#my sleep is fixed now but my nose? hell. for a full day it was a waterfall. like neverending. i think that was literally the day

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

How The MHA Guys Act When They Realize They Don't Have a Condom 💋

Synopsis: You're with your Pro Hero boyfriend and things are getting steamy! But - oh no! - he doesn't have a condom on him! What ever will you do!? A little peak into how each hero would handle such a precarious situation 👀

Ships: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader, Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader, Eijirou Kirishima x Fem!Reader

Note: Smut alert!!! Strictly A18+ ONLY! All characters are in their late 20s.

CW: MDNI!, spicy scenes, semi-public sex, dubcon (in the Katsuki section), mention of oral sex, penetrative sex scenes, mention of Costco

🔥Link to My Master List 🔥

How the MHA guys act when they realize they don’t have a condom 😱

Izuku x Reader 🥦💚

Things have been getting so crazy hot and heavy lately with your freckled boyfriend Izuku. Ever since the first time you two had sex together a few weeks ago, he can’t keep his hands off of you. In just a few days time, you’ve let him take you in every position you know how – you’re both absolutely insatiable.

You’re putting on a cute outfit for a dinner date with Izuku when you hear your apartment doorbell ring. He’s super early – maybe by a full hour. You throw your hair up in a ponytail and dash to open the door for your sweet broccoli-haired boyfriend. You gasp aloud at the sight that greets you – Izuku stands in his hero uniform, fresh from battle. His hair is mussed and his costume is torn in several places. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks absolutely exhausted. Your hands fly to cover your mouth in shock as you take in the battle worn hero.

“’Zuku…what on Earth!?”

Izuku smiles sheepishly. “Mind if we just order in dinner tonight? It’s been a rough 24 hours at the agency.”

“Is everything okay!?” You run to get a damp washcloth so you can dab at the small scrape that’s sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“It is now – please don’t worry! I’m a little worse for wear but nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.” He smiles fondly as you poke at his wounds with your washcloth, cleaning building debris out of shallow cuts.

“Of course we can order takeout. Anything you need, babe, please let me know.” You say sincerely.

“A-actually, Y/N. There is one thing-”

And that’s how you end up straddling Izuku on the couch, his hands twisting in your hair as you kiss him while trying to work his belt loose.

“You don’t understand how much I need to be inside you right now babe. Your pussy is absolutely perfect – it’s like a hard reset for my body every time you make me cum, I – “ Izuku stops talking dirty and his expression shifts a bit.

“Oh shit…Y/N, I don’t have a condom on me!”

He must see the way your face has fallen at the statement, because in a flash he’s scrambling out of bed and rethreading his belt into his uniform. You motion for him to rejoin you in bed, ready to tell him that you don’t need to fuck tonight. He looks so exhausted and injured, it’s probably better if you both take a rest anyway -

“I’ll be right back!” In typical Izuku fashion, he’s sprinting out the door with boundless energy. You’re left sitting with your clothes disheveled and your jaw agape.

A half hour later, he’s zooming back through the still-unlocked door. He proudly holds up a bag for you to inspect.

“Izuku, you didn’t need to run out like that. You’re all beat up and I would have been perfectly happy just to-”

But he cuts you off with a wave of his hand. He tosses the full bag into your arms for inspection. The minute the package leaves his arms, he starts stripping – he pulls off his belt and his hero uniform follows. He uses a quick boost of One for All to speed up the process, and he’s soon standing over you in nothing but his tight-fitting boxers.

You tear your eyes away from him and slowly unwrap the package in your hands.  When you see its contents you burst out laughing. Within the brown plastic grocery bag is an absolutely MASSIVE box of Trojan condoms. It must have at least 50 packets inside!

“What the hell Izuku?!” You cry out as tears of laughter roll down your cheeks. Never in a million years would you have imagined that he’d come back with this.

“I ran to Costco!” He says enthusiastically. “This was in the bulk section!” Now he’s hopping on one foot as he struggles to disentangle himself from his black boxers. His hard cock is on full display for you – and despite being deep in the through of laughter, your mouth practically waters as you take in how hot your boyfriend looks naked.

“Everything in Costco is the bulk section. That’s, like, the entire point of Costco!” You shriek, unable to stop your giggles.

Izuku throws himself on top of you on the couch, and the box o’ condoms goes flying across the room. You make a mad grab for it, but it’s too late – the box hits the ground at an angle and there’s an explosion of wrapped condoms across your living room floor. You can’t breathe you’re laughing so hard. Izuku joins in, throwing his head back to laugh loud and carefree. After a moment of belly laughing together, he scrambles off of you and starts shoveling condoms back into the box with his hands.

“Now start taking your clothes off!” He calls over his shoulder. “We’ve only got 5 hours until I’m back on-shift at the agency, and I think we can get through at least 3 of these before I have to go back.” He throws a handful of condoms in your direction and you know it’s about to be a fun couple of hours!

Katsuki x Reader 💥🧡

The mid-day sun shines through your private office window and bounces across your paper-strewn work station. The clock on the wall chimes half-past 3 o’clock and the sound reverberates through the quiet office. The door is locked and the blinds are pulled – your co-workers outside your office door are none the wiser about your current predicament.

Katsuki Bakugo has you bent over your large wooden desk. He’s stripped you of your sensible work skirt and he’s currently eating you out from behind, using his fingers to rub sweet circles around your clit.

“Katsuki – Katsuki we shouldn’t be doing this at work!” You moan out in a strangled whisper right before he hits a really good spot. You clap your hand over your mouth and try to stifle your guttural sounds of pleasure.

Katsuki gets another few licks in before he pulls away from your pussy, wiping his mouth as he gives your perky ass a quiet smack!

“It’s your work, not mine. I don’t care if we get caught. Besides – work is the reason we haven’t been able to see each other in over two weeks. You’ve been attending all those stupid shitty galas and I’ve been off on missions.”  He continues to rub your clit as he pushes you back over the desk. You moan at the harsh way his fingers dig into your vulva. “Letting us use this office to fuck is the least your job can do for us after keeping us apart so fuckin’ long.”

It’s true – you’ve been entertaining clients for the past few weeks around the clock. Your support gear agency is about to be part of a big merger with Katsuki’s hero agency. The two of you met two years ago at a company event long before the merger was in the works, and have been fucking ever since. You think the two of you might be in love with each other, but you’re both too stubborn to say.

Katsuki pulls over your desk chair and makes himself comfortable, unzipping his pants as he sits back in the ergonomic leather chair. He pulls out his cock and gives it a few strokes before motioning for you to join him.

“Come here, babe. Have a seat on this hard cock.” He grabs your hips and pulls you backwards towards him.

“Wait – Kats! I don’t have a condom.” You look over your shoulder at him apologetically. He looks so handsome and too hot to be allowed, sitting in your chair with his cock out. His fingers dig into your hips.

“Don’t you usually have ‘em in your bag?” He says in a rough voice, eyes darting around the room in search of your purse.

“We used the last one at that client dinner last month, I’ve been meaning to restock.” If there’s one thing you and Katsuki love, it’s a quick fuck at a work event.

“Fuck.” Katsuki curses under his breath. He rubs his hands up and down your sides as he thinks through his next move. “Well, good thing I’ve got good reflexes. I’ll just try to pull out before I cum in ya.”

“Wait ! What-”

But you can’t even get a full sentence out before he pulls you back and onto his cock. All thoughts are erased from your mind as you feel his hard tip catch on your entrance and slide smoothly inside you. He doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he has you bouncing in reverse cowgirl on his dick. You cry out in pleasure as you feel his raw cock press against your sweet spot. You throw your hands out in front of you and clutch at your desk for support.

Turns out Kastuki’s overselling his supposed “good reflexes.” He at least has the decency to look abashed when he cums inside you five minutes later. He doesn’t even try to pull out. He’s selfish that way, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can and letting your pussy milk him dry.

Within minutes of spilling his seed inside of you he’s back on his feet, zipping up his jeans and striding out your office door to go back to his agency for patrol. He venmos you some money to cover a pack of Plan B and a fresh pack of condoms at the convenience store down the block.

Kirishima x Reader 🦈❤️

Eijiro is slowly sliding your panties down your legs, looking at your pussy like it’s paradise on Earth. He's leaning in to touch you, whispering sweet affirmations as he caresses your bare legs. He looks absolutely heaven struck, when all of a sudden a look of horror washes over his face.

“What is it Eij!?” you say in a panic, worried that something is deeply wrong with your boyfriend. He groans in response and sits back on the bed, running a big hand through his bright red hair in frustration.

“Y/N, I forgot to buy condoms! They were on my grocery list and I totally spaced.”

Eijirou always insists that a gentleman’s job is to provide suitable protection, so he has always been the procurer of safe sex products.

“I’m sorry, babe. Do you have any backups?” He peers up at you hopefully and you bite back a laugh. He looks like a desperate puppy when he gives you those kinds of looks with his big crimson eyes.

You lean over to rifle through your bedside table. “Sorry, Ei. Looks like I’m fresh out of wrappers.”

Eijirou lets out a grumble. But by the time you look back up at him, he’s sporting a wicked shark-toothed grin.

“That’s okay – a real man can satisfy his girl with whatever he has on hand. And I know from experience that my tongue can do a pretty fine job.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken and you barely have time to register what he means before Eijirou Kirishima is diving in between your thighs.

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

Thanks for reading!!

Read more Spicy Fics via my 🔥My Master List 🔥

[mbat]

i would like to thank the planet earth that the weather app says itll be in the 50s-60s tomorrow. ive been melting this past week and its led to a chain of events that im still going through

[qiwoomi]

officially yours (his)

gojo satoru x fem! reader

fluff, established relationship, marriage, modern au, slightly suggestive in the end

a/n: idk how long it's been, almost about a year but I'm back again. this time school isn't an obstacle anymore :] wrote this while seasons - wave to earth is playing in the background

If years ago you're telling the Gojo Satoru you would marry him, he would tell you it would be a dream out of reach. Because back then, he's not confident in himself to make someone as beautiful- inside and out as you happy. It might be because of his rough past, and he didn't want to risk you going through it as he doesn't want you to get hurt.

You are too delicate, too fragile that he's sure that he doesn't deserve you. Hell, he would even risk letting someone else have you if it meant you don't have to go through a single trouble that he always endures. Though he's used to it by now, but you don't.

So how is it possible that here he is, standing on the shoreline of the vast ocean of your dreams, his shoes a little drenched and stained with sand. But never mind all that. His eyes are on you, teary and red though it won't fall. His lips are trembling, he wants to say something, but he knew that he would be sobbing and he promised himself that he won't ruin the ceremony that unite both of you in sickness and health.

There you are in your white wedding dress, your dream wedding dress, as you held the bouquet of flowers in your hand, keeping up a smile even though you're also on the verge of tears. Your eyes are blurry, but your father guided you to him, letting go of you as you're now standing in front of each other.

You allowed yourself to sniffle. Geto then starts doing the speech and declaration to officiate both of you in your wedding day, Satoru's eyes never fell from yours.

It's time to declare each other's wedding vows, which you anticipate. Satoru fixed his bow tie nervously, as you smiled.

"[Name], my love, my heart, my life, my everything." He starts, and his voice already cracked which earned a few laughs from your families and friends. He was full on sniffling, nose red as the first drop of tears stained his cheek. "First of all, I want to thank you a lot for everything you've done for me. Taking care of me even when I'm whiny and clingy, even though I stained your shirt with my snot as you patted me to sleep. Always being there to comfort me because you know that I'm not fine, even though I insist I am. You always knew before me, and this is one of the reasons why I fall in love with you." He manage to make through the first paragraphs, as onslaught of tears stained his cheeks again.

"Oh my god, I'm crying." He accidentally slipped into the mic, as chuckles are heard again. He's trying to wipe them off with his sleeves now. "Does anyone have a tissue?" He sniffled, as Geto handed him a q-tip. He tried wiping his tears with them, as it didn't do as much. "What does a q-tip gonna do? I need a tissue." He sniffled again, only realising the tissue in his breast pocket when you pointed them out.

"Ah, thank god." He sniffled, as he tried to compose himself while wiping his tears. Now the audiences were laughing, which makes you laugh too even though you're also about to drown in tears. "Okay." He cleared his throat, lifting up the paper in his view which is stained by droplets of tears.

"I'm sure that even if I continue listing them down, words wouldn't be enough to express my love to you- because it runs deep. And it is dangerous, at least this is what I thought when I was so young and naive, still learning what real love means." He sniffled. "But I got addicted to it, you're too addictive that I'm sure the thought of you will never go away. Everyday I wake up, I'm thankful that I even get the chance to be with you. And I try to make it last, even though temporary, these fleeting moments is my motivator."

He inhaled, before reading the next last paragraph. "My love, I want you to know that this has been my dream for the longest time. And to see and experience myself to be officially yours is a dream come true. I'm yours, always yours from the start and eternally. I promise myself from the start, and I want you to know that I'll always be with you no matter in sickness or in health, in the hardest days of your life or the easiest. I love you wholeheartedly in all versions of yourself. My heart, I have devoted myself to you, and should you think that I'm not, I'll always remind you through my actions. I love you, my [Name], my wife now and forever."

Gojo Satoru managed to finish, his tears are now at bay only for it to stream continously again when it's your turn to recite your wedding vows. It is safe to say that Gojo Satoru cried more than you, and he took 1 to 2 business days to process your marriage before finally going back to his 'normal' safe. And you love him all the same.

bonus:

It was late on your wedding night, after making love with him. You laid on his chest, catching your breath as he caressed your hair, his eyes on the ceiling as if lost in thought. It was quiet, but you love it.

"My love?" He starts, his eyes now on you, admiring your features. His hand on your hair is so comforting, that it took you a second to answer him. "Mhm? What is it baby?" You asked, looking up at him with sincereness and love in your eyes.

He pouted, frowning a little. Whatever it is that's weighing on his mind, you want to make it go away. "I'm sorry for ruining our wedding. I just can't hold it- you know. I never thought we would go this far." He mumbled, as you now start cupping his face, making him look into your eyes.

"Hey, it's fine. You know, I love that you're not afraid to show your true self. I love you. You make the wedding more memorable." I reassured him, speaking softly that he might even fall asleep to my voice.

Satoru didn't answer, though it's evident he's happy to know your thoughts now that his frowns and pout go away. "I love you too. You know, we're not even done for the night." He teased, now going back to his 'normal' self.

You slapped his chest playfully, though there's no denying it when your cheeks are flushed.

a/n: this is inspired from one of the videos I came across on ig (iykyk) I wish I copied the link but I lost it ☹️ the video literally screams satoru and you can't fight me.

EDIT: HERE'S THE LINK GUYS!!!

© @qiwoomi

est. 250324

do not copy, translate or repost my work.

[luna0713hunter]

Suguru is a great cook.

You knew your boyfriend was capable of cooking just fine;after all,he survived all his days alongside Gojo,and didn't die from eating only sweets and junk. You'd even heard Shoko mention it offhandedly once.

"Suguru's alright i guess," she had said as she took a long drag of her cigarette, "i think he's improving too. But again, compared to that other idiot, anyone's a great cook."

And that was it. And although you guys have been going out for some time now, it had never crossed your mind to ask your boyfriend to cook for you. And even though you knew Suguru's good at everything he does,you never even guessed he'll be this good.

So he when one night,after a particularly rough mission which has your body sore,and a pained hiss escaping your lips everytime you make a sudden move,you find yourself being carried inside Suguru's small apartment. And if you were in your right mind;and not high on the painkillers Shoko had given you,you would've gotten slightly flustered,just like you always do when you go to his house.

But you're not in your right mind,and your body screams in pain when he settles you gently on the couch;pulling the comforter up your shoulders. Suguru rests his hands on his hips,and upon a full glance at you,he lets out a heavy sigh.

He looks worried; guilty that he wasn't there to help you.

"honey," you call weakly, fidgeting with the loose strand of the comforter and trying for a faint smile, "I'm alright. Please don't make that face."

Sugura sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you know i hate it when you get hurt."

"but you saved me, didn't you?"

And by the way he clenches his jaw,you know what he's thinking.

I was late.

"hey," you call out with a smile;eyes softening upon seeing his troubled face, "how about you cook me dinner then?"

Because that's how Suguru Geto is;caring and protective. His love is like a gentle river; soothing and calm. And you know if you dont let him do something for you tonight,he might as well forget all about sleeping for a few nights.

So you shift, trying to hide your wince and give him a sweet smile.

"i want dessert too!"

At that,Suguru finally chuckles and nods his head;his face has relaxed slightly and his eyes look calmer.

"alright, darling," he leans foward to fix the blanket around your shoulders; dropping a loving kiss to your forehead, "whatever my baby wants."

So you get comfortable while Suguru busies himself in the kitchen. The TV is showing some kind of competition show,and after half an hour, you find yourself dozing off; probably the painkillers Shoko had given you were starting to kick in. And between the gentle humming of your boyfriend,and the way his scent engulfs you,your eyelids become heavier and your breath starts to even out

You don't know how much time has passed,but you flutter your eyes open,and watch Suguru brushing your hair out of your eyes with a gentle smile. His hair is out of his usual bun,and he looks so soft in his simple white t-shirts and sweatpants. Still dazed from sleep,you reach out and brush your fingers against his high cheekbones.

"hey pretty," his voice is soothing, gentle;as if he's afraid to startle you awake, "dinner's ready."

And when he sits down next to you, holding the spoon out in front of your mouth,you dont bother to keep your eyes open anymore.

That is,until you taste his cooking on your tongue.

Immediately,your eyes snap open,and you whip your head in his direction with blown out eyes.

"you," you swallow your bite and hold your hand in front of your mouth, "you made this?"

It must be the surprised look on face that has Suguru laughing;his eyes crinkling happily.

