#handsome chap ain’t he

[ask-godenel]

Ain’t I handsome ?

Just thought I needed an upgrade

[lay-z]

🌨 Day 2 ‒ Quaint

Synopsis: You’re on guard duty on base with your Lieutenant and while the first snow begins to fall around you, the cold makes you oddly sentimental.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Ghost & reader POV; military!Reader; humour; cussing; platonic relationship; mutual pining; eventual romance

Word count: 1.8k

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It’s a particularly cold night in the UK.

The base is eerily quiet; the barracks covered in a veil of fog as the harsh floodlights of the nearby watchtowers break through it, though where you’re standing on the lookout hill close to the shooting range, it’s the moonlight filtering through the blanket of clouds that illuminates the scenery.

It does look an awful lot like snow, with the clouds looking thick and fluffy, and ready to burst at the seams.

Tugging your black military issued loop scarf down to reveal the cold tip of your nose along with your chapped mouth, you put the butt of the unlit cigarette between your lips before you lean forward while Ghost flicks his gloved thumb over his cheap lighter, spawning a small flame.

It flickers nervously in the breeze, lighting up the space between you and your Lieutenant in a soft glow that catches his deep brown eyes – turning them a pretty, molten caramel that takes you by surprise and makes your own eyelashes flutter.

Your warm breath is enough to fog up the crispy air even before your Lieutenant lights the cigarette for you. Once the tip burns that ember glow, you take a long, greedy drag and feel that familiar burn taking the edge away while blue smoke fills your lungs.

“Fanks,” you mumble around the cigarette held between your lips while you squint your eyes when the smoke burns your eyes.

“This ain’t healthy for ya, y’know.” Ghost gruffs out while he tucks his balaclava up to stick a cigarette between his own lips, making you snort and roll your eyes at his dry humour.

You have lost count on how many times he’s made that remark oh so casually before, and at this point, you’ve come to the delusional belief that he might actually care about your health and survival outside of missions.

“Yes, sir.” You reply most agreeable, puffing out some smoke while your eyes crinkle at the edges, suppressing a smile.

As usual, your curious eyes flicker up to catch a sneaky view of the exposed lower half of his face; pale skin, cheeks covered in dirty blonde scruff, silvery scars littering his neck and cheeks and one particular one across his surprisingly kissable lips.

You can only make assumptions at the end of the day, but your Lieutenant is a handsome man underneath those crafted skull masks of his. Not that it matters. Jesus Christ, no.

It cannot matter.

So, you tell Soap to shut his trap whenever he flaunts his knowledge about how Ghost’s face looks like underneath his signature skull mask.

“Seen that mug with me own two eyes, lass! Bloke’s a proper bonny lad, that one! Sharp eyes, chiselled jaw, gleaming white teeth, a lil’ crooked perhaps, but all ‘o that. Bet he’s got a massive–”

That’s when you’d usually smack your good friend and teammate upside his head to shut him up for good. You don’t need anyone else planting ideas and pictures in your head about your superior officer; you’re already great at doing exactly that by yourself.

“What’s so funny, eh?”

Ghost’s deep, gravelly voice pulls you out of your thoughts and daydreams, replacing Soap’s Scottish drawl in your head with his own thick British one.

“Huh?”

You blink dumbly, taking another drag and plucking the cigarette away between index and middle finger to exhale as you crane your neck to look up at him to meet his whiskey-coloured eyes.

Ghost points at your face, then, holding his cigarette between gloved fingers while blowing smoke through his nostrils and – you have to shamefully admit – it’s one of the most attractive sights you’ve most probably ever seen.

“Ye’re smilin’ at nothin’ like some twonk.”

Ghost has caught that absentminded, dreamy look in your eyes again; the way your eyes crinkle and the corner of your mouth lifts up the tiniest bit.

He’s noticed it more often now and it’s different from the slightly dissociated look you sometimes get during downtime on deployments. No, you’re thinking about something good – and he wants to know and analyse what it is while simultaneously pushing down that gnawing feeling of jealousy – is it jealousy? – in his gut.

Are you thinking about a new lover? A past one? And why the fuck does he even care?

This odd twinkle in your eyes has made his heart stutter in his chest and made him pause and reflect these strange feelings more times than he’d ever admit already. And even if he could find the courage to acknowledge them to himself, Ghost wouldn’t know how to handle them – apart from the fact that it’s forbidden by rules and regulations, anyway.

His eyes flit about, scanning and surveying your every move as you avert your eyes from him with a soft scoff and shake of your head, and the way you shift in your combat boots, thick soles scrunching up the frozen ground to get some feeling back into your cold feet and wiggling toes.

“It’s just… It’s almost Christmas,” you reply with a shrug, the quick lie coming naturally to you, and you take another small drag, then hold your breath, “Was thinking about those magical holidays during my childhood, is all.”

Quirking an eyebrow under his mask, he easily detects your lie in the way you pause, trying your hardest to act casual. What is it you’re truly thinking about? Ghost hates that he wants to know, despises the way he has started to care about you in more than a strictly professional way. It’s causing problems that he really doesn’t feel like finding a solution to.

“Mhmm,” he hums in return, forcing himself not to pry and not to bark humourless laugh thinking about his own good childhood memories – or the lack thereof.

There’s a long moment of silence where cigarette butts are discarded, crushed in the gravel under the tips of boots, before Ghost breaks the quiet again, letting out a deep sigh as he caves in.

“Humour me, then, Sergeant,” he says, unable to hide the hint of teasing sarcasm in his voice, “What’s the best gift ya have ever received in tha’ precious childhood o’ yours?”

He pulls his mask back down once he realises how your eyes are following the movements of his mouth so blatantly, covering up the faintest of blush creeping up his neck under your curious scrutiny.

Ghost doesn’t remember the last time he blushed; perhaps at a time when his late mother had given him a well-deserved scolding as a boy.

Finding an answer to his question is easy; processing his sudden interest is not.

“My first dog,” you answer eventually, “I know you shouldn’t give away pets as present, especially not on Christmas, when most of them end up in the shelter after a couple of days or weeks, but – yeah, my first dog.”

Of course, you think about all the animals that are always dropped off at the shelters by irresponsible pricks. You have to be that compassionate, which makes Ghost wonder how the fuck you ended up in this profession.

“Hmm,” he hums again and shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his fatigues, trying to keep the cold out.

“Had that little fucker for nearly 12 years. Basically grew up with him.”

