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sergeantxrogers · 18 hours

Text

in the red dark

His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader is drunk (i apologise if that's not your thing), swearing, perhaps some sexual tension, mentions of pain, needles, tattoos, lots of love-at-first-prick energy, mentions of smoking/cigarettes

Author's note: You guys it's literally embarrassing how badly i've fallen off... LMAO i missed writing sooo so much but life has really got me by the balls these past few months. I hope y'all enjoy this and let me know if you'd be interested in a part two. Love u <3

__________

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You didn't know if it was your heartbeat pulsing in your head, or the heavy beat of the music washing over your senses and travelling through your veins. You couldn't tell, but you truly didn't really care. Right now, your hazy, gin-and-tonic drunken eyes focused only on Wanda, her red hair reflecting the neon club lights, your gaze zeroing in on her lips mouthing the words to a song you couldn't even hear at this point.

You saw her smile, and, as if in reply, your lips tugged into a grin of their own. A wave of heat rolled over you as you danced with Natasha, and you brought up your hand that wasn't holding a glass of something that had begun to taste like water to fan yourself.

You felt, more than heard, Natasha yell into your ear, and you furrowed your brows, turning your eyes from Wanda to meet her gaze.

"What?" you yelled back, confusion marring your features. You saw Nat's shoulders rise and fall with the enormous sigh she took in, and you kept in your giggles.

She tugged on your arm, then pointed to the crowd behind you. More specifically, the exit that was on the other side of the club, blocked by hundreds of hot, sweaty, drunk bodies in their own little worlds - much like you were now. It clicked; you had been in the club drinking your asses off the past three hours, you were hot, your heels were killing you, and, quite frankly, you were running out of money for the night.

You nodded deeply and seriously, eyes screwed shut as Nat tugged Wanda's arm with one hand and yours with the other. Quickly, you downed the rest of the contents of your glass, leaving behind only a thin slice of lemon and a lipstick stain on the rim and snatched your bag off the table before the three of you decided to brave the large crowd that only seemed to grow bigger by the minute.

Holding hands and forming a sort of train, you made it through the suffocating crowd step by step, breath by breath, until, finally, you felt the cool late summer air caress your flushed face, the thumping bass of the club now seeming like a whole different dimension as the heavy door shut behind you with a click.

Wanda, perpetually happy, you've come to understand over the years, let out a raspy laugh.

"This place is fucking insane, guys! Holy shit!" she exclaimed, pointing a manicured finger at the door the three of you had just come through.

You hummed in agreement. "Yeah, why haven't we ever gone here before?"

Natasha, almost always the least drunk out of you three, let out a trademark sigh. She gave you a look you could only translate to 'seriously?'.

"What? I'm being for real," you frowned.

Nat rolled her eyes, then winced as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know you are, it's just that we've never come here before because this was opening night. You know, the whole reason we even came in the first place? Jesus Christ, you two need some water."

All it took was for you and Wanda to share a look before you both burst out laughing. You leaned on her arm for support as your giggles died down, and you let out a big, happy sigh.

"Come on, we'll never grab a cab here - there's way too many people. Let's walk a couple blocks down," Nat said, stepping between the two of you and throwing her arms around your shoulders. "Can't believe I always get babysitting duty."

You and Wanda smiled coyly, seeing the playfulness glimmering in Natasha's eyes, letting you know she wasn't actually upset.

The three of you started your trek, slightly stumbling but keeping in a straight line for the most part. You had only walked about 150 feet when Wanda let out a gasp. You and Natasha both turned your heads to see what she was pointing so happily at, and when you saw what had made her gasp, you cocked your head in amusement.

Red neon light flooded your hazy vision, one word flickering and buzzing above your head in the dark - tattoo.

"It says they're open 24/7. Isn't that weird? Do you guys think we should all get matching tattoos? What should we get? Wait, do you think we even have enough money to get matching tattoos?"

Disappointment flooded Wanda's rambling, and you opened your mouth to reply, but Nat beat you to it.

"Wanda, we are not getting matching tattoos, especially not while drunk."

Staring at the sign above you, the red neon washing over the world, the soft buzz of electricity coming from it drowned out Wanda's complaining and Natasha's replies. They became background noise as you let the waves of alcohol make the decision for you, surprising even yourself when the words came out of your mouth.

"I want one."

Your two friends stopped their bickering and both stared at you, Nat with an incredulous look on her face, and Wanda with something a little more akin to amusement.

"Really?" they said at the same time, their tones matching their faces.

You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I feel like never do anything fun. Besides, what's the harm in it? It won't kill me," you said with a shrug.

Natasha's weary eyes gave you a once over, and she took a step toward you, putting a hand up to your forehead.

"Are you sure you don't have alcohol poisoning or something?"

You slapped her hand away with a roll of your eyes. "I'm fine, Nat, I just really wanna get a tattoo now. I already know what I want to get."

Even Wanda, whose idea it was in the first place, gave you a suspicious hum. "Nat's only asking because this really doesn't seem like you, Y/N."

The frustration bubbled in your chest before you could stop it, and you quickly shoved it down. They were right, after all - you were the type of person to never make any decision, big or small, without planning for it in advance and double, and then triple, checking you were absolutely certain. Everybody knew this, which was why your friends were doubtful.

Everyone knew this, yet no one knew how draining it was to always be on top of things. Nobody knew how exhausting to always plan everything out in advance to minimize the risk of anything going wrong as much as you could. School, college, dating, the things you ate, the places you went, the clothes you wore - everything was planned ahead, and, quite frankly, you were growing sick of it. Sick of yourself, almost.

With a huff, and a roll of your shoulders, you tugged your jeans up and lifted your chin. Then, without a word or warning, you turned on your high heel and pushed open the heavy glass door of the tattoo parlor, the bell over your head chiming softly as you walked through.

There's no going back now, a voice called in your head. You blocked it out. Good.

___________

Leg crossed over the other, you fidgeted with the rips in your jeans as you sat in the black, plastic chair in the front of the shop. After speaking to a girl who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but at work, she told the three of you to have a seat and wait a couple minutes while they got everything set up. She popped her gum as she left, and only in the sudden silence, surrounded by dark walls and miscellaneous photographs adorning them, the nervous flutter in your stomach awoke, sending a cold sweat to your palms.

So, here you were, almost two in the morning sitting between your two best friends, mentally preparing yourself to get a tattoo you didn't even know you wanted a couple of hours ago. Yet, no matter how nervous you were, there was still a bigger part of you, a louder voice in your head encouraging you that this was exactly what you wanted and needed. The seconds ticking by on the clock above you only further reassured you.

A warm palm on your ankle startled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see Nat, holding your gaze.

"Could you please stop jiggling your foot. You're making me nervous and I'm not even getting anything done."

You gave her a slight nod. "Yeah - yeah, sorry."

You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but it was a nervous tick of yours, a habit that you were never going to break. You turned your head to your other side, and Wanda's mischievous glint in her eyes made you shoot her a smile, growing your confidence by a little.

The soft chime of beads being separated made the three of you turn your focus to the doorway set in the left wall, the same unamused girl from before stepping through before gesturing for you to stand up.

"He's ready for you now."

"He? You're not gonna be the one tattooing me?" you asked nervously, your steps faltering slightly across the black-and-white tiled floor, and you hoped it wasn't too noticeable.

The girl shook her head. "Nope, I'm only here on an apprenticeship. I mainly just work the front desk and do other assistant-like bullshit for Barnes."

"Oh." You didn't know who Barnes was, but you could only assume he was the artist waiting for you behind the beaded curtain.

"Also, your girlfriends have to stay here. It's salon policy, sorry."

You turned back just in time to see Nat and Wanda lower themselves back in their seats, the three of you exchanging a look that showed you didn't believe she was sorry in the least.

"Okay. So, I just... walk through here?" you asked, pointing at the doorway.

The girl nodded, bored out of her mind already. "Yeah, there are two rooms. Go for the left one."

And that was apparently all you were getting out of her, because she turned around and walked away, taking a seat behind the large reception desk with a heavy sigh.

Taking one last look at your friends' reassuring smiles, Wanda sending you an enthusiastic thumbs up, you walked through the curtain with a deep breath. The beads drifted over your shoulders and thighs, then quietly fell back into place behind you as you stepped into the small dark hallway. Go for the left one, she said, so you did, forcing your feet to move forward, heels softly clicking against the tiles.

Oddly enough, the doorway on the left was bare, no door on the hinges and no beaded curtain hanging down, so you knocked on the frame and hesitantly stepped through. You were surprised to find the interior design completely different to the front of the salon - even the small hallway you left behind was dark and depressing, while this part of the shop had rich, shiny hardwood floors, a floor lamp standing in every corner washing the room in an orange hue.

You noticed the walls had less pictures than the ones in the front, but the ones that were hanging were big, framed, and beautiful.

"My buddy Steve painted those," a smooth voice called out, startling you, and you ripped your eyes from the paintings on the walls, not realizing how rude you were being just standing there without saying a word.

Your gaze quickly scanned the room until you found the source of the voice standing at the back of the room, leaning back against a table with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever words you were planning on saying died in your throat as you took him in. Dark hair, cropped shorter on the sides. Blue eyes underneath heavy-set brows, the bridge of his nose leading down to pink lips that were currently morphing into an amused smile. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw moved as he clenched his teeth, and you weren't sure if it was the alcohol in your veins speaking its mind, but you were pretty certain this had to be the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

"He - he's good," you managed to reply, and he lifted a brow.

"Your friend, I mean - seems like a great painter," you elaborated, gesturing weakly to the wall of canvases. He nodded in agreement, then pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, taking a few steps forward.

"You can lay down now if you want. It might be more comfortable than just standing there while we talk about what we're doing tonight," he said, nodding toward the black massage chair in the center of the room.