"that good?"

"its fucking amazing!what do you mean, 'good'?"

You open your mouth eagerly when he feeds you another spoonful,and close your eyes with a loud moan.

"oh my gosh!why have i been missing out on this?!" You give him a teasing glare, "bet you cooked alot for your boyfriend."

"first of all,dont call satoru that;it creeps the hell out me," he lightly nudges your shoulder with his;his smile the softest thing ," second of all,you never asked."

"i never knew you could cook!"

"so," he raises a brow, "you automatically thought I'm a horrible cook?"

"well,i mean,Satoru can't."

Suguru lets out a loud laugh at that.

"that's because he cant cook for the life of his. Besides,he thinks he can live longer with just sugar." He raises the spoon again,and when you giggle,he leans and kisses your full cheek, "but if you like it that much,then I'll be happy to always cook for you."

You stare at Suguru's dark eyes;his young face and sweet smile. The TV is showing some kind of commercial in the background, your body isnt hurting as much as before,and your belly is full of homemade meal. The heat coming off your boyfriend is enough to make your eyes flutter,and a happy smile settles on your lips.

You let out a content sigh,and rest your head on Suguru's shoulder.

"I'll take you up on that offer then."

And as you begin to doze off,you feel his lips pressing gently to the top of your head.

"with pleasure, princess."

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

A/n : canon world?i dunno what you're talking about <(￣︶￣)> Suguru's living healthy and happy with the people he loves and he teaches at jujutsu high with Satoru ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

In The Low Lamp Light

17/12: Reassurance & Car Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: mild angst, p in v sex, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), praise

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She sighs as she locks up, huffing her coat on in the chill of the late evening. She's able to see her breath as she yawns, tapping her foot as she waits for the tell-tale sound of the squeaky shift from fourth gear to third. The inevitable sound of Billy's car as he comes to pick her up.

She smooths her hands over her cold and aching legs, needing nothing more right now than to just curl up on the sofa under a blanket and sleep like she's dead.

Billy's car screeches down the road, amber headlights aglow, right on time as usual.

It doesn't take a genius. She can tell right away when he pulls up and doesn't even look in her direction that he's got a mard on.

It's something that used to bother her. But now, after knowing and being with him for so long, she knows all the little tells, all his mannerisms.

He won't be able to keep quiet about what he's thinking for long when confronted with silence.

Billy rests his head on his fist as it leans against the window, keeping the car running as she gets in, preparing herself for yet another monologue. She complains in her head, but really, she'd rather he tell her than just keep it in.

He's wearing his dark green jacket over a jumper, and she can see as soon as she shuts the door how his knee is bouncing.

“Good day at work?” he asks, dispassionately.

She presses her lips together giving him a smile, nodding, like she knows something is wrong.

“Alright, ta,” she replies, knowing what she's about to say next might start him off, “you?”

He simply puts the car in gear and drives off, “Yeah, fine.”

Her eyes narrow. He's not looked at her once.

She's surprised that he lasts as long as he does to be fair. Without the radio on, and only the sound of his Vauxhall's grinding revs to drown out the silence, she can see how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“No…actually…it wasn't fine…”, he says quietly, almost too quiet to really hear without leaning over.

“Why?”

Billy scoffs, shaking his head, “I'm just a fucking idiot.”

Oh, hell no. We are not doing this.

Luckily, the route Billy is taking home goes through a dark single carriageway, covered by foliage with ample place to pull over.

“Park up.”

It's the first time he looks over at her. Brows arched in confusion.

“Eh?”

“Park. Up.”

He even sighs as he does, slowing to a full stop and tugging up the handbrake like it's the most difficult thing in the world.

“Turn the car off.”

He does. Moving his fingers to the bridge of his nose. By now wishing he'd said nothing at all.

“Do you wanna run that by me again?” she prods.

“Why are you being like this?”

“I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you calling yourself a ‘fucking idiot’, Billy.”

He sighs, “I really didn't wanna do this.”

“It's not an argument, Billy. Can you just tell me, plainly, what's happened? No…self-deprecation.”

His finger taps idly on the steering wheel, both of their breaths fogging up the car.

“I'm just…finding it hard”.

She cocks her head, gaze softening.

“It's not the same as…fixing up my old banger. Just feels like I don't know anything…”

There it is. That look on his face.

The one he always has when he's giving up on himself.

“Billy, they wouldn't have taken you on if they thought you couldn't do it-”

“I know. I'm just not hacking it-”

“Billy”, she says it flatly, hoping to grab his attention.

And she nearly softens right up when his baby blues look over at her from the driver's seat, all shiny and sad.

“Listen to me. I know, I know, how hard it's been for you to get any work. And now that you have, you're just trying to find something else to beat yourself up about.”

She sees how Billy swallows, nervously smoothing his hands over his jeans, like he doesn't know what to do when praised. It so rarely happened from anyone else before.

“You've done so well, Billy. And…as far as knowledge goes, if you don't know how to do something or…if you don't know what something is, ask.”

She reaches for his arm, wanting to show him with her touch, just how much she means it.

“There is no harm in asking. And give yourself some credit. Half the guys there have been doing this way longer than you and can barely hold their dick in a straight line.”

Some of the tension is lessened when he gives a breathy laugh, no doubt blushing as well as he looks into his lap. And she's relieved to see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I'm so proud of you, you know.”

It just came out so naturally she didn't even think twice about saying it. But she's forced to rethink about the weight of it when he looks up to her, their faces bathed in the minimal glow of the street lights outside.

But he doesn't say anything, making a warmth creep into her cheeks as he studies her.

“What?”

A surprised squeak is all that's able to leave her mouth as Billy pulls her by the back of her neck to crash his lips to hers. An urgent, needed kiss. One of pure necessity, but warming nonetheless in her gut.

His clothes smell of engine oil, something she'd become pleasantly accustomed to since Billy started this new job. And it's shameful to admit, but she rather likes the rugged, masculine scent that vapes off of him when they're in the throes of it.

Now is no different.

She melts into him as his tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, caressing hers, before pulling away with a soft click.

“Say it again, please…”

Her lips part involuntarily as his fingers run into her hair, tugging her close to him as he mouths at her neck.

“Um…I am…I'm proud of you…”

She can feel his breath against her neck as he sighs, as if those are the sweetest words she's ever said to him.

Her eyes dart around as Billy presses himself up against her, able to see the effect all this is having concealed beneath his boxers.

“Billy, someone could see-”

“I don't care.”

She squeals again as Billy pulls the lever up on the passenger seat, laying the back down flat so she faces the roof. He is quick to follow on top of her, emboldened perhaps by the fact that the road is dark and clear with being so late at night, and there is nothing around them but fields and trees.

His knee parts her legs, chest pressed against hers as his full lips make their way down her neck to her collarbone.

Her chest feels all tight, stomach doing backflips at the thought of doing this so unabashedly in his car. But she doesn't protest. Instead she watches his face as he edges down her body, eventually reaching her leggings where his impatient hands tug at the waistband.

“Billy…”

He doesn't even wait to pull down her underwear before he dives between her thighs, mouthing at her clothed centre like he's been thinking about it all day.

“- fuck -”

All breath is shot out of her throat when Billy collects her underwear in his fingers and tugs them hastily aside, flattening his warm, wet muscle against her bundle of nerves in a sensation that has her back arch off the seat slightly.

Her hand finds his hair, the sandy tresses spilling through her fingers, pulling him towards her in micro-movements as he feasts on her, moaning outright as he does it. It does well to drown out the muffled sounds of a car flying past the single carriageway outside.

She is sure it's never felt this good before as she grinds unceremoniously on his face, searching for friction. And she feels the way his hands wrench her thighs apart, wanting more of her taste.

“Oh - fuck, Billy -”

Warmth creeps into her gut as Billy quickens, moving down to fuck her with his tongue as his thumb moves to her clit so the sensation is not abandoned. And both of these dull, pleasurable feelings at once has electricity firing off in her blood, not realising how hard she's pulling on him.

Her orgasm is followed by a choked cry, her hips chasing his lips and tongue as she rides it out. All Billy can do is lap up whatever she gives him, her essence coating his lips in the most erotic way, the car smelling of sex and their bodies.

He pulls away just enough to undo his jeans and lay back on top of her, his lips finding hers again and allowing her to taste the heady, musky juices that have coated them. She'd be embarrassed if she heard how she moaned as the head of his cock pushed past her slick folds, spearing her open around him.

She desperately hopes that another car doesn't come by as theirs has now started to bob with movements that cannot be explained with anything else other than sex. Although secretly, excitement bubbles inside her at the thought.

So she holds onto him, raising her legs around him to aid him deeper inside her, smiling lovingly when he gruffs.

“Say it again.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

[jungle-angel]

Afternoon Bedrest (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob’s definitely not feeling good after a week and a half away from home. Lucky for him, he’s got the best caretaker in the world.....you

You sat out on the porch, the sun shining high in the sky, listening to the waves crashing on the beach and the click of your knitting needles repeating like a typewriter. You heard a truck pulling up just mere minutes later, the little black kitten springing forth from your yarn basket before you caught him in time. 

“Oh no,” you warned him, lifting him right into your lap. “No you don’t. You’re waiting until the man of the house gets up here.” 

You watched as Bob made his way up the short walk, but quickly noticed he was without that usual happy spring in his step that never seemed to leave him. He looked tired, almost zombielike and a little pale. “Bobby?” you called to him, doing your best to restrain the kitten in your hands. 

Bob hobbled up the stairs, wincing a little bit. “Talk to me Bob,” you told him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Got bad stomach cramps,” he groaned. 

“Here, let’s get you into the house,” you told him. 

You guided him in before carefully setting the kitten right on the cat tower. Tank tried to jump up on Bob, but one light tap on the nose told the burly Rottweiler that this was neither the time nor the place. 

You led Bob right into your shared bedroom, helping him into the bed and stroking his hair. “What happened?” you asked him, placing a kiss on his sweaty forehead. 

“We were out on a training exercise,” Bob explained sleepily. “Desert survival.” 

“Did you eat something?” 

Bob nodded as you carefully removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand. “Nothing but MREs.” 

“Oh,” you said. “I see. And what exactly was in them?” 

“Cheese.” 

You bit your lip, quickly biting back a laugh that threatened to get out. You knew, from years of experience, what it meant when someone ate the cheese in the MRE packets. 

“Ok,” you said with a smile. “Lie on your back and I’ll get in with you.” 

Bob grimaced as he scooted over, a bolt of pain shooting through him, only receding when he was able to relax on his side of the bed again. ”Mind if I um...?” 

The pleading look on Bob’s face said otherwise. 

“Bob, sweetie, it’s just a check for appendicitis.” 

He whimpered reluctantly as he stripped off his t-shirt and laid flat on his back. Maybe it was a slight chill in the room, but Bob shivered when he felt your warm hands rubbing along his lower belly. He didn’t realize either that your touching had nearly put him to sleep, leaving one arm draped lazily across his eyes. 

“You’re full of shit,” you chuckled. 

“C’mon baby, I’m in pain,” Bob groaned. “I don’t need this right now.” 

“No, you’re literally full of shit,” you explained. “How long were you eating that MRE mac’n’cheese for?” 

“Bout ten days?”

“Oh my God,” you blurted out. “Bob, seriously?” 

“It was the only thing that tasted halfway decent.” 

You smiled and shook your head before kissing both of his cheeks which were warmer than hell. “I’ll take you to the doctor later.” 

“No, no baby,” Bob pleaded. “No doctor.” 

“Bob, if we don’t get this fixed you’re gonna wind up with an obstruction and will probably have to have surgery.” 

Bob finally gave in at the mere thought of it, letting you do the work and forcing himself to relax. It wasn’t easy just laying there while your fingertips massaged his abdomen, but after a while, Bob started growing sleepier than he had before. 

“Thank you baby,” Bob murmured. “I love you.” 

“I love you too Bob,” you answered. “I always will.” 

You kissed his stomach before crawling back in beside him and resting your head on his chest as his arms coiled around you. He kissed the crown of your head before the two of you fell asleep, completely oblivious to the world around you and deeply comforted by the closeness you felt with each other. 

***********************

The base was busy as ever with pilots coming and going, taking off and landing for training, yet the rest of the Daggers found themselves heading for the hangar to help the new recruits with their own training.

Phoenix noticed Bob heading up to the hangar, lively as ever and eager to get to work. “You’re real happy this morning,” she remarked. 

“Never slept so good in my life,” Bob said happily as he sauntered off to go and put his things away in the lockers. 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow and felt her phone vibrating in her pocket a moment later. She pulled it out to find a message from you splayed across the front. 

Phoenix: Bob’s real happy this morning. Last I saw, he looked like a zombie stumbling to the truck

You: Gave him a little TLC last night after he got home. He’s definitely feeling better

Phoenix: That’s great! Glad to hear!

You: Yeah, the only thing though is I’ve gone through at least ten cans of Febreeze in the last half hour or so. Our bathroom could pass for a demilitarized zone

A loud laugh flew from Phoenix’s throat the minute she saw your message and the photos of you wearing a gas mask that Bob’s grandfather had used in Korea. “What?” Bob asked. “What’s so funny?” 

“Look what (y/n) just sent me!” 

Bob looked at the pictures and turned beet red. “Phoenix if this goes viral.....” 

“Oh believe me we’re gonna give you so much grief for this one,” she laughed. 

[scoops-aboy86]

I've had a terrible day, comment to ease my turmoil?

Oh, and towards the end of this chapter, “Luck can’t fix stupid” is just Eddie being hard on himself. He is a good boy who is trying his best. 

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 of the love spell no go au

By morning, Eddie wakes to find that he’s rolled over in the night and Steve has burrowed into his arms. Hair that smells of Eddie’s shampoo tickles at his nose, and Steve is warm. A tingling under Eddie’s fingertips where they’re draped across Steve’s back tell him that his healing spells are still working—maybe that’s why Steve is sleeping so peacefully that it’s already dawn. 

Nancy was supposed to have woken Steve for his guard shift, probably hours ago. Huh.

Eddie wants to melt into this and soak it up, just in case he never gets another chance, but… there’s too much going on right now to get caught up in whatever this might be. Better to take a page from Steve’s book and let it be, hold his tongue and wait until they’re not dealing with an interdimensional catastrophe. 

Careful not to wake the (beautiful, brave, captivating) boy in his arms, he extracts himself carefully from the bed. He can’t resist leaving a soft kiss on Steve’s temple before he goes, though, his heart clenching and expanding and basically exploding in his chest when Steve shifts with a sigh and presses his full body into the space Eddie just vacated, seeking the lost body heat and breathing deeply against Eddie’s pillow. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

Instead of crawling right back into bed like he wants to, Eddie slinks out of the room and down the short hallway to the living room, eyes averted from the fleshy gash in the ceiling. Nancy is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed as she stares up at it—but her eyes are clear, and she refocuses on Eddie as soon as he clears his throat. 

“So, uh,” he croaks, throat still rough from sleep. “Watch system kinda broke down, didn’t it?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nancy replies, too quick not to be at least a little defensive. 

Eddie peers past her to Robin, who is asleep face-down on the couch with his uncle’s scratchy wool blanket draped over her. “Not saying I blame you there, Wheeler, but. Did you try?”

After a pause, Nancy lets out a breath that seems to come from all the way down to her toes, stiff shoulders slumping just a little and world weary in a way that no teenager should have to sound. “No.”

He flashes her a brittle smile, because yeah, he gets it. The only reason he’d managed any shut-eye was probably thanks to Steve’s reassuringly steady breathing at his back. “Fair enough. Instant coffee?”

There’s only the slightest twitch of distaste in her expression (he’s betting the Wheelers can afford actual coffee beans and shit) before she nods. “Coffee would be great.”

Which kind of makes him feel like a waiter, but he did offer. Eddie puts his back firmly to the gate and pokes around the kitchen for a pot to fill with water, pours it into four different mugs once it’s come to a boil, and dutifully stirs in the shitty off-brand Folgers. 

He sips his own somberly, pensive. All his life, it’s been drilled into him that magic is to be kept secret, cast in the shadows and never so flashy that it would draw too much outside attention. That’s what had gotten his dad locked up. 

But this group already knows about magic, even if they only refer to it as such using dnd metaphors that are actually more accurate than they think. Hell, maybe psychic powers are just a different method of spell casting—that’s deeper into magic theory than he usually ventures to go, though, so whatever. Not important right now. The point is… they could all die. It’s a very real possibility, especially for Max, and Eddie’s seen how that goes twice now. If there’s anything he can do to help, he has to try. 

Which means… he has to tell them. 

After Nancy recounts what Vecna showed her, after they formulate a plan that makes Eddie’s stomach clench and roll with dread, Eddie opens his mouth and says, “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

They sit patiently if a little incredulously through his explanation. A little more credulously once he gives a demonstration, turning an apple from the Mayfield’s kitchen blue, then, purple, then neon orange, then back to red and slicing it down the middle into an even seven pieces without so much as touching it. 

Dustin speaks up first, because of course he does—interrogating him about what offensive and defensive spells he knows, leading with examples that Eddie recognizes almost word for word from the Monster Manual. Lucas joins in after a minute, the boys’ enthusiasm snowballing until suddenly they’re drafting a list of things they want to see if Eddie can do. 

It’s Steve who ends up putting a stop to that, snapping. “Hey shitheads, he’s not a show pony and he’s not going to do tricks just to satisfy your scientific whatever, alright? You wouldn’t do that to Eleven, we’re not doing it to Eddie.”

“Scientific method, Steve,” Dustin grumbles, but relents. Eddie shoots a grateful look to Steve over the kid’s shoulder, and the smile he gets in return makes his heart do a flip. 

