#buddy's hand on dave's leg

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[guiltyasdave]

no one has to know what we do

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.

word count: 4.4k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.

It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.

Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.

It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.

You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.

But David — David is refreshing.

He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.

You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.

He’s not expecting you to reach out.

Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.

Because all he can think about is seeing you again.

It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.

Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.

He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.

Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.

And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.

He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.

Seconds after the first, another text comes through:

[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone

Fuck. Fuck.

His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.

He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.

The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.

His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.

“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.

He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”

“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.

Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.

“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”

His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.

“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.

“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”

You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.

“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.

“You don’t like me?”

He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.

The call disconnects with a beep.

You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.

His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.

“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.

“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”

Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.

“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.

“Probably not.”

You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.

When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.

Have fun last night?

From David, sent five minutes ago.

You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.

Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.

Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.

i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you

His reply comes almost instantly.

Who said you bothered me?

You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.

It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.

When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.

You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.

He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.

Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.

You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.

He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.

You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.

You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.

You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.

After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.

But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.

On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.

Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.

He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.

“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”

It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.

He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.

He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.

The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?

“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”

He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.

“Yes. Come on.”

He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.

He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.

So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.

You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.

He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.

He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.

You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.

“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.

“You want me to take care of you?”

You nod.

“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”

Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.

“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.

Slap.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.

Slap.

“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”

You gasp.

Slap.

“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”

It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.

He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.

He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.

You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.

No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.

He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.

He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.

“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”

He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.

You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.

One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.

“I thought I told you no begging.”

You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”

He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”

You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.

He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.

It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.

He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.

Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.

“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”

You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.

He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.

You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.

Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.

He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.

“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.

You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.

“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.

Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.

The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.

When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.

It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.

He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.

[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.

It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.

Maybe just one more time.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[gassydumbjocks]

Virilite 1:

Boys will be boys

Ever since I spiked my nephew Liam's beer with a strange pill I found online when he and my brother came to watch a football match, that boy has been acting like a man, as he should.

You see, my brother Noah had a son who, don't get me wrong, I love this boy with all my soul, but god damn he had to grow up and start acting like what he was, a dude, always wearing those girly crop tops and tight-fitting jeans with bright colors because "that's who he was", I admit that I was clearly upset when he revealed to the family that he was gay, but even so I couldn't do anything and neither could Noah, so we decided to accept him as he was, until I found a way to... make him act as he should.

While looking at online articles I found this article online that was supposed to be some pills that could have an effect on the behavior and actions of the person that took them, yes, I know, very science fiction-like, still, what caught my attention was the name and objective of the pill, "Virilite" was its name, and it promised to also have an effect on the levels of testosterone produced in men, which ended up convincing me to buy it.

The instructions were simple, put them in the drink or food that said man was going to consume, once ingested the guy would enter an immediate state of trance, able to only follow the orders that another person suggested in his mind, there were even images of test subjects boys who I assume took the pill, they all had a relaxed yet funny expression, eyes crossed and some even with tongues sticking out like dogs, I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Liam looking like that.

Just as i was now, immediatly after i got Liam to drink it after offering him a beer, he letted out an involuntary loud and guttural deep belch, which from what i knew and readed online was a sign that the pill already took effect, i had Liam in front of me with a dumb smile and an eye-crossed, glazed over look, like that huge burp just took away all his thoughts and personality.

After the first 5 minutes of calling his name and getting no response, i actually started to worry, he couldn't stay as a brainless zombie-like dumbass all his life, and Noah would find out and kill me for it, i tried to remember, i took the pill's container and readed again the instructions.

"Ohh, so i have to, uh, kinda program him?" i said and then i thought of things i could make him do, i certainly bought those pills to make the kid more like a man... So, hell, what a man i would mold out of him.

I heard him let out a dumb chuckle still with that goofy smile from before, i smirked and approached "Liam, buddy, you hear me champ, you hear uncle Dave?" i asked to make sure he could indeed hear me, he slowly nodded and let out some hiccups "great, cuz we got a lot of work to do on you, and im sure you'll love it" i say.

I think of the first command to give him, they suggest to use short and simple commands, there are plenty of manly things he needs to learn, but i think i can cover up basic stuff, i remember Noah and me asking him to join us in our protein farting contests when we relaxed in our man cave watching our team, while Liam just grimaced and waved his hand, saying it was immature and gross, i would make him change his opinion, so it was obvious what would be the command "Liam...fart, loudly and proudly, c'mon" i literally order him to fart, i just wanted to test the effectiveness of the command obeying.

Without hesitation, he lifts his right leg as high as he can, leaving his butt in the air, before a barrage of gas goes out his butt.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Its so strong, big and beefy, even for me, i have to wave the smell and open a window nearby "good lord boy! Where in the hell did you got all that gas from!?" i ask impressed, and try to recover before continuing "ok ok lets keep up!, umm, belch, a nice deep man belch" i say, waiting for it.

I didn't even have to wait when he was already patting his chest and squinting an eye to help the gas release.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPP!!!

And holy fuck, if Liam was concious, he'd know that beast burp would have easily beat his old man and me in our oftens belch offs, the pill was clearly making a miracle on him.

I was admitidly having fun on my nephew making all the stuff he found "gross" and "immature" under a pill's control, i gave him another command, just to get a good laugh "Liam, do some armpit farts, but in the last one, you'll ask me to pull your finger, you'll let out a monster fart, got it?" i asked and he nodded again, he then started with the manly symphony, he took a hand down one of his pits and started to produce the nasty sounds.

PPPPPRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRTT

PPPPPPPRRRRRTT

I saw him stop and put hand on his gut, then he talked goofily "uncle, pull my finger" he asked dumbly before laughing and extend his hand at me, i gladly accepted "oh of course kiddo, let me help you with that" i smirked and pulled it hard, unleashing the beast gas he had stuck in his rump.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

An ABSOLUTELY disgusting deep-ass and loud, nasty fart erupted from him, Liam never losing the crossed look on his face, as he hiked exaggerately his leg to force the fart out, i was shocked, but in the end, finally proud of him, i couldn't wait for Noah to see what he could do! We would think on more funny stuff to do at our just guys nights! After all, boys will be boys, right?

[mrk236547789]

Construction worker pushes his body to its limits while being due and ends up triggering his labor

The hammer's rhythmic clang echoed through the dusty air as Jack pounded nails into the wooden beams. The sun hovered lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the unfinished framework of the house they were building. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he paused to wipe it away with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of grime on his skin. He was 9 months pregnant, and today was no ordinary day on the construction site.

Jack had always been a tough cookie, pushing through pain and fatigue like it was a mere trifle. His fellow workers often marveled at his endurance, but today, the weight of his secret grew heavier with each swing of the hammer. The contractions had started early in the morning, subtle and infrequent at first, but now they were demanding his attention with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, willing his body to hold out just a little longer.

The foreman, Dave, a burly man with a thick mustache, called out to him from across the site. "Jack, you okay over there? You're looking a little...pained."

Jack grunted a non-committal response, his hand tightening around the hammer handle. "Just gotta keep this baby together," he said, tapping the beam with the tool as if to emphasize his point.

Inside his mind, the baby kicked in agreement, sending a jolt of pain through his abdomen. He leaned against the wooden frame, taking a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. The baby's movements grew stronger, more insistent. Jack knew he couldn't hide his condition much longer, but the project was so close to finishing, and he didn't want to let the team down.

"Dave, I think we're going to need to call it a day," Jack finally called out, trying to keep his voice steady.

Dave squinted in his direction, the concern on his face growing as he took in Jack's clenched jaw and the slight hunch of his shoulders. "What's up, buddy?"

Jack took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around at the half-finished house. The team was counting on him to keep up the pace, but the contractions were coming closer together now, like a drumbeat that grew louder with each pulse. "It's time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The baby's coming."

A hush fell over the site as the workers turned to face him. The clanging of tools and murmur of conversations faded into silence, replaced by the sound of Jack's ragged breaths. Dave's eyes widened in shock before quickly narrowing in determination. "Alright, everyone, pack up and clear out," he bellowed, his voice booming across the construction yard. "Jack's going to have this baby right here if we don't get him to the hospital."

The crew dropped their tools and rushed to gather their things, a flurry of movement and whispers as they hurriedly dispersed. Some paused to pat Jack on the shoulder, offering words of encouragement before jumping into their trucks. Dave approached Jack, who was now leaning heavily against a post, his face contorted with each contraction. "Come on, pal," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's get you out of here."

With a grimace, Jack allowed Dave to help him to his feet, his legs wobbly. The foreman's strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, providing support as they shuffled towards the pickup parked nearby. Each step was a battle against the tightening in his stomach, a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The gravel crunched beneath their boots, and the dust swirled around them as they moved.

Once at the truck, Jack leaned over the open door, panting heavily. The interior smelled faintly of diesel and leather, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment he knew he needed to be in. "Thanks, Dave," he managed to say, his eyes never leaving the horizon as if focusing on something in the distance could help ease the pain.

Dave's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You've got this, Jack," he said firmly, trying to hide his own anxiety. "You're the toughest person I know."

Jack offered a wan smile, gripping the edge of the door for support as another contraction washed over him. "It's just like nailing down that last piece of roofing, right?" he joked through gritted teeth.

Dave chuckled nervously, trying to keep the mood light as he opened the passenger side door. "Yeah, just like that," he agreed, though they both knew it was nothing like that.

Jack eased himself into the seat, the leather cool against his overheated skin. He took another deep breath and nodded to Dave, who sprinted around to the driver's side and hopped in. The engine roared to life, and the pickup jolted into motion, sending a spray of gravel flying. The drive to the hospital was a blur of bumps and turns, the contractions coming in waves that grew more intense with each passing minute.

Jack's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his knuckles white on the seatbelt. The world outside the window was a blur of color and light, the buildings and trees rushing by in a haze of anticipation and fear. The air in the cabin was thick with tension, punctuated only by the occasional grunt of pain from Jack and the rev of the engine as Dave floored it through a yellow light.

Dave's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of pursuit. "You holding up back there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah," Jack grunted, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Just keep driving."

The pickup's suspension protested over each pothole, sending jolts through Jack's body that seemed to sync with the contractions. His breaths grew more ragged, and his knuckles whitened with each grip on the seatbelt. The pain was unbearable, but he had to keep it together—for the baby, for the job, and for his pride.

Dave's eyes remained glued to the road ahead, his foot heavy on the gas. He could see the hospital's towering structure in the distance, a beacon of relief in the urban sprawl. "We're almost there," he said, trying to reassure his friend. "You're doing great."

Jack nodded, his teeth clenched, his breath coming in short gasps. He could feel the pressure building, the baby's relentless demand to enter the world. The contractions grew so intense that they blurred the line between pain and exhaustion, each one a test of his endurance that seemed to stretch his body to its limits.

As the truck screeched to a halt in the hospital's emergency bay, Jack's water broke, a warm gush that soaked the seat beneath him. Time seemed to slow as the reality of the situation crashed down upon him. "It's happening," he murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Dave's eyes shot to the rearview mirror, his own fear mirroring Jack's. "Hold on, buddy," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "We're here." He leaped out of the truck and sprinted around to Jack's side, flinging open the door.

Together, they stumbled into the hospital's emergency room, the sliding glass doors parting like a curtain to reveal a sea of white coats and concerned faces. A nurse, her eyes widening at the sight of Jack, rushed over with a wheelchair. "Sir, you need to sit," she urged, her voice firm but gentle.

Jack grimaced as he lowered himself into the chair, the plastic cold against his sweat-soaked back. The nurse quickly assessed his condition, her hands deft and efficient. "You're in labor," she confirmed, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "We need to get you to the delivery room, right now."

Jack nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as another contraction hit him like a sledgehammer. The nurse pushed the chair with surprising speed, weaving through the maze of corridors. The walls were a blur of sterile white and green, punctuated by the occasional beep of medical equipment. Each bump and turn sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, and he gripped the chair's armrests until his knuckles turned white.

Dave trailed behind, his stride long and uneasy, his mind racing with the thought of his friend's unborn child. He'd never been in a situation like this before, and his hands felt useless at his sides. "You got this, Jack," he murmured, more to himself than to the man in the chair.

The delivery room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the construction site. The air was cool and sterile, the walls lined with monitors and medical equipment that beeped and hummed. The nurse transferred Jack to the hospital bed, her movements swift and practiced. She hooked him up to a fetal monitor, the rhythmic thump of the baby's heartbeat joining the symphony of noises in the room.

A doctor, her face masked but her eyes filled with empathy, appeared at Jack's side. She checked his vitals and the baby's progress with a calm efficiency that did little to ease the panic rising in his chest. Each contraction felt like it was ripping him apart, the pain a living, breathing entity that consumed his every thought.

The doctor spoke in a soothing tone, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You're doing great," she said, her gloved hand resting on his arm. "But we need to get you ready to push."

Jack nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he braced for the next contraction. His body was a battleground, torn between the need to keep working and the primal instinct to bring new life into the world. The doctor's words were a distant echo in his mind, the pain a crescendo that threatened to drown out everything else.

The nurse handed him an oxygen mask, and he took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. "Breathe, Jack," she instructed, her voice a gentle command. "You can do this."

Jack nodded again, focusing on the rhythm of his breaths. The room was a flurry of activity around him, but he was in his own world, a world where the only thing that mattered was the life he was about to bring into existence. Each contraction was a mountain he had to climb, a challenge he had to overcome.

The doctor looked at the monitor, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "Alright, Jack, it's time to start pushing," she said, her voice firm but reassuring. The nurse took his hand, her grip offering silent encouragement.

