#and the obvious. of course. he's been killing himself all along... what is a nicotine addiction but stylish self-harm

[loremaster]

evil evil playlist 10/10

heh heh heh.... join me... in hell.....

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Just A Little (Integra Hellsing)

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Suggestive 16+ ☁

Word Count: 1,821 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Integra ☁

World: Hellsing ☁

Prompt: TFR’s Writing Prompts #105

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“Y/N,”

You glanced over your shoulder at Walter.

“Sir Integra wishes to see you,” he stated, his hands folded behind his back.

You set the book down that you were reading and stood, following the older male to Integra’s office. He knocked on the door, waiting for her signal before stepping inside and bowing. She dismissed him, not looking up from the paper she was reading. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Walter said you wanted to see me,” you approached her desk, stuffing your hands into your pockets.

Integra glanced up, her blue eyes narrowing at you. “You’re coming with me,”

You held back a smirk as you leaned forward. “I’ll follow you to the ends of Earth and back, Sir Integra.”

She signed her name at the bottom of the paper before standing up. Her shoulder bumped yours as she walked past and you followed her without a word. You weren’t sure what she needed you for, but you didn’t really care, either. As long as you got to fight and protect her, you’d tackle any job.

Most of the time, Alucard was the one who got to do the fighting. He was always there, acting like a knight in blood-red armor. It annoyed you to no end, and you relished the few times you got to prove your loyalty to her.

She led you outside where a car was idling, waiting for you both. You pulled the back door open for her, letting her slide into the car before following in after her.

“When we arrive,” Integra started, pulling a cigar from her pocket and lighting it. “You’re not to attack under any circumstance.”

Your body tensed at the order. “Sir, are you sure that’s a good id – ”

“That’s an order, Y/N.” She narrowed her eyes at you, exhaling smoke as she spoke. “No matter what they say or do, your orders are to absolute.”

You slid down in your seat a bit. “Yes, Sir Integra.”

“Don’t pout,” she chided, but her voice was softer than it had been moments before.

“I’m not pouting,” you mumbled, folding your arms over your chest.

She sighed, wondering if it was a bad idea to bring you along.

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When the car pulled up to the large building on the opposite end of the city, you stepped outside, holding the door open for Integra. She stepped out and headed for the building, you at her heels. The guards at the door hesitated, eyeing her longer than you would have liked before finally letting the two of you through.

The doors opened into a large room with a waiting area in the corner near the door. The reception desk was in the center with doors on either side. The elevator was on the left with a security guard standing nearby.

Integra stepped up to the desk. “I have an appointment with Francois Spencer.”

‘What a stupid name,’ you thought, your lips twitching up as you pictured the person in your mind.

The lady at the desk smiled, turning to the phone and ringing up Francois. She informed him of his guests before thanking him and hanging up the phone. “You can proceed to the twenty-fifth floor. His office is the first door on the left.”

Without thanking her, Integra headed for the elevator. The security guard had already pressed the button, so it arrived just as she stepped in front of the closed doors.

‘Man, why’s it so hot in this building?’ you scowled at your reflection in the closed door, tugging at your tie.

She glanced at you but said nothing as she stepped out of the elevator. The first door on the left was cracked open and you could hear a voice coming from inside.

“Mou, I can’t believe the nerve of some people. To think that someone as ugly as her would turn me down! Don’t you agree, Muneki?”

“Of course, sir. She is a fool.”

“Right? I’m the most gorgeous man that ever existed!”

Your eye twitched, your body slouching forward. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me…’

Integra sent you a glare – a warning to be on your best behavior and you stood up straight, fixing your tie. She knocked on the door. Shuffling could be heard before it swung open, revealing a frail-looking old man that you assumed was Muneki.

He smiled, tiredly, the wrinkles on his skin deepening. “Please, come in.”

Your eye twitched again when you saw Francois. He was a tall and thin man, his body covered in colorful and excentric articles of clothing. The shirt he wore was made of purple silk, the same color as his hair, but the shirt had a yellow duck pattern. His pants were far too tight, clinging to his stick legs. The front of his shirt was tucked in behind a belt buckle emblazoned with a duck, deep gold in color. Multiple rings were on his fingers. His black eyes shined with confidence.

‘What the hell…’

“Integra!” He swayed over, grabbing her hands in his own. Your body tensed at the action, but her orders rung out in your head, rooting you to the spot. She didn’t seem happy about her personal space being invaded, but she said nothing on the topic. “You’re looking as ravishing as ever!”

You rolled your eyes. ‘I bet this guy is a closet perv,’

As if sensing your thoughts, his gaze snapped over to you. He got a smug look as he looked you over. “Who is this?”

“Y/N. I work for Sir Integra as a bodyguard,” you responded through gritted teeth. Your fists were begging you to punch him, but you exorcised what little bit of restraint you had.

“You? A bodyguard?” he laughed, throwing his head back. “What can you protect her from? A mosquito?”

Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your skin. ‘I wanna kill him, I wanna kill him, I wanna feckin’ murder him!’

“Integra, you must let me introduce you to some… better-suited people for that role.” He released her hands and sat in the plush armchair, crossing one leg over the other. “Have a seat, we can catch up over tea!”

“I’m not here to catch up,” she responded, coldly. It was obvious he was working her nerves too. Still, she took a seat on the couch in front of him, lighting up a cigar. You moved closer, standing beside the couch. “Do you have the information I asked for or not?”

“Of course I do!” He snapped his fingers before holding his hand out expectantly. Muneki shuffled over to the desk at the back of the room as fast as his body would allow, placing a folder in his master’s hand.

You frowned as the old man wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Poor guy. This fool is working him to death,’ You moved closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Can I punch him now? Just one good one to the face.”

“No,”

Francois smirked as his eyes bounced between the two of you, “The real question is, what are you willing to give me the information?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You will be paid handsomely for your contribution,”

“Please, I’m one of the wealthiest men in all of England! No, I want something more… personal.” He leaned forward, resting his hand on her knee.

Your eye twitched, nails digging harder until they broke the skin. “Are you absolutely sure I can’t punch him in the face?”

“Denied,”

“What if I just, you know, break his nose a little?”

His hand crept up farther. “Don’t be a prude, Integra. If you insist, your weak little slave can watch~”

“Y/N,” she called, her voice as cold as ice as she stared daggers into the man.

“Yes, Sir Integra?”

“Permission granted,”

Your face split into a sadistic grin as you lept over the couch, rearing your fist back before slamming it into his face. You felt the cracking of bone before you heard it. He tumbled back out of the chair, hitting the floor with a cry of pain.

“You crazy bitch!” he cried out, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood that poured out of his broken nose.

