed in your uniform. It’s pretty frumpy, and it’s frustrating that you have to cover your tattoos, but it could be worse.

When you finally enter the hall and walk to the kitchen, the smell of bacon grease and eggs grows more potent with each step. Lalo’s stood at your stove, flipping an omelette and poking at the bacon with your spatula.

“Good morning,” lips curled up slightly; you slide alongside him as he plates the food onto two colourful dishes. “Buenas Dias, amorcita, you slept well?”

Nodding, you move to the coffee pot and pour yourself a cup. The steam from the liquid warms your cheeks as you proceed with the mug to sit at the small table parallel to the stove. Lalo slides the plate in front of you, to which you thank him with a kiss on the cheek when he comes back with a knife and fork. “Thank you, it looks amazing… usually I just have a pop-tart or some toast and leave.”

Lalo scoffs and sits down with his plate and a cup of coffee at his side, the same cup he’d had when you entered the room. “No, no, there’ll be none of that, basura. You have a busy job, hm? Gotta have a good breakfast to give you energy.”

“I suppose so.” you cut some of the omelette and fork it into your mouth. The softness of the eggs effortlessly melted between your teeth as you chewed, the salt-to-pepper ratio was perfect, and you think he even added some of your spices, which was a pleasant surprise. Bland food makes you want to vomit. He takes a bite of the food, and audibly groans “not half bad, if I do say so myself.”

“Not half bad? Don’t be humble. You’re an amazing cook, Lalo.”

He chuckles and eats some more, taking a sip of the coffee to wash it down. Your cup is steaming, so you refrain from taking long swigs to not burn your tongue.

“So, work today… I’ll drop you off, if you’d like.” he taps at the table with, as though tapping along to a song in his head. “No, it’s alright… I’ll have to drive home”

“I’ll pick you up and drop you off, I’m pretty free today, not much stuff to do other than pick up some things for the restaurant”

You bite the inside of your cheek, your knee bouncing as you think. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you” deep down, the selfish part of you wanted Lalo to pick you up and drop you off. As you finished your food sat across from him- slowly chewing to not make a mess despite your appetite- you wondered why he’d decided to stay the night and whether or not he’d even slept at all.

“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have offered, querida”

The man sat across from you finished his food relatively quickly, and it made sense. He’s bigger than you, he can fit more food in his mouth. That, or maybe you’d spent half the time he’d spent eating watching him with your sleep filled eyes. Struggling to form any semblance of coherent thought as you admire the way he moves before you.

“I- alright, I’ve gotta be there for 7:00, so I’m gonna go freshen up in the bathroom and then we can go if that’s alright with you?” You join him at the sink as he dips his hands into the soapy water, a veil of bubbles lacing his fingers as he takes the plate from you with a smile. “That’s fine by me, I won’t rush you, you’ll be there.” Lalo pressed a kiss to your hairline, his nose in your hair as he does. Having not showered yet, you hope the smell of dry shampoo smells as good as the regular shampoo you’d normally use on work nights.

“Thanks Lalo, don’t bother drying them I’ll do that later when I get back from work”

He goes to open his mouth, but closes it again as you pace out of the room, starting toward your bathroom to get ready. Once having finished with the dishes, he places them both carefully on the drying rack alongside the non-stick pan and cutlery he’d placed out. Your coffee had been reduced to a grainy paste at the bottom of the mug, so he washed that out and cleaned it too.

As you were busy getting ready, he headed back into your bedroom and started on your bed. He began by straightening out the quilt and sheets, along with your bears which now sat facing him. He picked one up, the one you'd latched onto last night in your sleep, and he raised it to his nose and breathed in. It smells… sweet. It smells of you, your distinct, natural smell that he just wants to marinate in. It’s not like your shampoo or body wash, but more flesh-like in nature. Must be the pheromones, or something. He didn’t remember much from his biology classes in high school, most of what he’d learned just miraculously appeared to him whenever (or wherever) he needed it.