“I can’t do big shit like Vecna,” he cautions everyone, now that he can get a word in edgewise again. “But I can do smaller stuff. Protection charms on clothes, spells to make sure we don’t miss what we’re aiming for, that kind of thing. I can help, I’m just… not your point guy. I’m no Supergirl.”

Max snorts at the Supergirl part, but speaks up with a grave, “As the person sticking out my neck for this crazy plan, not missing sounds nice.”

That seems to clinch it. And next up, they need to stock up on weapons, so…

It was waking up to a cuddly Steve Harrington that did it, Eddie swears. That, and adrenaline from staring down the barrel of the balls-to-the-wall insane plan the group has concocted, because Eddie is surrounded by fucking heroes aparently. He doesn’t feel very heroic. 

Because he says things like “It’s not exactly a car, Steve” with a devilish smirk, and not asking but telling Steve that he’s driving the stolen RV, the words big boy tumbling out like his mouth has a fucking mind of its own. And each of those times, Steve blinks back at him with something in those hazel eyes, which Eddie is trying so hard to tell himself he doesn’t know how to read, but he wants. 

There isn’t time to do anything about it, though. When the RV’s rightful owners start banging on the door, adrenaline sends Steve leapfrogging into the driver’s seat and Eddie scrambling to get away from the windows so he won’t be spotted. They roar out of the trailer park with the kids whooping in the back, caught up in the adventure of it. 

Eddie feels like everything is going wrong and about to get worse, but he’s felt that way ever since Chrissy died so that’s nothing new. At least Steve stays in the RV instead of going into the War Zone, even if it takes Robin pointing out that the entire high school had seen them talking at Eddie’s locker on Friday and some probably noticed them sitting together at the game—because yeah, Lucas had told them what Jason Carver had done to Gareth, and Eddie doesn’t want anyone else hurt because some vigilante jock thinks they might be harboring him. 

“Sorry,” Eddie tells him after the others are gone. When Steve gives him a blank look, he adds, “That you’re a known associate of The Freak.” He nods towards the back of the RV where the two boys are wrapped up in a conversation of their own. “It’s bad enough that Lucas and Dustin are in the crosshairs, but they at least signed up for Hellfire.”

Steve frowns. “You’re my friend, Eddie, I don’t care who knows that. It shouldn’t even matter.”

“Dude, all of this shouldn’t be happening, but it is. It does matter. A hell of a fucking lot.” Eddie braces his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

After a moment, a hand presses tentatively between his shoulder blades, shifting reassuringly up and down. It’s a big hand. Eddie is almost disappointed that he’s too upset to fully appreciate the contact. 

As it is, he groans into his hands and shrugs the touch off. “Steve, I should… I have to tell you something.” And you might not want to keep touching me after you hear it, he doesn’t say out loud. 

“What is it?”

Eddie lifts his head with a flick of his hair and a quick flail of his hands. “That was—I just cast a little privacy spell, if you were wondering. So the kids can’t eavesdrop.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Do you do that a lot? Just do magic like that? Because, you move your hands around a lot…”

He can’t help but smirk a little at that. “Not as much as you’d think. It’s a good cover if I have to, though.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and curious, his irises a honeyed brown tinged with spots of green. “Have you ever used magic on me?”

Aaand there it is. Eddie looks down at his hands, now clasped across bare his knees where time and wear have reduced the denim to strings. “Yep.” 

“Like what?”

So Eddie tells him about the love spell. 

Magic, considering everything else Steve has seen over the past few years and especially the past few days, isn’t much of a stretch to accept. That trick with the apple had helped, but for the most part he’s learned to just push through the confusion and listen to whoever sounds the most certain about it. 

And Eddie sounds pretty certain that he’s ruined Steve’s life. 

But that’s… not right. His life doesn’t feel ruined. He has Dustin and Robin. Yeah, he keeps ending up in life or death situations, but that gives him a sense of a purpose and might have happened anyway, because it’s not like Eddie’s one spell back when they were underclassmen created Hawkins Lab or Henry Creel out of thin air. 

A big part of Steve is elated, actually. Eddie likes him. Or liked him, enough to try and secure his heart with magic. Maybe that elation is from the spell, but honestly? The world might end tonight and any of them might die trying to stop it, so he’ll take any good feeling he can get regardless of where it’s coming from. 

When he tells Eddie as much, the guy looks about ready to cry. 

Before he can protest, Steve says, “I know you think you made me feel this way and that it’s like—” he frowns, unable to remember the way Eddie had put it “—violating my self-asomething-or-other, but fuck that. Your uncle said it wouldn’t have worked if I could never have liked you on my own, right? And I… In high school, people just hung around and I could never figure out why. Magic is as good an explanation as any, I guess. But with you, I had to work to get you to be my friend. I had to earn it. The more I got to know you the more I knew you’re a great guy, so by the time we were friends it felt like I’d really accomplished something, you know? You’re really nice, once you get past the prickly attitude—”

“Prickly?” Eddie mutters, quiet like he wants to interrupt but still feels a little too guilty to quite dare. Steve gets it; he knows how guilt can be, especially when it’s guilt for a stupid reason. 

“—And you’re smart, way smarter than me. The teachers who failed you are either full of shit or bad at their jobs, probably both. You’re so creative it blows me away, keeping track of all that Dungeons and Dragons stuff and making up entire worlds and all the people that go in them. And you have a great smile, with dimples and everything, and your hands are… And the way you watch me sometimes, like I’m the only person in the room even if we’re in a crowd, it feels really good.”

Eddie is getting more red by the second, a flush starting in his cheeks and threatening to go all the way to his chest at the compliments. Which, okay, Steve knows he’s gushing, but he’s been bottling all this up for a while and he’s not used to that. When it comes to love he’s usually an all-in kind of guy, and holding back had led to a quiet but snotty breakdown in Robin’s arms the night before. 

… Damn, he’s going to have to admit that she was right about Eddie being into guys (into him), though. 

“Steve,” Eddie says, and he sounds longing. Music to Steve’s ears. 

“I wanted the championship game to be a date,” Steve blurts. Because he’s already mentioned Eddie’s dimples and his hands, might as well go all in. 

Eddie’s blush intensifies, the start of that dimpled grin Steve loves so much on his face. “I… I did too.”

“So… after the game, when you went off with Chrissy…”

“That was just business,” Eddie says quickly, and Steve ducks his head to try and hide the relieved grin. “I mean, I wanted to help her, but I’m, uh. It’s always been just guys for me.”

“It’s both for me,” Steve tells him, glancing up through his eyelashes. He notices the way Eddie’s hand twitches, wanting to reach out but unsure, so he reaches over and tentatively lays his fingers over Eddie’s ringed ones. “Is that… okay?”

Eddie bites his lip, and just as tentatively twines their fingers together. “Y-yeah, I think so. This is—Shit, yeah.” 

“Would it make you feel better if… I don’t know, is there a way to turn the spell off?”

“Not really, magic doesn’t—” Eddie starts, but then stops, frowns. “Uh. My uncle did teach me something to undo magic once, but it’s a whole… thing. Like pulling a ripcord on a parachute, and, yeah, you stop falling as fast, but it jerks you around first. And it would ‘turn off’ every spell I’ve ever cast.” 

Before Steve has a chance to react to that, they’re interrupted by the rest of the group crashing back into the RV. Steve is up and barely even registers the remnants of Eddie’s privacy spell clinging to his face like invisible cobwebs. He spots Jason Carver out of the corner of his eye just before pulling out of the parking lot and, fuck. 

The rest of the day is too busy and tense to speak to Eddie alone, and Steve has a creeping worry (which he tries to ignore) that maybe Robin is right; maybe they aren’t going to be okay this time. 

Eddie doesn’t get to have nice things. Like an unbroken family, or a high school diploma, or Steve Harrington. 

He knows this. It’s deeply embedded in the reason he chickens out at the last minute, shaping his possible last words to Steve into, “Make him pay.” In that moment where their eyes had met he’d felt every loose thread, every unspoken thing between them weighing on him like a ton of bricks, and he regrets everything. Even though there hadn’t been time. He wonders if Steve regrets not saying whatever was on his mind back at the trailer, while the water was running… And from the way Steve looks back at him before nodding and turning to go, Eddie thinks he can hear the hollowness in it. 

Steve has similar hollowness, Eddie knows. Parents whose attention has always seemed to ghost right over him ever since Barbara Holland, leaving Steve to drift all alone in that big house until he felt like a phantom. They know these things about each other; they’ve talked about it all while high (everything except the Eddie wanting Steve part… and, apparently, an entire alternate universe full of monsters). And Steve gets it, even though Eddie wishes he didn’t. Wishes Steve’s life could be easy streets and clear sailing (ha, ahoy) so that Eddie wouldn’t have to feel so seen, stripped bare of all his armor. 

Even his battle vest is still in Steve’s possession, hidden under the thick army jacket. 

And it’s ironic, really, that Steve thinks he’s the stupid one but Eddie forgot about the goddamn air vents in the trailer. There isn’t really a spell to protect against that; luck can’t fix stupid.

So he does the best he can think of, if it can be called thinking at this point: flings a stealth spell at Dustin so the bats will be more likely to forget about him, cuts the sheet-rope, and bolts out the door. He grabs a bike and pedals as hard as he can, just trying to get away, and in the blankness of his panicking-in-overdrive mind an idea begins to form. 

When one of the bats gets caught in the spokes and Eddie goes down, he’s up almost immediately and spitting the words Wayne taught him when he was still small—before his uncle got custody but after his mom started getting sick, when Eddie’s dad had first started getting reckless. 

The swarm of flying monsters descends on him while he’s still screaming the spell. After the last syllable, bleeding and knocked around by the attack, the ripcord pulls and Eddie is slammed into darkness.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 9, part 10, part 11

[toonztown]

Mafia husband! x (GN) reader Part 2

It has been about 3 days since you've moved into the mansion, your 'fiancé' is constantly busy with work so to your delight you hardly see him. You still couldn't believe it just a few days ago you were a normal high schooler, average grades but now your staying in a house you couldn't afford in your lifetime to be married off to a member of the mafia.

You sat up in bed, you spend most of your days in your room, sleeping the day a away, hoping that this is all just a bad dream; only to find yourself disappointed every time you wake up.

just before you were about to go back to sleep, there was a soft knock at the door. "excuse me mr capone has requested you come down for breakfast at once." the voice on the other side said. you made an audible groan and you make your way out of bed, the last thing you wanted was food much less breakfast with Mr. capone. You knew denying would be a- foolish decision, he could kill you in a heart beat. You open the closet and are stunned by the amount of expensive clothing, not a single one of them looked worn, could it be? he bought them for you? You felt your heart warm ever so slightly at the thought, you shook your head. You pick out something that you liked and changed into it, not bothering to fix your hair, maybe if he finds you unappealing to the eyes he'll let you go? its a small chance but it gave you hope. now here you were, seated at a large table full of various foods you've never tried before and across from you was the man who brought you to this hell, Mr capone. Maybe this is a good time to question him when the time was right? you picked up your glass of wine, you didn't take a sip just stare at it then back at him. You gather the courage to finally ask him "so why me." you asked, your cold gaze fixed on him. your question seemed to catch him off guard for a moment, he tilted his head in confusion with a sly grin. "i have no idea what you mean dearest." he replied, downing a glass of wine, his voice had a hint of playfulness, he was totally taunting you.

now he was playing dumb? who does he think he is. You clench your fist into a ball before slamming it down on the table "dont act dumb! why did you chose me! why did you bring me here instead of just killing me! why do you want to marry me?!" through all your questioning and ranting he just stared at you silently, tapping his fingers on the table. He was going annoyed, maybe going on a rampage was not a good idea. once your anger died down you were filled with deep regret- ohh why did you do something so stupid, you sat back down. You grabbed the bottle of wine and drank it, if your going to die, might as well die intoxicated. Mr capone got up from his seat across the table and made his way over to you.

your cheek was met with a harsh slap that would have your face stinging for a while, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked your head back forcing your eyes to meet. Oh he was pissed.

"let us get one thing straight you little bitch. Firstly i didn't 'chose you' your father just didn't have the ability to have more attractive offspring, second if i wanted to kill you i would have."

his grip on your hair tightened. He then slammed your head onto the table, you could feel blood drip down your nose from the impact, you struggle to get away but this only made him do it again but harder.

" Finally, marriage is the ultimate way to have claim over you. this isn't some dumb little fairy tale where i 'fall in love with the innocent damsel.' your my slave, im the master. If you EVER, have that attitude with me again, i will send you home to your old man in a fucking body bag you worthless whore."

His words and the buzzing pain in your head made it hard to do anything but nod, he threw you to the floor and gave you a beating that you would never forget. you dont remember what happened next or how you got to bed. When you woke up, you found that your wounds were treated and a bouquet of expensive looking flowers on your bed accompanied by a note. you did not have to open it to know who it was from, i guess this was Mr capone's twisted way of apologizing after injuring you to the point of you having to passing out.

inside the note was the basic im sorry, please forgive me, i do it cause i love you and how he promises to never lay a hand on your ever again, you scoff at the thought, that was a obvious lie, did he think you were that stupid?

you crumpled the note and toss it across the room not caring where it landed, your head still hurt from how hard he grabbed your hair. If he was willing to beat you that badly for just questioning him, you fear what he will do if you try to escape. you lay back down in bed, silently cursing your dad and his stupid gambling addiction, if it wasn't for him you would be in school right now, even the worst of your bullies were better than being stuck with him. you turned and faced the wall, holding your now bruise ridden body. Pulling the covers over your eyes you drift off to sleep, dreaming of being back home with your parents, even your dad. ignoring the fact that you were to be wed, in just 5 days.

[cartoonsaint]

back in 2020 i wrote a werewolf!David fic for Camp Camp and then got through about a quarter of its sequel before getting distracted. at this point it's unlikely i'm ever going to finish it but it sounds like there's at least one person out there who wants to read it, which makes this a good advertisement for leaving comments on seemingly abandoned works, doesn't it? anyways this is 7.8k, probably rated T, and i do not have the wherewithal (werewithal? hohoha) to reread rn so i can't offer any content warnings or fix any weird grammar or anything, but. here's it.

my semi-jokey working title for it was THERE'S ONLY ONE BED AND ALSO ONE OF US IS A WEREWOLF

CHAPTER ONE

Gwen wakes up.

She’s not sure what does it, because usually it takes the blaring of her alarm — as well as a few judicious smacks to the snooze button — for her to admit that the day is starting whether she wants it to or not and she had better drag herself out of bed if she doesn’t want the camp to burn down around her ears.

She’s long since come to terms with the fact that while she can effortlessly stay up late into the night reading fanfiction or binging television, even with a full eight hours under her belt the first thing she’s gonna want to do in the mornings is take a nap. Gwen just really, really isn’t a morning person.

By the grey light filtering through the windows, Gwen bets the sun hasn’t even properly risen yet. She’s not due to muddle her way through her morning routine for at least another hour, and in fact it’s so early that David’s still probably asleep.

That catches at something in her sleep-foggy brain. Had she had another dream about him, maybe? Something about… monsters? Statistically, and given the subject, it was probably a sex dream, but what…?

On a whim she turns over, intending to send her sleeping coworker a baleful glare for daring to have a presence in the confusing subconscious arena of her dreams — it’s not the first time, sure, but she uhhh.

Wolf.

That, uh… wolf.

Gwen stares at the sleeping beast in the room with her, suddenly wide awake, and does her best to regulate her breathing as she simultaneously curses David to hell. This is somehow his fault, she just knows it — leave it to Mr. Nurse-Back-to-Health-the-Wolf-That-Tried-to-Kill-Me to bring a wild animal into the cabin without telling her. Now she’s probably going to get eaten and leave behind all her unedited work and become famous for her talent posthumously instead of midhumously, or whatever, which is how she’d really, really prefer it.

Can wolves smell fear? She’s pretty sure they can, so she thinks happy, not-scared thoughts, like how happy she’ll feel when she throttles David for this. The animal is huge, taking up a sizable portion of her co-counselor’s bed, even though it’s curled up sleeping at the moment. The bed’s wool blanket and sheet are half-covering it, almost like it tried to burrow itself underneath them, and it has David’s stupid plush log between its front paws. It breathes in and out with great, calm gusts of breath, and Gwen thinks about how often wolves need to eat, how fetid its breath probably is, and the fact that she has virtually nothing with which to defend herself besides some trashy magazine she could maybe roll up and use to bonk its nose, like a poorly behaved mutt.

I’m freaking out a little, Gwen realizes, watching the tendrils of first light reach across the room. Knowing her luck, they’ll wake it up. Oh well. I had a good run. Well, an alright run. Well, I definitely had a run, anyway.

She practically holds her breath as the sun creeps in through the windows, sure that any moment might wake the beast and spell her doom. Maybe she’ll be able to miraculously pull David’s guitar out of nowhere and defend herself — but no, too quickly, the barest hint of sunlight touches the thing’s paw, and it gives a great twitch that has Gwen flinching — and then the wolf changes.

She’s not sure what she’s seeing at first. Its muzzle wrinkles as though in a snarl but then shrinks. The pointed ears on its head flatten back and disappear into its dark red fur, which itself seems to be absorbed back into its skin, leaving pale, pinkish flesh behind. Its paws stretch and lengthen into long, calloused, human fingers, and the whimper that comes out of its throat morphs mid-syllable into a distinct, familiar, and absolutely absurd “ouchie.” The figure left half-blanketed on the bed opens ocean green eyes over an upturned pink nose and effortlessly smiles at the new day.

The figure looks an awful lot like David sporting a week’s worth of facial hair.

The figure is David.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Gwen croaks, and David blinks his big green eyes over at Gwen, looking faintly puzzled.