Jack took a deep breath and pushed, his face contorting with effort. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced, a white-hot pressure that seemed to fill his entire being. He could feel the baby moving, urging him on, and with each push, the doctor's voice grew more encouraging. The room was a blur of activity around him, but all he could focus on was the sensation of his body stretching and straining.

The doctor's voice grew more urgent. "Again, Jack, come on. We're almost there."

Jack gritted his teeth and pushed with every ounce of strength he had left. His muscles burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he didn't stop. The nurse squeezed his hand in a silent cheer, her eyes never leaving his. The pressure built and built until it felt like his entire body was going to split in two.

Then, a miracle. A sudden release, a gush of wet warmth, and the unmistakable sound of a newborn's cry filled the room. The doctor held up a tiny, wrinkled creature, covered in goo, squalling indignantly at the abrupt transition from the safety of the womb to the cold, bright world. The room erupted in a cacophony of shouts and laughter, but Jack heard only the sweet sound of his baby's first cries.

Tears streamed down his face as the nurse placed the baby in his arms. It was a girl, with a mop of dark hair and a fierce little scream. She looked up at him, her tiny eyes searching, and Jack felt something inside him crack wide open, a love so vast and fierce it took his breath away. "Hello, little one," he whispered, his voice hoarse from pain and exertion.

The doctor and nurses bustled around, attending to the baby and checking Jack's vitals. The chaos of the delivery room was a stark contrast to the quiet calm that had settled over him. He studied her every feature, marveling at the tiny fingers that curled around his thumb, the way she squirmed and wriggled against his chest. The pain was still there, a dull throb that pulsed in time with his heart, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming joy that filled him.

[anjaelle]

Study Buddies

Pairing: College!Dave Lizewski x Black!Reader Summary: He's decidedly taken permanent residence in this dorm room, and you can't say it bothers you much. Warnings: Language, mentions of bruising/battering. Word Count: 2k a/n: The successor to Dumpster Diving. The same two losers in the same universe. Only because you guys asked so nicely.

(gif source)

--x--

"I feel like this is an abuse of my good graces."

You watched as Dave Lizewski climbed through your window for the third time that week and tripped over your extension cord, falling to the floor with a dull thud. He popped back up, readjusting his hoodie and his glasses.

"You really need to move that somewhere."

"Right," you nodded, nudging the power strip with your foot, "gotta make sure my flurry of suitors have clear access to my boudoir."

He cracked a smile at you, one he rarely expressed in public for other people, and you felt your heart thump against your ribs.

Absolutely fucking not.

You plopped onto your bed and crossed your legs, "Okay, Kick-Ass, what brings you to my window this time?"

You were prepared for another round of bruises and cuts from endless fights he seemed to get himself into. Sometimes he explained the injuries, other times he didn't. But he was just happy he had someone who could help him without asking too many questions.

This time he simply shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels.

"I kinda...just wanted to see you today."

"Oh!"

There was a heavy pause and he scratched the back of his head.

"Yeaaaah."

You propped your chin on your fist, inquisitively, eying the way he seemed to fit so seamlessly into your living space. "You just saw me at study group this afternoon."

"C'mon you know it's not the same."

He was right. Sure, you had the tendency to sit next to each other in study group and bump knees. And you could feel his glances every five minutes. And sure, when he wasn't passing glances at you, you were passing glances at him wondering why he wasn't looking at you.

And, yes, you did know what it felt like to have him sleep on your chest while you stroked his soft curly hair. But that usually only happened after you got him sorted out. This was new.

You scooted over and patted the space next to you on the bed, which he happily plopped down on like he always did after leaning over to kiss you on the forehead.

"So you came all this way and climbed the side of a building for little old me? I still don't know why you don't use the front door."

“The security guard creeps me out. Besides, I’m not spider-man. I just used some guy’s ladder.”

“You stole someone’s ladder?”

“He wasn’t using it!”

“What if he’s on some roof trying to get down now?”

He stared at you. You stared back. His eyes widened.

"I'll be right back!" He jumped up and rushed out the door, shouting behind him, "Prop the front door open for me!"

He came back about ten minutes later, red-faced with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. His hair was messy like he'd been running, and his glasses were slightly askew.

"So..."he took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his sweater, "there was a guy on the roof. He was really pissed and, uh, I got freaked out and ran."

You noticed the grass stains on his clothes, which was clear evidence that he tripped and fell at least once on the way back. It was hard not to feel the swell of...something...deep in the pit of your stomach.

"Another job well done, Kick-Ass. Always thinking of the common man." You playfully tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, zipping it up and down while he cleaned his dirty glasses off on the Watchmen shirt you got him.

Because that's what friends did. You bought stuff for each other. For fun.

He didn't think twice about stripping down to his underclothes to throw his things in the wash. His reasons were partially because his roommates were always too lazy to clear their machine out for him to use, partially because he really liked your detergent (he admitted that the smell reminded him of you), and partially because he knew you didn't like when he wore his "gross street clothes" in your room.

Which was absolutely fair.

After throwing his grass-stained, dirty clothes in the wash, he flopped onto your bed and stared at the fairy lights that decorated the ceiling. You sat cross-legged next to him, looking him over and subconsciously checking for new injuries. You'd learned first aid just to help him with his stitches...and the occasional bullet removal. You didn't learn the bullet removal in first aid class. You puked the first time. You could still see the messy stitching in his shoulder where he was shot.

The mixtape he made for you played lowly out of the speaker on your desk, and you heard him humming softly to himself in thought.

"I like your room." He suddenly said, tilting his head to fully address you.

You cracked a smile at him, "Yeah I can tell. You've been hanging out here every other day for the last 2 months. You might as well move in."

A light, airy laugh bubbled out of him in waves. It sounded almost like a giggle, which made you giggle too.

"Why are we laughing?" You asked bumping him with your knee.

Dave pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he thought deeply about what he wanted to say next. The fact that he lacked a poker face made him relatively easy to read--and he's said the same about you at least once.

He tapped your knee with his knuckle, "Nothing. I--just...nothing. I promise."

You sat in comfortable silence again as the music filled the room and the gentle golden lights cast shadows along the walls.

"Has anyone ever followed you here?" You asked.

"No."

It was a stern, short answer. Absolute. Definite. His eyes scanned you from head to toe before settling on your face. It was the most serious you'd ever seen him. When he propped himself on his elbow to rest his head on his hand, he clenched his jaw.

"I'd never let that happen. I would never come here first because I'd never put you in the position to be in danger."

"I know," you admitted, carefully, "I was just wondering--"

"I'd never let anything happen to you." He stated with a shrug.

You instinctively reached out and pushed his dark curls back and away from his eyes, "I thought I was the one keeping you safe. How did we get here?"

In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around you to pull you on top of him like you weighed nothing. His strength always seemed to surprise you. You barely had time to let out a shocked squeak.

"You can't keep doing that."

His eyes widened, "Did that hurt? I'm sorry--"

"No," you swatted his chest, playfully, "I'm fine. I'm just never really prepared for it."

When he was sure he didn't severely traumatize you with his displays of affection, he resumed rubbing small, lazy circles into your lower back.

"Sorry for startling you."

"You're forgiven."

He leaned forward and kissed your nose.

Dave Lizewski was an enigma. Beneath the nervousness, the dorkiness, the shyness, and general earnestness was someone who surprisingly had a lot of game. You used to imagine that he practiced his lines in the mirror before he visited you. Then you realized...no. He's just very honest when he's comfortable.

You rested your head on his chest to listen to his strong, steady heartbeat that seemed to pick up speed. When you reached up to gently touch the healing scar on his collarbone where he was nearly stabbed, he shifted under you.

"What are you thinking?" He suddenly asked.

"I get scared for you sometimes."

He said nothing, but you felt his hand pause before continuing its trek down your back.

"You're still a human being, y'know," you added, "even when I pulled you out of the dumpster--"

"Which I still thank you for, by the way."

You snorted, "You're welcome. But even when I pulled you from the dumpster, you could've died from how high you fell. And then there's the stabbing, and the shooting, and you got hit by a crowbar once..."

He seemed to consider this. Then he said, "Someone has to do it. No one else on campus--in town--has stepped up to the plate yet."

"But why does it have to be you?"

"Why not me?"

"You can't answer my question with another question, you asshat."

He laughed at your outburst and lightly patted you on the butt.

"Compromise? I pinky swear to stop after graduation."

You didn't believe him. But when he held his pinky out to you, you wrapped yours around his and he pulled you in for a quick peck on the lips.

"Fine. But if you're still running around lower manhattan in a onesie at 26, I'm telling your dad."

You curled yourself back up against his chest while he curled one of your braids around his finger, absentmindedly.

"You don't have to worry about that, by the way." He said, dropping your hair, "I just really, really like the idea of you still being in my life four or five years from now."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Dave nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, "I dunno. I just...I think you're really cool and I know I can be weird sometimes. And I know you might not see me the way I see you but-"

You leaned forward to kiss him once and then twice. And as your curled your fingers into his hair, he seemed to melt into your touch with a soft groan. He pulled away just enough to rip his glasses off and toss them in the corner before pulling you in again. He wrapped a calloused hand around the back of your neck when you nipped at his lower lip. Your fingernails slipped under his undershirt to walk along the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers, and he shuddered.

"Fuck," he hissed, kissing along your jaw and down your throat, "God, I love you."

Your eyes popped open. "What?"

"What?"

He trailed kisses back up to your lips like nothing happened, but you could feel his heart thudding in his chest.

"Did you... just say...you loved me?" You asked, between kisses. He pulled away and stared at you with panic in his wide blue eyes.

"Yes. No. Yes...shit did I ruin it? Do you want me to go?"

"No."

You felt a rush of an unexplained emotion flow through you as you pulled your hand out from under his shirt.

He traced the shape of your lower lip with this thumb before dropping his hand to your shoulder, "I--you don't have to say it back. It just slipped out."

You rolled off of him and crawled up the bed to rest your back against the wall. He hesitated, then slid into the space beside you.

"I lied," he mumbled, "I was gonna say it before, but you distracted me with your mouth. Again."

You sighed and reached over to hold his hand.

"How long?"

"Since last semester."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

You watched him thump his head against the wall, "Because I didn't want to ruin our friendship. But, y'know, we crossed that line the first time we smanged, I think."

"Please don't say smanged."

You could hear the grin in his voice without looking at him, "We smanged."

You flicked him on the shoulder and he laughed. Some of the nervous tension melted away as he squeezed your hand.

"Like I said," he continued, "you don't have to say it back. It's okay if you don't feel the same way."

You thought for a moment about how often you worried about him and how often he watched over you. He seemed to always be around, even when he wasn't physically there. Dave was undoubtedly your best friend. You turned to look at him only to find him already watching you with the most intense gaze you'd ever seen. Felt your cheeks heat up.

"I'm not sure if it's love yet." You said, carefully, "But...I think it could be."

[snowblossomreads]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Detective David Friedman x UnhingedFem!Reader

Summary: In where David receives an interesting letter from [Y/n] who has been missing for a while, only to return home to a surprise.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Oral (M and F receiving), Just unhinged [Y/n] antics, Mentions of physical violence, Also angst??

A/N: SURPRISE SURPRISE LOOK WHOSE COME CRAWLING BACK. Me. Is she done with hiatus? Who knows we'll figure it out. BUT HERE IS SOME DADDY DAVE AND UNHINGED Y/N. Also is that LORE COMING IN? Yes it is. Enjoy now!.

P.S: Please ignore any mistakes this got out of HAND.

The amount of casework that had piled up on his desk, threatened to spill onto the ground, as one of the younger patrol cops tossed another folder on top of the existing pile.

"Got another one for ya Friedman," the youngster announced, only to receive a grunt of annoyance as a reply.  "Oh, also got this letter here too. It don't say whose it's from but it's got ya name on it."

That made his ears perk up, even if he didn't show it, as the kid walked away to deliver files to other folks. Letting out a grumble as he looked at all the work on his desk, he decided to ignore it all, more interested in the random letter that he went to pick up and investigate.

Sure enough, his name was written on it in swirly letters, just like the others, and he couldn't help but feel dread, and another feeling he didn't want to quite acknowledge. One that he wanted to yell at himself for feeling in the middle of the office in broad daylight.

'You gonna lose your job messing with this girl Friedman.'

Yet somehow, it didn't stop him from opening the letter, and being met with the same swirly handwriting. As cute as it was, there was nothing 'cute', about what was in the note.

"I miss you daddy~ All this running around sure got a girl tired when all she wants to do is be laid up with her favorite detective. There ain't no one out here that can do what you can for me, and I sure do miss how good you treat me."

He paused for a moment at that last sentence. Eyes narrowing, and thoughts brewing. Had she been with other people since she had been gone for nearly three months? Look, they were not an item, or anything like that. Fuck buddies at the most. Yet, there was a sting of annoyance at the thought of her doing anything with anyone but him.

'She really got you pussy whipped huh?'  

Rolling his eyes at himself, he looked up once more to make sure no one had come in while he was engrossed in the letter. Confirming that no one was paying him any mind, he went back to reading.

"I hope you've missed me too. I know how hard 'it' can get when you don't have this wet pussy, and tight ass to fuck when you need it. It's hard for me too, you know? My fingers don't feel nearly as good as yours do daddy. Can't even go as deep as yours can :(. You know a girl like me can only go so long without wanting a nice thick cock to stretch her out. What else was this pretty pussy for if I do say so myself?"