And the way your eyes dull over while a sad smile spreads on your chapped lips, tells Ghost everything he needs to know. You loved that dog, treated it like a sibling probably, judging by your reaction.

“What was his name? What breed?” He asks curtly, though he’s mentally filing away each word you speak to remember.

“Max,” you answer, and then add with a chuckle, “Uh, Maximus. My father still loves the movie Gladiator,” you give a small shrug, smiling at the fond memories flooding your mind so suddenly.

“I don’t know what breed, some German shepherd mix, we always assumed. Big as a calf and protective as hell, too. As a little girl, I could take him on walks through the meanest neighbourhood at night and no one ever dared to touch me.”

For a moment, Ghost is too stunned to speak. The way you reminisce about Max, about your bond with him, has his chest feel tight with another strange feeling, and in this moment, he can’t help but picture himself by your side instead, taking a walk at night, perhaps even going as far as holding hands. Could he bring himself to take yours? To make a first move?

His trembling hand reaching out to curl around yours tentatively, fingers interlacing gently, soft skin brushing against his.

His heart skips a violent beat, dark eyes widening imperceptibly behind his balaclava, lost in his own forbidden fantasy for the briefest moment.

Ghost knows that no one would dare touch you while he is close by, either, when he'd be following you obediently like a shadow. He’d protect you just as well as any guard dog, he’s positive.

Your Lieutenant’s sudden rigidness catches your eye eventually, like a statue frozen in place with its unwavering stare, and when you look, you feel oddly exposed to him as if you’ve opened up way too intimately and crossed an invisible border with your small anecdote.

Feeling the urge to ask if he’s alright rising up in your chest, you clench your jaw instead and tug your scarf back up to nuzzle your freezing nose into the fabric; he wouldn’t tell you the truth, anyway.

Meanwhile, Ghost watches as the first snowflakes flutter down on you; tiny white speckles of snow getting caught in your hair and lashes as you blink them away.

Suddenly, that familiar spark returns to your pretty eyes once more as you notice the first snowfall with childlike awe while your head tilts up to look at the sky.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt nor have any repercussions if he was to share something in return, after all; to offer a piece of himself, a peek into his being and past, even though it’s not as nice or warm like your memories from the past.

He clears his throat, “Never had a dog,” he rumbles eventually, blinking away those rotten memories trying to come forward from a place buried deep within his mind, yet the words still tumble from his lips, uncharacteristically soft-spoken and muffled by his mask.

“But my father, he… owned snakes.”

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Neighbours｡⋆.

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

You have a little crush on your handsome next door neighbour

Warnings: modern!au, mutual pining, Negan, fluff

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

4k Follower Celebration

King’s County was a very cute town. Barely an hour outside of Atlanta but not so far in the sticks that you were completely isolated, it was the perfect place to set up roots. You got a house at the edge of town for practically nothing and immediately a job landed in your lap.

Of course, it was a difficult adjustment having moved from New York where you worked at a cafe to being in Georgia and getting the teaching job of your dreams but what really helped was your next door neighbour- Daryl Dixon.

You first met him the day you moved in. 

Alone with a singular U-Haul truck that had your entire life in the back of it and the mid-July sun on your back, you could think of no worse torture than this as you slowly but steadily moved box after box into your new home. You felt like you were drowning in sweat and your arms were about to fall off when you heard a deep raspy voice from just outside the truck.

“Can I help?” His accent was so thick, it took you a minute to actually understand what he said. 

The sun was at his back, covering his face in shadow but from what you could tell, he was just under 6 feet with hugely broad shoulders and slightly bowed legs. “Um yeah! That would be so great, thank you!” He nodded and grabbed the two boxes in front of him. 

You were in awe as he lugged the boxes of books up your front steps without even a grunt of exertion. You followed behind with the last of your stuff, desperately trying not to look at his ass in those dark jeans he was wearing. “You can just put that by the stairs.”

He hummed and dropped them gently right where you told him to put it. “Thank you again, could I get you some water or lemonade, I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to repay you with”

He shook his head, causing his long dark hair to cover most of his face. “Naw, jus saw ya needed help. It’s what neighbours do ain’t it.” You smiled at his bashfulness.

“Well it was still a nice thing for you to do.” You reached out your hand and gave him your name. His eyes (you could now see that they were blue) flicked to your outstretched hand and then back down to your hardwood floor but he gave you a firm shake anyway.

“Daryl.” As he pulled back, he left a smear of what you thought was motor oil on the back of your hand. His face went beat red and he opened his mouth to apologise but you spoke again before he could.

“Let me get you dinner then, I was planning on ordering a pizza and I doubt I could eat a whole pie by myself.” That got a smile out of him, a small one but it was genuine and it made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright.”

Finally, it was the winter break, after four months of trying to wrangle multiple grades (it was a small school and you were the only history teacher), you could relax. You could feel the tension melting off your body as you drove up to your house.

You pulled your car into the driveway and immediately spotted Daryl. He was perched outside his garage, once again tinkering with his motorbike, a cigarette hanging from his chapped lips. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice how you just sat in your car and stared at him longingly.

Daryl was a drop dead gorgeous man and apparently he didn’t even know it. He was incredibly strong with biceps almost the size of your head and a general bad boy biker appearance but with a heart of absolute gold. You sighed and grabbed your school bag that unfortunately had paper you still needed to grade.

“Hey Daryl!” You called out. His head shot up so quickly, his cigarette fell to the ground between his booted feet. He cursed under his breath and picked it up again. “Some teachers are coming over to my place for some drinks if you want to join, no pressure though!”

“Sure.” He dismissed but you smiled brightly.

“See you there!”

Rock music crooned from the speakers, just barely audible over the chatter of your coworkers and neighbours as they mingled. You were in the kitchen, making margaritas at the behest of the school’s gym teacher. He hovered over you as you made the drinks, he was either telling you some story about his ‘glory days’ or insulting you, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Negan, it doesn’t need that much tequila!” You snatched the nearly empty bottle from his hand which he had been pouring into the blender when your back was turned.

“Of course it does!” He tried to wrestle the bottle back from you but you stubbornly held on. It quickly became a childish game of tug-of-war that neither of you were really taking seriously, just happy to let loose after dealing with idiotic students for 4 months.

Just as you were getting the upper hand, a voice caught your attention. “Hey.” Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward with a small blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. 

