#ANYWAY FINGERS FUCKIN CROSSED FOR A GOOD CAMPING!!

[blujayonthewing]

the last couple of times I've said 'this time next week I'll be sleeping in the dirt and eating bugs as god intended' I got hit with 36 straight hours of rain and then covid and then really bad elevation sickness but THIS TIME FOR SURE,

[bumblepony]

I'm requesting some Joel and Tommy please and this picture is your prompt, do with it what you will!

Ask, and you shall receive my good lady @hypnotisedfireflies. Story under the cut and also cross-posted at AO3.

All Clear

Tommy looks at Joel out of his peripheral and tries not to think about how easy it would be to kill him with the fallen tree branch that's sitting beside him.

"Ya know it ain't polite to eat with your mouth open, right?" Tommy grouses, and Joel looks up at him, confused.

"What the fuck are ya talkin' about? I ain't got my mouth open." Joel looks down at his sandwich and then at Tommy sitting in his camp chair.

"It's fine, whatever." Tommy waves him off. They have been on patrol alone for three days now, and usually, around day three, Tommy starts to think about the numerous ways he can kill his big brother for all the annoying things he does when no one else is around. It's fine. They only have one more day of patrol left, then they'll be back home in their perspective houses, and Tommy won’t have to think about how annoying the sound of Joel’s teeth is when he crunches down on lettuce. 

—

If Joel has to hear fucking Farmer in the Dell one more time, he's gonna throw his brother out of the upstairs window of this damn lookout. Joel moves around the campsite, picking up their stuff, trying not to think about the best way to pick his brother up without putting his back out.

Their mama had taught Tommy the song when he was three, and she had been trying to potty train him. He kept getting distracted, and it seemed to be the only way to keep him on task. Unfortunately for Joel, it meant for the next 48 years of his life, he had to listen to it every time his baby brother needed to take a leak, and Joel happened to be nearby.

"Do ya have to do that every fuckin’ time, Tommy?" Joel complains as soon as Tommy returns to the campsite, still doing up the buckle on his jeans.

"Do what?" Tommy asks, his brow furrowed.

"You know fuckin’ what," Joel says, moving the metal sheet that covers the entrance to the lookout back into place with much more force than necessary.

"No, I fucking don't know what," Tommy says, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, nevermind. It's just been a long patrol, and I'm gettin' grouchy." Joel says, picking up his pack and throwing it over his shoulder.

"You’re right about that," Tommy mumbles under his breath as he grabs his pack and shrugs it on.

"What was that, Tomás Isaac Miller?" Joel says, his tone sharp as he swings up onto his horse with a grunt.

"Nothin' Joel José Miller. Ain't nothin', let's go," Tommy says sarcastically as he climbs onto his horse.

---

"What the hell are you playing?" Ellie says as she stumbles out onto the porch, plate of eggs and bacon in hand, and slumps onto the chair next to his. The girl is all uncoordinated legs and arms these days, he has no idea how she manages to get through each day without knocking herself out or breaking a limb, but he just sucks his teeth and lets it go.

"Hope ya don't plan to eat that with your hands?" He asks, continuing to work out the fingering for the song he'd been working on.

"No, of course not," Ellie says, her tone snotty as she reaches into her sweatshirt pocket and pulls out a fork that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in days.

"Girl, when was the last time you washed that fork, and why the hell is it in your pocket?" Joel questions, his tone frustrated. Ellie gives him an eggy grin as she shovels eggs into her mouth.

"Everyone needs a pocket fork, Joel. Never know when you're gonna need it." Joel tsks as she continues to eat with her dirty fork and goes back to working on the song. "So what is this song anyways?" She asks him again, a piece of bacon dangling from her fingers.

"It's fuckin' Farmer in the Dell is what it is." Ellie and Joel both look up as Tommy clomps through the back door, plate in hand, and frown on his face as he speaks. "You just fuckin' had to, didn't ya, Joel."

Joel's lips twitch just a little before his face smooths out, and he says, "I have no earthly idea what you're talking about, Tommy. I'm just learin' a new song for the kids on family night, is all."

"Oh, is that right?" Tommys says, leaning against the porch railing and crossing his legs at the ankle.

"Yup, don't have anything to do with an annoying pest of a brother always needin' to hum it every time he takes a fuckin' piss," Joel says, his eyes on the strings as he plucks the strings.

"I fuckin' knew it, I just fuckin' knew it. If it bothers you that fuckin’ much, all ya have to do is move further away. Ain't my fault you always gotta be that damn close." Tommy throws his hand up in frustration.

"Ain't my fault you always gotta take a leak so close to the damn lookout," Joel grumbles. Ellie looks between the two of them, a confused look on her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you two." She says, and Tommy waves her off.

"It's nothin' just old people shit. Ya see, Ellie, when ya spend enough time with a person, don't matter if they’re blood or not, everythin’ they do starts to piss ya off. Like a certain someone and their inability to eat with their damn mouth shut." Tommy complains, giving Joel a sharp glare.

"You noticed that too. I thought it was just me," Ellie says to Tommy.

"I have no idea what you two id-yits are talkin' about. I do not eat with my mouth open, and Tommy, please tell me you are not gonna try to eat those eggs with your hands, are ya? I just had to yell at her about that," Joel says, jutting his chin out at Ellie.

"Course not, Joel. I weren't raised in no barn," Tommy says as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a fork. Ellie's eyes light up, and she crows.

"Pocket fork! Wicked!" Joel rolls his eyes and puts the guitar down next to the chair.

"That's right, girl, I never go anywhere without my trusty pocket fork," Tommy says, smirking.

"You two are fuckin' id-yits," Joel says, hiding his smile as he gets up from his chair and makes his way into the house. Just before he does, though, he sees his daughter and his stupid ass brother tink their forks together and say, "Pocket Forks!"

Fucking idiots.

[storiesbyrhi]

Bones and All - Chapter 2: Cowboy Cook

Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence/gore, cuss words, weird parental relationships, updated each chapter

Synopsis: A Bones and All AU. What do you hunger for?

Chapter Summary: Enter: Eddie. 2917 words.

Author’s Note: This fic will be much shorter than others I've written, and have shorter chapters too. I'm halfway through writing chapter 3 and that corresponds to the halfway point of the novel. Just wanted to give ya'll the heads up!

The second time got me wondering who and what you were. I was partly to blame - I never should have let you go to that summer camp. You were only eight-years-old. His name was Luke Vanderwall. They never found his body, just all that blood.

I watched you after, looked for a sign of guilt or sadness or anything at all. But there was nothing. I never hated you though. Maybe never loved you like a parent should. 

In the car home you were mad at me. I had told you to always tell the truth, and running from that camp was dishonest in your eyes. I told you that nobody would believe us even if we told. Like how sometimes people confess to murders they ain’t done.

But someday you will answer for it. For all of it. Someday, someone will believe you.

Another long greyhound trip and you ended up in a tiny town that was hard to find on the folded map you kept in your backpack. The woman working behind the counter at the bus station eyed you with the type of suspicion that made you nervous. Did she know? Was she an eater too? No… No, she smelt like meat pie.

The conversation was short, abrupt even. When you were vague about exactly where you needed to end up, she quipped, “If you don’t know where you’re going, how do you expect me to help you?”

She picked up a file and began to shape her left index finger’s nail. You imagined grabbing the file and shoving it up her nose. Instead, you left the station and crossed the road to a small market.

Your diet of vending machine meals was making you ill, but you had almost no money. Since you couldn’t shoplift a bus ticket, you resorted to walking the aisles of the market, deciding what you could shove into your jacket without anybody noticing you.

As you thought I need a distraction, a rare moment of luck waltzed into the market with all the drunken bravado of a young White Republican. He was in your periphery until he wasn’t; he turned into your aisle at the same time as a young mother, pushing her baby in a shopping cart. They were at opposite ends, but the distance didn’t matter.

“What’choo lookin’ at?” he yelled at her. His slurred speech and cowboy hat should have been funny, but his lack of inhibition was threatening.

The mother said nothing, clenching her hands around the cart more tightly. She was frozen in place, scared to make a wrong move.

“Think you’re too fuckin’ good to talk ta me?” the cowboy shouted. “You fuckin’ bitch-”

“Hey!” Someone new appeared behind the mother; he moved to stand in front of her, staring the cowboy down. The mother took her cue and left, leaving only you, crouched down low holding a can of corn kernels in your hand.

He was wearing dirty Reeboks and ripped jeans. His Metallica t-shirt had holes in it but was mostly covered by a light floral button up that he wore open anyway. It seemed at odds with the rest of his outfit. As he stared down the cowboy, he dropped his heavy-looking duffle bag.

“You can’t talk to a lady like that. You’re out of control, pal,”

“Pal?!” the cowboy scoffed. “I ain’t your pal!”

Even from where you were, you could see the spit fly from the cowboy’s mouth as a spoke. He looked more than just drunk. Rabid.

The new guy glanced down at you briefly, a neutral expression on his face as he inhaled. A look flashed across his face for only a second before he was watching the cowboy come towards him.

“You listen here, you pretty-boy-sona-bitch,” he warned, attempting to reach out for the guy’s shirt, but missing.

“You enjoy hassling people? This what you do in your leisure time?” the guy teased, ducking another attempt to grab him.

“You wanna take this outside then? Huh? See who’s fuckin’…” but the cowboy didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Yeah, pal. Let’s take this outside, buddy,” the guy replied, jumping from foot to foot and leading the cowboy out of the market and out of the way of everyone in there.

As their voices grew quieter, the market returned to its usual atmosphere. You hid a can of chickpeas, a banana, and a chocolate bar in your jacket and made for the exit. Somehow, it felt worse than leaving Luke’s tent, or Dmitri’s bedroom, or Kevin’s treehouse, or Marcus’ basement…

Hiding near a stack of flattened boxes behind the mart, you tried to eat the banana as slowly as possible. Who knew when you were to get fruit again? The mart backed onto a road that serviced all the buildings along the main street. On the other side of it was mostly parking lots and half-built structures.

You were distracted by the darkness in one of the half buildings and didn’t hear the boy approach. As he threw a full bag into the trash, you squeaked then scrambled to hide the stolen food.

“Not gonna dob on you,” he said. You’d seen him in the mart, working the produce section putting apples out in a pyramid display. He waited as you continued to eat your banana, saying nothing. “I’m Andy,” he offered. “I… ah, I think the owners can afford a couple cans of food,”

“One can,” you corrected.

“Sorry. One can…” He looked over his shoulder then back at you. “So, ah, look, I don’t know what your situation is, but if you need some help-”

“I don’t,” you cut him off. Shoving the chickpeas and chocolate into your backpack, you stood up and looked at the boy.

He smelled like peanut butter and jelly sandwich, orange juice, and cheap deodorant. He was at least your age, maybe older. He was trying to be kind. Well, he thought he was trying to be kind. You knew what he really wanted.

The boys who wanted to be your friend were like you in the sense that they were always something odd about them that the cool kids hated. They were pushed to the margins of the lunchroom and social hierarchy. They saw an ally in you, so after being the new girl for a month or two, one of those boys would find a reason to talk to you.

Sometimes it took a week, sometimes months, but at some point down the road they would invite you over after school – to study for a history test or to plan something exciting for the science fair. Too young, you learned the word for this: pretext, a reason that’s really an excuse. You would arrive to find his parents out, and you would follow him up to his room.

That’s how it happened most of the time.

Dmitri.

Kevin.

Marcus.

Noble.

CJ.

Jamie.

“I was just gonna say I could shout you dinner… Or you could just take the cash if you don’t want to hang.”

Pretext.

Betraying you, your stomach audibly growled. The banana had woken it up and now it knew it was starving.

Andy watched you, weighing up something in his mind. “You look like you’d be interesting to talk to,” he said like it was a compliment. It had probably worked for him in the past.

You looked away from him, focused again on the half-built structure. Sitting in one of the cutouts that you supposed were for windows, was a cowboy hat. From the darkness, a hand reached out and grabbed it.

“I don’t need your help,” you stated, not looking back at Andy.

He huffed, thinking fucking bitch, and went back inside with his throat in-tact. He didn’t know you were contemplating the offer. Maybe a burger and fries would satisfy. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe you'd need more.

Across the road you stopped walking when the guy jumped from the window. As his Reeboks landed and he looked up at you, you knew.

It wasn’t that his mouth, jaw, and neck were covered in blood and bits of cowboy. It wasn’t the now-red Metallica shirt or the stolen hat that sat atop his long curly hair. It was the banality in the way he said, “He’s in there, round in the back room, if you want him.”

The guy did not appear worried that anyone would see him looking like a daytime nightmare. He pushed his duffle bag onto his back and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. You followed along behind him in a bit of a daze.

“When… How… How do you know? I’m like you?” you asked.

Sully had told you the truth – eaters could smell eaters.

He came to stop at an old beat-up Chevrolet van, opening the back without needing to unlock it. He made a small happy sound but didn’t answer your question.

“I’ve… I’ve gone my whole life never meeting another, then two this week. You being the second,”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorta glad not to meet any others,” he replied bluntly.

With his duffle in the back, he took the driver's seat and rolled the window down. He looked out at you like he was confused about why you were still standing there.

“I thought I was the only one… And I’m… I’m sort of new to this. Can you help me? Just for a bit?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you meant by help. Maybe you wanted from him what Sully had previously offered. A companion, even in the short term. Someone to tell you all about their horror so yours didn’t seem so prolific. A set of rules to follow. Something. Anything.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered. It was true. Wasn’t it?

“Famous last words…” he muttered. “Fine. Come on. Get it.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

The inside of the van was trashed. There were beer cans and fast food wrappers everywhere. The ashtray was overflowing and it smelt like sweat and roadkill.

“This isn’t yours,” you stated, immediately regretting it.

“He won’t be needing it anymore,” the guy replied.

“Or the hat,”

“You don’t think I’d make a darn fine rootin-tootin cowboy?” he asked with the smallest of grins.

You laughed. The sound was unfamiliar, like it belonged to another girl from an alternate universe. One that didn’t wear black so the blood didn’t show. One that didn’t know lung tissue melted on the tongue. One that could go on dates with a boy like Andy and be grateful to be told they’re interesting to talk to.

“I’m Y/N,”

“Eddie,”

“You stole his wallet too?”

“No. I stole his money. And this… Barry Cook. 5278 Route 13…” he read.

You drove in silence for a few minutes before Eddie began to play with the radio. When there was nothing but local talk-back and country classics, he turned it off.

“So… Where are you from?” you asked.

Eddie chewed the insides of his cheeks for a second before replying, “Does it matter?”

“Just making conversation…”

“Sorry,” he said with a soft sigh. “I haven’t had one of those in a while. Unless you count Cowboy Cook. Guess I’m a bit rusty.”

Eddie drove by the cowboy’s house to check for signs of life. There were no lights. When he pulled up to the small rundown house, you got out of the van and followed him inside.

It didn’t surprise you to find that the cowboy lived alone. There were stacks of oily pizza boxes and a seemingly endless amount of crushed Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. They were on almost all flat surfaces in the house, leaving rusty stains everywhere. Porn magazines and overdue bills sat on the sofa’s arms and it smelt like a cigarette had been burning for one hundred years straight.

“That’s before they started wearing make-up,” Eddie said, pointing to a poster in the cowboy’s bedroom, which was visible from the living room.

You had never seen the members of KISS without their trademark face paint. It felt wrong. Maybe in the same way it felt wrong to see Eddie covered in blood while he flicked through a crate of records that belonged to a dead man.

“He’s fucking got it! He’s got Lick It Up!” Eddie exclaimed.

He pulled the vinyl from the sleeve and put it on the player. He half expected to find it all scratched up, but maybe these albums were the only thing that Barry Cook cared about. Eddie could understand that. 

As the music began to play, Eddie held an air guitar. “Yeah, yeah… Don’t want to wait till you know me better,” he sang, jumping up onto the bed. “Let’s just be glad for the time together. Life’s such a treat and it’s time you taste it.”

You stood at the threshold of the room, thrown by Eddie’s sudden animation. He’d been reserved and sarcastic up until then.

“There isn’t a reason on earth to waste it. It isn’t a crime to be good to yourself… Lick it up! Lick it up! Oh-oh-ohhhh.”

Eddie pounced off the bed and onto his knees on the floor in one smooth motion. You wondered if he could play the guitar; his showmanship and the way his fingers were twinkling in the air said yes.

Trying not to stare at him too much, you looked around the room. There were other posters too. Centrefolds and Iron Maiden, which made you smile; was Eddie his real name, or had he invented an alias? 

Your attention snapped back to Eddie when he lifted the arm of the record player from the vinyl, plunging the house into silence. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror. Lick it up! He’d made a promise. Lick it up! He was a monster. Lick it up!

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he suddenly said, leaving the room quicker than you could process.

When Eddie found you in the kitchen after, he was in the same jeans but a different shirt; you didn’t recognise the band. His hair was dripping and he brashly went at it with a towel.  

“He’s from Kentucky,” you said, eyes still on the letter. “He hasn’t been back to see his parents in ten years,”

“You know it’s illegal to open other people’s mail.”

You shot Eddie a look, which he nodded at - there were small pieces of the cowboy's flesh stuck in the shower drain. 

“This is from his mother. His dad has cancer. Postmarked four months ago. Wasn’t even open.”

Eddie began to look through the fridge and cupboards. “I’m not hungry, but how are you? Saw you were a minute away from… you know… the market kid. Must be hungry,”

“You were watching me?”

“I was…” Eddie turned to look at you. “Respectfully observing?” He opened a new cupboard and pulled out a can of Spaghetti-Os… “Yeah, you’ll do.”

Eddie cooked you dinner then sat opposite you at the table, respectfully observing you some more. He clasped his hands together on the tabletop and rested his chin on them.

“Why are we here anyway?” you asked.

“You have someplace else to be? Hot date at the disco?”

It dawned on you then. “Wait. Please don’t tell me we’re staying here tonight,”

“Nobody’s making you. Free country. You can do what you want,” he said dismissively, sitting up straighter and concealing a smirk. “Look, I know we only just met but I think I deserve a little more credit than you’re giving me… It’s late and we need a place to stay. We’re gone first thing,”

“You’ve done this before,”

“So have you,” he countered.

It wasn’t the same, you thought. Sully had tricked you. Hadn’t he?

“Is this… how you live?” You didn’t mean for it to sound like a judgment call. You waited for Eddie’s cold reaction but it never came.