You nodded back, willing your ankles to keep steady in your now frustratingly high shoes, along with the gin still pulsing steadily in your head. You may have been even more nervous than you were now if it hadn't been for all the glasses you drank one after another earlier in the night. Right now, you were actually thankful you weren't completely sober for this, because you didn't know how else you would be able to handle the man's sea-blue stare that tracked your every movement as you lied down with such an intensity it made your cheeks burn.

Evidently, he must have noticed your jitters, because he pulled out a small leather stool on wheels and took a seat next to you. He softened his gaze and crossed his arms again. You couldn't help but noticed how peculiar they were - for no reason other than the fact that the short, tight sleeves allowed you to see they were completely bare, not one tattoo in sight on his perfect skin. Weird. Maybe he had tattoos in places you couldn't see, but before you could think too deeply on that and risk blushing again, you ripped your eyes back up to his.

"I'm Bucky," was all he said, voice now quieter and more laid-back, probably trying to help ease your nerves even more.

"I'm Y/N," you replied, then cleared your throat.

"I'm assuming this is your first ever tattoo?" he asked, and you winced a bit.

"It's that obvious?"

He - Bucky - gave you a small smile. "Kind of. But you also don't seem like the type of person to get a drunk tattoo at-" he checked the watch on his wrist "-1:52 a.m."

Check and mate. You gave a small shrug. "I guess people can be surprising."

He said nothing to that, only regarded you with a faint amusement in his narrowed eyes, before clearing his throat.

"And what did you have in mind? Kate up front told me you wanted a butterfly, but I need to know if you had something specific in mind?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to leave the details up to you... I just know I want a butterfly, that's all.

"So, you're putting your trust in me completely, I see."

You felt your heartbeat trip over itself and you cleared your throat, nodding meakly.

"You know," he began as he stood and walked over to the table he was leaning on earlier, "butterflies symbolize transformation, and hope. Metamorphosis. Some also say they symbolize resurrection - triumph of soul over body."

Bucky spoke as he walked back, carrying a few papers and a box of gloves with him. He set the box down on the small table beside your chair, then handed you the papers.

"These are just a few sketches I did when Kate told me what you wanted, but I wasn't sure how big or small you wanted it to be, or where you wanted it to go, so there's a few options you could choose from."

You flipped through the pages, sketch after sketch filling your eyesight, and your breath stilled in your chest. These drawings were absolutely beautiful. Apparently, his buddy Steve wasn't the only one who was insanely talented. Your gaze snagged on one of the last sketches, a small monarch butterfly about the size of a silver dollar, gorgeous patterns covering its spread wings.

Bucky noticed you go still, and tilted his head.

"This one?" he asked. You simply nodded.

"Alright," he said softly. "Let me just prep the stencil and we'll be all set."

Focusing on keeping your breathing steady, in and out, you watched him get up and walk back towards the table. You took the time to admire the strong build of his back, shoulder blades visible under the tight material, triceps slightly flexing as he moved his arms, doing what ever he needed to do. The drinks in your system were doing little to help. In fact, they were just making it worse, sending flashes of heat flooding through your stomach and warming your body as you stared at him.

Sooner rather than later, he turned back around and you quickly tore your eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring, and instead focused your gaze on your painted toenails in your black heels. You clicked your shoes together a couple times, maybe out of nerves, maybe just for something to do, and Bucky sat back down on his stool.

"Alright, doll. Where's this bad boy going?"

You tried not to be so obvious with the way the name affected you, but the way it slipped off his tongue so easily, like it belonged there, had your hands sweating and breath quickening. You swallowed.

"M-my hip. I was thinking my hip."

Bucky cocked a dark brow. "Your hip."

The way he said it, not a question, but rather a statement, voice an octave lower than it was a moment ago, had you reminding yourself to keep breathing.

You nodded. His eyes flickered down to the aforementioned body part, then slowly made their way up, over your stomach and across your chest covered in a lacy top, across your neck, then finally met yours. This time, he was the one who swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he reciprocated your nod.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. That's a cool spot," he said, and then cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna need you to - to unbutton your jeans. So I can, you know, place the stencil and - and ink you, and stuff."

Your lips quirked up, finding it amusing how flustered he seemed to get now, instead of the other way around. A rush of confidence overtook you, whether it was from his stammered words, or the way his eyes had travelled your torso, or maybe it was simply your inebriation. It could have been all three. Whatever it was, it had you staring into his eyes as your hands found the button of your jeans, undoing it and pulling the zipper down, then pulling one side of them down, folding it over itself so your underwear was on display.

Bucky's eyes tracked the movements, darkening when he lifted them back up to yours, and his jaw visibly clenched. You let out a loose breath through your nose and bit your tongue.

The silence between you two felt stretched taught and thin, palpable and ready to shatter at any moment as you stared at each other. He cleared his throat again.

"Would you mind if I smoke?" he asked, voice rough and resigned. You shook your head.

Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter from his pocket, you watched, slightly fascinated, as he pulled a cigarette out from the pack, brought it to his pink lips, struck the lighter and lit it, inhaling deeply. The smoke he blew from his mouth surrounded you, filling the air with a new, hazy tension. He kept eye contact as he threw his cigarettes and the lighter onto the small table, and pulled his stool closer.

He leaned down over your hip, then hesitated. Flicking his eyes up to yours, brows raised in question, you nodded.

Bucky's fingers softly, slowly, grabbed the hem of your underwear and pulled it down a couple of inches, and when his fingertips brushed the delicate skin there, you felt a rush of fire burst through you, starting from the place of contact and going straight to your head. You tried focusing on breathing evenly, but that was difficult to do as you watched him reach behind and pull two black, latex gloves from the box he had brought earlier, pulling them on while studying the small expanse of skin he had exposed.

Your head swam, vision going in and out as you watched him carefully place the stencil he had made against your skin, adjusting it with one hand, pulling your underwear and jeans down with the other so they would stay out of the way. The cigarette dangled from his plump lips, and he pulled it out of his mouth, let smoke leave through his nose as he turned and set it against an ash tray.

He nodded toward the stencil. "Is this placement okay?"

You glanced down, seeing the fine, purple outline of the butterfly you chose on your hipbone, and you nodded. You couldn't help the small smile that reached your lips - it looked amazing already.

"Alright, doll," Bucky said, then carefully peeled the paper back, leaving just the drawing and goosebumps on your skin.

He stared at it for a moment, then frowned.

"What's wrong?" you asked, immediately worried.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly, I just don't think I can ink you in this position. The angle is awkward and the skin isn't tight enough so it might not end up the way you want it to."

"Oh," you said, the frowned yourself. "Well, what would work better?"

He gave a short shrug. "It would be best if you were standing, honestly."

Your mouth parted, but no breath escaped, and you nodded slightly. "Yeah. Okay."

The words came out quiet and breathy, and you hoped he couldn't notice the slight tremble in your arms as you lifted yourself out of the chair and to your feet beside him. Your underwear and jeans rode back up as you did, and you frowned, wondering if you chose a place that was too impractical.

Bucky, either noticing your frown, or noticing where your attention was, rolled his stool closer to you. Looking up at you, his hands reached up with slow, deliberate movements, a question in his eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, and turned to face him completely, standing between his legs, thighs enclosing your own.

You held your breath as his fingers pulled the front of your jeans down, exposing both hips and the front of your panties, and he paused, holding your gaze. You gave him no sign to stop, so he reached for the hem of your underwear again, pulling it down even more this time, exposing not only your hip, but your upper pubic area as well.

His eyes flickered to the skin there, quickly, then back up to yours, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. The cigarette was burning out in the ash tray, long forgotten but filling the air with wisps of smoke and the smell of ash.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but feel like the way you were exposed in front of him, lips inches from a place you'd like him to be, the way he was staring into your eyes, pupils dilated and intoxicating - it may have all been just a touch unprofessional. You shooed the thought away when his gloved fingers traced the stenciled out butterfly, and goosebumps rose on your skin again, stomach clenching involuntarily at the touch.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Bucky gave you a sly smile, and shook his head, almost to himself, sucking in a deep breath before rolling back to grab the tattoo gun from the table. He moved the machine slightly closer so it had better reach, and you shifted on your feet nervously. At this point, you were more focused on the incoming pain than the pain already killing your heels and toes in your shoes.

"This is an area that usually doesn't hurt as much as others, but you'll still feel some discomfort," he told you as he fiddled with the machine and the gun, flicking it to life. The quiet buzzing filled the air, and you sucked in a sharp breath even though you nodded at his words.

He lifted his head to look at you, reaching a hand up to grab your other hip steady. "It'll feel like a buzz under your skin, or a slight stinging. If it gets too much for you, just squeeze my hand and I'll stop. I promise."

You made yourself look deep into his eyes and you noted the reassurance in them, so you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and nodded, screwing your eyes shut.

His grip on you tightened, and it was a mild comfort as he pressed the needle into your skin, inking the first few drops into your hip. The pain wasn't excruciating, nor was it unbearable, but it was surprising, and like nothing you had ever felt before. You let out a soft gasp as he worked, trying to keep still so as not to disturb him, but you couldn't help your hand that shot out to grab his wrist - the one on your hip. He paused and turned his focus up to you, tender worry in his blue eyes.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw and nodded. "Just keep going, it's not that bad."

After a few more minutes, you seemed to get used to the stinging sensation, and now the area just felt numb. You had asked Bucky about it, but he smiled and reassured you that it was perfectly normal.

Your senses blurred together and you closed your eyes against all the stimulants - the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the numbness in your hip, Bucky's firm hold on you and the strength of his wrist flexing beneath the palm of your hand.

You kept reminding yourself to breath, to focus on something else - anything other than the needle currently piercing your skin.

Bucky's fingers gave you a light squeeze, and you nearly trembled.

"Just a little more, doll, that's it. You're doing so good for me, you know that?" Bucky muttered softly, his breath warm against your bare skin, and you nodded even though he couldn't see.