“If you ever put your filthy hands on my Integra again I’ll break every goddamn bone in your body, twice!” You grinned, stomping your boot on the ground.

He jumped at the action. “M-Muneki, get her!”

“Heh?” your gaze snapped over to the man.

He was smiling, but it looked tired and forced. He bowed so low you thought he might fall over. “I apologize for my master’s behavior,”

“Don’t apologize, you old fool!” He cried, clutching his nose. “I-I feel faint! Muneki I’m dying!!”

“Please stop being so dramatic, sir…”

“Dumbass,” you scoffed, picking up the folder he had dropped. You acted like you were gonna hit him again and he squeaked, folding into himself like a scared child. “What a joke!”

Integra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she stood. You followed her without having to be told, pausing to look back at the old man as he helped Francois to his feet. You felt bad for him, but there was nothing you could do. You stepped onto the elevator, holding the folder beneath your arm.

You cleared your throat, closing your eyes to avoid her gaze. “Well, that was fun.”

You could feel her pointed look. She clicked her tongue. “You have some nerve,”

“Come on, you said I could – ”

“I never gave you permission to profess that I belong to you,”

“Oh, that…” you grinned, leaning closer to her, your fingers gently tugging on the ends of her blonde hair. “But Sir Integra, it’s true, isn’t it?”

She humphed, not answering as she folded her arms over her chest.

Adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you moved to stand in front of her, leaning your head down until your lips hovered over hers. Your eyes searched her blue ones for any warning, but there was none. Her lips were soft, tasting like nicotine and honey. You let one arm slip under her coat, hand resting on her lower back as your free hand slammed down on the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a stop between floors.

Your lips trailed kisses to her neck and you tugged at her collar to get more access.

“How imprudent,” she murmured but made no move to stop you.

“What can I say?” you pressed a kiss to the skin beneath her ear, pressing your body against hers. “You drive me crazy~”

She grabbed the back of your neck, locking eyes with you. You could see the shimmer of amusement lingering in those ocean blue eyes. “You better not disappoint, Y/N.”

You smirked, fingers tugging at the waistline of her pants. “Is that an order?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Your wish is my command, Sir Integra Hellsing.”

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[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter than Sweet (78)

AO3 link

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader, Jin x reader.

Warnings: mentions of sexually explicit acts, non-consensual blood-drinking, self-hatred.  

Word count: 3k

Previous / Next

If the below gif belongs to you, please let me know so I can properly credit. 

Namjoon had never intended to stay this long when he’d stepped foot into her dimly-lit studio apartment during the early hours of the morn’.  

A lettings agent might describe the place as cosy but cramped would be by far the more fitting adjective.  A tired looking kitchenette, a slightly off balance dresser and a barely-double bed fill what little space there is, and whilst it may be sparsely furnished Namjoon’s thankful that it’s clean.  True, it’s a long way from the opulent surroundings he’s become so accustomed to, but as they say, ‘beggars can’t be choosers’.

It’d been the shade of her hair and the sway of her hips that had first drawn him to her, nothing much deeper than that.  Easy on the eyes, she’d seemed equally easy prey as tipsy as she was on leaving the club in which he’d first spotted her; her looks so similar to yours as she’d danced beneath the flashing lights that he’d sworn she must’ve been your twin.  

Of course, you have your differences.  She’s far feistier than you. She laughs louder and longer and had had no qualms in stumbling home with a stranger on her arm, lacking your coy smiles and blush, petal pink.  

“Oh fuck, Namjoon!”  Her voice was rougher than yours, too, he discovered.  Husky from her nicotine habit, he’d hated how harsh it sounded when she’d moaned his name; a problem easily solved by a hand wrapped around her throat.  It was all too easy to pretend she was you once silenced - even easier when bent over on all fours, his jutting hipbones slamming bruises into her behind.  

The strands of her hair had looked identical to yours twisted around his fingers but there’d been none of your gasps and keens when he’d grabbed in fist and tugged; none of your soft sighs or desperate moans.  It’d been a simple enough task for him to conjure them into his mind, though, and your doppelganger had been all too happy to let him drag her around into any position he saw fit - to use her body to live out all the fantasies he’d been saving up for you until both were utterly spent.

He’d considered killing her, then, and tells himself he likely would’ve done had it not been for a stroke of serendipity; a lucky coincidence that benefited them both.  Her apartment sits almost opposite the bar in which you work, it turns out; her large window providing the perfect perch from which to watch its patrons come and go, blissfully ignorant of any watchful eyes that may linger on their backs.  

Namjoon had fallen asleep after their tryst that night with the knowledge that his preoccupation with the woman curled at his side had cost him his chance to see you, but it wouldn’t happen again.  In the nights that followed, he promised himself he’d be sure to take advantage of the fortunate circumstance with which he’d been blessed.

She’d woken up late the next morning, flustered and hungover, and had been too concerned with getting to work on time to waste any she had to spare on asking Namjoon to leave.  Tugging on her coat, she’d hastily told him to make himself at home or see himself out whenever he was ready. What was hers was his it seemed, at least for the time being.

Really she was far too kind - too trusting of the stranger she’d welcomed not only into her bed but also her home.   Her naivety reminded him of you, and yet he couldn’t seem to hold that against her. There were much worse things that a person could be, Namjoon supposed.   

Perhaps it was an ounce of pity, too, that had meant he was allowed to stay.  Maybe she was more observant than she at first seemed. Maybe she’d noticed the shabbiness of his clothes as they’d been shed, or maybe he’d too obviously enjoyed the feel of clean, soft blankets against his skin.  It’d been weeks since he’d slept in a proper bed; falling asleep almost as soon as his head had met the pillow.

He’d dozed most of the day away after she’d left, rising only briefly in order to wash and dry his clothes in her machine.  There was no real reason to be awake until evening fell, after all, and a quick scan of her apartment had revealed little more than a few dog-eared issues of Cosmo in the way of entertainment, none of which he had any desire to read.  

When the time had come for your shift to start Namjoon had made sure he was stationed at the window, watching impatiently for your arrival with a clenched jaw and restlessly bobbing knees, his gaze flicking down the street this way and that.  With each minute that passed by the more agitated he would become, rising from his seat to pace along the threadbare carpet only to pause when your insufferable colleague came into sight, entering the bar as Namjoon watched on with clenched fists.   

Several minutes passed by before a roar of frustration interrupted the grinding of his teeth, hit suddenly by the awareness of an obvious oversight he’d made.  You don’t work on Sundays - you never have. You wouldn’t be at the bar that night, either, and the realisation made him very nearly tear out his hair in a fit of frightful anger.  