“Not every night. But, yeah. Sometimes.”

You nodded. For a moment you just looked at each other. He had deep brown eyes that reflected the world back at you. Before you could get lost, you blinked hard and stood up.

“You take the bed,” Eddie said, his voice too gentle.

You didn't deserve the level of kindness you were being shown. But Eddie was like you. If you were bad then he was too? If you were a monster, didn't that mean he was one too? And kindness from a monster isn't kindness at all. 

You nodded and walked away from the kitchen table with every intention not to turn around. But then you did.

“You’ll be here… in the morning?” You felt embarrassed to ask. Did you sound like a child? Or a girl with a crush?

“You think I’d bail on you?”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had.

“No… It’s more… In my head, you know? Like, did I make you up?”

Eddie didn’t expect the honesty or for you to expose yourself like that. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be here,” he promised, omitting the part where he totally expected you to de-materialize and be revealed as a figment of his own lonely imagination.

You nodded once then disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbled to himself, sitting back down and pulling your bowl towards him. You’d finished the lot, but he still put your fork in his mouth and sucked on it.

Next Chapter: 3 - The Shire

End Note: To those who have seen the movie and/or read the book: feel free to let me know your favourite details so I can make sure they're in the fic! To those who haven't: get on it; you will not regret!

Fic Taglist: @harrys-tittie @azydrateanatomy @pussy-drunk @mrsdollardog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[levithestripper]

Little Darlin’ Whore

✩ Masterlist! ✩

✩ Warnings: Possibly GN!Reader, AFAB terms (pussy/cunt; no boob talk), not necessarily a female reader since there’s no use of she/her pronouns, low-honor Arthur, degradation kink, dirty talk, bondage/light bdsm, dom/sub tones, established relationship, established safeword ✩

✩ Taglist: @reddeadrevolutionn, @leech-in-a-peach, @floup-doodles, @mesangelique, @the-1-sin-bin✩

✩ If you want to be added to a taglist, fill this out! ✩

✩ Length: 1.4k || Read on Ao3 ✩

✩ A/N: kinktober day 8 & 9: blindfolds + bondage!! I combined these two prompts since they're so similar. rather than writing two fics with basically the same premise, this seemed easier! and because i’m behind in my writing so I wanted to give myself a break lmao. Maybe if I feel up to it, I'll add another prompt so I have a full 31. Who knows lol. But anyways—here’s more rdr2 content for y’all! And i hc that low-honor arthur uses a lot of slang and has an even heavier louisianian accent—i know, crazy right—so that’s why he’s always droppin’ g’s and other parts of his words more in this fic ✩

Arthur could find little to write home about when talking about the Valentine Hotel. The floors creaked, the bathwater was never warm, and the soap they provided smelled like pigshit. And that’s ignoring how horrendously thin the walls are. Sometimes he contemplates if setting up camp in the middle of fucking nowhere would be more peaceful than having to listen to the hotel’s working girls all night long.

But this time, the tables had turned in his favor. Now, it was Arthur who would be keeping his neighbors up all night. Let’s just say that he feels absolutely no shame in it either. Arthur has you lying on your back, legs spread, and your wrists handcuffed to the spindles on the headboard. You were completely naked compared to Arthur, who still had on his pants and belt. He wore the key to the handcuffs ‘round his neck, the beautiful silver metal contrasting with his tan, scar-riddled skin, and thick chest hair. His patterned bandana covered your eyes, leaving you even more vulnerable to Arthur’s actions.

“Darlin’, you’re clenchin’ so goddamn tight ‘round my fingers,” Arthur teases with a sneer, not caring that it was lost on you. He had been working you up and down and up and down for so long at this point, your brain almost turned entirely into mush. “You really need it that bad, huh? S’My hand ser’sly makin’ you feel that fuckin’ good?” he taunts. His middle and ring fingers sat nicely inside you, his knuckles flush against your folds. Slick ran down the back of his hand like a river, cross-crossing against the prominent veins there.

You were incapable of forming words, let alone a full sentence. All that came out was a gibberish moan, and even that was hard to understand. The feeling of him all around you was overwhelming. Arthur was the only thing grounding you to the mortal plane; if it weren't for his touch, you’d be out in wonderland somewhere. Being restrained caused each drag of his thick, calloused fingers to feel three times more pleasurable than normal. Maybe Arthur really did have a reason to tie you up, other than the power trip it gave him.

He snickers at your futile effort, fingers shifting faster as a response. “Goddamn, darlin’. Yer drippin’ all over me an gettin’ the bed dirty.” He licks his chapped lips as if he were a tiger tucking into a fresh kill. “Just wait ‘till you have’ta explain to the maids why it looks like we took a bath in the damn bed.” You grow wetter simply from his words, proving him right when they stain the bed too. “Awww,” he chuckles, “Look at that. The little darlin’ whore’s doin’ everything I thought they would.” Arthur leans over you, a large forearm resting next to your head. “You better not go out an start bein’ a whore for just anyone now, ya’ hear?” Arthur growls against your ear, his ego growing impossibly larger when he sees you flustered because of him. “The only one allo’ed ta’ use this cunt of yours, is me,” he pulls his fingers out of you to cup your pussy in the palm of his hand. “Who’s this belong to, hm?”

Somehow by the grace of God, you managed to pull together an answer. “Yo—You—You! Oh, fuck—fuck me, please, Arthur—Arthur—oh my God! S’Good, can’t—!” you stumble over your words constantly, barely even getting the sentence out in a somewhat timely manner. You pull against your restraints, unhappy with how you couldn’t run your hands through Arthur’s hair or yank and scratch at the bedsheets beneath you. “Out!”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know the rules,” he said patronizingly while two fingers slipped back inside of your thoroughly used hole. “I won’t be stoppin’ ‘till you say that special word. You wanna say it, hon? You wanna tap out now, before even getting the chance ta’ cum?” Arthur knew there was no real distress behind your begging. If you truly wanted him to stop, you would've safeworded a long time ago. You shake your head no, silently admitting the truth to him. “Aww, I knew that already, darlin’. You know there ain't no way to get somethin’ over my head, honey.” By now his hand was practically flying in and out of you. Slick flew everywhere every time Arthur’s knuckles met your hips. His hand was soaked up to his wrist; it looked like he had stuck it in a bowl of lube.

Your orgasm grew close again, the previously ruined ones making this one feel all the sweeter the closer it got. Your mouth hung open like the cheap whore Arthur said you were, drool trickling out of the corners. “Arthur, Arth—please—Arthur! I can’t—” you choke on your own words, too many trying to be said all at once. “—I can’t hold it! Plea-Please! Please, ple-please let me cum! I’ll—I am—good, I’ve been so good, please!” Your cunt spasms around his thick fingers; showing off how intense your impending climax was turning out to be—if he doesn’t ruin it—that is.

The pads of Arthur’s fingers rub harshly at your sweet spot. He leans back on his calves so he could regain use of his other arm; his palm pressing down on your abdomen, just above your cunt. The added pressure was all you needed to fall over the edge, the tension in your belly unfurling as your orgasm washes over you. “Yeah, that’s it, darlin’. That’s it, cum all o’er my fingers,” he croons, his hand never stopping their now overstimulating thrusts.

Your whole body shook and shivered, your toes curling, and legs folding up as far as they would go. It felt nigh impossible for you to cum any harder than you already were, but then you felt it. The sensation was hard to describe, but it left too fast for you to pinpoint a word for it. The moment it left, your eyes rolled back into your skull, and your muscles seized up. A clear liquid shot out of you and onto Arthur’s chest, soon descending to his waist and thighs, thoroughly soaking anything it touched. The sheer force of your orgasm pushed Arthur’s fingers out of you, but it didn't stop him from touching you. He rubbed at your folds quickly, helping you ride out your climax.

Arthur was silent for the entirety of your spectacle. The sight left him too in awe to degrade or tease you. All that was running through his mind was ‘Holy fuck, I made them do that.’ There wasn’t even a need for him to unzip and pull himself free from the constraints of his pants; Arthur jizzed in his boxers like a teenager who saw a girl in a swimsuit for the first time in his life. The moment you came down from your high, however, he was already halfway done with untying his bandana and unlocking the handcuffs. Arthur sat you on his lap carefully, lacing his hands with yours. He ran his thumbs over your knuckles and rubbed your sore wrists, doing his best to comfort you as you recouped. “I didn’ know you could do that, darlin’,” he mumbled, his voice soft and gentle like it usually is.

Your chest heaved from how out of breath you were. The steady rise and fall of it would’ve aroused Arthur if he hadn’t just finished an intense scene with you. “I didn’ know I could do that either.” His consistent doting helped keep you tethered securely to Earth. Who knows where you’d end up if he were to let go. You lean against his chest, the warmth enveloping you with promises of sweet, dreamless sleep.

Careful not to disturb you, Arthur gathers you in his arms after you fall asleep and carries you to the conjoining bathroom, where a bathtub of pre-filled warm water sits waiting for you both. It wasn’t a long bath, given that you’re still unconscious, and Arthur’s yearning to get back in bed as quickly as possible. He scrubs any dirt or fluids off of you with a fluffy washcloth, ensuring not to hurt you in the slightest. After, he bundled you up in an equally as fluffy towel to dry you off in; before finally getting you dressed in your pajamas. Arthur wraps you up in a new towel to keep you warm while he washes and changes, still managing to keep a diligent eye on you at all times. He also promptly changed the bedsheets before picking you up again and going back to bed. The moment he pulls the covers over both of your shoulders, you scoot as close to him as possible, face nuzzling into his chest unconsciously, pulling a hearty chuckle out of Arthur. “G’Night, darlin’. Dream of good things, okay?” he whispers, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “I love you.”

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Find the Word Tag Game

(Double Feature/ROY G BIV Game)

tagged by: @sylvar-writes-fantasy & @druidx!! my words: hunt, freedom, trust, hate, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet tagging: @sleepyowlwrites, @drabbleitout, @drippingmoon, @ashen-crest, @zmwrites, @athenswrites, anyone who wants to, and the Sims 2 for being, arguably, the superior Sims game. your words: danger, dry, dive, dare, drive, dust AND/OR ROY G BIV

hunt search (Rebirth)—

"You good?"

[Warren] glanced at the man helping himself to the chair across the table and nodded. "Yeah, I’m..." He did a double-take.

He almost didn't recognize him—he wore smoky kohl blended into a rainbow of neon eyeshadow that amplified the clear blue of his eyes, and the three rows of tight braids on each side of his head. The rest of his sable hair had been teased into a pretty bouffant mohawk, and he had a scar that looked to have been old yet never fully healed, shaped like an upside-down triangle on his right temple.

The man was definitely Guetry Sympa. It was hard to miss the same mischievous air around his calm expression that existed in his dossier photo.

Those clear blue eyes looked a bit shifty as he settled into the chair and searched the surrounding atrium crowd for something. He placed his hands on his crossed legs with elegance he otherwise did not possess. His nails were, surprisingly, chewed down to the quick. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Warren noted the silver cigarette perched between two of Guetry's fingers and the long black coat with a high collar that made him look like a hitman from a movie. "I'll be fine."

freedom (Rebirth)—

"They're impressed," Thrive said, moving to the comm. "Camps all over Voka are following the lead of the Ogsh Mines, rioting and reclaiming their rightful territory and their freedom."

"Those two graha are still in the engine room," Alec said. "Where are we taking them?"

"I've actually just gotten off a call with the sanctuary a few moments ago."

"Heredes," Varussa said. "One of ours."

"I have visited before," Osillo mused. "Full of beauty and serenity the graha normally would not understand."

Thrive allowed himself a quick and curious silence. "They will now."

trust (Meridian)—

Warren glanced up from the floor of Thrive's Leviathan office, tablet laid out on his lap with his comm device in hand, tilting the screens away from the door. He'd been scheduling and taking notes for Thrive's percolating rebellion, and they wanted to keep track of who they could trust out of their friends and contacts so they could know who would be on their side.

Atoa didn't even notice the devices. He bowed low at the door. "You've received a call from the Consortium."

Warren rolled his eyes.

"What did they want?" Thrive asked from the desk.

"Veneve's star is showing signs of an impending supernova, sir."

Thrive moved around to Warren's line of sight. "...That would be infinitely worse than what's happened to Efthim."

"What? Why?" Warren looked at him, instantly realizing why. "Oh, shit...Veneve Ten."

"Should that star die," Thrive explained anyway, "it will destroy Veneve Ten, which could spread its radiation throughout a large portion of the galaxy."

hate (Rebirth)—

"Fuckin' ouch," Guetry said lightly. He visibly steeled himself as Alec barrelled through the crowd to grab him in a tight hug. "Girl, my ribs…!"

"Stupid bitch," she cried. "I hate you so much."

Guetry nodded into her shoulder. His eyes reddened and Warren could see the strength he mustered to keep his lip from quivering. "Yeah, I know."

She held on for a while before wiping a tear from her own cheek and pulling back. She booped him on the nose. "I'll keep your beat guitar warm for you."

Guetry inhaled deeply. "Thanks."

Alec sank back into the group and Guetry turned to Warren, who didn't realize until then that he was biting his cheek hard to avoid an overshow of emotions.

"I love you, Cougar. Since day one."

Warren snorted. "You're so gross." He sniffed heartily. "...But I love you too, man."

red (Aurora)—

Warren glanced around at everyone, and then at the nebula. At its crimson gaseous clouds. So red...so angry...and it crawled up the back of his neck like a spider. The sheer magnitude of the nebula, the arrogance of Torris being a rogue planet, the nerve of the Emmuli to think the universe belonged to it. The nerve of an entity dominating life to such a degree. How utterly fucking dare it.

He'd lost everything. He'd lost everything.

A black mist gathered from a shadow in the corner of the room and Warren snatched the rifle from Emnophene's hands, unloading the clip into the vaguely bipedal form until it disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

"Fuck you!" He shouted in the ensuing silence.

Guetry turned a pair of exasperated eyes onto the viewscreen and sighed. "Uh-oh."

A fist of smoke bashed into the window, grinding the ship to a halt and throwing everyone off their feet. The twins regained their stability first and threw shields at the Emmuli, who knocked them aside and barreled like a comet directly at Warren. He aimed the rifle and fired, kept firing until the smoke parted and funneled around the bridge into humanoid shapes launching into individual attacks on everyone else.

orange (Rebirth)—

Something around Thrive's hands caught [Warren’s] eye. A faint orange mist, barely noticeable, diffuse and wispy, swirled around them, between his fingers, caressing his knuckles. Thrive didn't seem to notice.

Hondris gasped, as if it only then fully sunk in. "———…"

"I lost them ten minutes ago," Gouna muttered from the steps. "I...I did everything I could."

"Right," Thrive said. He sounded far away, numb. "...We'll...have to put together a rite, I'll...have to send them to the Sky…"

Warren reached out and touched Thrive's arm though he was numb as well. "Turn it off for a second."

Thrive's face twisted but he remained rigid otherwise, not allowing anything else to break through his outward emotional barrier.

yellow (Eternal)—

Muffled vibrations shook the Laiori R'si as the eliyi dreadnought opened fire, and Thrive did little else but level the Headmaster with an intense stare even as a low red strobe bathed the bridge in an eerie light, indicating his own vessel was under attack. 

It was almost hypnotic; Thrive's natural form staring the Headmaster down as if he could reach into their brain from where he stood, and Warren wondered for a moment if that wasn't what he was trying to do.

More blasts of unfortunately familiar yellow energy went off against the outside of the viewscreen, deflected by a shimmering barrier protecting them. Thrive shifted his focus to the dreadnought just past the image of the eliyi spitting in their attempt to scream him into submission, and he remained the picture of calm.

green (Eternal)—

"You better eat all of this, because it's going to be impossible to feed you again for another several hours," [Guetry] said. "I was almost caught trying to bring you food once already."

"This is so stupid," Warren grunted, pulling himself to a sitting position and gratefully taking the plate. He took a bite—greens, potatoes, and something like beef, but slightly off, not quite from Earth. It still tasted amazing and Warren shoveled down as much as he could within the pause between his thoughts. "If you asked me five years before ——— if I'd ever love someone enough to stowaway on a starship for them, I'd have a direct line to the fucking police before you even finished talking."

"I know," Guetry said, already halfway to the door. "And I'm sorry. This is a mess to begin with. But it'll go by fast, I promise."

Warren rolled his eyes but said nothing else.

Mercury brought him his second and last meal before they arrived at the Ingress Gate, and Mercury informed him that they were ten hours away, which brought a deep relief to Warren he hadn't felt in a long time. At least one thing was reliable; Thrive, ever the workaholic, didn't come into their quarters once.

Except for when he did.

blue (Aurora)—

"Why would I be just as big a threat to the Emmuli…" Warren paused, mid-gesture, and his stomach lurched. "...Is this because of why I'm the Most Important Human Alive?"

"Yes."

"Wait," Warren said instantly. "Wait. I've waited ——— for this. Make the reveal as dramatic as possible."

The lights in the room shut down and a spotlight beamed on him and Thrive, a sea blue rising from under the floor. Warren heard Sussa and Guetry shifting around somewhere behind them.

"I really didn't think that would work," Warren said. More seriously, now, he turned to Thrive. "You know, don't you?"

"I have my suspicions."

"I want you to tell me."

Thrive's eyes sparkled under the harsh spotlight with a hint of cheekiness. "With the caveat that I'll be corrected if I'm wrong."

indigo (Aurora)—

"Did I miss it?"

"Yes," Gouna said, barely acknowledging Warren jogging into the lab. His nose was buried in a tablet, the other hand tapping away at the nearest console to the gestation tank, which still had the metal casing around it keeping it protected from the light. "You've just missed their entu'borah."

"Ooh," Corin piped up from his place hidden behind the tank. "We've got sarcasm today."

Thrive—also hidden behind the tank—stepped into view and, with Corin's help, removed the latches locking the casing in place. "That's extremely humorous coming from you," he grunted as the latches popped apart.

Gouna hooked his fingers into a slot in the side of the casing and pulled it off the tank, revealing the somewhat cloudy amniotic fluid and saturated indigo embryo floating inside, twitching at the sudden exposure to light.

Warren took a step closer, peering inside the tank with wide eyes. "Whoa…"

violet (Meridian)—

"Okay, this is it." Warren sat in a chair across from the chassis. "Harmony's got the code queued up and ready to send to the body."

She nodded at the computer. "Sending now."