As Lalo continued to pot around your bedroom, occasionally picking up little trinkets you’d left out, you washed your face and applied a light amount of makeup, enough to cover the bags under your eyes and any blemishes. With the heat, you couldn’t handle a full face. By 12pm it would’ve melted off anyway, so there was no real point in attempting to try. You then brushed your teeth and tidied up your hair, finding it strange how there was a man only a few metres away from where you were currently standing. It was so unbelievably odd, waking up to breakfast, to a person. It was different, but the bubbling feeling in your stomach and the smile on your face - one you hadn’t forced either - upon seeing Lalo cooking away as though this house were his own was nice.

“Lalo, you really didn’t have to make my bed I-I could’ve done that just fine”

“Nonsense querida, you were busy getting all pretty for work, no? I always wondered how you did it,” he began, sighing. You tilt your head, as though to tell him you hadn’t really understood what he meant by that. “I’ve always wondered how you manage to look beautiful even in your work clothes, it’s just so effortless for you, isn’t it?” Lalo said that whilst wiping his hands together, he’s done now, and reaches for his jacket from the night before. You walk over and cup a hand to his cheek, pulling him down to your lips.

You keep him like that for a moment, and his hands move to your waist. There’s a hum from him, and your lips curve upwards against his. His moustache tickles a little beneath your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, princesa.”

“I know… fuck… I hate that I have to go to work this early”

“I do too, but we better get going. If you’re late people will begin to suspect something… my tío will, anyway.. he’ll think I’ve stolen you from him”

You pick up your work bag and check if you have everything inside. You do, but freeze when Lalo mentions Hector. “He knows about this?”

Lalo shrugs, his shoes clicking against the floor as he makes his way to the door. “I haven’t said anything, but I think he knows. He’s… a pretty smart guy”

“Yeah, I gathered so, I’d love to talk with him”

Lalo chuckles, and it’s almost a scoff as you open the door and both step out into the warmth of the Albuquerque morning. “Nah, you don’t, he’d probably say something offensive or a stupid joke you wouldn’t get. Probably something about Americans.”

You blush slightly and nod, locking your door before joining Lalo by his side- making your way to his car which is still parked in the same place as it was yesterday. “I- not that he doesn’t like you.” He began, hands shoved into his pockets. “You’d know if he didn’t like you, he’s just like that with everyone… kinda… tough on the outside” he waves his hand, and you grin at him from behind your hand, your bags straps sit at your elbow, and it hangs down by your hip.

“I know, my grandpa can be like that… and my moms last couple of boyfriends.”

“You lived with your grandparents growing up?”

“Well, not really.” Lalo unlocks the car, and you step into your side. He shuts the door and you smile at him through the panel of glass keeping you apart.

When he’s seated alongside you, you continue, because he looks as though he’s still listening despite the conversation being momentarily interrupted.

“I went over every day after school and wound up staying until dark and then I’d walk home… probably couldn’t get away with that now with all the creeps around but… my mom was usually out with her boyfriends so I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

He hums, and you feel empty looking back at the memories of your youth. You always felt as though you’d wasted a majority of your childhood and adolescence. You had spent most of it taking care of your drunken father, so in a way it was stripped from you, but still, the pain was there. Like a cavity within your chest, it should have been filled with the happy memories of going out with friends and birthday parties. Though, most pleasant memories were tarnished by an explosive argument between your parents. Much like this conversation.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overshare”

He shook his head and placed a hand to your shoulder, a small smile curving against his lips, his moustache rising with the corners of his mouth. “Don’t ever apologise, you can talk about whatever you want with me hm? There’s no such thing as ‘oversharing’ with me querida.”

Despite his kindness, the pessimistic side of your psyche wondered whether or not the kindness in Lalo’s actions and words was to substitute for something much more sinister. Anyone normal would feel somewhat overwhelmed hearing all this, but Lalo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. Like he’d heard much worse, or experienced something as a child that had been just as bad - if not more terrible.