“Hi.” You immediately greeted, unbothered that Negan had stolen back the bottle of alcohol and had subsequently dumped the rest of its contents into the half-made cocktail mixture. “There’s pizzas in the living room and some beers chilling on the deck if you want.” You offered and the shy mechanic just nodded, wandering off into the small crowd.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes dip down to his ass, watching it as he disappeared into the hall. “Seriously? Him?" Negan’s voice startled you from the hypnotising sight, your head snapping back to face him. He was smirking at you with a mixture of disgust and a strange proudness.

“Shut up.” You grumbled and grabbed some extra ice from your freezer to throw into the blender.

“I thought I was more your type but I see it now, a redneck shotgun wedding! Maybe you’ll have roadkill hors d’oeuvres with moonshine- ow! The fuck was that for?” He rubbed at his hurt shoulder which you just punched.

“At least my wedding won’t be fucking baseball themed, you has been.” And as you bickered back and forth, neither of you noticed the figure standing in the doorway, face beat red and blue eyes practically sparkling. If it were up to him, your wedding would be the most lavish event the world had ever seen and by god, he hoped that he would be the one standing at the end of that aisle for you.

Request: Can I please get "neighbors" and "Seriously?Him?" for Daryl for your celebration?

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This was from my AO3 account, I will try to post on both accounts🧡

Content: Sometimes even villains need a bath time

It was a hassle, he fought you the entire time, threats of burning your apartment down if you so touched him falling out like venom from his lips. You were used to his threats and his hard glares though, not fazed by his strong diversion from physical touch. It was understandable, from what he told you about his past. Though today was not a day to be understanding, rather he needed this.

Dragging the adult male into the bathroom, you took brisk movements to lock the door so he wouldn’t escape, a glare was your only response as you looked back at your lover. After the few years, you knew him, this might have been the lowest he was in. Covered in soot and blood from his past battle with a few ambitious heroes, he looked more like the homeless man you encounter so long ago. A grunt and raised brow was his reply as he watched your eyes evaluate him, seeming displeased by your judgemental gaze.

“I know I’m handsome, doll, but you don’t gotta stare that hard. Might hurt my fragile ego.” A sarcastic reply to cover up his feeling of embarrassment, only becoming glaringly obvious when you walked away to turn the faucet of the tub on.

“Get undressed.” It wasn’t a suggestion, and he knew you well enough to know you were serious. He wanted to chide back a smart remark, but it would only annoy you. Though he didn’t mind seeing that fire in your eyes. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he did as he was told. He really did it this time, some of the surgical staples were loose, showing just a glimpse of the burnt skin underneath. Worry crossed your features once you noticed the irritated skin, would a bath be okay?

“I’m fine, let’s just get it over with.” As if reading your mind, he only eyed you from the side, a look that told you not to look down on him. He was strong after all, a little soap was the least of his concerns.

Shoving you to the side, the man stepped in, the warm water causing him to hiss a bit. You were quick to his side, a glare shot your way, once more reminding you to not treat him so weakly. A thought rushed in his head, the things he did for you, thank god you were good-looking. He crouched down slowly, letting his body get accustomed to the water. A bored expression graced his tired features as his turquoise hues fell on you. “Happy?”

Well, it wasn’t exactly how you pictured it, but you wouldn’t complain. Grabbing a washcloth, you lathered it up with soap, the villain only watching in mild interest, a hint of sarcasm on his tongue. “You gonna wash me up too? Wow, I hit the jackpot.”

“Don’t be pissed just because you got dirty, jerk.”

“Yeah, well you reap what you sow, I suppose.”

The washcloth touched the skin gently, still causing discomfort on his features as you went to work. It was unknown if it was from the soap on his skin or just the touch alone. Eyes looking anywhere but you at the moment, a wave of vulnerability hitting him as you washed his blackened skin. Silence crept through the walls, the only sound being the water splashing about as you cleaned the rag. A soft sigh escaped his chapped lips, turquoise eyes finally turning to watch you clean the washcloth, listening to you make a “tsk” with your tongue over the water blackening.

“It ain’t that bad, is it? I’ve seen worse.”

His smart reply left you to chuckle dryly, eyeing him with a sharp look as he grinned, knowing he got under your skin. It was probably his favorite pastime, watching you tick. “Yeah, I’m sure my landlord would love to know how I got the tub black.”

“A remodel? I heard black is the new bathroom thing, trust me.”

Eyes rolled at his words, going back to cleaning his arm this time. A concentrated look was plastered on your face as you were careful not to touch his opened wounds from the missing surgical staples. “Want me to stitch them after?”

He looked down at his arm, a half-hearted shrug was your reply, a quick hiss following after from moving his shoulder. Damn, he really should think his impulse control over. “Do what you want.”

“Fine, I’ll make sure not a single staple gets out next time.”

He raised a brow at your reaction, knowing you were annoyed with his dismissive behavior. His stare moved back to the bathroom tile on the wall, a hand going up to run over the design. Silence once overcrowded the room again as you continued to clean him up. Finishing up, you threw the dirty washcloth in the laundry basket, no concern about if it was salvageable after the bath. Leaning back down over the tub wall, you grabbed your shampoo and conditioner. A calloused hand grabs your wrist to stop you.

“You’ve done enough, I’m clean aren't I? Don’t worry about the rest.”

His voice came out a whisper, almost like a silent plea to stop spoiling him as if he couldn’t handle it anymore. A stare-off started, both of you too stubborn to back down from your apparent claims. Furrowing your brows once more, you tried to grab for the shampoo bottle again, his hand keeping you in place. “Just this once? Please?”

A look of hesitation flashed through his blue eyes, finally he let you go, huffing out as if it was the worst decision in his life. Smiling at his surrender, you quickly grabbed the bottle so he wouldn’t change his mind. Again, as gently as possible, hot water ran through his hair so you could lather it with soap. He closed his eyes as a soft sigh came out, shoulders relaxing just a bit from the water running down his sore muscles. A shudder soon followed after the moment your hands touched his head, the sensitivity of your hands running through his dark locks only making him want to close his eyes more. He shouldn’t have agreed to this.

Nails massaged his scalp, he gripped the tub to handle the new feeling. The concern is shown on your face, stopping to look down at him. “Are you okay? I’m hurting you?”

“No.” It was spoken harshly, not wanting to admit his weakness to your touch. He was stronger than this, he could handle having his hair washed. “Just hurry up, will ya? I want to sleep.”

Going back to work on his dyed locks, you mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend, probably a smart remark to his words, he didn’t blame you for that. Water ran back down his hair and back as you rinsed out the soap, fingers combing through the strands to make sure all the soap was out, he only gritted his teeth, wanting this sweet torture to end. Not wanting to feel again after this.