The chassis hunched over, as if losing the strength to hold itself up, and the head twitched mechanically from one side to another, but then it went still.

Thrive moved closer to the hunched form, glancing in Harmony's direction. He waited for a couple of digital ticks, inching his fingers somewhat involuntarily toward the figure's shoulder. He inhaled as if prepared to speak, but he said nothing.

Warren thinned his eyes, unsure if he could take the anticipation much longer. His own words died in his throat upon the figure's head angling up and staring directly at Thrive.

Copper eyes blinked and neon violet swelled within the irises, swallowed by a hazy glow. They blinked again, cold, emotionless—settling on a more natural tint of purple, if that could be believed—and snapped to Warren.

[sunjaesol]

THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

[novelconcepts]

I love your filling in of the moonflower scene. Just the tenderness of it all 🥺

Do you think you might write a short piece about Dani finding the first grey in Jamie‘s hair in the future? Every time I see the gifsets of Jamie‘s (very sexy) grey strands I have to think about Dani‘s possible reaction

Jamie doesn’t tend to notice these things--little changes in her own appearance, little alterations made by the simple passage of time. Her attention, she scoffs when Dani laughs over her failing to pick up on a burr caught in her hair after a trip to the park, is better suited to other things. “World’s big,” she says, tilting her head to allow Dani to comb the remnants of whatever tree she’d walked beneath from her curls. “Why should I go wasting time starin’ at my own damn face?”

“Because it’s a good face,” Dani tells her. She doesn’t add that Jamie’s face, like everything about her, makes more sense than the rest of the world. That nothing about Jamie seems to come out of nowhere--every scrape and scar is accounted for with a story, every wrinkle turned out from the edge of her lips or around her eyes sparked by the familiarity of her frown, the inevitability of her smile. Everything about Jamie can be traced back to the honesty of time spent in the sun, or injuries incurred at work, or letting another year stroke its fingers across her skin. 

She notices the first gray hair maybe five years in. They’re on a camping trip, small tent pitched just upshore of a gently lapping brook; Jamie, crouched beside the water to inspect a turtle, looks up with a grin, and Dani notes a flash of silver at the crown of her head.

She doesn’t point it out. It’s too easy to anticipate Jamie’s amused drawl: “Got a gorgeous beast right here, and you’re worried about my hair?” She tucks the knowledge safely away, entertained by the idea that Jamie is carrying a secret upon her own head and has no idea.

She says nothing, but her fingers seek out the unexpected silver the next time Jamie comes close enough. She trails her hand through rumpled hair, watching the familiar warmth of brown cascade across her skin, pleased to find several more bursts of light wound in among the dark.

“What?” Jamie asks, smile crooking the way it always does when she senses Dani is about to poke fun. “Bein’ a weirdo again.”

“Am not,” Dani replies, and kisses her. 

It becomes a bit of a private game, an amusing turn of events: Jamie, the most naturally-observant human being in the world, has absolutely no idea she’s shot through with unexpected arcs of silver. No idea at all. At first, Dani thinks she’s intentionally ignoring the color leaching out of her hair; a flash of memory spirals back, Judy plucking what she called my little secret out by the strand and holding a finger to her lips as she reached for a box of red dye. Heavy maintenance is very much not Jamie’s speed, but maybe turning her cheek and feigning ignorance achieves the same goal.

A month goes by. A year. They’re turning up on their own time, these pops of colorless strands standing stark against dark waves, and Dani takes it upon herself to brush her fingers across each one she finds. She likes very much the depth they bring to Jamie’s hair, the way the sun catches a little differently when she turns her head. Likes the knowledge that each strand is a stamp of memory--proof of time spent. 

Likes, most of all, that Jamie legitimately seems to have no idea. Jamie, who tugs a black elastic band off her wrist with her teeth, raking the messy tumble out of her eyes, perpetually annoyed with the curls that always seem to evade her hands. Jamie, who spends hours with a book in one hand and Dani’s hair sifting through her fingers, and still has absolutely no clue what’s happening on her own head.

“You’ve never cared, have you?” Dani asks one afternoon, watching Jamie sort through their spectacular collection of cassette tapes, little plastic cases clicking comfortably to break up the quiet. Jamie, cross-legged on the living room rug with Survivor’s Vital Signs in one hand and REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity in the other, raises her eyebrows.

“Seemed silly to go alphabetical while they were multiplying like fuckin’ bunnies, but now we’ve slowed down a little--”

“About looks,” Dani corrects. She’s hanging half off the couch, the tips of her fingers brushing Jamie’s knee. Life has been getting less predictable lately, messier around the edges; she looks into mirrors with breath held tight in her lungs, uncertain of what will look back. Touching Jamie has become less about habit and more a matter of lifeline. “You’ve never cared about how you look. Maybe the only woman I’ve ever known to say that.”

“I care,” Jamie says, with very little defensiveness. It is astonishing sometimes, looking back at the woman she’d met in that manor kitchen, how little defense Jamie seems to have for her these days. Questions are met in good faith, answered in kind, like Jamie knows there’s nothing Dani could ask that would intentionally bear teeth. “Care when I need to.”

“Like when?”

“At the shop,” Jamie says, tossing aside a Paul Simon cassette with a wrinkle of her nose. She finds Pat Benatar instead, sets it in the pile between The Beatles and Blondie. “Always look professional, don’t I?”

“But you don’t like--think about it? What you’ll look like in twenty years? Or fifty?”

“Fifty, Christ.” Jamie rolls back her head, grinning. “Be a hell of a thing, stacking fifty more years on. What d’you think you’ll look like in fifty years, mm?”

Dani doesn’t answer. It’s too early to tell what the smudged face in the mirror might mean--too early to panic--but the idea of fifty years more with Jamie seems terrifyingly unlikely. 

“Anyway.” Seeming to sense her unease, Jamie rocks up onto her knees, awkwardly shifting across the rug to lean against the couch. She braces a hand behind Dani’s head, her eyebrow arched. “You tryin’ to say I don’t pay enough attention to my looks? I don’t scrub up enough for you, is that it?”

Her fingers brush Dani’s ribs, digging in just hard enough to tickle. Dani squirms, laughter burbling out against Jamie’s neck. 

She doesn’t bring it up again, preferring the secret of Jamie’s slowly graying hair held within her own heart. The threads are becoming more insistent as the years drift by, joining tiny lines etched into Jamie’s skin. Her hands, put through so much work, are comfortably worn at knuckle and fingertip. Her smile pulls the skin around her eyes a little tighter as they celebrate eight years--nine--ten. 

She looks good with the extra age, Dani thinks. She wears it all so well, without pausing to prod at herself in the bathroom mirror; if she’s the least bit unnerved by the passage of time, she never lets it show. If Dani didn’t know better, she’d think Jamie never really looks at herself in the mirror at all. 

Too busy looking at me, she thinks, and tries not to ache at the idea that Jamie has forgotten herself beneath the need to keep her attention on what she considers more important things. Like watching for one of Dani’s moods to spike up in public. Like waiting for Dani’s shoulders to hunch against ghosts only she can see. 

Dani doesn’t look into mirrors herself much these days, either--though, every once in a while, a glimpse will sneak up. Just the barest flash of her own face in the passenger mirror of the car, or the idling bathwater. Sometimes--less and less often--the face waiting is even her own. 

It is so her own, those days, that Dani finds herself embracing a new concern. Something odd, something she’s only started to really see in recent memory. 

Jamie is starting to show her age, little by little. Not all at once, not in any way that is strange for a woman creeping into her forties--but the years are there, certainly, stamped gently into her skin. The years are threaded through her hair, these silver pops around which Dani’s hands seem to take on a mind of their own. There’s something wonderful, lively, even sexy about the way time is impacting Jamie--grounding her a little more every year, the natural wearing of all those hours hung like medals around her shoulders. 

Dani, catching sight of herself in the bathtub, can’t help but notice: no one could say the same for her. Not that time is beating away at her, not that time is turning her to stone before she’s ready--but that time appears to be doing nothing at all. Her eyes bear no extra marks, though she has spent just as much time as Jamie laughing, frowning, holding her breath as the world spins beneath her. Her hands look just the same as they had in 1987. 

Her hair is still stubbornly gold.

“Do you think it’s strange?” she whispers one night--not entirely sure if Jamie is even awake, not sure she can even bear the answer Jamie might give. 

“What is?”

She swallows hard, fingers carding gently through Jamie’s hair. The gray seems to gleam in the glow of the streetlamp through their window. 

“That I’m not...that I don’t look...”

Jamie pushes onto one elbow, peering at her in the dark. “You look like you,” she says, when Dani is unable to press on. “You look like Dani.”

She’s trying to answer the other question, Dani understands, the one being asked with greater frequency: am I here? am I me? what if I’m her, deep down, and have been all along? She shakes her head. 

“That’s not...I’m not...”

Jamie waits, brow knit the way it always has when she’s listening. Even when her expression smooths out into sleep, that small divot will remain, etched into her skin like a tattoo memorializing all these late-night conversations. Dani reaches up, presses her thumb gently to it now, her breath hitching when Jamie turns to kiss her palm. 

“It’s nothing,” she says. There’s no way to explain it without making Jamie worry more, worry again, lose yet more sleep watching for signs Dani is slipping away.

Jamie nods slowly, not quite believing, not quite daring to call out the lie. “All right,” she says, and the silver in her hair seems to burn, and Dani loves her enough to close her eyes and pretend everything is okay.

When morning comes, she wards off the thoughts. It’s easier, in daylight. Easier to turn her head, fix her eyes on Jamie, allow the familiarity of Jamie’s hands, smile, kiss sweep the fear back under the bed. The nights are long, the dark heavier than it has any right to be, but in sunlight, Jamie shines. The chain around her neck--the colors in her eyes--the silver shot through her hair. In sunshine, Jamie is the most alive any person can be.

And if she is, so must Dani be--because there is so much love in the way Jamie tips into her arms, so much affection in the sweep of her kiss, in the way she leads them around the kitchen in an impromptu waltz. Jamie, as always, burning away the shadows. 

Jamie, who dips her backward, drinking in her laughter with the biggest grin in the world. Who cuts her eyes to the right. Who tightens her mouth in surprise.

“Hang on,” she says, her hands still braced at Dani’s back and hip. “What the fuck is this?”

Dani’s heart gives a giant leap, her hands clutching at Jamie’s shirt for balance. This is it, she thinks. She can see her now. She can see her, not me, and it’s over, it’s all over, it’s--

“Dani.” Jamie is frowning, easing her back to her feet. She crouches down, gazing into the window of the oven. One hand rises to her head, her brow furrowed.

She sees her, Dani thinks, backing toward the sink. She sees her, and--

“Jesus, how long has my hair looked like that?” 

She blinks, shaking the panic away. “What?”

Jamie is looking at her, almost awestruck, her face clean and younger than usual with the last vestiges of sleep clinging to her eyes. “All that gray. Knew there were one or two, but--”

Dani is laughing. Leaning back against the counter, the mirth spilling out of her, she laughs. Jamie, straightening up with a low groan--her knees pop audibly, her head shaking--looks bewildered.

“Suppose you thought you’d just wait,” she says dryly, “and see if I ever noticed?”

Dani nods, cackling too hard to answer. It’s become so normal, counting the bright bursts amid Jaime’s natural hair color; she’s honestly forgotten Jamie ever didn’t have these silver sparks. Every inch of her, from the crow’s feet etched near her eyes to the tiny scars on her hands, is quite simply home. 

Jamie is plainly trying to look grumpy now, her hand tangling her hair. With Dani giggling like this, unable to catch her breath, she isn’t doing a very good job.

“Been this way a while?”

“Years,” Dani giggles. “Since I proposed. Before.”

Jamie rolls her eyes, slouching the two steps it takes to reach the counter and Dani’s shaking frame. “You,” she says in a mock-irritated tone, “are supposed to help with these things.”

“With what?” Dani brushes the hair back from her eyes. “You’re beautiful. And more than that, you’re...stately.”

“Stately,” Jamie repeats with a snort. “Haven’t heard that one. That’s a Hannah word, if ever there was one.”

They sober, just a little, the appropriate affection offered to memory. Jamie’s head bows against her own, her nose brushing Dani’s lightly. 

“I like it,” Dani says, her voice soft. “I like watching it happen. Like growing old...”

She trails off. She isn’t growing old, is the thing. Isn’t changing. Is as incontrovertible as a lake set into ancient grounds. She is not growing old at all.

Jamie’s fingers curl around her chin, tipping her head back. “Growing old together,” she says, firmly. Not denial, exactly--just certainty. Jamie, imposing her will on a world that tries so hard to have its own way with them both. 

“Growing old together,” Dani repeats, and even if it isn’t true in the strictest sense--even if it doesn’t look like it should--she knows Jamie believes it. Knows Jamie will fight tooth and nail to make the universe bend around her love. 

There are things, Jamie believes, that are natural. Organic. Exactly as they should be. There are things that can’t be changed by dreams, whims, magic spells. 

They will grow old together. That is, Jamie believes, the way the world works. The way it has always been and will always be. Jamie’s hair grows silver. Jamie’s skin etches with lines. Jamie’s hands are solid in her own, though she sometimes bends her fingers with a grimace, rubs her wrists when the weather angles toward snow. 

They will grow old together. For Jamie, there is simply no other consideration to be made.

“I like it,” Dani repeats, fingering the nearest strand of gray. “It’s distinguished.”

Jamie, shaking her head, is grinning as she leans in for a kiss.

[katsukikitten]

Warning : 18 plus AU, adult themes, collage au

Part one Part two

"Mina, I really don't see why I have to wear this Bikini, I prefer a cutout  one piece." You say sipping your iced coffee as Mina packs her beach bag with sponges, rags, and tons of bottled water. You wait impatiently by the door of your shared, temporary dorm. 

"Becauuuusssse, I already told you! That Instagram post I made of all of us blew up, even with my large following. Remember how many people we brought in last time?"

"Yes, we made 45% more profit…" You bite at the inside of your lip as you think, adjusting your white t-shirt so it sat nicely above the black bikini bottoms. You weren't one to argue with numbers.

"Well now with the combined efforts with the shirtless boys we can actually use that allowance you got us for unlimited kegs." 

"No, Mina new windows and installation. They said the house was hot, which means winter will be brutal." You roll your eyes, "Unless you want to freeze this winter, personally I have no problem with freezing." 

She giggles at your joke, pulling you along as if you were the reason for being late instead of her. Mina spies Uraraka and Jiro waving them towards the two of you before she whispers softly to you.  

"Just, try to have fun today no matter what." 

You wondered if that was an omen, a jinx or if she already knew what lied ahead. Either way you would not being having too much fun. 

The four of you arrive just before the first customer's begin to line up and already you want to organize. Counting the heads until you see a certain ash blonde causing your normally cold blood to run hot. Too hot. 

"Mina?" Your voice dips low, as ice dances in the air around you, "What is he doing here?" 

"Who?" She plays dumb as the other two women greet the group of men. Harsh garnet cut to you as you steel your glare. 

"Oi, Icy Brat. What are you fucking doing here?" His voice grates your nerves and for a moment you see red. Thinking of freezing him and going about your day. Instead you choose to give him the cold shoulder, averting your gaze. 

"We're doing pairs for washing today. I'm glad you could make it" Kirishima beams, coming in for a hug, you take a step back offering him a polite smile. His smile doesn't lose an ounce of shine, it makes you respect him a bit more. 

"I'll handle the cash and direct cars then." You say pointing to the box, ready to grab the fanny pack and head to the street. Denki grabs onto you gently, releasing you as if you were hot to the touch.  

"No it has to be a boy girl ratio. I promise the outcome will be worth it, please!" This won't be the first or last time both Denki and Mina beg for your help. You look around at what must be their subconscious pairings. Jiro calls Denki over as the first car pulls up, Kirishima seems to wait patiently, his eyes lingering on bubble gum pink skin, while Sero is already guiding cars with Uraraka in tow. 

That leaves you and Bakugou who has his arms crossed, sneering at the customers. 

Your hope dwindles that today would be a good day.

Sero points to a blue car indicating that this was going to be yours to share with the hot head. Sighing you waltz over in your black wedge heels and begin your work. Bakugou looms over the wet car, sponge in hand. The two of you work in silence until the third car, a red coupe with a couple inside about to receive the show of their bi lives. 

They comment on the tension they feel between the two of you right away, they notice the glares and lack of communication. Even making small jokes about how funny it would be to see one of those cliche water fights between the two of you. 

"Icebrat, you're doing it fuckin wrong." Bakuogu barks, you ignore him, continuing to wash the car. Anger burns in his chest, never understanding why you acted so high and mighty. 

"Gonna give me the cold shoulder are ya?" He growls, eyeing the dirty water before a thought crosses his mind, "Love to see you ignore this."

His voice is sadistic before he throws the dirty water across the car onto your frame, suds and water cling to your white t, showcasing the black bikini top underneath. Your temper spikes enough that your shirt collects frost at the seams before you slowly remove it. Glaring at the hot head when you're done.  

"Fuck." The couple say aloud grabbing onto each other as they watch the scene unfold. Your powerful frame guiding you with a deadly clack of your heels. Your hands find the bucket of water Mina and Kirishima were using, your fingers tap the bucket and the water forms a film of ice at the top. Meanwhile Bakugou goes to "correct" whatever mistake you were making. The couple's eyes watch the unsuspecting Bakugou reach up their hood to clean a particular spot before water is dumped over his spiky blonde hair. 

You tap the back of his shirt making it stiff with frost, when he moves to face you it shatters away from his body. Revealing the sculpted plans of his abs and the scars of untold stories. 

If it weren't for all of that ice water Bakugou would have blown you sky high, he comes close to you. Huffing as his eyes become wild and wide. All you offer him is a deadly polite smile as you stare him in the face, unbothered and unphased by his towering presence. 

"What? I was only getting the spot you missed." When he says nothing you allow yourself to relish the silence, placing your hand on his shoulder capping it in obvious ice. 

"Are you giving me the cold shoulder now?" The question is nonchalant before you signal to Sero for another car as you walk to get more supplies. Sero whistles at a bristling Bakugou before leaning into the driver's side window to give directions. Before he can ask for a tip the driver is offering a twenty dollar bill while his eyes are flickering between yourself and Bakugou. 

"Mark us down as a regular." He sighs as his girlfriend does too.  Sero happily tucks the money into the fanny pack.