He’s no fool; Namjoon is well aware of how obsessive his behaviour towards you has become.  It wouldn’t be like this if only you’d paid his warning heed and left the manor - if you’d just let him keep you safe.  He wouldn’t have to watch you so closely if you were right here by his side.

Of course, the logical part of him that remains understands that after all that’s happened between you that safety is probably the last thing you’d associate with his name.  But that was a mistake; a stupid, terrible mistake he’d made when driven near mad with jealousy and blinded by blood lust. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you… not really. He’d just wanted to make you see.

Back to the present, and Namjoon is only just calming down by the time he hears the door to the apartment open and her voice calling out tentatively just after.  It’s evident by her wide-eyed look when she sees him sat at the foot of her bed that she’d doubted he’d still be here but she doesn’t seem dismayed by the fact; just the opposite, actually.  Her face splits into a wide smile and she teases him about not being able to keep away as she places a bag of groceries down on the counter, crossing the small space to come sit on his lap as soon as he beckons her with a curl of his finger.  

She may not be you but the weight of someone warm within his arms is pleasant nonetheless.  She’s an outlet through which he can vent all his frustrations, one he intends to make good use of, and within minutes of her stepping through the front door Namjoon has her naked and wanting beneath him, begging for him in ways he only wishes you would.  He’s rougher than is necessary when he takes her, he thinks, but that only seems to make her crave him all the more; clawing at his back and burying her face in the crook of his neck, lavishing kisses upon his skin.

She doesn’t hear him grunt your name under his breath as he cums and fills her carelessly with his seed, too preoccupied with her own pleasure to realise that his mind is elsewhere, with someone else.  Perhaps she wouldn’t care even if she did.

He wishes that his mind were able to always stay so blissfully distracted, but as soon as he rolls off of her body and onto his back it soon begins to race along to the tune of their laboured breaths.  Realistically, Namjoon knows he can only remain a lodger in her apartment for so long. It’ll start looking odd if he tries to linger any longer than just one more night, regardless of how hospitable she may be.  Perhaps he should just remove the problem entirely. If he were to do that then he could stay as long as he likes; watch your comings and goings as much as he pleases.

Namjoon turns his head to the side and watches her for a moment, eyeing his host’s profile.  Her ample chest is heaving up and down as she catches her breath following tonight’s exertions, her eyes closed and a sated smile stretching out her lips.  He’s worn her out so well that he can hear the blood thumping through her veins with every bounding pulse - a sinful siren call - and the sight of her jugular throbbing beneath her skin has a famished Namjoon very nearly groaning aloud with hunger.  

It’s been too long since he last fed.  Cast out of his home, he’s had to resort to snatching mere mouthfuls from those who least likely to remember or be believed; drunks and bums and other such undesirables.  Each one has left a bad taste in his mouth, enough to stave off hunger but never truly satisfy. Part of him wonders if any blood other than yours ever will, now he’s learnt what heaven tastes like.  

Unable to resist the call, Namjoon slots himself against her side and buries his head into the crook of her neck, one arm around her waist to pull her naked form flush with his.  The fragrance of her perfume lingers on her skin; a somewhat spicier scent than yours but by no means unpleasant. He nuzzles into her and she laughs, unalarmed, and why should she be?  She has no idea of his nefarious nature, nor how close to danger she really lies.

“You know,” she smiles, planting a kiss to the top of his head, “I hadn't really expected someone like you to be so cuddly.”   Namjoon chuckles wryly in response to that and places a kiss of his own to her slender neck, tightening his grip around her waist.

“Someone like me?” he queries curiously.

“Yeah, you know; tall, dark-” Namjoon tilts his head up to meet her eyes, surprised by the warmth that greets him there. “- Devastatingly handsome.”  He laughs again at the sight of her cheesy grin, tucking his head back into the gentle slope of her neck.

It reminds him of something you would say; a sweet, stupid joke that’d make you blush as soon as it falls from your lips, eyes twinkling.

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmurs lowly, the timbre of his voice making her squirm a little in his arms, her thighs pressing together.  If only she knew what dark secret to which he’s referring - the same secret that has him kissing his way down her jugular, lips pressed to her pulse and fangs aching with desire.  

She hums contentedly, arching her body into his and tilting her head to the side in encouragement of his affections.  

“Joon…” she sighs softly and he feels her fingers running through his hair, too-long nails dragging at the roots.   Her pulse begins to race with excitement and the sound of it thudding through her veins is what proves to be Namjoon’s final undoing, able to resist no longer.  

His draws his lips back to bare his pointed teeth, digging his fingers into her flesh as he plunges; embedding them into her neck.  

Her reaction is both uninhibited and instantaneous; her soft limbs turning rigid as agony hits like lightning and her shrieks of terror fill the apartment, bouncing off the walls.  Molten copper gliding across his tongue and slipping down his throat - warm, rich and thick - Namjoon tries his best to shut them out, keeps his eyes tightly closed as he rhythmically draws his nourishment from her veins.  

It’s hard, though, when he feels her tugging at his hair and then shoving against his chest, kicking her legs in a fruitless attempt to get away.  All the while she’s screaming, crying, and he’s not had anyone fight him like this since he fed on you. He barely even realises the fervour with which he’d begun to feast is already waning, frowning distractedly as he sucks at her wounds and pins her to the bed with his far larger frame.

“No, stop, please!” she cries, and it feels all too familiar; all too visceral, all too raw.  “Please, d-don’t!” she begs through tears, “Namjoon!”

It was a mistake to purposefully seek out someone so like you, he sees that now.  As her naked body writhes in agony beneath him it’s your cries of pain rather than hers that Namjoon hears; it’s your tear-streaked face he sees behind his eyelids.  Unbidden, the memory makes it feels as though his ribcage is constricting around his lungs - a sucker punch right into his sternum - and the nectar that was at first so exquisite now tastes bitter as it passes over his tongue.  

He doesn’t want to remember what he did to you; doesn’t want to have to live it all over again.  He never intended to hurt someone he cares about so deeply or lay yet another relationship to ruin, and yet that’s all he ever seems capable of doing, isn’t it?  It’s a struggle to remember a single person that he’s loved whom he hasn’t let down; you, his parents, his brothers. Each one pains him to recall, but none so much as the first shameful failure from which all of this started; his inability to save his precious sister from a fate she’d done so little to deserve.  

It should have been him.  He should’ve been the one to die - to wither away in a hospital bed so she could live on and become a far greater person that he could ever hope to be.  What would she make of the despicable creature he’s become? The answer is painfully obvious, really. She’d hate him, maybe even more than Namjoon hates himself, and deep down he knows he’d deserve it. There’s nothing separating him now from the monster that’d preyed on his vulnerability, used his desperation to lure him and then so cruelly inflicted him with this curse.    