It was conditioner next, an annoyed sigh at the feeling of the thick cream being spread through his burnt locks. He was never agreeing to this again, hating the feeling of relaxation taking over him. Hated the soft feeling growing in his chest. Hated you.

Luckily it ended quickly, water once more rinsing out the dirt and conditioner from his hair, the man looking more like a wet cat than a villain. Eyes even slit in contempt as he stared at the faucet in front of him. Getting up, you grabbed a towel, calling out to him to get out. You didn’t have to call out a second time, he stepped out, ripping the towel from your hands to dry himself, not even caring if he opened his wounds once more.

“Stop acting like a child, you’re just going to get an infection if you irritate the skin.”

The dead stare at the ground was your sign he wasn’t in the mood, though that was never new. Walking over, you grabbed the towel from him, a glare your only reply as you got to work drying him off properly. Moving to his hair, you ruffled his head, fried hair poofing up a bit from the friction. A laugh escaped your lips from his non-villainous look.

“Cute.”

“You’re calling the wrong person cute, doll.”

A roll of his eyes entered your vision, though the trace of a smile was seen on his lips. Bath time didn’t have to be bad all the time, he supposed, though he wouldn’t admit that. Not to you anyway. Never to you.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 39

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 39

Kicking the can down the alley

”And here’s a little duck. Little duck goes ’quack!’ Can you say ’quack,’ sweet angel?”

“Ga!” Ian plucked the rubber bird from his mother’s hand. Drool trickled as he gnawed on it. Like a dog on a bone. Effie smiled. He’d done that a lot lately. Everything and everyone was a chew toy.

Another tooth on the way, probably.

His sister gingerly touched a green turtle floating in the water. With the bird’s head still in his mouth, Ian babbled a string of nonsense words her way. The secret language only they understood. Amy answered with a curt “un-nuh” and splashed her hands about. Belly-laughed when the toys bobbed.

The sight of those two broke through the melancholy in her heart. Effie chuckled.

“My darlings. What would I do without you?”

She found the blue watering can at the bottom of the tub and showered the girl’s sprawled out fingers.

“Water feels nice doesn’t it, sweetling?” Amy held her hands out for the toy and Effie gave it to her. “Remember your first time? So angry. Downright furious when I put you in the bath seat. And dada, tugging at my sleeve the whole time. ‘The water’s too hot. The water’s too cold.’”

Amy flashed a smile at the silly mom voice. She was ahead of her brother in the tooth department. Two little rice grains had sprouted up in the middle of her lower jaw. They never failed to make Haymitch laugh when she laughed.

“Yes, your poor, sweet, handsome father”, Effie said. “If he’d gotten his way we would’ve waited until you were covered in grime.”

“What’s the damn hurry?” he’d whined into her neck that day. Eyes on his crying baby, it was all he could do not to snatch the girl up and make a run for it. “They’re like a minute old! Why d’ya have to torment her like this?”

“There we go,” Effie cooed and adjusted Amy against the daisy-shaped bath pillow. “Don’t worry, precious. I’ll be quick about it. Just a few more moments and then a soft, cozy bathrobe’s waiting for you. Haymitch, stop poking my shoulder. Everything’s under control. If this is too overwhelming for you, go do something useful instead. Wash the dishes. Take a nap. We both know you need it.”

“Why don’t you make me, sweetheart?” Haymitch snarled. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“She’s not in pain. She’s not in any danger. A bit surly perhaps. You’d know. You have virtually the same reaction every time I tell you to bathe.”

Haymitch didn’t even dignify that with a response. Anguish radiated off of him like heat.

Who could blame him? A newborn’s cry, before they really got the lungs for it, was the most pitiful, heartbreaking sound around. And Haymitch had never been able to handle children crying. Any cry.

Like the Victory Tour for instance. Those endless nights at the train. You could set your watch by him. The moment Katniss’s bloodcurdling screams pierced the stillness he’d stagger down the narrow, rocking corridor to her room.

Effie’s room that was. Even in his state, Haymitch knew better than most that the last thing the girl wanted when coming out of a nightmare was her cross-eyed, whiskey-reeking mentor at the door. He could be as concerned and well-meaning as he liked.

But the escort? Good ol’ Effs Trinket. She was fair game. Free to bother. Probably going over tomorrow’s schedule anyway.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered as the door slid shut behind him. “She gon' scream herself from district to district?” And without even a side-glance he crossed Effie’s chamber and hurled himself onto the bed.

“Well, hello to you too,” said Effie from the depths of an armchair. Clipboard in hand. Hair covered up. “Don’t be shy. Make yourself comfortable.”

Another hair-raising cry, three doors down. Haymitch flinched like someone put a bullet in him. He grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it over his head.

“Oh, that poor thing,” Effie sighed. “I wish we could do something. I gave her pills to sleep. But she won’t take them anymore.”

“Course not,” Haymitch muttered, curled up on the mattress. “I’d pick a nightmare over your so-called sleeping pills any day.”

“You never tried them.”

“Nor will I.” He sniffed. “Could use a bottle though. Or three. Got any? I ain’t picky.”

“You know I don’t. And don’t tell me you’ve already finished the ones in your room?”

“My room. Peeta’s.”

“Haymitch!”

“What? He won’t miss ‘em. You should thank me. No underage drinking on my watch.”

“How incredibly considerate.” She returned to the clipboard. Scribbled a few words in the margins. Wasn’t until five minutes passed that she raised her head again, ears pricked up.

“Listen,” she said. “So quiet.” And in a low, conspiratory voice: “Do you know what I think? I think it’s Peeta. He’s gone to her room again.”

“That a fact?”

“I’ve seen it. With my own eyes. So did Octavia. He’s probably in her bed right now, as we speak.”

“Octavia’s?”

“Katniss’s of course!”

“Wow. Breaking news, sweetheart. As usual you’re the last to know. And so what? If they need a lil’ comfort, I say go for it. If there’s one person in this rotten world who can give that girl some peace of mind it’s Peeta.”

“So no red flags?” Effie’s voice brimmed over with frustration. “Two teenagers, teeming with hormones. Together. In bed. Night after night. It doesn’t make you the least bit concerned?”

“They’re just kids, Eff.”

“To you maybe.” She dropped the clipboard on the side table. “I sat her down earlier. Just the two of us. A much needed talk, I’d say. On this train I am the closest thing she has to a mother, you know,” she said, head high like: “Don’t you dare take this away from me.”