"Will do." 

Somehow the two of you manage quips and water pranks back and forth without killing each other. Making it through the long day but earning a high amount of tips. Mina clings to you as you count cash, sweat on her brow as the sun settles into an unbearable afternoon heat. 

"Uuugghhh how much longer mom?" She asks, sighing at your icy touch. You roll your eyes as you count the last stack. 

"Not too much hush." You place the money into the lock box, wondering how the hell the eight of you made so much money in just seven hours. 

"But I'm starving! Plus we still have to pick our rooms!" 

"You're that excited to move all of our items into what was a male dominated space?" You ask coolly as Jiro and Uraraka lean against the collapsible table. 

"I'm stoked." Jiro comments, her earjacks twirling themself as her eyes wander.

"It will be nice to be settled before the fall term." Uraraka sighs looking down at her phone, idly scrolling through her socials. The two women nod as the guys approach. You purposely ignore the hot head and allow your eyes to meet Denki's, although it takes him a few long seconds to meet your gaze. He was a little preoccupied with a black and white checkered bikini with matching Van's. 

"Earth to space cadet." Sero nudges his ribs subtly pointing to you as you gaze at him as a teacher would a student caught daydreaming. He clears his throat. 

"Well it seems your theory has paid off. We've made quite a bit of cash today." You lock the box before standing, reluctantly adding, "The pairing of female and male will be standard from here on out. Although we should only need a few more fundraising events depending on what the house needs. Which I trust won't be too much."

Three of the four boys shared a concerned look while the fourth knows how bitter your words were going to taste.

"We'll meet you at the house." 

❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥

The four of you cannot deny the excitement you feel as yall walk up to the historical home. The upper balcony seems to wrap around the back but only partially in the front while the porch below stretches across the front of the home. The siding had been repainted and the banisters above and below are wrapped in what will be sparkling lights at night. A stately set of double doors catch your eye before they yawn open by the hands of Denki Kaminari who is trying not to visibly sweat. 

"Home sweet home!" Denki steps aside to let the four of you in with your belongings. Your eyes dissect the place as you press your tongue into your bottom lip, trying your best to keep your cool. This place needed a lot of what you deemed necessities. You notice the familiar dining room table as the foldable card table they had at the carwash surrounded by the cheap camping chairs you thought you had replaced. 

The only decent looking room was the living room and even then it was only thanks to you. The leather arm chairs were placed haphazardly around the new sectional you had delivered as it circled around the TV you demanded from the dean.

Denki watches your manicured nails rap against your skin as you think.  

"The window installation and insulation went smoothly?" 

"Yes." Sero answers as your eyes wander around the room landing on your mattress and platform bed frame resting against the wall in the nook by the study turned bedroom. 

"We didn't know where to put it since the bedrooms aren't sorted out for you lovely ladies just yet." Kirishima smiles but your mind isn't on why it is there. No, your mind is wondering why there is only one.

"Was I the only one to order my mattress?" You look towards your sorority who holds a guilty look before you glance at the three men who mirror the women. 

"Well I guess that is for the better. We can spend extra on them now anyway." 

"Are you sure? I thought the budget was tight." Denki asks, earning a rare boasting smile from you. You make your way into the kitchen and six ducklings follow. Your nail taps the stainless steel of a high end commercial fridge. 

"It was tight before but not after I got this." Smile remaining on your lips as you speak, "It was 3,000 off due to some cosmetic dents but I got it as a donation. An alumni donation." 

"Wow for free?!" Denki and Sero ask in unison, amazed by your skill. 

"For free boys." 

"Wow, Bakugou might love that fridge even more now. Every time he cooks he mentions how great it is." Kirishama laughs but a certain name causes you to freeze to the tiled floor. 

"Bakugou…" You turn to Mina with a deadly glare as ice crystals form in your hair, "As in Bakugou lives here?!" 

The silence echoes throughout the kitchen and all that can be heard is the hum of the fancy fridge. Just as you're about to snap, Denki intervenes. 

"Uh. Did you want to talk bedrooms?" 

"YES!" The girls yell pulling the boys back into the safety of the living room as you collect yourself for a moment. 

God you hated the effect his name had on you but even more so how stupid you felt. As if this was some half baked plan to leave out the important detail that the man you loathed most would be under the same roof. Finally after a few deep breaths the ice in your hair melts and you step into the living room with a level head. Reminding yourself that this house was going to be rent free. You would have a full sized kitchen and your own bedroom, this was a much better option than the dorms even if it meant Bakugou came with it. 

"There is one bedroom upstairs not claimed, the rest of us guys are up there too. Then that door next to the nook is the study, it's not huge but it has a lot of shelves and big enough to fit a queen. Um there are two bedrooms in the basement but it's not totally dark down there. Plus the second living room with the pong table is down there. What else?" Denki taps his finger to his lips, "Oh half bath is here. Full bathroom is upstairs and there is technically another full bath in the basement, it's just more 'open concept'." 

"Open concept?" Jiro asks, earjacks perking with curiosity. 

"He means no walls. Just a toilet and a shower head chilling next to the laundry sink and washer, dryer." Sero explains, again you tongue the inside of your bottom lip. 

"Girl huddle!" Mina shouts, pulling the three of you into a small circle, "I personally really would like one of the bedrooms in the basement. I'm loud and I wouldn't mind the late hours that come with the pong table. I am the QUEEN after all." 

"I want a bedroom in the basement too. You know my music gets super loud!" Jiro pipes in. Uraraka wants to say something but politely waits for you, instead you gesture for her to speak first. 

"I...I would be much more comfortable in the study. I don't mind it being small." Her brown eyes bore holes into the floorboards as you read between the lines. 

"I would be much more comfortable on a different level than all four men." Is what she means, you sigh internally, swearing this will be the last compromise you make for these women. 

"Then I'll take the room upstairs." You state before telling the boys the arrangements. You look at your watch to check the time. 

"If we leave now in the college van and trailer I borrowed we could get everyone else's mattresses tonight." You look around the room before asking, "So where is Bakugou anyway?" 

The three boys glance at one another, Kirishima speaks up. 

"He had a….previous obligation." He laughs, rubbing the back of his head. You narrow your eyes. 

"Let me call him. This is more important than whatever he is doing. It clearly isn't school related." You hold out your hand for the red head's phone, he pulls it from his pocket reluctantly. 

It rings before going to voicemail but that's never stopped you before. You call until he picks up screaming into the receiver. 

"WHAT THE FUCK I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING CALL SHITTY HAIR!!!" 

"Enough with the dramatics, what could be more important than your other roommates deciding bedrooms in the house?" 

"Is that?!" A female voice screeches your name once she figured out who you are, "Listen here slut, I'm in the middle of getting my back broken and…" 

"Bakugou we are leaving in fifteen minutes. I advise that you get here on time. Otherwise we will leave without you." You interrupt the angry booty call. 

"And if I fucking don't, Icebrat?" You roll your eyes at the nickname as you sigh. 

"Then I'll spend your portion of the allowance on something else. Fifteen minutes." 

"OI!" Bakugou shouts before a woman's voice comes across the speaker.

"Stop ignoring me bitch and stop talking to my man!"

"Oh sweetheart your 'man' is only going to your place cause he sleeps on a crusty ass futon not because he actually likes you." Your voice is honeyed in venom before dipping low, "Bakugou be home or you forfeit the fucking funding for your bed."  

With that you hang up, passing Kirishima's phone back to him. Everyone shares a glance as they remember just how icy you can be, there was no threat in your voice. Only a promise to Bakugou. 

"Sero be a dear and help me take my mattress up." You ask lifting the box with the unbuilt frame with ease. Suddenly skittish Sero takes a moment to grab your mattress as Denki helps him bring it up the stairs but abandons Sero by the bathroom at the top of the stairs, forcing the tape hero to face this challenge alone. Sero only hopes the room neighboring yours is shut and he sighs with relief when it is. 

He helps you set the items into your room that is located in the front of the house.  You take in the view of the perfectly sized yet small bedroom. Two large sets of sliding doors that meet in the corner force you to place your bed against what you assume is the shared wall of one of your roommates. Sero swallows thickly as he realizes just why Denki abandoned him. He can see it in your eyes, the curiosity sparkling as you turn to face him, you're going to inquire about the room next door. 

Please Gods do not ask him. 

Don't fucking asking him please. 

"Who do I owe the pleasure?" You smile sweetly, praying it is Kirishima or Sero at the very least. Hell you'd even take Denki who sings loudly off key, as long as it wasn't Bakugou. You watch the raven hair man's face fall, his dark eyes avoiding yours as he answers and yet somehow you already knew. 

"Ba-Bakugou's" The room drops twenty degrees as the floor freezes beneath your feet, snow floating gently to the floor as Sero's breath puffs in the new found tundra. 

"SERO I NEED YOUR HELP MAN! JIRO'S DRUM SET AND AMPS ARE HEAVY!" Denki calls from downstairs, saving Sero's hide. The man rushes and catches himself from slipping before he practically jumps down the entire set of stairs. 

"How did she take it?" Mina whispers before following Sero's eyes to where your bedroom should be. Urakaka comes from the study with snowflakes dusting her hair and a shiver. 

"Well at least I'll never be hot in the summer." 

[harringrovetrashrat]

Tagged by @disdaidal !!!  Thank you!  Omg I’m like 🥺💖🥺💖

So, I figure since I have so many things I’m working on, and no idea when I’ll actually finish them (outside of my Big Bang Project), I should share the bits of them that I do actually have dhfoiahfiosh

What we have are these:

A fic where Billy meets some older queer people while kicked out, and learns from them how to love himself

“So I’m guessing you’ve never met a queen before,” they said. Billy shook his head.

“I’ve never met any royalty.” Juicy laughed and it made Billy feel like he’d said the wrong thing until she looked at him again, practically beaming.

“Well honey, there’s queens abound in here. Drag Queens, specifically.” Billy’s mouth formed a small ‘o’.

“So, you’re a… man?” Juicy shook her head.

“Personally, I find man and woman too limiting. All gender is a costume, darling. I just think dresses are prettier than suits.”

“You haven’t been in the right suits,” Cindy said with a smirk. Juicy gave her the finger without looking.

“It’s called taste, sweetie.” Cindy just laughed. Billy stared at Juicy, feeling awed by them. They were so tall, toned and beautiful. Their skin was dark and glistened with the glitter they’d spread over it. “I’m sure you have taste, don’t you munchkin?” Billy couldn’t help it and he pouted.

“I’m not short, I’m average for my age,” he snapped. Juicy just smiled.

“I like you,” they said, pointing a long nailed finger at him.

A Cheesy Summer Camp Horror fic, with romance and comedy because Like.  Y’all know me.

“Let’s stop talking about her,” Heather cut in. “Let’s talk about this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Billy asked, perking up. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could celebrate the end of the first week with a skinny dip,” she said, eyes sparkling. Billy didn’t miss the flush that crossed over Robin’s face, though he wasn’t entirely sure who it was directed at. He definitely had a guess.

“I’m game!” Tommy piped up, grin wide, anger disappearing from his face. Billy rolled his eyes and snorted, but raised his hand, tongue running over his top teeth.

“Why not,” he said, giving his eyebrows a quirk. “I ain’t no pussy.”

“Of course,” Adam muttered, rolling his eyes. Billy’s eyes snapped over and narrowed. “Isn’t it a little, I dunno, juvenile?”

“Oh come on,” Steve chimed in, munching on the cookie now, relaxing with the change of topic. “Maybe so, but it’s summer, it’s camp, why not, right? Start it off with a bang?” His smile was teasing, bright, and Billy found it hard to look away, hard to deny that smile what it wanted.

The Reverse AU where Steve moves to Hawkins with his father and step family, Claudia and Dustin, and Billy was adopted into the Mayfields

“I’m not--! It’s just midterms! That’s what has me all out of sorts.” He opened his notebook and tried to will his blush away. There was a soft thud and Nancy joined them.

“What has you out of sorts?” She asked.

“Mid--”

“Billy so has a crush on that new guy from New York,” Heather said. Billy made a noise of protest when Nancy smiled, leaning over.

“Oh he’s so cute! Truly impeccable taste you have,” she teased. Billy rested his head on the table.

“I hate both of you so fucking much,” he hissed.

“No you don’t,” they chorused.

“I do, I really do,” Billy replied.

Mermaid AU where Steve and Billy were young friends before being separated.  Steve tries to reunite them obviously

“I can show you a bunch of cool stuff,” Billy said, feeling oddly proud of himself. And well, the ocean was his home. And he never got the chance to really show it off to someone who didn’t already know it. “If I show you the ocean, will you tell me more about humans?” Steve nodded. “Like, why are all the ships girls?”

“Huh,” Steve said, tapping his chin with his finger. “I don’t actually know… Usually I think ‘cause a guy names them. I’ll ask my tutor. He knows everything.” Steve wasn’t a huge fan of Professor Owens, but he was nice enough. He let Steve find things to bring in and ask questions about, he didn’t get mad like Steve’s other tutors had when he had trouble reading. So even though Owens still pushed for Steve to focus more on his future, he was better than the other adults in Steve’s life.

“Tutor?” Billy asked. “What’s that?”

“Like a teacher,” Steve replied. “But like… Different.” In fact, Steve wasn’t totally sure what the difference was. Billy just squinted, looking confused.

“Different… how?”

“Uh, tutors are… are taller,” Steve replied matter of factly. Professor Owens was taller than Ms. Joyce had been, so there wasn’t anything to argue against that. Billy nodded seriously, making a note.

There was a ringing bell and a distant voice calling Steve’s name, making him sigh dramatically. It was already time? Billy’s ears twitched a little and he looked at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my nanny,” Steve said, mopey and pouting.

More of You’ll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

“Oh, King Steve thinking about skipping?” Billy tugged him down, making Steve stumble as a fist started rubbing against his scalp and messing up his hair.

“Fuck, dude!” Steve cried, nearly dropping his tray. Billy just cackled, letting him go and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No,” Nancy said through grit teeth. “He’s thinking about staying and taking--”

“He can’t go around looking like that,” Billy said with faux concern, eyes all worried as he leaned on the table with one hand and used the other to point at Steve’s, now fully messed up, hair. “I think Steve’ll have to take the afternoon, don’t you?” Billy turned to look over his shoulder, not seeing the way Nancy rubbed at her temples as Jonathan very obviously tried not to snicker. Steve almost felt bad. Billy knocked on the table with his knuckles, pushing up with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him home safely.”

“Get me home--” Steve began, but before he could finish his sentence, Billy was shoving him around and out of the cafeteria. Nancy sighed, shaking her head, giving Steve a look he knew would turn into a talk later. “Sorry guys!” Steve tossed over his shoulder.

Billy with a rat he named Max to piss off Max (he calls her human Max and she hates it)

“And what the fuck are you doing here?!” He asked her. Max, the little trouble maker, just squeaked at him, wriggling in his grip. “No fucking wonder I didn’t see you in Barbie’s house this morning, you decided to be a fucking Houndini, didn’t you.” She squeaked again, tail swirling and dragging along his wrist. He heard footsteps behind him and moved to shove her back into his jacket sleeve when Steve approached.

“You okay-- Oh!” Steve blinked, brows raised as he saw Max reach with her small, cute little pink hands to grab for Billy’s hard nipple again. “So…”

“Cut that out!” Billy hissed, moving her down to cradle her against his stomach. She settled in, but she was definitely hungry and would get restless again quickly. “I didn’t see her this morning but just assumed she was hiding in her little pile.”

“Me too,” Steve said, checking around the hallway for anyone who was late. Luckily, there was no one around to see them trying to hide a rat in Billy’s jacket. “How’d she even get out?”

“I mean, we are keeping her in a Barbie dream house instead of a cage--”

“Really? You’re gonna sass me now? After you insisted that she ‘live like the princess she is’--”

Stranger Than Fiction AU

“Billy, I swear to fucking god if you don’t get out there right now--” Billy stumbled out from the back, head turned to glare at Max, who was pushing him from behind. She pushed until he was at the counter, face to face with Steve. He glared, though his face was flush. Max crossed her arms. “Like we fuckin’ practiced.” Billy shot her another angry glance, but then looked back to Steve. Who was so confused.

“Max may have, uhm, brought it to my attention that I may have overreacted just the tiniest little bit.”

“That’s not at all right,” Max said under her breath. Billy swatted behind him without looking, missing her completely.

“Anyway,” he pressed on, “I just,” he sighed, pushing an errant curl behind his ear. Steve watched the movement before snapping his eyes back to Billy’s. “I don’t often take the chance to be nice, so I got maybe a little offended.” Max scoffed. “Okay a lot offended,” he said with an eye roll. Steve couldn’t help it; he snorted. Billy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up, like a kid who just learned Santa was real. Steve blushed, looking away, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“It’s okay,” he replied, turning back to look at Billy. The sun lit up the stray blonde hairs poking out of his messy bun, making a light halo around him. Steve had to catch his breath.

It was like looking at an angel, vengeful and dangerous, but exciting all at once. His eyes seemed to shine, bright and gleeful, but also full of mischief.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, feeling his face heat up more. “I would have taken them if I could. They were amazing.” He smiled, nodding towards the stairs. “I should get to it though. Last day and all.” Something sad briefly flickered over Billy’s face, but it was gone as soon as it was there, and Steve thought he must have imagined it.

“Yeah, good luck,” Billy said. Max was smiling, smug, and she punched Billy’s shoulder.

Leverage AU

“Well,” he said slowly, letting the trio shake off their shadows. “The lab closed.” This isn’t about the kid was the underlying message. “But, what’s happening now is that Mayor Kline accepted a lot of weird bribes. They’re from a company called Starcourt Industries. Now, that’s the name of the mall that opened, Starcourt, but what’s weird--”

“--Is that they didn’t exist for very long before suddenly popping up in Indiana,” Alec cut in. “It reads like one of our companies. General background, seems legit, but I did a lot of poking around most of this stuff leads to loose ends. It took a while to get there, so at first glance…” The group nodded. At first glance everything checked out, and even a little digging would provide a general cover that most people wouldn’t think to look past.

Of course, none of them were most people.

“So who are they?” Eliot asked.

“All of the loose ends lead back to Russia,” Alec said. “But nothing concrete or connected, just more companies that do really general stuff. It goes real deep.” The implications there were discomforting. Alec was a genius, and excelled in his line of work, but this kind of grand scale cover up meant one thing: this was bigger than just a few bad apples in a company. This was a plan.