He’s no better than that.  His betrayal of his brothers and his attacking you finally proved it once and for all.   Truly, he’s little more than a monster.

The remorse that consumes him is so potent it makes him feel as though he’s drowning in the blood he’s stolen from her.  He chokes on the next mouthful, the sound of your pitiful cries still ringing in his ears as he lurches away. So hard does he cough and splutter that crimson droplets splatter across her sheets like some macabre piece of art, and as he struggles to catch his breath he can hear her sobbing and scrambling to get away - a thud as she feels to the floor in her haste to flee from the demon in her bed.  

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out, “God I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t even realise the sob that follows is his own until he puts his head in his hands and tears wet his palms.  His chest heaves with the weight of them, the passageways of his throat becoming raw with all the rambling apologies that follow and the heavy sobs that rip through it.  

“J-just… p-please,” he hears her say in a weak and trembling voice.  Namjoon looks up - her blood drying on his lips - and is horrified by the sight that greets him; his victim cowering naked in the very furthest corner of the room.  The hand that’s pressed to her neck is stained sticky red, tears flowing unrestrained from eyes that are wild and scared and staring. “P-please don’t hurt m-me.” She flinches when regret hits him so hard that he has to place a hand on the bed to steady himself.  “I w-won’t tell anyone. P-please, just-just l-leave.”

Namjoon nods his head because it’s all he can seem to bring himself to do, tearing his eyes from her and rising from the bed as if on autopilot.  He scrubs the blood from around his mouth with the back of his hand as he searches for his clothes and pulls them on, each whimper and sniffle that he hears threatening to start his own tears anew.

He’s never felt like this before; never felt such remorse for doing what comes so naturally to his kind save for the one occasion that he fed from you.  And that’s the problem, it seems. Ever since that time, no longer can he feed without your face appearing in his mind. He can’t enjoy it the way that he once did, too preoccupied with the memory of the shame and the sadness that overwhelmed him following the expulsion from his home.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeats once more, his palms extended toward her as if trying to soothe a wounded animal, placating.  “I give you my word - you won’t ever see me again,” he promises, fleeing out into the night so that he need not look again at the terrified expression that she wears upon the face that looks so much like yours.

Stepping out onto the pavement, Namjoon stares blankly at the bar sat on the opposite side of the street.  His thoughts are bleak; longing for the day he might no longer have to feel this way - no longer loathe himself to the very core.  He knows he’s deserving of the hate he’s received - there are numerous ways in which he’s earned it - but he’s just so... tired of it after all these years.  So very, very tired of it all.

The one singular thing that keeps him going is the desire that consumes him; to see you, to watch out for you; to make sure you never come to the same harm again that he put you through.  

Maybe, Namjoon hopes - Maybe one day he might be able to make all of this up to you.  

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 13

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen (here)

Chapter Thirteen It's just business...

Life was a complicated thing. No two people ever experienced it the same way. There may be similarities - shared happiness and sorrow - but no person ever would ever see, touch, hear, taste, or feel it the same as another. It was unique to that person and that person alone.

Sakura considered this as she sipped from her mug, her eyes roving over the small coffeehouse. The thick scent of coffee filled the shop as beans were ground and pressed. The hiss from the espresso machine echoed behind the counter as workers filled the orders of their customers. All smiles and friendly conversation.

By the door was a group of teenagers, all six crammed into a booth that was far too small for their party. They were all laughing as they enjoyed their coffees and pastries. Sakura wondered under all those smiles how many were actually happy. How many were stressed for college. Who was concerned for their drug-abusing sibling. Whose mother had passed in the last year.

The businessman at the counter checked his watch for the third time as he waited for his drink. There were stress lines under his eyes. Had he caught his wife in bed with another man only just last night? Or perhaps he had stayed late at the office to cheat himself?

Those were the kind of things one would never know simply by looking at another person.

Sakura thought about this a lot. Wondered what secrets lay behind the face of the person next to her. Only because she had so many herself. With her pretty face and easy smile, one would never take her to be an international weapons dealer. An arms trafficker. A murderer. Maybe that's why she was so good at it.

She wondered if the barista behind the counter would smile at her like that if he knew the first thing about her. Probably not. He'd likely run screaming all the way to the police station.

Sakura couldn't resist smiling at him now. Just the barest curve in the corner of her mouth before she sipped from her mug. His smile widened in response, dimples and all, before his attention returned to the drink he was making.

It was then that a shadow fell over her. She looked up to find Tobirama. Dressed in a three-piece suit and tie, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He eyed the barista pointedly. "He's too innocent for you."

Perhaps that was true, but Sakura shot him an unimpressed look regardless. "Don't tell me you're intimidated by a nineteen-year-old."

The glare Tobirama sent her was dark enough to make anyone cower. If only she hadn't seen him naked.

Smirking, she sipped her coffee before lowering the mug once more. "What're you doing here?"

"I need an update on your shipment," he told her, his scowl lessening but not completely fading.

"And you couldn't have just called?"

"I did," he said with a tone of forced patience. "Four times."

Alright, it was possible she had been fielding Tobirama's calls. But only because she had been in a bad mood the last few days and she had just wanted some time to herself without him touching her for sex. She wanted to be more annoyed than she was about him dropping in on her unexpectedly, but she supposed she couldn't blame him. They had business to discuss.

"Fine," Sakura sighed.

She drained the rest of her coffee before she stood and left the little shop with Tobirama in tow. On the sidewalk, they waited for the cars to back up at the red light before they weaved through the vehicles and crossed the street.

Sakura slipped into the passenger seat of Tobirama's car, her spine melting into the soft leather. He started the engine but made no move to merge into traffic. Simply turned the heat to low to keep out the winter cold.

"Hashirama wants to move on Newark in four days," Tobirama told him needlessly. "I'm gathering men, but I need to know your status on supplies. You said you were having a new shipment arrive this week?"

Humming her confirmation, Sakura scrolled through her phone, pausing on the update from Naruto. She read the short email, a faint smile crossing her face. "Tonight, actually," she said at last. "All I need to know is where you want it."

If Tobirama was surprised by her swiftness, he didn't show it. "The warehouse off of 42nd," he told her.

It was the one he usually used. The abandoned building tucked away in an old manufacturing district. Forgotten and isolated.

"I'll have Naruto get it delivered to you tonight," Sakura said.

"No, I want you to do it."

Stilling, she paused and looked up to peer at Tobirama. "You don't trust me to have my men handle things."

He stared back unapologetically. "This is a massive raid. I need things done correctly. If we lose this, Akatsuki will expand further into Jersey and start moving into our territory. So I need you there to ensure everything goes perfect. Can you do that or not?"