“You’re too kind to me Lalo, really, I don’t get you sometimes”

The elder man's smile remained, though he raised a brow as he started up the car “yeah? Well, most people don’t… but… you really don’t have to ‘get’ anything, I’m an open book”

“But…Sometimes even open books can be hard to understand if there’s a deeper meaning beneath the surface, don’t you think?”

He hummed at that, and brushed it off as though it were something that happened with everyone. By the time you got to work, you had a few minutes to spare. When you got out and turned to the entrance (he had parked- much to your distaste- at the very front of the building like a taxi would when dropping someone off) he rolled down his window, an arm leaning over the edge.

You sigh, and walk back over, leaning down with your hand against the doorframe. “Not even a goodbye kiss from my girl hm?” Lalo mused, and you rolled your eyes before leaning down and pressing a chaste, quick kiss to his lips. He followed by pecking your own a few times, his hand coming to your hair. You sigh against him, and keep your lips against his for a little longer. With your eyes closed and the sliding doors behind you, it’s almost easy to forget where you are.

But, inevitably someone clears their throat, it’s Jen, smoking a cigarette a few paces away. Her jaw slack.

You wipe the smudged lip gloss against the inside of your sleeve and bid Lalo another goodbye. He waves you off and beeps before reversing and turning out back onto the main road.

“What was that?” Jen finally manages, stubbing out a cigarette with her pumps. You scoff, “What was what?” the flush of your cheeks giving everything away. You didn’t even have to say anything incriminating, she knew exactly what was going on.

“I guess he’s not bad on the eyes, but perhaps a little old for you though?”

“Old… Lalo’s not old,” you rebuke her argument, and she laughs at how defensive you get over something so trivial as his age. “Besides we’re just friends”

Jen laughs out loud, walking with you through the front door and to the desk where you both sign in. Her messy signature scrawled beneath your own. “Yeah because I tongue all my friends in public, at WORK no less…, if management found out you were fraternising with a patient's nephew…” she hissed through her teeth, and you slapped her shoulder, not hard, but as if to tell her to lower her voice. “What’s he like anyway? I mean… lookin at him, he looks like he knows how to fuck. Maybe I’ll hit him up after you’re finished with him.”

“Jen, seriously? please don’t tell anyone, it’s nothing serious, he just… he just took me out for a meal to thank me for taking care of Hector, and the sex thing-“ you feel your cheeks and they’re hotter than they were before “we- we didn’t even do anything it was just dinner.”

“Ah so you’re on a first name basis with his relatives now too? Whatever happened to Señor Salamanca?”

“Oh it’s - he won’t be here long anyway… he’s only visiting whilst Hector gets better”

When you both reach the staff room, you place your things in the locker you’ve had since you’d started working at Casa Tranquila, and sanitise your hands with the small bottle you carry with you in your purse. “Yeah, if he gets better, the guys a veggie, he has one foot in the grave and the other on Stephen Hawking’s thro-“

BANG. the sound of metal against metal echoes around the quiet room, most of your coworkers have started their early duties… many of which involved cooking and serving the food to residents and waking those who haven’t already woken up.

“Can you shut up, don’t talk about Hector like that. What the fuck is wrong with you today, Jen?” For a moment, in your burst of rage, she looks shocked. But when that subsides your smoking buddy is overwhelmed by a hollow twang of fear that leaves her mouth dry and her palms sweaty. She hadn’t seen you burst like that before over a joke. “Damn okay, don’t have to get pissy about it… it’s just a damn joke”

“No Jen, I do.” You inhale sharply, as though to prepare yourself “I’m fucking sick of it, why do you think it’s okay to make jokes like that? He’s sick, god knows how terrifying it must be to-to not be able to do anything” Perhaps you’re not only angry about Jennifer’s incredibly ableist comment about Hector, but also iritatied by her constant interference with the personal life you’d only just begun living.