“So who’s the client?” Sophie asked. Nate pulled up a picture of a grumpy looking man, mustache groomed and eyes hard, but kind.

“Chief Jim Hopper.” That got Parker’s attention, bringing her out of the funk she’d been in since the mention of San Diego and Billy.

“Like, Police Chief?”

“Yep,” Nate said, popping the P. “He’s the one who found the kid, found out there was something going on at the lab. Now, he’s positive something weird is going on. Knows he’s done everything he can to legally take the Mayor down, but the man has a lot of friends in high places, and Jim can’t do anything. And that’s,” he smiled, “Where we come in.”

That’s still merely some of what I have going on, but that’s what I’ll share rn. Anyway, tag me in ur WIPs! I’d love to read them :) tag ur it

[darwindrawz]

GTFO Team 729 AU fic (no one should read this except Sky)

@skyllion-uwu here it is, sorry it took me so long to figure out how to get it here lmao

Some notes:

- if you are not Sky, please save me the embarrassment and don’t read this. If you do read this, don’t make fun of me for it.

-Tore is Italian-American and has extreme anger issues, Bright is a stuck up ex-spy German asshole, and they both hate each other (at least at first).

-The team is currently trying to find a way to a lab on the upper levels to retrieve a dna sample, but Tore insisted on navigating even though Bright is the scout and he got them lost. Bright then took the map files from him to prevent any further confusion, and they are still fighting about this.

Warnings: lots of swearing, some light angst, Flea being too pure for this world (or the gtfo world I guess)

——————————————————>>

The crackling of the team’s campfire nearly drowned out the screams of sleepers behind a nearby wall, but not enough to put Flea at ease.

He kept one hand on his gun, careful not to let the others see, lest they find out he wasn’t as tough as they all thought he was.

“I’m tellin you, we’ve been headin the wrong way for days now! We’ll never find our way outta this shithole if you don’t fuckin give me the map files!”

He rolled his eyes under his helmet. Tore and Bright were arguing again. Not that it was anything unusual; they were all under stress, and it didn’t help the two’s ongoing feud to be trapped in the same seemingly endless hallway for four days.

“Oh of course, because you know what you’re doing more than any of us do.” Bright snapped back. “Get a grip. You’re acting as immature as that mangy little kid.”

Flea perked up at that. Where was the kid, anyway? He had seen them while they were setting up camp, but now that they had a fire going it seemed that he had skulked off somewhere in the darkness surrounding them.

He stood up, eliciting a glance from Tore and Bright but no questions. “I’m gonna go find...” he trailed off as he realized neither of them were listening, his deep voice muffled by the sound of them chewing each other’s heads off.

“My fuckin rank is “tech”, dumbass! What do you think that means? THAT I’M IN CHARGE OF THE TECH.”

“Ach, verpiss dich!”

“CHE NE DICI DI FOTTERTI?!”

Flea sighed, picking up his gun and stepping into the shadows. Idiots. And he was supposed to be the big strong dumb one.

It wasn’t long before he heard Teeth’s raspy breathing coming from somewhere up ahead in the dingy hallway. Knowing better than to call out to him, he pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on and off several times, shining it at the opposite wall.

There was a pause, and then Flea heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming toward him. Just in case, he put a finger on the trigger of his combat rifle.

“Flea?”

Flea felt his shoulders relax as the kid came into view, holding his helmet in one hand and a nutrient block in the other.

“Hey kid. What’re you doing out here? It’s not safe.” He asked, lowering his flashlight as he realized it was shining directly in Teeth’s eyes.

He barked a gravelly laugh, his sharp teeth exposed. “This whole PLACE isn’t safe. Here is just extra not safe.”

Flea chuckled, shaking his head. Weird kid.

“What are you doing out here?” Teeth asked, spreading his scrawny arms to gesture at the dark hallway.

Flea sighed. “Tore and Bright are-“

“Fighting again.” Teeth groaned dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. What else is new.”

Flea smiled. “Yeah.”

“Hey!” Teeth exclaimed suddenly, making Flea jump. “You wanna see something cool?”

“Uh... sure? Whoah!” He yelled as Teeth grabbed his arm, dragging him into the dark shadow he had come out of at as fast of a pace as he was able.

Well, technically Teeth wasn’t dragging him. Flea was letting himself be dragged by someone half his height, mostly out of confusion and amusement.

Flea couldn’t tell where they were going, but before long he knew they had walked further than he and the others had scouted. The hall looked unfamiliar here, and the screams of sleepers gradually became distant and hushed.

Suddenly, after what Flea judged to be around 20 minutes of stumbling through the dark, Teeth stopped, bouncing on his toes as he grinned up at Flea. “TADA!”

Flea frowned confusedly, looking around. As far as he could see, there was nothing but a dark, empty, grey room with a large pile of old rubble in the center where the ceiling had caved in.

Even if there was nothing, at least there weren’t any sleepers.

He grunted as he felt Teeth’s sharp elbow dig into his side. “No, you big dummy! Up there!”

Flea followed his friend’s gaze, squinting against the light.

Wait, light?

“How...” he murmured in awe and confusion.

Teeth beamed. “Isn’t it great? And it’s MINE, cause I found it. If you climb on top, you can even see the sky-shiners!”

Flea looked down, confused. “Sky-shiners..?”

Teeth nodded vigorously. “Yeah! C’mere, lemme show you!” He said, grabbing Flea’s arm again and “dragging” him up the pile of concrete chunks and metal.

He let go of him once they had reached the summit of the tiny mountain, practically shaking with excitement as he pointed at the hole in the ceiling where the shaft of pale light streamed in. “There! Look!”

Flea took off his helmet, breathing in the fresh air that had somehow, miraculously, found its way to them. He looked up, his mouth falling open in awe as he looked from Teeth to the night sky above them. They must have gotten so lost they somehow ended up in one of the upper levels.

Which explained a lot. Tore had the sense of direction of a blind cow.

“That’s somethin else.” He smiled, feeling peace for the first time in days uncountable as he observed what Teeth had called the “sky-shiners”.

Stars. He means the stars. Poor kid probably either has never seen em, or doesn’t remember what they are.

He glanced at Teeth, who was squinting at the light with a look of pure, unfettered joy on his face. “How’d you find this place?”

Teeth’s face fell and he hesitated, shrugging. “I dunno.” He mumbled. “Just sorta bumped into it I guess.”

Flea raised an eyebrow. “You just happened to bump into a room half a mile away from camp?”

Teeth squirmed under his gaze, picking at the scar that ran across his face without giving an answer.

“Teeth...”

“Alright fine!” Teeth gave in, sighing as he plopped down on the rubble pile cross-legged. “I was tryin to run away, but I got distracted.”

Flea’s eyes widened in surprise. “Run away? To where???”

Teeth shot him a look. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, ok?!”

Flea stared at him, half in shock and half in sadness that Teeth would just run off like that. They were friends, so he had thought.

He sat down next to him, thinking for a moment before speaking again.

“Why’d you wanna run away?”

Teeth glanced at him. “You wouldn’t get it.”

He scoffed, smiling gently. “Try me, kid.”

His friend sighed, planting his chin in his hands as he stared at the sliver of navy sky above them. “I... I guess I just got sick of it all. Y’know, Tore and Bright fighting, non being able to spit without hitting a sleeper, bein scared all the time... d’you not get tired of all that shit sometimes?”

Flea paused, thinking about his answer. “I do... but we have no other choice. We do what the Warden says, or we’re not around to receive it’s orders. And... even if Tore and Bright are a bit much sometimes, they’re all we’ve got, y’know? You’re all I’ve got. I can’t just give that up.” He finished, smiling passively at the sky.

Teeth was silent for a while, before he burst out laughing. “Wow.” He said in between cackles. “You’re a big cheesy idiot, y’know that?”

Flea laughed. “Maybe. That’s just my opinion though.”

They both went silent for a while, before finally Teeth spoke again in a quieter voice.

“Flea.”

“Mm.”

“D’you think I’m a mutt?”

Flea looked at him confusedly. “What?”

Teeth shrugged, chewing at one of his fingernails. “I dunno. Bright and Tore talk ugly. They say I’m some kinda animal.“

He raised his eyebrows, making a mental note to pound the others into a bloody paste later. “That’s just stupid.”

“Nah. Maybe they’re right. I only got one brain cell, according to Bright. Whatever that means.” He said, flopping down onto his back with a sigh.

“Kid, that’s not true. You might be a little... charismatic at times, but you’re not a mutt. Tore and Bright are the ones with only one brain cell. Whatever that means.” Flea added, smiling at him.

Teeth sniffed. “You’re pretty cool, Flea. Maybe I’ll stick around a while, since you’re not goin nowhere. Besides, how am I gonna prove I got uh... a lotta brain cells if I never see the others again?”

He laughed. “That’s a good point. Maybe you’ll even teach them a thing or two.”

“Yeah.” Teeth grinned.

“Do you want to go back to camp now?”

“Depends. D’you think they’ll be done fighting?” He shrugged.

Flea laughed. “Heh. Never. Maybe they’ll have their panties in less of a twist, though.”

Teeth stood up, dusting off his hands. “Well c’mon then. I got places to be, the team’s not gonna annoy itself.” He joked, looking at an imaginary watch on his wrist and cackling.

He smiled, standing and putting his helmet back on. “Lead the way.”

As his friend took off enthusiastically down the dark hallway, Flea turned and savored one last glimpse of the moon. He missed it; being on the surface. The fresh air, and trees, and no constant petrifying fear of whether or not you’d make it to the next day.

But as he followed Teeth down the twisting concrete passage, and heard the sound of Tore and Bright’s bickering accented voices begin to grow louder, he felt the longing and sadness drain from his weary body. They were his family now, and it was his job to keep them together. And if he was going to die in a dark, filthy, sleeper-ridden shithole, he was going to do it fighting for them.

“Where were you?” Bright asked impatiently, looking up as he and Teeth stepped back into the comforting circle of warmth around their fire.

Teeth snorted. “That’s real sweet, Bright. I didn’t expect you to notice we were gone.”

Flea shot him a silencing look. “We found a way forward.”

Teeth frowned. “We did?”

“Are you serious?” Bright asked, raising his eyebrows.

He nodded. “Teeth found a way to the upper levels. Just where we need to go to get to the labs.”

Bright turned to Teeth skeptically, looking him up and down. “This mutt found a way up that we couldn’t find in four days of scouting?”

“He’s not a mutt.” Flea growled, causing Bright to look back away with a frightened expression on his face. “And yes. Now are you two gonna sit here squawking like an old married couple, or are we going to get out of here?”

Bright glanced at Tores, who flipped him off briefly before nodding at Flea. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

He looked down at his friend, who was shifting uncomfortably under the multitude of eyes locked on him. Flea patted him on the back, smiling even if Teeth couldn’t see it through his helmet. “You’re in charge, kid. Lead the way.”

Teeth grinned, puffing out his chest slightly as the power visibly went straight to his head. “Follow me, assholes!”

Bright and Tore reluctantly followed him as he took off sprinting down the hallway, nearly tripping several times in his excitement. Flea brought up the rear, stomping out their fire as he followed after them, smiling.

Back on the move again, and no sleepers chasing them this time. It looked like everything was going to be ok.

For now, at least.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 — Pt. 3

Clearly, this is no longer a Drabble. I have no self control. This has been sitting in my documents for months, and I really like it, so why haven’t I posted it? Because my life is a fucking mess, y’all. It’s not very long, but you don’t care.

Who wants to guess how many more parts of this I will add over the next fucking fifteen years I make you wait? Who knows. Enjoy it now. Or don’t.

—

You’d half expected him to take off when you made it back to the campsite you shared — if you could even still consider that after the events of the night — but were instead surprised to see Rick, Lorie and Herschel had made their way into camp and stood around the glow of your campfire. Rick and Lorie were armed, their bodies stiff and uncomfortable and on edge it seemed, and they both turned at the sound of you and Daryl approaching in sync before lowering their handguns with their features softening in recognition.

“There y’all are,” Lorie exhaled with relief, tucking her pistol back into the holster resting on her hip. Still buzzed, you couldn’t help but notice Rick’s revolver remained in his grasp. “What in the world is going on?”

It was then you realized that you hadn’t come up with an adequate excuse for why exactly you and Daryl had literally been running around in the woods; and also the exact moment you realized how fucking stupid you felt, running after Daryl when he stormed off as if he — of all people — would do something careless and manage to get into trouble. And then what? You went after him like you would be able to save him from any danger. As if you didn’t just drag him into a dangerously idiotic situation that could’ve easily been avoided if you weren’t acting like a drunken frat girl, calling him names and spitting lies to hurt him and only then acknowledging your true feelings after you thought you may have pushed him away for good.

And as if you weren’t already embarrassed enough of course Daryl had you covered while you blindly fumbled the metaphorical football and tripped over your own feet, opening his mouth before you could manage to choke out some half-assed story about a stray walker in the night.

“Thought we heard somethin’ crawlin’ around,” he replied, smooth as the whiskey he (always) vaguely smelled of, once again just reminding you that, Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip — what is this, middle school? “Found a straggler outside the next pasture — fell over the fence or somethin’.”

You turned to look at him, to see if maybe he would be looking back at you and somehow convey to you what the fuck you were supposed to say or do or feel right as Rick decided to speak up.

“We heard screamin’, his expression was unreadable in the flickering glow of your slowly-dying campfire. “You alright?”

You could still feel your head spinning and the boney fingers intertwined in your hair and pulling your scalp but you were determined now to prove something, literally anything, to Daryl that you made sure to answer for yourself before he could try.

“Yeah, it got the jump on me,” you blurted out, almost before he even finished his last word, then dropping your gaze to the ground shamefully. “It just — y’know, scared me. But... Daryl got it.”

You were briefly self-conscious that you’d tried so hard to casually add on that last bit that it came out as bitter and immature as you really felt, and you forced yourself to swallow down the nausea that rose along with the shame and the flush of warmth from your chest to your cheeks.

“Well, good, but next time...”

Daryl waved a dismissive hand as he broadly stepped past the sheriff’s wife and closer to campsite. “Won’t be no next time. ’Sides, it ain’t nothin’ I couldn’t handle myself. Didn’t need to alert the whole damn village.”

Lorie — god damn Lorie, of course, who could never just leave things alone and always has to poke and prod opened her mouth to argue. “Still. We shouldn’t — “

“Man, enough with this fuckin’ ‘we’ stuff, alright? Ain’t no ‘we’ here — no ‘us’ — so give it a rest ‘n leave me the hell alone!”

You were left in silence, the wake of Daryl’s rage burning a trail behind his heels that violently kicked up dirt and rocks at you where you stood whilst watching him storm off. It was a very familiar sensation, the onset of tears threatening to fall, but you always knew when wanting to withhold them back would prove futile and instead of wasting the last of your energy trying, you hung your head and instead focused on trying to keep them as quiet as possible, at the very least.

“We’ll have to make a lap around the perimeter,” Herschel added nonchalantly, unbothered by Daryl’s emotional outburst and the fact that it had you choking back sobs as you stood in front of him. “Make sure all of the fencing is still holdin’ up okay. Maybe add some barbed wire or electricity or somethin’.”

You felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and stiffened, but saw Lorie standing at your side with her head cocked curiously and somehow pitifully at you. She offered you a tight smile.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she agreed softly. “Let’s get back to bed. Why don’t you come sleep in the RV tonight? Carl can — “

Harshly shrugging her palm from your shoulder you straightened up, trying to remember how the current state of your own camp might be — you’d left it behind with a bottle of whiskey in tow to cross the few hundred yards between as you had the previous few nights, but that all seemed like a lifetime ago in retrospect. “No, I’m fine. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

As you strode away you could almost feel Lorie reaching for you, surely to add a comment of some sort or offer at least an escort back to your own camp, but you were extremely thankful to whatever it was that had convinced her to just keep her mouth shut for once in her fucking life.

The campfire was low now, the embers burning brightly within the logs they intertwined but with very little of the once roaring flames left. It smoked, the scent still somehow comforting to your soul even after the last few months of hell you’d endured — and once foolishly thought only possible within cheap horror flicks — managed to taint the long-gone memories of camping for fun instead of a dangerous lack of secure shelter. You wouldn’t have met Daryl if it weren’t for having lived through all of those nightmares. And, yet somehow, that thought still managed to scare you in a way that monsters and zombies never could.

Torn from your thoughts by the unmistakable sound of your boot crunching glass beneath your foot, you stopped. Just a few hours ago, those boots had been insignificant to you, tossed carelessly to the side of Daryl’s tent where they lay for the rest of the night. Light purple socks draped over them, just as quickly forgotten — it was a small luxury, but one almost instantly you’d grown to cherish when your life suddenly became full of long, taxing walks through all the various terrains the state of Georgia had to offer during the dog days of summer. You had only been a shot or two deep, but you were already basking in the sensation of thick, luscious grass against your bare feet once again.

“Shouldn’t be barefoot out here,” Daryl had quipped harmlessly from where he knelt opposite of you, stoking the workings of your campfire in the evening glow. You opened just one eye, content to relax where you were, but your body instantly began to sit up, already working to get up from where the tree stump you were sitting on and make its way to your discarded socks and boots.

“And why not?” You responded curiously. Of course, you were acutely aware of several reasons you shouldn’t be barefoot in the beginning chapters of what you safely assumed was the end of the world as you knew it — the only thing you were curious about was the nagging voice in your head you were struggling to ignore that made you realize you just wanted to hear him talk. Didn’t matter about what, apparently.

Instead of a gruff explanation about how you realistically needed to be prepared to jump up and run for your life at any second, Daryl had just shrugged half-heartedly. “Fire. Glass. Bees. Ya know.”

Doubled over you were already retrieving your socks and boots from up off the ground. “Fireglass bees?! That sounds awful!”

There was the soft snap of a twig and then the feeling of it bouncing off of your back, tossed playfully by the archer as he continued to break kindling over the growing fire.

“Don’t come cryin’ to me when ya get a shard of glass lodged in there,” he’d said lightly. “Shit hurts.”

You chanced a quick glance around the fire pit and proximity of the camp. “I don’t see any broken glass around here.”

“Well, yeah, nobody ever sees it before walkin’ on it. People don’t cut themselves open on purpose, y’know.” He pauses. “Smart people, anyway.”