He paused again, this time, taking a deep breath, as his chest felt heavy and tight from the shallow breaths he didn't realize he had been taking while he read the letter. Granted, his chest wasn't the only thing that felt tight, as he shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the pressure in between his legs. He thanked the lord that from the way his desk was oriented, no one could come up from behind him. 

But even so, he needed to calm his ass down unless he wanted to sport a hard-on in the middle of the precinct. Yet the urge to finish reading the letter felt more pressing, and from the way her handwriting devolved into messier scribbles, it seemed like she had probably been feeling the same as him.

Again, he looked around the space, and maybe it was his lucky day, but everyone seemed heads down doing casework and in no mood to pay attention to anything else around them. 

Jesus this girl had him doing some dumb shit. Knowing he should fold the letter up and finish it somewhere with more privacy, he did the exact opposite. 

"Something I think about every night, and every morning. Every minute actually. Can't help it, you know? Sometimes a girl just wants to be handcuffed and fucked dumb. You know that daddy~"

He did. Intimately. 

"Wish you were here right now, feel how wet I am just thinking about you fucking me. Id give you my ass too, I know how much you love stretching it while using my pussy. I love it to daddy. Any hole you want you can have long as you cum in it. Bet you're thinking about how much of a slut I am right now~"

She was right on the money, as he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and fixed his tie a little. He felt suffocated and it was 100 percent because of the filth she had written. 

Again. 

"It's true but only for you, only want you. Promise won't be long till I get back. We can do everything I told you we could. And more. Not that you don't fuck me dumb every time ~ Miss you. Hope these letters been keeping you warm, though I'm sure it's gonna feel much better to have me wrapped around you rather than your hand."

Love, 

Your Nightmare of a Slut <3

Closing the letter with a deep groan that sounded like a defeated sigh, Dave groaned a low, "fucking slut," under his breath, while trying to ignore his twitching cock that was trapped in his slacks.

It had been smutty letter after smutty letter since she had been gone, all of them sent to the office. He was sure it had raised some suspicion, but thankfully no one had gotten their head up their ass and opened them. 

That would be one hell of an awkward meeting with the chief, and he didn't need any more trouble after that whole Hornbeck thing from last year. Was she trying to get him fired or something? He only had a few more years in the slammer left before he could retire, and he would be pissed if he lost out on his pension because of it. 

'Can't blame it all on her. You ain't done nothin' to stop her from actin' like this.'

He sighed heavily, never having wanted to be home as bad as he wanted to right then. 

As soon as it hit 17:30, he was out of his chair and to his car. Barely saying a word to anyone, he bolted to the parking garage to get himself home; his mind still swirling with the words written in the letter that was tucked in his suit pocket.

He never sped so quickly in his life and as bad as it was, he was thankful for that one perk of being a cop. The chances of getting pulled over were slim to none. Which was great, because his cock was also trying to make itself known again as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

When the light turned green at the intersection he was sitting at, he gassed it.

The usual 20-minute drive became 10, before he was digging for his house keys in his pockets while jogging up the steps that lead to his front porch. Pulling the keys out and going to unlock it, he froze for a moment when the door knob gave before he had even turned the key. 

It was unlocked. 

Immediately he was on alert, as his danger senses began to tingle, and his hand was already reaching for the gun that was holstered to his side. Either he had forgotten to lock the door when he left that morning, which was not the case as he always checked twice. Or someone, who wasn't him, was in the house, and he wasn't about to just go in there without being ready for a confrontation.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself as he opened the door with one hand, the other holding his gun as he stepped into the sound of the front room television playing. 

The television he had turned off this morning.

What kind of burglar turns on someone's T.V. when they're robbing them?

"You hoo! Over here!" 

The sound of a very familiar voice rang out from the direction of his sofa which startled him, yet at the same time caused him to relax. Even if he was very irritated, as he clicked the safety back on his gun and placed it inside the holster he was wearing.

A growl left his throat, as he closed the door, taking his suit jacket off, along with the holster, and hanging it up roughly on the coat rack by the door. Once he was done, he stomped over to the sofa, and peered over it, only to find exactly who he knew it was.

Lounging on his sofa, wearing nothing but a silky low-cut sleeping gown that was already hiked up to her thighs, [Y/n] wore a cheeky grin on her painted lips as she knew good and well he was going to have words for her breaking into his house.

"Welcome home, daddy~." She cooed, waving at him in an attempt to get ahead of the scolding she was likely to be getting. "Wasn't expecting little ole me were you? But lemme tell ya, you sure are a nice sight for sore eyes." Her teasing was punctuated with a wink, as she sat up, only to turn and kneel on the sofa so that she could face him.

He was still scowling at her, brows furrowed and amber eyes shining with annoyance as he gruffly responded to her with a series of questions.

"Now how in the hell did you get up in here!? I could have shot you [Y/n]!  And matter of fact, just where the hell have you been all this time? Don't you tell me you've been out there doing some shady shit again?" 

Shady wasn't even half of it. But he didn't need to know any of that. Best to keep all the icky stuff to herself. Didn't need a man as fine as him, in every sense of the word, worrying about it.

"Oh you know I don't work and tell Dave. What's life all about if a girl can't have some secrets of her own." She responded. It was paired with a mischievous glint in her eyes that always meant trouble, and add the way her hand was wandering up his thigh, he already knew he was about to be pulled into it.

"Don't worry promise I was being good!"

"I look like some damn fool to you?" David barked, voice thick as he grabbed her hand with some force to stop her from going any further. "Anytime you go somewhere I know you're up to something. And that something is probably manslaughter so who was it this time?"

"What are you talking about? I ain't never hurt a fly in my life!"

"I ain't talking about no damn fly!"

A tiny huff left her lips, followed by a childish whine as she tried to snatch her hand back from the tight grip he had around it. Granted she did like the feel of it.

Maybe she ask him later if he could try it around her neck. 

"I didn't do annnnnythinng! Just wanted to get out of town for a bit, you know? It's too stuffy down here in the summer for me! Promise I was being good."

With the way he rolled his eyes at her, she knew he didn't believe a thing she said, yet, he easily gave up as there wasn't any way he could prove she had been up to something nefarious. Even though he knew her better than he had ever thought he would. 

Freeing her wandering hand, she beamed at him, face radiating joy while her eyes radiated hunger as she quickly made her way back to her prize. She didn't waste any time this go around as she skipped the wandering, and went straight to unbuckling his belt with such speed and accuracy, that in another world he probably laugh at the situation. 

But he didn't have time for that, because the moment she pulled both his pants and boxers past his hips with one go, her hand was already going to wrap around his cock that was already half hard. No doubt remnants from the smutty letter, courtesy of the woman in front of him.

"Fuckin' shit [Y/n]!" He hissed as she began to pump him hard and fast. The grip she had on his cock was just the right amount of tightness, and just the way she knew he liked it, as she licked and sucked at the weeping tip.

When the salty tang of his precum touched her lips, she could only let out a loud moan, which was more of a whine as she began to lick the thick head with hungry fervor. She had missed him, and she had missed this delicious cock of his. And from the way it stood to attention almost immediately when she pulled it out of its confines, she was sure he had also missed her attention.

"Fuck, mmm, you don't waste no time do you," he hissed as his head lolled back and an outstretched hand shot out to grip the back of the sofa to steady himself.

"Can't, missed you so much," she babbled manically before she was all but shoving his cock down her throat causing him to let out a loud string of expletives.

This only spurred her on even more, as she basked in the sound of his loud grunts, and deep groans that were dripping from his lips. Each moan, each sigh of her name, and each jerk of his hips towards her had that familiar coiling sensation in her stomach tightening and tightening it was absolutely addicting. 

"Mhmm, sure it wasn't, ugh shit, s-sure it wasn't my cock you missed doll?"

"Mish'dyouto!" She protested with a pout, though her words were all jumbled up as she didn't even try to pull away completely from him, too much in love with the weight of him and taste of him on her tongue. 

She had said it before and demonstrated it many times before, but she was weak when it came to him. How couldn't she be with a man like David? He may be the grumpiest soul alive, but that didn't take away from the charm he had. 

From the beautiful amber eyes, and hair peppered with greys, blondes, and browns. To that delicious stomach of his that showed a hint of a belly. And who could forget the cock that she was always ready to jump on when she had a chance?  She sure couldn't.

He was perfect, even if she wasn't.

Not caring to dwell on anything that wasn't part of making him come. [Y/n] squashed any negativity down swallowing around his cock, relaxing her throat as much as possible as she slid him down her throat. Down, down, down, until her nose was buried in his coarse pubic hair and she was swallowing around him. She widened her mouth as much as she could just before he began to thrust his hips wildly at the feeling of being fully engulfed in that wet heat. 

The sound of her throat being fucked, and his groans drove her crazy, and it wasn't long before her fingers were reaching into her underwear to stroke her already soaked pussy that was begging for him. 

"Thought you were, mmmm, tired of your fingers doll," David groaned as he watched her rub herself in desperation, "not big enough for that, ugh, slutty cunt of yours is it?"

They weren't, and she let out a pitiful whine for an answer as she pressed two fingers into herself. The digits slid in with ease, yet it barely did anything to relieve the fiery pressure that had been building inside of her. 

"Fuck! Oh christ!" David groaned loudly, his thrusts becoming messy and erratic with each passing moment. Telltale signs he was about to come. 

All the while, [Y/n] was basking in the way he was hitting the back of her throat, and how amazing he looked so disheveled as he fucked her mouth without care. Thank goodness she had taken him enough times to not worry about her gag relax going off. 

It only took a few more sloppily thrusts, and some well timed moans from her before, a shout of her name was ripped from him, and he was shoving, and holding her face against him as he emptied himself into her waiting mouth.

She drank every last drop of it too. Damn near almost choking on it the way the hot liquid just kept coming and coming. But being the slut she was for him, there wasn't a single second where she even thought about spilling a single drop of it. 

Feeling his cock begin to soften in her mouth after milking everything she could from him, she pulled away, her body buzzing as she licked him clean with a happy sigh. Feeling more than pleased with herself at the content groan that he let out, his large hand cupping the side of her cheeks gently. 

Once she deemed that her job was done, she gently nuzzled the side of his thigh before she looked up at him with eyes that pleaded for more.

"Dave please," she whined softly. Pulling away from him and hopping off the sofa. Only to walk around to him, and tug at the arm of the disheveled dress shirt he wore. 

"Want you, missed you."

Wrapping her arms around his shoulder, she leaned up to kiss his neck, before pulling him down a little so that their lips met in a bruising kiss.

He could taste the salty tang of himself mixed in with a sweetness that was hers as he kissed her, and all he could do, was press his lips harder against hers all the while her tongue traced at his thin lips. Memorizing each little crevice on the skin before he parted his lips, allowing her to do the exploring that she so loved to do between them.

Their tongues danced slowly and passionately as sighs filled the air and throaty whines left her lips. She was first to explore his mouth with a fervor she was known for before he was pushing her back. Dominating her in the kiss which she happily forfeited to him. 

It wasn't long before his hands found her sides that tensed the moment he touched her. Her body flinched away from him for a mere second. Not even long enough for someone to notice, but he did, and even if he hadn't noticed that, he did hear the little whimper that also left her lips which at first had him raise an eyebrow.

That sound wasn't the whimper of pleasure that he was used to hearing. No, it sounded different. Yet she didn't stop kissing him. Matter of fact her hands went up to his chest as she began to undo his shirt, more than ready to feel all of his skin on her.

Breaking the kiss, but not without leaving one last bruising one on her lips, David pulled back, which almost caused her to start to protest but she was quickly cut off by him.

"Naw, now stop that. You know I don't wanna hear any of that complain' now," he started, voice stern yet devoid of anger of any sort. "I've been at work all day and the last thing I want to do is fuck you on the sofa so we either do this on the bed or not at all."

Oh no, she couldn't have that. But also, she couldn't not tease him about it either.

"Your bones getting old or something detective? I mean last time, you ain’t seem to have no problem drilling me on this here sofa." She turned to stroke the back of the sofa, before giving it a pat for emphasis before looking back up at him with a sly expression that only had him rolling his eyes. 

God was she a menace. But if there was one thing he had learned, is that teasing her right back was a very effective means to trip her up. 

'Christ Friedman.'

Grabbing her jaw with one hand and squeezing it lightly, not enough to hurt her, even though he was sure she loved that, he continued his little scolding of her.

"You know with all that mouth you giving me it's sounding like you rather have your fingers for company than me [Y/n]. The door is right there if that's what you want."

Her eyes widened immediately at his words, and her lips drew themselves into a pout. And he knew he had her.

"Noooo! I'm sorry!" She cried, as her hands went up to grab his wrist as he let go of her. Instead of pulling away completely, he let her pull his hand to her cheek as she nuzzled the side of her face against his palm. "You know I'm not gonna complain about getting in your sheets. It's what I am here for you know!"

"Just for that?"

"And you too!"

A small smirk appeared on his lips, it was fleeting, but she grinned when she saw it. 

Oh, was he very much trapped in her spider web, as she led him through the hallway into the bedroom. 

Watching her flop on the bed once they were in, David went to undo his tie as he stalked up to her, throwing the fabric on the floor before he unbuttoned his shirt and discarded that as well.

[Y/n] had sat up by then, watching with a glint in her eyes as he stripped his shirt off leaving him naked. Her fingers itching already to touch him, but doing her best to ease that by reaching down to touch herself to ease the throbbing in her cunt that was screaming for him. 

