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ghouljams · 5 months

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Build Me a Castle of Memories Rating: M Word Count: 6.8k Tags: hurt/comfort, christmas fic, Ghostxf!oc/f!reader, background Pricexf!oc, dissociation, anxiety, grief, 09 Ghost's backstory, Ghost reconciling with his past, dad!Ghost, baby oc Summary: Ghost has never had what you would call a happy Christmas, but you have and that chafes more than he wants it to. He wishes it didn't, but he doesn't know how to stop it. Maybe he was doomed from the start.

“Simon, wake the fuck up, we got chores.”

Ghost folds his pillow over his ears and rolls over, away from the pounding of your fist against the door. There’s nowhere to escape the noise in the little one room house, but damn if he can’t try. He presses the pillow more tightly against his ears, squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like a kid again, your insistent knocking filling in holes in his memory he’d rather forget.

His father banging on the door, screaming as he tries to shield Tommy. His mother’s voice attempting to pacify him. The crack of skin against skin, the soft shocked noise that comes from being struck. A sharp yelp, a plea, but the banging on the door doesn’t stop.

Ghost jerks awake again. His mind struggling to disconnect from the past and focus on the present. How long have you been trying to wake him? He tosses the quilt off and grabs his mask. He needs to get away from this memory, and you’re just in time to help. The mask is pulled on as he goes to yank the door open.

You stare up at him, unapologetic for the early hour. Actually you look a little annoyed it took him so long to get up. Your eyes drop down, and Ghost leans against the door frame to let you look. One nice thing about Texas he supposes, it’s still warm in the winter. Warm enough he doesn’t need more than a pair of shorts to sleep in.

Your eyes pull back up to meet his and he cocks a brow.

You’re cute in an oversized jumper and shorts. He wonders if you’ve started chores, must have since your boots already have mud on them. “Is it a Ghost day today?” You ask, referring to his mask. He hums.

“What do you need, Princess?” He’s already tired of the direction this conversation is taking. Better to keep you both on track and avoid unnecessary topics. December is starting to chafe despite the climate. The feed store had giant candy canes out front the last time he passed it, and a tree lot has already been erected by the church. Must be a merry time of year, not that Ghost’s ever enjoyed it.

“Momma wants the Christmas tubs, and I need another set of hands with the trailer.” You explain, dangling the keys from your fingers. Ghost hums again, you shouldn’t have trouble with a few boxes of decorations, not enough to need his help at least. It’s a good excuse to grab some time alone with you though, one he’s happy to take.

You’re always a welcome distraction from the tightness in his chest.

“Lemme get my boots,” He grumbles, turning back into the house. He leaves the door open for you, knows you’ll follow him in and make yourself at home. It’s charming, you’re charming, if a little annoying.

Sure enough the door clicks shut behind him, and he hears you fussing in the kitchen with the kettle. Ghost is tightening his belt when you offer him a to-go mug of tea. It always tastes better when you make it, the thermos is warmer, the bitterness a little softer, the sugar a little sweeter.

He burns his tongue on the scalding liquid as you pluck his hat from the coat rack by the door and settle it on your head. You toss a smile over your shoulder at him, and it’s like a sunrise over the hills.

The darkness of memory scurries back where he can lock it. The house feels gentler somehow, he feels gentler. Softer around the edges when he rubs his thumb against your cheek.

“Come on ya big softy,” You laugh, patting his chest, “The quicker we get started the quicker we get done.”

Ghost huffs, “They’re Christmas decorations, how long could they take?”

Ten tubs in Ghost decides your mother is insane.

The shed that they’re all in seems dedicated solely to Christmas decor. There are light up reindeer and inflatables, boxes overflowing with lights, and tubs. Tubs upon tubs of heavy ass decor. You hand him another box to find space for on the trailer and Ghost is forced to reconcile with the fact you’re hardly breaking a sweat. You give a soft noise of effort when you lift a tub from the floor or pull one off a tower, but otherwise… Ghost spends a fair amount of time on the walk between the shed and trailer thinking about it.

Maybe they’re not that heavy.

He comes back to the shed to see you stripping your jumper off, the dark tank top underneath hits him like a train. You fold your jumper neatly and place it on top of the tub you lift off the ground with a huff. You blink at him when you turn to take it to the trailer, and a smile creeps over your face.

“Pick your jaw up baby, you’ve seen worse than this,” You tease, shouldering past him just to bump his arm with yours. Baby. You could call him anything you wanted and he’d have to stop himself from following after you. How can one little word make his chest swell and tighten?

How could he ever want to raise a hand to someone that made him feel like this?

Fifteen tubs, nine light up reindeer, and more lights than Ghost has ever seen. He boxes you in as you’re locking up, leaning heavily against his arm on the shed door. You turn to lean against the rough wood as you tuck the key back into your pocket. He holds your chin with his fingers, thumb rubbing against your skin as he takes you in. You give him a confused sort of smile and settle your pretty hands on his chest.

“You ok, big guy?” You ask, your voice light to disguise your concern. Ghost tips his head, quiet. It’s the season, he wants to say. It’s bitterness and resentment that creeps in every year at this time. It’s the smiles of kids swinging their parent’s hands and chattering about santa. It’s the sun shining and the wind blowing without a chill, like it would hate to ruin a perfect December with snow.

“Fine,” Ghost tells you. Your brows twitch down like you don’t believe him. He kisses you quick before you can ask again.

“Swear you got more of this stuff every year,” Price gripes back at the house, his smile telling Ghost he truly doesn’t mind. Your mother eagerly pops the lids off each tub to inspect the contents before telling Price where to take it. It’s a slow process, slower than the initial loading, but easy enough. Ghost takes a huge tub from you, this one clearly labeled “garlands.” It’s unwieldy, but not too heavy. He shifts it up over his shoulder to get it up the steps to the farm house’s front door.

“Thank you for helping Simon,” You mom smiles at him, her hand light on his arm. Something about her touch sears against his skin, her smile chokes him, he’s glad for his mask as he holds her gaze. He nods and continues into the house.

Outside he can hear your mom arguing with you about something. A well meaning sort of tone that carries through the air without yelling, never yelling. Your huffing and whining hardly seem to break the atmosphere. No harsh words, no physical altercation, no familiar ending.

Price passes Ghost on his way out and pauses. His eyes dart to him as he brushes past before he’s out the door again. Ghost sets the tub in the living room with the others. He pats the top, stares at the red lid, pats it again. His stomach twists. He pats it again.

Why can’t he move away?

He pats it. Job done. So why is he still standing there?

He pops the lid off the tub and stares at the pine green garlands, nestled in with fake snow and little red baubles. Christmas-y. His fingers skim the fake needles. Plastic, of course, crushed and bent in places from years of wear. Where do these go? Ghost glances around the room, it feels smaller with all the tubs. The first garland has been lifted from its place by the time you wander by with your own tub, and your jumper on.

“Better leave it, Momma’s particular about her decoratin’,” You tell him, setting your box on the dining table. Despite your warning you tug your tub open and pull tablecloths and centerpieces free. Apparently you’re allowed to help past moving boxes.

Ghost drops the garland back into its tub and presses the lid shut. He goes to grab another box.

For how many tubs there were, the actual decorating goes fast. “Plenty of hands,” You mum, Duck, she told him to call her Duck, tells him with a smile.

There’s a heavy weight on Ghost’s chest, something too large to wrap his arms around. He doesn’t say much as he helps get reindeer plugged in, and fluffy cotton snow tucked around ceramic houses. He finds himself outside with a cigarette between his fingers more often than he’d care to admit. The choke of smoke in his lungs is more familiar an ache than the other one. Nameless, because to name it would mean acknowledging it.

Ghost watches the wind rustle through the dry grass, his eyes trained on the wide horizon. He wishes he could change the shape of his shadow, knock off the parts that dig into his skin. He’s tired. Maybe he should find somewhere to go for the next few weeks, get away from the festivities. Just for a while. Just until it stops hurting. The screen door knocks against the frame behind him.

“You’re quiet,” You lean against the porch railing, eyeing him. You’re so damn observant it kills him. Ghost snubs his cigarette on the ashtray next to him and lets the last of the smoke leave his lungs.

“So I’ve heard.” He tells you, turning to push past you and back into the house. If he stays around you too long he might say something he can’t take back. It’s better like this.

Price is busy enough with the upstairs decorations that Ghost doesn’t feel bad making a beeline for the living room. Red and green cover the place. The mantle over the fireplace hosts a christmas village, the couch boasts flannel throws and christmas pillows, miniature christmas trees in various styles are set on every horizontal surface. Somehow the room feels warmer, the twinkle of fairy lights giving everything a soft glow.

How could he have anything to say around this? All this- Fucking hell why do you have to be one of these families? A happy family. You don’t even have a proper tree yet but there are already presents set in the corner Price partitioned off as the “tree spot.”

Ghost rubs his thumb against one of the garlands hung up around the entryway. So this is where they went. Your- Duck waves him over when he makes eye contact, offers him a baby of a hammer and a few tiny nails.

“Make yourself useful and tack up the cotton,” she smiles at him. He gives a short nod and follows the line of her fingers to the line of cotton circling the room, nestled neatly over a thick garland. Duck surrenders the step ladder to him and Ghost is quick to take over. He tucks the cotton into place and pushes the little nail into it, taps it with the head of the little hammer.

“We have to re-plaster every other year or so,” Duck says behind him, filling the silence with her voice.

“I can tell,” Ghost grumbles, eyeing the little holes that dot the wall. He tacks another length of cotton snow to the wall, squishes it up against the ceiling and drives the nail in. He looks back down at Duck and holds his hand out for more cotton. She’s already holding the next batch of it, apparently well versed in this whole decorating business.

“You should’ve seen the wall before we started fixing it,” She hums, “years and years of holes.” Ghost says nothing. These holes are nothing. Years and years of holes knocked into walls, covered by picture frames and curtains. “Most of these decorations have been in the family for years,” She tells him, background noise to the drone of his thoughts, “We still use my mom’s plates for Christmas dinner.”

“You ever broken one?” He asks, feeling his throat tighten as soon as the words are out. He squeezes his fist, the points of the nails digging into the meat of his palm.

“Of course,” Duck’s tone is alien to him, it’s all alien to him, “that’s what happens with old things, but I don’t need the plates to remember her.”

Ghost stares at the wall, the plastic needles of the garland, the red bows and white cotton. He bounces the weight of the hammer against his fingers, unseeing. There’s something at the edges of the statement that feels targeted, that speaks to an understanding he wishes she didn’t have. You don’t know me, it says, but I know you. Something wet tickles his fingers, he can feel the warmth of it dripping from his grip.

Remember when you had things you could carry with you? He asks himself. Pictures, smiles, something more than a memory? When’s the last time he visited their graves? Are they clean? Has anyone brought them flowers?

“They’re just things Simon,” his memory whispers, voice watery, like it doesn’t want him to see it cry.

Someone touches his arm, and asks, “Simon?” in a voice so close to his mother’s that he jumps, and nearly topples off the step ladder. A pair of hands press to his back to keep him steady.

“I’ll be alright,” his memory finishes, like a hand stroking his hair. He feels small. It hurts.

He drops the nails from his hand, lets the hammer fall free as he grips his wrist with a shuddering breath. Shit. Small puncture wounds dot his palm, nails still clinging to the meaty base of his thumb. He focuses on his breathing, pushing the pain down into its tightly lidded container as he steps down off the ladder.

Duck grabs his hand before he can shoulder past her towards the bathroom, inspecting the damage. Damn doctor. She clicks her tongue, the same way you do when you’re upset. She spreads his fingers out, opens his hand as she prods around the blood.

“Doesn’t look like any permanent damage done,” She smiles up at him, a mother’s smile where he’d hoped to see a doctor’s, “Just needs cleaned up.” Simon swallows.

“Let’s get it over with.” He responds, the same way he always does to medical.

Ghost studies his bandaged hand in the quiet of his bathroom, water patters against the tile of his shower in the silence. Plain gauze and bandaging, the same as it always is. No stitches needed. No permanent damage. Just plain gauze. And bandaging.

He rubs his thumb against the rough bandage, feeling its familiarity.

He sighs and leans back against the sink, presses his hand over his eyes to block the buzz of the overhead light. How much longer does he have to wait before it all stops hurting?

Things quiet down after the house is decorated. The holiday lulls into something almost palatable. You’re over less. In the week following Ghost finds himself sleeping alone three days in a row, finds himself unable to sleep when he does have you in bed with him. You hug close against his chest, your legs tangled with his and your breaths soft and even. He can’t lose the time he has with you to sleep, his lips press against your forehead as he feels like an outsider in his own skin.

“You should come stay in the main house,” You offer over your coffee, “until the holiday is over.” Ghost hums.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb the Christmas cheer,” He sips his tea, scrolling through the news on his phone. Never anything good, never anything that makes him happy he left the service.

“I want you there,” You press, “we want you there.” You always do that, make it sound like you aren’t enough to convince him, like he needs more than you to ask for something before he grants it.

“I like my space,” He looks up from his phone, and his heart twists at the sadness in your eyes, he fixes his eyes back on his phone, “I’ll think about it.”

“Maybe closer to Christmas? I know it’s not-” You hesitate, he hates hearing you hesitate, it doesn’t sound right to his ear when your confidence wavers, “With my parents around, I know it’s not ideal, or romantic, but-”

“I don’t like sleeping alone either,” Ghost finishes for you, swallowing his own feelings down, “I’ll think about it princess, promise.”

“Ok,” You smile, and kick your feet up into his lap under the table.

He spends the whole day thinking about it. Spends the day thinking about sleeping in a guest room, about seeing Price in the morning outside the bathroom, about family meals, about waking up surrounded by cheer when he feels anything but cheerful. He walks into the kitchen to grab lunch and finds the counters covered in unfrosted Christmas cookies, sprinkles and colorful icing laid out with joyful care. It makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, his memory working overtime to remind him of the clatter of baking sheets and the shouting that comes after the smell of burning flesh.

He skips lunch.

There’s something broken in him, Ghost knows that better than anyone, but he can’t stop the sharp edges of it from cutting. There’s something angry clawing at his ribs, licking his scars until they itch, choking his throat with dirt and earth. He snaps at Price while the cattle files past, and wishes his captain wasn’t so damn sturdy. “I know son,” Price tells him easily. It hurts more than it has any right to. All of it hurts more than he knows it should.

He holds you in bed at night and stares at the wall, tracing the path of the moon by the light it casts through the windows. He just needs to make it through the holiday.

Easier said than done.

Christmas seems to take over the ranch the closer the holiday gets. Presents appear piled under the tree, cookies tower on plates just out of reach of the dog, carols seem to always be playing, and the television happily hums with every holiday movie he could think of. You catch him under a mistletoe and Ghost feels like he’s quickly reaching a boiling point. Your joy, usually so infectious, now seems tailor made to destroy him.

He’s not mad at you, he knows he isn’t, knows exactly what this feeling is. It’s the same feeling he had in primary school watching other kids excitedly chatter about Christmas plans. Jealousy. Why did the universe see fit to give everyone else a happy family but him? He was just a kid. Kids don’t deserve that. Why did he have to go home to hell when you came home to Christmas carols and twinkling lights?

He tried so hard to be good,

And it never mattered.

Still, he doesn’t want to ruin the holiday for you. He follows you around town while you Christmas shop, smiles when you smile, offers you new jokes to hear you laugh, stops to look at the little display in the antique store window. Somehow it cheers him up, buying you a gift. It feels small, but genuine. He tucks the little felt lined box into his pocket and rubs his thumb against it when his thoughts start to drift away from you.

You squeeze his hand, your fingers intertwined as you walk. It feels reassuring for the first time in days.

With your gift in the back of his mind Ghost finally feels like he’s getting a handle on the whole Christmas situation. He can do this for you, he can give you a good holiday. You deserve a good holiday, even if he feels like a recruit getting pushed into action without so much as a vest. It still chafes at him, but Ghost has gotten good at ignoring uncomfortable feelings over the years. He shoves down the green eyed monster, and tries to throw a tarp over the old wounds that threaten to reopen.

He ignores the twitch of your mother’s brows, the clench of Price’s jaw, your hopeful smile. It’s strange how… easy it is to join the holiday, like you’d been waiting for him, holding a place for him to slot into. The warmth of it sinks into him, wraps around him gently where he’d thought it would try to pierce him.

He still hasn’t worked up the courage to take you up on your offer. He can’t look at you when he leaves, can’t see that tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It feels colder when he goes back to his little house. You’re so busy with your family, and he’s been holding himself back from you. He’s never been a coward before, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than letting you know how hurt he is, how broken he is to be jealous of your happiness.

Ghost tugs the towel off his mirror and stares down his reflection. His fingers squeeze the edge of the sink, knuckles white as he leans against the porcelain. It’s the season, he tells himself for the hundredth time, but it isn’t, is it? There’s a piece of his father lodged in his soul, dark and cloying, desperate to get out of the cage Simon shoved it in. The little voice in his head that asks why anyone else should have something nice if he didn’t get to.

He grips the sink tighter, keeps his eyes focused on their reflection.

The world is unfair and cruel. That’s why he joined the military, to even the scales. It’s his mum’s fault really. He swallows the lump in his throat. God she would have loved this, loved all this Christmas bullshit, pushed him to enjoy it, pushed him to stop holding you at arms length. She would have loved you, and you would’ve gotten on with Tommy like a house on fire.

The sink cracks under his hand.

It’s shallow, but he hears the break like a bell. It pulls his attention from the mirror as he rips his hand away and inspect the damage. He shoves down the guilt that tries to bubble to the surface. This is exactly why he’s keeping his distance. He wouldn’t be able to survive hurting you, can’t stomach the thought. He’s not his father, he can give you a good Christmas. He’s going to give you a good Christmas.

He’ll kill himself before he puts you through the sort of holidays he had.

Christmas eve creeps up without Ghost realizing, and all of a sudden he can't escape the warmth of the main house. There are no chores for him to do, you and Price having gotten up early to finish them. There's no help he can offer, Duck shoos him out of the kitchen. Every time he attempts to leave you drag him back to the couch. It's suffocating. Price follows him out to the porch to smoke, and he realizes he hasn't had a moment to himself in hours. Ghost can't turn a corner without bumping into someone. You're all just… hovering.

And yet no one has said anything. That almost makes it worse. The atmosphere inside the house is warm and festive, but Ghost can't help being reminded of a funeral. It's the sort of long dirge that seems to have no end in sight covered in a Christmas carol. There's plenty Ghost can ignore, but this is pushing it. He's both scrutinized and ignored.

You laugh and make jokes, Price snags cookies off the plate, Duck asks about santa. The dog is handed a bone and jumps around excitedly. The lights twinkle and carols ring through the house. Ghost doesn't think he's said a word in an hour, there's no point. “Big family syndrome” Soap had said once, “makes ya louder even when there's just the two of ya.”

It's too loud. It's too normal. It's too happy when he feels like he's going to break. All of the anger and hurt in his chest that wants so desperately to explode only makes it that much worse. He can't do this.

Ghost pushes back from the table when you settle your hand on his knee. He balls up his napkin and tosses it onto the table, turning to leave as your chair scrapes against the floor. He hardly hears when you call after him.

He just needs a minute of silence, a moment for his grief. He just needs two Goddamn seconds where he doesn't have to pretend he didn't lose everything. Where he can hate Christmas in peace.

Ghost presses his hands against his eyes, he can’t stem the stream of anger and hurt that pounds at his ribs. Why? Why can’t he push this down like he always has? Why does it feel so much bigger, so much meaner? It's never been this bad before, he's never had grief boil like this.

He doesn’t raise his head to the crunch of hay underfoot. You’re coming to try and comfort him, he supposes. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

“Go away princess,” He grits, as you take a seat next to him.

“Oh that’s cute,” You mother hums, “she is like a princess isn’t she.”

Ghost looks up from his hands, glares at Duck to try and dissuade this line of conversation. Somehow this feels worse than if you or Price had come after him. He doesn’t know your mother well enough to anticipate her script. Open water without a life vest.

“I like to come out here when I’m upset too,” Duck smiles, looking out the open barn doors. The texas sky is darkening, the first pinpricks of starlight starting to make their appearance. Somehow it feels like Christmas, even without the cold.

“I’m fine,” Ghost looks towards the doors too, clasps his hands together where he leans over his knees. Duck hums again, quiet and patient. So assured that Ghost would spill his heart to her that he almost wants to. When he glances at her again she isn’t looking at him, her eyes watching one of the barn cats sleep with a soft smile.

“You know the first christmas I had with John was two years after Goose was born,” She tells him, “he was still in his fatigues, fresh from the airport, and I was so mad at him-” She laughs, “-because he didn’t want to hold her for a picture.” Something in her smile strikes Ghost as sad, he can’t take his eyes off of her. “He said he didn't want to get blood on her, and I-” a shaky breath “-I don’t know. Eight months in combat and he couldn’t touch his daughter, I just wanted to make him forget about it.”

“That’s your sob story?” Ghost raises a brow.

“That’s why our Christmases look like this,” Duck turns to him, “I’m sure your mother had the same thought.”

“You don’t know my mother,” Ghost grits, squeezing his hands tighter, “There wasn’t any- We never had a happy Christmas, the old man wouldn’t have allowed that.”

His father always felt so big. Always stood so tall and hit so hard. He was impossible to go against, impossible to ignore, the threat of him always hanging over Simon’s head. Christmas especially he seemed to haunt, a monster around the corner ready to pounce. He delighted in others' misery, it was no wonder he seemed to take such joy in destroying the holiday.

There was no father Christmas, no meal good enough, no decoration that didn’t end up destroyed. Good china smashed and ornaments shattered. Just things, his mum would say wiping snot from his nose, not worth the tears.

“It couldn’t have all been bad,” Duck tells him quietly, “your mum wouldn’t let it all be bad,” her grip on his hand tightens, “I wouldn’t.”

“It was all shite,” Ghost assures her with a harsh chuckle. “Just about the only Christmas that went well was-” Ghost stops, frowns as he stares out of the barn. Duck is quiet next to him, letting him sink into the memory. The first Christmas after he kicked his dad out. The first Christmas after Tommy had Joseph, his pudgy little fingers reaching for the shiny ornaments on the little tree they had. His mum had baked cookies. It was the first time she’d actually managed to get them all iced without anyone storming in to scream at her, or throw the tray on the floor. They’d sat on the floor playing Father Christmas, passing out presents with smiles. It was warm, and quiet. Just how he’d always wanted it to be.