You vividly remember the way his mouth quirked up into a smirk; the way you felt so relaxed and relieved that he seemed to feel the same way. The glass at your feet was the shattered remains of the once full bottle of whiskey that you liked to assume was solely responsible for how things had gone wrong that night. You don’t remember who dropped it, or even hearing it break.

But there you were, on your hands and knees in the dirt as you hunted for it’s pieces using what little light remained of the dying fire beside you. You didn’t know why you were doing it, either — as if you could somehow actually retrieve every last bit of the bottle, you could glue it back into its original form, a fragile vessel too pure for any leaks or cracks or chips that could compromise its integrity, and then maybe you could do the same to the deeply complex relationship you had with Daryl that you had managed to destroy in literal seconds.

Heavy tears obscured your vision and you blinked them away furiously, heart pounding in your chest, trembling hands instinctively clenching into fists to subdue the sudden need to just fucking hit something all the while simultaneously closing around the collection of glass pieces you’d gathered in your left hand over your last few minutes of absent-mindedness.

With a hiss of pain you released your grip, several shards falling from your grip but some remaining by way of stabbing themselves into the soft flesh of your palm.

Ironic, you thought, that Daryl had never warned you about getting glass lodged into your hand.

Then again, he shouldn’t have had to. People don’t cut themselves open on purpose.

Smart people, anyway.

[irishmacguirefucker]

Truths

Or alternatively, Karen jones weasels the ranch plan out of Sean and then has a brief crisis about it

(3150 words! holy shit its long but i hope its a good read bc i worked hard on it and im pretty proud of it. You should probably read Seans hcs first buts its not necessary)

Karen Jones is not a particularly optimistic person. She wouldn't say pessimistic persay, maybe more of a realist.

There were a lot of things she felt were ultimate truths. Women would never be treated equally to men or allowed to vote, she would always despise the hot weather, she would never be good at embroidery, and she would die as she lived. Nothing but another forgotten criminal. Another gang member shot down and swept underneath the rug that was the new century.

She was sure that was what happened to Sean. Dutch says he was captured but in Karens book he may as well have died on that boat job.

But one day, somehow, those truths she clung to seemed to be wavering.

When Tilly and Mary-Beth spoke of the women in Rhodes and San Denis, or even places further like New York, fighting for their right to vote and be equal she tried to brush it off.

But it stuck out in her brain. Was the world changing? Could things be different? Sadie Adler was running around in pants like it already had for her. Maybe she was a pessimist, not a realist.

Things were changing, she could feel it. And not just in the world of politics and women's rights. (not that she thought herself much of a scholar in that area)

There were whispers around camp, Hosea left for a long time and when he came back he had a look in his eye that she just couldn't decipher. But then suddenly that look seemed to be catching on all around her. First in Arthur, though whatever was happening seemed to have put Dutch in a very grim mood.

Next it was John and Abigail Marston. Suddenly they were fighting less, and speaking in low whispers like schemers plotting some plan that Karen was still desperately trying to figure out.

The final straw was Ms. Grimshaw. She had that look in her eyes just like the rest and suddenly she was ordering the girls to start looking for legal money, legitimate jobs for the gang to get done. Suddenly, she wasn't the only suspicious one anymore.

Things stayed that way for a while, looking for legal money with sob stories and not so innocent flirting to find jobs. And it was weird, and suspicious but no matter how much she grilled Grimshaw for it, that woman was locked tighter than the bank safes they used to rob. (Used to. How incredibly odd to think that they aren't anymore)

And then suddenly, Sean Macguire was back. He was alive and safe and only a little worse for wear. Karen Jones' solid truths were all being broken and the return of the man she -was pretty sure she- loved was the last crack she could handle.

She wanted so many things at once in that moment. She wanted rum, she wanted to run to his arms and never let go, she wanted to mount old belle and escape, she wanted to curl up in one of the wagons and cry

But she did none of those things. Instead she took his greeting to her as she always had, sarcastic yet flirty, the way they had always been. Because that little game of thiers, the dancing around each other but knowing deep down (at least she thinks he knows) that she is his and he is hers.

If she changed that game, broke another solid truth that she was desperately trying to hold onto, she would be broken open and the world would suddenly become unpredictable and scary.

So she drank her beer, sat in his lap, kissed Sean, slapped him, kissed him once more and then took him to bed. And while that whole mess wasn’t the greatest experience on her end, she practically had to run from that tent because Sean had about a thousand new scars and bruises and she wasn't about the cry over it in his face. Naked. After bad sex.

After the night of Seans reunion with the gang, he seemed to hang around her a little more. Not much more than before, but now it was rare if he wasn't hanging off her skirts around camp. And she couldn't complain because she did miss him terribly, no matter what she said to his face.

In some ways she found it hard to face Hosea anymore. Right before he left on his apparently life changing trip, she had gotten particularly wasted and cried on the old man's shoulder, clinging to one of Sean’s vests.

She actually admitted, out loud that she thinks she might love Sean, but she was so sure he was dead she didn't know what to do with that thought anymore. That ‘almost’ that was floating in her head as she grieved.

When Sean came back, suddenly the memory of her drunken confession did too, and Hosea always seemed to have this weird soft smile when her and Sean spent time together. So she kinda had to avoid Hosea for a while

At some point she saw Hosea and Sean having what looked to be a deep conversation and she prayed to the god she was entirely unsure even existed that Hosea wouldn't share her secret.

Of course he didn't, and she felt a little guilty that she even thought that about the man who was in so many ways a father figure to her. But he told Sean something because suddenly, even Sean had that look in his eye.

The plotting, scheming, planning look that was catching around the camp like a disease and suddenly, she would pay any amount of money to know just what they were plotting. She knows that it's big, bigger than anything they have even done.

Sean was never able to keep a secret from her for very long. She knew that if she got on his case about it he would likely spill, so thats exactly what she did. But then suddenly Sean was no longer hanging off her skirts, and seemed to be avoiding her as much as he could.

His absence from her side was obvious. There was nobody pestering her (other than grimshaw), nobody sitting with her while she drank her morning coffee, nobody sneaking up behind her to spin her around just to see her get all flushed and mad, nobody to give her a cheeky kiss as he promised not to do it again with his fingers crossed behind his back.

Karen Jones is far from stupid, she knows that she must have been getting close to something if Sean was leaving her alone on his own free will.

So finally she caught him on guard duty. It was near the end of his shift and she made her way into the trees that hid their camp from the world.

She knew what she wanted to say, but once they locked eyes he immediately looked so nervous that she almost laughed at the shifting feet and darting eyes of the man in front of her.

She nearly forgot she had brought him a mug of coffee, and handed it to him wordlessly. He thanked her quietly and then everything was silent. Far too silent to be normal for Sean “I never stop talking even when I’m in mortal danger” Macguire.

“You’re awfully quiet Sean, ain't like you.”

A pause. More darting eyes. “Ah yes well I'm on duty, can't let those bastards out the woods hear me talking up a storm.”

Another pause. A chuckle under Karen's breath.

“Ain’t never stopped you before.”

Briefly he smiled, and looked into the blonde’s eyes. “That it hasn’t Karen my love, but I'm not looking to get another cuff up the back of me head from Hosea for forgetting to keep me fuckin’ mouth shut.”

For a moment he looked like he might start acting normally again before he remembered just why he was avoiding her. Suddenly he was staring at his boots once more. Some guard he is.

“Right. You and Hosea been talking a lot lately. In fact, a lot of people seem to be talkin’ with Hosea ‘cept me it seems.” That was her own fault for avoiding him, but she wouldn't say that.

Sean looked uncomfortable with this conversation, looking past Karen to see if anyone was on their way to take his shift. She hoped that meant she was close to cracking him.

“Ah yes well, you know how it is with the old man. Always wanting to have long discussions about the glory days, or give ya advice ya didn't ask for.”

“I suppose. But you know what I think Sean?”

Sean has never looked this nervous before she thinks.

“What's that love?” Bold of him to ask anyways, she will give him that.

“I think yall are plotting something, and you're keeping secrets Mr. Macguire.”

She watched as the irish man stiffened, took a look around, threw back his coffee and sighed. They both knew he wouldn't be able to keep anything from her for long, perhaps he was finally accepting that.

“I just might be Ms. Jones, but I hardly think it's much of your business to be pryin’ it out of me is it?”

Sean hardly sounded like himself to her ears. Sure, he could be nasty out on a job but never to her. She considered this man to be her best friend, the man she was almost sure she was in love with, and he was slapping her away like she was nothing but a fly bothering him. She can count on one hand the amount of secrets she had ever kept from him.

He always had a way of pulling them out of her, because he always wanted her to be happy around him. He wanted to know her problems not to fix them, but to distract her from them.

She had always thought it was a sort of mutual agreement. They were close. Not just friends but not quite together. Close enough that they had a bond neither could deny. So the idea that hes been avoiding her for some reason and would get so nastily defensive when she asked? It hurt.

But she wouldn't let him know that. That's not how the game works. But suddenly all these changes around her gave her the courage to say screw the game.

“Screw you Sean Macguire. How fucking dare you.”

“Karen-”

“No, you wanna keep your mouth shut about this then you can keep your big mouth shut while i yell at you. How dare you talk to me like that. How dare you keep secrets when never in my life have i ever been able to keep a secret from you. No wait, I kept one secret from you didn’t I? I never told you that I thought you were god damn dead.”

That and the fact that she was in love with him. When did she suddenly become sure of that fact? Not that it matters. She was already saying more than she meant to.

“I thought you were dead in the ground and it damn near broke me. You are my best friend, and you have the god damn fucking balls to tell me its none of my buisness why you wont even look my way for 3 weeks. Go to hell Macguire, you don't wanna speak to me then fine. Don’t. I don't want you around no more either you bastard.”

It took one look at the young man's face to make her eyes start watering, and then she was marching back to camp. Like hell she would let him see her cry after that mess.

She almost wanted him to run after her. To apologise and tell her why he can barely look at her, and hold her as she cried. But he was on guard duty so that wasn’t an option, and that wasn't how their relationship worked.

She didn't see him again for a while. She took the work Grimshaw gave her down to the lake, and watched Jack wade in the water trying to catch a crab or a fish while she sewed up a shirt. When she got up to get more clothes she saw Sean conspiring with Hosea once more and refused to even give him another glance. She watched Pearson fish off the dock for a while, whilst she stitched a blanket, she watched the sun get lower in the sky till it lit up like the campfire.

And then out of the corner of her eye she saw a lanky leg step over the log she was on, and then he was sitting beside her.

She didn't look up. He didn't speak. He nudged a bottle of beer her way, and she took it without a word.

The sun had just barely sunk below the horizon when he cleared his throat and took a breath to speak up. She cut him off before he could start.

“Don’t start Sean, I don't want your damn apologies.”

“Well then it's a bloody good thing I wasn't about to apologise love.”

She wished he wouldn’t call her that. It's not like she exactly had time to process the whole being in love revelation she had earlier.

“What the hell do you want then.”

“I want to tell you a secret.”

She scoffed and started to stand up, but he grabbed her waist before she could, and she looked him in the face for the first time since that morning when they fought. “Let me go Sean Macguire, I don't wanna hear it.”

“Oh hush, yes ya do. I couldn't bloody well tell you this mornin’, it weren't my secret to tell you. But I had a little talk with Hosea, and he gave me then blessin’ to share with you.”

He couldn't tell her  because it wasn't his to share. So here she was getting angry at him for something that wasn't even his fault. Not that there was no reason at all.

“Dammit Sean, the hell does that have to do with you avoidin’ me like the god damned plague. You could have said you can't tell me and I woulda’ left you the hell alone about it.”

“Now that is a dirty lie Ms. Jones, I have not successfully kept anythin’ from you in my whole life. You knew what I was going to give you for your birthday the day I stole the damned thing. I wasn't able to risk something this important falling out of my big mouth because you distracted me with your beauty.”

He was trying to abate her anger, and the fact that it was nearly working only served to anger her more. How dare he sit there and nearly make her laugh when he was apparently keeping some giant secret from her.

“Fine Sean. What's the big secret that's been makin’ you run away from me like a dog afraid of his own shadow.”

“Well my love, you had better get comfortable, this is quite the tale and I happen to be quite the storyteller.” And before she could tell him to get the hell on with it, he started doing what he does best. Talking.

It took him nearly a fucking hour to get to the point. He told her everything he knew about the ranch plan, every word Hosea had said to him about it, all the way up to him begging Hosea to let him tell Karen about it. By the time he finished, both their beers were gone and everything Karen had known her whole life was slipping through her fingers like the sand beneath their feet.

“-an’ Hosea says that nobody has to go with him, we can all go our separate ways and such but that's what his plan is. Him and the bloody Marstons and Arthur and everyone else they can get are going with him. And Dutch was planning on telling everyone as soon as we had the money to do it and I only know because I’m fuckin’ excellent at eavesdropping. But Arthur caught me sneaking off and told me to keep me trap shut about it so I did.”

She stared at him in stunned silence. Half the gang was plotting a move to New Austin to start a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Finally she managed to get her thoughts together just long enough to spit out the words “The one fucking time you can follow a god damned direction.”

And that was enough to make him laugh. And he sat there and laughed like they weren't getting their worlds turned upside down.

All the things Karen considered to be complete unbreakable truths were shattering. She was looking at this offer of a real life that wouldn't end in her premature death and it terrified her, but at the same time nothing had ever looked so good.

“I'm still mad that you avoided me like that.”

“Don’t think you've ever screamed at me quite like you did this morning Ms. Jones.”

“I did not scream at you, you were on guard duty.”

“You bloody did. The bird flocked out of the trees. Some broad on the street heard you and said ‘I wonder what stupid bloke pissed of that woman’”

“Are you going? To the ranch with Hosea?” She didn’t notice that over time she had practically ended up in his lap until just now.

“Well Ms. Jones, that all depends on where you're planning on going.”

Sean Macguire had confessed his love to her many times, drunk and sober. But she never thought any of them sincere until now. Here was Sean Macguire, willing to follow her wherever she may go. And it terrified her just as much as the idea of the ranch did. But just like the ranch, nothing had ever looked quite so safe, so sweet, so good.

She knew she wasn't ready to tell Sean she loved him yet. It was nice to know he loved her, and that she was hardly going to get rejected should she tell him. But she wasn't ready yet.

So instead she said “I think that I'm gonna go with Hosea and Arthur and them. To be ranchers or whatever the hell they wanna do.”

“Then I guess we’re gonna be ranchers! Though I was never good with bloody livestock.” and that made Karen laugh good and proper.

Karen Jones feels that a few things will always be ultimate truths. She would always despise the hot weather, she would never be good at embroidery no matter how hard she tried, that Sean Macguire loved her to the ends of the earth and back, and that she loved him too.

Being ranchers meant she would likely never have to lose him again, and so ranchers they would be.

[dastardlydandelion]

Did you like fear St 78?

oh fuck yeah!! i think it played its tropes more straightforward than the first film did, but defo affectionately. this was a campy camp slasher thru and thru, and i adore it for that. i loved tf outta ziggy and cindy. defo enjoyed alice too. nick is one of those characters that rly grates on my nerves so tbh i think my *one* disappointment in the movie was watching knowing he wasn't going to be brutally hacked to death. but maybe he'll get killed in the next one!! gonna cross my fingers! on that note, i think this was the more bloody of the two films released thus far, albeit nothing was as body horror-y as kate's face going thru the bread shredder. still had some p good gore tho.

i was kinda amused by alice just up and walking on her ankle even tho the bone popped outta the fuckin' skin and all the first aid done was like...wrapping it w a scrap of fabric iirc?? but hey, ppl picking cars up off their loved ones shouldn't be smth that happens either, and yet. it happens. v rarely, but it does.

ziggy's main bully was jeanette from cruel summer! that doesn't rly have anything to do with anything but i was staring at this girl for a sec like...where ik u from? stg i know u, who are u, and well, that's where i know her from.

cindy had me cracking up when she was just tryna kill...what's his name?? let's just call him bag man. he's got a bag on his head, that works. anyway, she actually had me laughing, getting frustrated with his inability to remain deceased. and her protective sister instincts!!! oof, my heart. tbh i knew cindy was gonna be the one to die. as if "ziggy" being a nickname wasn't painfully obvi, it just made more sense from a narrative standpoint, yk? still fucking hurt tho. cindy was a foregone conclusion but damn, just her attempt to battle a larger undead double-bit axe wielder w a shovel was badass as all hell. crushes u that it was vain since ziggy gets stabbed by the other resurrected killer anyway. and oof, the sisters died reaching for each other, dude!! as far as slasher flicks go, where u know not to get overtly attached to the characters, that still punched me right in the guts.

uhh...i'm unclear what exactly ziggy died of, whether blood loss or direct injury to smth vital, but either way, i'm skeptical of the success of that cpr. i'm also irritated that it was nick giving the cpr (i'm irritated whenevs nick has screentime tbh). then again, this is a movie where some pulsating gorror mass underground resurrects dead killers on behalf of a dead witch so why am i complaining abt far-fetched cpr??

deena switching with sarah at the end sure was smth. i'm defo looking forward to 1666. but yes, yes, i liked it a lot!

[boogiewrites]

No. 9: The Body Ch. 7

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Eve and Diego get closer, leading to the inevitable confession of attraction. Eve’s powers grow to make some new very interesting connections.

Warnings/Tags: Flirting. Dancing. Training. Sexual Content. Masturbation. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Their lives had become a new normal the past few months. Training had become a welcome escape and focus for them both. Eve had slowly been getting stronger in physicality and her powers. She and Diego were also undoubtedly getting closer as well. 

It wasn’t just physical closeness, although there was plenty of that. Like the time she got a weird hip cramp from doing too many kicks and he had to put her on the floor and stretch her leg up and lean in. If she hadn’t been in pain she would’ve noticed the hip to hip placement and how the sounds she was making could be interpreted wholly differently. 

Eve was very busy, work picking back up and her trying to manage it all. She found time to still be with Diego on occasion. 

He’d wanted to introduce her to what he did. He called them patrols, and she called them looking for trouble. He’d help thwart muggers and she’d heal him up. She’d offer to help heal at the homeless camps and he’d be her bodyguard. They were finding they had a lot of similarities. That need to prove that they were good and make themselves useful. Despite the drastically different childhoods they’d had, they still seemed to get out with the same sort of hang-ups. It made for a deeper connection as anytime they tried to defend their decisions, the other would simply nod and say, “No, I get it.” And mean it.