Before she could even slip her digits between the thin fabric of her underwear and herself, David had already yanked her hand away from herself and pinned it to her side.

"No more of that," he growled, causing her to gasp, the rumble of his voice shooting straight down to her core, causing her to wiggle her lower half towards him, wanting him to just take care of the pressure that was coiled in her stomach.

"I've been without this cunt for too damn long [Y/n]. And then you send those letters. Not even letters, straight up smut you made up and you think I'm not about to fuck you dumb?" 

She wanted to tell him that was the point, but was distracted by him trailing kisses across her clavicle, and nipping at it before he moved down to where she wanted him to really be.

"D-Did you like them," she stuttered out as he began to kiss her thighs. Her legs spreading open for him on instinct to make sure he had all the room he needed. It seemed to spur him on, and the way his perpetual five o clock shadow rubbed against her as he sucked and nipped at her flesh, only had her breaths become shallower as he made his way up to where she wanted him to be.

"I thought you might get lonely, ah, wanted to make s-sure you had something to keep you entertained while I was gone daddy."

He had been entertained all right.

"Entertained huh?" he growled, as he pushed her nightgown up just below her lower stomach, the skin beneath peeking out a little.

He noticed a little discoloration on her stomach but didn't pay too much attention to it. Too busy with the task of ridding her of her soaked underwear, before he nuzzled her aching clit with that wonderful hooked nose of his. Her hips immediately canted upwards towards him, and a cry of pleasure flew from between her lips as he inhaled that heady scent of her before he let himself taste what he had been missing for months.

"Ahaa haaa! Yes right there daddy, r-right there!" She begged, as his tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves that set her on fire with each practiced flick of his tongue.

He alternated between giving the sensitive spot languid licks and sucking it as it swelled at the attention that it had been seeking for such a long time. Keeping her preoccupied with his talented mouth, he slowly dragged his digits up her thigh until they were joining him in pulling out whine after noisy whines from her lips. His tongue continued to dance around her clit as he slid two thick fingers into her cunt that sucked him into her with ease and urgency. 

The moan she let out was probably heard by his next door neighbors, but he couldn't give two shits. Not when he was ready to be balls deep in her as she began to grind her hips against his face furiously. 

"Ngggh, fuck! Oh fuck, Dave please!"  Her voice pitched higher and higher as he sucked on her while his fingers moved in and out of her soaked insides with both speed and precision. 

Each time he dragged his digits out of her, he made sure that he hooked them just right so that they would rub right against that spot at her entrance that had her practically shaking like a leaf. And he kept doing it, faster and faster, adding another finger next to the two and opening her up wider and it drove her insane as the coil in her stomach tightened and she could feel 

"Please what doll?" 

"Please, haa, please more gonna, ngggh! G-gonna come daddy, please."

"Mmmm if you gonna come then you better do it now." 

That was all she needed to hear before she let herself relax all the way. Let him bring him to that peak that her shaking and letting out a shriek of,

"Dave!"

Her shout became a strangled clipped noise as her legs stiffened, and her fingers clawed at the bed sheets as he continued to fuck her spasming pussy with digits that were drenched with her juices. Harder and faster just like she wanted it, her body stiffened even more, and the wet sounds coming from below her increased until,

"Fuck!"

She wasn't sure if she had said it or if he did or maybe it had been both of them. But what she did know, was that when she felt that gush of liquid from her pussy, she couldn't stop the cry that left her as the stiffness immediately released her and her limbs became uncontrollable for a moment. 

The spasming, the shaking, all of it happened at once and for a moment she wondered if she was dead because there was no way she could feel this good and still be alive. It was like pleasure had been injected directly into her veins, and it burned so good, better than she had ever imagined and she wanted more. 

Her mind was totally addled for a moment with the pleasure, even as David gave her cunt a few more licks, lapping up the juices that coated her thighs and her twitching cunt. Little sounds of pleasure involuntarily left her lips as he crawled on top of her, planting kisses down her neck, nibbling at sucking at it. He could feel her rolling her hips weakly beneath him and he chuckled against her neck.

Like her body was begging for more even without words and boy was he more than ready to give it to her. He had spent months fucking his hand while reading the letters she had sent him, wishing it was her cunt he was fucking. And he wasn't about to waste any more time as he let his hand roam down her front grabbing the hem of her dress and making a motion to pull it up so he could see all of her.

When he lifted himself off her though, the sight beneath him froze him in place and about knocked the wind out of him. What he was expecting to see was that soft skin that he had gotten well acclimated with. What he wasn't expecting was whatever he was staring at now in slight horror.

Her left side, from the middle of her belly almost to her lower back, was heavily discolored and severely bruised.

Like something or someone had repeatedly hit her in that area. From the looks of it, he wouldn't have been surprised if something had broken. And if not, how? But also, the pain. 

She couldn't have not been in pain with how large the area was. And suddenly it dawned on him. The flinching from earlier when he had grabbed her. He must have hurt her, and she just ignored it. But he couldn't now. 

"Dave?"

He hadn't realized how long he had frozen, not until her voice rang out and his eyes slowly drifted upwards to her. And whatever his face looked like, it must have startled her, because for a second, instead of that familiar look of lust that she always had around him, there was a true wide eye look of shock.

"Who did this to you?"

She looked down at herself and saw what she knew he was looking at. Her eyes lingered on the spot, or more accurately the area, before she shook her head and looked at him with a straight face. Looked at him like nothing was wrong, like this was a normal thing and at that moment he felt a large pit of emptiness and dread filling his stomach. 

"Mmm's nothing," she answered before settling back into the bed. "Now come on, don't you wanna do all those things I was talkin' about in them letters." Her fingers trailed up and down his arm and that smirk she was known for was back on her face. "Because I know I do~."

No he didn't.

How did she expect him to want to do anything with her in the state she was in? Maybe she could stomach it. He knew how she was; he would even indulge her from time to time. The spanking and leaving small bruises. But this wasn't him. He couldn't stomach this. Not when he had a strong inkling that whatever had caused the massive bruise was not consensual.

"No [Y/n] stop!" He growled, ripping his hand away from her with such force that she let out a startled yelp. Not because he had hurt her though. Not physically though. 

Yet it hurt him for some reason.

"I'm fine! I promise Dave please!" She pleaded, her hand going to reach for him as he moved away from her. "Just got in a bit of a mix up that's all. I sorted it all out don't gotta worry about it no more!" 

Moving off the bed and going to his closet to grab some clothes, anything to put a barrier between them, he reappeared with a robe wrapped around him a deep frown etched on his lips.

"Doll I know you get up to no good sometimes. No don't even try to act like that. We both know it's true," he continued as she tried to interrupt him with an argument but he wasn't having it. "But this, no this is different, what have you been up to since you've been gone [Y/n] I ain't gonna ask you again."

Like a deer in headlights, she froze. Her mind buzzed with any excuses she could give to him about where she had been and what she had been up to. Each lie less believable than the one before. 

"[Y/n]."

His voice was low, dangerous even and it was different from the way he spoke to her. He wasn't playing with her anymore. He may have been fucking her, indulging her whims that could get him into some deep shit if anyone found out. But if there was one thing Dave was good at, it was getting answers out of folks in whatever way he had to. Even if he did like them.

No wonder why the chief didn't have the balls to fire him after that scandal with the senator.  

She had to come clean to him. Or as clean as she could without giving herself away completely.

"He knew where someone I was looking for was at Dave," she admitted in a whisper. Barely loud enough for him to hear and not looking up at him. Too ashamed to do so, knowing what she had done was plain stupid. And all because she let her emotions run wild. "Said he could show me where and I went like a dummy. I was so caught up, that I didn't even realize what was happening till he dragged me out into the middle of nowhere."

"Who?"

There was a bite to his voice, a growl that existed just on the edge of it that had her sitting up a little straighter. His eyes were dark, not from lust, no that was long gone, they looked stormy, angry. It confused her, and even in her lamenting she felt a familiar buzz of arousal trying to come back even though the moment for any of that was long gone by now."

"Who what?"

"Who did this to you [Y/n]? And who the hell you out lookin' for that got you all beat up like this?"

"I can't," she blurted out shaking her head, eyes lowering, cowering away from the fire in his that burned her. "Can't tell you Dave I'm sorry…maybe one day, but not today you gotta trust me!"

Trust her?

He hadn't gotten this far in life or in his profession by trusting people easily. Everyone was looking to stab someone in the back, or bribe someone just so that they could climb the ranks. And lord knows he wasn't an angel either when it came to having to bribe people sometimes to get them to cooperate with a case. It was just something that came with the job. 

So, asking him to just trust her was not an easy thing. Yet considering everything she could have done to him at this point, which included murdering him, he felt like he did have to give it to her. 

He didn't trust her 100% but it sure was more than some of the people he worked with.

"Please."

Her voice was tiny, a far cry from the attitude and fire that she had no problem showing him and whoever had the bad luck of getting in her way. And it felt wrong.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he clicked his tongue before letting out a deep sigh that had been waiting to be released.

'Fine.'

Dropping his hand, he turned on his heel, almost out the door before she called out to him in confusion.

"W-where you goin'?" [Y/n] asked, as she began to scramble up from the bed with the intent to follow him.

Whipping around, he pointed at her and she froze in place.

"Stay."

He commanded sternly before he was out of the room leaving her dumbfounded and alone with her racing thoughts. 

There was an itch, the longer he was gone. A tingle in her fingers, the urge to claw at her skin that was crawling with anxiety, self-doubt, and distress. 

What had she done? Was he finally over her? Tired of whatever back alley situations she was getting herself into. What if he was calling backup to come and take her away and lock her up?  She'd deserve it, but this was not the way she thought this would have happened.

All these thoughts swirled in her head yet instead of spurring her into action like they would have, she just sat on the bed, staring at the door that he had left out of. Waiting for him and whatever he was about to do.

She could jump out of the window and make a run for it, but she sat until,

"So you do listen sometimes, come on doll."

His voice was so close to her, that it caused her to jump, not even realizing he had come back into the room and went to the side of the bed closest to her.

"Dave I'm sorry," she whispered, subdued and unlike herself as she let him help her off the bed. She followed him to wherever he was taking her as he led her out of the room with no questions.

If there was one person she trusted, it was him.

"Ain't got nothing to be sorry about," he replied, giving no real indication of how he was feeling as he brought her to the bathroom.

Wait why the bathroom?

Confusion settled in immediately as he led her into the slightly steamy bathroom. And it was still there as he brought her right up to the bath that was filled with hot water, and from the smell of it, some bath salts.

"Get in there and don't even think about running off when you done. Come straight back to the room alright?" 

Staring at the steaming bath and back at him with a dumbfounded expression, [Y/n] nodded. 

"Speechless? That's a first," he pointed out, amusement in his tone as he watched her stare at the bath with an unreadable expression. 

It made him wonder. Had anyone treated her this way before? Had he treated her this way before? A frown appeared on his features, as he leaned down and distracted himself by planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. 

"You gonna keep kissin' on me Detective and let the water get cold?"

He chuckled against her skin. There she was.

"Alright but don't go escaping you hear?

She turned to look at him, a wry smile that he had never seen before that caused his heart to hurt for some reason. 

"You know I won't."

"Mhmm," he hummed as he straightened up and left the bathroom. Closing the door behind him and leaving her by herself. 

Listening to his footsteps move away from the door, and knowing he was gone, [Y/n] felt her shoulders sag. The heavy weight that had been resting on it finally disappeared as she took off her clothes slowly and carefully. She did her best to not aggravate the large bruise that throbbed on and off during the day.

It wasn't as large as it had been though so that was progress. 

Stripped and free of her clothes, she took a few steps towards the tub and gingerly stepped in before slowly lowering herself into the water. The effects were immediate as she felt her muscles relax, and the ache from her side began to subside if only just a little.  

A sigh of relief left her lips as she let herself just relax. Knowing she was safe. And that David was right next door waiting for her. He was such a grumpy man. Yet he did this for her. Even after not telling him everything, he still cared enough to make sure she was okay and it made something in her chest tighten. 

From the first time they met he cared, and he hadn't changed after all those years. 

She was such a terrible person, she knew that. And it hurt to lie to him like this. He deserved to know the truth. But she wasn't ready, and she still hadn't finished what she had set out to do. So it would have to wait. She just hoped she wasn't dead in a gutter before it all could come out.

"Oh David Friedman," she murmured, a forlorn expression blanketing her features as she pulled her knees towards her chest. "You just don't know much of a mess I really am."

Letting out a small sigh, she let her head fall back against the edge of the tub, eyes squeezed shut tightly to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall. 

She stayed in the tub for a while, tending to herself, and maybe putting some of his body wash in the water just so she could be surrounded by his scent. A mixture of coolness and spice that had her sinking in the tub, and blowing at the bubbles she had created.

By the time she had decided it was time to get out, the water was lukewarm and her skin was a bit pruny. But, she had felt so much better than she had been for the last few weeks as she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel he had laid out for her. 

Even if he was grumpy, and probably tired of her antics, he still was treated her kindly and she couldn't help but to smile at herself. 

Picking up her nightgown, which was a little wrinkled from everything she had just put it through, she slid it back on; forgoing any underwear, because those things were ruined and belonged in the trash. Which she tossed them in, as she left the bathroom and found herself standing at the threshold of the hallway and his bedroom. 

The lights had been turned out, and only the bedside lamp was on, as he sat in bed a book in hand as if everything earlier had not happened. He sure was good at compartmentalizing, wasn't he?