Sakura just stared back, utterly unconcerned by his sudden attitude. She was more interested into how she had gotten under his skin so quickly. Perhaps he was annoyed she had been ignoring him. Or maybe he was anxious about what was to come with Akatsuki. Or it was possible he had always been like this and she had just never noticed before. Whichever it was, she let the matter go with a shrug.

"I will personally deliver you the weapons tonight, Your Majesty," she eventually said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Tobirama's scowl deepened minutely. Then he sighed when he saw her failed attempt to bite back her smirk. The curve of her lips only widened when he looked forward, a muttered 'smartass' passing his lips.

Sakura quietly laughed at him a moment longer before she finally reached for the door handle. "I'll be there at midnight," she told him.

Tobirama said nothing before she slipped out of the car.

xx

That night, Sakura drove to the meeting place. With Naruto in the passenger seat, they bumped along in the moving truck down the deserted streets. In the cupholder, Sakura's phone chimed. The only sound to break the still silence. She read Ino's message at the next red light and sent off a reply before shoving the device into her pocket.

Only once they were a few blocks out, did Sakura speak, "Watch your back when we get there."

Naruto turned his head to peer at her. "I thought you and Tobirama got along?"

"We do," she said, her eyes briefly flickering to the side mirror. "But that doesn't mean he won't put a bullet in my back later. This is business, after all."

"Do you plan on cheating him?"

"Of course not," Sakura snapped, glancing in the blond's direction. "But even the best of business partners find themselves at each other's throats now and again. And unfortunately our dealings involved many, many guns."

Naruto said nothing to that. Merely glanced out the window to stare at the passing streetlights.

Some minutes later, they arrived at the warehouse. The surrounding streets were empty, not even an abandoned car left to rust on the side of the road. The windows that hadn't been boarded up were dark and dusty. Some even cracked.

Sakura backed the truck up to one of the loading garages and killed the engine. The sudden silence echoed in her ears. Though not as loudly as her door as she stepped down out of the truck and shut it behind her. The sound seemed to echo twice as far as it should've.

"You're late," a shadow in the doorway said.

The dark figure straightened as she approached the back of the truck. Tobirama had changed out of his silk suit and into street clothes. Somehow the jeans and black, hooded jacket made him look bigger. Fiercer.

She shot him a look. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He scowled at her until Naruto stepped up beside her. He didn't even offer the blond a glance before he turned away to knock on the bay door. On cue, someone on the inside hauled it open, allowing them to slip inside and out of the wind.

With Naruto at her side, they stood some yards back as one of Tobirama's men approached the back of the truck. He unfastened the locks and hauled the heavy door up before he stepped aside for Tobirama's viewing.

Tobirama said nothing as he eyed the store. All eyes were on him as he popped open the first container and inspected the shipment. All except Sakura. Who was examining her nails. She listened to Tobirama rummage through the inventory.

After a few minutes, he slipped back out. "These are all loaded and ready to go?"

Sakura nodded. "All yours as soon as I get my payment."

Tobirama nodded at his men. They jumped into motion immediately to begin securing the load. "I'll have Hashirama wire you the money."

"Hashirama knows I expect payment upon delivery," she told him.

When he turned to look at her, her face was relaxed but there was a steeliness behind her eyes. If he thought she would be lenient on him because they shared a bed, he was in for a rude awakening.

To her relief, Tobirama just smirked. A faint curve in the corners of his mouth only wide enough for her to see. Without a word, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. His fingers swiped across the screen before he waited.

A few seconds later, Sakura's phone pinged, alerting her of the transfer. She tossed him the truck keys with a smile. "Thanks, darling."

With Naruto behind her, she exited the warehouse. With the exchange over, her mood was lighter than it had in days. The familiar relief and zing of adrenaline flooding her system like a hit of nicotine. Addicting and euphoric.

Only once the building was no longer in sight did Naruto speak, "How can you be so relaxed? Doesn't he give you the creeps?"

Blinking herself to the present, Sakura glanced at him. "Who?"

"Tobirama," he said like it was obvious. "That dude just gives off a vibe of murder."

"Does he? I hadn't noticed," she said. And she meant it. Perhaps it was because she had been surrounded by murder all her life. Those types of men just didn't have the same effect on her anymore.

The pair stopped when they reached the next intersection. Down the street, the headlights of Kakashi's car appeared. Her phone pinged in her back pocket. A small smile crossed her face when she read the text from Tobirama:

Your place. Two hours.

Maybe Tobirama did give off a vibe. But it certainly wasn't murder.

xx

Sakura inhaled slowly. And then exhaled. She laid on her back, the strong, sturdy floor a welcomed anchor from the constant spin the world seemed to be in. Above her, the ceiling seemed so far away. Stretching impossibly high. Her eyes traced the lights that swept across the room like false shooting stars. Passing, passing, passing by as the cars outside drove up the street and then away.

Four shots was fun. Five was a horrible, horrible mistake.

Somewhere off to her left, Ino groaned quietly in the back of her throat. The blonde was only visible by her legs where they dangled off the arm of Sakura's couch, swaying in a slow, lazy swing. She was likely in worse shape than Sakura.

On the other side of the apartment, the radio hummed low in the background. A familiar song filled the comfortable silence. Sakura sang along to a couple of lines, liking the way those lyrics rolled off her tongue. Putting words to the feelings she didn't quite know how to describe.

When that song faded, Sakura let the next fill the room. She listened absently as she rolled through what the next few days held for her. Her fingertips ghosted over the raised skin along her abdomen. The scar was still tender when she moved certain ways, but for the most part it had healed well.

"Why are you headed to Long Island again?" Ino asked, breaking the long, long silence that had settled between them.

Sakura pulled her hand out from under her shirt to run her fingers through her hair, spreading the pink locks across the floor like a flowing, pink river. "I'm meeting a new contact," she said simply.

Ino's legs stopped moving abruptly. "A new contact? What kinda contact?"

A CIA contact. A traitorous contact. A contact she was never supposed to have, was Sakura's immediate answer. She knew she couldn't voice any of these so she remained silent, staring at the ceiling, chasing the bursts of light that briefly drove the shadows away before the dark closed in again.

"Why are you asking?" Sakura asked instead. She was good at that - redirecting. And normally Ino was the first to pick up on it, but she was too drunk, too lost in her own jumbled thoughts to notice.

Ino didn't answer, her feet falling still. She was quiet for so long, Sakura thought she may have finally fallen asleep. But then her legs vanished and she appeared over the couch, her arms folded across the back, her chin resting on her forearm. Even then, Ino still hesitated. Her lips pursed together, searching for how to say what was on her mind.

Without lifting her head from the ground, Sakura turned her face towards her. Wondering, waiting to see what Ino would say.