Duck’s hand cups his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek with a startling gentleness. Simon looks at her and she smiles at him, something warm and watery in her eyes. He feels the tightness in his throat reflected back to him, feels the wetness tracing lines over his cheeks brushed away with care.

“You two would’ve gotten on like-” He shakes his head, looks away from the ache in his chest, “Doesn’t matter now.”

“She would’ve been proud of you,” Duck says, and it hits him like a bullet through the heart, “I am. We all are.”

And he realizes where you get it from, realizes why you change your ‘I’s to ‘we’s. It’s not a worry that you won’t be enough, it’s an assurance that he has more than just you.

Simon looks at his hands, unclasps them to rub his thumb against the pinprick scabs that dot his palm. It hurts, the ball of grief in his chest bounces around hitting nerves and making everything feel bigger and scarier than it is. It eclipses everything, impossible to ignore. Duck settles a hand on his shoulder and grief presses too hard against his throat. His vision swims, and a tear falls into his hand. Duck squeezes his shoulder, an ever present warmth at his side as Simon tries to stem the flow.

“It gets easier,” Duck's voice is soft, sympathetic, “but the good times always hurt worse than the bad ones.” Simon shakes his head, and looks at her over his shoulder, she swallows down the sadness in her smile. “I'm sorry baby,” she tells him, her sincerity hitting him the same as Price's, “I'm so sorry.”

Simon nods, he feels small and far away. He's too big to want to be held like a child, too old, yet Duck pulls him into her arms and he can't do anything but curl into her grip. His hands grip her jumper tight, keeping her held in place as he takes the offered comfort like a starving child takes grapes from the pale man’s table. There’s no judgement as tears stain her sweater, no harsh words or calls for him to “be a man”, only the quiet of the barn as Simon lets himself feel the grief he’d been avoiding all month. For years really. Ever since he found his family dead, felt the cold grasp of understanding wrap around him that he’d never have the sort of Christmas normal people have.

Not when his gifts were soaked in blood, not when he burned the last good things in his life.

“Why don’t you stay with Goosey tonight?” Duck offers, cutting through the tears, “The guest room is a mess, and I know she won’t mind.”

Of course you won’t, you’ve been trying to hold onto him all month. Trying to pull him out of the past as desperately as he was trying to avoid it. The first good thing in this chapter of his life. He should’ve been holding onto you, not pushing you away.

“You’re a good man Simon,” Duck mumbles, her voice quiet enough that he almost doesn’t catch the end of her sentence, “they wouldn’t blame you.”

He says nothing, just curls a little closer, and imagines it’s his mother saying those words.

The house is quiet when he and Duck walk back inside. Price sits on the couch reading, and opens his arms for his wife when she wanders over to him. His captain pulls her onto his lap and brushes her hair off her forehead, a quiet moment of affection in front of the fire that speaks to years of familiarity. He can only hope to have that with you someday, but first maybe an apology is in order. Simon bypasses the happy couple to go upstairs, following the lights to your room.

He pushes the door open as quietly as he can, watches you look up from where you're sitting on the edge of your bed. Your eyes water, but you smile for him. Simon steps inside, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“Momma finally convince you to stay here tonight?” You ask. Simon hums, and holds his arms out for you. It's entirely too endearing how quickly you rush into his hold. You press your head against his shoulder and Simon does the same, burying his nose against your neck to breathe in your familiar scent. Somehow it settles in his bones like coming home. God, he missed you. Missed the way you feel in his arms, the way you melt against him with a sigh like he’s all you’d ever need to be happy.

“You were waitin’ on me,” Simon says looking at the still made bed. The room is bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights, and you stare up at him with a funny sort of smile, the kind that makes him think he’s said something colossally stupid.

“I’m always gonna wait on you,” You tell him, like it doesn’t mean the world to him. Always, you tell him, and Simon wonders again how one little word from you can make his heart feel like it will burst. You reach to cup his face, stroking your thumb over his stubble with a fondness he’s never seen before. It makes him want to tell you he loves you.

“I have something for you,” You say before he can spill his heart. You lean out of his arms to swipe a present off of the dresser next to you. You hold out a flat parcel, wrapped in brown paper with a neat red bow. It’s simple, but the way his name is written carefully on it, far flung from your usual chicken scratch, speaks to the care put into it. He lets you go to take it gingerly, turning it over in his hands to check the seams.

“We’re more of a presents on Christmas family, but I thought you might like this early.” You explain as Simon carefully slides his finger under the tape holding the paper together, gentle not to rip it as you watch him. He turns the picture frame over in his hand and freezes.

Grainy and just barely colored is a photo of Tommy’s wedding. The happy couple smiles up at him, with Simon and his mother standing at his brother’s side, while their new in-laws stand with Beth. His fingers trace the smile on his face, the way his mum holds onto his arm, happier than he'd ever seen her. He looks up to meet your eye, your unsure smile.

“Where did you get this?” Simon asks, looking back at a life he'd buried years ago. You step closer, settle a hand on his.

“I called a couple genealogy places in Manchester,” you explain, “figured your mom might've put an announcement in one of the local papers. They faxed a couple photos over.” You pause, unsure as Simon looks at the photograph. He looks back at you when you've been quiet a moment too long. “I have one of Joseph under the tree, I can go get it.” Your nerves bleed into your voice, your tone softer than Simon's ever heard it.

“I gotta have something to open tomorrow,” He tells you, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close to his side and kissing your forehead. “Thank you.” Simon feels quieter, you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze.

“I know it's not much,” you murmur, and Simon cuts you off.

“It's perfect.”

Somehow looking at the photo makes his heart feel lighter. It’s tangible, physical proof of the life he lived, and of the people he lived it with. He wonders if it was really so easy to find, you must have gone through a lot of effort to find this picture. The kind of effort you only put in for someone you love.

“Got something for you too,” He sniffs, settling the picture back where it had been.

“You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simon flicks your forehead, and you swat at his hand. He grabs the little hinged box from his coat pocket and tosses it to you. You barely fumble it, popping the lid open with a smile. He almost worries you hate it the way your face screws up, your lips pouting and your nose wrinkling.

“I love it,” You tell him with a wavering voice, pulling the necklace free of its velvet prison. The little porcelain charm hangs gently from the silver chain, a tiny white goose with an orange beak and a blue scarf painted on it. You hold the charm in the palm of your hand, studying it. “Can’t believe you got me jewelry,” You joke, trying to cover the water brimming at your lashes, something Simon is happy to brush away with his fingers.

“Thought it was cute,” He supplies, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” You unclasp the clip on the chain, and hold it out to him, turning so Simon can pull the two ends around the back of your neck.

“I ever tell you that the bartender no-showed the reception?” Simon asks, helping you clasp the necklace. You laugh, trying to keep your voice down.

“No time like the present,” You smile over your shoulder at him, the sun peaking over the mountains just for him.

Simon holds his daughter up in front of the family Christmas tree, her little pudgy fingers reaching for the shiny ornaments as her eyes reflect the lights. She kicks her feet excitedly, cooing at the display and letting out eager huffs as she attempts to escape her father’s arms. He’s never seen anyone so excited about a few decorations, but the glee that radiates off of the baby is enough to lighten anyone’s mood.

“Don’t let her grab anything,” You call from the couch. Simon pulls Mary back into his arms and steps closer to pull a little fuzzy teddy bear ornament off a branch. He jingles it in front of her grubby little fingers with a smile.

“This one’s yours,” He tells her quietly, “don’t tell your mum.” Tiny fingers wrap around the soft toy, and pull it close. It’s amazing how different the holidays feel with a baby, it’s like experiencing everything for the first time all over again.

Mary holds onto the little bear and Simon holds onto the ornament hook, keeping it out of her mouth as she gums at the ornament’s ears. He’s almost tempted to let her keep it, except that the baby has more presents under the tree than any of them. The perks of being less than a year, he supposes. Having doting grandparents helps too.

Not that Simon can blame them. Mary smiles at him around the bear’s arm and his heart melts a little. Christ, how did he ever make something this perfect? “How many of these did you say you wanted?” He asks over his shoulder.

“As many as you can carry.” You hum. Simon bounces Mary in his arms, and pulls the ornament from her grasp when she switches her focus to him. Tiny fingers reach for his face, soft baby skin feeling over his stubble and giggling. He catches her hand and presses it to his lips, feeling the way Mary squirms in his arms, her chubby legs kicking excitedly.

“They’re all going to be good,” He promises her, “every Christmas-” he kisses her hand again, “-and every birthday-” another kiss, “-and everything in between. For the both of us.”

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izvmimi · 2 months

Text

cw: canon deviation. time-skip (post demon slaying). babies. fem!reader.

“And what are you looking at?”

Genya is known for how intimidating he can be, but the round-cheeked, giggling child held at eye level between his hands right now will never see anything other than a loving father no matter how intensely he pretends to glare at him. The giggly ball of dough, practically hairless still despite nearly three months and a half in the world, kicks its feet and Genya smiles, helplessly charmed, before blowing a raspberry into his cheek and lowering him into his lap.

“Those Shinaguzawa family genes are no joke,” your friend jokes. She’s been watching the baby carefully for the past few minutes since she and Tanjiro entered the home, bearing gifts of cloth diapers and handmade quilt blankets, among other soft things. Genya is quickly defensive, reminding her for the nth time that your son has your nose, but you laugh to dispel the tension. After all, she’s right. The baby’s eyes are practically the same as his father's and his uncle's, although when he smiles ear to ear, his eyes close like yours do.

“He looks just like his daddy,” you agree. You’re still setting your dining table for six and your friends have gotten up to help you pour tea for six, and collect plates of dorayaki, senbei and edamame to set at the table.

Sanemi chuckles, adjusting his sitting position on the tatami.

“I mean, I think we deserve that much,” he says, gruffly, as he supports himself. You know what he means, and nod solemnly without additional comment while his wife squeezes his shoulder before disappearing to follow you. Your friends have congratulated you after the birth of your first child multiple times, having taken turns assisting you right after delivery, but you haven’t seen them in a month or so, and adjusting to your new life has been rewarding but difficult. One of them fills your pantry with dried goods while the other scans the premises for anywhere that she can clean or reinforce. You thank them, a smile on your face.

“We’re doing great. Genya takes good care of me, don’t worry,” you remind them, and they have no problems believing it.

Your baby thankfully isn’t fussy, and Genya is a surprisingly adept father, quick to learn the basics of bottle feeding and diapering, and making sure your house is clean and comfortable to live in. Living in relative poverty as a child made him work hard and be frugal, experiencing tragedy made him thoughtful and protective, and he does his absolute best to take care of you.

He’d always promised to take care of you as long as you both lived.

When you return to the entertainment room, your friends and you settling next to the men you’ve chosen, you lay your head on Genya’s shoulder, thankful that he’s the one that you chose, and he chose you just the same.

…

Sanemi and his wife stay the night, and once everyone has turned in from the night and your son is sleeping peacefully in his bassinet, you lay in bed, wrapped warm in Genya’s arms.

“We need a nephew or niece of our own, don’t you think?” you muse. “Gotta get them in the sack faster before they can’t catch up to us.”

Genya snorts, pressing his chin on the soft of your shoulder as he holds you closer.

“That’s their business,” he murmurs, gruffly. “By the way, tell your friend to stop calling our kid ‘tofu’.”

You giggle. “Has it been bothering you?”

“Yes or I wouldn’t be bringing it up right now.”

“I think it’s cute,” you tease, turning in his hold. He’s surprised by the sudden movement, you can tell, by the red in your cheeks. “What?”

Genya blinks, then kisses your forehead. “Nothing.”

“Is something on my face?” you ask.

“No. You’re beautiful.” You beam at this, then pull the covers tighter around your body.

“You’re a good dad, Genya,” you remind him. You’re not sure that he needs to hear it, but you want to reassure him. He’s heard tip after tip from his older brother today and you overheard Sanemi telling him his mother would be proud of him. You hope it sinks in because she would, and you wonder if he’s still mulling over the thought.

The sweet child nicknamed ‘tofu’ to his father’s chagrin sleeps through the night with parents that love him more than anything on earth, because they love each other more than life itself.

#genya shinazugawa x reader #genya x reader #genya x reader fluff #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #daydreams: kny #mimi's notes

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xjustakay · 5 months

Text

✺ (1/8) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: converse — 1,130 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; going through harry’s baby things)

“Oh no.” There’s a dramatic level of pain in James’ voice —there has been all afternoon since they started this project— and Regulus sighs quietly, lips twitching at the corners. “Reg, look at these.”

Regulus finishes folding the quilt that Pandora made for Harry to leave the hospital in, sets it in its new box marked ‘keep,’ then turns to his husband.

This has been a common occurrence as they’ve undertaken this task; going through Harry’s baby things to see what they truly need to hold onto and what can be donated has been an emotional journey. Admittedly, Regulus is having a progressively difficult time keeping it together the more that they find, but he’s let James be the one to express the feelings they’re both experiencing. Loudly and repetitively.

Balanced on James’ wide palm is a pair of infant-sized Converse, so tiny it’s hard to believe they ever belonged to a person, much less that that person was the five year old that’s currently coloring at a folding table in the corner of their garage. The little shoes are red, matching a pair that James has kept consistently replaced and in his wardrobe for years.

“I can’t believe he was ever this small,” James muses, stroking one finger over the laces of one.

“I know,” Regulus sighs, bottom lip jutting out in a faint pout. Okay, it’s getting to him now. They’ve been at this for hours, they’re near done. He told himself he wasn’t going to get in his feelings about this, at least not until they’d finished, but… “I think I miss it.”

“Me too.” James reaches for his hand, tows him close to his side to curl his arm around him, both their gazes remaining fixed on the baby shoes. “Should we have another one?”

Regulus lets out a surprised sounding laugh, swinging a backhanded swat gently into James’ stomach. “We have Luna in the picture, too.”

“Also no longer a baby,” James points out. “We could definitely do it.”

“You’re forgetting an important detail.”

“What’s that?”

Regulus half-turns in the curl of James’ arm to look toward their son where Harry sits. A marker clutched just a smidge too tight in one hand, tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration. There’s smudges of different marker colors on his hands, a few pens uncapped and drying out scattered on the table top. Harry doesn’t look up until Regulus calls his name.

“Yes, papa?” He nudges his glasses up and blinks wide green eyes over at him, curious.

“How do you feel about having a baby brother or sister?” Regulus asks.

Harry’s brow furrows deeply. “I already have a sister.”

Regulus gestures toward the little boy as if his point has just been made.

“Another one, then. Wouldn’t that be fun, mate?” James suggests.

Scrunching his face up further in thought, Harry tilts his head, taps the marker in his hand against his chin. Regulus huffs a quiet laugh when the pause extends for several seconds, serious thought clearly being given to this question. In the end, Harry shrugs his shoulders dramatically, keeping them held up toward his ears.

“Well, I don’t know,” He says. “Would I have to share my toys?”

“You already have to share your toys, because that’s the nice thing to do,” Regulus reminds him.

“But a baby can’t play with all of my toys. Because they’re a baby and I’m not a baby.”

“Solid logic on that, mate,” James chuckles. He moves to set the red Converse on the table between the keep and donate boxes, undecided on where they belong. “We’ll think about it, eh? Put a pin in it?”

Harry looks at them both for a long moment before nodding his head once, poking his open marker into the air like he’s physically putting a pin in the thought. Instead of returning to coloring, he drops the marker onto the table —Regulus makes a mental note to replace this pack again when it’s the fifth one left to dry out. Wiggling off his chair, Harry comes over to them, picking up the shoes James sat down.

“Were these mine?” He asks, giggling when he stuffs his fingers into one and wears it like an odd glove. “They’re so small.”

“Yeah, so were you,” Regulus hums.

“But I’m tall now. Taller than Luna and Draco, too.” Harry puts the other shoe on his opposite hand, smacking the small soles together in semblance of a clap.

“You used to match daddy when you wore those shoes as a baby, you know,” Regulus tells him, pointing at his hidden hands.

“Used to put you in them all the time when we’d go out together,” James adds, smiling fondly.

Harry looks down at the shoes, silly with his hands in them, then back up at the two of them with an unexpected frown. “How come we don’t anymore?”

Regulus turns his head, looking at James in playful accusation. “An excellent question.”

“Hey, now, don’t act like this is my fault. You were the one that encouraged him making all his own choices. He never picked the Converse himself,” James argues.

“Well, I could get some now, daddy,” Harry stresses like this is the most obvious answer. He holds up his hands, shoes on display. “‘Cause these ones are too small.”

“Should we save them for the baby, you think?” James asks him.

“So we can all match.” Harry nods at first but then cuts himself short, eyes landing on Regulus. “But papa doesn’t have any.”

“Red isn’t papa’s color,” Regulus says.

“Beg to differ.” James’ mumble earns him an elbow in the ribs, a laugh punching out of him. “We’ll get some for papa, too, just for fun.”

“And then these ones are for the baby,” Harry confirms, setting the Converse back on the table.

“Well. We’ve circled back to this very quickly,” Regulus comments, amused, shaking his head slowly.

James hums in acknowledgment, grinning triumphantly when Regulus looks at him. He leans in and leaves a kiss against his forehead, lips still pressed against the spot, breath breezing through black curls, when he tells Harry to drop the shoes into the keep box for them. Regulus watches him examine each box, fondness blooming warmth in his chest as Harry sounds out letters he recognizes to figure out which box is the right one.

They’ve all done such a good job with this perfect little boy of theirs, doing it all over again with a new baby might just make life impossibly more wonderful.

We’ll put a pin in it, Regulus thinks again.

He’ll have to wait and see when it’s truly circled back to in seriousness. He keeps it to himself that he wouldn’t mind if it was sooner rather than later.

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #baby harry #except he’s a big ol five year old #i missed them #got jeggy dad feels today so here have this cute fun little time #gonna curl up into a ball over them actually i’m emo #i love them so much #kay’s writing #kay’s microfics #jeggy dads series

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talaok · 1 year

Note

Hey love . Can I request a pedro × reader ?? Pedro is having a bad dream and the reader calms him down?

By the way... loved the last thing you wrote. Looking forward for part 2❤❤❤

Love this idea sm, sorry I took so long

The dark veiled your room like an immutable quilt.

As you opened your eyes, a deep sigh left your mouth.

You let your face roll onto the pillow, hopefully soaking all your frustration.

The fact that you were used to waking up during the night, didn't make it any less annoying.

The only thing that perhaps ever made it better was knowing Pedro was an even worst sleeper than you. Most nights you'd wake at around three and catch him already up, his head against the headboard and his eyes trained on you. He would smile knowingly and with a nod invite you closer to him.

You'd spend the rest of the night talking or just sitting in each other's presence as your head rested on his chest until one of you (most times you) would finally fall asleep.

So tonight, as usual, you turned to your left, but while you were awaiting to see that damningly sweet grin tugging at your boyfriend's lips as he stared at you, your eyes set on something much different.

He was on his side, his brows were creased like he was in pain, but his eyes were closed.

You noticed the sheer veil of sweat coating his forehead, and that's when you saw his body twitch.

He was having a nightmare.

Your heart started beating faster, panic and anxiety rising up your spine.

Slurred sounds that resembled the words no and please left his mouth as his body kept moving, like he was fighting the nightmare itself.

You didn't know what to do, but you couldn't leave him like that, so you settled for the only thing that came to mind, waking him up.

"Baby" you whispered tentatively at first, your voice rumbling off the walls and not getting his eyes to open in the slightest.

"baby wake up" you urged him, your voice higher as your hand found his shoulder, shaking him gently.

His lips kept parting to make way for incomprehensible protests.

"Baby" you murmured again, caressing his cheek, "Baby wake up, it's me," you said, "Babe wake up" you repeated once more, and finally, his eyes snapped open.

He inhaled sharply, like he'd been underwater, and quickly propped himself on his elbows as he felt his heart pounding from the fear.

"y/n?"

"it's me, baby, it's me" You felt like you could finally breathe "You had a nightmare, everything's fine"

"shit" he sighed, wiping his eyes, clearly still shaken up "Did I wake you?"

Of course that was gonna be his first thought

"You didn't baby, don't worry," you reassured him "Are you alright? "

"y-yea I'm just..." his gaze felt distant for a moment "I haven't had a nightmare in a while, or at least not like this"

"I'm sorry honey" you cooed, your hand going to stroke soothingly his chest "You wanna talk about it?"

"no, not really" he replied " think I just need a moment"

"Sure" you nodded "Can I do anything? You want some tea, cookies, blankets?"

He smiled for the first time since he'd woken up.

"thank you, sweetheart but I've got all I need right here," he said, taking your hand in his.

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin "That is the cheesiest thing I've ever heard Mr. Pascal"

He chuckled "Well I'm sorry ms y/l/n but it's the truth" he smiled, as you leaned down to kiss him.

"c' mere" he nodded, inviting you to snuggle closer to him, which is exactly what you did.

You both laid back on the bed, and you rested your head on his chest.

The rhythmic pounds of his heart echoed in your ear through his pec.

"Baby, your heart's still racing"

"I just need to calm down a sec," he said, his arm going around you to keep you as close as possible.

You set your leg on his, clinging to his body, and looked up at him "Can I do anything to help?"

He smiled weakly, meeting your eyes

"talk to me," he said, "tell me about your day"

"I already told you about my day"

"tell me again, I want to hear you talk" he explained, "I just need to hear your voice"

"Are you sure that's gonna help?" you asked, skeptic

"I'm sure" he promised, kissing the top of your head.

"alright," you agreed.

"thank you sweetheart" he smiled "I love you"

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

Text

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader

Part 5

18+Only, MDNI, implied smut, eventual smut, biker gang, violence, aggression, boxing, street fighting, alcohol consumption, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, angst, jealous!Eddie, first kiss, brief mention of what reader is wearing, mention of blood.

Word count: 8.4k

Series Masterlist

In part 5, a new situation blossoms between your roommate Katie and Robin Buckley, while you get up the nerve to give Eddie a call. Eddie gets questioned by the police (Chief Hopper) and you go to your first Fight Night, where the adrenaline-fueled dramas are plentiful. You and Eddie finally enter new and intimate territory.