"Just a few more seconds and we'll be all done, sweetheart, I promise."

"Okay," you whispered breathily and turned your gaze up towards the paneled ceiling.

"All done, doll," Bucky said, voice bringing your focus back to him. He switched the gun off and rolled back in his chair slightly to put it back where it belonged. He plucked a bottle of something off the table and grabbed a paper towel.

"This is just some antibacterial soap I'm gonna use to clean the ink residue off you, okay?"

It was all you could do to nod in response, and you watched him move as he cleaned the tattoo, then wiped it down carefully. You winced, and he frowned.

Bucky put the soap back and grabbed another similar-looking bottle.

"This is just lotion - it'll help soothe any lingering pain."

You stared in mute fascination as he spread the lotion across your hip, rubbing it in gently, then running his thumb across the fresh design. Your breath stuttered, and he tore his eyes away from the butterfly, clearing his throat. Once again, he turned back, putting the lotion in its place, then pulled out a box of large bandages from the lower part of the table, picking one up and peeling it open.

He pressed it softly against your tattoo, then made sure it was stuck on right, giving the area a soft stroke with his thumb again, and then he ripped his gloves off, throwing them in the trash beneath the table.

Bucky's attention finally, finally turned back to you, and he rolled himself into his initial position. His hands skimmed the sides of your thighs softly before they reached your panties, pulling them up and over the fresh tattoo. You held your breath when his knuckles brushed your lower stomach, and you could've sworn you heard him inhale sharply. A muscle in his jaw fluttered and he pulled your jeans back up too, zipping and buttoning them slowly.

He kept his stare straight, eyes on the button right in front of him, an you let out a slow, deep breath when his hands lowered from your hips, to the backs of your thighs, caressing them gently, even giving them a short squeeze.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, voice a raspy whisper.

You shook your head, eyes trained on him. "No."

He looked up then, and you felt your pulse pick up pace. You didn't know what to focus on - his eyes burning holes into yours, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, or the fact that his face was inches away from your abdomen, breath heating it with every exhale.

"Good," he said simply. Quietly. "It'll heal in about two to three weeks, but you should avoid getting it wet and change the bandage as often as you can."

"M-maybe you could - give me your number," you stammered, and Bucky lifted his brows. "You know, so I can call if I notice something off, or - or if I need help with something."

He smiled, and this smile wasn't like any of the previous smiles. This one was a full-on grin, perfect teeth and dimples on display, making him look younger. You couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll give you my number, but I want to be updated every day. It is your first tat, after all."

You grinned and nodded. "Alright. Deal."

"You're gonna walk out and pay Kate up front, and then I'll follow, as soon as I clean up here. 'Kay?"

You nodded.

"Good girl," he said, shooting a wave of heat through your body, and he gave your thighs a light slap before he rolled away.

The lack of his presence in your personal space felt jarring, like you had just been ripped away from the world and thrown into another, and you blinked the feeling away, sucking in a deep breath.

"Okay," you said, more to yourself than to him, and he smiled at you.

"Go. I promise I'll be out in a minute."

__________

Kate handed you your card back, and you were still trying to shake the shock of hearing the price off when the beaded curtain shuffled and Bucky came through in all his marvelous glory. Out here, in the open space of the front of the shop, he looked even taller, even wider, and you suppressed the urge to reach out a hand and touch him.

"Hey doll. Can't believe you didn't run away," he said with a half-smile, and you blew some air through your nose.

"Of course I didn't," you replied softly, then cleared your throat.

He held his hand out expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize what he was waiting for. "Oh! Right, sorry."

You tugged your phone out of your purse, unlocking it and handing it to him. You admired the way the screen lit up his face as his fingers flew across it, and before you knew it, he was handing the phone back to you with a smile.

He took a step forward, and you inhaled sharply.

"Remember, daily," he muttered, low enough only for you to hear, inches away from your face, and you could only nod.

"I promise," you whispered, and his smile grew.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, and that made you tear your eyes away from Bucky's. Nat and Wanda were both standing by the exit, hands on their hips, staring between you and Bucky expectantly.

"Right, we'll just be going now," you said, trying to hide the surprising disappointment in your voice as you gestured with your head to the door. "Thank you for everything. I love it."

Bucky slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave you a genuine smile. "The pleasure was all mine, sweetheart."

You held his eyes even as Nat grabbed your arm and dragged you through the door, the bell chiming and tinkling above you, and Wanda called out a goodbye over her shoulder as the three of you left.

The cool night air enveloped you completely, and at this point, you were sober enough to feel a chill trickle through your bones. You shuddered.

"Jeez, what time is it, anyways," you mumbled, rubbing your arms to gather some warmth. You paused your movements when you noticed the looks on your friends' faces.

"What? What happened?"

Nat scoffed. "What happened? What happened with you? In there! With that beefcake of a man!"

Wanda chimed in excitedly. "The way he was looking at you? Phew, it was growing way too hot in there, to be honest."

You blushed, rolling your eyes, and began walking. "C'mon, guys, don't be childish-"

"Are you gonna go out with him?" Nat interrupted, linking an arm through yours.

"He hasn't asked me," you said blankly.

"Well, he definitely will," Wanda said with a matter-of-fact shrug. "I could see it in his eyes."

"Who would've thought - Y/N getting her groove on with the tattoo artist-"

"Ew, groove? Seriously, Natasha, who says things like that-"

"Stop trying to act like we're not totally right here."

You sighed and shook your head, but couldn't help the smile that rose to the surface. "Yeah, he is pretty hot."

The three of you burst into a fit of giggles as you walked, trying to find a taxi to hail before you froze your asses off.

"So... can we see the tat?"

100 notes · View notes

magicmanii · 2 days

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yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyooyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyooyoyoyoyo

can i pretty please request a rin x gn reader where rin is hopelessly down bad for them? (like he runs to pay for anything they want and gets grumpy/petty if reader insists/pays or runs to open doors for them and is honestly just all around pathetically in love)

BEACHY LOVE

🌺 It's been… like 7 months since my best friend has requested this.. I hope you enjoy…

🌺 It might be a little ooc Rin? Disgustingly in love Rin!!! Rin is a cutie patootie in this!!! Isagi is a little freaked out.. Also I haven't read bllk in a minute so I'm going off of what I know.. THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!!!!

🌺GN READER‼️‼️‼️

🌺 WORD COUNT: 1,204

Isagi has seen a lot of weird stuff since he's become a famous soccer player.

He's seen fans flash their favorite players in a weird attempt to get their attention, he's seen opponents lose their shit after losing a match, he's even seen his own teammates get weird while playing a game. He can't really say anything about that though…

But what he's never seen before; in his seventeen years of life, is Rin Itoshi, one of the best soccer players in Japan (and also notably one of the most cold and standoffish) rubbing sunscreen into someone else's back.

I mean— helping someone with something without glaring at them or complaining!?

A shiver ran up Isagi's spine.

This couldn't be Rin. This had to be an imposter.

Rin would never willingly do something for someone unless—

Another shiver ran up Isagi's spine. A mysterious apple also fell on his head.

Unless… they were his partner!

Wait. No, he's getting too ahead of himself. Rin, Mr— “I have a stick shoved up my ass constantly” would never be able to pull someone! Especially someone so beautiful!

But then that brought him back to his original question. If this wasn't his partner, who was it!?

Before isagi could question Rin's and this mysterious person's relationship anymore, a monotonous voice broke him out of his stupor.

“Hey, NPC, can you move? You're standing right in front of the door.” said soccer player grumbled out while glaring daggers down at the now sweating Isagi.

“Oh! —” Isagi quickly moved out of the way of the entrance to the shaved ice hut. “Sorry.”

Rin walked in without even sparing isagi another word or glance, clearly focusing more on his task than his rival.

Now that Rin was closer, Isagi could get a look at his attire. And let me tell you. Isagi could feel himself getting traumatized again.

I mean— how couldn't he!? Rin was wearing neon blue swim trunks with flamingos and palm trees on it while also wearing a pair of pineapple sunglasses!

Who was this!?

“Do you have a staring problem, NPC?” Rin coldly asked when he felt Isagi's burning gaze on his back.

“What are you wearing?” Isagi boldly snapped back, not caring if he got a death glare because of it.

“swim trunks.”

“Wha— no kidding! I could tell that much! But why are you wearing ones with flamingo print on them!? And what's with the sunglasses!?” He questioned while pointing at the offending male.

Slowly, Very slowly, maybe it was intentional on how slow he was turning; Rin turned around to face Isagi, his expression far from a welcoming one.

In actuality, if looks could kill, Isagi would be, not 6ft, but 30ft underground!

“if you have such a problem with what I'm wearing maybe you should pluck your eyeballs out.” he spat out before turning back around and grabbing two snow cones from the smiling cashier.

“You should learn how to mind your business, NPC.” was the final thing Rin said to isagi, the pro soccer player shoving his way past the shorter and stomping his way out the hut.

It wouldn't take long before Rin would make it to his partner again. His partner in question looking up at their boyfriend with a questioning gaze.

“Rinnie? What's with the face?” They questioned while reaching out for the snow cone they requested, saying a small “Thank you” as they watched the other sit down on the ground like a pouting child.

“I ran into isagi.” He simply said, his blue eyes staring daggers into the poor snow cone in his grasp.

“So?” Y/N shrugged, looking at Rin with a questionable gaze.

“He had a problem with what I was wearing.”

“So what'd you say?”

“I told him he could pull his eyeballs out if he hated my outfit that much.”

“Aww Rinnie! You like the outfit I picked out for you that much!?” Y/N cooed while lovingly pinching their boyfriend's cheek.

Rin let out a soft grunt but didn't push Y/N away.

“You know, if you like the outfits I pick out for you that much, you should let me pick out all your outfits!” Y/N offered with a cheeky smile

Rin looked at his partner for a moment, his eyes softly gazing at their features: their bright eyes, their pretty smile, their soft hair..