“Gwen? What are you doing awake?” he whispers (only sounding a little raspy, the bastard).

Gwen’s mind is racing, frantically calling up memories from the past two days, belatedly recalling that last night she’d learned without a shadow of a doubt that David — bouncy, clumsy, sunshine-y David, her coworker of too many years and the least brood-over-his-loss-of-humanity guy she’s ever known, that David — was a bonafide werewolf.

He’s still looking at her, apparently wide-awake and ready to be properly concerned about his “CBFL!” despite the fact that no sane person should be awake at this hour. She tries to say something, something intelligent, so that he knows she’s fine and can stop turning the force of his way-too-bright eyes on her.

“Wurwuf,” her stupid mouth manages.

He looks confused, briefly, before a metaphorical lightbulb goes off so obviously that Gwen practically has to squint at its brightness. “Oh yeah! I change back when the sunlight hits me — it hurts, but I hope I wasn’t too loud. Did I wake you up?”

He looks so intensely unhappy at the possibility that Gwen finds herself shaking her head before she can properly process what he said, and he smiles warmly at her. Fortunately it’s not one of his overwhelming ones but instead the softer kind, the kind he wears when he’s had a long day or a camper pleasantly surprises him.

“I’m glad,” he says with one hundred percent honesty, and he sits straight up in bed like it’s easy to get his muscles to work in the morning. “I was a little worried! You should go back to sleep, Gwen. I know how hard you’ve been working, and I dumped a lot on you last night. I’ll take breakfast duty, okay?”

“Mm,” she says, and he gives her another smile — jesus it’s too fucking early for this — and daintily wraps a sheet around his body, heading to the bathroom. She watches him go, humming like it’s any other day, until he closes and latches the door behind him with a snk.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, Gwen mentally screams, and bites her fist hard. David’s a werewolf. David is a werewolf. It’s a brand new day and her coworker (and, fine, friend) David is a WEREWOLF who literally transformed in front of her very eyes into a huge, potentially terrifying beast.

She’s going to have so much to write about.

Speaking of, she scrambles out of bed for her notebook and pen. She’d been limited by David’s inability to talk as a wolf, but through yes and no questions and some dubiously successful attempts at charades she’d ended up with a decent number of pages written out about his new condition. It’s a solid start on figuring out what they can expect and how this whole thing works.

Of course, like every normal person, Gwen herself went through a Weird Wolf Girl phase. Though it’s been considerably more than a decade since then, she’s sure she hasn’t forgotten that much about them — and besides, with all the supernatural shapeshifter romances she’s read in the years since then, she’s pretty confident she can fill in any gaps in her knowledge.

She starts drafting questions, both for David and the Quartermaster (who of course has a hook in this, that guy is so freaky). Like: David turns into a four-legged wolf every time moonlight touches him, but is there a way to control when the change happens? Could he stop the change partway through? Is his werewolfism unique, or is there a pack out there somewhere? And are there any single werewolves her age? If so, how would Gwen go about meeting them?

Quietly, Gwen lets out a high-pitched squeal — werewolves are real, and she knows one. It’s too bad it’s David, since that precludes any hot paranormal action on her end, and has precluded any action between them since their first week working together. But maybe he’ll meet some other, more masculine werewolves and he could introduce her?

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Gwen,” she whispers. “Reel it in.”

She spends a brief moment in deep breathing, trying to meditate… and then shrugs it off to bounce excitedly on her bed. Even if this isn’t quite the way she’d imagined it, werewolves! This could be a major change in her life, the kind she’d hoped Graggle would be, the kind she’s been waiting for as long as she can remember.

And who knows — he might still be David, but being a werewolf might make him more interesting, too. She grabs her pillow and muffles a disbelieving, embarrassingly girly squee into it, grinning. She can’t wait to see how things change.

***

In retrospect, maybe Gwen should have expected to be disappointed.

The activity for that day is Rube Goldberg Machines (“Max really enjoyed this one last year, Gwen!!”) and even though, as always, Gwen had told him during last week’s activity-planning session that it was going to be a disaster (“David, it’s going to be a disaster.”), the day is just… regular.

Which isn’t to say it’s not a disaster, but it is a pretty regular one. Harrison and Preston team up against Erid and Nerris to create competing death machines, which results in David stepping into the middle of their feud and getting the crap beaten out of him by mechanically-operated cardboard. Max and his friends are suspiciously quiet in a way that Gwen would be more concerned about if she wasn’t so busy trying to prevent Nurf from incorporating Dolph and Space Kid as living pieces of his machine. Mr. Campbell shows up at some point with an intriguing but useless story about his time in a Russian ballet school and then disappears pretty much as soon as she asks him to help. The Quartermaster is there.

Gwen waits all day, anticipation thrumming through her veins, for David to do something different. Just… one thing that would indicate that he’s secretly a paranormal, shapeshifting, not-quite-human creature. Maybe some supernatural speed, or a snarl at being bashed over the head by their terrible campers. Hell, she’d accept a mysterious, darkly longing look towards the woods. Anything.

But David spends the whole day totally normal, with his usual mix of peppiness, anxiety, and the occasional oh-so-human shriek of pain.

It’s not like Gwen really believed (much less had her heart set on) all those books about the super capable, brooding werewolf leads, but… It’s not easy to reconcile the rugged, snarling, coverboy antiheroes with a twiggy, delicate David who’s too busy trying to put a positive spin on marble-powered rocket launchers to realize his bandana is on fire.

Needless to say, Gwen’s exhausted by the end of the day, and for all his talk David hurries the kids along to bed as well. She leans against a tree, watching him interact with the torturous little shits with near-endless patience even in the light of the rising moon. It’s impressive, given that David wears his heart on his sleeve (along with every other organ he has in his body), but right now his impression of not being twitchy as hell is nearly passable. Even if some of the kids notice, they won’t worry; besides the Problem Trio, none will suspect it’s anything to do with the supernatural.

Also, of course Max, Neil, and Nikki found out about it; Gwen is going to grill Max about that as soon as she gets the chance, and then she’s going to kill David for letting it slip so quickly.

...then again, it’s admittedly something of a miracle that the whole camp doesn’t already know; she might have to let this slide. You should still know better! she thinks loudly, glaring at the back of David’s head as he suffers Nikki using him as a climbing post. He glances back at the same moment, catches her look, and hurriedly starts trying to disentangle the wild kid from his hair.

Gwen winces, then sighs in frustration — she hadn’t actually meant for him to catch that. Great going, Gwen.

Despite the revelations of the past few days, David really does seem just the same: goofy muppet-long limbs, pointy elbows, big smiles papered over a mess of anxiety, enthusiasm, and bad ideas. He’s not even more muscular or anything — though to be fair, he’s always been stronger than he looks. With his wiry muscles, he’s capable of lifting way more than Gwen expects — but the fact remains that he’s always looked delicate.

He’s not, of course — though he cries more easily than most people, it’s usually an emotional rather than physical response. He bounces back from just about any injury, leaping into the next activity with all the grace of a newborn deer. Gwen can admit that it’s somewhat compelling; she can’t help admiring his determination to keep moving forward.

Finally disengaged from Nikki, David puts his hands on his hips, tilting them in the opposite direction of his head. The move puts him on an appealing slant that emphasizes how long and slim he is, the slope of his neck leading into the sharp cut of his shoulders, hidden slightly by his dumb bandana. He fiddles with it now, throwing an uncertain glance her way.

He’d said the freaky magic necklace wasn’t comfortable to wear, and she wonders exactly how: does it intensify things? Is it like holding in a sneeze? After working so closely with him for so long, she’s intimately familiar with his energy levels; it’s not been the kind of day that usually ends in mania or an anxiety attack, but he’s twitchier than usual anyway. Is that related?

Finally taking pity, Gwen steps in. She manages to convince Harrison that the woods aren’t going to come alive while he sleeps (a weird, newly emerged fear she’s keeping a close eye on) and bundles Space Kid in his favorite rocket blanket so that David can devote his attention to Nerris’s pleas to stay up later so they can fight the dark elves together (which honestly seems like the kind of bullshit she should read up on, because that doesn’t sound like the sort of thing an impressionable kid should be absorbing). Together, they get the kids down only twenty minutes past the scheduled time.

David is unmistakably anxious on the way to the Counselors Cabin. When he hesitantly asks, “Am I in trouble?” Gwen can’t help but sigh.

“No, David. I’m just thinking,” she admits. “We need to make sure none of the rest of the kids find out that you’re a werg— a, a werewolf.” She silently curses herself for stumbling over the word again. What’s wrong with her? “Why did you have to let Max know? You must have realized he’d find a way to take advantage of this.”

“We-e-ell…” David starts, avoiding eye contact in a way that compounds Gwen’s fatigue.

“David.”

“I didn’t mean to!! He was just there and the moon was out and he broke the necklace and obviously if I had known I wouldn’t have put him in that situation, but the Quartermaster was being very coy about my being a werewolf so I had no idea what was coming —“

“Wait wait wait,” Gwen interrupts; David shrinks guiltily. “You didn’t know? You mean Max was there the first time you —?” She cuts herself off, brain whirring through his behavior since he got back from his disastrous trip in the woods a few weeks ago. She doesn’t like the conclusion she comes to.

Dreading his answer, she asks, “When was this?”

“Um.” David counts briefly on his fingers, lips pursed in thought. “A-about a week ago?”

“A week?!”

“A, a little less, actually,” he admits, cringing.

Gwen stops walking. “It’s been less than a week.”

Cautiously, he nods, his red hair flopping, and Gwen stares at him. It occurs to her suddenly that David has, hilariously, really been thrown to the wolves here: he doesn’t actually know anything about being a werewolf. His life has just changed, majorly and possibly permanently, and his only guide is the laconic and decidedly unhelpful Quartermaster… and Gwen herself.

“Right,” Gwen manages, and starts walking again. David follows, chattering nervously, but she barely hears him, thinking about what he’d said to her yesterday morning (practically forever ago): that he hadn't wanted to be a burden, but he needed her help.

Where is she even supposed to start?

She watches him throw his arms up to emphasize a point she hasn’t heard and catches sight of how long and delicate his fingers are, even with his summer camp callouses. They’re the same as ever, but somehow that makes Gwen feel like he’s even more fragile than usual, like if she even touched his shoulder he might shatter or maybe even bolt. But if she wants to figure this out properly, she needs more information… so she’s extra careful when she puts forth her next question.

“So you gonna let me watch tonight?” she asks, and then bites her tongue hard because that did not come out like she wanted it to, Gwen what is wrong with you.

Fortunately, the look David sends her is one of innocent surprise, rather than one assuming that she just propositioned him.

“Um, sure!!” he says, voice edging just past bubbly and into manic; he tugs at his bandana, revealing a flash of silver chain. Then, to her horror, a very noticeable flush starts to crawl up the back of his neck — shit, does he think she just propositioned him? “I-it’s just… well, I can’t really afford to ruin any more camp uniforms, s-so, um, I’d have to be —“

“Spit it out, David,” she advises, not completely dickishly.

“—naked, I’d have to be naked,” he blurts out, and pulls his bandana up around his cheeks to hide his embarrassment.

Gwen has to blink at him for a few seconds. Is he seriously that embarrassed about her catching an eyeful when they’ve lived in close quarters this long? And when he’s going to turn into a giant, fuckoff werewolf??

“David. I promise not to look at your dick,” she says, which to her amusement makes him squeak and turn as red as his hair. He flutters a nervous hand at her, glancing around like a camper could appear anywhere — which, to be fair, they could: Gwen has learned not to underestimate the little bastards.

She bumps her shoulder into his, because she’s too awkward to offer comfort in a normal way. “Are you seriously more freaked out about the naked thing than the werewolf thing?”

“It’s not… appropriate,” he hisses, still flushed and harried-looking. “You shouldn’t have to —“

“I don’t have to; I want to. To see you transform, I mean,” she corrects. “Into a wolf. Not to — yeah. But I do want to see the transforming shit again because it was seriously the coolest thing I have ever seen.”

As per usual, David opens the door to the Counselors Cabin and lets Gwen through first, which is why she sees the set-up, recognizes the intended purpose, and is already exhausted and dismayed by its outcome by the time David cheerfully flicks on the lightswitch.

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised, as his action triggers the set of three marbles to start rolling down the halved cardboard tubes that have been taped together into an impressively complicated contraption. The blue marble hits and tips over a precariously balanced jug of water, the yellow one continues to pick up speed as its path steepens, and the mint-green one just barely nudges a piece of cheese into the grubby little hands-reach of a caged squirrel. “Wow,” David says, delighted, while Gwen traces the future paths of the machine and reaches the signs neatly taped to the wall above David’s bed.

“GWEN DON’T INTERFERE. I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SET A FIRE BUT NEIL DIDN’T. MAX.”

“Ooo, great use of weighted pullies,” David says appreciatively, while a baby headache is born right behind Gwen’s eyes.

Next to Max’s note is one with Neil’s precise handwriting. “Sorry for getting carried away but I needed to test my abilities. Neil.”

The squirrel has tugged up the string tied to the key to its cage and is furiously trying to unlock its prison; another domino falls just as the scale overbalances. Gwen’s headache has learned to walk and is joyfully crashing into the walls of her brain.

Nikki’s note (which, for some reason, is dripping with an unknown reddish liquid) says, “it seemed like the best use of our time. also the squirrel needed to know who was boss.”

“That’s such a creative use of a windchime!” David says, proud as anything, as Gwen recognizes an open container of lighter fluid, realizes that the last note is written in Campbell’s chunky scrawl, and her headache throws a screaming teenage tantrum about how unfair its life is.

“IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD CAMP ACTIVITY FOR THE CHILDREN! ALSO THEY BRIBED ME. SORRY! CAMERON C. CAMPBELL.”

“Gwen, look at how they combined their machines here! Oh, I’m so proud, this is such great teamwork,” David coos and then the lighter fluid tips over, the bedspread catches fire, the squirrel frees itself to launch its horrible little rodent body across the room, and Gwen’s headache graduates summa cum laude with a full degree in Fuck You Gwenology.

Even if she hasn’t been through this exact scenario before, Gwen knows how this goes. David’s mattress will be reduced to kindling (an inevitability each summer; honestly, she’s a little proud of how long it lasted this year), David will shriek as the squirrel makes claw-contact with his face, and Gwen will calmly murder every person responsible for ensuring she has more work to do before she can goddamn relax. She’s already heading towards the fire extinguisher when David surprises her.

Instead of getting a faceful of furious-slash-terrified squirrel and screeching his fool head off, David whips a hand out faster than Gwen can follow and snags the thing out of the air. She hardly notices, though, distracted as she is by the sudden, ferocious snarl that transforms David’s face, revealing a set of gleaming, razor-sharp fangs that make him look a whole lot more… monstrous.

Oh, fuck, Gwen thinks, frozen to the spot.

The squirrel squeals, panicked, and David’s growling cuts off abruptly with a sharp little gasp. He loosens his grip enough that the animal can scramble out of his hands and out the swinging screen door, not even bothering to scold them on the way out. David automatically tracks its movements, his green eyes flashing and shoulders tense.

Thwack, goes the cabin door. Gwen stares at David, who himself stares at where the squirrel had disappeared, before a full-body shudder goes through him and he wraps his arms around his middle.

“S-sorry,” he says, voice small. Gwen blinks at that, still a bit dazed, but he keeps his eyes down. “I didn’t mean — I mean, I just —“ He hunches into himself, making himself even smaller.

Realization sparks in Gwen — he feels shitty about this, I should do something — and then David takes a sudden, deep breath, filling his lungs and straightening to his full height. His shoulders are still tense but he’s forced them down, like he’s relaxed, and when he smiles at her it’s practically normal.

But Gwen knows David, and she knows his smiles, and this one is bad: her eyes rove over his face, cataloguing the tension in his brow, the slight tremble of his upper lip, how few teeth he’s actually showing. “David,” she starts, uncertain what she’s going to say.

“It’s okay!” he assures her, voice bright and tight, flapping an insistent hand in dismissal. “I was just — that, um, startled me, is all. I didn’t mean to — to… is something burning?”

Gwen turns so fast she gives herself whiplash. “Oh fuck, the bed!!”

“O-oh — !”

These days she’s old hat at putting out fires, but the lighter fluid and the relatively extended burn time mean that even after Gwen empties a full fire extinguisher, it’s quite clear that the mattress isn’t the only thing sacrificed to the blaze.

“My bed,” David says weakly. The headboard has collapsed into the slats of the bed frame, which are themselves burned through, and its legs are heavily charred; it looks like it might fall apart in a stiff breeze, leaving behind just a pile of ashes. “W-well, we could —“

“The extra camper cots won’t hold an adult’s weight,” Gwen points out numbly. Do they still have — ?

“And Mr. Campbell took the last bedframe from storage when he moved in,” David notes, and Gwen adds another thing to her mental “Reasons to Kill Cameron Campbell” list. “Good thing I —“

“No, Max traded your sleeping bag to the Wood Scouts to get them to take Jermy back,” Gwen reminds him, pinching the bridge of her nose. Quartermaster probably has more supplies, but he’s left for the night to do… Quartermaster things, and Gwen doesn’t actually know how to contact him until the morning.

“Right,” David sighs. “But the hammock — ?”

“Could you even use it when you’ve got —“ she claws at the air, giving him a faux snarl, which immediately makes her feel like a huge, stupid asshole, but she perseveres — “you know, four legs?”

With each back and forth, David sinks down a little more — but at that last one he perks up a bit. “Oh! Gwen, I’ll be a wolf. I don't need a bed, I’ll just sleep outside!”

“David,” Gwen begins, already prepared to try to make him see reason, but then she actually catches sight of his expression and pauses, considering.