I do re-read these several times, but it's almost impossible for me to edit my own work, so I hope it's not too fraught with errors.

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?

Can he do to you the things that I do?

I can take you higher.”

______

Around 8 o’clock the next morning, Robin and Steve were moving around the kitchen, bumping into each other like zombies, making coffee and dolling out the ibuprofen into each other’s palms. They both had the day off, but Wayne would be dropping Oliver by soon, and they had to get ready to be semi-functioning parents again.

Their voices were just below a whisper though, and their footsteps light as they tried to step on the parts of the old floor that didn’t creak, doing their best not to wake Katie who was asleep on the sofa in the living room.

Steve found Robin leaning against the archway that separated the two rooms, staring at the form of a body all wrapped up like a burrito in a red and white quilt, facing the back of the sofa, the top of her head the only visible part of her body.

They both had coffee mugs in their hands, steam rising from the freshly poured brew.

Steve nudged Robin with his elbow, his voice nothing but a scratchy murmur. “Should I wake her?”

“Don’t you dare,” Robin returned, quickly. “It’s her spring break, let her have a few more minutes.”

Steve put the rim of his mug to his lips and took stock of Robin’s smile as she watched Katie twitch in her sleep.

About a half hour after Eddie left the night before, you started to hit a wall as far as socializing went, and asked Katie if she was ready to hit the road. Katie, Robin, and a couple others were just setting up a folding table to play a game of cards, but you could feel your eyes drooping and knew you wouldn’t make it much longer.

“She can sleep here,” Robin said to you, but then realized she might have jumped the gun, fueled by her own enthusiasm for the idea. She turned to Katie, “if you want to, that is. You can stay here with me...on me...on our couch, I mean.”

Katie wasn’t one to casually “crash” at people’s houses; she loved waking up in her own bed. But, she was having an incredibly good time, and she didn’t want you to have to be forced to stay sober and wait for her, so she took Robin up on her offer.

You wondered if Katie might regret her decision in the morning, based solely on the fact that she was three sheets to the wind, and waking up with a hangover in a strange house is never optimal, but the intense flirting going on between her and Robin gave you all the reasoning you needed.

There were a few times you noticed Steve flirting with Katie, but she would always gravitate back to Robin; it was a fascinating triangle that you enjoyed being a witness to.

Back at the house that next morning, Robin let out a heavy sigh, and lifted her eyes to Steve for a beat before directing them back to Katie on the couch. “I think I’m going to need to take this one off your hands, Dingus.”

Steve swallowed a sip that was a bit too hot and clicked his tongue, the sides of his mouth jerking down. “Oh, I figured as much.”

Robin knew she wouldn’t get much of a fight out of him. Sure, he was attracted to Katie, but she was currently just one out of many crushes and conquests he had going on. The fact that he knew what it was like to kiss her, and been inside of her, made Robin jealous more than anything, but the second she felt her affection for Katie reciprocated, all bets were off.

“Besides,” Robin murmured just as they heard Wayne’s truck coming up the driveway. “She has already drooled on my pillow. It’s meant to be.”

Fully awake and playing possum, Katie’s nose was pressed against the back of the sofa, and a huge smile spread across her face.

----------

Later that afternoon, Eddie had a truck on the lift at his garage, wrenching away under the hood in his coveralls, hair tied back, Faith No More belting out from the stereo, when one of the other mechanics called over to him: “Munson, we’ve got company.”

It didn’t scare Eddie that the police were here, but it annoyed him. Getting questioned by Chief Hopper was standard procedure whenever the Coffin Kings were involved with something---whether Eddie played a part in it or not.

It just so happened that this time, he had played a part. He hadn’t been involved in the actual hand off at the Illinois border, but he rode as protection, hired muscle to bulk up their numbers to deter other gangs from trying to infiltrate their run. He never asked too many questions mostly because, in this particular situation, ignorance was bliss. The trade off had gone as planned, but an informant had tipped off the police about the delivery, and that’s what Hopper was there about.

“Hey, Jim, how’s the family?” Eddie came out to the parking lot to meet him at his bronco, leading with the standard polite banter they always started out with. Any other police Chief would’ve sent an officer out to ask these questions, but Jim did it himself as a courtesy because he liked Eddie, and he’d known the kid since he was in high school.

Hopper had on his tan uniform and hat, silver hair dusting his temples and mustache. “Oh, you know, the wife keeps me busy,” he grinned, referring to Joyce Byers. “All the kids have families of their own now, so the holidays are a nightmare.”

“I bet.” Eddie said it like he understood, but he had no idea what it was like to have a big, extended family.

Jim put one hand on his hip and asked about Wayne and Oliver, and then he took a deep breath before asking if Eddie knew anything about the run the Coffin Kings did the night before, and the stash of guns missing from a local warehouse.

Eddie creased his forehead like he was considering the question, and then shook his head. “The guys come here to have their bikes worked on, but I don’t get involved in that other shit. My days as a criminal on the run are behind me.”

Jim looked relieved by the lie. “I figured as much,” he shifted the brim of his hat. “I still have to ask where you were last night, just for the sake of the paperwork.”

That next part was easy, because he didn’t have to make too much of it up. The barbecue went late and he crashed at Steve and Robin’s.

“They’ll confirm this?”

Robin knew the drill, he never had to wonder. He did have to admit though, the little white lies were getting to him. He wasn’t a fan of cops in general, in the first place, but Jim had always been decent to him. He was doing his best to move away from the outlaw world, but it had been a part of his life for so long, it had its claws in him.

Once the serious questions were over, they both relaxed back into the banter of two people who had known each other for over a decade and cared about each other as friends do. Jim headed around to the driver’s side of his bronco and Eddie kept pace with him.

“We’re hosting another Fight Night here this weekend,” Eddie told him, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to where they usually set the ring up at. “You should come, have a few beers. Bring Joyce.”

Hopper chuckled. “Joyce should get in the ring, she’d wipe the floor with all of you.”

“I have no doubt,” Eddie grinned, thinking about that tiny firecracker of a woman. “If I were a betting man, all of my money would be on her.”

Jim got in behind the wheel and shut the door, leaving his window down. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll check and see if my warden has other plans for me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Eddie stayed to watch him exit the compound, offering a wave as he went.

That night, Eddie came out of the shower and into the bedroom of his apartment enveloped in a cloud of steam, with nothing but a dark blue towel wrapped around his waist, and wet hair hanging down his shoulders. He gave the phone on the nightstand a cautious look when it started ringing, his mind racing with all of the people he did not want to hear from at that late hour.

When he finally picked it up just before the fourth ring with a suspicious and informal, “Yeah?” his heart stuttered in his chest to find out that the person at the other end of the line was you.

--------

“So, are you two a couple now?” You asked Katie once you got home from work to find her giddy about the new developments between her and Robin.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Katie said from where she was at kitchen counter, washing lettuce for a salad. “But by lesbian standards, we’ll probably be moving in together next week.” It was a joke, of course, but there was also an element of truth there.

You sat down at the kitchen island to rest your chin on your fist. “I like you with Robin. Much better than Kelsey.” Kelsey was a long distance girlfriend that Katie had stayed faithful to for over a year before she realized that she was being cheated on mercilessly.

“Ugh,” Katie shivered at the thought. “You can’t even compare the two. Not even from the same universe.”

“What about you?” Katie asked as you slumped over with your coat still on and your bag over your shoulder. “Did Eddie break the seal yet?” She turned to raise her eyebrows a few times, suggestively.

“Please,” you barked a laugh. “At this rate, we’ll be in the nursing home before this escalates to dry humping,” as much as you were ready to crack jokes, the fact that he wasn’t jumping down your throat like every other guy made you like him even more. “I think he’s kind of shy, like me.”

“Wait, you’re shy?” Katie snickered.

“You know what I mean. Cautious, reserved: insert appropriate adjective here.”

“What is this, Mad Libs for dysfunctional adults?”

You let out a pensive sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Am I an adult? Because I haven’t felt this goofy over a guy I haven’t even kissed yet since I was a tween.”

Katie stopped what she was doing and dug in the front pocket of her jeans. “That reminds me. This is for you. It’s from Steve.”

With a tired frown on your face, you opened the lined notebook paper to see a phone number written in black ink, with Eddie’s name on top of it.

What were you so afraid of? He was just a hot, hard working, tattooed biker dude, with soft lips and kind eyes who you could absolutely see yourself falling in love with. What was there to be hesitant about??? Call him!

No...wait….

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

It took you a few hours to build up the courage, but you finally got settled on the wicker chair in your room with your Conair clear phone with neon insides balancing on your knee.

It was a while before he answered, and you were just about to hang up when his voice came on the line, stern and gruff.

“Yeah?” He didn’t sound glad to hear from you, but to be fair, he didn’t know it was you, yet.

You cleared your throat. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Edward Munson, please. Is he in the office today?”

Relief flooded through Eddie’s body, pumping refreshing blood into his heart when he recognized your voice. “He’s not here at the moment, you might want to try is vacation home in Greece.”

“I’m not here either,” you teased. “I’m calling you from outer space.”

Wet hair dripping down his chest, Eddie brought the phone closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, hard pressed to wipe the grin off of his face.

“I...called to let you to know I was thinking about you,” it just came bubbling out. There would be no pretense of hard to get here, you had no game.

The sincerity struck him dumb for a moment, but then, he wrapped one arm around his chest, tucking his hand into his armpit, giving himself an excited squeeze. “Yeah? Well, that’s a coincidence because I was just thinking about you while I was in the shower.”

Munson! *internally slaps forehead* Don’t tell her you were in the shower, god. She’s going to think you were doing exactly what you were doing which was jerking it to the thought of her being in there with you.

“I mean, when I got out of the shower, and saw your painting, I thought about you,” his eyes closed at the pathetic nature of that rebound.

You skipped over all of that and jumped to that next thing he just said. “You hung my painting in your apartment?”

He looked over at the painting in question, adjusting the towel at his hips. “Of course, silly. Where did you think I would put it? Above the bar at the Hideout?”

You fiddled the phone cord, twisting it around your finger. “I was thinking it would go in your coffin or tomb, wherever you sleep at night.”

He gave a low grumble of a laugh. “Oh that painting is definitely getting buried with me, I can promise you that.”

The conversation ebbed from talking about work, to asking about family. You learned that Eddie’s uncle Wayne was like a father to him, and that his biological parents were no longer a part of his life. This mirrored your loneliness at the fact that your father passed away two years ago and you weren’t close with your mother. You didn’t have the equivalent to an uncle Wayne though, but you wished that you did.

After a half hour or so, Eddie said, “hold on for just a second? I need to put some clothes on,” and your brain plummeted off a cliff to a really dirty place. Had he been naked for the entire time?

There was a dragging sound and a click as he picked the receiver up again, “sorry about that. I’m back.”

“I know it’s late,” you were trying to pull your thoughts out of the gutter, but they were rolling around in the mud, kicking their feet and giggling. “I should probably let you--”

“No, I mean, I’m not---” he stretched out on the bed and put his head on the pillow, his hand on his stomach. “Unless you need to go. I like the sound of your voice.”

“Well, you see, I don’t have any clothes on either. So, if you’re dressed, then I might as well throw something on too.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie stiffened, his eyes bulging wide for a blink. Was she serious?

“Clothes are so retraining. I want to be free, Eddie.”

He snorted and ran his hand up and down his belly. You were joking. But, now he was picturing you naked and his cock was growing. He reached down to palm it over his gray sweats, hoping to calm the beast. Phone sex was not out of the question, and he’d jump at the chance if you were down, but he was enjoying the soothing effect you had on him; it was the first night in a while that he felt relaxed and not pacing around the room, moodily spinning his wheels.

You were telling him the story of how you and Katie met, because he asked, and, as you did, he stretched over to flick the bedside lamp off so that he could close his eyes and let your voice wash over him in the dark.

“What about that fight thing Robin mentioned? Is that still happening?” You asked, and then you heard a soft little snort, as if he had drifted off to sleep for a second. You were snuggled down in the cushions of your chair with your cat Charlie in your lap, and your head snapped up. “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he groaned in a whisper. “Sorry sweetheart, I don’t know what is happening to me.”

Sweetheart.

“Oh, I have a plethora of boring stories that will have you seeing sheep in no time, trust me.”

“You’re not boring,” he smiled against the phone. It was like you could hear his smile, day old stubble scratching against the receiver, a bit of saliva popping at the corner of his mouth. “You’re one of the most unique, interesting people I’ve ever met.”

There was a self-deprecating urge to quip, “well, then you haven’t met many people,” but you decided to just accept the compliment and move on.

He hadn’t planned on inviting you to Fight Night, only because it was a powder keg of testosterone and booze, and he didn’t think you’d be into it. He had grown up on the streets, thinking that getting into fist fights was the norm, but then in high school, Wayne got him into boxing, and he was grateful for the form, cadence, and stamina it afforded him.

Also, what if he lost the fight? Highly unlikely unless he decided to throw it on purpose, but did he want you to see that? Did you even want to see that? But Robin had already mentioned it, and he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to see you.

“Yeah, the fights are Friday night, here at the compound. It’s pretty lame, actually. Lots of grunting and dick measuring,” he exhaled a heavy breath, his eyelids fluttering. “I would love to...take you on a date though, a real one. Somewhere nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be too nice,” you bit your lip, hoping he didn’t think you needed the full white tablecloth experience like some other women he knew. A cozy dinner and a movie was the type of scene you preferred. “You might be surprised at what a cheap date I am.”

“Back to The Hideout it is,” he clapped his hand to his chest, finishing with a throaty, warm chuckle.

You could tell he was fading away, and so you thought up a story to tell him; it was a personal favorite about a road trip you took with your dad when you were little. You knew any story would do because, after about 5 minutes, you heard his breathing get progressively heavier until there was a slight whistle in his nose at the intake of breath. So, you finished the story, and then held the phone close to your ear for way too long just to listen to him breathing.

“Sweet dreams my Eddie,” you whispered just before you reluctantly disconnected.

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

The next morning, Eddie woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in months. He had a solid 7 hours of sleep, which was unheard of lately, and it put an honest to god spring in his step. Of course, when he realized that the phone was by his head omitting a blank dial tone, he cursing himself for an early sleep to embrace him on that night of all nights. He’d just slipped into oblivion while you were talking to him, lulled to sleep by your sweet voice. He thought he had dreamed it, but now he was sure that you had said goodnight to him. Had you called him your Eddie? Maybe that part had been a dream, but not an impossible one.

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

While Katie had the week off, deservedly so, you were working overtime at the gallery to get ready for another show. Eddie called you on Wednesday night, but you got home way too late and had to hear his message on the answering machine because Katie was out somewhere with Robin. On Thursday night, you were there to answer his call, and the two of you talked for hours, even though you both agreed that you hated talking on the phone. Because of the new show at your gallery on Saturday night, the two of you made plans to go on an official date the following Tuesday, and Eddie told you he would pick the place, after asking a few questions about things that you liked.

There was still Fight Night on Friday to consider, but you got the feeling that the thought of you being there made Eddie uncomfortable. You had a strange protective nature that came over you when you cared about someone, though, and this nonsensical part of you want to be there to...make sure he didn’t get hurt? How would you manage that? You had very little to offer by way of physical strength, but you would, indeed, pull the fire alarm if Eddie looked like he was getting in over his head during the fight.

Robin and Katie and Steve were all going to be there, so you felt like it was the obvious plan. You even considered inviting Jeff because he was always complaining that there was nothing fun to do in town since he moved to the little hamlet from Chicago.

Also, you just really really missed Eddie, and wanted to see him. Tuesday was only a few days away, but it might as well have been a year.

----------

On Thursday night, Eddie fell asleep while on the phone with you again, as he told you he might, and you didn’t mind. Not only was he falling asleep, but he was officially falling for you and, for the first time in his life, he liked the way it felt. He got 8 hours of shut eye that night, on the eve of Fight Night, not realizing at the time how badly he would need it.

-------

The second Robin parked her jeep around the block for Fight Night, you understood why Eddie might not want you there.

It was like a carnival, but for booze, bikers, and strippers, complete with a DJ at a huge stereo system near the fence blasting out the song Only by Anthrax, and there were hot girls...so many of them...scantily dressed to kill, wandering around the property. White string lights draped around the fence, illuminating the walkway and there were also cast iron clad bonfires at every corner that groups huddled around. You weren’t even through the front gate yet, and you could already see two half naked women in the ring, executing a few pre-rehearsed wrestling moves for a bunch of howling bikers.

“What the hell?” Jeff murmured to you as three of the young, studly Prospect biker boys walked by, hair slicked back, wearing all leather. “Where have I been? Where did all these hot, dirty boys come from?”

He held onto your arm as you walked, hurrying up the sidewalk to the compound a few steps to catch up with Katie and Robin, both of whom were holding hands and taking turns leaning over to kiss each other as they walked. Steve was ahead of them, giving a signal to the bouncers at the gate to let them know that you were all with him before they let you in. He told you on the ride over that they had to have strict security at the event, and someone from the Coffin Kings, Westside Reapers, or Hell’s Belles (an all female MC) had to vouch for you, since the one time a rival gang showed up a few years back and there was a huge brawl.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you popped your face in between Robin and Katie’s pressed together shoulders just as they pulled back from another electric smooch. “No one told me this was basically a clothes optional event?”

Just inside the gate, as the three burly, bearded bouncers looked you all up and down, Robin turned and gave you a concerned look. “Eddie didn’t warn you about what a pussy fest this would be?”

Eddie had warned you, just not about that part specifically. You left the house feeling plenty cute enough in your skirt, fishnets and Doc Martens, but the fact that you had a shirt on over your bra made you feel extremely overdressed.

Eddie hadn’t even thought to mention the strippers and the arm candy and the groupies because he truly didn’t even give them a second thought. Since he met you, other women didn’t appeal to him beyond the casual acknowledgment of their attractiveness, and the whole scene just bored him damn near to death. Aside from a few exceptions being women who were taken by other guys in the club, Eddie could take any one of them up to his room at the drop of the hat, and that just wasn’t what he wanted anymore. The thrill was gone, as they say. He was up in his apartment doing some last-minute pushups as he listened to the crowd get rowdy down below. Steve called earlier to let you know that the girls were coming, including you, and for some reason, it gave him a nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t too concerned about the other women bothering you, because he knew you had the confidence to handle your own. His worry had to do with the other dudes at that party and wanting to make sure none of them tried anything with you. Pity the fool who tried to make a move on you under his watch.

The parking lot of Munson’s Garage was huge, but that night it was still easy to bump shoulders with people as you walked because there were so many of them. There was a keg and two ice tubs full of beer, as well as the many flasks of hard alcohol you saw being passed around. You saw a beautiful woman with long black hair giving one of the bikers a lap dance, and then burst of cheering exploded in your ear as one of the women in the ring threw the other one against the ropes.

Steve was immediately manhandled by two of the tattooed groupies who could’ve been models and looked like twins. He gave a shy tilt of his head but a charming waggle of his eyebrows as they kissed his cheeks, rubbed his chest, and asked him where he’d been. Robin had one arm around Katie’s waist, and her other arm motioned for you and Jeff to follow them to get some beers.

You and Jeff both looked like the proverbial deer in headlights. Not even full-grown deer, but little baby does on wobbly knees who were looking for their mommy.

Jeff assessed the cans in the tub of ice. “Not a white wine spritzer in sight,” he muttered to you, but mostly to himself. “I am not excited for the beer bloat I am going to have tomorrow.”

“Your brave sacrifice has been noted,” you told him, reaching down for a can, while the girls chose to tap the keg. There was a small fee for the beer, and Robin threw some money in, letting you know she had the first round.

The music cut out suddenly as the women in the ring did a farewell pass around, picking up the cash that was being fluttered over the ropes to them. The DJ asked for applause for the girls, and then he announced the names for the first fight of the evening. According to Steve, the first couple fights would be mostly amateur hour, a few younger Prospects from the Coffin Kings, and a couple of the other gangs that were in attendance. After that, there’d be 3 main fights, all different weight classes, and Eddie’s was last. The fights were a mix of bare-knuckle boxing/kickboxing and mostly just for fun, but there was some friendly betting that went on, and there was always a chance for someone to get really hurt as the adrenaline ran hot. Eddie knocked his opponent out so hard last year, the guy confessed to actually seeing stars.

A tan, busty blonde in a red string bikini did a tour of the ring holding up the large card to give the official mark for round one. For the first two fights, you enjoyed the time with your friends, amused at how easily the beer was going down for Jeff, considering he supposedly didn’t like the taste of it. Robin introduced you to some of her friends who rode with the gang Hell’s Belles, and she introduced Katie once as her girlfriend, which was an accidental slip up, and she worried it was too soon, but, honestly, Katie liked it.

As the third and final amateur fight got underway, your eyes shifted up to Eddie’s apartment, and in that second, you decided that you couldn’t wait, that you needed to see him, you didn’t want to hold out until the end of the fights. You gave your beer to Jeff and told him to stay with Katie and Robin, and then you made your way over as Back in Black by AC/DC played for the first fighter walk-up.

The garage was locked up, and the porch to Eddie’s door was fenced off, but there were a couple of leggy girls in skintight dresses and stiletto heels hanging around just outside of it, near one of the fire pits, as if waiting for him. You excused yourself as you weaved around them, oblivious to their judgmental stares, angling with your hand to reach down and flick open the temporary fence gate.

“Excuse me, sweetie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The one who looked like Paris Hilton said, eyeballing your outfit.

You gave a broken laugh, confused. “I came to see Eddie, he’s a friend of mine.”

One of the other girls snorted, and Paris put her hands on her narrow hips. “He’s busy, sweetheart, but if you want to leave a message with me, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” She was not being sincere when she said it, in fact, the rest of them started giggling, mockingly so. They were all taller than you, but only because their heels put on another 4”.

She moved to block the gate, and before you could think of the next thing to say, the Paris girl was in your face again. “Like I said, sweetie, move along. There’s nothing for you here,” and then she flicked her hand a few times for emphasis.

Confusing your politeness for weakness was her first mistake. You took a step towards her, straightening your shoulders, narrowing your eyes on her obvious rhinoplasty. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Eddie.”

“Listen, bitch---” Paris crossed her arms and sent daggers from her eyes, just before she was cut off.