Rin looked away from them with another grunt.

“No way.” He quietly said, a soft, almost unnoticeable blush on his face.

“What!? Why not!?” Y/N whined, a childish pout on their face.

“Because I said so.”

“That's not an answer!” Y/N grumbled

“Why not?” Rin teased while sticking his tongue out

“Because I said so!” They spat back with their tongue now out as well

“You're a child.” The soccer player scoffed, a small fond smile on his face at the sight of Y/N's pouting face.

This earned Rin a gentle punch from Y/N.

“You can go kiss my ass!” Y/N exclaimed before turning around and shoving a spoonful of shaved ice into their mouth.

It was quiet for a moment. All anyone would be able to hear would be the soft lapping of the ocean softly caressing the land before retreating once more, the sound of seagulls squawking away, and the gentle sound of wind brushing through the leaves of the trees.

“You know,” Rin started, successfully catching Y/N's attention.

“I have a gala coming up. You can uh..” He hesitated, a harsh blush growing on his face once more. “You can choose an outfit out for me.” he softly said.

At this, Y/N leaned in impossibly closer, their hand cupping the back of their ear as they let out an obnoxious “What was that?”. If it could, their ear would grow comically large as they waited for Rin to repeat himself.

Cursing under his breath, Rin let out a tired sigh before repeating himself.

“I said—” he started only to get cut off by Y/N grabbing his face.

“That I could pick out any outfit for you to wear to a gala!?” Y/N basically screamed in excitement, a smile running from ear to ear as they inched their face closer and closer to Rin's.

If it wasn't for the fact that his partner just ruptured his ear drums, he would've found their closeness extremely flustering.

But despite his lost hearing, he couldn't help but admire their features.

‘Damn them and their cute face…’ he silently cursed to himself.

Pushing Y/N away gently, Rin crossed his arms and averted his gaze.

“you're too loud.” He scolded, but his scolding landed on deaf ears seeing as Y/N was too busy celebrating their victory.

‘They're such a pain…’ Rin lovingly thought to himself while watching them celebrate.

#x gn reader #x reader #blue lock x gn reader #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x gn reader #rin itoshi x you #rin x reader #rin x you

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somewhereincairparavel · 2 days

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OMG ELORA CONGRATS ON 300!! YOU DESERVE IT!!!

like you literally are one of the blogs who brought about a change of jason's perspective as a character in pjo/hoo tumblr, which now I see more of it every day, you're literally a revolutionary now

I'd like to send in a request of

pjo character x character - a day of percy and jason at percy's house (where jason finds a home with the jackson-blofises)

if that's not already requested ofc!

Omg hii!! Pooks you calling me a jason grace revolutionary is literally so flattering I'm giggling and kicking my feet ily tysm. I'm glad I brought a change in jason love in the Tumblr fandom?? Because that's the whole point of why i started my blog! My blog's duty had officially been fulfilled. thanks for participating in my event! It means a lot love!

･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･“Blue Cookies and found family”･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you @gentlehue for teaching me how to do the Tumblr gradient texts, you are literally a life saver!! Credits to @saradika for the dividers!

"You ready, man?" Percy asks as they reached the doorstep of the Jackson-blofis household.

Jason was fidgeting, indicating his nervousness, but he replied "a little".

"Don't be, my mom and Paul are great, they won't judge, I promise" Percy gave Jason a reassuring smile. He had brought Jason to meet his family because Jason didn't have anyone to go back home with from camp, and Percy thought it was a great idea to introduce him to Sally and Paul, he was sure they'd love him.

The front door creaked open revealing a weary but sweet looking Sally. "Ah Percy! You're here, I missed you, sweetie!" Sally rushed over to hug Percy, before she darted her gaze towards jason, who was timidly looking around. Percy had never seen Jason look so self conscious before. Thankfully Sally cut in by giving jason a big hug, Jason smiled, this new feeling of being hugged by a motherly figure seemed so.. rare and unusual. But it felt nice. Almost nice enough for Jason to make Ambrosia to taste like home again. Yeah, it was that kind of nice.

Paul peeked his head through from the doorway, looking elated to see Percy. "Percy! it's good to see you! And who are you?" Paul asked to Jason. "Oh um hello sir. I'm Jason Grace, a friend of Percy's, Percy has told me a lot about you, I hope it isn't a bother that I came along..." Jason replied politely, giving Paul a small smile. Paul laughed. "No no, of course not, any friend of Percy's is always welcome in this household. As long as they aren't one of those monsters in disguise claiming that they're Percy's friend and try to kill him or something" he awkwardly joked, to which Jason laughed, but Percy rolled his eyes.

"Okay, let's all go inside, and I'll get you some blue cookies that I freshly baked this morning!" Sally said, clasping her own hands excitedly. Jason has heard of Percy's famous blue food, he's even seen Percy's blue pancakes. But he's never tried them before. So he'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited to try them out. Sally's reputation as a cook only made him more eager to wanting to try her food.

They were all surrounding the dining table, as Sally served some blue punch and and her most anticipated blue cookies. Jason took a bite of the cookie and boy. It melted in his mouth. Is this what people meant when they say that food that's made with love always tastes the best? Jason had never believed in that idiom. Until now.

"So Jason, how old were you when you came to camp?" Paul asked, munching on his cookies."Well, technically 4 years old, if you don't count in the fact that I was trained by Lupa the wolf since I was two-"Jason was cut off with a small gasp from Sally. Paul had almost dropped his utensils.

"Two??? Jason, honey, you were two years old?" Sally asked wide eyed, concern in her voice."Uhm, well yeah..." Jason tried to brush it off as no big deal. He hadn't realised how shocking this must be for mortals. "But, what about your mother?.. Percy said something about...." Sally began hesitantly

"My mother was an alcoholic, according to my sister, she barely got by, since she was unstable and wasn't well enough to take care of me. And I found out she died in a crash years ago. The Goddess Hera was upset that my father sired another child with another woman, so she demanded that my mother should give me away as a prize. That's also why I'm named Jason, I was forced to be named after heras favourite Hero"

Jason had started to ramble without even realizing it, but he couldn't help himself, Sally and Paul were so welcoming, he felt comfortable to share this with them.Sally, Percy and Paul had stared at Jason, with a mix of gaping, sad, pitiful and potentially horrified looks.

Percy dropped his blue cookies back on to the plate. "I'm so sorry bro.." he said patting Jason's arm and giving him a one armed hug.Paul and sally hadn't said a word and Jason was afraid he had said too much, but what he didn't expect was to be tackled into a huge by both of the adults. Jason heard Sally's whimpers as she held on to jason tight.

Jason had suddenly felt awkward, I mean, he never found his situation this upsetting, he thought it was normal for demigods to experience tragedy. "Jason, I want you to know that if you ever need someone to confide in, me and sally are always there" Paul said, pulling away from the hug, as Sally wiped her eyes. Percy smiled at Jason in a "I-told-you-they-wont-judge-you-bro" way, and Jason had to smile back, but his eyes started to water in gratitude.

Two people he barely even met, had volunteered to be his confidant and had offered him him comfort, it was something jason never knew he needed.

The day ended with Jason sleeping over at Percy's, where they both stayed up all night playing Mario party six on Nintendo, and Sally had packed him some blue cookies for him to take back home. Paul kept complimenting jason for his architectural knowledge, and had encouraged his temple project, even throwing in a few ideas of his own.

For once, Jason Grace wasn't alone.

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codenamesazanka · 1 day

Text

OKAY. Got it. Shigaraki dies, and goes back in time. To the day OFA was transferred to Deku…

rough idea/summary [part 1]

•

Shigaraki wakes up in a bed in the Doc’s lab, head pounding, crazy vertigo, feeling awful. Apparently he had suddenly collapsed. Kurogiri brought him to the Doctor, who didn’t seem to find anything wrong with him. AFO is there to check on his ward.

As the Doctor runs some more tests, Shigaraki tries to regain his bearings. Try to make sense of himself, his surroundings, all the stuff swirling around in his mind. Shigaraki tells AFO that he had a dream, where he died. There was a war, a big one, between Heroes and Villains. He destroyed a lot of things. He fought until the very end to destroy.

AFO listens, smiles, saying that it sounds like a good dream. Is that what you want, Tomura? To destroy everything?

Shigaraki considers, and says, Maybe. He considers some more: everything that happened in his 'dream' - all his suddenly now-recovered memories, his new knowledge and experiences. A whole life he just had, and a death.

He's read about this before... mostly in badly-written online light novels. Someone going back in time and getting a second chance. Re-doing their life, with various cheats, to right everything. Taking a different path, taking missed opportunities, taking revenge; all to become a hero, fulfilling their dreams. Absurd power fantasy stuff.

So what’s his stupid power fantasy? What does he want? Shigaraki thinks, and out of everything that just happened/will apparently happen... there's only the League that comes to mind.

In those light novels, the main character always has to tread lightly, has to keep everything a secret and pretend nothing is wrong and keep walking along the old familiar path until he has harassed the power to change things... But Shigaraki considers killing AFO (again) right here and now. So he confronts AFO the way he never got a chance to do.

Sensei. In my dream...You told me that you gave me my quirk. And not just that. You told me that everything that happened was because of you.

AFO is caught, smile frozen... but then relaxes to a real smile again; laughs. It's a surprise, to be sure, but it's wonderful. AFO has always looked for a time travel quirk. To think that one does actually exist...

Plus, it looks like AFO really had raised Tomura successfully. AFO thought such a revelation would shatter him, but Tomura braved through it. He's still here. A strong, ironclad willpower - exactly what AFO wanted, after all.

So let's get started.

Shigaraki tries to attack/defend, but AFO is faster, stronger, and has that Rivet Stab quirk, literally pinning Shigaraki down.