“Talk about what, sweetheart? The birds and the bees?”

“Someone had to.”

“Jesus …”

”And I tried, Haymitch! I tried to bring up the importance of being prepared. Several times. But that girl! It was all ‘I have a headache, Effie’ and ‘We promise to make an effort to be more discreet, Effie’ – which they don’t, I might add. So.” She reached under the table, where her purse resided. “I need you to bring Peeta these.”

Ignoring a direct order from Effie Trinket was a lost cause. Finally, Haymitch heaved a great sigh and pulled himself to sitting. Leaky-eyed. Hair on end. A look on his face like Buttercup when bothered.

“What is this?” He squinted at the package on his lap. The letters.

And in the span of two seconds he’d all but sobered up.

“You havin’ sex, Eff? Cause I don’t think I’m that cool ‘bout you getting your rocks off while everything falls apart ‘round us.”

Effie sighed. Rubbed the space between her eyebrows, like getting a headache.

“You know what? Sometimes I wonder if you were dropped as a child. Do I look frisky to you? How would I even get the time? With our schedule? Every sensible adult in the Capitol carries a couple of these. And even if I wanted a few minutes of stress relief, I don’t need your permission, do I?”

“Minutes?” Haymitch scoffed. “What loser guys are you hanging with?”

Ignoring that last remark, Effie nodded to the packet. “They haven’t expired yet so you will give them to Peeta as soon as possible and, if need be, explain how to put them on.”

“I don’t want …”

“I don’t care what you want. I will not have a teen pregnancy on my conscience. It would be our fault, you know. We’re the adults here. So yes. You will do what I say. Or I swear to God, Haymitch: You won’t see another bottle from here on out to the Capitol and back again! I mean it. No wine. No whiskey. Nothing. So the choice is yours, mister. Take it or leave it.”

Oh, if looks could kill.

“No wonder you’re not gettin’ laid.” He turned the bag over. Eyed it from every direction. “Well, at least it’s not some weird-ass shit with flavour.”

“Nothing but the best for my victors.” Effie adjusted the bandana wrapped around her hair. “Honestly, Haymitch. What would you do without me? This team would fall to bits if it weren’t for my glue.”

But Haymitch didn’t listen as usual.

“’Shaped to fit you perfectly,’” he read. “’Super thin for a closer feeling’. Hm.” He glanced Effie’s way. Her slender leg crossed over the other. ”We could uh … try one out first? See if they’re up to par.”

Effie threw him a dirty look.

”And if they’re not? If one of them breaks while you’re inside me we’ll just … what? Recommend they try a different brand?”

“Please.” Haymitch lounged back against her pillow, arm behind his neck. “I’m damaged goods, princess. Don’t deliver no more. 20 odd years in a marinade of hard liquor? They’re swimming in circles by now.”

Effie grimaced at the painted picture. Spurred by his success Haymitch added: “I bet I could come in you ten times and not put you in a family way. Even if I had a swimmer or two still worth their salt I’d say it’s risk free.” A smile creased his lips. “You’re well past your childbearing years at this point, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“I am not!” Two red spots spread rapidly across Effie’s cheeks. “I’m most certainly still fertile, you big old brute! Make no mistake! If I straddled you right now to have a baby I would get a baby! So watch that mouth or maybe I’ll do it!”

And with a dramatic huff through her nose, like only Effie could, she retrieved the clipboard.

“You really know how to make a girl drier than dead leaves, don’t you? And here I thought you didn’t approve of me having sex.”

“Yeah, but,” Haymitch shrugged. “If I’m included, it would have its perks.”

“Meaning: you get to have sex.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re exhausting. Do you charm all ladies this way or am I just lucky? What’s next? You won’t give Peeta the package unless I put out?”

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

“Course I’ll give them the bloody condoms. If you wanna waste”, he studied the bag, “ten to fifteen good times on a couple o’ kids who are barely past holding hands.”

He dropped the goodies on the night table, with a disappointed grunt.

“You’re missing out,” he said and fluffed her pillow up, making himself comfortable. “Could’ve had some of the best orgasms of your life, Trinket. Just sayin’.”

“Yes, being smothered by you and your whiskey breath while you struggle to put it in is a real turn-on.”

Haymitch yawned in response. Laced his fingers together over the bulging belly.

“Don’t yawn,” Effie snapped. “You’re not staying. Don’t close those eyes! Argh! Where am I supposed to sleep?”

But it was pointless to continue. The soft snores of Twelve’s mentor already filled the room. Conquered – this round, anyway – Effie ditched the clipboard for the second time that night. Slippers on, she pulled a blanket over her shoulders and padded down the corridor.

Katniss and Peeta both looked younger asleep. With bated breath, Effie peered through the round window of the girl’s compartment.

Their shapes were barely visible in the dim light. Katniss’s hair so dark against the pillow. The boy with his arm around her, guarding her against the terrors of night.

Inseverable.

My sweet children. The glass felt cool against Effie’s fingertips. I hope you get a dreamless sleep.

“Ud,” said Ian, bringing her back to reality. He let go of the duck’s head with a loud plop and Effie managed a smile.

“Sorry, dear ones. I was miles away.”

“Mmmm-uh.” Ian pointed out in space.

Effie kissed the tip of his finger and said, “You, you loved water from the get go. Pure bliss. I don’t think anyone’s ever enjoyed a bath as much as you did. So, naturally, dada was right back at the door because now it was too quiet.”

She chuckled at the memory.

“Just look at that face, Haymitch,” she’d told him. “He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.”

Haymitch winced.

“Don’t say that.”

“Sorry. He believes he slept on the train over and woke up at a Capitol spa. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

C-r-e-e-a-k …

The sound turned her eyes on the ceiling. Her daydream shattered in an instant. A door, overhead. It closed the way in opened. Gently. As if the one doing it didn’t want to disturb anybody.

Or make the headache worse.

Her heart sank, lips pressed together. But she composed herself for the children’s sake. Smoothed a lock of strawberry hair from Amy’s forehead.

“Dada’s awake.”

The stairs complained under his weight. He lingered on every step as he made his way down. Painfully slow. You could tell just by his footfalls how hungover he really was. At least, if you’d known him as long as Effie had.

When the clock struck four she wanted him here. Of course she did. She would make sure. But she’d lie if she said his absence wasn’t a relief. Things were far from ready. So Haymitch tucked away for a couple more hours? Nothing but good news. Given his current state he was hardly an assent anyway.