“Erika!” Eddie growled from the doorway; forehead clenched. “Move.”

Relief took the vise grip off of your chest at the sight of his face. Hulking in the doorway, he gave you a tilt of his chin, and then his attention went back to the Paris/Erika girl.

“Oh sorry baby,” Erika turned around, her voice high pitched, her demeanor completely changed. “I figured you didn’t want to be disturbed so I was---”

Eddie ignored her as he went over to unlock the makeshift fencing that he only put up for events so that he could have a space of his own. He had on a black muscle shirt with wide, scooped out arm holes so that his sides were visible and a pair of sweats. Heat radiated off of him and little hollow spot his throat glistened with sweat like he had just been working out, dark hair hanging long, passed his shoulders.

He held the short gate open for you, his back to Erika, as you scooted into the space. “You look good enough to eat,” his eyes traveled down your body and then back up to meet your eyes.

“In that case, I hope you’re hungry,” you replied with a coy grin. Your responses always caught him off guard and he blew a quick laugh out his nose. One of the guys in the ring got socked in the nose by his opponent and stumbled back against the ropes, dazed.

He locked the gate again and turned toward you, but you peeked around his body to make eye contact with Erika one last time. “Have a good night, sweetie,” you told her, flashing a fake smile.

The disgust and jealousy on her face was palpable and priceless.

You and Eddie hadn’t physically progressed beyond the point of brief handholding yet, but it felt like you hadn’t seen him in a month, and you needed to be close to him. You stepped forward, leaned against his chest, and pressed your cheek above his heart, ziplocking your body to his as your arms wrapped around his muscular frame, palms smoothing in circles on his back.

Eddie returned the embrace with a needful sigh. “Mhmm this is what I needed, right here,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you just swayed there for a bit; he rocked gently, shifting his weight to each foot, taking you with him.

You tilted your head back to anchor your chin on his chest and he looked down to meet your eyes.

“I couldn’t wait till after the fight,” you admitted. “I missed you.”

When you declared your affection for him, even in the slightest way, it made his insides go all gooey and sweet, but it also made a part of him tense up, awareness of how lost in you he could get striking a healthy amount of fear in him. Putting his trust in someone, giving over his heart, had never gone well for him in the past.

“Yeah?” he used the tip of his fingers to push a few strands of hair off of your forehead, and then ran his knuckle down your cheek. “Well that’s funny, cause I’ve been missing you pretty bad too.”

The referee blew his whistle and called the fight. You and Eddie had a close view from the front of this place, and both of the guys coming down from the ring had swollen, cut faces, and one of them was limping. The DJ played Engine No. 9 by Deftones as they prepared for the main event fights.

“Who are you fighting tonight?” You asked as you slowly and reluctantly lowered your arms, and he did the same, but he kept one hand at your back, scooping you securely to his side, craving contact with you.

Eddie checked the crowd to see if he could spot the big redhead, but no luck; there were way too many fucking people there. “His nickname is Critter, he runs with the Westside Reapers. He’s a good fighter,” Eddie shrugged, and then he looked down at your concerned face, squeezing your shoulder. “but don’t worry, Princess, I’m better.”

“Hey War Machine,” a gruff voice came from the other side of the fence, near the garage. You both turned to see a tall, bald, older man in a Coffin Kings cut addressing Eddie. “Doc is ready for you.”

The guy wasn’t actually a doctor, but he was a medic, and he helped to tape up hands before the fights, and then tape up faces after. Eddie also needed to change his clothes and get all lathered up with Vaseline.

Eddie told him he’d be right there, and then his attention came back to you. “Wait for me after?”

You were smiling like an idiot at him, loving the hell out of his face. “Of course.”

You didn’t care if “after” meant 48 hours from now; you’d still be waiting there.

And then he kissed your forehead and went over to jump the fence.

---------

“Am I drunk, or is that guy really hot?” Jeff asked, nudging to direct your eyes over to a shy looking biker boy with a curly blonde pony tail and shockingly blue eyes. He had an absolute baby face, he couldn’t have been much older than 20.

“He’s definitely your type,” you assured him. “I think he’s been checking you out for a while, too.”

“Okay, so it’s not just my imagination?” Jeff balked, relieved that he hadn't lost his touch.

Just then, the guy lifted his hand in a covert wave, and Jeff mimicked it. “Oh my god, I love you for bringing me here,” Jeff whispered without moving his lips. “Besties for life.”

You bought the next round of beers just as the second main fight finished and it was about to be Eddie’s turn.

“Damn, I didn’t know I’d get this nervous,” you told Robin, looking down at your feet.

“It never gets easier to watch, I’ll tell you that,” she returned, agreeing with you, a smile in her eyes as she caught sight of Katie coming back through the crowd. But then her eyes shifted to see the genuine set of fear and concern on your face. “Hey, I know he’s kinda humble about it, but Eddie’s a beast, and he’s smart. He can take care of himself up there, don’t worry,” and then she rubbed her hand on your arm and it felt very warm and motherly.

Critter, the guy Eddie was fighting came out to a good amount of claps and shouts; he was a stocky redhead with his hair in a faux hawk, covered in really crude, homemade tattoos. He had on silky sapphire blue shorts and the word “REAPER” inked in large, old English letters across his upper back.

He bounced around in his corner, shaking his hands out, and working his neck.

Eddie came out to Walk by Pantera and everyone went nuts for him when they announce War Machine was entering the ring; arms all raised high, cupping hands around mouths to shout, a lot of fingers throwing up the symbol for devil horns. You wanted to be closer, so you pushed your way through the crowd, keeping your eyes on him as he came up the steps and climbed in through the ropes.

His chiseled but natural muscle tone literally glistened, accentuating the big tattoo on his chest, and now you could see that part of his was a menacing bat with fangs. Big tattoos on each bicep, and then there were a few on his forearms, and a couple designs on his thigh and back that you had never seen before. The other guy, Critter, had surprisingly skinny legs, like he spent his time training upper body and nothing else. Eddie’s physique on the other hand, was built for power at all angles. His shorts were black with a dark purple cluster of bats on one side, just like his tattoo.

You had never spent much time watching boxing, but for in the movies, and both of them had a “corner man” who helped to take care of them, and in this case, for Eddie, it was the bald, older Coffin King you’d seen earlier. Eddie had his hair tied back in a knot, and you watched as his corner man helped him secure his gloves as he bounced a little in place.

You got in as close as you could, not realizing at first that you were standing right behind Steve. You tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this guy any good?”

Steve looked at you over his shoulder. “Who? Eddie?”

“No,” for some reason, you were whispering even though the place was too loud for anyone to hear you. “The other one.”

He hitched his head to one side and brought his shoulder up. “Meh, he’s alright. Nothing to worry about.”

Once the fight started, Eddie wasn’t one to dive in for a kill; a big part of his advantage was how patient he was, and how well he was able to disconnect from his emotions. He had already scanned the crowd for you, knew exactly where you were, and his eyes would shift there from time to time.

Critter charged him like a bull, and Eddie stepped away so fast, the guy looked confused, like maybe he had suddenly elevated into the sky. The guy had a lot of energy and aggression, and those things alone had won fights before, so Eddie stayed alert.

Critter wasn’t great at keeping his guard up, and so Eddie lit a good one to the side of his head, and then a jab to the gut just before the two were asked to break apart for a minute.

“Do I know you?” A voice materialized at your ear. The ref had just told the two fighters to pause, and so you looked over to see who was asking.

It was another biker, but he didn’t look like he was with one of the gangs. He had an Ethan Hawke look about him. “I don’t think so,” you told him, eyes returning to the match.

“That’s crazy,” the guy kept talking, leaning closer to you, his stubble catching in your hair. “Cause I swear I recognize you from somewhere. What’s your name?”

For some reason, instead of telling him to buzz off, you gave him your name, and then he stuck his hand out to shake yours. “Nice to meet you, they call me Brick.”

Eddie was just getting ready to dodge a swing when he saw it: the dude leaning over, in your face, with your hand in his.

Critter made contact and clocked him a good one to the eye socket. Eddie stumbled back, blinking, his skull vibrating. It took him a second, but then he drove forward and caught Critter with a left hook, and then grabbed his head and slammed it into his knee---which was an illegal street fighting move, and the ref blew the whistle.

Your hand flew to your mouth with a gasp when Eddie got hit, but he seemed to recover fairly quickly and then went after the guy ten-fold, in a way that almost made you feel bad for Critter.

Suddenly, that emotionless, in control part of Eddie was slipping away, and all he could think of was how he didn’t want that guy to be anywhere near you. He wanted this fight to be over.

Critter caught him again because Eddie slipped his guard, and then he got a second one in the ribs for losing his concentration. He barreled down on Critter like a hammer after that, landing one after the other until the ref had to stop things and check on the other dude.

You hoped that the guy next to you finally got the hint that you weren’t interested in chatting, but he was still standing there, unnecessarily close, with his shoulder locked against yours.

“Do you live around here?” Brick continued.

You were just about to say it was none of his business when there was a lull in the crowd, and Steve heard his question. The flirtatious nature of his tone made Steve turn around to see who was talking.

He made eye contact with Brick and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, get lost. Go find another girl.”

“Nah, I think I’m fine right here,” Brick countered, lifting his eyebrows.

The tension got thick real quick.

The fight in the ring started up again, but now Steve was turning all the way around to square his shoulders at Brick. “I said, get lost,” he enunciated every syllable with force, dark brown eyes glowing.

Eddie got jabbed in the kidney for pausing too long, and it was at that moment when he decided he was done with this shit. He took a giant step and cracked a tight punch to Critter’s jaw that actually made him spin half-way around in the air before dropping to the mat with a final thud. The ref blew the whistle, waved his arms like crazy, and then went over to make sure the dude was still breathing.

Eddie did not look happy as he jumped the ropes.

Steve hadn’t liked this guy at first glance, and now he was being disrespectful? Not happening.

Steve got up in Brick’s face, challenging him, chest to chest, and even though you were trying to back away as quickly as you could, the crowd behind you would not give. Brick brought his arms out to shove Steve back, and his elbow caught you in the mouth. You yelped as your head snapped back, teeth clamping onto your tongue, tasting blood, rocking on your feet.

Eddie was shoving people out of the way to get to you; he felt like things were moving in slow motion, like he was in some kind of nightmare where he couldn’t get to you in time and somehow you ended up getting really hurt. Finally, he was catching you by the arms and pulling you tight to his chest. Pieces of your hair glued to the stickiness of his skin as you clung to him for dear life. He took your face in his hands to find that your teeth were pink and a bit of blood was spilling from the side of your mouth, and a low growl escaped his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, trying to wipe the blood from your chin with his thumb, but it only smeared, and angry tears welled in his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy swing at Steve, but it didn’t land, and Steve pushed him back with extreme force. Brick stumbled back, but then bounced off the hands of the crowd and returned like he was shot from a rubber band.

The crowd was jostling now, buzzing with shouts and people turning to see what was going on. Your vision was blurry. Some of them were yelling to break it up, but some of them wanted it to escalate.

“Steve...Eddie!” Robin screamed as she scrambled to come up next to you and Eddie, breathless, Katie and Jeff close in tow, all of them stressed out. Actually, Jeff looked more amused than anything and you knew he couldn't wait to retell this story.

“Take her,” Eddie said to Robin, passing you off reluctantly so that he could take care of business.

Eddie put his hand out to catch Steve’s shoulder and stop him in his tracks. “I got this,” he said, eyes narrowing on Brick.

Just as intimidated by Eddie as most people were, Brick took a stutter step before lashing out with his best punch, only to have it effortlessly blocked. Eddie got close enough to grab him by the jacket, making a tight fist in the material, yanking him closer, and Brick tried to get a punch in, but he didn’t have much reach. Eddie’s other hand reeled back to make a fist and land a bare-knuckle blow with just enough force to clock his lights out. Brick’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp in Eddie's grasp for a second and then fell sideways, and a couple of leather clad Hell’s Belles stepped out of the way so that the pavement could catch him.

Eddie and Steve walked over to stand above him, and found that the guy was stunned, eyes rolling in his head, but he was conscious. He really did have a hard head; now it made sense why they called him Brick.

Eddie spit on him. “I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you,” and then he looked around at all of the eyes on them, and added, “someone get this piece of shit out of here before the cops show up.” And then there were hands coming out everywhere to drag Brick away and throw him in a dumpster down the block where he could think about what he’d done.

You were scared of what Eddie would do to that guy, but you weren’t scared of Eddie. When he was on his way back, you slipped free of Robin’s grasp and met him half way, rushing into his arms, reaching up to feather your fingers over his swollen cheek and eye that was soon to blacken. There was hair stuck to his cheek and you smoothed it away just before he took your hand and kissed the middle of your palm. Most of the crowd went back to socializing as normal, as if this had been just a casual thing that they were used to, and the DJ started the music again.

Sinking into heavy, adrenaline fueled breaths, he held your chin in his curled knuckle while his other arm went around your waist. He brought his face close to yours, and cupped your throat, noses brushing side by side, foreheads touching, exchanging oxygen through parted lips, like two deep sea divers whose lives depended on it. You had wiped the blood from your chin, but you could still taste the copper penny tang, and he moved his mouth to plant a kiss on the side of your lips, softly, a low purr omitting from his chest as he did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking, lips grazing, as your hands sought each other, trying to get as close as you could. He pulled back to inspect every inch of your face, and then brushed his lips over your mouth.

“I am now,” you told him.

He took your hand and held it to his chest, sweaty and still viscous with petroleum, oblivious to the rest of the party continuing on around you.

You could feel his mouth hovering, wanting more, but hesitant, so gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“I can’t feel a thing,” you confessed, referring to your bitten and numb tongue. “But, my mouth is bloody.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and there was a bit of an eager whimper on the intake of breath as his plump lips melted onto yours, moaning as he did so, tightening his grip on you, grabbing your face, aching, feeding on the air from your lungs and your bloody kisses as the rest of the world faded away.

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“She took them both to the grave

to the grave

a pair of souls become undone

Where were two, now are one”

- Bloody Kisses, Type O Negative, 1994

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Part 6

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taglist 💕 @unfocused81 @manicmagicmahem @dream-a-little-nightmare @ms1oftheboys @emxcast @falling-solar-system @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @kelsiegrin

@tlclick73 @aysheashea @hellv1ra @bexreadstoomuch @kurdtbean

@seventhlevelofhell @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut

#eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson au #90s au #1990s #eddie munson smut #older eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year

Text

Hold On, Hold On

pairing: Cowboy!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

summary: Your cowboy leaves for another bounty and you face how fragile a home can be

wc: 4.7k

warnings: 18+ only. MDNI, old west AU, semi established relationship, violence and town in peril, deep yearning, light angst but happy ending, heavy make-out session that gets a bit heated and spicy at the end

a/n: this is based off the season 3 episode ‘the pirate’ except with bandits lol, the title of this is from another neko case song of the same name (no surprise) I have a whole little collection of Cowboy Din pieces but this works as a good stand alone! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy & biggest thank you to my cowgal forever @skeletoncowboys this is for you I love ya

The wilderness calls to your bounty hunting cowboy once again.

“Don’t know how long this one is going to take. So I’m having the kid come with me.” Din tells you, his black bandana covering his face.

As much as you understand, an ache swells through your chest fast.

Would this be the last time you saw him? Saw either of your boys that have become beautiful fixtures in your life?

Something as dangerous as a storm rips through your mind. This all is temporary and you knew that.

Nothing is sure or set in stone with a man who chases after demons in the desert.

Din’s occupation as a bounty hunter meant he jumped around from town to town, never settling in a place for too long. Even with a ward in his care, you understood there was no need for him to grow roots in a particular community.

The only reason why he often brought his bounties here was because the mayor of your town was a previous member of the same bounty hunting guild Din is in. You never even knew bounty hunters held guilds. But that is the life you are wading through now.

It’s the life that’s led you to this, to seeing Din and the baby off on their journey.

You kiss the kid goodbye. His sweet pudgy cheeks puff up so warmly when he smiles at you.

“Keep an eye on your dad, little bug,” you tell the baby as you poke his sweet little nose. He giggles and it’s a sound you will treasure.

“Alright kid, let’s go.” Din croaks low as he shifts the baby up into his arms.

You haven’t been able to look Din in the eyes since he announced his departure. You don’t even know why this particular trip is affecting you so much.

“I packed a few extra slices of bread.” You explain rapidly. “And I know you’re still upset that I’m having you take one of my quilts but trust me, I’d rather you two have it-“

He cuts off your rambling quietly with the soft whisper of your name. It strikes fast like lightning shot through your spine.

Now you can’t help but turn your gaze up to him.

The whispers around this man painted him to be an omen because you could never see his eyes.

That part is true. The shadow of Din’s hat casts a deep shadow heavily blocking any chance of getting a good look at him in the eye. Then his bandana completely hides him from the nose down. At times he truly exists as a faceless phantom, a wandering ghost that has now found residence in your heart’s chambers.

But right now, this phantom stares directly at you and you can clearly see the eyes of this righteous man.

You’ve seen his face, kissed his soft lips. But his eyes…

Those rich soil eyes hold so much emotion and now hold your entire soul captive in their gaze.

You say nothing, don’t even know what to tell him.

A goodbye feels too simple. A please come home safe doesn't sound true because was this really his home?

Would this ever be his home?

And could you ever house a man as wild as a tumbleweed?

“Thank you.” Din speaks first. However, that simple thank you is all he says.

Your arms ache to embrace him. Your lips wish you were brave enough to yank the cloth across his face down to kiss him with every inch of your love.

He suddenly nods at you and you only nod back.

Without another word Din jumps onto his horse. The animal, which you believe hates you, now lets you softly pet him. You wish you could appreciate this small step but heaviness clogs your heart too much for any other emotion to pass.

The baby makes a soft whimper and both you and Din snap your attention to him. With his chubby sweet little fingers, your little bug simply waves a sad soft thing at you. He’s so smart, the kid, and you swallow back hard as you wave back. Your eyes return to Din.

The shade of his hat now has you searching harder for his eyes.

This time you can’t find them.

Nothing else is said.

Din simply kicks his heels against his horse and then begins a slow ride away.

No breeze of the wind carries them. This time it is only the stillness of the desert. For some reason, as you watch them dwindle further and further away, the stillness scares you more.

Summer beats down an unforgiving heat.

The air gets thick with the dry dust and you’re thankful for the cool nights that settle in. The early evening breeze from the open window already feels refreshing as you finish buying a few provisions from the commissary.

The clerk, an older man whose wife you are fond of, gently says your name hesitantly. His eyes are even a bit nervous and you ready yourself for whatever he asks.

“What…whatever happened to that young babe you had with you?”

You had previously been in the store many times with the baby happily cuddled in your arms. You used to cover him with a small light quilt to keep him safe from any curious eyes. You didn’t want them recognizing him if they saw the baby with your bounty hunter. But of course, the sight of you suddenly with a new babe did spark a few curious conversations.

Now your lips twitch but out of a fondness soaked in an aching sadness.

You haven't seen your boys for three months.

It’s the longest they’ve ever been gone. Not even a letter has been sent your way. But then again, you don’t take Din as one to write letters. The panic, the sleepless nights worrying if they were alright, all those emotions bleed into a numbness now. You simply wade through it all like trying to find an exit out of a sandpit slowly sinking you.

Swallowing the canyon sized lump in your throat, you simply give a brave false smile to the clerk staring so worried now.

You remember once jokingly telling him you had grown the baby in your garden. After all, you had first found the little terror eating your carrots.

“The wind swept him away from me,” you reply and you even hear the hollowness you cannot hide in your tone.

The clerk curiously frowns confused but his eyes seem to read past your brave face. He comfortingly pats your hand still on the counter and wishes you a safe walk back to your cabin.

With a grateful small grin you move to head out of the store.

Then the air bursts with a violent and loud crack.

Bandits are not a new occurrence to you or to the town. Once in a blue moon, a couple of them would arrive, make a ruckus at the saloon or unfortunately leave the town with more than they came with.

But the bandits arriving now come in a wave, like a mass of locust swarming in so fast you didn’t have time to think. And you didn’t. The explosion comes and you and the clerk give each other a petrified look before dashing outside.

Smoke rises from the edge of town and your heart sinks horrified at the chaos quickly consuming. The raiders ride in fast. The sticks of dynamite in their hand speak of a sinister threat of what was to come if anyone tries to stop them.

You move fast, trying to help your dear clerk to his house to be with his wife. You try to keep low. But when you are up against a swarm, it’s hard to outrun their staggering numbers.

Anywhere you turn the raider’s sinisters faces laugh proud and wild from on top of their horses. Some of them even chase on foot like released devils. It’s a bedlam choking your throat in panic.

Leave. You have to leave, find shelter or at least hide in your home.

Thankfully a group of you, including Mayor Karga, band together and flee fast from the town out past the outskirts. You all make camp on a secluded hillside that overlooks the town.

In the dead of night, the town illuminates a destructive crimson that has your legs wanting to give out.

“Don’t worry everyone!” Karga with his steady leveled heads guidance calls out in the night to you and the others townsfolk. “Before we evacuated I sent a telegram to my best man! He will come!”

For some reason your mind immediately flashes to Din.

You almost want to laugh. Of course your love sick heart would clutch onto the idea of him during a perilous moment of turmoil. He was a known fighter, though you had never seen him in combat. But a sharp internal voice striking as sharp as a rattlesnake tells you not to put your faith in bounty hunters.

Not even Din.

You squeeze away the tears clouding up your eyes and try to sleep alone under the desert’s ever watchful eye.

Staring up at the clear beautiful sky, you watch as the stars twinkle down below.

There were children’s tales about wishing on stars, on how seeing one fly across the sky was the reminder of how quick and fast wishes come. You remember even telling that story to your favorite little carrot stealing bug.

Emotions clog your throat even more at the thought of the baby and his father.

Something in you whispers to make a wish. That maybe at this hour of feeling so lost, a wish is all you have.

But again, wishing on stars, wishing for bounty hunters to make a miraculous return from the horizon, is for children. And you are too old to hold onto wishes when your town faces a real chaos that wishes might not be able to maybe save.

A day passes among the hills.

The next day, talk bubbles among some of the townsfolk to try and take the county back. But even you know the ammunition would not withstand the sheer force of the bandits.