Foolish child, biting the hand that fed you. AFO monologues - without him, Tomura wouldn't even exist. AFO made him; he belongs to AFO, always had, always will. All that Tomura is, AFO gave to him. And now Tomura will give it all back.

With that, AFO tries to take Decay—but for some reason, he can't.

Because Shigaraki was the one who was able to steal Danger Sense from OFA; the one who was able to reject being given OFA, even. And now, if he doesn't want to let Decay go, then AFO can't take it. Shigaraki is the one with the stronger willpower, and he is so much more than AFO has made him. He's so much more than AFO can ever be.

Taking advantage of AFO being momentarily stunned, Shigaraki is able to free himself. He has to break and slice apart his hand, but still, he's free, so he proceeds to decay AFO. Hand to his head, hand to his chest, hand through to the heart. Decays every last bit of flesh he can grab and clench into nothingness. Super-regeneration can't help here.

(Moments too late, proto-Noumu is unleashed by the Doctor to stop Shigaraki, but Shigaraki decays them too. And part of the lab, for good measure.)

It's a bloodbath. ❤️

Afterwards, Shigaraki confronts a cowering Doctor, his aura of fear literally immobilizing the old man. Knowing AFO and the Doc, they probably have a backup plan or five. A copy of AFO (quirk) somewhere, obviously, but what else? A clone? Some sort of memory transfer to a digital brain? The Doc is unable to answer, but Shigaraki doesn't care too much about it right now. Just don't even try digging those out. Shigaraki will deal with him later - there are things Shigaraki needs to confirm and deal with first.

#nalslastworkingbraincell #AU idea #AU #fanfic #fanfiction #not a fic but #nalwrites

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warmau · 10 hours

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☆ commission: vampire!au taeyong note: suggestive themes, slightly violent imagery, general angst but you know.....'tis vampires

metal scrapes against the lacquered floor of the great hall you're standing in

an imposing door on your right that's covered in ornate detailing and that looks to be hemmed with prayers of an ancient language inscribed in gold opens slightly

just enough for the village elder that brought you here to scurry through

in his haste to leave, he doesn't turn around to bid you goodbye and somehow - if only for a fleeting moment - the terror in you burst into a flame of disgust

what a coward. you've been serving this horror all your life, yet when you have to face it - you run away like a rat.

the door screeches again to close and breaks your momentary relief from the churning in your stomach

of all people, why me? why am i the sacrifice?

the stiff, old lace of the outfit you were forced to wear doesn't lessen your panic

neither does the book of worship, the only item you were allowed to bring with you, clutched between your palms

in an effort to not faint on the spot, you shut your eyes as you wait

recall the look of solemn on your friends faces when your fate was revealed on the night of the taking

the moments before the elder came to fetch you, your hands touching the blades of sweetgrass outside of your family's home

"it's a privilege, it's an honor, you're making us so proud."

"you're not a sacrifice, you're a hero."

"the bite isn't nearly as painful as you think."

the words rattle around in your head, making you shiver with a mixture of dread and anger

"i don't want to die."

you say it out loud, albeit in a whisper, eyes still shut tight

"i won't kill you."

you snap them open at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and look over your shoulder, ignoring the command you'd received when you'd been positioned here by the elder. don't move.

standing at the back of the hall is one, lone figure

flickering in the candlelight is its dark red gaze

the dark red gaze of a vampire

your homeland has always worshiped the mysterious power of the vampire

the first humans to stumble upon the land had been saved by the vampire coven that already lived there

instead of sucking the humans all dry, they'd provided them with supplies and livestock that they'd been using to feed themselves

it had come as such a shock to the humans - and they'd only thought of one way to show their gratitude

pick the loveliest from the group and give them away to the vampires, the vampires had accepted and the story (as it is passed down) ends there

of course, the majority of village folk agree that the only plausible thing the vampires did with that human was.......well.......

since they never did see that person again, but still

the idea that one sacrifice ensures the health and well being of the mass - it was kind of your villages whole thing

so when the year of taking approached and there were only a handful of people who fit the description for this sacrifice

you were voted as the most eligible to, in an essence, become vampire food

the last taking you remembered had happened roughly seven years before yours.

you'd watched the girl the village picked that year burst into tears as she was hauled away with the hums of the same empty praises you had received

but even to someone so young as yourself, she had looked terrified, had pleaded for someone else to be chosen, had cried out that she'd rather die here with her family and then be given away than to have to live through the horror that awaited

the sound of her pain had been the only thing you could hear for hours after your name had been called out as this years sacrifice

or, 'the offering', as it had been colloquially put by the elder

the memory of that sound starts to rise up again as you find yourself stuck staring into a crimson abyss that doesn't blink or move or falter

from a distance, the vampire almost seems to be a shadow

a pupilless shadow with two open wounds for eyes

"i won't kill you."

it repeats and disappears before you can take in your next breath

you don't know how many hours pass, the windows are shuttered closed here so your sense of time is thrown off.

but at some point your back starts to cramp and you keep shifting the book in your hands to get comfortable

"i don't think it's going to come back, is it?"

you mumble to yourself and then test the waters by leaning down to place the book at your feet

nothing in the large ballroom moves. not even a gust of wind.

so you take your first step, toward the door you saw the vampire at earlier and when nothing happens again, you let out a sigh and venture forward with purpose

the house, or prison, you're in is huge - when you get through the first door there is another ballroom behind it, which you traverse through, only to find yourself in a dinning hall that looks as if it hasn't been used in ages

a small door at the corner leads you into the kitchen which is motionless and void of any presences

and that's how you continue your way through this maze, stumbling up to the second floor and down a hallway to a long corridor of silence

the paintings almost seem to watch you as you walk quietly through - and then at the end of the hall - a door opens and you freeze

"that will be your quarters."

a voice, close but echoing sways against your ear and you turn to try and catch the person it came from

for almost a second you can feel a coldness wrap around that side of your body, but as fast as it is there, as fast as it is gone

and you're left alone, red eyes from the portraits on the walls judging you to keep going

the quarters is a lavishly large bedroom with antiquated but beautiful bedding and furniture

it's extravagant, something you remember seeing only in fairytales, and when you open the wardrobe door an array of beautiful colors and clothes greet you

"why would a vampire need these things?"

your eyebrows furrow and you feel strangely unafraid standing there alone, feet against the plush of the carpet, skin itching to get out of the ugly outfit you're in

slowly, as you tug out something you like from the endless piles of fabric, you realize that your sick and twisted dread has churned into a new feeling

curiosity

shouldn't i be dead by now? shouldn't that creature have had his fill? aren't i the first 'offering' in nearly seven years - isn't it hungry?

your thoughts are loud and clashing, but they don't beat the underlying other feeling that bubbles its way to the surface

your stomach growls

now i'm the one that's hungry

you remember the kitchen downstairs and debate the idea of going to see if there's any food in there

but you cringe at the sudden thought that the only food in a vampire's den would be ........... people

so opening random drawers and cabinets down there might lead you to make a grizzly discovery

so you sit down on the oversized duvet, nearly sinking into the rich softness

"is it going to starve me to death?"

you lay back to stare up at the canopy

"is it going to wait for me to fall asleep and bite me then?"

you touch your neck and it feels warm, alive, your pulse connecting to the skin of your palm

"will it ......... like how i taste?"

something scratches down the side of the door and you quickly turn to see what it could be

but the door is open, the corridor behind it empty

the sound had made you think something or someone had been gripping the frame - then clawing into it as you spoke - somehow, beyond the understanding of your own mind, you could almost see the outline of where they ...... or it ... had been hiding

you fall asleep that night with an empty stomach

you had tried to stay awake, but all the built up tension had exhausted you and once you'd laid back down again you couldn't find it in you to get back up

but to your surprise, when you wake up you can smell something downstairs

you can smell the scent of food, some kind of seasoning

there's no one in the kitchen when you get there, and there's no one in the dinning room when you enter it

but a lone plate with neatly accompanying silverware gleam at you

"eat."

the voice comes again and you manage to find the corner of the door, not the face of the voice, only the end of a coat or jacket of some sort that follows its owner too fast for you to comprehend

you run to the entrance, pushing yourself through it and trying to look down the hall but .... they're gone

the house doesn't move, the plate and cutlery don't move, the assortment of food you can choose from doesn't move

and for a long time, you don't either

after eating, you clean up, unsure of what to do with the leftovers

you try to look around the kitchen for extra trays or napkins to wrap them in, but when you return to the dinning room the extra is gone

just another mystery, followed one after the other

you decide to walk down the hall you'd seen the figure disappear down earlier and find yourself back in the adjoining ballrooms

you go through new doors in an attempt to keep yourself busy

and are thrilled to walk through one and find that it has an uncovered window

the light outside makes you think it must be a little bit before noon and as you lean against the panel, it creaks a bit and then opens

the fresh air hits you softly - but you blink back confusion

an open window? isn't this place supposed to be ...... unescapable?

you push the window slightly, if only to test how far it will go, but it gives way and the side completely opens with a big enough gap that you could fit threw with ease

you have half an idea to just put your legs through and jump the small distance into the soft looking grass below when you stop

where am i going to go? the village will never take me back. the closest place to travel to next is by sea, and i have nothing of value to my name.

your back straightens a bit and the overwhelming feeling of joy at the possibility of returning to your normal life chips away

won't my parents be glad i'm back - my friends i can just-

you remember the praise, the words of encouragement and the palatable belief everyone you know had had about you being the offering

there was no way you going back to your village would result in anything other than disappointment, disgust, and ....... the reality of being hauled back here

"the one before tried that too."

the voice - tenderly soft speaks - and you don't turn around because you know if you do, it'll just disappear again

"you mean the offering before me? the one from seven years ago?"

"that's what you're called, an offering?"

something in your chest tightens, the first signs of anxiety - of fear

"that's - i have a name. but that's what we're called when we're chosen to come here."

a pause

"do you want to escape?"