A groan came over his lips once he reached the hallway. A groan. A sigh. The scratch of his beard when he rubbed through it.

Just go. Get some fresh air. Go!

Pointless. Amy grasped for Ian’s rubber duck and her brother squeaked a protest.

One second. Two. Strained, shallow breaths right outside the door.

“Eff?”

Her eyes closed shut.

A soft knock. Just a tap of knuckles. “Eff, you in there? Talk to me, sweetheart. Please?”

She heaved a soundless breath, eyes on the twins.

“It’s open, Haymitch.”

The door creaked ajar. Just an inch or two. A pair of blood-shot eyes peered at her through the crack.

“Hey.” The voice was thick and he cleared his throat. “Can I … mind if I come in?”

When she didn’t fire a resounding no he crossed the threshold. Left the door open though, in case he needed a quick escape. He scratched his nose, eyes going from Effie to the kids and back again.

“So, I …”

“We’re almost done in here,” Effie cut him off. “You need to change. Take a shower. I laid out some clothes for you. Ordered them weeks ago, I hope you don’t mind. We can’t have you show up in sweatpants and tattered socks.”

Haymitch nodded.

“Fair enough.”

“And do something about that breath. There’s both chewing gum and mouthwash in the bathroom cabinet. And toothpaste, of course. I’d say shave but if you won’t, then at least trim it. We’re on a schedule.”

“Well, I don’t see them filing a complaint if things don’t go according to plan,” he said. “Alright, alright,” he added, palms up. “We’re on a schedule.”

“I don’t have time for your jibes and zingers today. I only have time for them. You need to get ready.”

“Course, Eff. I’ll do all of the above, just …” He inhaled. Brushed a tangle of dirty blonde hair from his eyes in one pointless motion. “Can we …”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I know how it looked,” he said, eyes full of sorrow. Sorrow and regret. “Like I lied you full of some fairy story to get what I wanted but it wasn’t like that. I swear it. I really went to see Pearl. Christ, I didn’t even wanna drink!”

“Honest to God, Haymitch.”

“It’s true. All I really wanted was to get the hell outta there. Just hit the road and … be with you. You and the …”

“Did someone force the alcohol down your throat?”

Haymitch’s eyes found the floor. Shoulders drooping he mumbled,

“She wasn’t home. I waited. Some neighbor showed up. Old friend of Chaff’s. He asked if I wanted a coffee. I said I couldn’t stay long but we got talking and …” His gaze glued to her face, gray eyes begging for sympathy. “He proposed a toast, Eff. For Chaff. How could I refuse?”

“It’s not Chaff’s drink I’m upset about,” Effie snapped. And, in a more measured voice: “It’s all the rest that followed.”

At least he didn’t say he’s sorry. If he tells me sorry one more time …

“None of it matters anyway.”

“Sweetheart.”

“… and I don’t care for your excuses, OK! You want my forgiveness? Fine, you’re forgiven. Because we are not having this discussion now. One single day of the year the universe won’t revolve around you and your drinking. The 10th of August is about the twins. It’s Amy and Ian’s big big big day. All I ask is that you wash up, put on a clean shirt and keep it together for the next three or four hours. Then maybe, just maybe, we can give them a normal first birthday.”

Author’s note: This chapter had a mind of its own and grew way out of control! Finally I had to cut it into three chapters or you’d still be waiting. As always, thank you for your amazing support! You’re the best readers ever!

Also, if you’ve re-read some of the chapters lately you might have picked up on the fact that I changed the names of three minor characters. Chaff’s godmother became “Pearl”, one of Effie’s young students, friend of Gracie’s, became “Kayla” and Gloria Highgrass’s cousin was re-named Paris – which was actually his original name in the first draft.

Lastly, after years of angsting over it, I finally re-wrote the introduction of Gloria, just her looks, when first introduced way back in chapter 2. That’s because I face-claim Florence Pugh for her these days. She looks like a fierce Capitol lassie out for blood, doesn’t she?

[ac3id]

—trade offer. | 18+

-pairings: tomura shigaraki x f.reader x dabi

-about: your boyfriend is losing interest in you, he likes the high of meth better. his dealer seems to have taken an interest in you and he's planning to give shigaraki a huge discount for the price- that he lets him have sex with you.

-warnings: noncon, violence, name-calling, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of substance use. shigaraki being a cuck, both of them are really mean bastards

-word count: 2.2k+ | not edited.

navigation

a/n: hi besties im back with a new proper fic woohoo welcome me back, say it. send me reqs ~3`

Your vision was a little blurry as you woke up feeling like your brain was filled with fog. You tried hard to think in your half-conscious state, recollecting everything and exactly why you were waking up with such a mind-splitting headache.

They came back to you in fragments, you remembered going out with your boyfriend for the first time in months and nothing more than that.

You woke up in a dimly lit room which you recognized to be your boyfriend’s. Along with the general confusion swimming in your brain, two distinct voices chirped louder and louder. One of which was easily your darling man’s, you heard it every day. Sometimes it drove you mad and sometimes you blushed frantically like a schoolgirl over it. The second voice was much deeper and rough, there was no doubt that you had never met this man before.

Slowly, you sit up on the bed, finally catching sight of the two sitting and surrounding you on both sides of the bed.

To the right of you sat the new man, he was thinner than your boyfriend but his much more chiseled and attractive face made up for it. He had dark black hair with his roots sitting in snow white, his eyes were bright blue.

You felt entranced by them not only because of how beautifully the blue glowed; but also because of all the sinister predictions, you could make out of them. Just a quick glance at this man and you knew he was going to hurt you.

“Your bitch is up,” his words are cursed- vulgar and derogatory. His expression matches the manner of his disrespectful speech as he fawns upon you with a crude smirk on his face. He stalks you like a predator, you can slowly see how his hands from his side start falling next to your legs. He has no intention of letting you leave.

Shigaraki turns around, there’s still a second when you can see the shock on his face but it disappears right after.

“Tomura, what the fuck? Who is this guy?” you ask, moving towards your boyfriend, away from the handsome man sitting on your boyfriend’s bed.

“I’m his dealer,” it took you a while to realize but the locked up, heavy smell of weed that filled the room was nearly impossible to miss. You looked up to stare at your boyfriend right in the eyes, his frosty, white hair fell over his face framing his pale skin.