Because David isn’t looking at her. His eyes dart from the remains of his bed to her desk to the bathroom door to the open window, whereupon he flinches and looks anywhere else til he’s inevitably drawn back to it. His hands are clasped in front of him like he’s pleased, but Gwen can see them trembling. “Plus, I feel like — I think there’s something different in the air, and I just want to check it out, make sure everything’s okay. And Harrison was so nervous at bedtime — I should probably check on him. And the Quartermaster probably needs help setting things up, so…”

He wants to get away, Gwen realizes. His reaction to the squirrel was different than he’s used to and it scared him. He needs to process it alone.

“Fine,” Gwen blurts out, and David shuts his mouth, eyebrows dipping in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Go. We don’t have to — You can show me the transformation another night. I’ll take care of the bed and any kids who come calling. If you need — some time, or some space, David, then go get it.” She has to mentally scream at herself to do it, but she raises a pretty convincingly casual hand to pat his shoulder. “I’ll take care of things here. You go do what you need, okay?”

He looks uncertain, but he does lean into her touch. Gwen fights to keep her face normal. “Gwen, are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone with everything again…”

“It’s fine, David,” she says, and finds that she means it. He asked her for her help, and if this is what it takes, well. “Go. Run around, burn off some energy, do what you need. I’ll cover you.”

He bites his lip, incidentally flashing those sharp teeth. Gwen determinedly keeps her eyes on his. “If you’re sure it’s okay…”

“I am. Go do your thing, David.”

The tense worry on his face melts away, and when he smiles at her it’s easy. “Thanks, Gwen,” he says, and before she can react he wraps his arms around her in a firm hug.

Gwen tries not to freeze up or anything, but she’s so awkward — she ends up patting his shoulder again (like an idiot) until he finally loosens his warm grip and steps away to open the cabin door. He aims one last grateful smile at her; it practically lights up the whole room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Gwen. Thanks again.”

“Yee-up,” she says, and gives him a thumbs-up until the screendoor thwacks shut behind him.

She stands there for a long moment, listening to his footsteps fade away. Then, when she’s sure he’s gone, she numbly reaches for her pillow. She presses her face into it and takes a couple deep breaths.

Then she screams, because she has to clean up the remains of the burned bed and figure out how this werewolf thing works for David and make sure the camp keeps running and now she’s going to have to do all that with the awareness that David might be hot now.

He’s not allowed to be. Their whole thing works because he’s not her type. They have to work so closely together to make this damn place run, reading each others’ intentions and patching each other up and practically working on top of and underneath each other; Gwen can’t do that if she has to worry about her hormones acting up just because her stupid coworker actually has some monster-y traits to go with the fact that technically, now he’s a monster.“Fuck,” she says, and it scrapes at her throat but it feels good anyways, so she says it again as she tries not to think about sharp teeth in an innocent smile. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

CHAPTER TWO

Gwen wakes up.

She keeps her eyes shut for a few moments. Sleep waits for her, solemn and warm, but something in the outside world is just off enough that she doesn’t surrender to it quite yet. Sluggishly, consciousness comes online.

She has a body. Her body is wrapped in a warm blanket. She’s still cold. She scrunches her nose and pulls her limbs in tighter, which helps a little, but not as much as the sudden cut-off of cold air that accompanies the screendoor’s muffled thwack.

Is David seriously coming in and out of the cabin at this hour? That deserves a squinted glare at the very least. Gwen rolls over to offer the stink-eye to her erstwhile coworker for his early morning volume, only —

The windows show only dark grey outside. Rain splatters half-heartedly against the panes. The digital clock on David’s night table illuminates the digits 7:08, more than twenty minutes before her first phone alarm is due to go off. Though the light inside the cabin is limited, it’s enough for Gwen to make out the rough outline of an enormous animal standing just in the doorway. It looks directly at her; its reflective eyes are brilliant and strange.

Her heart skips a beat. Then its pace increases, along with her breathing, because what the fuck, it’s gonna eat her —

A quiet, pitiful whine escapes the beast. It sounds pathetically sad, like Missy when Gwen’s dad won’t share his hamburger, but besides that universal doggy plea, something else about it seems... familiar.

She switches on her lamp before she can doubt herself.

The scant golden light reveals an unnaturally large wolf, its four paws placed carefully on the doormat. It is covered in thick red fur, Gwen knows, but not one hair of that is visible beneath its coat of caked, dripping mud. Its big green eyes are pleading. 

“Christ, David,” she says hoarsely, and stumbles to her feet, already reaching for the box of garbage bags left out last night after she cleaned up the charred remains of his bed. She can cut one open and lay it down like a tarp; it’ll catch any mud he drips on the way to the bathroom so it won’t spread to the rest of the cabin. Where are her scissors?

She lurches about the cabin, trying to prep it for a muddy werewolf. Her brain is working, technically, running through where the spare towels are and what she’ll need, but it’s still too early for things to quite make sense. Werewolf? Sure, that’s logical, she can handle that. But shouldn't David have turned back by now?

“C’mon,” she says to him once she has a line of slit open trashbags laid out. David steps carefully along her path, his tail and ears down, and hops immediately into the tub without the need for her to explain. Pulling her hair back in a loose ponytail, Gwen locates an old, refillable slurpee cup, then squats on the bathmat and turns the water on.

It’s cold, as it always is first thing in the morning, but David doesn’t even react; his fur must be super thick. Still, she waits until it hits a reasonable temperature before plugging the bath and filling the mega slurpee cup. “Stay still, okay?” Placing a hand on his furry brow to prevent the water from getting in his eyes, she pours it over his head… which makes hardly any difference to the mud stuck fast to his fur.

Gwen rocks back onto her heels, frowning. “Think we’re gonna need more than water,” she tells David, who woofs so very softly in reply that even in her sleep-muzzy state she can’t help smirking a little. “Is that a yes?” His tail starts to wag, disturbing the already-clouded water filling the tub. “Yeah? You want some soap or shampoo or some shit, David?”

To her amusement, his tail wags even harder — he’s always so delighted by her solutions, even when they’re obvious, but somehow the tail-wagging hits different than his normal bouncy enthuthiasm. She idly wonders how far she can take this as she stands to examine their toiletries.

There’s not much left in his shampoo bottle, so Gwen grabs her body wash as well — it’s cheap and she has tons of it, so it’ll have to do. She kneels back down and softens her voice a little more, like she’s talking to a toddler or something, as she squeezes some shampoo into her palm. “You wanna get clean, David? Huh? Get all this crap off of you?”

He gives her a happy whine that is so very David, despite the species, that she can’t help the giggle that escapes her. 

His tail stills for a moment and he stares at her, ears pricked high, the expression on his muzzle so close to human surprise that she starts to feel self conscious. Then he starts wagging his tail so furiously that Gwen has to quickly splat her shampooed hand on his head. “Shut up,” she tells him, and starts to rub it into a lather.

Gwen doesn’t really touch people. Growing up she’d been used to living in cramped spaces — Dad’s tour bus chief among them — which meant that being able to spread out was always such a luxury. She quit touring once she hit high school, but by that time the damage had already been done: after so many years of enforced closeness, Gwen never really figured out how to initiate physical contact when she wanted it, without a lack of room causing the press of bodies on all sides. 

So she’s not good at touching people. David, on the other hand, is bad at not touching people. When Gwen awkwardly offered her hand to him during their first meeting, David went right in for an extended hug. He hasn’t gotten much better since; it’s taken years for her to train him to let go of her, dammit, and she’s given up on ever getting through a day without his hands fluttering around her shoulders, arms, back, casually and constantly touching her.

And though Gwen pretends not to notice or care, on the relatively rare occasions that she initiates contact, David always, always relaxes into her touch. It makes her feel… well, stupid, yes, but also warm and — damn him — kind of fond. Right now, it’s somehow even easier to slip into that feeling: he leans obviously into her hands as she works the shampoo and then body wash through his thick fur, the mud coming away under her fingers and slowly revealing more and more red fur.

It should be stranger, not least because he’s currently in the form of a predator that has terrified man for years. But Gwen keeps at it, soaping and scrubbing and rinsing, til her friend stands there on four paws, clean as can be.

...and, once she takes a step back to get a good view of him, looking a bit like an enormous drowned rat.

“Holy shit, you’re so skinny,” Gwen exclaims, leaning against the sink. She crosses her arms as she gets a good look at the wolf doing his best to pout in their tub. “All that fur almost made you look intimidating, but you’re all elbows, huh?”

David’s furry brow creases. He seems to think hard for a moment; feeling generous, Gwen waits him out. Finally, he sticks the very tip of his tongue out in an impressively snooty blep.

She snorts, snagging some ratty old towels, and drops back into the voice she uses for dogs and babies. “Well, does David wanna get dry now? Huh? Does Davey wanna let Gwen towel him off so he can be a big, scary fluffball again?”

When she turns back, his muzzle has contorted into one of offended realization. She can hear his voice so clearly in his scandalized expression: Wait, have you been making fun of me? That, plus the fact that his tongue is still out in a petite blep, has her pressing the towels to her face to muffle a laugh.

“David,” she starts, once she feels capable of facing him without making a fool of herself -- and then she startles at the spray of cool water against her skin, soaking into her pajamas, and the pafwappafwappafwap sound of a dog shaking itself dry. “David!” she snaps, horrified, and backs away, but the bathroom door is closed — she’s stuck — she holds up the towels, as if that will protect her. She’s going to kill him.

He woofs, sounding terribly pleased with himself, and Gwen blindly chucks the towels at him. By her ear, they splat against the tub -- she wipes at the water in her eyes, cursing. “I’m going to kill you,” she announces to the bathroom, fuming, and feels the rasp of something warm and wet on her free hand. She jerks away, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

David stands beside her, fluffy and damp and way too smug, his green eyes sparkling in amusement. He’s big enough that his head hits her waist; if he stood on his back feet, he’d be tall enough to crowd her in, look down on her. As it is, he looks up at her, a distinctly… David look of affection on his face.

Gwen’s stomach swoops, but just a little, and that’s kind of embarrassing so she glowers at him. “Dick,” she mutters, yanking open the bathroom door and storming half-heartedly to her “dresser” (a shitty filing cabinet, because Campbell’s too cheap for real furniture). She can hear the click of his nails on the hardwood as she pulls out a camp shirt and a relatively clean sports bra. Her pajama shirt is soaked thanks to David’s sense of humor so she tugs it off and flings it into her laundry basket. “Shouldn’t you have changed back by now anyway?” she asks him. “It’s way past sun-up.”

She just buys whatever fits from the sales rack, so her sports bras are always wacky colors; this one is fuschia with vivid teal piping. She yanks it on over her head and makes sure her tits are facing the right way before realizing that David has gone totally silent.

She glances over her shoulder to find him staring at her with wide eyes, his tail frozen straight out in shock. When they make eye contact, his ears flatten against his skull and he seems at such a panicky loss for what to do that he actually yelps, which startles them both so much that they spend another precious second staring at each other in mutual what-the-fuck-do-we-do-ness before Gwem gets her shit together and throws her camp shirt at his face.

“I —! You were a dog! I forgot!” she snaps, face burning. Stupid. “Stay there!” 

It takes Gwen seconds to get another shirt on, but her inner voice is shouting rapidly the whole time. He’s a wolf but he’s a werewolf so he’s a person so you can’t change in front of him dumbass! Unless you’re trying to get it on in which case why would you think unsexily shoving your boobs into a sports bra would be the way to do it?! Plus even if he is a werewolf he’s still David who isn’t supposed to be hot! ...But maybe he is now?? Even if that is the case you know you can’t handle a fling with a coworker so quit thinking about it, especially cuz right now he’s still in the form of a dog!!

In her mind, Gwen shouts inarticulately back at the voices and smashes their heads in with David’s guitar. In real life, she zips up her shorts and hesitantly lifts the spare shirt off David’s face. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, his ears back and head down, everything about his posture saying I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Gwen huffs out a breath — he gets so apologetic for the stupidest shit — and taps his forehead to get his attention. “David, it’s fine, it was my fault anyway. You can open your eyes.” 

A fine tremble goes through him, but he peeks one eye open and, seeing that she’s telling the truth, opens both eyes to focus entirely on her. Gwen feels like squirming — even in this form, his focus makes her a little nervous. “Well?” she blurts out. “Why aren’t you human again?”

He flicks an ear in mild irritation (is he conscious of that, she wonders) and pads over to the cabin door, pointing his muzzle towards the outside. Gwen follows, looking out: the camp is muddy and full of puddles, rain drizzling down from pale grey clouds that take up the whole sky. Her stomach sinks.

“You need sunlight to change back?” she asks; he confirms with a prim little nod. Gwen tugs her phone over by its cord (it’ll probably break at some point, but what the fuck ever) and checks the weather app for the hourly forecast in Sleepy Peak. She can’t help hissing at what she sees.

“It’s supposed to be cloudy for the next twenty-four hours,” she says, feeling a little numb. David’s ears sink in clear dismay that matches her own. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

***

It turns out David doesn’t even need to speak for them to reach a decision.

He suggests (through a series of wolf-sounds and some poor pantomime) that he stay inside all day, but Gwen knows that he couldn’t even make it an hour being cooped up inside with no camp activities to run. So as long as he can avoid the mud, she’s sentencing him to spend the rest of the day outdoors on the off-chance that any sunlight makes it through the thick cloud cover. 

Which means that she’s basically going to be running the camp alone today. Great.

Gwen rolls up a pair of his shorts and pins them onto a long-sleeve camp shirt so at least he’ll have clothing if he happens to change back. Obedient, David sits very still as she ties the bundle around his neck like a bandana. He looks up at her attentively when she smooths down the tree insignia so it lays flat against his red fur.

Despite the fact that he’s an enormous wolf, and despite the fact that he’s David, her brain says dog! and she has to resist the urge to pat his head. He almost looks cute.

“Okay,” she says, shrugging on her raincoat and opening the front door. “Quartermaster needs to get into storage to get you a new bed anyway, so I’ll do blanket forts for a bit and see how it goes. You — don’t get seen, don’t get too muddy, and come back as soon as you’re human again. Got it?”

David’s eyes turn determined. He lifts a paw to his nose in what Gwen assumes is his best “campe diem!!” and this time she really can’t help it — before she can stop herself, she’s running a hand down his fluffy head and scratching behind his ears. David leans into it, tail wagging, and by the time Gwen realizes what she’s done he’s already hopped out the door and trotted off into the woods.

Gwen is too awkward, too nervous, too weird — even after years of patching him up, she hardly ever touches David on purpose, but… that had been easy. His fur had been warm, his green eyes bright.

She stands there for a minute, blinking at her own hand, imagining she can still feel fur, dense and fine against her fingers. Then she shakes her head and gets going.

[bucknastysbabe]

Candy - Talk Talk

Rating: Mature

A/N: Be warned this is my projection of being in active alcoholism. But make it a songfic and interpret past shitty relationships. Shit warps your reality, thoughts, perceptions. Basically a lot of slipping into alcoholism is a slow slide triggered into GO TIME by an emotional/traumatic or even euphoric event so def not fic Bucky’s fault. Very unreliable narrator. Sequel of sorts to Tommy’s Party

Tags: TW ADHERE!! sui ideation, explicit descriptions of withdrawals, alcoholism and alcohol abuse, toxic relationships, depression, delusional thinking, drug abuse, just dreadful really

This sure is some kind of party. It's so useful. Surrounds my life with excuses. For what I choose to lose.

You knew this was stupid. So stupid. Wanda had tried to persuade you to go to another party that didn’t include your roommate cum ex-boyfriend. But nope. You were drunk already and wanted to feel something— whether that be chaos, pain, or the gentle caress of oblivion.

The parties masked the pain of living with the man you still loved. The man who had clearly moved on with new flings every week. You drank and danced to find an excuse to not think think fucking think all the damn time.

You don’t have to wonder what you did wrong with a stomach full of booze and nose full of adderall. Kept you in the moment. Therefore if you went out every night with the ‘wrong crowd’ that was your problem. The rest of day you could spend hungover and sleeping away your amounting problems.

And my name. Doesn't look the same to me.

Your advisor had sent you to a counselor because of your plummeting grades. The lady asked if you were depressed. “No, just tired,” you lied.

“How much do you drink a week?”

Once.

You were fine as long as you had your new lover. Although he was consuming you, transforming you into something better, freer, no cares in the world. The girl you always wanted to be. The one who stared back at you with glazed eyes and reddened cheeks in the mirror was a different person. Thank god.

And inside, don't you know I feel so bad.

Bucky pulled you aside the other day, his stupidly handsome face all wrought with concern. He gripped your shoulder, pretty pink mouth trembling, pissed, “What’s happened to you? You’re throwing your life away.” You shoved him away, hissing, “Since when did you care? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks. Just leave me be I’m fine.”

He trembled in anger, throwing up his hands. Bucky tried to stay level but ended up shouting, “I do care! It’s fucking hell watching you poison yourself and run with those,” he bit his lip and paused, “Those alpha fucks.”

You stared at him blankly. There was a fifth behind your bed. Walking to your room you said over your shoulder, “It’s only okay for you when everything’s perfect.”

You heard something get thrown, vodka dripping down your heaving throat.

Candy, when I tried to turn away. To feel new again.

You shoved Brock off your shaking frame. He was out cold. You needed something. Stop the shakes, sweaty shivers wracking your body. Now. Bucky had some whiskey hidden away in the kitchen. He was out the door when Brock came in, a look of disgust on Buck’s handsome face. Twisting and marring it.

Good.

Less he was around the more you could indulge. Blocking our reality was hard when someone who made you want to do better was confusing. Brock was a dick, he made it easy.

My emotion cost me pain. Did I look the same? When I think about the times that I laughed away the idea you'd cheat me.