"yes"

a longer pause, but you think you hear a small stifled laugh - or maybe just the act of pushing air out of ones lungs

"the other one wanted to do that too. she ..... she took a painting with her, i'm assuming that's how she made some money for sea travel fare. you can do that too if you'd like."

two steps closer, but then one back. you hear something move around the room.

"i'll leave the most valuable item in this room right here. it'll get you enough money to help you start a new-"

you turn around in the middle of the sentence and it's the first time you see it up close

slender, lithe and perfectly put together - the young man doesn't look anything like the monster you'd always conjured up in your mind

his hair is pale white, nearly silver, and curls long and down around his ears

an array of gold and ruby jewelry adorn his neck, the length of his fingers, and hang in meticulously placed fashion on his ears

and his eyes - large, outlined by naturally long lashes - shine to match the stones of his accessories

he's so gorgeous you almost fall back and through the open window behind you

at his feet is a vase, the item he'd mentioned before, and when you make the mistake of blinking

it topples over and rolls to you

as the vampire vanishes into what seems like thin air

days pass

you now know because you spend most of your time by the open window with a book from the library deep inside the house

they pass and you don't know why, but you do not leave

food waits for you three times a day, soap and other fragrances appear on the vanity in your quarters, there are even sometimes flowers in the vase near your preferred window

but the vampire doesn't show himself again

nothing makes sense to you - why you're still here and why the vampire hasn't bitten you yet

you tell yourself you don't leave because you have nowhere to go, but the reality is that you can leave whenever you want

the antiques and collectables scattered all around you are simply beckoning you to take them and do with them as you will

the vampire doesn't make himself an obstacle in your way

at one point, the other shuttered windows are opened too

and it's as if the master of this place is asking, begging you to leave

and you dig down deep in yourself to understand why it is that you refuse

"if you show yourself to me again, i'll leave."

you say it one day - into the mirror that hangs on the wall in your quarters

and after two beats you look at your reflection and only see yourself but you hear him

"the mirror can't show you my likeness, you'll have to turn around."

you do so with only a slight hesitation, and not because of fear like you should, but out of embarrassment

the way you might falter in the presence of ones crush

the vampire is at a respectable distance, but close

"why haven't you left?"

"i wanted to see you again, i have so many questions."

his shoulders are broad, but he looks so elegant and beautiful, you almost find it hard to speak

"what are your - you may ask them."

"your name?"

he puts one of his hands over the wrist of his other

"taeyong."

"how long have you lived here?"

"a long time."

"why didn't you bite me? did you....bite the other offerings?"

he tenses and you see him grip himself before he speaks

"only one, not the last one. i bit one ..... nearly four decades ago."

"so why haven't you bitten me?"

he looks at you this time and you think it isn't fair, that the color of blood could look so gorgeous as it swirls in the irises of another

"you're scared."

"no i'm not."

he looks to the side, as if the next thing he says might offend you

"yes, you are. i can smell it on you."

heat creeps up your neck and to your cheeks

"w-what does it smell like? is it bad?"

he shakes his head slowly

"it's overwhelming. it's -" he swallows and it seems to go down hard because the last word is breathless "delicious."

something shifts around taeyong

the gentle, nearly skittish nature stagnates until he turns just....cold

"if - if you want to, you can-"

you start, but taeyong lets himself go to put one hand up, you aren't sure but you think it looks like he might be trembling

"no. you should leave, now. take anything you need and. go."

you don't reach out, mostly because a part of you knows your hand would just grab air after he's gone

alone in the room - you're stuck staring at the same spot until you come to a decision

"i'm not going anywhere."

it's small - your body doesn't seem to trust your voice as it comes out - but you mean it

more time passes, nothing changes, you're taken care of by the ghost of taeyong as he moves around you without being seen

and you try to wake up every morning without more questions - but they keep growing the longer you stay in the house

was the last offering he bit not afraid? had he killed them? what had their blood tasted like? was their blood.......their smell.........was all of them.......more enticing than you?

you touch the spine of a book in the library and drag your finger down it, lost in thought

slowly you repeat the motion, sliding up and down

before your nails gently tap against it and you tug it down from the shelf, two fingers snagging in-between the pages

a gasp, or a strangled attempt to swallow echoes through the silence, and you turn your head on instinct

but you're alone

is......taeyong watching me?

is your first thought, but that's obvious. of course he's watching - but is he always watching?

"taeyong?"

his name sounds so regal when you say it out loud, like a word that is holy and shouldn't be used thoughtlessly

"are you there?"

there is no reply and your shoulders sag slightly, you tuck your book under your arm and retreat back to your favorite window

trying to read, your mind clutters itself again

if he hasn't been biting or killing the offerings - have they all just been running away? has he just been letting them go? what has he been ...... feeding on then? animals?

you turn the page, not registering a single sentence

should i just do the same? he's right.......i am scared. i don't want him to bite me.....i don't want him to kill me.

closing your eyes, you abandon your reading all together

you imagine taeyong, mouth open and hovering over the line of your neck, shining white fangs stained at their tips with red as your chest heaves and you try to reach up for the open wound that feels stinging and real on your throat

taeyong pins your wrist down and you feel him bite you again - the sharp ends of his teeth locking into your jugular like an animal

something like fear blankets over you, or at least the imaginary you in your mind, but it's different

taeyong's other hand finds the small of your back and presses you up and into his chest. you feel the cool metal of his rings against your naked back.

and you.......feel........

your eyes snap open and the book falls from your lap as you sit up

it's not fear, the coil inside of you - the overstimulating sensation of tension - no it wasn't fear - it was something else entirely

you start to think about it everyday, you start to think about taeyong biting you

and you realize the peak of your terror is at the actual biting - at the shortness of your breathing and the moment where you feel the life draining out of you

but the rest of it, the rest of it is nothing like fear.....it's exhilarating and it makes the back of your neck sweat and when you open your eyes you feel exposed

like someone else knows what it is, like you aren't alone in your thoughts

and then, as you're eating an apple for your dinner dessert, you bite down into it and freeze

"taeyong."

you call his name when you get back upstairs, you stand in front of your mirror like the last time and repeat his name again.

"taeyong, i know how to stop being afraid."

a rustle by the door catches your attention, as if someone is stepping onto the carpet from the hallway outside

"i can still smell the fear on you."

your stomach fills with warmth from the familiarity of hearing his voice again

but you don't turn around right away this time, fearing the doubt in his words

"i know, but i think it'll go away if i do this."

"do what?"

you slowly move, so that it doesn't come as a shock and he doesn't run away

when you see him, he's dressed just as beautifully as ever - his hair pinned out of his face and the collar of his shirt open, baring the expanse of his chest

so clean and untouched

"let me bite you first."

taeyong startles backwards, putting his weight onto the back of his left heel as his gaze widens

"what?"

"i just need to do it. i just need to know that it won't kill me."

"i always said i wouldn't- why do you want to stop being afraid of it anyway?"

he hardens when you open your mouth but no real reason comes out

"you should just go, leave like you said you would. why are you wasting your time here trying to - to overcome the fear you have of a monster? i am a monster. you should be afraid."

"how are you a monster? did you kill all the offerings that came before me?"

taeyong angles himself a bit away from you, a defense stance if you've ever seen one

"no - but that doesn't mean i'm not......."

"my village worships you, don't you understand that? they worship you with the idea that you do kill every person who gets sent up here. they worship you with the knowledge that you may have this house strung up with human bodies, do you know what they would do if they found out you do none of that? that would make you a monster to them - because instead of assuming their sacrifices were appeasing you and blessing their village - they'd know that all you did was let young and capable humans run off to a better life."

your words are harsher than you expect as they come out of you - but it's all the truth - it's all you've been able to think about

how the family and friends who sent you here were so happy you'd die with their fruitful futures in mind

but in reality you'd just come to a bigger house to live a life of leisure

"you're not a monster to me, you're just a ....... generous person living alone in a house full of treasures. i may have overstayed my welcome, i know the others ran off, but i can't do that. i need to at least - at least give you something in return."

taeyong's gaze falters, the red goes almost sangria and then flares back into a blazing crimson

"will it.........will it appease you, will you leave if i let you do this?"

you nod slowly, "if you want me to do that, yes. and i won't tell anyone anything. i'll just....do what the others did."

taeyong wets his lips and fixes his posture, without a word he walks over to your bed and sits down

you take the tentative steps closer and stop when you're only one more away from him

he looks at you and tilts his head to the side, bares his neck out like prey

you don't know how to feel - your heartbeat rattles in your ribcage and you stare at the patch of skin

"why did you bite the offering from forty years ago?"

you ask before you do anything else

he smiles gently, but you barely see it as his hair falls over his cheek and eyes

"she wasn't afraid when she came here. at all. she asked me to bite her right away."

"and you - you just did?"

"i had to. she smelled-"

"delicious?"

he heaves out a sound that seems to be a sigh mixed with a chuckle

"prideful. she thought she was going to die for her village, but when i bit her - the blood was sickly, i think she knew she was dying and didn't tell anyone. let herself get sent here with some sense of duty."

you take the final step, leaning in toward him as taeyong shifts slightly so that you can reach him more easily

"did she run off after too?"

"y-" he starts but then you bite down - the same way you had bitten the apple - and taeyong's teeth grit together

there's no taste, you can't smell anything either, and his skin is cold

you don't draw blood, obviously, but when you lean back the imprint of your teeth is on him

right above the gold of one of his necklaces

somehow it looks.........wrong, but it makes your body twitch in a way that can't be anything other than right

sitting down beside him you tilt your neck up too

"your turn."

taeyong takes in the expanse of your neck, the way it dips into your shoulder, the way it connects under your jawline

he spends too much time staring and it starts to hurt so you look at him with worry

"do i still smell scared?"