He looked beautiful, he always did. Even with his scars and his chapped lips which sometimes felt like sandpaper when you kissed them, you still found him enthrallingly attractive. But no amount of his ethereal beauty was going to cover up his intoxicated eyes which peered down your own.

He was high. Was he even in his right mind?

“Can you ask him to leave?” you grabbed onto your man’s shoulder, holding his arm tightly while frowning at the man sitting across to you. You were still wearing the black dress which you had worn to your date with Shigaraki, it was a beautiful dress falling till your knees but it was also quite fancy. You wanted to take it off, and your makeup. You just wanted to rest.

“I ain’t leaving sweetheart,” he clapped back, this time he was really getting on your nerves. If Shigaraki wasn’t going to, you would kick him out. He climbed up the bed, crawling closer and closer to you. Confusion and anger got the best of you as you screamed at him

“What are you doing? Can you please leave-”

Shigaraki slapped his palm on your face, shutting you up. His palm rested over your mouth firmly while the other climbed up your neck holding you tight from behind.

“This is why I did not want her to wake up, why didn’t you add the pills to her drinks, Dabi?”

Shigaraki hissed, glaring at Dabi who just chuckled. “I wanted to hear her voice, you know, their screams are what gets me going.” he shamelessly confessed.

Your blood ran cold as it all began to settle in, you didn’t get time to scream, cry or fight because Dabi was already over you. He held your arms above your head with one hand, holding them tightly together while the other ventured to explore your body. His hand felt you up through your dress, softly rubbing on your tits and smoothing over your thighs.

‘Dude, help me out here. Rip this shit off her.” Dabi ran into some trouble trying to rip your dress off,

“Get the scissors,”

“Hurry up!”

“Can’t you wait for a second?”

“The deal is off if I don’t get to enjoy this properly just so you know.”

Their voices faded in the background, all you felt was the frantic beating of your heart and the weight of the man sitting on top of you. Unknowingly you felt tears falling down your face and yourself screaming for help.

“Shut the fuck up!” for the second time that night, Shigaraki slapped you again. This time he grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks while lifting it up to his face. Your neck arced and hurt, tears falling down even more vigorously now.

“Stupid bitch, just get over it. Stop being a fucking prude. I don’t care too much about you, let him have his way- I pay way too much for his shit and if letting him fuck you gets it to me for half the price, I’m gonna let him do it.”

Unease fell over the room, everyone froze. No one expected Shigaraki to lash out like that- ever. His eyes were wide and an ugly frown covered his face. He looked angry, almost as if he was about to bite. You shook in fear, tears still rolling down the sides of your face but you did not scream anymore. You wanted this to get over with.

Dabi did not waste any time, cutting the black dress off you and throwing it across the room. He let go of your hands, trusting you wouldn’t struggle anymore- even if you did, Shigaraki would take care of it for him.

He left you bare in your bra and panties, stepping back to admire your almost naked body. You noticed a huge bulge forming in his jeans, and from the corner of your eyes, you could see your boyfriend in a similar condition. Your hand rode up and down, trying to cover up your decency but it only rewarded you with a groan of annoyance from your boyfriend.

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them over your head once again leaving you squirming in embarrassment.

“Don’t you get it? Just play along. Get this over with already,” he said.

Dabi chuckled, he leaned over with his hands touching all over your torso before finally resting on your tits. He said your name, dragging out every letter.

“Did you know your boyfriend was this much of a cuck?” Shigaraki growled again. He watched with anger in his eyes as Dabi’s fingers cupped around your chest. Feeling and squeezing you over your bra before ripping it off your body in an animalistic force. It drove out a little cry from you, which he seemed to enjoy. He marveled at the sight of your tits jumping free, licking his lips as if he was about to devour a delicious meal. But he paused.

“Shigaraki,” he started. Your boyfriend turned to him,

“What?” he asked, impatience riding his features much stronger now.

“Can you leave the room?” The request was small and simple. Dabi wanted your boyfriend to leave the room in which he railed you like a beast, it was logical that he did not want your boyfriend to see you in such an intimate position with him. Dabi was speaking from the goodness of his cold, bastard heart.

Shigaraki thought for a minute. Turning to you and back to the monster at the front, he was not proud of what he was doing. He did not even like or respect Dabi enough to let him do this to you, but he did not have a choice. He was addicted to drugs which only Dabi could give to him, there was no other supplier in the town. He did not want to waste all his earnings on it either, the white powder was expensive and he was being met with an amazing offer.

Shigaraki had known for a while that he was no longer a good man, he did bad things, unforgivable things; just like right now. But he also realized that he did not care and yet the thought of letting Dabi fuck you like his own toy irked him.

When the dark-haired man asked him to leave the room, he wanted to punch his stupid smug face but that would be way out of line. His pride was too much, there was no way he was going to leave the room, he was not letting Dabi use what belonged to him.

“Fuck off,” the much bigger man pushed Dabi off you, taking his seat instead. A flame of jealousy burned inside of him.

Familiar hands started groping your body as you felt your boyfriend pinching and pulling at your tits before sliding them down your panties.

“Man, this was not the plan,” Dabi says, his voice is pissed.

“The deal was you get to fuck her- I never specified when or how. Wait for your turn.”

Dabi thought to argue, his mind going back to the day he had reached a glimpse of you on Shigaraki’s phone. He had you as his screensaver, a cute thing to do as a couple but- you were naked with his cum dripping all over your tits and a lewd smile stretched over your face. Not to mention the cheesy cat ears and the bell choker you were wearing to please your man. It was enough to leave him curious and wanting a taste.

Before he could start thinking, your cute moans started to fill in the room.

Sigaraki’s long fingers circled around your tiny clit, pleasuring it all in the right ways, he looked up at you as he sucked on your nipple murmuring about how cute and good you were acting for him. His dick got harder and harder at the sound of your moans, and he grew restless.

At this point he did not care that there was another man in the room with a raging hard-on, Shigaraki was only thinking about reaching his own ecstasy.

He unzipped his pants, letting his cock hit your stomach with a slight slap. It stood tall, pre-cum oozing from its frustrated tip, begging to be buried inside your tight cunt. His fingers came down to move the wet fabric of your panties aside as he shoved his cock inside your cunt, finally catching his relief. He bit down on your nipple, a little too harshly while humping your body like an animal in heat. Dabi was still not fine with this, he wanted to negotiate on letting him use you first but as your moans grew louder and the way your tits bounced with each thrust, he gave up. He chose to stroke his dick while waiting for Shigaraki to finish.