"Ain't it a little too early to be going to bed?" [Y/n] pointed out as she stepped into the room, getting his attention as he offered a little grunt as a response.

"With all the heart attacks you be giving me?" He asked, raising his eyebrow as we went to place the book he was reading on the bedside table. "It ain't never too early to call it a day."

"Aww come on don't act like that," she giggled, as she made her way to the bed, but only going so far as to stand at the edge of it, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

Seeing her hesitation, he pulled the blanket on her side down, inviting her to get in, and boy, he had never seen someone so happy. Her face lit up and she looked elated as she climbed onto the bed, grin and all while cozying up to his side quickly. A childlike excitement in her eyes as she looked up at him as if he was everything to her.

Another sigh, this time inaudible, left him.

"And don't you try to sneak out of here! If you ain't here when I wake up I'mma come find you."

"Is that a promise?" She grinned, only causing him to roll his eyes and shake his head. 

But there wasn't any real annoyance as she tucked herself into the warm sheets and nestled herself against his side. He hesitated for a moment before letting himself lay a hand on her shoulder. A purr left her lips at his touch, and she closed her eyes looking like the most comfortable woman alive.

"I'm serious [Y/n]."

"I know, I ain't going nowhere I promise," she whispered, drowsiness setting in surprisingly quick thanks to how safe she felt.

It didn't take more than 10 minutes before she was out like a light, her breathing evening out as she slept. All the while, David took several glances at her, making sure she was asleep before he let himself fully relax against the headboard.

He didn't know what the hell he was doing. Whatever it was, was probably not a good idea considering everything that had transpired, yet he couldn't not help her. She was a menace, full of attitude, and on the deranged side of things yet here she was sleeping like a little angel. Truly the duality of man, he thought as he closed his eyes, not really wanting to dwell longer on the extremely strange situation.

If he woke up dead the next morning, then so be it. He wouldn't have to deal with the mess he had on his hands, which he had also basically enabled. But with his luck, he probably wake up just fine. 

After all, he did trust her. 

A/N: : D shout out to @smilingformoney who supports my unhinged daddy dave thots. We love unhinged [Y/n] and I'm please to finally shell out some of her lore that has been in my brain.

Now go forth and leave comments LOL. They make me happy and it makes me want to write more :" D. Okay buh bye!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My Sweetheart: Part 5

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You purchase a vintage sweetheart bracelet from an antique store and with it, comes the spirit of the woman who owned it. Through her, you go on an interesting journey to find out what happened to her old lover.

Series Masterlist

During your next shift, Kamala went to the animal shelter you worked at and picked up several volunteer forms. The young Avenger was excited about bringing herself and her superhero friends to help around your workplace.

It was a week later when she brought back the forms and as you were going through them, you were surprised to see Bucky had signed up. You assumed that Kamala convinced him to volunteer.

Well, here's to hoping this goes how she hopes it does.

_________________

After the forms were overlooked, each person who signed up was sent an acceptance email and a date of their orientation. The roster was: Kamala, Kate Bishop, Yelena Belova, America Chavez, Cassie Lang, Scott Lang, Scott's friends Luis, Kurt, and Dave; and lastly, Bucky Barnes.

Eventually, said group arrived Wednesday morning at the front desk. Your coworker, Mikayla, was starstruck. Yes, you told her who would be volunteering there, but that still didn't minimize the feeling of excitement she felt when they arrived.

"Holy shit, this is happening," she stares wide-eyed at the group before her.

You pat her shoulder, "Should I do the orientation?"

Mikayla slowly nods, "Yeah. I think so."

You snort and step forward, "Hi, everyone! I'm Y/N. I help oversee the volunteers that work at the shelter!" you go into your spiel about the shelter, what animals you take care of, some of the tasks everyone is expected to do, etc.

You finish off with asking who'd like to work in what areas of the shelter. Kamala immediately raises her hand, and Bucky's, for when you ask about the cat area. Yelena also volunteers and the three of them follow you to the cat room.

"So we do have a few kittens here that we just received a few days ago, but most of our residents are adult cats."

One particular kitten is crying out, which catches your attention. You turn to its cage and chuckle, "Alright, I hear ya, buddy," you unlock the cage and pull a small white kitten out.

"This is one of our newer residents. His name is Alpine and, don't tell the other cats this, but he's currently my favorite."

The small white cat climbs out of your arms and up your shoulder. Kamala is practically melting at the spot, "Oh my gosh! He's sooo cute!"

You nod, "He is. He was also born with three legs instead of one, but that obviously doesn't stop him. He's a determined little guy."

You look at Bucky, who's softly smiling at the cat. He reaches out and gently pets Alpine behind the ears, "Hey, buddy," he murmurs. He then looks at you, "Can I hold him?"

"Of course," you pluck Al off your shoulder and gently place him in Bucky's arms. Alpine doesn't hesitate to climb up Bucky's shirt.

Bucky winces, "Watch the claws, pal," but he smiles as Al continues to meow.

Yelena snorts, "He likes you, Barnes, probably because he knows you two are alike," she nods at his vibranium arm.

You proceed to inform the three of their duties with the cats, how to clean the cages, how much food to give, the personality of each cat, etc.. Throughout that time, Bucky listened while also stroking Alpine's fur.

While Yelena and Kamala are playing with two other cats, you go up to Bucky, "He really likes you," you gesture to Al who's now asleep in Bucky's arms.

"He's a good one."

"Kamala says your a cat person?"

He shrugs, "I suppose. I like to feed the stray cats I see, pet them if they let me. I like dogs too, but I guess I like cats better because they're more...mellow?"

You snort, "Not all of them are mellow, but I get what you're saying."

Bucky shifts from one foot to the other, "So, uh, is Dot still with you?"

You sigh, twiddling with the sweetheart bracelet on your wrist, "Yeah. She's," you pause to chuckle, "stubborn."

Bucky snorts, "Yeah. She's always been a bit stubborn, even back then when we were together."

"Birds of a feather stay together, I suppose." He raises a brow at you and you explain, "From our short interaction, I can tell you're just as stubborn. You don't want to help me, that's fine, but honestly, this is more about Dot herself. Help me to help her cross over."

"How?"

You run a hand over your face, "Dot says you're unhappy."

"I'm not!" Bucky raises his voice, causing Alpine to stir from his sleep.

You give Bucky a pointed look and open Al's enclosure so he could place him onto his bed. Once he's safely back in, you turn back to Bucky.

"There isn't anything that you think would make you happier?"

Someone to call my own. A peaceful place for me to live. A family. A chance to grow old.

"Not really," Bucky replies.

You scoff, "I call bullshit."

Bucky's jaw clenches, "Listen here, sweetheart, you don't know me. You don't know what I want or need."

"I don't, but Dot does. Bucky, come on. I don't get why you're so apprehensive about this. This benefits Dot and you."

He leans back against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He glances at Kamala and Yelena, who stopped playing with the cats to watch you and him.

Bucky grabs your arm and pulls you out of the cat room and into the hallway, "If I agree to this, what would it entail?"

You shrug and scratch your head, "I dunno. I guess it really depends on what you think would make you happier right now."

Bucky doesn't know you. You're a stranger, but he doesn't get any weird vibes from you. You seem like a genuine person, but he could never be too sure. He can't just tell you his deepest desires. Not yet, anyway.

He sighs, "I guess, a companion?"

"Like a pet or a person?"

He shrugs, "Both? I don't know. I mean, I guess a pet would be nice?"

You roll your eyes, "Okay, well, I guess it's a good thing you volunteered to work here for the month. We'll see how you really feel about having a pet and if you think you can really take care of one."

With that you turn your back to him and enter the cat room again. Bucky watches you through the window as you talk with Kamala and Yelena. He's sure they're berating you about what you and he discussed.

Bucky groans and runs a hand through his cropped hair. He then feels a cool sensation on his shoulder, but it's not alarming. Instead, it brings comfort.

"Thanks, Dot," he murmurs before also heading back inside the cat room.

[pentopaper23]

Collection of one shots revolving around Anthony comforting his siblings while they are injured or sick.

CHAPTER ONE - Colin - Rugby Injury.

Anthony winced at the sound of bodies clashing together and leaned up on his tiptoes as he stood with Benedict, Daphne and Eloise in the grandstands of his Colin’s rugby final. Colin had just been tackled by three boys, he had disappeared beneath them in a tangle of limbs and driven so hard into the ground that Anthony could see the loose turf scattered around the pile of bodies. An uproar came from the Eton side of the stand, Benedict being one of the loudest with Eloise coming in second shouting out words that he would need to talk to her about later. He glanced over and saw the local paramedics that were working the game were also looking on in concern and one went to grab a pack and spine board from the truck.

“Come on ref! Open your eyes!” Benedict yelled from beside him in fury and he couldn’t say he disagreed with him. All match Colin and his teammates had been the victim of illegal high tackles and penalties.

His wince turned to worry when Colin didn’t spring back up like he had been doing the whole match and a pain filled scream rang out over the field. An eerie silence slowly fell over the stands as the coaching staff and one of the paramedics ran out onto the field towards the screaming Colin. The players on top of him leapt off him quickly and one looked to have gagged. Anthony could see why, Colin’s right leg looked to be bending a right angle and boy in question was clutching at it while screaming in pain.

“Dave, I need the leg brace!!” the paramedic yelled to her partner as she slowly moved Colin’s hands away from his leg and laid him back. Anthony’s breath caught in his throat, and he quickly glanced at Benedict who was already looking at him and they shared a scared look. The second paramedic raced out onto the field with a back board, leg brace and packs.

“Take the girls to the car” Anthony said calmly to Benedict and handed him his car keys. He patted Daphne and Eloise on head and with a small smile said he would be right back. They both nodded with tear filled eyes and flinched each tome Colin lets out a scream.

He could feel the eyes on him as he raced down the grandstand stairs taking them two at a time. The sorrow stories of the Bridgerton family had quickly spread after the death of their parents. Sympathetic looks and words of guidance had been a daily thing in the months after their deaths. He ignored them now and acted as if he couldn’t hear people saying comments like “they really can’t catch a break” and “not another thing for them the poor dears”. He pushed past the people that had gathered by the small fence that divided the stands from the field just as they were rolling a screaming Colin onto a backboard with a brace around his leg. He had wires connected to his chest and his jersey all but ripped right down the front.

“Col!” Anthony yelled jumping over the fence and racing across the field, his feet almost slipping on the muddy ground. When he reached them, he fell to his knees by Colin’s head ignoring the wetness seeping into his fabric of his trousers. He could see a small trickle of blood running out of his nose and he had a dazed glossy look on his face with his mouth hanging open dumbly. But the biggest issue was his leg, blood was pooling under him as a bone poked out from a gapping wound on his thigh. He glanced to the stand and saw that Benedict was carrying a crying Eloise down the stairs with a sobbing Daphne trailing behind with her hand gripping the back of his coat.  He watched them walk around the corner of the grandstand and disappear into the carpark beyond.

“Ant,” Colin said groggily his eyes rolling back in his head in pain and his muddy hand raised weakly searching for his brothers clean ones.  

“Yeah, I’m here buddy, I’m here,” Anthony said looking back down at his brother and taking Colins hand in his. Anthony heard words like compound break and shock as he followed the paramedics as they carefully carried Colin off the field and towards the waiting ambulance.

“I’m assuming you’re the guardian?” the female paramedic’s asked as they loaded Colin into the back of the ambulance. Anthony nodded not taking his eyes of Colin as the other paramedic cut the rest of his jersey off him. “In that case in or out?” she asked bringing him out of his stupor.

“In.” Anthony replied jumping into the back of the truck just as the paramedic slammed one of the back doors shut. Finding his seat Anthony reached for Colin’s shaking hand again and held one between the two of his. He ran his thumb over the back of Colins hand and shushed him when he started to scream in pain when the paramedic tightly wrapped the open break.  

“Can’t you give him anything?” Anthony shouted. But the paramedic just shook his head, “I need to wrap his leg and stop the bleeding first” he said as he slipped a tourniquet under Colin’s leg. Colin screamed out again his eyes snapping shut and he begin to shake when the paramedic tightened the tourniquet around his upper thigh. The blood flow trickled to stop, and the paramedic wiped his bloody hands on his uniform.  

“His he allergic to anything? Any medical conditions?” The paramedic asked as he rooted around in a cabinet behind him. Anthony replied no and reached up to brush the hair out of Colin’s pain filled dirty face. Colins eyes flickered open and looked up at Anthony unfocused and lazy. Anthony could see the pain buried in them and noticed that Colin had started to shake more violently than before.

“Hurts” he said reaching down to try and touch his leg. “How about we don’t do that just yet?” Anthony said gently pulling his hands away. “Not yet” Colin agreed and smiled softly at Anthony his eyes flickering as of he was about to pass out. This smile however turned to panic the moment the paramedic mentioned “Just a tiny scratch mate, and you will feel much better” and Colin all but threw himself away from the needle and into Anthony’s lap. Anthony had forgotten about Colin’s fear and had a split second to grab him by the shoulders and firmly push him back down on the gurney before Colin started to thrash against him.

“No, no, no. Don’t! Anthony!”

“Hey hey calm down Col, you’re okay.” He tried to smooth as the paramedic tried to hold down Colin’s arm so that he could insert an IV.

“NO! No, no!” Colin said continuing to thrash against Anthony’s hold as the paramedic cursed when Colin knocked the needle out of his hands.