"no."

you blink, "oh - do - does it smell bad now that it's gone?"

taeyong takes a breath in through his nose and you don't understand his hesitation

"you smell like......" he moves his head back and forth like an animal "desire."

your mouth drops slightly and you want to say something to lessen your embarrassment but you can't

at least, you can't argue - you've come to understand that when thinking of taeyong doing this, all you could feel after the first droplets of your fear was exactly that - desire

a polarizing need for taeyong to keep going, he wasn't going to kill you with his bite, but you wanted him to keep doing just that. biting. kissing. licking. whatever - just so he would be near.

"does - does desire - is it more -"

he smiles for the first time, to the full extent and you notice a small indent of a scar near one of his temples

then you see his teeth

gorgeous, marble white - the canines sharp and neat

you think of the imprint you'd left and shudder when you imagine the mark he'll be capable of

"yes, it's the best taste in the world for me."

is what he says and then you feel his cold palm against your cheek, guiding you up and toward his mouth

instead of biting you, taeyong kisses you - tongue sliding against the seal of your lips and just as you open up to kiss him back

he drops his mouth down to your jaw, then to the tender flesh of your neck

and he bites you - he sinks his teeth in deep - and it hurts

you jerk against it involuntarily, and you feel taeyong start to retreat, but instead of him stopping you - you stop him from leaving

you ground him with your hand on his chest, tugging the front of his shirt as if to stay - "stay. don't move. keep biting me."

and he obliges

he doesn't just bite you once, but twice, and then a third time too

each one isn't anywhere near your major veins, and each hurts, but at it also feels good and you moan taeyongs name as his grip on you gets just slightly more desperate

it takes a lot of will power for him to not ask you to tug down your collar and let him bite a trail down to your hips, he thinks for the first time that would be just uncouth

and so he pulls away and his mouth is stained, red and glistening, his eyes flickering to the brightest you've ever seen them

his beauty is somehow amplified by the utter look of sated hunger and you lunge your arms toward him

wrapping around his neck and pulling him down into the unfinished kiss he started this with

when you unlock from each other, taeyong tries to say something but it comes out broken and breathless

but you understand what you have to of it

"no, i'm not leaving. i'm not running away. i think this time you're just going to have to accept the offering."

#ah yes. i start worldbuilding a freaky town where vampires are treated like g*ds but then i remember - time to kiss taeyong #nct au #nct 127 au #taeyong au #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #taeyong scenarios #taeyong/#vampire au #blood mention/#violence/#the usual tags for vampires you know

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peachy-panic · 14 hours

Text

Companion, pt. 3 (Bonus)

The last little piece of this arc (that was originally supposed to be part of part two)

WARNINGS: Not much. BBU, alcoholic in recovery, anxious animals with a happy ending

Sebastian takes a tentative sip and wrinkles his nose at the burn of carbonation against his throat.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Sam had warned him when he handed them over on their last visit to the house, “but they help.” He was right on both accounts, unfortunately. The bitter notes, the heavy carbonation, and the acidic tang are meant to mimic the familiar habit of nursing a drink, but without any of the pleasant, warm buzz that comes after. (And without the misery and exhaustion and shame that comes with the next morning, he reminds himself).

Sebastian doesn’t find himself reaching for these alcohol replacement drinks often, but nights are sometimes… difficult. A natural consequence, he supposes, using a glass (or three) of vodka as a sleep aid for several consecutive years.

It will be a cold day in hell before Sebastian can utter aloud that he is proud of himself for much in this life, but he thinks, with this, he has done fairly well. Perhaps he can credit part of that to having the proper motivation enter his life.

As if on cue, the quiet creak of a door sounds from down the hallway. Sebastian places his can on the counter, an easy smile falling into place, but no footsteps follow. Jaime is good at moving quietly through the house, but Sebastian didn’t realize he had mastered absolute silence. He frowns, but just as he goes to step around the island to check on him, he nearly jumps out of his skin as a black mass of fur jumps onto the countertop, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Jesus, Bella!” Sebastian whisper-shouts, hand over his heart. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Merrrr,” she chirps up at him, knocking her tiny paw against the side of his open can, threatening to upturn it all over the floor.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He plucks the drink out of her reach, but as he retracts his hand, Bella nuzzles her head against his wrist. A request for contact. Sebastian’s heart melts a little. “Hey there,” he says, reaching down to pet her properly. She preens at the affection, vibrating softly with a low, steady purr.

Sebastian can’t help but feel proud of their little cat for the impressive adjustment she has made to their home in such a short amount of time. The first couple of nights were… rough. She spent most of the waking hours out of sight, hiding somewhere Jaime and Sebastian couldn’t reach. And though he didn’t voice it out loud, Sebastian could tell that Jaime was affected by her fear. He could see the regret and guilt taking shape in his eyes.

Sebatian tried to comfort him by bringing up article after article online, assuring them that this behavior was often to be expected when bringing a cat into an unfamiliar home, and that there were measures that could be taken to acclimate them. They took all of them. And slowly, surely, they began to work.

A few days after they brought her home, Sebastian returned from work to find Jaime sitting on the couch with a preternatural stillness to his form and a stunned look on his face. When Sebastian looked closer, he saw that it wasn’t just a blanket on his lap. Blending into the soft, black fibers was Bella’s sleeping form, curled up on Jaime’s legs. She only stirred briefly at Sebatian’s entrance before standing into an arched-back stretch and making herself at home once again on his lap.

The smile on Jaime’s face was bright enough to light the whole house.

“I never thought I’d be a cat person,” Sebastian says, rubbing the back of his knuckles between her ears. “But you’re pretty sweet, huh?”

Inevitably, a familiar itch rises to his eyes, as it does anytime he spends more than a minute in direct contact with Bella. He pinches the bridge of his nose to combat an oncoming sneeze. Extracting his hand from her just long enough to open the cabinet above the sink, he reaches for the bottle of allergy pills he stashed away the day they brought her home.

Listen.

There are several internet forums that swear up and down that you can mind-over-matter a cat allergy away given enough time and exposure. Sebastian has done his research. In the meantime, he is perfectly capable of smuggling home a bottle of Claritin once a month and popping pills in secret. Sebastian knew from the moment he saw Jaime staring, enamored, at Bella’s cage at the shelter, that this was one piece of information he could keep to himself. If anything, watching Jaime’s smile on the couch that day had only made Sebastian double down on that conviction.

He unscrews the cap and shakes one of the small, white pills into his hand. The next sip of alcohol-replacement-drink doesn’t taste any better as it washes it down. Worth it, though. All of it.

Sebastian casts a glance down the hall, where he knows Jaime’s door will be cracked open so that Bella can come and go as she pleases.

“You make him happy,” he tells her. “How could I not love you for that?” Right on cue, she turns her head to issue a firm love bite to his thumb. “Ouch, you little shit,” he says, but even he can hear the affection bleeding into the words.

***

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump @the-whumpers-grimm @thebirdsofgay @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort @termsnconditions-apply @cyborg0109 @whumplr-reader @pinkraindropsfell @whatwhumpcomments @honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion @alexmundaythrufriday @scoundrelwithboba @starsick1979 @b0rgid

#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #whump #whump writing #bbu

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topazy · 2 days

Text

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × OC, Rick Grimes × sister OC

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 3.08

“We’re not leaving.”

“We can’t stay here.”

Glenn shakes his head. “If Rick says we aren’t running, then we aren’t running.”

You readjust your arms slightly so Judith is in a better position as she feeds from the bottle. Since the governor's attack, there has been a contentious debate within your group about what to do next, adding to the growing tension. You personally wanted to leave, but without everyone's agreement, it would be impossible to do so. The best thing for your group to do was wait until the middle of the night, turn all the lights off, and try to sneak out, but there was no point in sharing that idea since it was probably too late.

“No, it's better to live like rats.”

You scoff at Merle, who was locked in one of the cells. He was a rat. Rick clicks his tongue. You ask, “You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, we should have slid out of here last night and lived to fight another day. But we lost that window, didn’t we? I’m sure he’s got scouts on every road out of this place by now.”

“We ain’t scared of that prick,” Daryl grunts. It was hard to take his rough exterior seriously as he walked up and down the cell block so Jace, who was sleeping peacefully in his arms, wouldn’t wake.

“Y’all should be. That truck through the fence was him just ringing the doorbell. We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he’s got the guns and the numbers. And if he takes the high ground around this place, shoot, he could just starve us out if he wanted to.”

Maggie glares at him, “Let’s put him in another cell block.”

Daryl shakes his head. “No, he’s got a point.”

“This is all you; you started this!” Maggie yells at Merle.

Another argument starts with whether the group should stay or leave. Your brother turns and goes to leave the cellblock, and you step in front of him. The look shared between you is a silent exchange of the unspoken burden you both carried. What happened to you, Woodbury, triggered something inside Rick. “We can’t ignore this; the governor will come back for us, and we need to be ready.”

When your brother starts to walk by you, Hershel furiously yells at him, “Get back here!”

Rick freezes on the spot.

“You’re slipping, Rick. We’ve all seen it, and we understand why, but now is not the time. You once said this isn’t a democracy. Now you have to own up to that. I put my family’s life in your hands, so get your head clear and do something.”

—

Daryl comes into your cell while you’re sitting on the floor reading to Jace. He sits down on the edge of the bed. His legs brush against yours as he stretches his limbs out.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you say, taking Jace off your lap to let him crawl. “I haven’t had the chance to say it yet, but thank you for showing up when you did and saving my brother. I’m glad you’re back.”

He says nothing and picks at the dirt underneath his nails.

Something about his actions pulls at a memory—something you’d kept locked deep inside your brain for so long you almost forgot. Your lower lip trembles slightly as you remember Shane kneeling in front of you, begging you to say something as you chip the green polish off your nails.

“What’s going on between you and Glenn?”

You pause before answering, “nothing.”