“My sex life is also non of your fucking business. I’m not friends with people like you, I don’t need friends that are horrible people. You give me cigarettes and I give you cigarettes” her jaw falls slack momentarily, as you continue with your monologue. “Our relationship is transactional, and if you think it’s anything more, then I’d get the doctor to take a look at your head, because that’s fucking delusional. You think you can talk about people like that and call yourself my friend? No way.”

“It was a joke-“

“A joke, not a joke, people say offensive shit all the time and use it being a ‘ joke ‘ as some sort of cheap cover up. If you’re going to be a prick, own it, because coming up with excuses like that makes you look absolutely pathetic.”

You think you see tears pool at the older woman’s waterline. She throws her stuff into her locker and sniffles against her sleeve. For a moment you feel bad,

but that brief moment of guilt is washed away when she storms off to go and wake up Sandy and Cheryl.

It’s a bit ridiculous, how Jen felt as though she could talk like that and not expect someone to say something. She’d been saying things like that about residents, Pearl, Dorothy, Stephen, for quite some time. It had been getting on your nerves for so long, but your growing nicotine addiction outweighed your courage to say anything. Though perhaps it had been your relationship with Lalo that made you feel so strongly about the way Jen had joked about Hector's state.

At 11, you found yourself once again sat by the elder Salamanca's side. Everything Lalo had told you about him at the park, the stories, they made you smile and filled you with a bittersweet sadness that he couldn’t elaborate himself. Supposedly, the man had once been quite wild, though a part of you wondered if that was before or after they’d established the family's restaurant business down in Mexico. It didn’t seem to fit Hector as well as it did Lalo, considering his amazing cooking skills. Perhaps he specialised in something else, and it were Lalo’s parents- his mother and father - that’d begun it. He never mentioned them, only ever talking about Hector. It made you curious, but at the same time you understood how painful it could be talking about family.

“Are you hungry? I can go and get you something to eat, breakfast didn’t look all that appetising today..” shifting forward in your seat, you place your book down and keep your eyes set on the elder Salamanca. Who shakes his finger over the bell for a few seconds before striking it. The sound echoed around the rec room, and you smiled, nodding. “It’ll probably have to be something soft, I hope you don’t mind… is that alright?” He rings again, his lips wriggling as he looks at you pleadingly behind his eyes. It’s hard to imagine that only a few decades ago this man was dunking his nephews heads underwater- a strange form of affection, but affection at that.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You ladle some birria for the old man and add a few herbs atop the chunks of soft veg that float on the surface. It smelled amazing, and your stomach even grumbles when you plug in the handheld blender and adjust the settings. The low buzz and vibration from the blender head when you apply pressure into the bowl reminds you of your phone, not the new one that Lalo had bought for you, but the one he had snapped and tossed to the back of his car. A fancier, much nicer car than the one you drove to and from work, day in and day out. The trill of the blender against the ceramic bowl for a second brings you back to that embarrassing moment where you broke down, and you feel your grip tighten. You rub your thumb against the tiny silicone mounds and even if you don't want to, with your other hand steadying the bowl, you imagine red. Red soup? Thick and churning in a bowl, little slug-like clots forming in the pool.

And then, as you stare out, a hand places itself upon your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? That soups starting to look like… well.. Dishwater”

It's Neil. You flash a smile up in his direction. It’s sweet, kind, and you even think you see him blush a little. Though that could just be a part of his naturally pasty, ruddy complexion.

“Actuallly, Neil, Birria is a sort of stew,” he rolls his eyes at your reply, “although i guess…” tapping the head of the blender against the rim of the bowl, you hand it to him and he graciously accepts. “ I guess this is more of a soup now… oh well,”

Neil chuckles and flicks some of the birria from his fingers, his laugh sounds a little forced, you think, as you grab a pinch of parsley and use it to garnish the surface of the birria-soup.