“All good back there?” The female paramedic asked from the drivers seat as she weaved in and out of traffic with siren blaring. “Yeah, all good. How long?” the other medic asked opening another fresh needle. Anthony didn’t hear the reply he was to focus on getting Colin to calm down.

“Col come on buddy look at me,” He said softly rubbing his thumbs over Colins shoulders as he firmly held him to the gurney, “you need to let the nice man do his job.”

“I want mum” Colin sobbed out tears streaming down his face as he looked frantically around the ambulance as if his eyes were searching for her.

“I know buddy. I know,” Anthony said holding back his tears, he reached up to cup Colin’s face between his hands and he lent forward to rest his forehead against Colins and felt him started to calm. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the medic quickly slid the needle into Colin’s arm and Anthony felt his brother flinch and start to cry harder.

“I know, I know, I know” Anthony said softly as Colin started to fade. His eyes were slowly closing and eventually they closed completely, and Colin went limp in his arms.

[the-real-couchrat]

Brian for president!!!!!

The writing says:

“Trans rights!”- “Or I will feast on your soul eternally, never letting your wretched spirit rest.”

✨Ooze buddies!

✨swag✨

Normal duck

He looks like that one platypus Pokémon

Soul

Hand stand?

President Brian

Healthcare!

Xtras, base, secondary, beak and legs (color Pallete)

He picked the clean (bones)

Baby Brian!

Dave:)

Shading

Has unknowingly adopted children

Brian 4 president!

I was planning on doing a 10 minute sketch, but I got carried away.

Also, who was Brian’s vice president? I’m just going to act like it’s Dave for now. I also drew Brian as a duckling :)

Bonus:

@transcendence-au

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Pleaaaasse do you have any hc for my beautiful wife chopper Dave my sweet little British pilot

(The only British man I love)

Fuck you, I'm British >:( /light hearted

Chopper Dave general headcanons

CW: mentions of alcohol, British

He can and will cause problems on purpose, he finds it funny as hell, and has basically no fear. He's here for a fun time, not a long time.

Buddy buddy with Q-Bert, both bonded over their love for fine whiskey and the fact they're both from over the pond, even if they have petty disputes about whether England or Scotland is better. They have had physical fights over it before, but are still on good terms. Mostly.

Learned to fly just so he could be like his Dad. Plus he totally gets the best views in all of the state. Also the bomber jacket is fly as fuck (pun intended) and he loves sewing neat patches into it.

Has a photo of MPN SQ team that he keeps in his plane, they're his found family and he likes to keep the reminder close to him. He's also got pics of his real family.

Hates American candy, far too artificial in flavour, he deeply misses sweet from his home. You find some imported chocolate and give it to him, he will get misty eyed.

Once asked Chef for fish and chips, got an unbattered fish and crisps and he actually threw up from distress. God what he'd give for a proper pub meal.

Pansexual 100% He's got no preference, if you wanna romance him, he's on board no matter what you identify as, he's just happy for the company and love. Kissing him on the lips makes his knees actually weak, he will fall into your arms.

Starfish sleeper, all sprawled out, covers a mess and pillow has been yeeted to the ground. He snores a bit, but isn't too loud. Doesn't make his bed in the mornings and will probably never learn.

If romantically involved, he likes to have some part of him touching you while you both sleep. A hand on your arm/shoulder, foot on your foot/leg, you using his shoulder as a pillow, just anything to know you're still there with him :)

He's got thick arm hair, and that's about the only body hair he's got. He can't even grow a proper beard or moustache, which is sad coz he wants one of those old fashioned curly pilot ones. Not happening fam.

He's got short brown curls under his hat, which he shaves to a buzzcut now and then when its too long to handle. He has pretty poor self care, but he's happy enough.

Lil bit of chub to him, got that dad-bod vibe going on.

Drinks maybe a little too often, a chain smoker too. We've all got our vices baby, and a pack of cigs will get you all across Nevada with his whirly bird man.

[angelofthepage]

Ink Demon - Evolution shown in Reverse? (Bendy DCTL Speculation and Character Design Theory)

Today we got a surprise drop of the cover for the Dreams Come to Life Graphic Novel, and there’s one thing all of us are thinking about: why is the BATDR ink demon design on the cover? When Dreams Come to Life originally came out, this design either didn’t exist period or wasn’t public yet, and its inclusion here instead of the BATIM ink demon leaves me with a lot of questions about the timeline of this universe and how the ink demon functions. So today I’m gonna crack open DCTL and see if I can puzzle this one out. Join me, won’t you? 

First, let’s look at what the book actually says in describing the monster’s appearance. Let’s jump over to the part where Buddy digs through Sammy’s sheet music and finds his doodles. This is how Buddy describes a drawing that, we presume, is the ink demon. 

DCTL Page 162, Physical Copy

“The ink glistened like the ink on the cover, but it was similarly dry. That’s not what chilled me to the bone though. Taking up the full right-hand page was what I could only describe as a drawing of a deformed Bendy. But it had very little in common with the cute cartoon character. Its limbs were long, almost praying mantis-like, with hands that had claws on them, not cute white gloves. Worse still was his face, half obscured with-what was it? Was it blood? The drawing was in black and white; it was hard to tell what everything was. All I could see was how much longer his devil’s horns now were, how his smile was filled with sharp teeth. His eyes completely hidden behind a dripping black ooze.” 

On page 204, while Buddy and Dot are exploring in the dark with a flashlight, they turn the flashlight above them and see this. “Something wet. Black. Dripping. A figure. With something sharp that glinted in the light. Like teeth.

And then the flashlight died in the shadows.”

Pages 274 and 275, we get this description. 

“Standing there was the creature from Sammy’s notebook. It wasn’t just some made-up doodle, it was real. And it was…

Bendy.

At least, some strange version of the cartoon character. The head was the most like him. Shaped in the same way, round with two points for horns. He had that same smile too. Big and white, with lines separating each tooth, only these teeth were real. They glistened with saliva. The rest? Well, the rest of his face was covered in ink, ink dripping from his head over where his eyes should be. Did that mean he was blind? I didn’t think there needed to be logic with such a creature. 

His body was long and lean, and he too was dripping ink. No, not just lean, but almost like a dripping skeleton. I could see the indentation beneath his rib cage. But he was still partly cartoon character, which was probably the most terrifying part about him.He still had that white bow tie and one white glove like the ones all the characters had. 

He stood there. A growl deep inside him like a revving engine.” 

And then skipping ahead a bit, after ripping Dave’s arm off, he transforms-

“The beast now seemed to be growing in size. His arms and legs lengthening, his head spreading, his teeth getting sharper.” 

I went back to page 147, the first encounter Buddy has with the monster in the infirmary, but it doesn’t give us any physical description of the monster. It talks about shadows on the walls and the lights dimming that sound like the ink demon’s aura, and the handprint he gets on the back of his shirt doesn’t have a description other than being black. There is an interesting thing with there being a yellow coloring to the room/light for the infirmary on page 143 that I need to look back at later, but that’s not gonna help me with this matter (that’s for another theory another day). 

When looking at these descriptions of the monster, it sounds like most of them line up with what we knew about the BATIM ink demon in his regular and beast form, save for one. Sammy’s notebook sketch is described with limbs that are long and “praying mantis like”, and Buddy also takes note that the creature has claws. Now, the BATIM ink demon does not have claws, he has one human-ish hand and one gloved cartoon hand, and while he does have some length to him, I’d argue this description fits better with our BATDR ink demon. I mean if you look at the way his limbs bend, they are kind of mantis-like. Granted, I could say similar things about Beast Bendy in that regard, but he’s not quite so gangly. The sharp teeth throw me off, as again, that’s a Beast Bendy trait, BATDR ink demon has very flat teeth by comparison, deadly, but not sharp.

I think you could absolutely make the argument that Sammy’s drawing from when he was succumbing to the ink could be of the BATDR ink demon, though it feels a bit flimsy, I don’t have anything super concrete here. But then again, this is Buddy’s interpretation of Sammy’s art, which isn’t 100% reliable given, Buddy is not a reliable narrator for a lot of the book. You could easily brush off inconsistencies as Buddy having a warped memory from how long he’s been trapped as a Boris. I’m not sure how I feel about that, I suppose it’s a strength and a weakness of these books, depending on how you look at it.

Having the BATDR ink demon on the cover art could easily mean some retconning, but like, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. I think the lore has changed as to how the ink demon works, and I don’t think they had everything mapped out from the beginning. But I also feel like you can work the BATDR ink demon design into an earlier point in the timeline given what one of our big twists is in BATDR.

We hear from Wilson and the Keepers that they’ve been running experiments to trap the ink demon in a smaller, more vulnerable form. And this plotpoint has always bothered me since, how the hell did Wilson figure it out before Joey did? We know that Wilson was digging through Joey’s old stuff thanks to the BATDS teaser of his voice and his other audiologs, but what did Joey have that could have clued him in that this was a possibility? Records of Gent experiments perhaps? How can a man who doesn’t truly understand how the ink works build off of Joey and Gent’s work to get their desired result? Before Wilson was in the picture, the story felt like Joey had a monster locked up and then on the loose after the ink demon didn’t turn out to be his perfect Bendy. Given the room Buddy finds the ink demon in is filled with medical tools, I’ve often thought maybe they were using him for experiments, and it begs the question, what were those experiments? Were they trying to make him into a perfect Bendy? Were they testing the limits of the ink? It feels like it could be those things.

Here’s what I suspect is going on: ink demon didn’t come out as a perfect Bendy, so they’re trying to make him fit that mold in post. Thing is, Joey and Gent? They’re not treating him very well, and he’s giving them trouble, so they’re running other experiments in the background and using data from what they learned from him before applying that knowledge to him. Hence why we get Buddy Boris, Susie as Twisted Alice, etc, but no perfect Bendy yet. My thought process is, if the ink demon came out of the machine looking like Beast Bendy or his BATDR incarnation, then the ink demon we see in BATIM could be what happens after some experimenting. The BATIM ink demon is closer to how Bendy looks than any other version of the monster, it makes sense for him to be an in-between form in the evolution of this monster, we could’ve just been wrong about the order it goes in. 

The thing is, this means Joey, Tom, and Gent made significant progress in a short amount of time, if we got from the big scary sharp toothed monster to the one with a skeleton shape and one good glove over the course of one book. Sammy drinking the ink and falling under its influence seems to be contained over the course of this book.

Page 259 

“”What happened to me? You know what happened to me! You were there! You saw it”...”That day the ink found me. It wanted me. He wanted me. At first I was scared. At first I could feel it inside, the drops I’d swallowed by accident. By luck. I could feel them moving around inside me. I shouldn’t have been scared. I was foolish.””

This seems to be in reference to the pipes bursting in the supply closet and dowsing Sammy with ink, which was the start of his cravings. Buddy was there as a direct witness to this event. If Sammy drew this monster while under the influence of the ink, he’s changed forms within this book. I know the paragraph describing the monster Buddy actually saw starts off with a note about being like the drawing, but when you compare the descriptions, the monsters are different, especially with the way they describe teeth. It could easily be that the reason Buddy calls this out as the monster from Sammy’s drawing is because he sees it transform a little while later, even though it’s not an exact match in the moment of this encounter. 

So the ink demon’s form changing is possibly a recent development for him and his abilities within this book, and the fact that he goes back to being a more threatening monster not too far into the scene where Buddy and Dot have a boss fight with him makes me think that maybe the BATIM ink demon form didn’t stick as well as it could have at first. Like they could achieve it, but it took a long time to make him stay that way. It would also add to why he’s so hostile and why our little Bendy is scared of the Gent buildings. It may not just be trauma over what Wilson and the Keepers did, it may be tied to what happened to him with Joey, Tom, and Gent too.

Whatever the case may be, I have a lot of questions and curiosities about the upcoming graphic novel, and I look forward to seeing what comes next. Remember, whatever they decide to do, whatever happens, you’re still allowed to have your headcanons and noncanon things you play with. The world of Bendy getting expanded does not mean you’re not allowed to have fun with old or new ideas, nor does it give you clearance to be nasty to other fans if they choose to incorporate or ignore this entry when building their fan works. Normally I don’t feel the need to say that, most of us are pretty chill here in the fandom, but some recent interactions have made me feel like this is worth reiterating. Be kind to each other, we’re all fandom nerds bonding over a love of a fictional realm of demons and monsters, that’s really what matters most here. 

Here’s sending you all the good vibes! Tell me what you’d think, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[meet-me-in-the-pouringrain]

The Phoenix And The Rocket

Chapter 3

Part 1

Part 2

Again thank you for the love <3 this got away from me and the word count is 3k exactly.

Emily Prentiss, at the insistent of her therapist, signs up for a trauma ‘dumping’ site. She never expected that her Dump would connect her back to her old boss and the man she’s been in love with for over ten years.

Also the man that she’s absolutely furious at for leaving.

Edit : Since publishing I have been made aware that the term ‘Trauma Bonding’ is actually an abuse tactic and doesn’t mean ‘bonding over shared trauma’. Would like to make it clear that was a very strong mistake on my part and I apologise deeply for any offence.

Read below the cut

It’s Aaron’s turn to ghost his Buddy.

Aaron doesn't reply after that ominous message. He physically couldn't because as he types a reply, brow furrowed and confusion evident on his face, Jack yells out at the top of his lungs and a loud clatter quickly follows.

He takes the stairs two at a time, his hand twitching at his ankle, feeling for a gun that's no longer there. His son is lying on the tiled floor of the bathroom, groaning in pain.

"I slipped" Jack moans, scrunched in pain. "As I got out. My arm-."