"I've been thinking," Ino said slowly. "And just think about it before you say no," she quickly added.

Sakura's eyes narrowed, already not liking this conversation. Still, she remained quiet as she waited for Ino to continue.

"What if...what if I became one of your contacts?"

The curious look on Sakura's face faded to be replaced with genuine surprise. She blinked, a little lost for words. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm tired of just sitting on my hands," Ino told her vaguely. "And you're still short one supplier after Asuma was killed."

Even with her head still spinning, Sakura pushed herself up. The world tilted a little but she pressed her palm flat to the floor to anchor herself. The gravity of Ino's request sobered her some, gave her something to focus on other than her own, churning thoughts. Something the alcohol had failed to do.

"Asuma was targeted by Akatsuki, Ino. You don't want to do this," Sakura said solemnly.

Rather than become defensive, Ino deflated a little. She propped her elbow against the couch to rest her temple against her fist. With the other hand, she traced invisible patterns along the cotton.

Ever since her parents had been murdered, there was something a little off about Ino. Where she had once been easygoing and perky, she was more subdued. More calculating. More like Sakura. It was a little unnerving.

When Ino remained quiet, Sakura pressed softly, "If you start down this path, Ino, you will learn that there is no one in this world you hate more than yourself."

"I already do," she murmured so quietly Sakura nearly missed it.

There was a tone in Ino's voice Sakura didn't recognize. She wondered if Ino felt guilty for not being there for her parents. Wondered if Ino thought she should have helped them more with their assignment. Sakura knew that if Ino had, she would have just been another victim.

Like a light turning on, it suddenly occurred to Sakura as she sat there watching Ino trace that nonexistent shape on her couch, that perhaps that was what Ino wished had happened.

The playful, blonde girl Sakura had known since she was ten was gone. In her place was someone who looked like Ino, only darker and more cruel. The harsh realities of the world had stolen that sun-shiny innocence from her. Leaving behind a cold, broken heart. Sakura recognized that bitterness in Ino's eye. She saw it every morning when she looked in the mirror.

"I don't have anything left to lose," Ino said. Then her hand stilled as she raised her gaze to meet Sakura’s. "And you need me."

Sakura remained quiet. Not because she was searching for the words to tell Ino no. But because Ino was right. Sakura was down a supplier and Ino's parents had been small time smugglers. Ino had grown up learning to hide and conceal. She would pick up Sakura's trade well.

A sigh from Sakura's very soul passed between her lips. "I'll put you in contact with Naruto," she eventually said. "He'll show you the ropes."

to be continued...

[shimmershae]

Enough.  Rated M.  (a Walking Dead One Shot, Caryl.  With some hints of Andrea/Michonne and unrequited Milton/Andrea).

I don't even know with this, lol.  Apparently, my brain works in mysterious ways when it's all sleep deprived and hyped up on dark chocolate. 

 This is quite possibly the weirdest and smuttiest thing I've ever posted, hahaha.  I hope you enjoy. 

 Post Season 3/Early Season 4 AU/Canon Divergence. What if Merle's ambush of the Governor had worked and he killed him?  With Michonne's help?  How would that have changed life at the Prison and the Woodbury community? 

 Shae's attempt at course correction. 

 Andrea lives and things get even more complicated.  Milton pines.  Merle takes the grudging respect he's earned and ingratiates himself within the Prison community.  And Carol and Daryl?  They're growing into feelings that have been there all along. 

 “Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here."    

 Family, Humor, Dixon Potty Mouth, a touch of Angst, and some (hopefully sweet and sexy) Smut. 

“Better have a good reason for wakin’ me up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Daryl muttered tiredly, not even bothering to crack an eye open when he heard the heavy fall of boots pause just outside of his cell.  He was bone tired, drug down and weary, and he hadn’t even bothered to shuck his vest when he’d stumbled up the stairs the night before.  He’d just let his crossbow slide from his battered shoulder and collapsed face first into the pitiful excuse for a mattress, not even caring in the slightest that the stench of pig shit still clung stubbornly to the threadbare rags he called clothes.  He fucking hated pigs, the distant promise of bacon or not, and he and Rick were overdue a little talk.  It wasn’t the former cop’s shadow darkening his door, though.  The man’s sanity might have taken a lasting hit with the loss of his wife, but even he had enough sense not to disturb Daryl’s hard-earned rest unless it was an emergency, and they hadn’t had all that many of those since that one-eyed Woodbury bastard’s bloody demise.  No.   There were two people left in this sideways world brave enough to risk threatened dismemberment when he was this dead beat and ornery, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t Carol—there’d been more than one reason she’d earned the nickname Mouse from his brother.  His dumbass, horn dog, dick of a brother who chose that moment to rattle his blade across the bars of Daryl’s cell and whistle at him through his crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, ending his chances of drifting back to any semblance of sleep.  “Dammit, Merle.  I’m tellin’ ya…”

  “Rise and shine, Baby Brother,” Merle cut him off.  “Someone’s at the door.” 

    ~*~

    “Whatsa matter, Miltie?” Merle asked as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, peering into the other man’s ashen, sweaty face while running the tip of his blade beneath his frayed sleeve.  “Thought you had lots of experience with this sort of thing, bein’ a scientist and all.  Hell.  Didn’t they used to be a show on that Discovery Channel ‘bout birthin’ babies?  Didn’t look all that complicated to me.” 

  “Cut it out, Merle,” Daryl warned with a scowl, his steps still a little sluggish as he paced the perimeter of the reclaimed Prison library.  He’d hoped the quiet solitude of the place and its relative distance from the infirmary where Maggie and Carol had hurriedly ushered Andrea would calm the man’s obvious nerves, but in the usual manner of things, his brother had butted in where he wasn’t invited, and well.  Mamet looked like he was up to his ass in alligators.  Or maybe facing execution at the clawing hands and snapping jaws of a hungry army of dead fucks.  Neither proposition was appealing and Daryl went against his natural inclination.  “Know she’ll be alright, right?  S’got Maggie and Carol.  Hershel and Bob with her.”  

  The pale man snapped out of his worried stupor long enough to frown.  “Who’s Bob?” 

    ~*~

    Beth sought them out mid-afternoon, Judith bouncing in her skinny arms.  Her blue eyes were earnest when she updated them on how Andrea was doing.  “Daddy says she’s in the final stages of it now.  Shouldn’t be too much longer ‘til the baby’s here.” 

  An obnoxious, shit-eating grin stretched Merle’s blunt features wide and he slapped both hands against the table in front of him.  “Hear that, Bill Nye?” 

  Mamet merely nodded and took a deep breath. 