“I’m sure Salamanca won’t care, tastes good today I bet, Kev’s on cooking duty.”

“Yeah? Well that sounds swell, Neil.” you say, dismissively grabbing a silver spoon, tossing your head back in an attempt to move hair from your face. “Well, i’ll be seeing you”

You turn and start toward the swinging canteen doors, but he calls after you- even goes to grab your sleeve.

“wait - i- do you wanna go grab something to eat later? Dinner, maybe?”

For his own sake you stand and hum, thinking through your very scarce agenda for the evening. “I'm sorry Neil, I’m out tonight but maybe some other time, yeah?”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

After spoon feeding Hector (which, to your dismay, you think he enjoyed a bit too much) you use the majority of your break to read more of ‘the count of monte cristo’, and the remaining quarter to text Lalo Salamanca.

‘Hey Lalo :) ‘

He replies relatively quickly.

‘Hola, querida, you good?’

As your eyes wander along the message, you smile to yourself- you can’t help it. Everytime you read his messages you can just imagine the deep rumbling of his voice, and even worse the feeling of your head against his chest.

‘Yeah just on break :)’

He doesn't reply for a bit, and instead, your phone goes off in the middle of the rec room. You silence it quickly, muttering ‘sorry’ beneath your breath to the few people sitting inside on such a hot day. Hector stares at you for a second too long, and you have a weird feeling from within your gut that he somehow knows what you and his nephew are up to, like Lalo said he sould. It was silly, really. How embarrassed and flustered you felt, but nonetheless, despite your age it did feel as though an adult had just walked in on you and your secret, ‘not-so-boyfriend’ boyfriend. You were 17 years old again, hiding away in your room holding hands beneath the covers.

Once having slipped through the back doors and into the smoking area, you lift the phone to your ear. He’s the first to speak, and the nerves from a moment ago instantly subside at the sound of his voice.

“Buenas tardes amor, how’re you hm? Bet tio has been keeping you on your feet”

“Well,” you begin, leaning up against the outside wall, a good few metres away from the rec room. “You’d be right, in his own way your tio keeps me very busy- almost like he doesn’t want me spending time with any of the other residents.”

Lalo chuckles, and mutters something fast in his native tongue that you don’t quite grab. “Ah same old tio, the guy can pick em’”

You laugh to yourself, although it's more of a huff as you bashfully straighten out your clothes to keep your hands busy. “Yeah? Well, i guess you two have a similar taste in women.”

“Hmm sorta, though i- he doesn’t like you in the same way i like you, i think.” you imagine Lalo scratching at his moustache as he speaks through the phone. “He just- he enjoys your company, no? And i mean… he may be paralysed but the guy isn’t blind, he can tell the.. What’s the saying again… the wheat..”

“Wheat from the chaff, i think is what you’re looking for, Lalo” you say, and he echoes it back. You can’t get over how animated he sounds, even through the phone.

“Si, niña inteligenteeee!… you’re speedy, huh? Gotta be all that reading you do”

You raise a hand and cup your cheek to find it warm - in spite of the shade in which you stand. You can hear his smile as he talks and visualise what he’s doing - probably cooking at the restaurant, maybe driving somewhere.

“I guess, you should let me read to you.. it might help you get a good night sleep, a few residents in here like when i read to them”

“Someones feeling cocky today, are you tryna call me old, again?”

fuck. “I didnt mean it like that-”

He bursts out laughing from his end, and you realise from yours how his laugh sometimes reminds you of a disney villain. Damn, if Lalo were a disney villain, he’d be a sexy one. “I’m just teasing you bebita… though you did say you like em old…”

Scoffing, you lean your head back against the wall “Not that old, Lalo.”

He’s silent for a moment and a quiet ‘yeah’ falls past his lips in a sigh.

“hey so i was wondering, princesa…” you grin at the nickname, cheeks flushed as you weave the ends of your hair between your fingers.