Daryl glances down at you; he knows you’re lying. There was friction in your friendship with Glenn again; not only had he brought up Shane trying to kill to prove a point, he tried to convince your brother and Hershel to hand Merle over to the governor, despite what it would do to his brother. The irony was that Glenn was one of the kindest and softest people you knew, but the trauma he suffered was causing him to lash out.

“Pfft, fine, don’t tell me.”

You swat at Daryl’s leg playfully, saying, “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Fine,” he said huffily. You knew things were hard for him with everyone in his ear bitching about Merle. “Why’s the kid running around collecting poles? Or is that another secret?”

“Stop teasing,” you laugh.

He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Seriously though, Carl is hellbent on finding everything on the scavenger hunt you sent him on.”

“I wanted to keep him busy and made him a list. Beth offered to go with him and make sure he doesn’t stray into a cellblock we haven’t cleared yet. I’m going to sharpen down the poles he brings back, and once nightfall comes, start picking off the walkers. The last thing we need is the fence coming down and then swarming in again.”

“Is this your idea or Rick’s?”

“Mine.”

Daryl looks down when Jace hits his leg with a toy. He leans over and picks him up. “Your mom really is some kind of zombie-fighting wonder woman, huh?”

You smile while watching how gentle he is with Jace for a few moments until the sound of someone running catches your attention. Out of breath, Carl holds onto the doorframe and says, “You need to come now.”

Alarmed, you get to your feet. “Carl, what’s wrong?”

“Andrea is outside.”

Shit. This could be bad. “Was she alone?”

He nods. “I think so.”

Daryl places Jace onto the floor and rushes by you to get his arrows. “Whatever happens, Lil, guard the block. Anybody comes in here that you don’t know, light their asses up.”

Carl leaves right after. You step out of the cell and see a frightened-looking Beth holding Judith in her arms and Hershel. Your stomach turns; a teenage girl and a cripple would be no match for the governor’s men. “Take them and go into the cell right up the back; I’ll cover the door into the block. If anybody gets by, shoot them.”

Beth nods and does as you ask. It was hard to know if Andrea was a threat or not; she could have easily been manipulated or could have turned on your people for the governor.

Hershel pats your shoulder and says, “I’ll go with Bethy. I doubt anybody will get past... but if they do, I won’t let them near Jace and Judith.”

You let out a shaky breath, nervous for what was to come next. “Thank you; lock the door behind me.”

—

Sitting on the table in- front of the doorway, you tap your fingers against your thigh rhythmically with the others to return. You could hear footsteps and voices getting closer by, but the seconds seemed to drag on.

Rick met your eye as he opened the gate leading into your cellblock. You knew from the first look that he didn’t trust Andrea. You knock on the table and say, “Hershel, it’s safe.”

The older man unlocks the gate and joins the rest of you. Andrea lets out a loud gasp and claps at her mouth when she notices his missing leg. “Hershel, oh god.” She steps out of her embrace with Carol and glances around the room. “I can’t believe this. Where’s Shane?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“Oh, Lily, I'm so sorry.” She looks up at your brother and says, “And Lori?”

A lump forms in your throat, preventing you from answering for him. When Rick’s eyes become glossy, Hershel says, “She had a girl. Lori didn’t survive.”

“Neither did T-dog,” Carol adds.

“I’m so sorry.” She looks genuinely taken aback by the news of so many deaths. “Carl… Rick. Shane… I just, how did he die?”

You and Daryl exchange a look. In a gruff voice, he says, “The last thing any of us needs is to relive those moments at a time like this.”

Understanding, the blonde nods her head before changing the subject. “You all live here?”

At first, nobody says anything, then Glenn finally answers, “Here and the cell block.”

“There?” She points in the direction of the area you slept in. “Well, can I go in?”

Rick steps in front of her and says, “I won’t allow that.”

“I’m not an enemy, Rick.”

“Your boyfriend tore through our fences yesterday with a truck full of walkers and shot us up. And the vicious bastards he brought with him had Carl and Beth pinned down outside. They were trying to kill a couple of kids.”

Her eyes are filled with denial. “He said you fired first.”

“Well, he’s lying,” Rick deadpans.

In a softer tone, Hershel says, “He killed an inmate who survived in here.”

“We liked him. He was one of us.”

“I didn’t know anything about that. As soon as I found out, I came. I didn’t even know you were in Woodbury until after the shoot-out.” Andrea was borderline defensive in her tone, and it was clear she wasn’t ready to hear what really happened.

“That was days ago.”

“As I said, I came as soon as I heard,” she says, spinning around to face Michonne. “What have you told them?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t get it. I left Atlanta with you people, and now I’m the odd man out.”

“He almost killed Michonne. He tortured me and Lily, and he was going to kill us,” Glenn clarifies.

“With his finger on the triggers,” she points at Merle. “Isn’t he the one who kidnapped you? Who beat you?”

Your tongue pokes at the gap in your mouth, feeling for the tooth Merle knocked out.

She lets out a deep sigh. “I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I’m here, trying to bring us together. We have to work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out; we’re going to kill him,” Rick says bluntly. “I don’t know how or when, but we will.”

She looks at him, horrified. “We can settle this. There is room at Woodbury for all of you.”

“Did your boyfriend tell you this?”

“No.”

Shaking your head, you stand up and ask, “Then why did you come here?”

“Because he’s gearing up for war. The people are terrified; they see you as killers. They’re training to attack.”

“I’ll tell you what. Next time you see Philip, you tell him I’m going to take his other eye.”

Andrea crinkles her nose at Daryl’s comment and looks back at your brother. “Rick, if you don’t sit down and try and work this out, I don’t know what’s going to happen. He has a whole town looking at you; you’ve lost so much already. You can’t stand alone anymore.”

“Unless you’re planning on helping us get inside and bring us to him, I’ve heard enough.”

—

While sewing two thin blankets together to make them thicker, you think about Andrea defending the governor and how she couldn’t explain or excuse the things he did. Is that how you sounded when talking about Shane? Shane had done a lot of bad things over the years, but you always tried to defend him. But he was nothing like the man who was trying to slaughter you all like animals for sport.

Your ears perk up when you hear a baby fussing. It wasn’t Jace because he was sleeping, so it must have been your niece. You peek your head out of the cell and see Carol placing the newborn into Andrea’s arms.

“Oh, look at you. Let me guess, Daryl named her ‘ass-kicker. That’s not her real name.”

“Judith.”

“Judith,” she repeats. “Hi, Judith, how precious are you?”

You weren’t sure why, but something about their interaction left you feeling uneasy. It was most likely a protective instinct to keep your family close and safe. You didn’t think Andrea was a real threat to Judith personally, but the blonde couldn’t be trusted.

“What happened to Lori?”

“During a C-section, Maggie and Lily…” The sadness in Carol's voice hurts to hear. It couldn’t have been easy for her to be around children after losing her own daughter not so long ago. “Carl had to-”

“Oh, my god.”

“T-dog died, leading me to safety.”

Andrea’s eyes gloss over. “And Shane?”

“Rick killed him. That night we left the farm, and the whole Randall thing was a lie. Shane tried to kill Rick.”

Your stomach drops. No, no, no. You wanted to scream that they were wrong and that Rick did nothing wrong. Your mother used to tell you that love calls for sacrifice, and losing Shane to keep your brother was exactly that. Salty tears roll down your cheeks. You were terrified that night would never leave you. It would never end.

“But Shane loved Rick.”

“And Shane loved Lori,” Carol said. “I feel bad for Lily. First, her fiancé cheats on her, then tries to kill her brother. Some people just have a string of bad luck.”

“Oh,” Andrea pauses before saying, “Ricks become cold. Unsteady.”

Your tears of sorrow and guilt quickly turn to hurt and anger. Something about her word choice triggered you. Hearing enough, you wipe your eyes before stepping out of the cell, making your presence known. You hold out your arms and say, “Give her to me.”

When the blonde hands your Judith, you smile at your niece and kiss her forehead. Maybe you were overreacting, but bad mouthing a man while holding his daughter was in bad taste.

Andrea lets out an exasperated sigh. “Lily.”

“Unsteady? When I refused to tell your boyfriend our location, he forced me to strip my clothes off and had one of his goons cut me in the leg so I couldn’t run. He put bags over our heads and made me and Glenn kneel on the ground. If my ‘unsteady’ brother hadn’t turned up, they would have put bullets through our heads.”

“I’m sorry.”

You look at Carol and say, “You’ve never told us what happened before.”

“You should know better than to gossip with someone on the opposite team.”

“Andrea,” Rick suddenly calls up from the ground floor. “I think you’ve over stayed your welcome.”

—

Everyone had gone outside except for Beth, who stayed to watch over the babies while you attempted to wash some of the group's clothes while the rest saw Andrea off.

With the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you, you try your best to focus on the task at hand. What happened to you in Woodbury, hearing Carol's pity hurt. Andrea choosing to go back to the governor hurt.

Beth notices your red eyes and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It's nothing,” you lie, trying to brush off her question. “Really, I’m fine.”

She sees right through you. Beth places the box of formula down, runs around from the other side of the table, and hugs you from behind. Using the back of your hand, you muffle a sob.

Everything still hurt, but it felt good to let some pent-up emotions out.

—

In a low voice, you motion to Beth, who is singing, “You have a good girl there, Hershel; she has a heart of gold.”

He smiles proudly.

Standing between Hershel and Daryl, you move over slightly when your brother comes to join, and your arm presses against Daryl’s. The contact was minimal, but just the feeling of his warmth seems to slow your rapid heartbeat.

In a quiet voice, Daryl says, “Some reunion, huh?”

“She’s in a jam.”

“We all are,” Hershel sighs. “Andrea’s persuasive. This fella’s armed to the teeth, bent on destruction.”

You look across at your brother and ask, “So, what are we going to do?”

“We match it. I’m going on a run tomorrow.”

“One of us should go with you.”

Rick offers you a small smile. “I’ll take Michonne. And Carl, he’s ready. You three hold it down here.”

“Got it.”

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