There was nothing in your room. Nothing in the apartment. No fix. Your brain was screaming at you, skin crawling uncomfortably. The air was too hot, too cold, you didn’t know. All your money was spent until next week.

“You need help, I can’t take it anymore, I poured it out,” came his shaky voice.

You turned to glare at your former love, eyes manic and red rimmed. Your mouth was so, so dry. Stalking toward Bucky you weakly shoved his broad chest, croaking, “Why the fuck would you do that? The fuck is wrong with you?” Your head erupted into a pang of pain, wincing.

Bucky grabbed your shoulders, shaking, pleading, “C’mon, I have some Powerade, we can watch movies and try to relax like old times.”

You trembled in place with anger and the onset of delirium tremens. Bucky searched your sunken eyes, fear lacing his features. Why couldn’t he just move away and leave you alone. You thought he’d bolt by now. With a ragged sob you replied, “I never thought you’d enjoy seeing me in pain so much.” You crumpled, he held you, repeating he didn’t like to see you in pain.

He sat by your side for a little that night. But the liquor was back in your cup. He told you he was gone if you didn’t stop. The idiot had been gone since he deemed your relationship too ‘isolated’.

Bucky didn’t end up leaving, hovering like a nursemaid. Maybe there was a way.

But look again, what do you say? 'That's my name.’

Bucky stayed around, trying to wean you off. Spring break. What a bust. You couldn’t keep anything down. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if oblivion would be better. He irked you, made hatred boil up, something that was so pure had been blackened. You were too weak to go get your own shit, but he probably took your money too.

Bucky sat next to you on the couch, big hand on your elbow. You spat, “What? Come to wallow in my misery like a pig in shit?” He sighed, gritting his jaw. The brunette asked, “Do you not see a problem here?” You didn’t like the way his heavy brows pinched, made your heart ache.

You turned to face him, face close up, Bucky’s eyes darting to your lips. Breath fanning against his slack jaw you rasped, “The problem is you aren’t seeing me. Never have. Too clingy, too wild, too drunk.” You nipped his lip roughly, growling, “Did’ja only like me when you were fucking me?”

Bucky pulled back, breath hitching. He stood up abruptly, yelling, “What the fuck are you even talking about? I love you!” His blue eyes were watery. He croaked, “I mean who even are you anymore baby?” Your throat tightened. Fuck fuck fuck you needed booze.

AND I HOPE THAT I'VE KEPT YOU AMUSED

TO WIPE THAT SPIT RIGHT OFF MY BOOTS

Lies. Bucky was lying. Your brain whispered darkly, manipulating anything that might’ve been coherent though. He was bootlicking, appealing to that little soft part in your heart. Just enough to keep you on that string for his twisted amusement. You dialed Brock.

“Pick me up, bring a roadie stat.”

And when I'm home and thinking in the dark. I hope that none of this has had to go too far.

When it gets too late. To see me any other way.

He moved out a month later. Finally, your thoughts cheered. But why did it still hurt even when plastered on the ground? Bucky left a scathing note. You cried until your nose bled after. Fucking idiot, that’s your name.

‘Get help because I’m not going to see you lifeless in a coffin. Don’t contact me until you’re sober.’

Maybe you should get sober. But wasn’t this your plan? Run off the ones who really cared? Make Bucky hate you because it was easier than knowing he chose to leave you. Wanda even cut you off, Steve left a flyer for AA on your porch.

You took another swig.

Atleast you had this. The only thing within your grasp.

And it gets so hard to hold on. To everything that I want so bad.

[timaeusterrored]

(Something I was thinking about today✨)

Vax hadn’t been answering his phone. Not necessarily uncommon but normally he warned Kerry before he went into missions like that. He had been rather quiet as well, his smile not reaching his eyes this morning. Not wanting to get out of bed. He understood that feeling all too well.

Guadalupe had called him around five saying V had been in Jackie’s garage all day. Now he was asleep in his room. Kerry jumped to check what day it was, maybe it was that time all ready. But it wasn’t, V was just having an off day and needed to feel close to his brother. Kerry also understood that.

Kerry pulled into the Welles residence, V’s bike nowhere to be seen. Most likely in the garage. It was raining now, and Kerry hauled it inside.

Mama Welles was waiting for him in the living room with a shoe box in her lap. God he hadn’t seen something like that in years. A shoe box full of pictures.

“He’s still sleeping, I’ve been checking on him every 30 minutes or so. Something happen?” She was fair in thinking Kerry fucked up and sent her son into a spiral of silence, but as far as Kerry knew, he hadn’t done anything to upset Vax.

“Not that I know of?” He said softly, looking towards the stairs where his partner was somewhere upstairs.

“Sit with me, want to show you something.” She said, patting the space next to her. Even at his age, it was weird being alone with the woman that would possibly be his mother-in-law someday.

He sat next to her, and was offered a picture. He was greeted with a picture of V, his hair a dark blue, baby face and clean shaven, the beginnings of his snake tattoo on his side. He couldn’t help but smile a bit, seeing V so young and full of life, that smile Kerry loved so much on his face. V smiled like Johnny now… it was unsettling. But not a dealbreaker.

“He was about 18 in that picture, Vik gave me some of his old pictures since I had requested them. Wanted pictures of my other boy that’s not a mugshot.” Kerry’s eyes immediately went to the hilarious mugshot of his mainline above the TV for all to see. He looked so serious for a guy that had neon green hair at the time. Kerry shook his head.

“Figured you may like this one.” The next one he got was a picture of V and Jackie asleep on the couch, the two in a weird position of V basically smothering Jackie with his legs, sound asleep in a Second Conflict tank. He still had that tank top somewhere, mostly used it for painting and fixing the cars. His tattoo on his left arm was completed then, and the swirls on his hands were coming into place.

“And another.” This one took Kerry of guard, V was younger in it, maybe sixteen, with a broken and bloody nose with a big smile on his face. He was wearing a Samurai shirt in that one. “That was his first boxing match.” She said softly, chuckling.

Sometimes it hit Kerry that he’d never get to know this V. Yeah he was a kid in these pictures, but the ones with Jackie and his other friends pre-relic… he’d never know that V. His smile was different, his eyes held a light he didn’t have now. He loved his V yes, but he’d never get to know pre-relic V…

He looked up when he heard the stairs creaking, and his V came into the living room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a shirt that was way too big for him and a pair of sweats that must’ve been his that was still here from his time living here. He blinked at the sight of Kerry Eurodyne sitting on his mom’s couch, just… there.

“Hey…” he croaked out, his voice hoarse with sleep. He walked over, curling up next to Kerry. Then slowly looked at them.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, the pictures of V sitting on Kerry’s lap.

“You got to see and have pictures of me, I get to see pictures of you.”

“But-“

“No buts. You have a picture of me with a full mullet tucked behind the steering wheel of the Caliburn.” Kerry accused, making his partner deflate.

“But these are cringy.” V whined, picking up one.

“Yeah I think that’s the point. All parents have cringy pictures of their children to share with their partners.”

Kerry could still sense something was off with his partner, but just kissed his temple and enjoyed his moans and groans when Kerry was given pictures to admire of V’s youth.

“Such a cutie.” Kerry pinched his cheek teasingly when Mama Welles put the pictures away.

“You boys wanna stay for dinner? I have stuff to make your favorite.” Mama Welles smiled when V perked up.

“Zuppa Tuscana?” He asked, hopeful.

Mama Welles nodded and he looked at Kerry with those big eyes he could never say no too. “Like I could ever say no to you.” He said softly, kissing his nose.

V settled back, resting his head in Kerry’s lap and turned the TV on. Delicious smells came from the kitchen while the two waited, Kerry playing with his hair. He watched V more than the actual TV.

He had seen everything before, nothing new on TV or music… but V was a sight to behold, his light in his darkest hour. He quietly reached down and played with the engagement ring on V’s finger, making the merc smile a bit. His own smile.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Davey getting the shit beat out of him epilogue (ish) <3 (I am not a big fan of it but I suppose that’s just how it goes sometimes, this may get deleted and rewritten- davey is Very concussed)

“Heya Jackie,” Finch’s voice was little breathless, David registered, probably because he had had to essentially carry him most of the way to the lodging house. David had tried to hold his own weight but with every three or four steps the whole world would tip violently to the left and he’d be caught stumbling and only fixed upright by Finch’s grip around his waist

“Hey Finch.”

David tried to stand up a little straighter at the sound of Jack’s voice but could feeling himself actively failing at it.

“Maybe look up from the sketch pad cowboy.” Finch said, a little laboured.

“What- oh. Shit Davey?”

“The one and only.” He mumbled and it was difficult to speak around the what he assumed was a some what swollen jaw, or maybe the possible broken nose.

“The hell happened to you?”

Gently, with a hand from Jack, Finch lowered him to a bunk.

“You get two guesses.” Finch answered for him, because eveything was spinning slightly and David wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to get an answer out if he wanted to.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em tomorrow morning.” Jack muttered.

“Oh on my behalf?” And he felt kind of like he was floating, speaking felt like breathing. “I’m touched.”

“Hey Davey” and Jack’s hands were only either side of his cheeks holding his head still but even then it was hard to keep his gaze fixed on one spot. And vaguely he registered that Jack’s voice had taken on that very specific tone he had eventually categorised as worried but the fact that it was directed at him wasn’t something he could quite reconcile. “Think they knocked out your brains or something’ cuz you’re talking more shit than usual.”

“I think this is how I cope.” David intoned back, and the words felt floaty even to his own ears, he didn’t think too hard about it though, couldn’t when Jack was staring at him. His eyes were warm, his hands were warm too, David noticed; Jack in general was always warm. He ran hot in the way David ran cold.

He was pretty cold right now actually.

“No wonder they beat the shit out of you if you were being mouthy.”

“Oh. They said Les said something.” He thought about it for a second. “I’m just an extension of him I think.”

“Right, we both know that ain’t true.”

“It kinda is.”

“You’re your own person Davey.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Sure am.” Jack paused, “I can’t get your ma can I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jack looked away from him for a second, just long enough to meet eyes with Finch.

“Yeah thought not.” Jack sighed. “Looks like you’re staying at the lodging house tonight.”

And David hadn’t stayed at the lodging house before despite the litany of invitations that had been extended his ways. The late night poker games run by Race or the way some of the younger ones would sometimes ask him to read got him to stay late, but staying over would mean becoming a burden. Putting them out. He couldn’t do that. “Oh, I don’t wanna take anyone’s bed.”

“You won’t be.”

Admittedly, David was stubborn but he wasn’t taking anyone’s bed and what Jack was saying made no sense because he knew the lodging house was full. They’d only talked about it a few days earlier.

“I like lying on the floor anyway.”

(and that wasn’t even a lie. Just not something he admitted to people out loud usually. But sometimes the floor was the better option than sharing with Les who occasionally took to kicking in his sleep.)

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor Dave, not with your injuries. I think you’ve got a concussion.”

“Probably. Oscar slammed my head against the wall.”

And he should’ve been expecting the way Jack’s gaze darkened, shouldn’t have said anything in the first place because Jack was never going to react to the news differently. But his brain and his mouth weren’t as connected as they usually were and getting either one to do what he wanted was weirdly difficult in a way he couldn’t describe.

“Course he did.” Jack glowered, “I’m gonna slam Morris’s head into a wall t’morrow an’ see how he likes it.”

The black spots appearing at the edges of his vision were only serving to make Davey feel even more lightheaded than he was before but he couldn’t stop himself from catching Jack’s lower arm as he tried to pull away.

“Don’t do that.”

And Jack’s face was blurred but he looked incredulous, staring at Davey like he’d grown a second head. Like his request was unheard of.

“Dave have you seen yourself.”

“No, but I can feel it.” He blinked, intentional and hard in an attempt to clear his vision, to clear his head. “You’re just gonna make things worse.”

Jack sat back on his heels.

“Davey-“

“I wasn’t lying, they soaked me instead of Les. I don’t need you giving them a reason to go after him instead.”

“They wouldn’t, not really.”

But Davey couldn’t risk that. Not with the way Morris glared at him and Les in the mornings. And through the fog, he knew Jack knew it too.

“You really believe that?”

Jack’s silence was answer enough.

“Exactly.”

[league-of-sam]

Catching A Ghost | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

Ghost x Reader

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Simon 'GHOST' Riley x AFAB!Reader!OC 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

Catching A Ghost: Masterlist

Amsterdam was a beautiful city.

Full of character, culture, romance...

It only broke your heart more.

You'd barely said a word to anyone in the two weeks you'd been here, holed up in the new safe house hostel. Ghost was the same, and the two of you had made unsubtle attempts to avoid each other like the plague.

If you entered a room, he would leave. If you heard his footsteps approaching, you'd make yourself scarce. 

And it was driving the rest of the 141 absolutely insane.

They were beyond worried for you. You would barely eat, barely sleep. The dark circles under your eyes were telling. Sometimes, Price had to threaten to call Laswell just to get you to shower and change into some other clothes.

But he didn't dare ask what was going on - none of them did.

You'd all been living completely off the grid. No phones, except for a burner that Laswell used to contact (which Price guarded with his life), no internet. The only things you had for entertainment were each other and a television, that only played local channels.

Soap had come to your room one night after things ended, hearing you crying, screaming as you awoke from a nightmare. You told him everything, then.

Everything about your dreams, everything about your feelings for Ghost, everything that had ever been said between the two of you.

He comforted you, and even stayed with you for the rest of the night, holding you close as you sobbed over his comrade. Soap wanted to storm into Ghost's room, giving him a piece of his mind for letting you down, if only he hadn't been in with Ghost the night before, doing exactly the same.

Soap had gotten up to use the loo, only to find Ghost completely shitfaced, stumbling over his feet as he dragged an almost-empty bottle of whiskey to his room.

"What the hell are ya playin' at, L.T.? You don't drink like this." Soap groaned, helping him back to his room.

"I fucked it, Johnny, well and truly let 'er down this time."

"And ya think drowning yerself in the drink will make things better?"

"Makes me not feel it so much."

"Fuckin' steaming hell, Ghost. Ya unbelievable."

Tossing Ghost onto his bed, Soap snatched the bottle, tossing it into the bin next to him. Ghost whined, his mask pulled up to his nose so Soap could see his slack jaw.

"What ya do that for?"

"Just fuckin' shut it, L.T. Ya need to sort yourself out. We're all sick of whatever the fuck is going on with you and (Y/N). Fuckin' fix it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You have no fuckin' idea what I've been through, Johnny. You don't know what it's like- I can't take a risk like that."

Soap rolled his eyes, "I get it. Ya close yourself off to avoid making meanin'ful attachments so it doesn't hurt if you lose them. But you love her. And don't even try denyin' it. It's painfully, excruciatingly obvious. We all saw the way you looked at her, the way you kissed her back on the day we took Alejandro's base."

Ghost said nothing, not ready to admit it to himself.

"Y'know, my ma always used to tell me somethin' - sometimes, takin' a risk is the only good thing you can do...it's the only thing worth doing."

"I can't."

"Then you'll lose her forever."

Your grip on Soap's shirt was tight, your tears soaking through to his skin. He was whispering reassurances in your ears, trying his best to settle you.

Little did you know, Ghost was on the other side of the door, mask free, as his own tears fell down his face. He listened to every word between the two of you.

If he didn't hate himself before, he truly did now.

By the time you'd settled down, the sun was starting to rise, and birds were singing. Soap shifted from under you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead before slipping downstairs, making a tea for you, and coffee for him.

He shook you awake, placing it down next to you.

"Tea, for the English lady." he smiled.

"Thank you."

You sat up, bringing the mug to your lips and taking a small sip. Soap sat on the chair beside the bed, looking at you expectedly.

"Wow, not bad for a Scot."

He shifted in his seat happily, evidently proud of himself, "How's about you shower and get dressed and I take ye out today?"

You frowned, looking down at the drink, "I...I don't know, Johnny."

"C'mon pet, ya can't sit in your room and sulk forever."

"Who said I can't?"

"Me."

You cocked your head, giving him an unimpressed look. He returned it with an innocent smile, finishing off his coffee and standing, dragging the covers off you.

"Come on, up, now, that's an order."

You groaned, but took his hand, allowing him to pull you up, "I outrank you, sergeant, in case you forgot."

"Oh, how could I ever forget?" he rolled his eyes, pushing you toward the bathroom.

As the only girl on the team, the boys happily gave you the only room with an en-suite. You were eternally grateful for it, having spent most evenings crying under the water of the shower.

"I'll be back in 20, I want ye dressed and ready to go."

"Yes sir." you said, saluting him.

Over the months you'd spent with the 141, you'd found that it was almost impossible to stay miserable with Soap around. The man was the life of the party, a typical class-clown, and he would go to lengths beyond what was needed to make sure his friends were happy and healthy.

With everyone still asleep, you left a note on the table, letting your brother know that you'd gone out, and would be back later.

Then, you spent the day with Soap.

With the little cash he had, he took you for breakfast, then for ice cream, then to the local art museum, then out for lunch, and then out for dinner. Every step of the way, he was right there, making sure you were having a good time, and that you were feeling better.

As you sat on a bench overlooking the canal, taking in the sights with yet another ice cream in hand, Soap scooted closer to the point where your knees were knocking against one another.

You threw him a cheesy grin, which made him laugh.

"There's that smile."

"Shut up, MacTavish." you rolled your eyes.

"Ye gonna eat that?" he said, eying your cone.

You shoved it towards him with a sweet smile, "all yours, big guy."

He jiggled in his seat as excited as a child, and within seconds, the ice cream was no more. You sighed, placing your head on his shoulder. He moved with you, arm coming over to rest along your back, keeping you on his side.

"Talk to me, lass."

"Simon hates me, doesn't he?"

"No, actually...quite the opposite."

You looked up at him, confused, raising your head, "What do you know?"