And the bandits are apparently a stubborn group.

Their leader, a terrifying man with a wild beard by the name of Gorian Shard, announces with a loud voice to Karga they will never leave.

“A fair retribution for you not serving my men and then discovering your precious bounty hunter killed more of my comrades!”

Your heart again jumps at the thought of it being Din.

But your mind races to the worst possibilities. Did he encounter these raiders and not make it out alive? What about the baby?

You refuse to let yourself dwindle on those thoughts. You can’t. You have to find a way to keep moving, find a way out of this situation.

The townsfolk grow restless and worried, more so than you.

“Now everyone please, just hold on. I know help is on the way!” Karga urges, a voice of reason and faith. It settles everyone enough as another night among the wilderness arrives.

This time clouds cluster in the skies above and hide the stars. You think it’s fitting as you go to sleep with tears in your eyes.

You think of Kargas words, the idea of holding onto faith. You suppose even now a part of you still greedily clutches onto a last bit of hope that you’ll see your cowboy again.

You glance up at the cloudy sky again.

Even though there are no stars out, your heart now sends out a whisper of a wish. It’s a simple one.

What else do you have to lose making a wish now?

So you wish for safety - for you, for the town, and for your two boys that you hope more than ever are alive.

Soft low mummering wakes you up. Above stretches a soft periwinkle blue morning sky. When you rise you find so many staring down towards the town.

When you go to see what has everyone in a commotion, your breath gets snatched right out of your chest.

Din is fast on his horse.

He moves rapidly between the buildings and among the shadows that you believe you might have just imagined him.

But then, he swiftly rides out from a sharp corner and shoots three bandits down.

The towns people cry in absolute cheer but your eyes are on the cowboy moving like a phantom. It really is him.

Din.

He’s not alone though. More riders move in to take down the bandits but everyone including yourself focus on the mystery rider.

“Isn’t that the man with no eyes!? The one with the face you can’t even see?” Someone whispers.

“No…can’t be.” Another voice argues.

Karga suddenly chuckles, warm and reassured. “Trust me, my friends. That is indeed the same bounty hunter. He’s ours.”

A sharp flash of possessiveness rises.

You want to correct the Mayor and say he’s yours. That bounty hunter is your bounty hunter, the one who’s son eats from your garden, the bounty hunter who’s favorite fruit is oranges, whose face you knew and existence is now carved a deep cavern in your heart.

Din.

Your bounty hunter.

He’s a wonder to watch in action. Smooth, swift, firing with precision and maneuvering with an almost grace.

Your throat goes dry thinking of how strong this cowboy is the same one who once got flustered when he told you he can’t dance.

The bandits are effortlessly taken down by Din and the reinforcements he brought. Peace returns with the warm dawn. A beautiful relieved joy bursts through the crowd as everyone starts the descent back to the town. Your legs barely carry you but you eventually find yourself there among your town.

Rubble lines the streets. A few shops including the cantina took the worst damage. A steady rebuild is already being discussed among the townsfolk but your attention rests entirely on the black bandana wearing man.

He’s alive.

The baby sits cozy in his arms, smiling as bright as a new sun. Your mind can’t even process the thought of Din riding into battle with the kid.

Then a woman walks towards him.

Her gait is steady, confident. When she removes her hat to wipe her face, striking auburn colored hair falls from under her hat. She is lovely and it dawns on you that she was with the reinforcements.

You can’t help but admire her for being a part of the group who help liberate and retrieve your home. But when she moves closer to talk to Din, even playfully smiles at the baby, your heart starts deflating.

Soon Karga walks forward to speak to the hunters and the townspeople.

The entire time he talks you stay hidden against the shadow of a building, watching. The woman stands next to Din the entire time and grins so fondly. That look only intensifies when she goes to stare at him. Her eyes are molten and when Din turns back to her, he nods.

You hate that you cannot see his eyes.

The wilderness is not a forgiving thing. It brings in many travelers that simply come and go and it seems Din might be one of them. Because of course he would be close with another, a true cowgirl who can handle the wilderness and his ever changing lifestyle.

He never mentioned another woman in his life, but you suppose you wouldn’t either if you were in his position.

You wonder now if your existence to him was a simple way to pass the time, if you were just a quiet pit stop not ever meant to hold him for long. You try not to let these acidic jealous thoughts poison you, but it’s too late.

Before Din can turn to look towards the crowd, you turn on your heels and walk away against the shadows of the building.

You go to help the clerk, his sweet wife clean up the shop as best as you can.

“I wonder if the bounty hunter we’ve seen around here with the black bandana is handsome?” The clerk’s wife offers trying to lighten the space and her husband chuckles.

You stay quiet while your heart whispers out that yes, that bounty hunter is quite handsome.

When exhaustion mixes too dangerously with the heartbreak still brimming in your body, you decide to slip home.

You don’t even realize how long this day has been until you step out of the shop and find the sun already making her way to bed over the horizon.

It's comforting in a strange way.

The sun will rise again tomorrow, a new day, and so will you. You will move on.

You walk forward, straight out of the town and to the outskirts to where your cabin sits. You want to cry seeing your home thankfully still standing. A few animals are gone. Some crops and even stored goods from the shed have been stolen. The inside of your house is a ransacked clutter.

In the stillness, among the settled destruction, quiet tears sting your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s from the exhaustion of these past few days or the ache knowing your bounty hunter might be taken away from you by something fiercer than the wilderness.

He’s alive, your heart whispers.

You got your wish.

And that is true, but heavens above the truth hurts a violent ache.

Footsteps against the porch outside make you jump and whip around to stare from inside your house. There against your open doorway stands a beautiful shadow.

“Din…” Your voice even sounds hollow saying his name.

He pulls his mask down. His stunning handsome face stares at you wide as if you’re the phantom. Then he moves with a blinding speed you witnessed against the bandits.

In quick steps he is suddenly before you and then, you are in his arms.

He smells of gunpowder, sweat and something faintly him. It’s intoxicating and you can’t even stop yourself. Your arms wrap around him tight.

He breathes your name out and you think it might even sound like a shaken watery prayer.

“I didn’t see you among the others and I thought…I thought the worst, honey.” Din speaks with a heavy tone as thick as a torn bush.

That sweet but cursed nickname ignites a tender warmth through your body.

“I did too, about you.” You reply back small and in a waterlogged voice. “Haven’t seen you in months and I thought…”

You can’t even utter the words.

You instead simply allow yourself this moment to hold him tight.

“I know.” Din answers low. “The job took a lot longer than I thought. I’m sorry.”

“But then Karga sent me that ‘gram.” His voice steels hard.

So, it was him that Karga was speaking about.

“And I had to come back.” Din breathes out and squeezes you in his arms. His face even burrows against the top of your head and your eyes go wide.

Quietly your mind conjures up the image of the beautiful woman with the sunset colored hair and your eyes go misty.

So many emotions swirl in you that you can’t even swim against their tides to steady yourself.

A soft coo comes from the door now and instantly you and Din pull away from each other. Waddling in with wide eyes is the baby.

Without hesitation you leave Din’s arms to rush to the kid who once he sees you lights up. Then his arms reach out wide and grabby towards you. So effortlessly you scoop the little critter in your arms and pepper kisses across his face.

His sweet little coos twinkle like the sweetest wind chime.

“You came back just to eat more of my veggies didn’t you, little bug?” You laugh watery as the baby giggles so bright.

For the rest of the evening the little babe stays cozy in your arms refusing to leave even as you and Din slowly start cleaning up the cabin.

It’s a slow, quiet process.

Neither of you ask how the other is, how the other has been these missing months. The tension in the air clouds with a thickness you don’t know how to navigate.

Eventually the baby falls asleep quickly and happily snuggled in the makeshift bed.

Exhausted and in a type of trance all you can do is plop yourself on the edge of your porch. Din with his boots echoing on the wood quietly moves to sit beside you.

“Are you alright?” Din surprisingly speaks first in a comforting and low tone.

“Yeah it’s just… it’s been a long day.” It’s been a long couple of days, a couple of months and now, your ghost is materialized beside you.

“I bet.” Din comforts you so gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this place back to the way it was, honey.”

We will.

He included himself in those plans.

“You don’t have to stay too long,” but you reply low into the early evening air. “I understand your work keeps you busy and…”

The words become barbed and cut your throat on the way out.

“I know you had to come back because Karga sent out that distress signal. But I know this isn’t your home.”

Bounty hunters don’t stay in one place for long. He’s teaching you that.

And besides, what home could you truly give him?

The one you have now needs major repairs from the damage done by the bandits. Even before then your life compared to his is a simple mundane quietness that he might grow bored of.

Among the wilderness, the mirage is a sea of deception. It distorts the landscape before your eyes and for some reason that has you thinking of the times Din has returned to you from other jobs. You suppose that is what happened with you and Din. You wandered too deep into an unbelievable daydream and got stuck in the mirage, in the illusion of building a life with this man.

Din is still so far away, just out of your reach shimmering in the distance and untouchable.

After all, your bounty hunter is considered a ghost.

“I…” Din’s voice catches on itself and when you turn to him, the look on his face breaks your soul. His deep soil eyes are glossy, soaked with tears. His mouth opens in a sad frown.

Din swallows hard. Then his gorgeous sun kissed features frown even as confusion flickers in his gaze.

“I did come back for Karga, yes. But I came back because my home was in danger. Because you were in danger.”

His voice is clouded with conviction but running through it is an undercurrent of hurt.

Tears start to stream down your cheeks as free as rivers while you stare at him.

“You had to come home.” You croak the words out and a wild adoration resonates through your body.

Din nods firm, resolved.

You don’t know who moves first, who strikes first, but it doesn’t matter. The two of you are clutching each other and Din’s mouth kisses yours with the same wild power he shows in combat. He’s unrelenting and desperate but you suppose so are you.

The nights were long alone with your hand and simply thinking of his broad back, his beautiful thick neck, the feeling of his strong hands against you. And now, he is real solid flesh and blood beneath your fingertips. His tongue licks into your mouth trying to taste and consume everything you have. Your hands run to his hair and softly his hat falls away leaving you the bare face bounty hunter who you love entirely.

You clutch onto his shoulders and suddenly pull him close not even caring where you are.

Your back hits against the wood of the porch as Din leans down above. Din groans loud when his lips kiss your neck tasting the salt of your skin. Your eyes close in bliss.

He kisses a fiery path down your neck to your shoulders.

“Can I remove this, honey?” His voice is a debauched croak as he tugs at your garment blouse. Those deep eyes of his peer up at you beautiful fathomless abyss you want to fade into. Once you nod quickly he slips your blouse down exposing your chest to the evening air.

You wonder if a wild spirit has possessed you to let Din do this on your front porch but you embrace it. Especially when his tongue begins circling your nipple. Your mouth presses tight to and not let a whine escape you.

He suddenly kisses your breast with tenderness. He’s soft and lets his tongue trace a mindless path against your skin. It makes your body melt. Then he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks loudly.

Your body leans up trying to get closer to him, trying to grind against any part of him, to get relief.

Din becomes a man possessed himself, licking and sucking both of your breasts until saliva coats them both

You sigh his name to the wind.

He finally draws back to stare down at you. He has never looked more beautiful. His eyes are completely blown out like a moonless night staring at you with pure devotion.

You lean up kiss him not even caring at how cold the air is against your bare chest. You need to be near him, need to consume him as much as he’s already consuming you.

Then the crunch of footsteps on the gravel approaches.

The sound galvanizes you both in a frenzy.

You rapidly yank your blouse up. Din effortlessly leans across you fast, almost covering you, as he whips to face forward. You realize it’s a type of protective move that makes your heart swell.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” A woman’s voice arrives amused.

Now scrambling up, you gently move Din away. There standing a few feet away from the entrance to the porch is the woman with the sunset hair.

She grins a coy knowing thing and your heart drops.

You stare at her petrified. She simply grins warmer. Then she winks at you before turning her gaze to Din.

“I just wanted to let you know that myself and a few others are heading back to camp. Don’t want to keep my dear wife waiting too long after all.” She chuckles. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying here.”

Wait, wife? Confusion creeps in hearing her words.

“Yes.” Din replies with a curt nod.

“I figured.” The woman smiles and then flickers her attention back to you. With a poised warm expression she nods to you and you nod back, a bit stunned.

“Take care Din, enjoy your time back home. We’ll see you soon.” She says with a deep kindness and you don’t miss the way she phrases Din being back home.

“You as well Bo.” He bids her goodbye.

The woman, Bo, gives you a final warm grin and then walks to her horse you can spot faintly in the darkness.

“Who was that?” You have to ask.

“A good friend. She’s married to my people’s blacksmith. The two of them were the ones who rallied the reinforcements that helped me today.” Din explains simply.

Your eyes go wide. All the jealousy feels embarrassing now and you want to bring that woman back so you can both thank her and apologize.

“I’ll have to thank her and the others soon.” You mutter and Din hums a quiet agreeing noise.

“I would be honored to introduce you to them.” Din affirms.

The confusion you had quickly turns into a slight amusement tickling your lips and a small giggle even almost escapes you.

This day has been a whirlwind finally setting you down on your feet and now here you are, with your cowboy.

So you slide closer to him on the patio and curl your arms around his torso. Your body leans and curls against his back.

Closing your eyes, you burrow your face against Din’s strong solid frame. The fabric of his under shirt smells faintly of sunlight and something uniquely Din.

You kiss his back with the gentlest of pressure and Din draws your arms around him closer. He exhales a deep sigh you feel being so close against him.

A soft summer breeze of the desert breathes new life through the air.

“We’ll have to fix the fence tomorrow.” Din quietly notes and you hum in agreement.

There was much work to do. You even dread for a split moment thinking of all the work that has to be done in the heat tomorrow. But you also imagine the baby wandering around babbling so sweetly as he wears Din’s way too big hat…

And Din being by your side every step.

You squeeze him tighter, a silent apology for ever doubting this incredible force of a man.

“Welcome home.” You whisper to him.

Din’s hand squeezes yours.

“Yeah…M’home, honey.”

In your arms, you have caught a phantom of the wilderness and you plan to hold onto him as long as you can.

#I know everyone is on the spiderman Miguel train and I love and support y’all I just miss our space Cowboy that’s all #plus knowing that me and maybe two other babes might read this is enough to make my little heart say yeehaw 🤠#Din 🩶#cowboy din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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topguncortez · 1 year

Text

The Littlest Bradshaw | Over the Rainbow Series

previous part | masterlist | next part

Dragon & Rooster Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

✧ synopsis: Dragon wants to know more about her late in-laws. The Bradshaws get the confirmation they were dreaming of

✧ word count: 1.6k

✧ warnings: pregnancy, IVF, medical jargon, PTSD, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of cannon character death

If there was one thing that Maverick hasn’t gotten used to, it was having an actual office. An air conditioned office, at that. But, now that he was the commanding officer of the Dagger Squad, it was only deemed fit that he had his own office in the building. However, Maverick could count on one hand the amount of times he had actually spent time in his office. He liked to spend his time in the air, or sitting in on classes and meetings. The office primarily served as a place to put his gym bag.

Dragon was looking over the various pictures and awards that Penny had hung up in the office (she knew that Maverick was pretty useless when it came to decorating). A smile graced her face as she came across a photo of a young Bradley, Carole and Goose Bradshaw. Bradley looked to be about a year old, sporting a couple of loose brown curls. Carole was beaming brightly as ever at the camera while Goose looked down at the loves of his life. Dragon’s hand absentmindedly went to her belly, rubbing her thumb over the material of her khaki dress uniform. She reached her other hand up and grabbed the photo off the bulletin board, bringing it closer to look at.

Maverick had just rounded the corner to his office, surprised that he even remembered the way to it. Dragon had asked to meet with him, which brought some shock to him. Usually Dragon just cornered him at the Hard Deck, or texted him if she had a question. Occasionally she would send Bradley after him if he didn’t answer back quick enough for her liking. But when Maverick turned to walk into his office, he came to halt. He took in the sight of the woman he considered his daughter-in-law, looking at one of his favorite pictures of the people he considered family.

“That was his first birthday,” Maverick said, making Dragon jump, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dragon shook her head and set the photo back on the wall, “No, it’s okay. Sorry, for making you figure out where your office was again.”

Maverick laughed and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, “I need a reminder every so often. What’s up? Why did you want to meet here?”

“How did Carole tell Goose she was pregnant with Bradley?”

“Well, uh. . .” Maverick tilted his head, trying to rack his mind for the memory that used to sit right at the front of his mind. But after losing both Carole and Goose, the memory was too painful, “She called me, I remember that. And honestly, it really scared the hell out of me. She was crying and my first instinct was to ask what the hell did Goose do,” Dragon laughed at that and Maverick cracked a smile, “But she said it was happy tears and asked me to come over. When I arrived she nearly tackled me in the doorway, jumping up and down and saying she was pregnant, that those two weeks on leave had worked, which I could’ve lived my life without knowing.”

“Like learning your parents are still banging,” Dragon jokes.

“Precisely,” Maverick added, “But, she went out and bought a quilt square, you know that one that sits on the rocking chair?” Dragon nodded, “It started with just one simple square, the teddy bear one that says ‘baby bradshaw’ on it. Carole got that square, and put the positive tests and the ultrasound picture in a box and gave it to Goose. And then he called me and sacred the shit out of me because he was crying.”

Dragon laughed, “God, I wish I could’ve met them.”

“I wish you could’ve met them too,” Maverick said solemnly, “I think they would’ve approved of you at first glance. . .even if you did bust Bradley’s balls for a while.” Dragon smirked as she remembered how hard she made Bradley chase after her, “Why do you ask about Carole and Goose? What’s going on?”

Dragon simply shook her head, “Nothing. I just,” Dragon took in a deep breath, “Think I’m going to be grounded for a while.” She looked up at Maverick and watched as the dots connected in his head. He stood up from his chair and wrapped Dragon in a hug.

He knew bits and pieces of what Dragon and Rooster were going through. He had been the one to help Rooster fix up the nursery after Ida’s birth. Maverick hated seeing Rooster in pain, knowing that he was probably the one person on this earth, who didn’t need anymore grief in his life.

“I’ll relay the message,” Maverick said, a smile on his face.

— — —

Dragon took a deep breath as she laid on the exam table waiting for Doctor Miller. Both fear and nervousness were taking over her body. Rooster was nervous too, but he did a better job at hiding it. The two of them had been here before, waiting for the doctor to come in and either give them good news or heartbreaking news. Dragon prayed that this wasn’t her body playing some cruel trick on her again. Even after getting the positive pregnancy test, Dragon continued to check her hCG levels, still seeing them rise. It brought her some peace of mind, but she knew that wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

She looked over at Rooster, whose head was leaned back against the wall as his foot tapped rapidly on the ground. Dragon wanted this for him too. She could remember when she found out about her fertility issues and told him that she would be okay if he left. Bradley had told her that he wanted kids, not right away, but eventually. It broke her to know that she might not be able to give him what she wanted. She wanted him to be able to carry on his family name for the next generation. She wanted him to feel the bliss that his parents had with him. She wanted for him to wake up and see a child that was a perfect mix of him and her.

Rooster had been amazing, going through a false pregnancy and two miscarriages. He was her rock when she needed him. He never left Dragon’s side, even when she would push and shove him away. He always made sure that she was physically okay, helping her through the pain, wiping away the tears and holding her hair back. But besides that, Rooster always made sure that Dragon was mentally okay. Nobody really ever talked about the emotional side of losing a child they didn’t even know they had, or never got to hold. Rooster did what he could, going to different support groups, talking to different therapists about how he could help his wife through something he couldn’t ever experience.

“I love you,” Dragon blurted and Rooster opened his eyes and smiled at her. He leaned forward, grabbing her hand in his.

“I love you too,” He smiled back, “What’s going on in that head?”

“I just really want this,” Dragon said softly and placed a hand on her stomach, “We’ve done everything right, and I just really want this to be our time.”

“I know,” Rooster said, running a thumb over the back of her hand, “We just gotta keep the faith,”

“Bradley, Grace,” Doctor Miller smiled as she walked through the door, “How are we doing?”

“Okay, I think,” Dragon said, shifting slightly, “I’ve been taking the vitamins you prescribed, taking my blood pressure daily, staying away from stressful situations.”

“All good things I like to hear,” Doctor Miller nodded, “How are you doing, Rooster?”

“Nervous,” He smiled, “I want to see my baby, or potential babies,”

Doctor Miller smiled, “Your labs look good, Dragon. I still want you to come in every two weeks right now. Once we get past the first trimester, we can move to every four weeks. I know it’s scary right now, but the chance of miscarriage drops weekly, you keep doing the right things and before you know it, you’ll have a healthy baby or potential babies in your arms.”

Rooster smiled and stood from his spot, standing over Dragon’s shoulder as Doctor Miller got everything ready for the ultrasound. He knew that she wanted this part, and he hated it for her. He hated that she was always put on display like this, having to spread her legs and be poked with needles.

“Alright, deep breath,” Doctor Miller said. Dragon closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as she felt the transducer enter her body. She grimaced and turned her head away from the monitor, burying her head into Bradley’s belly. He put his hand on her head, running it gently over her dark hair. He could feel the nerves rolling off her body.

“It’s okay,” Rooster whispered. He looked up at the screen, and his whole world seemed to freeze in place, “Honey, look.”

Dragon turned her head towards the screen, seeing a small blip on the screen. Tears filled her eyes as Doctor Miller clicked a couple buttons on the ultrasound machine. Rooster tucked his head down a bit, sniffling, as he looked back up at the screen. Dragon looked at him and smiled, squeezing his hand.

“I am only seeing one fetus,” Doctor Miller said, and pointed at the small blob, “Here is your baby.” Rooster placed a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “I think we can also. . .” Doctor Miller clicked a few more buttons and suddenly a loud whooshing filled the air.

Dragon let out a soft cry and closed her eyes. Rooster held her tightly, “Thank you, honey.” He kissed her temple. Dragon looked back over at the ultrasound screen and smiled at the littlest Bradshaw.

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @bradshawseresinbabe

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misslavenderlady · 11 months

Text

A Little Bit Country, A Little Bit Rock ‘N Roll - Chapter 14

Summary: Tired and stressed out from Max trying to overstep his bounds, Michael leans on David for support. So much so that they just might take their relationship to the next level.