"Oh buddy" Aaron sighs, partly in relief but mostly sympathy. He sinks down to his knees, gingerly pushing Jack into a sitting position. He watches Jack wince and hiss in pain at any attempt of moving his left arm. Aaron cringes at the awkward angle the elbow is at. "Yeah that looks broken." He shakes his head and stands. "C'mon we'll get you dressed and take you to the emergency room."

He does just that, spending hours in A&E as Jack got seen too, the computer blinking forgotten with Phoenix's last message going ignored.

He leads Jack back in around 4am, cursing the higher ups for the trivial paperwork of medical insurance while simultaneously thanking the FBI retirement plan for his incredible insurance. His computer had died while he was out and he snaps it shut, putting it in his case without a second thought.

Jack uses his right hand to drink water, he inherited his left hand dominance from his father, with a grimace.

"I hate that shower" He croaks in the dark of the living room. Aaron chuckles and nods in agreement. "I hate this goddam house."

"Ma- Jack." He admonishes quietly.

It's been a argumentative point between them. Ever since Jack overheard Uncle Dave's phone call announcing the end of Scratch, he had been resistant. He barely responded to his false name, never from his father, He complained about their old house and begged on the regular to move back to Arlington, Virginia to be closer to his late mother's sister.

To a degree, Aaron had to agree with him. Their house was awful. It was old, practically falling apart, and rickety. Last year, Aaron himself took a tumble down the stairs and sprained his ankle. It fit with their cover - Frank and his son Max moved to Colorado after his wife and mother skipped town to marry a richer man. Frank was supposed to be a simple tradesman, working from wage slip to wage slip.

He hated the house too. However, he cannot and will not be able to go back to his old life. Not like Jack thinks he can.

Not like She did.

"Whatever" Jack says, stopping a brewing argument. "I'm tired dad."

"I can help you to be-"

"I didn't break my legs" Jack snipes back, his exhaustion and teenaged frustration at the world making him lash out. He apologises softly before walking away and up the stairs. He trips on the bottom step, a loud curse exiting his lips, making Aaron squeeze his eyes shut. Jack growls under his breath, slapping his hand on the handrail, before stomping off.

Aaron watches him go with just his eyes, following the figure of his son up the stairs. His eyes still move up even after Jack leaves the landing and finish on the ceiling.

"Oh Haley" He breathes out. "I'm sorry." He clears his throat and shakes his head. "I don't know what to do."

The wind picks up, alerting him to the open window. He curses himself for his foolishness, his time away from the FBI making him sloppy. Jack's bag tips over and college flyers and pamphlets fly out. He frowns at the sight, his 16 year old growing up far to fast for his opinion. Aaron rushes over to clean the mess, fumbling in the dark, until one makes him pause.

A flyer for the FBI academy.

Quantico in big block yellow letters.

The flyer mentions specific departments on the front. White Collar, Counter-Terrorism, The numerous International Units.

And the BAU. 

Aaron raises his eyes to the window, a scowl on his face. "You think you're funny huh?" He teases the imaginary woman. There is no response from the window, making him roll his eyes. He stuffs the papers back in his son's backpack but leaves that specific one out.

Now he's got a decision to make on his hands that he really doesn't want to have to make.

~>~

Emily scribbles her signature on Matt's latest report, slamming it down on her pile of paperwork she's angrily completing.

She was annoyed.

She's always annoyed sitting in that seat for one reason or another. Whether it was because Luke decided he was a comedic genius and she was his prime target audience. Spencer and his ability to rattle off a statistic or fact that has her inadvertently annoyed and insecure. The girls and their probing questions about her nonexistent love life and (moderately healthy thank you very much) sex life. Or Dave.

Just Dave.

The only one who doesn't piss her off is Matt and that's because he's never fucking there since he went part time.

But she was actually annoyed at herself this time. Rocket hasn't replied to her in two weeks. In fairness, she left him on delivered for a week. But two? And he left her on read.

So now, rationally, she's concluded that her ominous message means that she's spooked her new Buddy.

Because for some reason, Emila Maria Prentiss is incapable of making friends that aren't forced to be with her for extended periods of time in a work setting.

Now, that means she's gotta work up the courage to message a new person but no one is as quite as intriguing as Rocket and he was very friendly to her, even after she ghosted him and asked him a rather invasive question that she herself would have found offensive to if asked.

So yeah, She was annoyed at herself.

So much so that she was literally pouting at work all day. Her frostiness had made Luke retreat away from his attempt at comedy, Spencer had left her alone (after she snapped at him and gave him more paperwork that is). She also snapped at JJ who gave it right back to her and told her to calm the hell down. Luckily for them, Tara and Matt are in the field helping another department  and Penelope hasn't left the lair to encounter her yet. 

Dave's still being an asshole but for different reasons than simply being a pain in her ass for amusement.

"Emily." The old man sung from her doorway, mischievous glee in his tone. "I'm sorrryy."

"Dave, You went and goaded an unsub" She rolled her eyes, glaring at him. "To the point where you forced Tara's hand in shooting him. We had him"

"He wanted to go out by Cop" Dave was indifferent to her attitude. "He was going to do whatever it takes, I just sped up the process."

"YOU SHOULDN'T-" Emily began to yell at the top of her lungs, making heads turn towards her off. She cut herself off with a deep breath, shaking her hair out of her face.

Dave just stares at her, unfazed by her yelling. He actually smirks at her, making her grip on her pen tighten and her knuckles turn white. "Yes ma'am" He mocks back before slinking away. Just in time too, because she hurls the same pen where he was stood, just missing Tara too. 

The other woman whistles as she drops a fresh mug of coffee on her friends desk. "Damn" She states, going to shut the door. Emily tuts in a sort of agreement. She's beginning to acknowledge that her self loathing episode is starting to project onto her team and somehow hates herself even more for it. Tara looks at her seriously, perching on the corner of her desk.

"Don't ask it-"Emily begins miliseconds after the coffee falls down her throat.

"When's the last time you got laid?" Tara cuts her off. Emily groans and turns her chair away but her friend wasn't finished. "Seriously, I'm in the middle of a divorce and think i've got more action than you."

"Haha" Emily offers back sarcastically over her shoulder. "I don't know like...a couple months ago I went out after Andrew and I-"

"DAMN"

"GARCIA" Emily hollers, jumping in surprise. The door opens and a guilty Penelope shuffles in. She pauses midway and turns to look to her left. Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and grits her teeth. "That better be fucking JJ and not Luke." She practically growls out.

"Ew" Penelope spits back, face scrunching at the thought she'd be scheming with The Newbie Who's Not Morgan. Tara laughs behind her own mug as JJ pops her head in with a goofy grin.

"It's meeeee" JJ sang, stepping in. She was apparently over the little spat they had earlier in the day. "And we couldn't help but over hear-"

"Don't start" Emily groans again.

"Em" Penelope starts, softer than the other twos teasing tones. "C'mon you've acted off all day."

"Not because I need to get laid" Emily insists. "I'm fine."

Instantly all three of them make exclaims. Emily rolls her eyes as they begin mocking her. It seems to be like a trigger word for them because every time she insists on it, they mock her and make points as to why she was, in fact, not fine.

"Anyway, I smell girls night" Tara ceases her mocking first, somehow, and smiles. "Where are we going? There's a new Irish bar-"

"No Irish Bars" All three other ladies suddenly cut her off. She furrows her brows but relents when JJ points at their boss with wide eyes. Tara winces and remembers the story that spread around their workplace like wildfire.

Emily's chest burns with the silence after that. Penelope and JJ don't like going to any Irish Bars with her anymore, not after spotting the 4 leaf clover on her chest during their first hot tub party since she rose from the ashes. Especially not after she got drunk on tequila and started rambling about how the bar they were in was like the one where she met her demon for the first time.

"Let's just go to Murphys sports bar"'Emily sighs after a few seconds.

“You mean the one that's literally on the corner of your street?" Penelope asks, deadpan. Emily gaze was hard.

“Yes” Emily blinks, unwavering

And that conversation is the reason she stumbles in her own apartment, alone, at 2am with lovebite on her neck from a man who's name she can't remember. That's all she has to show for that too. A stupid fucking love bite.

JJ went home around 10pm, relatively sober. Emily was still nursing a lemonade at that time.  She went home because Michael had a nightmare and was screaming for his mother and Henry had thrown up. Will called her to tell her he had it handled but not to worry and that he loves her so she left straight away. Emily watched her go, sadly, remembering nights when JJ could stay out all night with her and Penelope. She was glad (maybe a little jealous) and also hurt that JJ had something waiting for her at home.

Penelope was next to leave, a phonecall from Derek (that Emily had taken over) telling them that Savannah had a medical emergency and they had to go to the hospital and asking her if she could watch Hank.

Emily can honestly say she's never seen her friend move faster in her life.

Eventually, Tara got off with some random girl she picked up at the bar while Emily cornered a good looking man who was about ten years younger than her and had been eyeing her up at the bar the entire night.

They fool around in the bathroom until her stupid badge falls out of her purse and the man stammers out some lame excuse and jumps off. She sighs and leans down to scoop up her badge and found a bag of weed right next to it.

So she stomps off home; grumpy, drunk, sad  unsatisfied and alone.

It hits her as she settles in bed that her low feelings came from an internet stranger who she had spoken to twice.

"Fucking HELL" Emily blurts out, slapping the covers and lying on her back. She stared up at the ceiling, scowling.

What was wrong with her lately?

Sergio hisses on the pillow next to her at her yell before trotting over to his mom and laying on her chest, uncaringly. "Whaddya want?" She asks, scratching his head. "Little Shit" She says to him, lovingly. The cat purrs at the scratch before suddenly pouncing off.

She watches through the crack of her door as Sergio eyes the laptop on her work/dining table. It's on charge, the wire snaking down to the floor. Emily swears to a God she's unsure she believes in that the cat looks at the wire, looks back at her and proceeds to attack it mercilessly. She yells his name far too loud for near 3am and darts across the apartment to save her laptop. She catches him and the device before it falls on the floor.

"Bad cat" She admonishes, resorting to putting him in his crate. "Go to sleep." She snaps as if he could understand her. She turns back to the half open computer with a sigh and begins to push it down.

PING.

"Oh you are-" Emily begins, narrowing her eyes. The alcohol gets to her, because she turns and stares suspiciously at her cat who's looking like he's plotting her downfall. "Are you psychic?" She asks, hesitantly reaching to open the laptop.

It was an Email from Linda Barnes, the new section chief.

Emily deletes it without even reading it, rolling her eyes and pads to the kitchen to grab some water for the morning.

And then she returns right back to the computer. In the morning, she'll sit and think about the fact that she's been (moderately) drunk each time she's spoken to Rocket and reevaluate that aspect with her therapist. Right now though, the alcohol has given her enough courage to restart the conversation.

PhoenixPren : Hey so I've been thinking about it

She types without really thinking.

PhoenixPren : And I've had a bit to drink.

A bit is an understatement if we're being honest now.

PhoenixPren : And I would like to be Buddies. I don't really have anyone to talk to about all of this.

She thinks back to earlier in the day when Tara innocently suggested an Irish Bar and her friends practically froze at the idea.

They don't talk about it, never did. Derek's gone and even if he was here he wouldn't be up for discussing it. Dave tries but doesn't execute it well, Spencer looks at her with sad eyes that make her feel fucking sick, and the others simply weren't there.

The only one who she could talk about it with left her in the dust.

PhoenixPren : I have a whole lot baggage from my teen years and youth but that's a story for another day.

Hell, she could write a whole post on this stupid site about her mother alone.

She takes a deep breath, wondering how to phrase 'I was in a special unit and employed to sleep with and almost marry an Irish terrorist who i then faked the death of his son and he escaped a NK prison to target me and I had to fake my own death'.

Eventually she spins a tale about a doomed, abusive relationship and an ex boyfriend who tried to kill her. She mentions witness protection, figuring that it might help Rocket too, to find someone who can relate, but that's the extent of it, leaving out the messiness of Declan and JTF-12.

When she's finished typing, she's crying. A huge weight feels like it's been lifted of her shoulders after she trauma dumped on this poor stranger who probably expected something a lot smaller than that. 

With the listlessness comes the guilt. That was a lot to read, even for her, So she types out a final message.

PhoenixPren : I know that's a lot and it's okay if you don't want to respond. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to expel all that. It's been over ten years and I haven't discussed it with anyone in detail.

Not even her therapist. It's a lot more intimidating when you're sitting on a leather couch across from a woman with a clipboard and a power suit staring at you through thin glasses and a tight bun.

Huh. Now she understands the site.

Emily let's out a shaky breath, a sob and swallows thickly. She remembers that Rocket is in Colorado so it's only Midnight for him while it's near 3am for her. She drags herself to bed, somehow feeling lighter than she had in years yet heavier than normal, and face plants the pillow.

Sergio howls in his cage and she rolls her eyes and pushes herself up to grab him, He'll just howl all night if he has to.

The laptop pings again as she's padding on her hardwood floor.

"I swear to God if that's Lind-" She begins her threat to mid air, leaning over the laptop.

RocketRacoon : Thank you for sharing. I'm honoured to be your Buddy, You certainly have lived through a lot. Thank you, Phoenix. Have a good night :)

Emily's crying again reading her buddies sweet message. She resolves that she's too drunk to respond appropriately and heads to bed. Sergio gets in one last hiss to the laptop but settles down when Emily shuts the door.

She kisses his head and almost instantly succumbs to sleep.