  He looked less like a concerned friend and confidante in that moment and even more like a scared-shitless expectant daddy-to-be, and Daryl suppressed a groan because he was observant and he weren’t no fool, having spent the last several months growing into a friendship with Michonne.  In this new world, labels didn’t mean shit—not that he figured ‘Chonne had come up with one that reflected all that their ball-bustin’ former companion meant to her.  And that was before Andrea fucked around with that sociopathic sonuvabitch and thrown her for a loop, created a rift between them that they still hadn’t breached completely.  “S’good,” he finally said, pulling a hand down over his face.  His nostrils flared and he grimaced, remembering belatedly to thank the shy teen for her shared news.  “Appreciate it, Beth.”

  “Welcome,” she smiled, hitching Judith higher on her hip and turning heel.  “And Daryl,” she called, her blond ponytail bobbing as she peeked back around the door.  “Zach said he’d cover your watch shift.  Said he don’t mind at all.” 

  Daryl nodded.  “Owe him one.” 

    ~*~

    Bored with blowing smoke up Mamet’s ass, Merle had finally wandered off and left the two of them alone. Probably he was going to pester some of the kids that’d joined their growing ranks in the last several months.  Hopefully, he was going to steer well enough away from Glenn, tentative truce or not since his and Michonne’s impulsive but ultimately successful ambush of the Governor.

  On the one hand, Daryl was relieved.  But on the other, he weren’t much for conversation, least not anymore and not with virtual strangers.  Former association with the Governor aside, though, the scientist seemed like decent people, and Daryl supposed he should make the effort.  “Why?” 

  Mamet appeared taken aback by the simple question, his only immediate response a frown. 

  “Why come here?” Daryl elaborated.  “Had a nurse in Woodbury.  A real doctor even.” 

  “She needed her family,” the man answered simply.  “It’s been difficult for her.  The pregnancy.  Assuming the mantle of leadership.  She needed her family and who am I to deny her that?” 

  Daryl took a moment to digest the given information and stood back up, his fingers fidgeting for a cigarette that wasn’t there.  “You’re a good friend.” 

  “Yeah,” Mamet sighed in resignation, standing up and starting to pace himself.  “A good friend.”  A few trips up and down the library’s aisles and he stopped dead in his tracks, his brow furrowed with concern.  “Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” 

   “How’s ‘bout we go find out for ourselves?” Daryl offered. 

    ~*~

    Andrea’s son was born with the setting of the sun.  He was loud and had a lot to say about the matter and damn near everybody behind the Prison’s walls knew about it, too. 

  “Kid’s got Blondie’s mouth,” Merle drawled, not without a little bit of fondness.  Producing a flask from his pocket, he held it out to the man sitting across from him.  “Careful,” he warned.  “Want to drink it down fast.  Stuff there’ll singe the hair off a wild boar’s balls.” 

  Mamet gulped it down fast, coughing and sputtering right on cue and looking a little green. 

  “The hell, Merle.  Man ain’t eat a bite all day,” Daryl barked, confiscating the flask from the overwhelmed man’s hands before he could down another shot of the stuff.  Taking an experimental sniff, he swore.  “Fuck is that?” 

  “Home brew, Baby Brother.”  Merle grinned.  “Ole Merle’s secret recipe.  Mouse likes it.  Makes ‘er all giggly.” 

  Daryl’s eyebrows disappeared in his shaggy hairline before he recovered his wits about him and the glare on his face was murderous as he growled out a single word in warning.  “Merle.”  Thankfully, reason intervened in the form of Maggie and he backed down, his anger deflated. 

  “Mr. Mamet?  She’s asking for you.” 

    ~*~

    Staring down at the red-faced newborn ‘Chonne held in the cradle of her arms, Daryl was hit with a revelation that wasn’t such a revelation at all:  DNA wasn’t worth a hill of beans.  Yeah, maybe if he squinted a little he could see the Governor’s chin and dark peach fuzz covered the kid’s funny shaped head.  But he snuggled all soft and innocent into the kisses gifted to him from the old man’s girls and he held on tight to Carl’s little finger, and shit.  This family of choice and circumstance was going to be the difference.  Of course, his brother chose that moment to interject his own two cents. 

  “Hate to break it to you, Sugar Tits,” Merle announced loudly from where he lurked in the open doorway, “but he don’t look nothin’ like the Nubian Queen.” 

  ‘Chonne just rolled her eyes but Andrea did something surprising.  She laughed softly and invited him inside.  Looking over at the quiet man that stood by her side, she grabbed his hand and gave it a tired squeeze, teased, “What do you think, Milton?  Does he have your eyes?”

  “No,” Milton pronounced seriously.  “He’s got yours.” 

    ~*~

    The showers were deserted by the time Daryl finally made it to them, lit only by the high moon’s light.  Resting his bundle of clean clothes on a nearby bench, he stripped bare, peeling the layers of the last couple days away and stepping into the curtained stall.  Lukewarm water sputtered from the wide spout, but after all those long winter months on the road, it still felt like a luxury and he dipped his head beneath the stream, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the day.  He didn’t even open his eyes when he heard the soft pad of footsteps or felt her slender arms wrap around his waist from behind. 

  “Mmm.”  Carol removed her lips from his damp shoulder to wrinkle her nose.  “You smell.” 

  He grunted out a laugh and tugged her arms tight around him again, relishing the soft press of her breasts against his skin.  “Really?  No shit.” 

  Lifting on tiptoe, she nipped playfully at the tendons in his neck in retaliation, her fingertips skating around his navel before dropping below his narrow waist.  She smirked when she held the silky steel length of him in her hand and he shuddered in response. 

  A guttural groan tumbled from his open mouth as she started to work him over with slow, steady strokes, and he braced his weight against the shower stall, widening his stance unconsciously.  “Careful, Sweetheart.” 

  “Hmm?” she murmured, swiping her thumb across the sensitive head of his cock and dropping one kiss, then two and a third to the base of his neck.

  “Got a hair trigger tonight,” he warned as her slippery skin pressed even more firmly into his own. 

  “Just tonight, Pookie?” she teased with another kiss, this one to the round of his shoulder. 

  “Stop,” he grumbled.   

  “If you really want me to,” she said and her grip loosened until he sighed and covered her hand with his own. 

  “Gonna make it up to ya,” he vowed. 

  Her lips tickling over his spine, she smiled.  “I’m counting on it.” 

    ~*~

    Squeezed in tight together in her bunk, beneath the blankets and the cover of a midnight sky, between the cradle of her warm thighs, Daryl rose above her.  Over and over, he surged forward and pressed deep, deeper and deeper until her blue eyes melted into black and fire licked at the freckles on her collarbone. 