His cheeks tinted red as he avoided your gaze, humming some tune under his breath as his knee bounced nervously.

"I said, what do you know, Soap?"

He winced as you moved closer, taking his face in his hands to force eye contact, "I can't say, pet, you know I can't-"

"You better tell me right now or I swear to God-"

"He loves you!"

Your eyes widened, hands dropping from his face.

"H-He...what?" your voice came out so small, barely a whisper.

"He loves ya, (Y/N). And it's scaring 'im shitless."

You couldn't help but scoff, even though inside, your heart was bursting, "He doesn't love me...you should have heard the stuff he said, Johnny."

"I don't need to, he told me everythin' two nights ago when I found 'im completely oot his face trying tae get back to his room."

"He was drinking? He doesn't drink-"

"Yep, I know. And all he did was tell me how much he knew he'd fucked up with ya."

You frowned.

You never wanted him to hurt like that, and it hurt you knowing he was.

"C'mon, let's get home before the Cap'n shoots me for takin' ya out."

Soap took your hand, pulling you from the bench, and the two of you strolled back to the house, admiring the twinkling lights strung up across the roads.

By the time you got back to the safe house, it was dark, but you'd had the best day. 

The second you walked through the door, Price came running, worry fuelling his manic state. Until he saw the smile on your face and the life in your eyes.

"Are you okay, love?" he whispered.

"Yeah, John, I'm okay now."

He squeezed you tightly, "please don't disappear without me knowing again, Simon's been losing his head all day I had to practically tie him down when he found out you were gone-"

"Wait, Ghost? The man that has ignored my existence for the last two weeks?"

"Look, love. I don't know what the fuck's goin' on but whatever it is, it needs sorting out. Can't have my team falling apart at the seams when shit's about to go down."

"He's the one with the problem-" you grumbled under your breath before he cut you off.

"Be the bloody grown up, (Y/N). Okay? For me?" he said, holding you at arms length by your shoulders.

You groaned, rolling your eyes, but ultimately nodded, "Fine."

"Good girl. And you, sergeant-" his attention turned to Soap, who was stood behind you, "what you did was fuckin' stupid, going out like that. But she's happy, so I'm gonna let it slide just this once. Ya hear me, MacTavish?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Sleep tight, little bug." Price said, giving you a firm kiss on the forehead before disappearing upstairs.

Soap grimaced, but nodded to his superior, and proceeded to take you back by the hand, leading you upstairs and to your room.

"Damn, a whole day and you walk me back to my door? Whoever the future Mrs MacTavish will be is a very lucky woman indeed." you smiled.

"What can I say? My mam raised a gentleman."

"Thank you for an amazing day, sergeant, you were right, I really needed it."

He stepped forward wrapping his arms around you, "Was my pleasure, pet. Glad t'see ye feelin' better."

"You're a really great friend, you know?"

"So I've been told." he smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead, "G'night."

"Night." you whispered.

Sighing, you closed your door softly, locking it behind you. Tossing your jacket onto the chair, you sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing your face with your hands.

"You're back."

You jumped out of your skin, whipping your small knife from your trousers and launching it into the darkness where the voice had come from. You stood up, fumbling to grab your other, until you looked over, the moonlight shining on the blade stuck into the wall.

"That's the second time you've thrown that at me."

Your hands dropped back to your sides as you panted, "Ghost what the fuck are you doing hiding in my room-"

"Where did you go?"

You furrowed your brows, "Soap took me around the city for the day."

"Like a date?"

"No. He was being a good friend."

Ghost sighed, his shoulders relaxing, relief washing over his features. He stepped forward, and you were able to see that he was mask-less, face in full view illuminated by the light seeping through the window.

"So what if it was a date?" you growled, ignoring his presence by continuing to get ready for bed. "You broke up with me, remember? You didn't want me."

His heart twanged painfully by the tone of your voice, "I changed my mind."

You scoffed, standing, "You can't just change your mind. You can't decide you want me just 'cause you spent the day thinking I was on a date with someone else."

"But I did-"

"No. You made that decision. You can't just keep playing with my feelings like this."

Your voice cracked as your eyes stung, tears raising to the surface.

"I know...I fucked up." he said, moving to stand in front of you.

He lifted his hand, his fingers grazing the skin of your cheek. Despite trying to resist, your eyes fluttered shut, and you leaned into his touch.

"These last two weeks have been the worst weeks of my life without ya." he whispered.

"You broke my heart, Ghost."

"I know."

He knew now the full extent of how hurt you were.

Because you kept calling him Ghost.

Not Simon.

You whimpered, trying to move away from him, shaking your head. It was too painful, because he'd meant every word the last time you spoke, and you knew that. He followed you, though, forcing your body against his, pressing you against the pillar on the bed.

You looked up at him, cheeks wet, "What do you really want? Just be honest with yourself for once, please."

"I want t'be the one you come to with your nightmares, I want to be the person you run to when ya need someone, for anythin'. I want to be the one who takes ya out for the day to make ya happy...I want to be the one that brings ya tea in the mornin's."

"You could have been...you could have had all of that, I said as much."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting with himself once again, "I'm scared."

"Do you want me?"

A tear rolled down your cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, leaning down to place his forehead against yours.

"No...I need you." 

[kaiyonohime]

Didn’t kill my husband.

Very near thing, but I didn’t.

So yesterday I told my husband to watch the baby while I baked the cranberry pie I have been wanting to bake for the last month (and in my exhaustion addled state I put raisins in it too, for some damn reason).  This was an easy task.  They are in the living room, the living room is next to the kitchen, and the baby is sleeping.

When the baby wakes up they’ll need a bottle.  The bottle just needs to be warmed up.

I was wrong.

So the baby started screaming, as baby does when they wake up hungry.  0-world is ending screaming, I swear.  Poor thing, they didn’t wake up full because they didn’t eat in their sleep (though they have fallen asleep eating plenty of times).  Husband comes into the kitchen to pour the hot water for the bottle... and then stays.

He doesn’t take the bottle into the living room to warm up.  He just stays in the kitchen while the baby screams alone in the living room.  And then the baby goes silent.

I have to run out of the kitchen while halfway through chopping an apple to rub the baby’s chest because they were screaming so hard they couldn’t breathe in while screaming, and they had screamed themselves into a bloody nose.

All while my husband continues to still be in the kitchen.

The baby’s diaper has also exploded everywhere, meaning that baby had needed it changed at least once while I was in the kitchen.

My husband came into the living room a few minutes later with me rocking the baby and trying to soothe them, and just hands me the bottle and goes back to fucking around on his phone.

I lost it at him, and told him off, and his response?  Well he didn’t know any better, and he didn’t notice the diaper being an issue.

So I can’t leave the baby alone with him because the baby won’t really be looked after.  Their diaper won’t get changed, and they could die because of a screaming fit.  

Fucking hell.  I had wanted to start running again in the evenings, but now I can’t trust that I can take half an hour to myself while leaving the baby with him, so I’ll have to check my mother in laws schedule to see if she can watch the baby for half an hour in the evenings.  Because clearly her son can’t.

Oh, and on top of everything the air con downstairs doesn’t heat (hasn’t for two years, but me trying to get my husband to have it fixed has gone nowhere), and the kerosene heater is failing and keeps shutting off after ten minutes.  So I’ve pretty much abandoned the downstairs of the house because we’re getting snow this week.  Thankfully my mother in law stepped in on that and a repair guy is coming tomorrow, and if they can’t fix it (it’s an older air con, it may just be cheaper to replace it to be honest, and more cost effective in the long run), we’ll go and get a new kerosene heater.

Because no heat in main areas of a Japanese house sucks.  Japanese houses don’t have insulation and have single pane windows, it double sucks.

I’m so fucking tired.  I was busy holding the baby all day (it was bath day, baby is especially needy after a bath), I didn’t get lunch.  Or much of breakfast.  I ate two pieces of candy and downed a CC Lemon Big.  It’s been an entire fucking week and it’s only Monday.

And the hospital decided to schedule mine and the baby’s appointments on two different days rather than the same day, so I get to have that fun headache twice this week.

Things Japanese hospitals do not have: changing tables anywhere (literally, no changing tables, not even in the baby area), no water fountains, and a culture that views breastfeed as sexual and no way to heat up a bottle or a place to breastfeed in private.

It’s going to be the 2020 of weeks by the end this week, and I still have to bake a Christmas cake.  Thank fuck it’s tradition to just buy KFC for Christmas dinner.

[pepperonibread]

Emmylou [ONESHOT]

read on ao3 or below the line break. This will serve as a home for all my little silly builderxLogan onshots. a/n: This was something I wrote and finally edited. Fluff and cowboy shinanigans. Rating may change depending. I see a lot of fic's out there with Logan that have to do with the actual plot (and I love all of them). And here I am writing dumb cowboy stuff. Don't have too many of these since we don't actually know what happens to him at the end of the game - but I love writing shit like this.

Emmylou

Kiran loved to spend time with Logan because his personality was like a fantastic piece of art—brightly colored, full of depth, alive and unpredictable. She saw him as a man who thought deeply about his principles, which were the cornerstones of his being, and how he could apply them to his life in the best way possible. But it was his stubbornness that really drew her in; she found it both humorous and charming, as though she was witnessing a little kid's temper tantrum at epic proportions.

The irony (and challenge) was that Logan's very nature could be difficult to pin down. At times he was quiet and thoughtful, but other times he behaved impulsively, chasing after elusive monsters whose names sometimes slipped out of Kiran's memory. His desire to discover the mysteries of the desert reached beyond logic; it was pure fascination that drove him along those murky roads.

Adding to the complexity of her marriage to Logan was his loyal companion, Rambo. The animal was a living embodiment of Logan's eccentric side: always unpredictable and often disconcerting.

One morning as dawn approached, Kiran felt her peaceful sleep being disturbed by Logan's unexpected touch on her arm. She groaned and swatted away his hand before mumbling groggily, "What are you doing?"

Logan's voice pierced through Kiran's sleepy state like a sharp blade, adding to her confusion. "Kiran." He spoke her name slowly, "You best rouse yourself, 'cause I've got somethin' for ya."

At this strange hour, when most folks were tucked away in their beds, what could he possibly have planned? The clock's hands indicated an hour that was far closer to the dead of night than the beginning of a new day. Even more puzzling was his whereabouts before this predawn rendezvous. But she didn't ask.

Logan had done his best to wake her, but all Kiran offered in response were some languid groans of complaint. She adjusted her position on the pillow, seeming to be searching for a way to keep out the dawn light and retain her sleepy state. She held her eyes closed tight, an unconscious show of defiance against the morning's arrival.

Her semiconsciousness was rudely interrupted by a jolt of cold and wetness on her forehead, sending a shockwave down her entire body. She jumped as her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected sight before her. There, on the bed, a small, milk-chocolate-colored baby goat. Its nose had gone from her forehead to exploring the hair on her head.

"What the fuck?" she yelped, disbelief registering in her voice. As she shifted her position, the goat let out a questioning bleat, its eyes fixed intently on hers as if trying to measure her reactions.

Kiran's gaze darted to Logan, her incredulous expression mirrored by his shoulders that shook with laughter. His shock of white hair seemed to shimmer in the soft light of the room, and the gleam in his eyes deepened as he witnessed her flabbergasted reaction.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded, a playful annoyance lacing her tone.

In between chuckles, Logan managed to catch his breath, his amusement evident in his voice. "Ain't she a sight to behold? Our newest family member, Kiran." He offered a sweeping gesture toward the goat, his grin wide and infectious. "And, to preemptively answer your next question, she's a goat, just like Rambo. Although, for now, she's a teeny bit smaller. She's got a whole lot of growin' ahead of her before she's as big as him."

Kiran's sigh was a combination of impatience and resignation, and with a small shrug she handed the wriggling goat to Logan. He accepted it deftly as if he had done this many times before.

There was a touch of teasing in her voice as Kiran quipped, "Looks like she found the right person, then."

A look of tenderness passed over Logan's face as he held the goat in his embrace. He ran his hands slowly over its fur in a calming caress.

"Been followin' her around for a few days now," he articulated, his words tinged with a hint of worry. "No sign of her mama anywhere."

As Logan spoke, his eyes stayed focused on the little goat. His touch was gentle yet confident, a reflection of his knowledge in workings with these types of animals. The goat seemed relaxed and comfortable as Logan held her, looking up at him with curiosity.

His gaze shifted to Kiran and he smiled softly. "Just take a look at that face," he said, his admiration for the baby creature clear in his expression. There was an authentic fondness in his tone when he spoke about the latest arrival.

Kiran's brow furrowed, "Logan, what am I supposed to do when she's all grown up? And what about Twister?" Her thoughts drifted to her copper-colored horse, undoubtedly resting soundly in the stable. Kiran longed to be in that state of slumber herself. "You know Twister won't exactly welcome her with open hooves."

Glancing sideways, she observed the baby goat. Logan's response carried an air of casual indifference, with a tone that suggested he was familiar with Twister's obstinate character for some time now. "That old horse ain't exactly friendly to anyone, not even himself."

Sitting on the bed, Logan held the baby goat in front of his face, their eyes meeting in a silent agreement. He used an exaggerated tone as he spoke directly to the tiny creature. "Emmylou, darlin', I don't think your new mama likes you just yet," He said with a sly smile and a glance towards Kiran.

Kiran in return rolled her eyes. "I never said that— wait, did you already name her?"

Logan was certain in his answer; there was no questioning it. "Well, sure I did," he replied like it was the most obvious thing. Of course he would already name it. 

The realization washed over Kiran like a wave—the name, the attachment forming in an instant. She chided herself inwardly for entertaining the notion that she could somehow avoid Logan's penchant for forming a swift and heartfelt connection with the baby goat. Kiran let out a sigh as she leaned back into the comfortable hug of the pillows once more.

"Aw, c'mon now, Kiran," Logan coaxed, his voice gentle as he settled Emmylou back into his arms. "You've got a soft spot for Rambo, don't ya?"

She couldn't bring herself to dislike Rambo, understanding Logan's deep connection with the giant goat. Still, there were moments when she was frustrated by his presence in their living space, as if he had become an extension of Logan himself. Just the week before, for instance, Rambo had stuck his head through the bedroom window and helped himself to the curtains - this wasn't the first time that had happened.

Kiran's response held a hint of humor, the words coming off as more of an amused surrender. "I guess she's kind of cute," she admitted, her words acknowledging the undeniable magnetic attraction emanating from the tiny animal in Logan's arms.

Logan seized the opportunity to playfully elaborate, his voice taking on an animated lilt. "Imagine it, Kiran—Rambo out there, all by his lonesome, not a soul to chat with. You know Twister ain't exactly a conversationalist."

Kiran's response was punctuated by an exasperated huff, her gaze tracking Emmylou's every move as Logan gently set her down on the bed. The baby goat responded with a dainty yawn, a poignant reminder that sleep was a coveted luxury Kiran was currently missing out on.

Logan let his mind wander into the realm of possibilities as he began to unbutton his clothing. He said with excitement, "We can teach her whatever we want, Kiran. She's like a clean slate."

Kiran's face softened finally, her stubbornness slipping away as a tiny grin played on her lips.

"Fine, fine. Take her outside then," she relented, her tone carrying a mixture of playfulness and genuine acceptance.

Logan's response was prompt, accompanied by a good-natured shake of his head. "She's a bit too small for that, Kiran," he explained patiently. "And if I were to wake Twister from his slumber right now, he'd give Emmylou quite the ruckus." His gaze softened, "Plus, she's been cozyin' up with me these past couple of nights. Wouldn't want her thinkin' I've deserted her, would we?"

Kiran couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at his rationale, "So, you've taken up the role of goat mama now?" she asked.

Her gaze remained riveted on Emmylou, her interest piqued by the goat's intriguing antics. The small creature struck an oddly endearing pose, and before Kiran could fully react, her arm experienced an unexpected nudge from Emmylou's head.

"Alright, enough of that," she chided, her words carrying a tone of gentle amusement. "Time for both of us to get some sleep," she added with a comical lilt as if Emmylou might miraculously understand her intentions.

A soft chuckle reached Kiran's ears, drawing her attention to Logan. His laughter was evident in his eyes as he observed the interaction. As the baby goat was gently relocated and Logan adeptly settled onto the bed, a practiced routine.

A faint crease appeared on Kiran's brow as her thoughts shifted toward practical matters. "So, how long until she's as big as Rambo?" she inquired.

Logan's response carried a matter-of-fact tone as he laid back into the pillows, accompanied by a thoughtful look. "Give it 'bout a year or so, if my memory serves me right," he shared.

Kiran's lips parted in a sigh, the weight of her exasperation evident as she sank back into the embrace of the pillows. "Hold up, you mean to say we'll be sleeping with her for a whole year?" The notion still felt like a hazy concept, her mind struggling to fully embrace the idea of sharing their sleeping quarters with the lively goat for such a prolonged stretch of time.

Logan flashed Kiran a confident smile, trying to show her that the goat was only temporary. "Just until she feels at home," he answered calmly as if her worry wasn't a big deal.

Kiran responded with a combination of amusement and doubt. "You think this is a phase?" she teased.

"Well, I reckon we need to make sure she knows the ins and outs before she embarks on her own escapades," he explained, his words carrying a touch of lightheartedness.

Kiran let out an exaggerated, melodramatic sigh. "I'm just hoping that our bed isn't going to become a permanent stay for her."

The twinkle in Logan's blue eyes only deepened, his amusement undiminished as he settled into the bed beside her. "No need to get all bothered about it." he drawled with a mischievous grin. "Before you know it, Emmylou will be out gallivantin' with Rambo."