TW: Chapter contains mentions of stress and implied sex. ***There will be separate, shorter chapter for the n.s.f.w. material~

I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LONG WAIT!! Life just gets crazy sometimes. But rest assured, the chapter I'm pairing with this is EXTRA special and worth the wait~

Song from chapter HERE

Previous Chapter *n.s.f.w. part* Next Chapter

Though David enjoyed his nights hanging upside down in the cave rafters with his brothers, he couldn't deny the fact that he had missed the comfort of sleeping in a bed. He hadn't had the privilege of doing such a thing in decades. The mattress that Grandpa Emerson had set up in the basement was firm in structure, yet perfectly plush and cozy on top.

Between the comfort of the bed and the soft fabric of the quilt wrapped over his body, David almost didn't want to wake up when the sun went down for the day. He was just too comfortable. Still, he wanted to make the most of the night. Sleep all day, party all night, yadda yadda.

With a deep yawn and a stretch of his arms, the vampire finally managed to force himself out of his cocoon of coziness. Not wanting to lose the relaxing feel TOO much, he left his boots and coat where he had tossed them aside earlier that morning. If he and the boys could truly call the Emerson house their home, then he wouldn't worry about dressing up.

David's feet padded against the wood flooring as he ascended the staircase, making his way out of the basement and back into the main level of the house.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

David didn't have to wait long to get an answer. Turning around the corner, his eyes were greeted with the sight of Michael slouching on the sofa. His eyes were downturned and a look of distress was stuck on his face.

"Michael? You okay?"

The brunet snapped out of his trance, turning to face him. He smiled softly at David, trying his best to hide the troubles he was thinking about.

"Hey, huckleberry! Sorry, didn't hear ya right away!"

David raised an eyebrow at him, curious as to how Michael didn't hear him in the silent room. He was no dummy to the stress his boyfriend was experiencing. There was no hiding pain or struggle from a vampire.

"You alright? Something on your mind?"

"Can't get anything past ya, can I?"

The blond shook his head playfully as he held out a hand for Michael to take. When their palms locked together, he hoisted the human off of the couch, pulling him into his arms.

"Anything you wanna talk about, cowboy?"

"Nah, it's nothin' you have to worry 'bout," Michael assured him, nuzzling against his shoulder and kissing his stubbled cheek. "Just don't wanna think 'bout anythin' right now."

If there was one thing David could do, it was provide some fun and excitement to help push away any bothersome thoughts. With a soft smile and a playful look in his eyes, he made an offer to the brunet boy.

“Would going on an adventure help take your mind off of things?”

Michael lifted his head off of David’s shoulder, his baby blues shining with excitement. That was all the answer that he needed.

“Thanks for driving, Michael. It’s been a very long time since I used something other than my Triumph.”

“Ain’t no thing, huckleberry. Just tell me when I gotta turn.”

David hadn’t yet revealed the secret plans he had put together for his boyfriend. While Michael had gotten showered and dressed upstairs, David had collected various supplies from the special room in the basement and packed them up in the bed of the truck that was parked on the dirt driveway. Michael explained that he and his grandfather used it for heavy labor tasks, but it would work just fine for the special surprise that awaited them.

The vampire hadn’t been lying when he said he hadn’t driven in a long time. What Michael didn’t have to know was that the last time he had driven a car it had been with a convertible from a good 15 years before Michael was born. He ended up crashing some drained human's car after he took it for a spin with the boys. Max was so furious about what happened that David hadn't touched a steering wheel since that night. His motorcycle would do just fine.

"So ya can't give me any hints 'bout where we're goin?" Michael said playfully.

"Sorry, but you're just gonna have to wait," David teased. "Don't worry, though. You're gonna really like this."

That was all that Michael needed to hear to trust his word. He tapped his fingers along the scuffed-up steering wheel, matching the beat of the country song on the radio as he turned in the direction that David pointed.

Michael recognized the route as something similar to what he and the boys took to take their bikes to the cave. He knew the way there by heart after going there so many times, yet David still guided him as if it were his first drive. By the time they were wrapping up the trip, David gave a final direction for where he should go.

Only this time, they made a different turn than usual. One that led Michael's truck off the dirt road and down into a steep dip in the sand. He raised an eyebrow at David, confused as to where they were going.

"Just keep heading that way. Follow the path towards the left of those cliffs. I promise we're just about there."

Trusting in his sense of direction, Michael drove the truck towards the area he was instructed to go to. He was still quite curious about what he was going to see up until he rounded around the edge of the passage. When he did, his mouth fell slightly open.

The space looked somewhat like a private beach. It was near the water like the hideout at the bluff was, only it had more of a sandy stretch of land that led into a hidden, rocky structure. The area was surrounded by trees and flora, adding beautiful pops of green to the space that could easily be seen under the glow of the full moon in the sky.

"Woah Nelly! What's this place?" Michael asked, cutting the engine once the truck was in park.

"Ya like it?" David smirked, climbing out of the vehicle and motioning for Michael to do the same. "Welcome to Foxtail Grotto, Michael. One of the hidden gems of Santa Carla."

Michael smiled widely as he took in the surrounding area. Even with the darkness of the night sky, he could still see how beautiful it was. All he could do was stare in awe at it while David snuck to the back of the truck to pull out all the goodies he had packed for such a trip.

"I had no idea this was here! Y'all sure do know your way 'round the place."

"You better believe it, baby," David agreed. "Which is why it's the perfect spot for a night of camping."

The reveal of such a surprise certainly perked the brunet up. He whipped his head around to see David holding a rolled-up comforter under one arm and a large duffle bag tightly stuffed under the other. Michael's toothy grin at the sight was enough to outshine all of the stars out in the sky.

"How'd ya know I liked to camp?"

"Lucky guess. Shall we?"

The two of them worked together to unpack everything. David stacked up piles of the pillows and blankets he had swiped from the basement while Michael got all of the snacks and drinks that had been packed in plastic bags. To tie the look of the campsite together, they scavenged the area for items that would be ideal for a small campfire. Rocks, pine cones, and dry sticks of various sizes were collected, allowing the two boys everything they needed to get a fire going.

"Glad ya had this with ya," Michael commented as he flicked open David's lighter to ignite one of the pine cones for kindling. "But even if ya didn't I could always teach ya how to do this the ol' fashioned way!"

"You mean with flint and steel? That's a pretty impressive skill to have."

"Ya think these hands are just for playin' guitar and cleanin' barns? You'd be surprised with what I can do with them!"

David's eyes were half-lidded and his lips curled up into a sly smile at the sound of that. He did not doubt that Michael could do quite a few fun tricks with his hands.

Once the fire was crackling and glowing nice and bright, Michael scooted away, trying to get a good look at it. He released a sigh of relief, happy to see everything going how he wanted it to. David was more than pleased to see him relax for the first time that night. Not wanting Michael to worry about anything else, he pulled him into his grasp, slipping his arms around the human's waist and nuzzling his scruffy cheek into the crook of his neck.

"Perfect."

The night was exactly what David wanted it to be like. He didn't have to worry about Max being a pest, he could unwind for a stress-free night, and most importantly, Michael was happy.

Between moments of adding extra sticks to the fire, the two of them would enjoy the sensation of the plush quilt blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They munched on trail mix and marshmallows while whispering sweet nothings to one another. It was pure tranquility.

"I didn't realize how much I needed this," Michael admitted with a sigh. "Haven't gotten to go on a campin' trip in a good long while. I loved doin' this back home."

David nodded, kissing along the trail of freckles on part of Michael's shoulder peeking out of his shirt. He could feel Michael tremble slightly from his giggling as he was tickled in certain spots.

"You deserve something much nicer than this for a vacation, Michael. If I had it my way, you wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again."

Michael let out a sigh before wiggling slightly out of David's hold. When the blond playfully pouted at being further away, Michael shook his head and smiled as he reached out to caress his cheek with calloused fingers.

"Does that mean you'd help out with things like shovelin' cow shit and pullin' weeds outta the yard?" he teased.

David snickered and took hold of the hand touching his face, kissing the palm of Michael's hand. Every single kiss he got made the human's heart flutter in delight.

"That depends. Would it make you happy?"

"I reckon."

"Then consider me your number one farm hand."

David couldn't possibly imagine himself getting his special boots and leather gloves dirty from doing chores on the Emerson farm, but he'd be willing to swipe a few spare sets from the local hardware store if it meant being a help to Michael.

To think the big bad vampire gang leader was imagining life on the farm with a cute human working beside him. It was still so bewildering to him, yet he didn't question his judgment for even a moment. He could take care of the Emersons and their home.

"Speaking of getting busy with hands," David said, releasing Michael from his hold. "I have another treat for you."

"Oh? Not done spoilin' me?" Michael teased.

"Not by a long shot," David assured him, pulling one of the blankets away from their makeshift nest to reveal the final surprise of the night. An old, dented guitar case decorated from top to bottom with band name stickers and carvings made from a pocket knife.

Michael's eyes widened with anticipation. If he had known David was going to bring his guitar, he would have brought his own too for another jam session. He expected to see the slick, black Stratocaster but was instead greeted by the sight of an acoustic guitar. Though it was the same color as the electric instrument, it was easy to see that David hadn't used this guitar nearly as much. It was far too fresh and untouched.

"I'll admit it, Michael, I've been bitten by the country music bug. I thought if I was going to play you a song, I'd do it right."

David pulled the guitar out of its case, the light of the campfire being reflected in the glossy paint job. Michael watched in awe as the blond tuned the instrument in his lap, giving the strings a soft strum.

"Just need one thing before I get started."

Before Michael could even open his mouth to ask what it was, David leaned forward and plucked the human's signature hat off of his head. He grinned slyly as he placed it on top of his head, adjusting it to his liking.

"Hey! You little thief!" Michael laughed.

"Sorry, but it's absolutely crucial if I'm gonna do this right," David insisted, still looking proud of himself for getting the hat on.

Though he was in a playful mood, David felt somewhat breathless from the way his nerves grew more and more by the second. He’d played songs for Michael before, but it was always from the rock genre. He didn’t have the authentic drawl or the southern experiences that Michael did that made his singing so genuine.

Even still, Michael waited with bated breath for David to play. It acted as a silent reminder that David had nothing to be nervous about. It was just the two of them. He kept that in mind as he began to play.

“There's a lot of ways of saying

What I want to say to you

There's songs and poems and promises

And dreams that might come true

But I won't talk of starry skies

Or moonlight on the ground

I'll come right out and tell you

I'd just love to lay you down”

Michael’s expression shifted as David sang for him. Any mischievousness was slowly taken over by astonishment. His eyes softened while he watched his beloved boyfriend play the song.

“Lay you down and softly whisper pretty love words in your ear

Lay you down and tell you all the things a man loves to hear

I'll let you know how much it means just having you around

Oh darling how I'd love to lay you down”

The music came a bit easier now. David’s confidence was building up again, and he let his voice sing out a bit louder now. Though he didn’t have the same southern accent that Michael did, the raspiness of his tone added to the song.

“When a whole lot of Decembers

Are showing in your face

Your auburn hair has faded

And silver takes its place

You'll be just as lovely

And I'll still be around

And if I can I know that

I'd still love to lay you down”

Even with the hot, crackling fire beside them, Michael and David had enough heat building between them with just the song. With every line that was serenaded to him, Michael felt his passion for David grow stronger.

“Lay you down and softly whisper pretty love words in your ear

Lay you down and tell you all the things a man loves to hear

I'll let you know how much it means just having you around

Oh darling how I love to lay you down”

Though David could have continued to play more of the song, his makeshift concert was cut short. The reason for it being that Michael had leaned in to push the guitar aside, wrap his arms around David’s shoulders, and pull him in for a deep kiss.

He let out a surprised grunt, his voice muffled by Michael's lips on his own. Even so, he felt himself melt into the sensation, hands wrapping around Michael's body and pulling him more onto his lap. One hand was slipping into Michael's curls while the other was traveling south a bit more. Getting bolder.

God, Michael really did make him feel alive.

"David," he sighed out, breathless and lightheaded with lust.

"Michael."

"How about instead of singing about that kinda stuff-" Michael started, eyes hazy as he traveled his finger across David's chest. "you show me instead."

Never in his life, both living and undead, did David ever want something so bad. This was happening, and he'd never been happier. That feeling only grew stronger as he pulled Michael back in for a kiss.

All the while, the fire crackled as the light dimmed. Forgotten as the lovers focused on only each other.

Tag List: @silvermaplealder @michael-after-hours @legal-lost-boy @britany1997 @ria-coolgirl @crustyraccoon @ghoulgeousimmaculate @kurt-nightcrawler @auntvamp @sunshine-wylan @thelostsouls1987 @crustyboypix @thornthehellhound @solobagginses @6lostgirl6 @american-idiot-jpg @bloodywickedvamp @anxiouslittleweirdkid @juss-soupp @bloodsuckingfiends @f4iryfxies @bezinful @oceansrose2002 @piratesangel @vampirefilmlover @charlizekkelly @blueberrypancakesworld @queerlittlem0nster

#the lost boys #tlb #Spotify #my fic #ao3 fic #au fic #michael x david #michael emerson #david the lost boys

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beanzwrites · 1 year

Text

┃Coffee Please~┃☕

Pairing: Dean x Sister! reader x Sam

Description: The youngest Winchester wakes up exhausted from an awful night of sleep. She has never had coffee before but seeing her brothers have a cup, she wants to see if it will help perk her up too.

Warnings: slight swearing

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

(Name) opens her eyes as a hand around her shoulder begins to shake her lightly. Her older brother, Dean, hovers over the bed she slept in, his face dim compared to the sun coming through the window behind him. Wrinkles form at the end of his eyes as a smile quirks onto his lips.

“Five more minutes,” (Name) mumbles while tugging the patterned quilt over her nose. Dean’s smile darkens, olive green eyes glimmering with mischief, and he took a step to the right. She hisses and shields herself from the beaming light with the back of her hand.

“Sammy will be back in a few minutes,” Dean says, chuckling at his sister’s reaction.

“So? Let me sleep until he gets here...” (Name) groans. She turns her back to him, hiding her face in the bicep of her arm.

“Alright then, but we’re leaving right when he does. I just thought you would like a bit of time to do your girly stuff,” Dean replies, leaning against the window and looking out. “Oh, here comes Baby,” he lies after getting a grumble as a response.

(Name) throws her covers off, grabbing her bag by the handle, and flounces into the motel bathroom with a slam of the door.

“Don’t stay in there too long,” Dean calls out.

“Shut it!”

(Name), back hunched forward, came out with a new set of clothes on. She throws her off-brand converse to the floor, taking a seat at the small dining table, and rubs her eyes harshly to rid of the tiredness.

“How did you sleep?” Dean asks in a serious tone when noticing her exhausted state.

“Like shit,” his sister replies while supporting her chin with the palm of her hands.

“Swear.”

“You and Sammy cuss all the time,” (Name) said in defense, crossing her bare feet on the wooden chair.

“Because we’re adults, you’re just a baby.”

“I’m fifteen!”

“And?” Dean shrugs, sitting at the end of one of the beds. He tugs his jacket over his shoulders, looking at his sister with the most salient expression.

“My god,”(Name) whispers to herself, trying to hide the small smile that twitched at the edge of her lips.

Dean opens his mouth say something else; however, the front door opens to reveal Sam with two steaming cups of coffee. Shutting the door with the heel of his shoe, he then passes Dean one of the cups to drink.

“Papers dating back to fifty years ago have retold occurrences where bodies were found mutilated on the outskirts of town, such as Emelia Roberts. A few locals reported to have seen a tall black entity hanging around the old gas station two miles north from the court house,” Sam explains before taking a sip of his beverage.

(Name) watched longingly at the perk up juice in his hand, wanting nothing more than to jug it down to wake herself up. She smacks her cheeks to help focus on her brothers’ conversation on the monster that has been terrorizing the people of the community they were inhabiting for a few days.

“Should we start there?” Sam asks, giving his sister a confusing glance before turning his attention back to Dean.

“We need to go back into town and ask around for any info we can get. We’ll head for the gas station near dark to avoid any run-ins with the owner,” Dean said while grabbing his gun from the bedside drawer and placing it into his jean pocket. Sam began to gather his things as well but (Name) keeps her position in the chair. Her head is pressed on the surface of the table, taking glimpses at the cup Dean had set down in front of her.

“(Name)-” Sam starts.

“Can I have some coffee too?”

The two brothers stopped in their tracks, looking at their sister with amusement. (Name) turns her head in their direction, a humdrum expression on her face.

“Uh, why?” Sam asks, removing his cup’s lid from his mouth.

“Because,” She replies with a lazy shrug.

“Okay?” Sam looks at Dean with an arched eyebrow.

“I’m exhausted,” she continues, “it seems to help you so maybe it will help me too.”

They laugh, humored with her pensive mood. Dean extends his hand towards his cup in front of her, gesturing for her to pick it up.

“Is it good?” (Name) asks, holding the Styrofoam between her hands, relaxing under the warm touch.

“I don’t know,” Dean says with a smirk, “You’re the one who wanted to try it so try it.”

(Name) presses the tip to her mouth, flinching as the hot liquid goes down her throat. She looks up at her brothers with a broadening smile.

“This is mine now,” She motions to the object in her hand before taking another sip.

“I don’t think so, chick.” Dean snatches it from her and cradles it in his armpit. Sam laughs again as (Name) lets out a long-noted groan.

“Here,” Sam replies, motioning for her to take his. “You can have mine.”

“No! You already drank half of yours,” she whines, slinging her arms like a child with a tantrum. “I want Dean’s.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean dismisses.

“Why not?” (Name) argues, standing up to press her jaw against his shoulder.

“Cause it’s mine,” he responds, flicking her nose.

(Name) glares at him before giving Sam the best puppy eyes she could muster.

“There’s no need for that, (Name). When we head out, we’ll stop by somewhere and buy you one... and refill Dean’s now empty cup,” Sam says, pointing to their brother who was guzzling down the rest of his coffee.

“What? She drank most of it,” He states.

“You two are children,” Sam mutters, slipping his bag over his head.

“Hey, She’s the child,” Dean said, walking out the door.

“I’m fifteen!”

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#supernatural x reader #Dean Winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester x sister reader

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sweaterkittensahoy · 19 days

Note

prompt: someone needs to make an honest man out of bucky and get him pregnant. up to you who it is.

[I don't usually write mpreg, but this idea hit like a brick]

Bucky wakes from an unintended nap when something scrapes across the living room floor. He grunts and tries to sit up.

"Don't look!" Jack says, almost directly behind Bucky.

Bucky twists his head to try and see anyway, but all he can get in his line of sight is Jack's left leg. He's wearing his oldest slacks, and there's saw dust in the cuff. He's been working on whatever he's up to in the back shed again, Bucky realizes. Jack had asked him not to come back there until he was done with something special. A surprise for Bucky. It'd been easier than usual to agree and actually keep his promise. He's seven months pregnant and he's so wiped by the end of the day, he's lucky he has the energy to fall into bed at night.

"What is it?" Bucky asks.

"You'll see. I promise," Jack replies. He darts over and kisses Bucky on the top of the head, then holds out his hand. "Close your eyes for a second, will you?"

Bucky closes his eyes, then sighs in relief when Jack helps him sit up. He slumps against the couch, both hands going to his belly. "I swear this kid gains a pound every time I take a nap."

"We'll have the first full-grown infant in the hospital nursery," Jack says. He kisses Bucky, then slides his hands over Bucky's on his stomach. He rubs his thumbs down low by Bucky's pelvis where Bucky swears it hasn't stopped aching since the kid first started showing.

"Ugh, thank you," Bucky groans. He tries to open his eyes, but Jack kisses each of his lids. "How long do I keep my eyes closed?"

"Just another minute," Jack says. "I just want to set it up right."

"Set it up?" Bucky replies. "Did you finally cave and get that stereo you've been eying so hard?"

"I wouldn't do that without checking with you, first," Jack says. "You know that."

Bucky does, but it's nice to hear. He's always liked the tiny bits of domestic life no one ever thinks to talk about. Like agreeing to big purchases as a team. Since his pregnancy started, they've become an odd little emotional touchstone, a reminder from Jack that he's valued and loved. "Suppose we do already have a record player," he says. "But what if the sound's better?"

"We'll go in and see if they'll let us try it," Jack says, and his voice is a little far away and echoing slightly. Bucky knows without opening his eyes that he's in the nursery.

He listens to Jack walk back towards him and only opens his eyes when Jack's hand touches his arm. "Got your surprise all ready?"

"Sure, do," Jack replies. He holds out his hands and hauls Bucky to his feet, dragging a palm over Bucky's bump as he turns him towards the nursery. "Easy," he says as Bucky takes a step, then sways.

"Fucking center of gravity," Bucky mutters. Jack chuckles and busses a kiss on his cheek, then leads him down the hall to the nursery.

Inside, there's the crib and the changing table they'd picked out last month. The walls are mint green, and there's a stuffed unicorn on the dresser--an early gift from Buck--next to a pair of yellow baby booties and a full layette, ready for when the baby comes home from the hospital.

And in the corner by the window that looks over their backyard, there's a rocker that wasn't there before. Modern-style with a cushioned back and seat done up in blue fabric stamped with little white frogs. The same fabric as the sheets in the crib, and the two back up sets in the closet, and a little quilt tucked away until the baby's first winter.

"Jack--" Bucky swallows hard. "How--"

"You pointed it out in the Sears Catalog," Jack says. "I know that one had striped cushions, but I thought you'd like that it matched."

"Jack," Bucky whispers, and he feels tears fall, so he wipes his face, and Jack hugs him carefully around his middle and kisses his temple. "It's wonderful," Bucky says. He walks over to the rocker and pushes it with one finger. It sways forward and back in a smooth rhythm. Up close, Bucky realizes it's made of teak, polished to a high shine. He runs his palm over an armrest, astounded at how smooth it feels.

"Will you sit in it?" Jack asks, sounding bashful. "I've been wanting to see that."

Bucky meets his gaze and feels floored. He tells Jack he loves him every day, several times a day, but Jack's not as effusive. Never has been. But this. A rocking chair. For their baby. Made with his own two hands. Because Bucky pointed it out in a catalog. "How do you even know how to do this?" he asks.