“How about you stay at my place tonight? I’ll cook dinner, we can watch one of those old movies… be nice, get to know each other a bit better”

You hum to yourself - as though you actually had to think about what the answer would be. “Hmm sure, I can do that… though first you’re gonna have to drop me back at my place so I can get my things ready”

“Not a problem, what do you want for dinner? I’ll have to go pick up some ingredients…”

“Surprise me”

A loud creaking sound erupted from behind you, and you watched as Neill wheeled out a few of the residents into the warm Albuquerque air. You waved a hand to him, as Lalo continued to talk from his end of the phone. You couldn’t quite pick up what he’d been saying, yet when you brought your attention back to him, he seemed almost aware of your distraction.

“You there?”

“Yeah sorry, just work… I might have to go but, I’ll see you later alright? Sorry I couldn’t talk for longer… gotta start preparing lunch for the rest of the residents”

Lalo hummed and you could feel the warmth of his smile through the receiver, his free hand gripping the leather wheel.

“Don’t apologise, hermosa. You’re a busy woman, I like that.”

You blush- biting at your fingernails as Lalo’s thick voice thaws at your burning anxiety- leaving you vulnerable in a similar way to how he had last night, with his head between your thighs.

“You’re too sweet Lalo… I’ll talk to you later,”

“Of course, hasta luego mi amor”

With that you hear the phone beep, just as Hector's pushed outside by Neil, you slip your phone into your pocket and straighten out your uniform.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You sent him a quick text once your shift was over. It was at times like this that you savoured your flexible hours and the fact you rarely - if ever - handled the Night Shift. Mainly because you thought it was unbelievably boring, but also because - despite the contents of your day - you enjoyed staying on your toes at all times. What was the point in working as a caretaker for the elderly if the elderly were all sleeping?

You’d been waiting outside Casa Tranquila for what felt like hours- but when you looked at your watch, it had only really been 15 minutes. Still, somewhat strange considering Lalo was almost always on time- sometimes even early just to surprise you - whenever he’d pick you up… like that time he took you to the park.

Having neglected your jacket at home, you retreated inside and sat in the waiting room- intended for visitors who had to sign paperwork of some sort before entering. It felt like it went unused a lot of the time, but for moments like this it helped.

Although, you’d much rather be sat in Lalo’s car, his hand on your thigh as he drove with such effortless skill through the streets of New Mexico.

It felt as though with every passing minute you looked to check your cell phone. It was new, so it’s not like you weren’t receiving his attempts to contact you, right?

At 8:45pm, your phone began to vibrate against your calf- which was now pulled up alongside the other on the cloth sofa. The LED call screen flashed up at your tired, sunken eyes: ‘unknown’ scrawled in pixelated letters that had your stomach drop to your feet.

Hesitantly, you flipped the cover and raised the cell to your ear- you couldn’t hear anything on the other side and instead hoped the stranger spoke up first.

“Hello?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat, the voice on the other end was gruff, they sounded almost angry, frustrated with you for something you were currently unaware of. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Nacho, its- it’s Nacho Varga- a friend of Lalo’s” you could have commented on the tone nacho used just now- as though he didn’t consider himself a friend of Lalo’s whatsoever- and far from it.

“Nacho, hey, is everything okay?”

There’s a pause before Nacho hums from his side of the phone and you know by the moment of silence - where the man on the other end tried to think of how to answer - that something must have happened.

“Nacho? What is it? Tell me I swear to god I’ve been-“

“Lalo, it’s Lalo. He’s in prison.”

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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 3 months

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Any TWD fans follow me? I’ve got a Daryl Dixon x reader story in the making if you guys would be interested?…

#twd x reader #breaking bad #better call Saul #x reader #daryl dixon x reader

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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 3 months

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i didn't mean to unfollow you for those two seconds 😭

Haha it’s okay love, sorry I’ve been MIA for ages but I’m back now 😌💕

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