Kiran's musings danced through the air, her voice a delicate blend of wistfulness. "Funny how not so long ago, this very space was my workshop. It's a bit surreal to think that now it's become a sanctuary for all sorts of creatures that venture from the Peripheries."

Logan moved his arm to draw Kiran closer, and she nestled into his side, her head finding its place against his chest. She could hear the reassuring rhythm of his beating heart.

"Yeah," Logan concurred, his voice like a gentle embrace. It carried a warmth, laced with a unique tenderness that only he could infuse. "Life has a knack for unfoldin' in certain ways, doesn't it?" His words held a trace of awe as if he marveled at the journey they had embarked upon together.

Kiran's tone shifted between amusement and surprise as she observed Emmylou climbing onto Logan. "Well, looks like someone's a bit jealous," Kiran joked, her eyes rolling as she adjusted herself to make room for the little goat. She spoke again in an apologetic voice, addressing Emmylou, "Well, I'm sorry for stealing your mama away for a little bit."

Kiran settled back, her movements accompanied by the comforting rustle of blankets being drawn up to her chin. She cast an amused glance at the unfolding scene before her.

“Are you jealous, Kiran?” Logan asked with a hint of teasing in his voice as he placed a hand on Emmylou's back. “Don't they teach you about the importance of sharin' where you come from?”

Kiran's lips quirked into a grin, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Well, I've been known to have my moments," she admitted with a wink.

"Well, it's a good thing Emmylou is here now I guess," he said, glancing between Kiran and the goat.

Kiran's interest was piqued, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she remembered Logan being gone. "So, you were going around for two whole days just to find a goat?" 

Logan smiled sheepishly, a mix of guilty pleasure and honest fondness playing in his eyes. "I can't say I was just after goats for you," he confessed with an amused edge to his voice. "But I guess Emmylou here did take up a bit of my time."

"You're something else, Logan," Kiran said with an affectionate chuckle. "Putting yourself in danger for a goat's sake—where would I be without you?"

Logan's laughter echoed softly in the air, and Kiran felt its warmth. "Guess we'd both be missin' out," he said.

"You sure have an interesting way of showing your feelings," she replied with an amused smile. A yawn slipped out of her mouth, a reminder of the hour.

Logan's response was swift and tender, his movements guided by an instinctual closeness. Drawing nearer, he leaned in to press a soft and lingering kiss against her lips. The warmth of his affection enveloped her.

A glint danced in her eyes as they parted, a contented sigh accompanying her words. "Well, I guess I can't complain then. Thanks for the goat chase, Logan." 

His own grin matched her playful mood, his eyes holding a steady affection. "You're welcome, darlin'," he murmured, the endearment a testament to the depth of their connection. With a gentle touch, he settled back into the pillows.

Kiran's gaze drifted toward Emmylou, who lay curled in peaceful slumber, a sense of maternal instinct stirring within her. A strange urge prompted her to reach out, her fingers gently brushing over the sleeping creature's soft fur—a touch that conveyed both tenderness and curiosity. She looked at her for a while. 

With a soft poke to his side, Kiran roused her husband from his own reveries. He grumbled out a response that seemed to mix sleepiness and bemusement.

"What's on your mind?" he inquired, his eyes remaining closed as he engaged in their late-night exchange.

Kiran's question tumbled out, the words flowing with hesitancy and hesitation. "Did you bring home a baby goat because you want an actual baby?" Her query was direct; her curiosity edged into nervousness. She quietly asked herself if the choice of words she used captured the essence of her thoughts.

In response, Logan was a little more candid than previously. "I wouldn't say that it was the first thing that came to my mind," he answered, his voice light in the dimly lit room. His lips curved into a soft smile as he added, "It's obvious you're not easily fooled, Kiran."

The idea hadn't really crossed her mind until now. Kiran's fingers traced an absent-minded pattern on the blanket as she considered Logan's words. She watched as he stretched his arms above his head in a languid yawn. His voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, broke the silence.

"You think that maybe Emmylou and Rambo could use a bit more human company?" Logan's gaze now wandered toward the sleeping baby goat. "Andy can't quite keep up with the antics, and poor old Twister could use some variety too."

Kiran's curiosity was piqued by Logan's suggestion, her brow arching in contemplation. "Are you implying you want more than one kid?" she ventured, her words laced with a blend of humor and skepticism. The idea of Logan wanting a large family didn't entirely surprise her.

Logan's response was accompanied by an easygoing chuckle, his gaze turning towards her. "Well, I reckon havin' six youngsters around could be quite the liveliness," he mused, his tone reflecting a hint of playfulness.

Kiran's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the number. "Six?" she repeated incredulously, her lips parting in astonishment.

A lighthearted smile tugged at Logan's lips, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Okay, maybe four," he conceded.

Kiran's lips curved up in amusement as she heard his response, her skepticism evident. Yet as she glanced up and their eyes met, the corners of her mouth softened and something about his expression made her heart sink with fondness. "Four, huh?" she echoed mockingly. 

Logan's gaze held hers for a moment longer before a thoughtful look crossed his features. "Well, how about we start with two and see where life takes us?" he proposed, his voice warm and steady as he sought her approval.

____

There's a song I love by First Aid Kit called Emmylou - which I feel like everyone knows since they only overplayed it at every chain restaurant like seven years ago. Anyway, just a fun fact. If you enjoyed it, let me know. I just imagine Logan doing dumb cute shit like this okay? I suppose if there is anything specific you want to see, let me know?

[ophelia-jones]

Shane was in more pain than physical as he let Isadora wash his swollen face and mend what she could of his injuries. What had he become? Negan had executed an innocent man in front of him, and he had felt powerless to do a damned thing about it. Hell, he hadn't even had the strength of will to defend himself.

He was mad as hell, now, but what good did it do after the fact? Once upon a time, he had believed in right and wrong as if it were as simple as day and night, but the truth was, life was more like dawn and dusk. Always a blend of the two. He owed Negan, that was a fact. He had lost more than he could afford to lose to the man, and that was on him. 

That didn't give Negan the right to take a man's life so casually, just to hide his involvement in a crime. One that, realistically, he would never be punished for. Even if it was to pay off their debt to him, he wasn't the one who had robbed the bank. He would have to give the money back, though. Negan valued money more than a man's life.

No, he valued the power. He would do anything to keep hold of the grip he had on this county and its people. He justified taking a man's life by telling himself he could keep the county safer than the law. He believed fear was more powerful than respect. 

He wasn't entirely wrong. 

"Deputy Walsh, you should go home and sleep. You won't heal if you don't," Isadora told him gently.

Shane looked into the woman's gentle brown eyes and smiled; well as best he could with his lip split and face swollen. She was a rare find; a gentle, kind woman. She was also, Shane decided as he looked into her big, dark eyes, the prettiest woman he had ever seen. She had full lips and a wide smile that lit her up like a lantern. 

"I'll try, but there are some pretty nasty folks out there right now. Someone's got to protect the pretty ladies here in New Hope from bandits and murderers," he told her. She rolled her eyes slightly but smiled at him.

"Hey, how about some of that nursing over here now? I got shot in my God-damned leg, he just got the shit beat out his lily ass!" Merle called to Isadora - as he had doing the entire time she had been tending to Shane.

"Hey! For the last time, shut the fuck up before I shut you up, man," Shane bellowed at Merle. Dwight sat in the corner with his knees up, head down. He wanted no part in angering Shane.

"It's ok, it's ok, gracias," Izzy told Shane, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder and walking over to the cell, where Merle had his face squeezed between the bars.

"I think a kiss would fix ol' Merle up right, sugar," He was saying with a sleazy grin when Izzy punched him directly on the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted out and Merle reeled back, falling onto the cot so hard it nearly collapsed under him.

"Vete a la mierda! El asqueroso.  That's for stealing my mother's locket," she told him, turning on her heel and walking out of the jail as Shane laughed despite the pain in his lip. 

"What's going on in there?" Rick asked a note of amusement in his voice at the sound of Shane's laughter. It was a relief after seeing him in the condition he was in. 

"De nada. How is the shoulder, ricito?" she asked, looking into his eyes as he stood with his head cocked to one side and a bemused smile on his handsome face. 

"It's all right, thanks to you," he replied, leaning slightly toward her as he spoke. She felt a rush of blood to her cheeks and lowered her eyes a bit, hiding them beneath long black lashes.

"What does that mean? Ricito?" he asked, and Izzy closed her eyes, embarrassed. Then turned to look at Rick.

"Ah. It mean's 'Curly hair' it's like a pet name, I guess you might call it," she admitted and Rick grinned, looking up at the sky. He nodded and blushed, searching for the right response. It had been a very long time since a woman flirted with him. 

"Well," he paused here. Izzy would have panicked about what he was about to say. But she had gotten to notice that this was just the way he spoke. He would pause, suck his cheeks in and look away slightly, then nod his head and continue. 

"I like it when you call me Ricito," he told her with a smile, his blue eyes returning to meet her own. Izzy's heartbeat was in an odd syncopated rhythm and though she was becoming self-conscious about how much she was smiling, she couldn't seem to stop. 

"Hey, be careful with this one, she'll give you a black eye if you don't show her some respect," Shane said, stepping out to join them and breaking the happy little bubble that had formed around them. Rick shot her a questioning look, but before she could explain, Jess rounded the corner with Jerry. The somberness they wore on their faces brought them all back to the reality of the situation. 

"The undertaker is working on preparing him for burial," Jess informed them. "He has to build a bigger coffin. Do we have any information on his family? Someone we should notify?"  Rick sighed and bowed his head, feeling guilty about his momentary happiness. 

"I'll send a telegram to the US Marshals, but he didn't have any family to speak of. He was a career soldier, dedicated to his profession." Rick said.

"Well, at least he was close to a friend who would see he was put to rest respectfully," Jess commented, nodding to Rick. 

"What next, boss? Where do we go from here?" Jerry asked quietly. He was a big man but with the gentlest spirit of anyone Rick had ever known. He was worried for him, given all that had been happening. He wanted to send him home, relieve him of his duty to protect - but he knew he couldn't afford to.

"Get the rifles loaded, we need to be prepared to hold the jail. Once men start drinking and talking at the saloon they're likely to get the idea in their heads to come and hurry justice along for these two." Rick told him.

"But they were locked up when Marshall Ford was killed," Jerry said, genuinely confused that people would punish men they knew for a fact had not committed the crime.

"They know they were working with the people who did it, and they know where to find them. That's enough for most men around here," Rick replied. Shane hung his head and frowned, his eyes distant. Izzy said a silent prayer for them all.

Kate stood outside the saloon, searching for a cool breeze.  They needed rain, which is a thing she never thought she would say after leaving Ireland where it was always pissing it down. The sun had been her favorite part of life here in this strange new country, but there was such a thing as too much sun. She saw Isadora coming down the street from the jail and stepped out to meet her.

"Isadora, how've you been?" She greeted the woman.  As much as she hated to admit it, Kate was beginning to miss the companionship of other women. It was unexpected, to be honest - she thrived upon being able to do anything a man could do, but having a chat with a man was a far cry from making conversation with another woman.

"Well enough, Kate, and yourself?" Izzy greeted the woman formally. She was impressed by her but also a bit intimidated.  

"Ah, what shite!" Kate declared. "What's troubling you, lass? It's written all over your face." Izzy laughed in surprise at Kate's crude, plain speaking.  There was a socially expected way for women to address one another around here, but she should not be surprised that Kate either did not know or care about that.

"There's been another shooting, the Marshal is dead and the deputy is injured. The newspapers always have stories of robberies and shoot-outs but New Hope has always been quiet, comparatively," Izzy confessed. 

"What about those knuckles? Did you jump into the fray and rescue that handsome devil of a sheriff?" Kate teased, noting the smile that sprang to Izzy's face at the mention of Rick Grimes. 

"No - I did punch the man that robbed us, though," she admitted.

"No! Well, look at you!" Kate laughed, nudging her shoulder. "I'll make a right gunfighter out of you yet!" 

"I don't know about that," Izzy replied. "I'd better get home before dark. Take care, Kate," she said the last so sincerely, Kate was moved by it. Other than Aaron, not many people in this world gave a damn if she was well. 

"Same to you, lass," she replied, and when she turned she saw a long, lean figure approaching. He wore a black shirt and duster over a pair of the blue denim pants cowboys favored for their durability. Kate couldn't complain about the look of them, either. 

"Well, speak of the devil," she murmured to herself. She hadn't wanted to admit it to but she'd been disappointed the last few nights when he hadn't stopped in to join her at the tables. There were plenty of others eager to play, Shane had been fairly regular company despite the fact she drank him under the table and took him for every dime he had. 

Eugene was good for a laugh, the man loved the sound of his own voice and was always eager for her attention. She got a kick out of the strange little man.

Jesus had tried his hand at the tables with her as well, but quickly admitted he was out of his league and took to sitting at the bar with Aaron. This had disappointed her a bit - he was clever and handsome. It wasn't common to find that in a man.

Speak of the devil indeed, Negan was, by her judgment the handsomest man she'd seen since she'd been here, and he had one hell of a way with words. He said his people had come England somewhere, but she was dead certain he was mistaken. They must've been Irish because that man had the gift of the gab if she'd ever seen it; and that SMILE. 

"Five card stud?" she called out to him.

"You read my fucking mind, gal."

*** 

Rick insisted Shane go home for the night as the evening wore on and the town remained quiet.  They needed to stay strong and vigilant until the judge arrived the next day to sentence the men. He was a man of justice, but justice which was fair to everyone, without fear of cruel and unusual punishment. 

Merle sat quietly now, a wet rag held to his sore nose - but Rick suspected it was the bruised ego he was nursing more than anything else. 

"Sheriff?" Dwight asked quietly as if Merle couldn't hear him.

"Yes, Dwight?" Rick walked over to the cell and looked at the thin man with straggly blonde hair and a scarred face.

"Would you honor a last request?" the man asked, his eyes on the floor. 

"Depends on what it is. What are you asking for?" Rick replied. 

"We ain't gonna die!" Merle told him as if Dwight was overreacting; but not only was hanging a possibility - it was by far the most likely outcome.

"I didn't ask you, did I? You're the one who killed me by getting me involved in this!" Dwight snapped, turning as if he might swing at the older man. Rick wasn't sure if it was because he'd seen Merle lose a fight to a woman earlier, or if it was because he was indeed walking a knife's edge with death. Dwight had always been meek, but not anymore.

"That's bullshit!" Merle sat up in the cot and yelled at Dwight. "You owe Negan, too! And so did everyone else out there with us!" 

"Everybody but…" Dwight stopped himself before he said Daryl's name. Not that he gave half a damn about Daryl, but Merle might kill him with his bare hands if he told on his brother.

"It doesn't matter! All that matters is every man out there agreed to do what we did. I ain't to blame for what YOU choose to do." Merle said, sitting back on the cot once more. He still wanted to beat Dwight to death but it had gotten too close to risking Daryl's freedom, so he held back.  

"What did you want to ask me, Dwight?" Rick asked to draw his attention away from Merle and avoid a fight between the two. 

"My wife, Sherry, is still back in Minnesota. Would you let her know I'm dead? But don't say how. I don't want her to blame herself," he said.

"Why would she blame herself?" Rick asked, tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes.

"See, I had the money to bring her out here with me, but I lost it," Dwight explained.

"To Negan," Rick said. It wasn't a question, he had no doubt. Dwight nodded.

"I did what I did because I was trying to get that money back," Dwight concluded. Rick frowned at this, he could understand a man would be driven to anything for a purpose like that. 

"What would you like me to write to her? How it happened." Rick asked.

"We ain't gonna die!" Merle insisted.

"Don't matter, just say I got sick, I guess. That would probably be the easiest," Dwight told Rick gratefully. 

"I'll see it done," Rick assured him.

An hour or so later, after Jess and Jerry had gone home, Rick was dozing at the desk. It was nearly sunrise, long since the time he would expect a lynch mob.  But there was one thing he hadn't thought of.

Daryl Dixon.

Rick woke to the sound of a pistol cocking and the feeling of cold steel on the back of his neck.

"Don't move," Daryl ordered, his voice coming from low in his chest. He was dead serious.

** 

Shane decided to stop into the Saloon for something to help him sleep, and the first person he saw was Negan. The bastard grinned at Shane as if he were admiring his handiwork. Still, Shane leaned against the bar and ordered two shots. He wasn't going to be pushed out of town by that son of a bitch. 

"It was that younger Dixon brother, I'm telling ya!" one of the men nearby raised his voice as he spoke to another man. 

"I'm telling you that Daryl went on business for Carol. We got a telegram out to him to tell him to come home, though," the second man said. He had long, straight hair and a beard that reminded Shane of a painting of Jesus. Shane smirked a bit, knowing the truth but admiring the loyalty of Daryl's friend.

"That Dixon boy ain't no good, ain't none of 'em ever been any good," the older man said dismissively. 

"Why don't you ask someone who was there?" suggested Negan, gesturing to Shane. Shane shot Negan a sneer.

"Oh deputy! I didn't realize you were here!" the older man said, turning and slurring at Shane. "You can settle this, was it the Dixon man?"

Shane could see Negan watching him to see if he would stick to the story. Either that or he was just torturing him for fun. Probably both.

"No, it wasn't Daryl Dixon," Shane confirmed Jesus' story. 

"Then who was it, who killed that man?" came the obvious question. Shane turned to give Negan a long, threatening look. Negan lifted his eyebrows as if to ask, "do you really have the balls?" 

He almost said it, that he'd witnessed Negan murder Abraham. But then everyone would have to ask why Shane was standing there, and not arresting him. He couldn't explain that and still look anyone in the eye.

"Never seen them before. Just passing through, maybe." Shane said, turning away from Negan. He didn't want to see that mother fucking grin.

Shane ordered two more shots.  It was then that he decided that Negan had to die.