"Dad taught me," Jack replies. "It's not much harder than a table or a nightstand."

Bucky scoffs. Jack built their coffee table and nightstands and they're beautiful too, but not like this. Not lovingly recreated from a photo. "You're too much," he says, then lowers himself into the chair. He sighs in pleasure as he settles into the cushions. They're thick, and angle on the back of the rocker takes some of the weight off his belly. "Oh, I might live here until this kid shows up," he says.

Jack hums a happy sound and walks over. He crouches next to the chair, taking Bucky's hand and lifting it so he can kiss his knuckles. "I'll make a pallet right here on the floor if you want," he says. "Get you anything you want."

Bucky smiles at Jack and pulls both their hands over his belly. "I'm doing all right with what I've got," he says. "Best I've ever done, really."

Jack spreads his fingers wide on Bucky's belly and looks at him with that sweet, shy smile he has. "Yeah, me, too," he agrees, and Bucky smiles right back at him, as bright and open as ever. He can't wait to find out which smile this kid in him is gonna end up with.

#jackbucky #mpreg #masters of the air #jack kidd #bucky egan

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satans-helper · 6 months

Text

Reaching for Stardust - Part XIII

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3700

Warnings: none

Apologies for the delay. I got sick for two weeks (it's like this fic foreshadowed my life...jk) and didn't want to let my writing get too far behind <3

---

“I feel like shit, mama,” Josh grumbled, the words muffled by the thick quilt that was swaddled around him. He let out a huff and pulled some of it away from his face, tired, slightly red-rimmed eyes looking at me. “This is not how I wanted to spend the holiday break.”

“I mean, it kind of worked out for me,” I admitted, setting my laptop on the coffee table. “I have a valid excuse for not having Thanksgiving with my parents.” Normally I’d be in our little office space but with Josh suffering from the flu, I was working from the couch or our bed. It was a difficult time with Josh feeling so rough–the poor thing was exhausted and sore, feverish with a scratchy, sore throat. At least it wasn’t anything worse. Normally Josh’s colds only lasted a few days and I figured the flu wouldn’t be much different. A week at most, probably. And I hoped I wouldn’t get sick in turn.

“That’s fair. We’ll see them for Christmas,” Josh agreed, eyes becoming half-closed while he tucked himself in tighter in the blanket burrito.

“No–I’m spending it at your place this year, remember?”

Josh shook his head. “Not if you miss Thanksgiving. Your folks will never let you miss Christmas with them if you’re skipping that.”

“Let’s not even think about that right now,” I told him, checking the clock on my laptop–just over an hour and I could clock out. I leaned over the center cushion to gently feel his forehead. “You still feel warm, Josh. How does your body feel now?”

Eyes now fully closed, he answered, “Cold.” He let out a ragged cough, then added, “But I was hot a few minutes ago so. I dunno.”

“I’d really like you to eat something,” I told him, brushing my fingers through his hair. “You were worried about being too big for the suit, now I’m worried you’ll be too small.” Although that almost seemed impossible given how small he already appeared to be, wrapped up and tucked in like that on the couch.

“A popsicle?” he proposed, blinking slowly at me. “Preferably purple, please?”

“How about a purple popsicle while I heat up some soup for you?”

Josh nodded. “Stupendous.”

I stood up, taking one last, long, good look at him before I had to migrate to the kitchen. “You know, Josh–you are so adorable when you’re sick. I mean, I hate that you’re sick. But no one else I know ever looks this delectable when they’re ill.”

“I’m on the mend,” Josh croaked in protest, hunkering down even more, just the top half of his face visible.

“I know you are, baby,” I assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. I grabbed a grape popsicle from the freezer and delivered it to him before I left him to doze on his own for a few minutes. It was time to get some chicken noodle soup warmed up.

When I returned, Josh had set one of the tray tables in front of himself and was no longer fully cocooned in the blanket. I tutted my disapproval as I set the bowl and spoon down in front of him: “I was gonna get that for you. You’re supposed to rest.”

“I am resting,” Josh assured me, but the rough croak of his voice told me he definitely needed more. He shifted to the edge of the couch and stirred the soup with his spoon, then looked at me as I sat down next to him, pulling my laptop back to the tops of my thighs. “Getting any honeymoon inspiration?”

Honestly, I was feeling too preoccupied all around to be taking anything as inspiration. The holidays were upon us, adding to stress, and I’d spent more time trying to find ideas for Danny’s birthday gift than doing any actual work. “Not really,” I told him with a sigh. “I think I could go just about anywhere though.”

“Somewhere warm,” Josh said, lifting the spoon to his mouth.

“Somewhere warm would be good,” I concurred, checking the time again. With what I had left, I decided to get back to my actual project while Josh dutifully ate his little lunch and zoned out with cartoons. He spent the rest of the day like that, only getting up to go to the bathroom once, which told me he needed a lot more fluids than what he was getting.

It was a long, slow, tired sort of day. When bedtime rolled around, I grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and gave it to Josh as he was slowly getting up from the couch. “Can you drink like, half of this before we go to bed, please?”

He nodded. “Okay, mama.” He took a long sip, wincing as he swallowed. “Ugh. My chest hurts.”

A little ripple of concern ran through my own chest. “Really? What’s it feel like?”

“Kind of sharp, I guess.” He put a hand over his chest and inhaled deeply, then winced again. “Yeah. What’s that about?”

I don’t know,” I said slowly, watching his shoulders rise and fall. “But that doesn’t sound good. Let me take your temperature again.” I grabbed the thermometer from the bathroom and slipped it under his tongue; Josh leaned against the counter, shrouded in the throw blanket from the couch, and waited. After a minute, I took it out and, upon reading the numbers, felt my jaw go slack. “Oh, my god, Josh. It’s 102. That’s higher than yesterday.”

Josh brought my hand down to peer at it himself. “Shit, really?”

I set it on the counter and put my hands on his shoulders. “Promise me that if it’s the same–or worse–in the morning, we’ll go to the ER.” Josh instantly, silently balked, rolling his eyes and sighing; I was having none of it. “Promise me. I’m just gonna drag you anyway. You’re not strong enough to fight me off.”

A little hoarse laugh came from his scratchy throat. “Okay, okay. But it’s gonna get better.” He grabbed the Gatorade again and headed towards the bedroom. “This has to be the worst of it, darling.”

I was hopeful of that but was finding it hard to relax once we were in bed. Josh curled up and wiggled against my front; I laid one arm over him and draped my leg over his, listening to him breathe. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, though I was stuck lying awake in the dark with racing thoughts and worry hammering in my heart. Having a cold was one thing. Coming down with the flu was another but still not something most people had to worry about, right? But such a high fever and that chest pain. That worried me. Jake had a really bad case of the flu once that took him out for weeks, I remembered that. Sam had too. Was it a Kiszka thing? It was weird, I thought as I shifted in bed, trying to adjust without jostling Josh too much, when it seemed like all of them would have super robust immune systems. I could remember the time Danny had strep and Sam caught it, of course, and Sam’s experience seemed a lot worse than his counterpart had. I tried not to worry. I tried to just close my eyes and match my breathing to Josh’s, to remember that it would be a new day soon enough.

But in the morning, all of that worry returned tenfold. Josh looked pale, his cough had become worse and he was shivering from the moment we got up. The first thing I did was grab the thermometer and stick it under his tongue again.

“Alright, let’s go,” I said, hopping into action as soon as I saw the little red line hit 104. “Hospital time.”

Josh huffed raggedly and stayed frozen on the edge of the bed. “Do we have to?”

“Please, Josh?” I asked while I fluttered about the bedroom to gather necessities–his phone and wallet, our chargers, a clean pair of socks. Who knew how long we were going to wait there for, so I grabbed a tote bag from the closet and started piling other things into it–books, earbuds, Josh’s notebook and pens.

“You’re really worried,” he noted while I buzzed about him, and that made me stop to really feel that worry sink into my gut.

“Yeah, I am. This isn’t getting better,” I told him, turning away to return to the closet. “And I need you to be okay.” I at least needed to get dressed before we left, then I needed to email work. I could do that from the hospital though, I concluded, and rifled through hangers to find my favorite hoodie.

“I’m okay, darling,” Josh said, coming up to my side and rubbing my back. “Will you feel better if I finish that Gatorade?”

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle.

He lifted an arm and sniffed himself. “I smell ripe. Can I shower before we go?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna sit in there with you in case you need help,” I said, expecting to get push-back, but Josh smirked, looking pleased.

In the bathroom, I sat on the closed toilet, bouncing my leg with unyielding nervous energy. While Josh sudsed himself up, I texted the boys to let them know what was happening and their responses only fueled my fears, not in the sense that I was actually expecting the worst–because that would never happen–but in the sense of it had become something to actually share. Something to make everyone else aware of.

Not even Josh announcing, “I feel better already!” as the hot water pounded over him could shake my concerns. Everyone felt better in the shower while sick, but it might only last so long, and when he came out, he still looked pale beneath the flush from the heat.

“We’re still gonna go,” I told him as I shimmied the towel around his body, speeding up the process of him drying off. “I’m not trying to be like, insane or bitchy about this or whatever but–”

Josh quickly lifted one arm to cough loudly, his whole body moving with a long shake. “I know. You’re not being anything about this, love. I’d do the same if it were you.” He sniffed, sighed. “Except I’d probably carry you there. You can’t carry me there.”

“Thank God for cars,” I said, and once Josh was dressed and we were packed up, we got in my own vehicle and headed toward the hospital.

I’d never spent much time in hospitals. Josh, however, had–from broken bones to ruptured eardrums, accidental lacerations and bad sprains, he, Jake and Sam had been inside the walls of our hometown hospital far more than I ever had. The sharp smell of ammonia and artificial lemon made me crinkle my nose as soon as we got inside, and the too-bright white lights that bounced off the white walls made me want to turn right around. Thankfully, no matter how much he resented the fact that we had to be there at all, Josh followed my every move. We checked in and sat down, him wrapped up in multiple layers of clothing beneath a hand-me-down jacket from Danny. I felt too hot in my own layers, the overwhelming heat emanating from the whole hospital mixing with my nerves and superseding the beginnings of a dreary November snowfall outside.

My phone vibrated and a text from Jake read: Keep us posted. If he gets admitted we’re gonna head up there

I will, I texted back. We’re still in the waiting room now

“Who’s that?” Josh asked, resting his head on my shoulder.

“Your twin. Jake says they’re gonna drive up if you have to stay overnight,” I told him, still helplessly bouncing my leg, to which Josh rested one hand on my knee.

“I doubt it, darling. What could they even do for this?”

“I don’t know. I wish I was a doctor,” I said, locking my phone and tucking it away. “Then I could figure it out and fix you myself.”

“You’ll be my sexy nurse.”

I laughed. “Okay, yeah, I can do that. I was trying to be that back home. Well, I guess I wasn’t that sexy.”

Josh snickered. “Lies.”

Snow was falling harder by the time we were ushered into another room to wait further, but finally an actual doctor showed up. I sat back in the stiff chair and watched as Josh was examined, with the doctor taking longer than what I figured was normal while he checked his breathing. I could see Josh struggling to take deep breaths, and when he took the final one dictated by the doctor, he let out another harsh, dry cough.

“Any pain?” the doctor asked, moving the stethoscope to a different spot on Josh’s back.

“A little,” Josh said. “In my chest.”

The doctor pulled the stethoscope away. “Let’s do some x-rays. Your lungs don’t sound how I want them to. Do you smoke?”

“Not often,” Josh answered, looking crestfallen. “You really need to do x-rays?”

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” the doctor assured him, then looked at me. “Would you like to wait here or come with us?”

With the worry rising, I felt as though I couldn’t even move besides the nervous fidgeting, and I got the sense the doctor wanted me to wait anyway. “I’ll stay,” I told them, looking at Josh. “I’ll text Jake again and bring him up to speed.”

And I did just that while Josh got his x-rays, feeling dread pour into my mind. X-rays were serious, right? I’d never had one. Jake tried to reassure me via text but also reaffirmed that he, Sam and Danny were still prepared to drive into town if this became an overnight visit.

Unfortunately, it became just that. When the doctor and Josh returned and the word “pneumonia” became thrown around, I felt my heart sink. With Josh’s heart rate being too low, the high fever and the fluid in his lungs, they wanted to admit him, and although I was given further reassurance by being told that he was young and healthy and would be fine, the fact that Josh had to be stuck in the hospital at all made me feel helpless and confused.

“This is silly,” Josh said while an actual nurse got him situated with an IV. He looked small and delicate in that hospital bed, watching her actions closely.

“We gotta make sure you’re getting your fluids,” she told him, her voice tired but kind. “And we’re getting you started on those antibiotics too, alright?”

As soon as the nurse was gone, I felt a sob getting caught in my throat. I knew Josh would be okay but there was still a part of me that was so frightened at the alternative. He sat up and looked at me, frowning with concern: “Sweetheart, what is it?” I shook my head, trying not to cry because it was pointless, but Josh was having none of that. “Come here, love.”

So I went over to him, sitting down on the scant space of bed, and he wrapped his arm around me. “It’s hard to see you like this,” I confessed, and the tears started to come. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder, bringing one hand to my face. “I don’t know, Starshine. I know you’ll be okay.”

“In sickness and in health,” Josh said, sounding more serious than humorous. “It’s got me thinking too, about how much more of this we might have to deal with as we get older. But I am going to be fine. It’s just a bit of bad luck and a shitty immune system.”

“I know,” I said through more tears, but they were already easing up. I wiped my eyes and sighed, burrowing into him. Josh always seemed so vital, so alive, to the point I realized I sort of viewed him as almost invincible. Almost immortal, in a way. “It fucking sucks.” Some “what ifs” were still circling through my brain but I wouldn’t voice them. That was actually pointless.

Having relayed the final news to the boys, they showed up a couple hours later. Jake stayed right next to Josh on the other side of the bed while Sam milled about the room and Danny pulled the chair up to be close. It was funny, I thought, how much more alive Josh already seemed to be thanks to the attention and affection. Probably also the rush of fluids and maybe the start of those antibiotics, too. It was suddenly almost like nothing was wrong–the boys brought us both up to speed on their writing and rehearsing, a leak in their basement and then some exciting progress on what was going on between Jake and Jane. That perked both Josh and me up, at least–something worth celebrating.

We were told by another nurse, though the words didn’t exactly match her facial expression, that we could essentially stay as long as we wanted. Josh was insistent, however, after an entire day of none of us really eating and nighttime in full swing, that we all should head home. The boy’s parents were headed over to the hospital anyway, so at least he wouldn’t be alone the entire evening. I think we were all still reluctant to leave but I made sure Josh had all of his supplies, kissed him on the forehead and then headed out, feeling strange and forlorn, to go back to our apartment.

The snow had stopped falling by the time I was on the road–another thing to be grateful for–and although I was only home in the empty apartment for a short time while the boys grabbed us all dinner, I hated how cold and sad it felt without Josh. Or really, with knowing where he was instead of being home with me.

“Thank god,” I said when the buzzer sounded. The sight of the boys piling through the door made me feel so much better, as did not eating alone. I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d become until the food was in front of me and it appeared to be the same for them–we ate like we hadn’t done so in days. It was good to know I wasn’t alone in my worries, no matter how baseless they may have essentially been.

“He’ll be okay,” Danny told me. We were all grouped in the living room, Danny next to me on the couch, Jake next to him and Sam on the floor in front of us.

“I know,” I said, the small phrase sounding like a mantra. “I’m still scared.” I looked to Jake for reassurance of that feeling and, silently, he gave it to me. That twin connection was eternal and stronger than I’d ever be able to understand.

We all ended up sleeping in the living room, too. I took the couch and the boys took the floor in the sleeping bags Josh and I had smartly kept a third to hoard, and though the company was of great comfort, I still couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking of Josh in that stiff white hospital bed; maybe Jake was thinking of the same thing, because he and I were still rolling around while Sam and Danny were out cold.

“I just keep thinking about death now,” I told Jake in a whisper through the dark as I made another shift onto my side, looking out onto the floor. I could see his silhouette tucked into the sleeping bag, him propping his head up in his hand.

“That’s way more morbid than what’s happening right now,” he replied, though there was still a tinge of sympathy in his soft voice. “Josh isn’t gonna die. But yeah, it’s scary. I hear you. I’m way more used to us being sick or injured together, honestly.”

I sighed, bringing the blanket further up my chest. “I don’t wanna grow up.”

Jake chuckled. “Me either.”

After a moment I asked, “You really think he’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jake shuffled a bit more and I could hear more than see that he was directly facing me. “You said it’s just been a few days, right? It’s bound to get better.”

“Yeah. The doctors know, I’m sure.” We both stayed quiet for a minute before I said, “I’ve just never seen him like that. So exhausted and weak. And when that doctor said his pulse or his heart rate or whatever was too low? I mean, that’s scary.”

“If you weren’t here, Josh would’ve never gone to the ER,” Jake said. “Who knows how much worse it would’ve gotten then. But they said he’s probably gonna come home tomorrow. We’ll stick around if you want help.”

“I don’t want you guys getting sick, too. I’m probably gonna get sick next.”

“All the more reason for us to stay and help.” Jake sighed. “I miss being super close all the time anyway.”

I smiled a little to myself. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jake said and I could hear the smile in his own words. “Sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting, dude. Josh was always sort of our leader. Yeah, it was different when we started the band and he started school but still. He was always there.”

I rolled onto my back. “Sometimes I wonder if he regrets not joining you guys. We’ve talked a lot about it and I know he’s happy where he is now but–I don’t know. I could see it, him being part of the band. But I’m glad he went to college instead. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met him.” I stretched, feeling better, feeling myself edge a little closer to real tiredness. “My life would’ve turned out so boring without him. And all you guys.”

“You take good care of him. He needs that.”

I laughed softly. “He’s good at taking care of himself, too. And of me.”

Jake yawned and I heard him settle back down in the sleeping back. “We’ll go back first thing in the morning. I bet he’s already dying to come home.”

---

Tagging: @jjwasneverhere @bizzielisteningtogreta @clairesjointshurt @lightsofthe-living-gvf @starbuggie @sparrowofrhiannon

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #sam kiszka #sam gvf #josh kiszka x reader #lfs #rfs #gvf fanfiction

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fandomregression · 11 months

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asking again just in case I didn't click anon when I requested the first time. but ashes o’reilly hcs?

(also I think you can ‘do not archive’ tag it if you don't want jonny seeing)

Regressor Ashes O'reilly Headcanons!

ashes regresses usually to older kid ages! usually around 6-10!! they like to think they're a very independent kiddo (but sometimes that just doesn't work out)

they like to at least try doing everything at least once (i wanna cook! i wanna pour the juice!) but there are some things they're not allowed to do (these were set by brian, who got very tired of ashes sneaking into the pilot area and sending them off course towards whatever planet caught ashes' attention)

ashes doesn't have a main cg because they try so hard to be independent, but a lot of times if they do need help they'll run to brian or nastya or maybe - MAYBE - jonny

jonny however is then supposed to find literally anyone else. because the two of them without big-ashes' ever so slight filter will actually lead to them burning down the ship

"jonny i need help!!" "sure kiddo what's up??" "marius says no ice cream i wanna take his kneecaps" "say no more, i've got the perfect idea!"

ashes is generally a picky kid, and they just really love sweets. this of course leads to difficult meals because if allowed, they would just survive off of chocolate cereal and cake. this is not allowed. this leads to tantrums

jonny then comes in and gives them cake. because he would rather be on ashes' good side

they aren't allowed to smoke when they're regressed, because the one time they let ashes smoke when regressed they set fire to a sofa (accidentally (as far as anyone should be concerned))

instead, ashes runs around with a toy cigar that lights up on the end. they go through so many of those things because while you're not supposed to chew on them, ashes 100% does

hide-and-seek with toy soldier. hide-and-seek with toy soldier!!!

if anyone else is regressed on the ship, usually ashes takes on a big sib persona and they help take care of the other small mech, but they still demand their own attention and will often get the other regressor involved in whatever scheme game they've come up with

when they're on the younger end of their regression, ashes does tend to carry around a blankie they have. its a baby quilt, and its very worn out, but they need it around. its their biggest comfort item

storytime with ivy. storytime with ivy!!!

they love playing card games, and at first jonny thought he'd have to let them win, so he went easy on them. turns out, as a kiddo, ashes is a huge cheat and very, very good at card games. jonny doesn't have to let them win, ashes has to let him win. tim makes fun of him for this, which always makes ashes laugh

okie i think thats all ive got in my head aodjfjakzjrjgja ive got thoughts on who in the mechs would regress/be a flip/be a cg and ashes is firmly in the flip category

#fandom agere #age regression #sfw agere #🧸headcanons #mechs agere #agere ashes #do not archive #adding that just in case #i forgot about that tag so thank u for remindjng me akdjfjajxj #also i remembered earlier that kofi is here too and so aaaaHHH they better not see this either #anyway i love mechs agere i love the mechs

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theeyoungalabastor · 1 year

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Hello author, could you make movie Lloyd garmadon with female reader (she is about 16 years old) who is a dragon leader, she resembles like a mix of Hiccup and Valka from httyd, she also has a fire sword, dragon armor and staff, she is kind and compassionate to dragons, can tame and earn the trust of any dragon, she has 3 main dragons: Stormcutter, Triple Strike, Song of Death and the baby Deathgripper she recently rescued (She carries him in a special compartment in her armor that looks like a mama kangaroo bag. Like the fishlegs in part 3 httyd) , she travels with her dragons looking for a suitable place to stay safe from dragon hunters. She is neutral towards the Lloyd and the others, but over time she has become friends with them. All the dragons obey her, so when a screaming death attacks the city , she calmly talks to the dragon and tames it . She takes Lloyd with her on missions to free dragons from hunters , but her dragons are not friendly to Lloyd (they don't trust him, but after Lloyd saves y/n from a hunter's weapon, he deserves their trust and respect, but the baby deathgripper does not give up trying to burn his clothes with acid ), but are friendly to the others.Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language One shot, if not difficult .

Hello lovely Annon! I am honored to have been granted such a request! I wasn't sure if you wanted it to be platonic or romantic, so I went the safe route and chose platonic!

I also decided to add a few other httyd things in here!

And please, just all me Alabastor!