  Carol’s mouth parted on silent moan after silent moan, mindful of the sleepy murmurs of night and the Prison all around them.  Her nails scored his back and her heels dug into the clenched muscles of his ass.  She couldn’t help but let out a whimper when he dropped his forehead to her own briefly before finding her throat and sucking the tender skin into his mouth.  She shuddered when his whisper reached her ear.  

  “Gonna have to be quiet, Sweetheart.”  He nipped at her chin with his teeth before swallowing her soft cries with his kiss, just as slow and sweet and intent as his thrusts were, and when she started to whine and sweep her restless hands through his damp hair, he gathered her close and sat up, loving the way she felt in his lap.  She was wet and warm and a little bit wild from how worked up he’d gotten her, her hips rolling restlessly and her hard little nipples dragging across his chest with every movement. 

  “Can’t.”  Her breath caught and released in a helpless gasp as he pushed up into her, one hand bracing himself against her thin mattress and the other gliding low over the small of her sweaty back.  “Daryl, I can’t.” 

  “Shh,” he murmured into her open mouth.  “You can.  Know you can.”  He nuzzled her brow, feathered his lips over the softness of her silver hair as he felt his own whine start to build in the back of his throat.  She was so tight, so goddamn tight, and fuck.  He saw the pinprick shine of stars as she squeezed around his dick and took him deeper, her legs starting to shake as her knees dug into the mattress.  A string of quiet, desperate curses tore from his throat.  “Tell me what you need, Woman.  Fuck, Carol.  Tell me.”  His hand slid over her ass, his thumb teasing briefly at the puckered skin between her cheeks, before she grabbed it in her own and guided it to that sweet spot between her legs and she was like a live wire in his arms when he slicked his fingers with her wetness and drug them deliberately across her little bud.  Then she was coming all around him in a flood of pulsating, milking warmth, her mouth pressed against the curve of his neck in a silent scream and her heart beating violently against his chest and he followed right behind her, collapsing to the mattress below when his arm wouldn’t support their weight any longer.  Gasping and panting for breath, he cupped her head in his shaky hand and pulled her into him for a sloppy, heartfelt kiss.  “Fuckin’ love ya.” 

  When it was over, she looked down at him with glittering, tearful eyes, her pretty bruised mouth parted and ready to respond to him when a familiar voice tiredly but gleefully rang out in the night. 

  “Daryl loves Carol!”  Then, a little quieter, “Not like we didn’t know that already, Man.” 

  “Glenn,” Maggie could be heard hissing at her husband.  She followed up with an apology.  “Sorry.  He’s sorry, Carol.” 

  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Brother.”

  Rick’s voice held a note of wry embarrassment, and Daryl felt steam start to waft from his fiery cheeks.  Of course, Merle couldn’t resist joining the peanut gallery. 

  “That’s my fuckin’ Baby Brother,” he crowed proudly.  “Boy’s all Dixon.” 

  “Not that I don’t think congratulations are in order,” Hershel’s wizened, molasses-drenched voice intoned, “but could we please keep in mind that there are children present?” 

  “Yeah.” 

  Carl sounded disgusted, and Carol hid her own burning cheeks in the juncture of his neck. 

  “I’m so happy for you, Carol,” Beth sweetly conveyed her congratulations. 

  Finally, exhausted and embarrassed beyond all measure, Daryl had had enough.  “For the love of…this ain’t the fuckin’ Waltons!”  Carol shook against him with helpless laughter that the others echoed, and he dragged lazy fingers across her tailbone in retaliation.  “Woman,” he warned.  He promptly hushed, though, when she lay two fingers across his scowling mouth and gazed down at him with blue eyes that were all soft and shiny. 

  “I loved you first,” she smiled. 

  “Pfft,” he scoffed.  “So sure ‘bout that?” 

  “I know you.” 

  ~*~

  The next morning, Daryl watched her from the infirmary doorway as she finished pinning the baby’s diaper and scooped the little boy up, snuggling him close.  She peppered his pudgy pink cheeks with kisses as she hummed and swayed in place, and the sweet sight had his throat closing up and his heart beating a bruising rhythm against his ribs.  “Look good.  Holdin’ him.”  The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and he felt warmth creep up his neck when she whirled around to face him, a careful smile on her face. 

  “Do you want to…”  She trailed off meaningfully, her feet carrying her to where he stood.  She didn’t give him time enough to answer her unasked question, just stepped in close, toe to toe with him until the newborn was a warm, sighing weight pressed between them. 

  His arms curled around the little body of their own accord, and a pair of unfocused blue eyes blinked up at him before drifting shut again.  An unconscious smile tugged at his lips when the boy’s small rosebud mouth opened in a yawn, and he looked up when he felt her eyes on him.  “What?” 

  Carol ducked her head and shook it, her fingers fiddling nervously with the fuzzy green socks that swallowed up the baby’s wiggling feet.  “Nothing.” 

  Daryl knew better and his rough hand was gentle on her elbow, then on her wavering chin.  “Hey.  Know it’s something.”  Her protests were soft, but it didn’t take her long to open up about what was bothering her, and he kissed her hair when she wrapped her arms around him and Andrea’s infant son. 

  “You look good.  Holding him.  I can’t help wondering…”  Changing track, she apologized to him in strangled whispers, her tears soaking into the worn fabric of his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I just…I don’t know what’s come over me.  It’s just…” 

  “He reminds you how much you miss ‘Phia,” Daryl finished for her. 

  “That,” Carol admitted with a nod.  “It’s not just him.  It’s Judith, too.  Daryl, don’t you…”  Breaking off again, she forced the rest of her thoughts and fears to the surface.  “I want that for you.  A baby of your own.  And I don’t even know if I could…I don’t even know if I would want to after what happened.  But I want you to have the chance, if you want it.” 

  “Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here,” he told her.  It was the absolute truth.  Still.  Dropping another kiss to her hair, he leaned back and looked into her eyes.  “Be a lie to say I hate the idea, but you?  You’re all I need.  Love’s what makes a family.  Bein’ there.” 

  “Daryl Dixon, you softie.” 

  “Stop.” 

  “You really think so?” 

  “Know it.  Now what you say we get this little man back to his mama?”  He transferred the little boy back into her arms and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. 

  She paused in tucking the blanket around the baby’s tiny shoulders and narrowed her eyes.  “What?” 

  “Nothin’,” he shrugged.  “Fine,” he relented when her gaze remained fixed.  “Don’t mean we can’t steal him sometimes.” 

  Carol’s lips twitched with the makings of a smile of her own.  “He is pretty cute, but I think you’re going to have to go through Michonne and Mr. Mamet first.”   

  “’Chonne’s easy.  Milton, well.  Feel sorry for the poor bastard.” 

  “Daryl!” 

  “What?  Do.”