As always : OG prompt came from @lonelychicagos

Taglist : @84hotpockets @serqueljisbon @loriprentiss @velvetblackness

If you want to added or removed to the taglist, shoot me a dm ❤️

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Unwilling Runaway

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ‘TWISTED UPSIDE DOWN’. This is a canon event, or at least semi-canon as of this writing.

Whatever woke her up, she was grateful for. Anything was better than that wolf-like creature chasing her down a corridor.

Evelin stared at the ceiling, willing her heart rate to go down a little bit faster so she could try to go back to sleep. It wasn’t enough that she had lost sleep over Jonah disappearing or Adam up and running away into FAITH, oh no–now she was losing sleep over the fact that she might have wound up there herself as well, years ago.

Well, this has been a fun month.

A low whine she recognized as Dave’s dog came from down the stairs. The dog didn’t sound like he was pacing, so he didn’t have to go out. Then why was he whining in the middle of the night?

The brunette pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her socked feet cushioned her footfalls as she made her way down the hall and the stairs. She paused on the last step and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, then froze when someone in the kitchen spoke up.

“I’m okay, buddy. You be quiet.”

Evelin slumped her shoulders in relief, her growing fear vanishing. She carefully stepped off the last stair and crept into the kitchen as quietly as she could.

Dave sat at the kitchen table, holding the shaggy dog’s head in his hand. The dog whimpered and licked his hand when he tried to pull it away, getting a tired smile out of him. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept well for days. Evelin’s heart pinched at the thought–maybe that’s part of the reason he had started wearing sunglasses everywhere.

“Dave?”

He jerked slightly and looked up, the dog lifting his head also. He forced another smile for Evelin and waved at her. “Hey, kiddo. What’re you doing up so late?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she said with a shrug.

“Why, did you have a nightmare? D’you wanna talk about it?”

The dog made his way over to Evelin and pushed his head against her. She stroked his head as she mulled over her next words. “I…Yeah, I’d like that.”

‘Why not talk about it?’ She rationalised with herself, pushing the dog away when he nudged her again. ‘The worst that could happen is Dave not believing me.’

Besides, he really looked like he could use a distraction.

--

A few moments later, the two (or three, counting the dog) were situated on the couch with hot chocolate in mugs (though none for said dog). Evelin nervously recounted her nightmare, gripping her pale pink mug as though it were a lifeline. Despite all attempts to soothe her that it hadn’t been real, it was just a dream; a feeling in her gut told her it was real and backed up the memory of her being in FAITH once many years ago. The dog kept giving her knowing looks whenever she stumbled over recounting an event.

Don’t tell her. Does the dog somehow know too?

Dave ruffled her hair and yanked her out of impossible thoughts. “It was just a bad dream, Evelin,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “That’s never going to happen to you. My goodness, kiddo, you’ve got a death grip on that mug like you’ve never been warm before. It must have really scared you.”

Evelin’s face flushed and she hurriedly put the mug down on the coffee table. “Y-Yeah, it really did. I’m sorry–”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m glad you told me, really.”

A companionable silence fell. Evelin leaned her head on Dave’s shoulder and toyed with the dog’s rough black fur. “I have a question…”

“Shoot.”

“What were you doing up so late?”

Dave didn’t answer. Evelin looked up and noticed he seemed to be struggling to find the words. He eventually took a deep breath and seemed to start over.

“Do you remember…The kid I told you about? Mark?”

“The guy who ran away? Yeah, I did.”

Dave winced at Evelin’s blunt wording. “I don’t think I ever said that he was my nephew, did I.”

Oh. Oh. “Um…No. I’m sorry, I thought that–”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. You never asked and I didn’t think to tell you. And well…”

The dog moved off Evelin’s side of the couch and went to Dave, resting his chin on his knee. Dave absentmindedly traced around one of his ears. “I was…Thinking about him. Him and you.”

“How so?”

“You’re almost his age, and–god, sometimes you even sound like him.” He shook his head slightly. “He could be spunky sometimes, when he wanted to be. Anxious, but spunky.”

“Dave?”

He turned his head slightly towards her, showing he was listening. Evelin played with her pajama sleeves as she tried to word her question as sensitively as she could. “He didn’t really run away, did he?”

Dave nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I refuse to believe that he did. He loved his little sister and he had plans for school–last year of high school, college, everything. He was going to be an artist.”

“So then why would he run away?”

“Well that’s the thick of it, isn’t it? It doesn’t make any sense for him to. But as far as anyone knows, he went out on his first day of work one day and never came back. No clues were left, no phone calls, no letters, nothing. Even his book of reassurances didn’t tell us anything. My two friends–you know Ruth and Thatcher. They turned over every little piece of information they could find, but they never found him.”

This was starting to sound awfully familiar. Evelin’s heart felt heavy as it dawned on her what likely happened, but Dave sounded far too fragile to be told such an unbelievable truth. He’d think she was making fun of him.

“I feel like you’re starting to pull away,” he went on, running his fingers through his bangs before looking at her. “Maybe it’s nothing, you are–at that age, after all. I just keep thinking of him, and…I don’t want you to end up like him, kiddo.”

Her heart pinched again when his voice broke. She hugged him as tightly as she could manage, shuffling closer to him when he hugged her back just as tightly.

She’d love to tell him that it would never happen. That she’d never run away, no matter what. That she would stay here for as long as he’d let her, grow up here, maybe move into a different house in the county. She didn’t want to leave, not yet.

And yet two of her friends were in FAITH, and the guilt of leaving them there was eating her alive. That, and it felt like someone was watching her. Waiting to catch her when she was alone.

She didn’t want to run away, but it was likely either that or she disappeared just like Mark did.

[andersunmenschlich]

The Usefulness of Religion When Adventuring

“Look out, Tancred! Lizard people!”

The rogue’s voice was excited—there was little he enjoyed more than a good scrap with the malevolent, scaled creatures that haunted the darker, damper areas of Illalia. Tancred, the group’s leader, was less ebullient. He unslung his greatsword, preparing to draw as he waved the rest of the team to a halt.

“Stay here, Emil,” he instructed the rogue. “If you charge ahead into that defile, the lizards—” Will have the upper hand, he’d been going to say, but it was too late. Whooping delightedly, Emil had already plunged into the shadowed dip in the road.

“I will entreat Eulalie on our behalf,” the cleric declared, and headed off to a large rock that would undoubtedly give him a great view of the upcoming battle.

Tancred nodded and unsheathed his sword.

As he started forward, his final companion made an annoyed sound. “Eeeuugh,” Dave, the archer, said. “Do we really have to go after him? I mean… there’s like six lizard people down there. And he’s always doing this. Do we really have to risk death every time Emil starts jonesing for an adrenaline hit again?”

“David,” Tancred chided. “I hope you are not suggesting we leave a member of our party to face the enemy alone!”

The archer made a face. Tancred gave him a stern look.

“Fiiiine,” Dave groaned, and drew his bow. Satisfied, Tancred turned and continued forward, engaging a lizard person who was about to stab the rogue in the back. “And it’s Dave,” the archer muttered, sending an arrow into another lizard’s eye. “Not David. I keep telling you.”

On his rock, Timothy the cleric knelt with his arms raised to the sky, praying loudly.

“Motherfucker!” the rogue screamed as one of the lizards got him in the thigh with an unexpectedly sharp set of rear claws. Tancred cut off the lizard’s head a second later, but the damage was done.

Four lizards down, two to go. The two remaining lizard people seemed to be considering the merits of retreat. Emil threw one of his daggers at them, and one of them dodged directly into an arrow. “Oh, cool,” Dave remarked to no one. “Thought I was gonna miss.”

Screeching, the arrowed lizard retreated, helped by its buddy.

“Hey!” Emil yelled, pointing. “They’re trying to get back into the trees! Get them before they get away!” He threw another dagger to punctuate his point. It fell short.

The uninjured lizard hissed mockingly. “Fuck you!”

The downed rogue looked imploringly at Tancred. The group’s warrior shook his head, out of breath, using his sword as a support (bad for the edge, but he was very tired).

Timothy climbed down from his rock as the lizards vanished into the shadow of the trees. “Eulalie has granted us victory again!” he proclaimed happily, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.

“Kinda feels like we did all the work,” Dave pointed out, putting his bow away.

“Nonsense!” the cleric said, smiling beneficently. “Did she not move an enemy directly into the path of your mis-aimed arrow?” Without waiting for an answer, he advanced on the injured rogue, taking on an expression of deep concern. “Your leg!”

“Yeah.” Emil tried to stand and failed. “Fuck! Yeah, it’s all fucked up.”

The rogue’s leg was, in fact, in a remarkably bad way. The lizard’s claws had stripped skin and flesh from the thigh, and he was bleeding freely.

Panting, Tancred sheathed his huge sword and slung it across his back again. “Can you do anything?” he asked the cleric.

Timothy looked grave. “I exerted myself a great deal during the battle,” he confessed, “but I will do my best to obtain Eulalie’s healing for our profane friend.” Kneeling by the rogue’s side (carefully avoiding the spreading pool of blood), he began. “O blessed Eulalie, merciful and kind, grant us balm! O, thou whose love heals all wounds….”

His voice, throbbing with passion and devotion, continued as Dave dug through his pack for clean water, antibiotic herbs, and a packet of bandages.

“O great Eulalie, life-giver, restorer of health—!”

Emil cursed as Dave cleaned and bandaged the slashes on his leg. “It’s too tight!” he complained.

“—grant this man the gift of your supernatural healing—”

“It’s gotta be tight,” Dave told him, packing the med kit away, “to stop the blood. Or else you’ll bleed out, and you’ve already lost a whole lot.”

“Whatever,” the rogue mumbled. “Thanks.”

“—Amen!” Timothy finished triumphantly. “And you’re welcome, but don’t thank me: thank Eulalie.”

Tancred helped the rogue up as Dave scowled. “We should find a place to camp for the night,” Tancred said. “I don’t think Emil will be able to make it to the next town before nightfall.”

“Got that right,” Emil muttered, wincing.

The cleric lowered his flask and wiped a bit of water from his chin. “I am very tired,” he said doubtfully, “but I could pray for Eulalie’s guidance…?”

“No, Timothy,” the warrior told him. “You’ve done more than enough today. Thank you.”

Timothy smiled, looking down modestly.

“David—”

“Dave,” the archer gritted in an undertone.

“—could you scout ahead?”

Dave sighed. “Sure. Why not.”

As he trudged ahead, Timothy the cleric wiped more sweat off his forehead and took another drink. It had been a spiritually exhausting day for him.

—

That night, Emil loosened his bandages because they were “too tight” and he “couldn’t sleep” and he was sure “Eulalie would understand.” He bled to death in his sleep, which was a more pleasant death than anyone had imagined when considering ways in which the rogue was likely to die.

Timothy shook his head regretfully and explained that, while he had done his best, Emil’s profanity had obviously undone Eulalie’s blessing.

Dave pointed out that their last cleric had cast a similar prayer of healing on herself before she died, and she had never used any bad words at all. Timothy sighed patiently and explained that Eulalie called her clerics home when their work in the material world was done. Dave returned that it seemed like people died at the same rate whether Eulalie was invoked or not, and all her clerics did was tell people to feel good about what was going to happen anyway.

Timothy puffed up indignantly, and Tancred broke in to point out that they were literally fighting over Emil’s dead body—could David stop being sacrilegious for five minutes and find something to build a travois so they could bring Emil back to his family?

Dave started to say something about how pretending Emil only died because he wasn’t pure enough for Tim’s fake magic to work on him was more disrespectful to the dead than arguing in Emil’s defense, but was cut off by the cleric huffily asking Eulalie to forgive his blasphemy and Tancred telling him to get a move on and find some decently sturdy wood now.

Neither Timothy nor Tancred noticed Dave went to look for sticks while carrying all of his gear, because the cleric was giving Emil’s dead body last rites, and the warrior was being respectful.

Dave abandoned them in the woods. They never made it back to civilization.

[the-firebird69]

Should he have kept shooting?🤔 #gunsgunsguns #crashout #crazy #shootout ...

This is Trump and his shooting at one of his buddies his son Dave that's what they're saying it's not really his son it's Tommy f and he's shooting at him because of what he was saying yesterday and people said it's true that he shot him several times. Well tell me if was hit a couple times but is a little bit different it's hard to stop back it up and spit on and hit him and he's kind of got stuck on top of it we got stuck on the rack and kind of fell off to the side got run over a little but he got hit pretty good and he had broken legs and a broken hip. This is yesterday afternoon he came back here after that and yet he has to go to the hospital and he's really not healed up and he hobbles into the apartment and tommy f is trying to take over the apartment. It's a big fight and it's gross it's not worth it they are stupid retarded people and continue to do things and don't make sense and are fairly annoying so we are coming down on them and wasted our time they are wasting our time. We don't want to see it we don't have time for it the foreigners have their hands full and this nonsense doesn't do a thing. We are going to have to take over Stone ships and no doubt because in the Asians are going to take the goofballs too and I'm just going to spread these foreigners too thin. It's covered espresso is perfect cover is offered up to us in a way that's very hard to refuse and these people are asinine losers for think we wouldn't.

Thor Freya

Olympus

You're a bit crazy Tommy f the shooting at my husband and you think we're going to sit there and do nothing you're insane of course I swear to take your power you can't have you having power in it so stupid that you shoot after my husband and we're going to trust you to do the right thing I don't think so.

Hera

Yeah come up a little bit short pal

Zues

We're going to lambbast that idiot

Olympus