Lloyd Garmadon + Fem!reader Dragon leader! insert: The Cunning Tongue of a Leviathan

Status: Platonic,

Warnings: Blood, Violence, foul language, Death on dragons, possesoion

Writing style: Story

Where does this take place?: Steep Wisdom (Makes an appearance in the possession ARC.)

Pronouns used: She/ Her

Word count: 4,709 (4K)

Page count: 13.9

A/N: I am very bad when it comes to battle scenes, I've been trying to improve on it, but I apologize for the lack of descriptiveness with it. Also, the end was a bit rushed because I honestly wanted to get done with this as fast as possible seeing as this was requested around the beginning of last month, but again, I apologize. Motivation is quite difficult to come across with school and work!

_______________________

Pallid clouds scatted the dismal sky, sweeping over the weaning moon; every once in a while, a glittering star would poke its twinkling head out to greet the knackered ninja clad in green.

It took quite the restraint not to snuggle into the heat of his Gi, for a chill wafted over the mountain's higher peeks, sending chills sprinting up his aching spine, a fruitless attempt to escape the draughts glacial-feather-like touch.

He had been a fool not to heed his sensei's words that spilled some- now- much needed information. He had been a moron when he ignored Kai's passive words of wisdom- just like their Sensei's plea, to take some warmer clothes or maybe something to keep his shivering framework from trembling like a leaf in a parched desert storm.

Even when the sun finally opts to peer from behind the quilt of ashen nebulae that sprinkled the blonde in colorless glitter; it was still as frigid as the hours that followed.

he really was a fool.

His narrowed eyes turned to the thinned foliage; a number of trees stretched, baren limbs extending, fingers grasping vainly towards the cloud clad sky that progressed to plunge into darkness; maybe if they were finally blessed with the feeding of vitamin D they would prosper, prolong the inevitable? Or maybe even sprout and bloom anew, make the frost glossed blades of grass that had browned, wilting under the Siberian calefactions.

With another lick across his exposed flesh his mind jolted, settling with bunkering down and setting up camp for the night, if he were to progress any further, he would surely meet his demise within the cruel hands of Mr. Snowmizer.

So that's what he did, arms teeming with kindling and frost blanketed timber that was soon to melt within the flames of a ravenous campfire that had been conflagrated by the spark of a flint and steel. (Seeing as no one dared trust the chaotic blonde with a lighter) And now he sat atop the frozen ground, parched dirt soiling the vibrance of his jade Gi.

His feet harped at the release of pressure as he massaged the taut muscles, a snap of pain gripped at the nerves of his limb, toes twitching painfully, gaining a piqued hiss from his torrid throat that he soothed thanks to the flask that hung from the backpack's straps that conjoined by a buckle where his chest was supposed to be.

Darkness had finally shrouded the world around him, the moons bioluminescent rays glittering against the verglas cloaked grooved bushland.

The vicinity of forest he currently resided in for the night wasn't as thick as he would have pleased but it was enough to camouflage his already green clad body from what lurked in the dark, leering silently, awaiting the time to pounce of any soul unfortunate enough to dare tread through the thickset.

The rustle of distant shrubbery sharpened his mind, ears ringing as he forced his senses to their fullest. As his ears twitched, his emerald optics searched around the surrounding area for any signs of another's presence.

But all he heard and saw, was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The silence only being broke by the cackling flames of the fire that seared before him, warming his aching limbs that still cried out in agony.

As years stretched like the cheese on a hot pizza, he grew keen and observant, expecting the unexpected for he was one of the unfortunate rares that was constantly sought after, mainly due to his once golden powers that enhanced the elements of four pesky ninja, but that element was far gone, now only green remained, but still sought for never the less.

So here he sat with shallow breaths, whispering winds and the howling of a flute?

Before the blonde was able to leap into action the weapon struck the side of his head, pain blooming from the harsh strike, leaving the obliviously aware Lloyd to crash to the cold forest floor with a groan.

Immediately he leapt to his feet, back pedaling to create distance between him and his assaulter.

Their legs crouched, wielding the whistling weapon that howled, wooden flaps withing the staff spinning on their foundations, the sound made his stomach churn with nausea, the staffs ends were thick, housing the many swatches that again spun, with every push of wind, repulsion thickening with every melody it sang. Their mask: artlessly painted an aqua blue, that descended into two tusk like spikes wrapped in leather. Atop their head, six spikes jutted, individual appendage like tendrils wrapped in their own leathery bindings. The eyes, hollow, black. Intimidating almost.

The assailant's body was clad in a glittering armory that reflected the devouring flames elegantly, an alluring dance, almost like looking into a scope with dyed glass, that when it turned a whole new shape and color was provided, producing dopamine to the brain.

The two circled the fire, knees bent, dancing on the balls of their feet.

"Who are you?" Lloyd's voice shattered the tight stretched silence, fingers tingling with numbness as whisps of green began to materialize, weaving between his fingers mechanically, obviously very practiced even from the assailant's blackened eyes that seemed to bore into his very being. The boy's body creaked and groaned as fatigue sprinted a marathon to catch up to his now overactive body compared to just a few moments ago, thus slowing his heavy leaden body.

The aggressor's battle form never faltered and neither did his, but when the others shadowed eyes caught sight of the jade- almost flame like- whisps engulf his hand they leapt.

Lloyd shot to the side, avoiding the others attempt to harm him but when he turned back around, the air turned a rancid green, the pungent odor reeked of death.

Stumbling back his foot caught the strap of the travel bag- why must his beloved water canaster betray him so?- he fell back with a harsh thud, the winds pushing that ungodly fragrance closer. But as quick as the fog enveloped him it was gone in a violent flash.

His body hummed with pain, ears ringing, burns blistering along his exposed skin, some now revealed by the holes that littered his Gi. His face ached, eyes fluttering open to reveal the armored feet of his assailant who crouched to meet his lidded eyes, his bag in hand.

It had been emptied; the contents strewn askew across the icy forest floor, canned goods, snacks, baggies of food that his father and Kai had packed for him behind his back and a few emptied plastic water bottles. A few of the bagged foods sported sticky notes with sappy little notes that went unnoticed or just ignored by the ferreting thief.

The figure heaved a sigh, shoulders hunched as they crouched to retrieve the goods, slipping them back into the bag and turning to the teen who lay, damn near motionless for he was too afraid to move in fear of possibly receiving the same attack once again.

The figure spun the hooked staff in one hand over head that again whistled, as if calling for someone, the flaming blade that was clutched in the other retracted back into the hilt, flames extinguishing.

Ah, that must have been what set that smoke aflame.

That was the last thing that sprinted through his clouded mind as sleep overtook his already aching and fatigued mind.

She stood in the doorway of the room where the blonde slept, it had been two days since her encounter with the prophesized green ninja, not that she knew of it at least.

Lloyd had passed out when you went to retrieve him from the frigid floors of the forest to where he planned to hunker down and seek shelter.

After ransacking his bags and ferreting though his belongings you found nothing, nothing that led to the disappearance of him, and it enraged your restless mind.

Three months, he's been gone. Spring had passed months ago as breeding season came to a screeching halt- the greenery that surrounded your home within the jagged peaks of the winter ale grew withered, leaves changing from lush greens to warm reds and oranges.

His favorite time of year...

The strings to her heart sang a sorrowful tune at the thought of him, Sheramo, the jagged nosed deathgripper that captured her heart upon their first fight, the moment his pupils blown wide with admiration and obedience was when their friendship began, but that was also when they appeared.

Dragon hunters.

She'd watched them from above, suspended in the air, pendant from a single limb that flexed under her weight; she watched as they clutched the wean Egg Bitter's throat, the eggs shell still sat at the assailant's feet. It whimpering as their grip grew taught, arm raised over head. It growls out in despair before finally being thrust downward, colliding with the cold forest floor, unmoving, its pulseless corpse laying still, warmth leaching from its body.

The shufti of seeing it lay still, motionless on that forest floor, once animated eyes that glowed with life and energy, sat wide, vacant of any life.

And that is the day she made her decision, as she glared down at the mask that now clad her face, concealed her features from this blonde intruder who dared march onto her land and hunt her dragons.

But even as she besieged, ambushing him then striking him down with the rancid breath of a Hideous Zippleback and ferreted his belongings. The most she found was a feather tipped pen, the metal still soiled with dry ink.

It struck her as unusual due to how reputable the mountain was as words fell from villagers' tongues of how the mountain on the farthest side if the birchwood forest housed over hundreds of dragons and their leader.

The Whispering Willow.

She had been bestowed the title due to her nimble and unique stature, her movements silent, but smooth, like the swaying branches of a Willow, but also the soundless tears shed for the ones who had fallen to the hunter's whitened knuckles and greed filled eyes.

His scaled head awoke her from her sorrow clouded mind. Edgar's pointed tusks nudged at the heel of her gloved palm affectionately, slit pupiled eyes pinning as he stares up at the mask that adorn her face.

Shifting around the belly pocket of her armor Egar let out a gurgle as he peered from the doorway to the sleeping boy, his blonde locks caressing his softened features. The way the suns vibrant rays shone through the lose yellow strands cast a white halo around his dome, but she saw nothing angelic of the green ninja.

A scoff left her throat as she lifted her gloved hands to click at the masks buckle that sat painfully at the bone of her skull, the material falling from her head as if it were a simple piece of led. But alas was caught by the material of her gloves.

"Wh- Who are you?"

_____________

"LLOYD!" A chorus sang as the drumming of footsteps approached the said boy who slid from the stormcutters back, which in reply gained him a low growl and a narrow-eyed glare. Rearing her head Ameyan chuffed, vocal cords singing as she hissed out at the blonde.

"Lloyd! There you are! Where have you been? We've all been looking for you, you were supposed to be home four days ago!"

That there is correct, our dearest Reader and the blonde Garmadon spent a rather grueling four-day week together. Due to his momentary poisoned state after being attacked by the masked teen.

Speaking of; Reader sat, perched atop the dragon's saddle, gloved thumb stroking at the serrated scales of the hatchling that resides within the pouch of her armor; the empty clothed sockets of the feature concealer glaring emotionless daggers into the four who approached, but was soon chased with another.

All words died as their tongues as the raven-haired teen released an exasperated gasp as she stumbled back, eyes wide at the four-winged beast, its head tilting to the side with a chirp-like gargle. Curious as she was. Ameyan shrank back slightly, namely due to create distance.

"L-Loyd- what is that!?" Nya announced putting a bit of an emphasis on the last word as the said boy turned with a slight smile, peering to the other who placed a hand to rear of the energetic baby who clawed at the material of her metal armor. "Oh, Thats Reader and Ameyan-" A growl was sent his way. "And that there on her shoulder is Edgar." Lifting a finger, he directed their attention to the smaller reptile that- now- clung to a keen point of the others mask via their jaws, a hand was still suspended for the childs safety. "Where did you find them?" Quirking a brow, Jay shifted away as the masked figure threw a leg from the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud and clank. Leaning closer to the blonde: "And what happened to their leg?" As if being heard, the masked woman turned, head snapping in their direction with haste, surprising a few that she didn't get whiplash.

"She's scary..."

_______

"Can you slow down!? It's hard trying to grab onto nothing but metal!"

"Then hook your hands together, it's not my problem your so inexperienced with riding dragons of this stature." She harped with a snap. Lloyd's brows furrowed, displeased with the females burst of harsh words, but she wasn't exactly wrong.

He and his brothers had shared their fair share of dragon stories, for instance, Cole, who was deathly afraid of them, their piercing eyes that pinned, determining their specific mood, or even the monstrous wings with could blow even the strongest of men onto their rear. And Kai, who was still as skeptical as ever with the newcomer. Jay, seemed content, he was able to use the dragons wing anatomy to recreate his invention, the wings, with their consent of course and their riders.

Cole seemed neutral with the whole thing along with Zane, but Nya was estaticed having another woman on board to share words of drama with, which much to her dismay, reader was for sure not one of the ones who indulge in drama's outside of her dragons and late-night rides into the moutains.

Which is where the two were as of now as a matter of fact, Lloyd had caught the mask clad teen clambering atop of her dragon's saddle, the said reptile chuffing in displeasure as the metal of her prosthetic dug into the scales of her ribs, gaining a haste but also nonchalant apology from the woman. Lloyd had been insisting for the longest while to assist the dragon rider on one of her many nightly adventures that normally have her returning clutching the fabric of her sides, or even cradling the bruised bone of her elbow. And much to his surprise, this time she had said yes. And she was beginning to regret it.

"Come on! I had a dragon too! It even had four heads, FOUR HEADS!" The blonde boasted with a sheet of offense woven into his voice. Reader shook her head with a simple roll of her eyes which were concealed beneath the thick material of her blackened mask sockets- meaning it went unnoticed by the boy who clung to the metal of her armor.

Ameyan's chest rumbled at the heightened volume of the others voice as Reader stroked the smooth scales, the texture closely resembling that of one's skin. Replacing the agitated grumble was a purr of pleasure as she chuffed. "Calm down Ameyan."

"What's wrong?"

"Your voice pitched to a decibel that hurts her ears." The female responds glancing back, Lloyd dodging to avoid the jagged point of the cyan mask.

"Oh, uh- sorry Ameyan- uh, I didn't know." A single chirp escaped the reptiles throat as her tail snapped to the side, the serrated ends slicing the air. "She says she doesn't forgive you." Reader responds, a twinge of amusement dancing in her tone. "What!? It was such a small thing though! Damn, these dragons sure hold grudges..." The blonde muttered the last part to himself, a hand raised as if to kill the next words that lingered on his tongue.

"Be greatful Edgar isn't here, you wouldn't have a night shirt to wear, you wish to see grudge, tip little man over the edge, you'll wish you never had us attack you." Reader mused, but as quickly as the softened air around them grew, it was killed by a thicker aura, Reader having gone quiet.

"Huh? What happened?-"

"-Shush, do you hear that?" The female teen speaks in a hush, Lloyd's lips pulled into a thin line as his ears strained, attempting to hear past the hissing gales of wind and the constant and yet paused flapping of the Stormcutter's wings.

A cry of agony echoed trough the air, the sound piercing the heart strings of the destined green ninja. "What is that?..."

"A dragon." The words were simple yet straight to the point.

"Wait, so this is what you do every night? Go out scouting for dragons?"

"No, I scout for hunters. They kill the parents and sell the babies, if one is injured, deformed, or even sick they will kill it. I am here to prevent more innocent blood from being shed."

"Wait- hold on- So this is why you come back to the Monastery beat to a pulp? Because you're fighting these hunters!?" His voice rose in volume, worry and scolding at the same time. "You shouldn't be doing this alone! What if something happens? What if you're hurt, kidnapped or worse!?" Reader's hand again snapped up almost demanding that the boy shut his hole before it was shut for him.

And with that, his words died in the ball of his throat.

"I've yet to have such thing happen, but if anything were to happen, I've given my companions here-" She pats Ameyan's horned head- " to return to their home in the mountains." She spoke with an unnerving calmness; one that made the one who sat behind her, hands still gripping the material of her armor coil back.

She really was ready to sacrifice herself to save these creatures, to the point where she returned for nights on end battered and bruised, sleeping for hours maybe even days, and skipping meals because her chest felt too tight to swallow. She was more than ready to die for these creatures, creatures she called a family.

An oddly familiar yip escaped the females throat as two fingers snapped to point to a wide opening within the tree's, perfect for a soundless landing and swift elevation to escape if need be.

Without another word the three descended.

Tossing a leg from the dragon's side, the teens cautiously slid from the saddle.

Lloyd glanced to the one beside him, Reader stood, stroking the underside of the reptiles chin, the soft flesh flexing as they whispered words of praise and assurance before turning to face the blonde.

"You are to stick to my side, but I swear to any God's that have ever strode these forsaken mortal grounds- if you make any noise, I am leaving you here." Lloyds hand's instantly shot up in mock defense.

"Roger that." He grumbled softly. "Now that that's out of the way, we have a few dragons to assist!"

Twigs and brush rustled beneath the feet of the duo, Reader who had taken the lead crouched into a rather awkward position before pressing the spine of their back into the gruff bark of a nearby tree. Lloyd following close in her wake.

"I'll distract the hunter's; you get those dragons the fuck out of here as quickly as humanly possible." She spoke with a sternness that vibrated the core of her chest as she explained. A humored smile spread across the blonde's cheeks as he nods bobbily.

"Will due captain, I'm not called the green ninja for nothing ya know?"

"Alright hot shot, lets crash this party." And with that, two hands lifted to the mask as Reader slid it from over their head, dropping it somewhere behind yet another nearby tree.

Lloyd sat in awe; the illuminating light of the thinly sheeted moon cast a soft haze over her scar littered features, from her hardened (e/c) hues to her hair that caressed the plump flesh of her cheeks, lips, pulled into a thin line expressing her obvious displeasure of the current situation. Even under harsh circumstances, she really was just as old as she was, maybe even older.

"You're staring, it's impolite." Her words were sharp as she spat them. Awakening the boy from his dazed trance. Shaking his head he nodded firmly, brows now pulled into a tight knit. "Right, sorry."

Peering to the side, her eyes caught the faint glow of a burning flame that danced along the charred kindling, her eyes narrowed. "Alright, the plan is in action, keep with it or this will be the first and ever last mission you go on with me." Leaving the words to die on his tongue she lurched forwards, emerging from the brush where they sought refuge and camouflage under.

The double headed staff clicked from its spot on the womans back as she spun it over her head, the sound all too familiar to the Garmadon boy who took that as his cue to get moving.

Nimbly dancing around bushes and brush he made near no sound as he made his way to the bound creature; a low rumble erupting from its chest as it heaved a bored breath before shifting slightly.

"So it is you, Azgore?" Her tone was mute, deprived of emotion as she waltzed forwards, strides wide and confident as she approached the seated male.

Azgore, a longtime enemy of the Dragon protector, his soul purpose to her- was to kidnap and kill as many reptilian creatures as humanly possible; all to get some coin in his pocket.

The said male pushed himself from his seated position with an irritated groan, clearly annoyed with the female's reappearance.

"Ah, Reader, my old friend, how nice of you to join me! I've been quite alone without you to chase me!" His words held a foul sweetness to them, tongue dripping malice as he seethed.

Reader snapped a whistling head to the ground with a thud as her hues narrowed, brows furrowing. Even in the dark her features popped, more pronounced as she stalked forwards.

"Sorry to interrupt your little tea party but you have something that doesn't belong to you." Her tone honed and tongue sharp she hissed. "And they surely do not belong in the hands of a man as foul as yourself."

Reaching to the side Azgore retrieved his reaper, the blade keen and edge honed to a sharp line, he spun the hilt skillfully. "It's upsetting I was actually about to settle down for the night but my plans are damn near always interrupted by yours truly." With a sigh he directed the blade to the armored teen, her lips pulled into a snarl, a growl escaping her lips.

Then she pounced.

"Shuh, shush, shush, SHHH! Shut up or he'll hear us!" Lloyd pleaded with the thrashing beast, growls and hisses passing its bound throat as the chains clashed together. It was hard to see with the thick sheeted cloud that passed over the weaning moon, its illuminance sheading some light in the area focused on. An area he could not reach due to the animals constant movement.

From afar he could hear the clash of metal on metal, the scraping venoming his eardrums that rang with the deafening sound. It grunted again, thrashing turning to nothing but a shallow tremble.

It was afraid.

"Whenever they pull away from you like this, stroke they're under chin, it may be risky, but I assure you it's worked almost every time I have done it!"

Thats what Reader told him, his first time interacting with Ameyan, she had jerked away from him, a hiss passing her serrated teeth as she cowered.

She wouldn't let him touch her, create a bond, or even interact with her, letting him ride with Reader was a once in a blue moon interaction. But it looks that information granted to him from the dragon whisperer herself would have to be put to the test.

Would it work?

A grunt passed her chapped lips as she lands with a firm thud, the soft ground turning as the armor she donned dug shallow lacerations into its soiled surface. The blade's hilt fell from her hands, skidding across the foliage littered floor, flame ignited bayonet smothered, immuring nothing but smoke.

A triumphant cry of victory ripped through the air like a bullet as Azgore thundered forwards, foot now clonked against the teens armored shoulder blade to which she gripped with a stuttering strength. She was heavy, worn, and battered.

The taste of copper still lingered on the buds of her tongue as split flesh of her lip pulsed, crimson leaking between the cracks, tainting her tongue with her own whine that felt slick, damn near slimish.

As the man applied pressure Reader hissed, a whimper passing her lips as the metal plates of her own armor betray her, boring into the skin of her shoulder, material puncturing further into the layers as he pressed his foot down. The sword that spun in the enemy's hand glinted, the sight of her wide, fear-stricken features reflecting back as it raised. "Any last words?" He hummed with a sickly-sweet tune.

No words had to be said as the glistening edge was raised above his head.

Honestly, she thought that when she passed it would have been by the scythe of the reaper of souls; but instead, it was going to be by the blade of her enemy, one who she despised the most out of the many of who she imprisoned and captured with their dragon parching's and illegal black-market selling's.

Her heart raced as anxiety spiked, stomach flipping like a gaping fish out of water.

As the sharpened edge was brought down a wave of acceptance took its course, replacing the iced blood that froze her veins.

Lloyd and the others were capable of taking care of her little one, right?

Edgar wouldn't mind, would he?

Ameyan would be alright on her own, able to return to the others that you were able to nurture and raise as your own kin?

Of course, she wouldn't mind, she was yours after all; she would live to fulfill what the two of you were reaching to achieve.

The longer her thoughts carried through, the longer she waited for the strike that would end her life. But instead, she was greeted with a whistle followed by a grunt and thud. Azgore hissing.

"Ya know, it's rude to put your hands on a lady like that?" Lloyd chuckled, the hood of his Gi pulled to conceal his features but the female could still hear the smirk in his tone as a hand was placed to the bone of her back, a reassuring support.

You were granted another day of life thanks to the boy before you. And you were about to make it everyone's problem.

Dragon Names and pronunciations!

Stormcutter: Ameyan (Am-Yeah-an) [Female]

Deathgripper: Edgar (Ed-Ger) [male] ||The baby||

Triple Strike: Oirsoid (Oh- roh-soh-id) [male]

Death Song: Shermaro (She- er-ma-ru)

FINALLY FUCKING DONE LFMAOOOOOO

#lloyd #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert

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