This connection not only afforded them someone to share their seriousness with, their passions and motivations, it also allowed for more room in their lives to let their guards down with the built trust. It allowed them both time to do something they rarely did with others, be silly. 

She’d made him give into using her playlists since she was the one paying, she stressed. He’d not teased her too much about her music. But what he didn’t know is she had multiple ones for when she was alone. Eve loved to make a list, and playlists were no exception. Her workouts at home on her days off consisted of her dancing. Nothing fancy, just freestyling like she was back in her club days and music video choreography like she was a teen again. She still knew every move to Oops I did it again and that was a secret she’d take to her grave. 

So in the transition between takedowns, when The Weeknd comes on with his synthy beat for Blinding Lights, Diego is confused like a puppy as the single tone plays for a moment before realizing it’s something he’s heard on the radio before. 

“I like the 80’s vibes but I’ve never fought to anything this… dancey.”

“Yeah, this...isn’t the right playlist. This must be my dance workout one. I’ll change it.” she says wiping her face off with her shirt and walking over.

“You have a dance workout? Like that.. zumba stuff?”

“No.” she shakes her head and laughs. “On my days off I do cardio to music just... dancing around. Y’know a solid beat to do reps to.”

“Show me.” he says with a big teasing grin.

“Ugh.” She makes a disappointed face.

“You’re never shy, c’mon.” he motions to the center of the mat to give her the floor. 

“Put a girl on the spot.” she mumbles and starts a basic hip moving beat. “This one’s got a lot of The Weeknd on it.” she grins almost bashfully. She stretches to the beat, squats, and simple body weight reps. “See? You just do some reps and then dance when you want to.”

He comes in line with her and starts copying her. “So you start with the Carlton dance?”

“Shut up!” she laughs and claps her hands at him. “It is NOT the Carlton dance you asshole.” she laughs and gets back into her one-two-step sway to the beat that isn’t enough to wear you out but enough to keep your heart rate up.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it is.” he says with a boyish persistent nod. 

“You want me to really dance? Like I do at home? I’ll fuckin’...twerk all over this gym, Diego.” she says it like a threat and he gives her a full chested laugh. “You want a choreographed routine?” she busts a move from an old routine from her stage days when she was younger. 

“Yeah! What you got?”

“Fine, next song…” she waits for the song to shift. Earned It begins to play and she rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a…” she snorts. “Not what I meant. Not really a workout song.”

“Then why is it on the playlist?”

“Because it IS a routine but not…” she twitches her nose. 

“I am intrigued. Understandably.” he crosses his arms feeling the upper hand. 

“You’re a dick, you know that?” she sighs and goes and grabs a fold-up chair from the edge of the room. “If I do this, you have to dance for ME. Fairs fair.”

“Oga for oga.” he nods

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s Swedish.” he grunts out with a showy shake of his head. 

“I was dancer. So this is… a routine we would do…” 

“You don’t fight like a dancer moves, no offense.”

“Not the same kind of dancer…” she grins before it comes apparent just what sort of dancer she meant. “Never done this for free. Consider yourself lucky.” she laughs as she flips her hair over in her high pony and continues spinning and straddling the chair. 

“I do. I am very lucky.” he grins and thumbs his lip. Giving her a cocky nod and up and down.

“I’m only doing this on the basis of double dog dare rules.” 

“And I respect that.” he continues his big grin and nod as he judged her playfully without a word. 

“That’s all you get for free.” she rises out of an almost split on the floor. “Fuck. Need to work on my splits.” she gives a good stretch after moving the chair. “Your turn. Better make this Magic Mike worthy.” she demands with a pointed finger to the floor. 

“Maybe not Magic Mike…” he shrugs as another song plays in, I Feel It Coming playing through. “This new?”

“New-ish.” she answers. He casually keeps his eyes away from hers as his hands move confidently to her body and yank her close, a formal stance as he finds the beat with a bobbing head. “Follow my lead.” he connects his eyes and takes her in a waltz light stride across the floor.

“What is this? Am I suddenly a duchess being courted in the 1700s?” she teases and he throws her out to spin her.

“No, because she’d know how to do this.” he taunts before dipping her. 

“I’m sorry I’m not that fancy!” she laughs with messy hair as he pulls her back up quickly.

“Oh, you think it’s fancy?”

“Yeah because it is. This is 4 different kinds of forks at dinner fancy.” she mocks. “I gave you grade A… okay grade B exotic dancer vibes and you give me Mr. Darcy who will faint if he sees my ankles.”

“Fine.” he rolls his eyes and pulls her back to his chest. Hands hard on her hips make her blush immediately, a quick beat hip sway catches her off guard. “Better?”

“Yes. Give me modern. Give me it’s early 2000’s and you’re shaking it like you don't wanna go home broke that night.” she demands playfully and they share a laugh, feeling the nostalgia for a moment and falling into a comfortable, borderline not appropriate dancing for middle schoolers. They gave over for a minute, hips and hands and him using his intense eyes that had gotten him what he’d wanted when he was younger. Eve could dance, she’d made a living out of it before and during school before things got too hectic to keep up work and study and residency. She’d danced before that with fake ID’s in clubs, she’d been around plenty of people and places, and she hated to admit that the man could move. With his almost pitbull puppy appearance she could forget that he was very in tune with his body when he wanted. She was reminded of it when she would watch him fight someone else. And she was reminded of it as he had his hands around her waist and hips with no hesitation, a confidence his usual demeanor with her lacked. They came together to sway, eyes locked and subtle smiles with competitive dark eyes watching the other.

“Eve?” 

“Hmm?” she asks with a pleasant smile as she looks up to him in the reverse embrace. 

“Would you-” he begins, his head tilted to her shoulder. He takes a low key deep breath and swings her away, taking her hands back into a much simpler embrace. “Would you wanna go out sometime?” His voice didn’t exactly crack but there was a fleeting moment of him losing his suave exterior to show the unsure boy with a crush underneath. 

“Go out?” she asks rhetorically. “And do more of this?” she asks with a playful inflection to show he didn’t need to be nervous. 

“I mean, if you want me to keep making you look bad…” he smirks and she steps on his foot and they share a hushed laugh. “We could go dancing.” he offers.

“We don’t have to,” she answers quickly and quietly. “It’s not something I do much. Well, in public anyway.” they continue a slow PTA approved slow dance stature together. 

“Yeah me either.” he chuckles back. 

“If not dancing..then what?”

“We could, uh, have drinks.” he offers with a thoughtful pursed mouth. 

“We could eat.” she offers with a wide grin.

“Always with you and food.” he teases

“Always. I’ve never seen you turn it down anytime it was offered.”

“Touche.” he narrows his eyes. “Food and drinks. Alright, we’ll go to a place that has food and drinks.”

“....a restaurant?” she asks with a bubbling laugh.

“Yeah. One of those.” he breathily laughs it out and looks away for a moment. 

He was awfully cute when he was dumb. 

“I know this place. Good burgers.” he nods. “There’s a bar and you can get food. It’s small… not very busy. Mostly working-class people y’know. Easy to have some privacy.”

“You make it sound like we’re going on a stakeout.” 

“Old habit I guess.”

“So it’s not in fact, a stakeout?”

‘No. No stakeout.” he answers enthusiastically and feeling her playful energy. 

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Deal.” she doesn’t break from the sacred finger hold, and neither does he. “So if it’s not work…” she begins with an animated move of her neck. “Does that mean this is a date?” 

He pauses for a moment and lowers his chin to face her more head-on, speaking more quietly. “Yeah. A date.” she sees that flash of fuck boy, she’d named it. You know the lip-biting, the fingers through the hair and doing that nod your way like they know you want them. Tik tok fuck boys, the ones with 90’s teen heartthrob hair. While Diego’s hair wasn’t quite to that length yet, she wondered for a distracted second how it might look on him, or if he’d had that hair when they were that age. 

“Was it the Carlton dance?” she asks with wiggling eyebrows and he breaks his suave demeanor. “Or was it the chair dance?” she gives a goofy wiggle in his arms. 

“It was more the chair than the Carlton…” she feels that shift, his hand a bit more demanding on her lower back, keeping her close. “But I wouldn’t turn down that Carlton dance after a few drinks.” they both fall into a  shared bubble of laughter as she ducks her head to his chest and her shoulders shake. 

“I’ll be sure to wear a pastel sweater and some pleated khakis on the date.” she says with a sly grin that he answers with crinkled eyes of amusement. 

“The chair dance in THAT? Now THAT’s sexy.”

“Oh yeah, catch me three drinks deep and grinding in my fuckin’...Tommy Bahama dress slacks.” she moves her hips grinding on his thigh to call his bluff and before he can break his sarcastic bitten lip to show excessive interest in the idea - a voice breaks their bubble of intimacy they’d been working on all night. 

“Do we need a separate license to teach dance?”  The voice breaks a cozy moment between them. They both freeze and Eve blinks curiously at the short teenager with the angry face. Oh yeah, that had to be his brother.

“We have that license. And the one for the use of the songs.” Diego’s hands move away without much rush from Eve, his smile fading almost instantly. “What do you want?” 

“A word?” a cocked eyebrow from the pale and strong-jawed young man.

“We were kind’ve in the middle of-”

“In the middle of -what- exactly Diego?” Five’s head cocked the side. 

“It’s fine. I can go. It’s near the end of my session anyway.”

“Oh.” Five mumbles. “Didn’t realize you were a paying customer.”

“Yeah. Hi. I’m Doctor Eve Corpuz.” she reaches out her hand after putting on a hoodie. 

“Doctor, eh? What kind?”

“ER Doctor at Calvary.” 

“MMph.” He gives a respectful nod. “Wouldn’t be where you met my mess of a brother would it?”

“It would be actually.” she gives a warm smile as she stuffs her things into her duffle. 

“Pleasure to meet you. But I do need a word in private with my brother.”

“Family stuff. I get it.” she nervously laughs. “I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“Uh...yeah.” Diego shakes his head, obviously flustered and glaring at his brother.

“Okay. See you. You boys have a good night!”

Eve pulls up her hood to cozy against the blustery spring night. 

---------------------------------------------------

Eve had received a smattering of high energy texts from her friend when she sent, ‘I think my trainer just asked me out?😏’. 

With playful accusations of what a harlot Eve was planning on being she was also met with a new nervousness. Now the way her coworker was seeing it, her hot Personal trainer asked her if she wanted to go out. As opposed to how Eve saw it, her mentor Diego seeing if she wanted to do something besides train for once. But he loved training. Yeah, she couldn’t lie to herself. It was a date. 

Once the revelation hits her she keeps a sly smile on her face as she goes about her evening in her apartment. It WAS a date. And he HAD had his hands all over her tonight. Not that it was unusual with their new ventures into MMA, but this was different. That was for fun. Not for training purposes. They’d just been two people dirty dancing. At least for what action Eve had gotten lately, it was considered dirty. 

She turns her playlist to the one from the gym earlier over her speakers. She finds the same sultry song, the one she’d used in her VIP room lap dances. She’d loved the video for the song and made up a routine based on it. She wasn’t a fan of the movie or book it came from but it was a moody vibe setter and that’s what she liked in her work. She takes a chair from the corner of her room, in just her panties and paper-thin t-shirt, and channeled that part of her that’d been bubbling beneath the surface ever since she’d met Diego. That part of her that kept in touch with her sexuality every day. The part of her that loved moving her body to the music, audience or not. 

She admires herself in the dresser mirror for a moment. Something she hadn’t done in a while beyond the quick double-take of having her butt look good. She felt like herself, the Eve she was without all this worry about powers and careers and responsibility. That girl that loved dancing. The girl that went from town to town, loving and leaving and never staying long enough to take root. Being led by nothing but her heart. Not a thought to the future.  It was easy to miss that version of herself, but she knew she was better for having gotten her shit together. But it was nice to romanticize from time to time alone. 

He could just be a guy at a bar, and she’s an eager woman looking for something that burns so hot it couldn't last. It doesn’t take long for her to fall into her fantasy, recalling his hands on her, sweat dripping onto her collarbone from his damp hair hanging across his forehead over those dark eyes. She could smell him, feel his hands on her she knew when she kissed him she’d taste the salt of his sweat. She was in deep, just like her fingers between her pussy lips. She’d have a spicy little daydream, cum nice and hard, and fall into a heavy sleep. That was her plan for the evening.

Across town, in his apartment, Diego’s night was just getting started. He was looking over documents Five had given him, something he thought he might need to know about. But he was finding it hard to concentrate.

He thought he was past this sort of thing, some adolescent reminiscent sudden sexual urge that made its way into your head and wouldn’t get out. As his fingers fidgeted and his leg bounced, he took a deep breath and he felt his body getting warm, the blood flowing and him seeing the straining against his gym shorts. He took another deep breath and this one felt more like a sigh, a slump onto the desk in front of him as he looked down at his twitching shorts. 

“Really? Now?” He mutters to himself as he looks around as if someone could be watching, making his way to his bedroom. Wasn’t going to chance anyone interrupting him again. 

He sat on the bed, kicking off his bottoms and tossing his shirt aside. But as soon as he gave into it, it was like he could feel her hands on him, and there was only one woman on his mind. It’s like she was in his arms again, her strong hips in his hands, he could feel her hand creeping up around his neck, nails raking on his scalp and making him shiver. 

She didn’t waste much time, her clit already throbbing and aching for attention. In her mind, she finally brings those full lips to her own, hand into his pants and happy with what she finds there. 

It was as if he could feel her mouth around him, his hand and hers one of the same, her imagining him in her throat and nice and wet before abandoning the laws of physics and then suddenly laying down and her slipping him inside. 

From her leisurely position on the bed she moves on her hands and knees, a pillow a poor stand-in, but her imagination makes up the rest. She wanted to feel that broad chest under her hands and the slap of skin to skin. She felt the slip of sweat on her palms and held him by the hair as she rode and kissed him.

Diego was sprawled in his bed, hand around his cock, and pumping to try to satisfy himself. He could feel her grinding against him, that delicious weight of a woman on top of you, taking what she needed. He very easily imagined it, finally seeing her tits bounce as she moved and the never-ending expanse of her tattoos without the interference of clothes. He was happy to take a back seat for a hot creature like her but he grew hungry, nearing his end faster than he anticipated. 

Eve was at the desperate stage. So close to reaching the peak. Everything sensitive and flushed and wanting to lay back and take it. She grabs a dildo from the bedside drawer, a quick stick to the headboard, and Eve was moaning out his name to an empty room. 

With a hand hard on the headboard, his body taught and almost angry at the tension, he feels the bounce-back of her ass as he drills into her. Hands fast to her hips and back, holding her down. He let out a frustrated growl as he felt his own orgasm about to rise.

With a moan, she begs for him to go deeper and she feels the release through her body. Hands on her tits and moaningas she convulsed, imagining his cock inside her instead, his hands tight to her hip and breast just as she was envisioning. He collapsed into the pillow beneath him, panting. 

“That was… intense.” They sigh. 

Apparently, Eve’s powers growing stronger was creating some interesting connections. 

 @jaegeeeeer​ @diegos-butt​ @anglovesthis @likedovesinthewnd​

[seijorhi]

asks :)

Y’all know the drill by now. 

I’m a different anon but I don’t think I ever thought about sending in specific requests that way. In the past I’ve sent in specific ideas to blogs because I love their writing and wanna see their take on the thoughts rattling in my brain. I honestly feel bad because you’re right that seeing a specific request that you thought someone sent in specifically for you is bound to probably hurt

It’s a shitty feeling and it’s happened a few times this week alone and I’m kinda over it tbh 😒but anyway, thank you sweetheart!!

I need more yandere Kageyama 🙈 @babbazz

You and me both, dw I have plans for him soon!!

Ahh no pressure! I love all your fics, whether it's Haikyuu or a difference fandom, I always look forward to it! Your fics are awesome :)

Thank you, bby!!!

im getting Mattsun vibes for the hitman au

Another very good guess (and let’s be honest - any of the Seijoh third years would fit 👀but maybe that’s just me being a whore??)

Is the Hitman Au gonna be from haikyuu? Because I just saw a fanart with Aizawa on it as a freaking hitman and I'm just like "yeah he can be a hitman also" 👀

Yes but holy shit I am so here for hitman Aizawa jfc!! 

I know you won't confirm who the character is for the hitman au, but, ngl, my fingers are crossed for Bokuto. That man??? With a gun or knife??? Yes please

Hmm scary, bloodstained Bo teasing you with a gun 😌

Slightly crack but i think it's funny to imagine all the managers in the manager AU meeting each other in a training camp, bonding with each other and exchanging escape plans and tips

I’m not normally a crack fic kinda girl, but this made me snort. But really, bold of you to assume that any of the teams would let their darling manager out of their sight for a second - especially at a training camp!

seijoh darling: just kick him in his bad knee and leg it.

inarizaki darling: he doesn’t have a bad knee!

seijoh darling: not yet 👀

That follow up to the Inarizaki manager fic was *chefs kiss* perfection~ Can you imagine the fallout if you need to return to school with them? You got out of Tokyo, but you need to eventually go back to school right and you cant avoid them forever~

Reunions in classes are gonna be real fuckin’ awkward. Unless you’re willing to drop out of uni or move across the country :) ahh but thank you!!

i rlly don't wanna spam you but like?? i have so many ideas for the yan! inarizaki team?? or just any yan! team in general (esp shiratorizawa but that's a different topic) just please tell me your okay w it bc like kgjdkfjfdkg i love your writing

Spam away, bby! But uh... if you just wanna thirst lemme know, because sometimes idk whether you guys send me stuff as a full blown request or not so... yeah :) 

[packsbeforesnacks]

Little Lion Man || Kaden & Winn (feat. Ricky)

TIMING: Friday, July 17th, 2020, Midday LOCATION: Ricky Cordero’s Workshop, Harris Island PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup​ & @packsbeforesnacks​ (feat. @ricky-corderbro​) SUMMARY: Winn confronts an old enemy. Kaden regrets having friends. WARNINGS: None.

Winn had come up with some piss-poor ideas in his life, but meetin’ with Kaden fuckin’ Langley easily made it into the Top Five. Ricky, for his part, seemed to know exactly how bad an idea it was, offering up his workshop as neutral ground. While Winn wouldn’t be a problem — he couldn’t shift right now, even if he wanted to — there was no way to know how Kaden would react. Would Kaden respect the selkie enough to not cut Winn open on the floor? Hopefully! Was it foolish to hope that Kaden wouldn’t be able to sense the wolf? Probably! That part of him wasn’t gone. Just hidden away, somehow. The Full Moon had been the last time Winn had really felt that part of himself, his ‘wolf’ fading more ever since he’d spoken to Mercy. Winn hadn’t slept either, not since he’d touched the raven, not since Mercy had told him what he’d done. Truth is? He was terrified that he’d fall asleep, and that person would come back. All of it, together, was enough to drive a wolf-man insane. Sighing, Winn knocked on the door to Ricky’s workshop. No turnin’ back.

Kaden had no clue why Ricky had asked him over. Just said someone wanted to talk to him. Whatever weird tenuous friendship he had with the selkie, it was enough for him to show up to the guy’s workshop. No doubt Ricky had pulled a Regan and lied about the meetup time, told him to be there something like a half hour earlier than he needed to. So far he was doing nothing more than sitting in the corner, just throwing his knife in the air and catching it again and again as he waited. “This better be worth my time, Sneezly.” Ricky had all but ignored him and kept on working on something or other while Kaden practically pouted in the corner. He had no idea what half of the stuff was in here, but it was all well made, he could tell the craftsmanship was second to none. Not that he’d ever fucking say it outloud. Kaden perked up at the sound of footsteps by the door, heard them before the knock. Fucking finally. When the other guy walked in, Kaden tensed. He felt the tingle down his spine before he even saw who was there. He didn’t know who it was yet, couldn’t see, but he knew they were a fucking werewolf.

It’d been all of thirty minutes and Ricky was already regretting his involvement in this whole debacle. Kaden was lounging in the corner, tossing a knife in the air and sassing his way through the morning, and it didn’t help Ricky’s ability to focus on the project at hand. “Oh fucking shove it, Frenchie. You didn’t have shit else to do but sit here and drink my fancy coffee and annoy me while I’m trying to get work done.” He gestured to the very nice coffee tray he’d brought out, complete with some pastries he’d swung into town to pick up at Candy House earlier in the day. Taking a drink of his own coffee, he bent over the lid to one of the specialty coffins he’d been commissioned to make, frequently glancing back at the reference photos and incredibly detailed schematics he’d been up all night working on. He’d barely managed to start on one of the pictographic corners when there was a knock on the door and Winn came through. “Coffee on the table over there.” He gestured with one hand, before finishing the small symbol and looking up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Aight. Please remember that you both are standing in a room that represents my entire livelihood. If you get in a fight in here and wreck shit you directly impact my ability to support myself. Which is why we’re in here. Everyone loves some guilt tripping incentive.”

Ricky reached under the table he was sitting in front of and pulled out a small hatchet, thunking it down. “We all went to summer camp, I’m sure yours involved murdering things and being deprived of normal childhood experiences, K. This functions along the same lines as a talking stick. Except this is the no talking stick. If you’re a dick or keep interrupting I’m going to hit you with the no talking stick. I don’t know if you can heal a detached finger. But we can find out together. Have some coffee and pastries. Be adults. Etc., etc. Go.” Bending back to his work he resumed carving, hoping that by some miracle he wouldn’t have to clean a dead body out of his workspace.

Well, this was awkward. Winn sat there for a second, unsure what to say. He had questions, but it seemed rude to lead with them. Really, had he and Kaden ever, like, actually met? I mean, he’d seen Kaden at the cookout, knew things about him from Blanche and Ariana, but this was — had to be — their first time… bein’ alone(ish) in a room together. Winn settled for standing up, walking over to Kaden in the corner, with as little tension in his form as he could manage, and holding out his hand. “I’m Winn Woods. It’s, um, nice to meet you. Thank you for comin’.”

Kaden had been sitting in the corner, arms folded across his chest as he waited for the werewolf to enter the building. It was a damn good thing for the wolf, whoever he was, that somewhere along the line Kaden had found some odd respect for Ricky. He wasn’t sure where the fuck it had come from, but he knew it was there simply because had they been anywhere else, Kaden might have considered decking the guy for even thinking about trying this little sit down right before getting up and walking away. Instead he paused, arms still crossed a moment, He held back the eyeroll that he wanted to unleash and put out his hand. He felt the hair on his arms stand on edge as he shook the werewolf’s hand reluctantly. “Kaden. But I guess you already knew that.” His teeth ground together a moment as his jaw clenched, arms returning right back to where they were before. “So what the hell is this about?” If this was some little ‘let my werewolves go speech’ or some attempt at intervention, he was out of here. And Ricky would be getting an earful later.

Winn couldn’t entirely mask the surprise on his face when Kaden took his hand, eyes a little wide. “We have mutual friends,” he tried, going the simplest route. Winn got the distinct feeling bringing up Blanche, or, worse, Regan, wouldn’t be the best idea, right now. “Including Ricky.” He returned to his seat, chewing and swallowing a bite of a chocolate croissant (maybe his allergy had disappeared with the wolf?) and sipping his coffee. “I, um,” there wasn’t a way to say this that wouldn’t bring up questions Winn wanted to avoid, “was hoping to ask you about… hunting, actually.” Not wanting to let Kaden make any assumption, he talked quickly, holding up one finger while he finished. “I have friends who are hunters, I wouldn’t abuse Ricky’s trust like that, I’m really tryin’ hard to just understand. I really, really don’t have any other motives here. Just… I want to know more about it.” He lowered his hand, biting at his lip and trying to keep steady eye contact.

Kaden didn’t love hearing that he had anything in common with a werewolf, especially not friends. He worried for his friend’s safety in this town far too often as it was. And given how little those friends seem to believe him about the dangers of werewolves, it concerned him even more. Still he nodded in acknowledgement. His coffee was left untouched for now. He couldn’t manage to feel comfortable enough to sit and drink and eat. Not while he could only focus on what was sitting in a room with him. His brow arched at Winn’s proposition. It felt like a trap. Like another way to sit and tell him why everything he did was wrong. He looked over at Ricky for any indication that he knew what this was going to be about but the selkie was just working away. Maybe this was genuine curiosity after all. He still didn’t trust it. “If you have other hunter friends, why not ask them?” he said curtly. “Hoping I’ll say something different?” Even without looking over at Ricky, he could feel the presence of the “no-talking” hatchet and figured he had to cooperate as long as he was here. With a small groan, he dropped his shoulders and tried to be a little less defensive. “Fine. What about it?”

Good question, Kaden. Why wasn’t he askin’ his friends? Winn opted, again, for honesty. “It’s because they’re my friends. I don’t want someone to sugarcoat their answers ‘cause they want to protect my feelings. And with you… We might have friends in common, but we’re not friends.” Was it too much to add yet to that? Probably. Winn took another swig of his coffee and rolled his neck, settling in for what was going to be, he assumed, an unfun conversation. Noticing the shift in Kaden’s body language, Winn tried to be as open as he possibly could. No danger, no threat. Just curiosity. He could only hope Kaden got the message. Where to start? Oddly, given that Kaden had literally put a crossbow bolt in his shoulder, Winn trusted the man. Trusted him to look out for humans, knew he hadn’t hurt Ariana or Layla. He knew that Kaden wasn’t… well, soft wasn’t how Winn would describe it, but Kaden was a far cry from Juliet — or even Adam. But. He wasn’t Gotch, either, or the hunters who attacked Ariana. Winn sighed. Maybe that was a decent place to start? “Hunters have Codes, right? I know they’re all different, family to family or whatever, but what’s, y’know, your Code? Personally now, or what you were reared on, or both. Actually, yeah, both?”

“Got that right,” Kaden muttered under his breath. Shit. That’s right. There was a chance Ricky may not have heard it, shitty selkie hearing, but there was no way the wolf across from him did. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t the only one with enhanced hearing. Oh well. He didn’t care much if he hurt this wolf’s feelings or not. Suppose that’s what he wanted anyway. Perhaps this wasn’t a completely misguided endeavor. He took a deep breath and held it in. Explaining his code wasn’t something he loved doing. Partially because it was hardly ever well met. It was exhausting. Felt like a waste of breath. That wasn’t his hesitation now. Now it was a matter of what the fuck his code was. He spent so long talking to Theo and Celeste about writing his own codes. But he still hasn’t figured it all out.

Okay. Easiest place to start was the Langley codes, what his family taught him. He could go from there. “You really want to know. Alright. What I was raised with. Langley family code states that nothing supernatural should live.” Funny, he didn’t expect that to send a pit in his stomach. Then he caught a glimpse of Ricky out of the corner of his eye. Shit. It was harder to spit it out knowing that, if he was following said code, his friend wouldn't be sitting there. He fucking hated this already. “Basic idea is that supernatural creatures are dangerous. And even the ones that don’t kill humans are like magnets for the rest. The world would be better without supernatural interference and humans would be safer. So hunters evolved to help protect humanity. And that’s our code. To help humanity.” Regurgitating what he was taught since he was a child was easy enough. What did he believe himself? A much harder question. “As for me. Now. I don’t know. I guess I’ve made exceptions. But I’m not about to walk away from hunting. Werewolves are still dangerous. Especially on the full moon. People aren’t going to stop dying at the hands of werewolves just because you all made a couple human friends. It’s not about to suddenly give you control or make you roll over like puppies.”

Winn barely knew Kaden, but the Langley family code sounded… draconian. Kaden was datin’ Regan, though, right? No way he didn’t know that she was fae. Between his drunken rambling, Blanche’s confirmation, and Winn’s own interactions with the good doctor, Winn was sure that Regan wouldn’t be able to keep it from Kaden. “That’s heavy,” Winn settled on, looking over at Ricky and making a soft sound in the back of his throat. He continued listening. “I, uh,” Kaden likely didn’t give a shit what he thought, but, “It’s fine not to know, I think.” Winn shrugged. “That means you’re tryin’ to figure shit out for yourself. That’s admirable, man. Honest.” Winn cocked his head to the side, staring at the hunter. “And, truth be told? I wouldn’t want you to walk away from huntin’, if I had a say in it. You’re right. Folks die ‘cause of werewolves. I’d like to think it’s all ‘bad’ werewolves, but I’m not naive. We’re all different, some of us aren’t cautious, some of us aren’t able to control the wolf any time, not just the full moon.” Winn leaned forward, hands clasped. “Like, if I was ‘bout to hurt a human, a werewolf, another supernatural… I mean, I’d hope y’all could stop me without puttin’ me down permanently. But we don’t all have the luxury of a decision, when it comes down to it.”

“I’m… ha, is it weird to say I’m glad to hear all that?” Winn looked at the floor, wringing his hands. “As much as we’re not all innocent, the same is true in reverse.” He decided to leave it at that, knowin’ Kaden didn’t need a big lecture from him on werewolves bein’ people. And ‘sides, Winn had somethin’ else he wanted to ask. Only problem was how to phrase it. “There are folks out there, though. Hunters that I’m not even just scared of. Kinds that I hate. And there are folks who aren’t even hunters, who just know there’s a market for werewolf… everything. And they don’t wait till the full moon, neither.” Winn stood, pulling his shirt over his head and turning around. It had faded, with time and werewolf healin’. But somethin’ done on a new moon… Well, he was still human. Sometimes, in some ways. “2015. I was sleepin’, next to someone who’d gone after me, knowin’ what I was. But I didn’t know that. I let him in, into my home, with my friends. Before dawn, mornin’ of the new moon, he drove a silver dagger into my back. Then went after the others.” Winn pulled his shirt back on, sitting down, looking older than his years. “What would you have done?”

Kaden had braced himself for the standard response that every supernatural or every bleeding heart gave. Only it didn’t come. His brow furrowed and he tried his best to wipe his confusion off his face, keep it neutral. But every sentence just, it didn't add up. He had anticipated being combated, fought with, he planned to be bearing white knuckles as he tried to be respectful of his friend and his workspace. “Right. Good to know some of you are reasonable.” That was all he could really manage to process of that. It was too confusing having a werewolf call his views admirable. Didn’t add up.

His arms were still crossed in front of his chest as the conversation continued. He sat still and listened to what was coming next. Waited for the other shoe to drop. And there it was. Not all hunters are innocent. The tirade didn’t drop, though. Not yet, at least. Kaden wasn’t unaware of the less than favorable hunters out there, but something about disowning them to a werewolf just wasn’t the same. Like talking poorly about family. It was one thing when he said it, when he disparaged trophy hunters and those like Montgomery, it sat a little different coming from a werewolf. Still, he sat there, cold stare on his face while the wolf took off his shirt. Alright, he did roll his eyes when that happened but all the same. His gaze steeled again at his question. “What, if I were a wolf? Or if it were reversed or…” He trailed off and let out a strained sigh. “I don’t know.” Kaden wanted with everything inside of him to say he wouldn’t retaliate or defend himself. That he would never murder someone. He wasn’t sure he could. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. He chewed the inside of his lip a moment and looked back over to his coffee a moment, sitting there getting cold, untouched. “Might defend myself. I don’t know. Why are you asking?”

This was where it got tricky. Winn winced at Kaden’s question, truly not sure how to approach this. It was hard when he didn’t remember. But, he supposed, it didn’t matter that he didn’t remember. “I’m not askin’ ‘cause I think self-defense is wrong.” In fact, it was a thing Winn had forgiven himself for, largely. But… a thing he knew, now, had only been the beginning of somethin’ that he didn’t know how to process, what to think about. “Defend yourself or don’t. I think that depends on the person. But, I don’t think anyone wants to die.” Ha. Ironic. Super ironic. He swigged the rest of his coffee, buying himself time to compose himself. “It changed me, that… betrayal. You said your family raised you to think nothing supernatural should live. I— For a while, I thought all hunters were like that, that all hunters… y’know, would kill without even givin’ us the benefit of the doubt. That resentment, that anger, it built in me. Until I let it out.” There was no reason to go into the gory details. “I don’t remember it. But I got a rude awakenin’. Don’t need forgiveness, don’t expect it. But, um,” he sighed, “I’m gonna be gone, maybe, by Monday. Gone as in… gone-gone. Dead. I guess I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted, but I thought… I wanted someone to know. Someone who could do better, for the both of us.” He sighed. “You prolly don’t want to be, I dunno, the bearer of a legacy, ‘specially not mine. But if I could… I don’t know. Don’t want anyone to have to go through all that, just to realize that shit’s… complicated,” Winn finished, lamely. He waited for Kaden to say something, to pass judgment.

Hearing the wolf nearly confess outright to murdering hunters made Kaden bristle. It was hard not to. Hard not to see the clear image of his parent’s mangled bodies at the mention alone. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palm again, his teeth gritting together. “Good, cause you’re not getting it,” he couldn’t help but snap at the word forgiveness. He could feel the judgment from the seal across the room, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t something he could offer anymore than he could be upset about hearing there would be one less werewolf in the world. Circumstances didn’t fucking matter to him. Less werewolves? Only a good thing. “Legacy?” He huffed. “What do you know about legacy? I got enough of that without your help.” Maybe it was because he’d dragged up his hunter’s code earlier that he was on edge. He felt like he was failing at upholding his family’s legacy the longer he sat here. It made his skin crawl, he wanted to wriggle out of it, make the feelings of failure die down. He wondered if this werewolf wanted to be someone else some days as much as he did. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me. But are we done here? Did you confess your sins now? Feel better?”

Winn had trained as a counselor, could see the tell-tale signs of… something, buildin’ in Kaden. Honestly, the man was takin’ the almost-a-murder-confession better than Winn had expected. Ricky, for his part, was still workin’ resolutely on his project, but, then, Winn knew Ricky’s feelings on hunters — complex, to say the least, despite his apparent friendship with that-hunter-what-who’d-shot-him. “I… want you to be resolute, in whatever your path is. I want you to go into it with a clear head, I want you to think ‘bout what you wanna be, who you wanna be. I fucked up. Might kill me. Doesn’t need to end up killin’ you. I want you to— I dunno, make sure when you go out on the Moon, make sure you’re doin’ it for reasons that you can live by.” Winn felt his posture go slightly defensive, as if thinking Kaden might pull out the crossbow again and shoot him in plain sight of Ricky. “You shot me, on a full moon once. Silver crossbow bolt, right into my shoulder. I was drunk, and high, and I don’t think I was a danger to anyone other than myself, stumblin’ through those woods. Hell, my best plan to escape you was ‘drop a tree on him.’” Winn laughed, without humor. “It was close to dawn. If you’d caught up to me, naked and still-drunk and scared, what would you have done, Kaden? I don’t need an answer, but you need to have that answer for yourself. I don’t feel better. I won’t. If I live, I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for that, helpin’ people others won’t, people who don’t think they deserve it.” He gave a soft smile. “This is the beginning. Or the end. Ask me Monday.”

Kaden grit his teeth as this werewolf told him what he wanted for the hunter’s life. Who the fuck was he to dictate all that. And why did he even give a shit? “That’s great. I’m glad you care or whatever but like you said before, we’re not friends.” Still, he shifted a little in his seat at the words. He hated that any of them resonated at all. There was no way he could know. Fuck that. Kaden wasn’t some open book to read and even if he was, he hadn’t invited this. He just agreed to this as a favor to Ricky, not this Winn guy. Where did he get off telling Kaden about himself like he knew him at all? As the wolf displayed his scar, the only thing that ran through his mind was: Shame I didn’t kill you. A wave of guilt ran through him that he didn’t expect, almost like he’d said it aloud, like Ricky could hear him and was judging him further. No, he was imagining that, surely. And why the fuck did he care anyway? He was a hunter. Shooting werewolves was his job. Killing them even more so. So there was no need to feel guilt looking at the scar, taking in the wolf’s words, contemplating his scenario. Right? “I—” he started, but thought better of it. No. He didn’t owe anyone a fucking explanation. “It doesn’t matter what I would have done. That’s not what happened. So save your guilt trip.”

This wasn’t going anywhere. Not anywhere he liked at least. He didn’t need to sit here dealing with this. He’d done what he said he would. He showed up. He listened. There was no punching or destruction. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. And this is the end of this conversation.” Kaden stood up, feeling a little bad that the coffee was wasted. And so was Ricky’s time and patience. “If this was some sneak attempt at an intervention, seal boy, you can keep it.” Sure, he had a feeling Ricky had shit all to do with this crap, just agreed to host and nothing more. But it would have made more sense to him if that was the end goal than whatever it was Winn was looking for. A werewolf he didn’t know, a werewolf he shot claiming to look out for a hunter’s interests or morals or whatever it really was? That was unfathomable. And he refused to listen to it.