Your boyfriend’s hands left your burning hips as he felt himself come close, his hand crawled up your body before circling around your neck. His cock was still hammering down your tiny cunt, making you squeeze around him for all he’s worth. He could see the way his cockhead made a tiny bulge in your stomach, it just made him hornier.

His grip around your neck tightened and his pace became slower, he was close and he planned to enjoy the sensation while looking down at your strained face.

“You enjoying this? Never knew you were such a pain slut.” your pussy clenched harder at his insult making him scoff. With a loud cry, you creamed around him, squeezing him leaving him completely off guard. He came right around you, spurting thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of you, filling you up completely with his essence.

“Open your mouth, whore,” he said with his hands leaving your neck. You still feel his semi-hard cock nuzzling inside of you, the feeling was foreign. You open your mouth under his command, keeping wide and steady for him. He pulls out of you, his cock dripping with his cum mixed with your juices. He leans over, his eyes staring down a scandalous aura engulfing them. The smirk he sends you is hard to not notice as he spits in your mouth before shoving his cock down your throat.

“Clean it up, babe,” he says with false affection.

Besides you Dabi watches everything, his eyes fixed on the way your messed up cunt drips with cum. He wants to fill you up next

Climbing up the bed he did not wait for Shigaraki’s approval before he shoved his cock into your ruined pussy, inciting a loud moan from you.

Shigaraki didn’t stop him from ruining you even more. After all, this was a one-time trade offer he couldn’t miss out on.

[yeenybeanies]

This is the Way I Pray | Chapter 1: Sunday

not the usual type of writing i put here (aka not G/t), but i felt possessed by the ghost of a new cod oc, & it compelled me to write enough words to fill 45 pages of google docs @@~@@ next call of duty | wayne "champ" champagne (oc), john "soap" mactavish, simon "ghost" riley, john price, nikolai 13,659 words strong language, canon-typical violence, transphobic & homophobic language (contained to a small section), tobacco & alcohol use thanks for reading!! patreon ✨ ko-fi ✨ read it on ao3 for some more notes

Touchdown. Camp Sasha. A small US Marine Corps base in Kentucky, not far from Lexington. 

Soap was up first, grabbing his gear pack and travel bag. Ghost followed suit, the two of them heading to disembark through the opening cargo door. The summer air hit them hard, almost like an ocean wave of heat and humidity. It almost made the lieutenant flinch, the intensity of it. 

They were here on a mission, the two of them, at Price’s order. Laswell had heard whispers of possible terrorist activity in the area—the goings down of some weapons deal between Ultranationalists and a yet-unknown American government official. 

Normally, a mission like this would be left to a less-specialized team, but the involvement of an official necessitated a finer set of tools. More precision. More power. 

Upon landing, they were to meet up with one of Nikolai’s men. Price and Laswell seemed to know of him, but neither Ghost nor Soap had heard of this “Champ” before. He was an American man, ex-marine. In Nikolai’s words, he was the “best damn sharpshooter” he’d ever seen. 

Something in that statement made Soap a little jealous, but he kept that to himself. 

Out on the tarmac, the two made their way towards their welcoming committee. Ghost stopped abruptly in his tracks, prompting Soap to do the same. The sergeant’s brows furrowed inquisitively. 

“Is that a fucking horse?” Ghost asked. 

“A what…?” Soap followed his gaze, finding the… the literal horse in question. It was a massive beast, its fur a shaggy black. It stood facing away from them on the tarmac about fifty feet ahead. Astride it was a man sporting a cowboy hat, leather chaps, and cowboy boots. The whole cowboy outfit. Soap snorted. “No way… Thought we left Los Vaqueros back in Mexico.” 

“Tell me that’s not Nikolai’s man. Fucking hell…” Ghost shook his head, and resumed walking. 

Nikolai had also mentioned that his guy was eccentric. That they’d know him when they saw him. 

Soap took the lead and approached first, calling out a few feet behind the horse. “Er… Corporal Champagne?” 

The cowboy first looked back over his shoulder, one dark brow raised over his reflective aviator sunglasses. The lower half of his face was hidden under a red paisley bandana. He tugged on the reins, swinging his steed and himself around to face them. 

“You must be the fellas from 141,” he said. His voice was friendly, his accent full with a country twang. He tipped the brim of his hat in greeting. “Haven’t been a Corporal for a long time now, though. Wayne Champagne; call me Champ. I’m guessin’ Spooky here is Lieutenant Riley, which must mean you’re Sergeant MacTavish. Pleasure t’ meet’cha.” He leaned down, offering a gloved hand for both men to shake. 

Soap shook first. “That’s right. You can call me Soap. He’s—” he glanced back at Ghost with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, but Ghost leveled him with a warning glare— “he’s the Ghost.” 

“Soap n’ Ghost,” Champ repeated, “Niky spoke highly of you. Lookin’ forward to workin’ together.” 

“Likewise,” Soap said. His eyes fell to the horse. “Can’t remember the last time I was this close to a horse. What’s this handsome lad’s name?” 

Champ chuckled and shook his head. He gave his steed a hardy pat on the neck. “This here’s Danger. He ain’t a horse, though; he’s a mule . Go on an’ pet ‘im if ya like. He only bites when I tell ‘im to.”

Soap happily took up the offer, and held his hand out for the mule to sniff. “Danger, huh? Like the sound of that. What’s the difference between a mule and a horse?” 

“Mule’s half horse, half donkey,” Champ explained. “If Danger n’ I got one thing in common, it’s that both of our daddies were real asses.” 

Ghost actually huffed at that. It was barely noticeable, but it was a huff. 

“C’mon,” Champ said, turning his mount around. He motioned for Soap’s duffel bag and hooked the handle onto his saddle horn, then did the same with Ghost’s. “We got a truck waiting that’ll take you to your accommodations. You’re here for a week, yeah?” 

“That’s right,” Ghost said. He and Soap followed at Champ’s side, the cowboy leading them at an easy walk. “Work starts tomorrow at oh-eight hundred.” 

Champ whistled a low note. “At least you’re getting tonight off. You boys ever been to Kentucky before?” 

“I have,” Ghost answered. 

“First for me,” Soap said. “But Ghost here tells me he loves Kentucky.” He knocked the lieutenant’s shoulder with his own, grinning up at him. “Says he’s a bourbon fan.”

“That right?” Champ asked. His eyes slid over, watching the lieutenant from his peripherals. “I’ll keep that in mind. No shortage of bourbon ‘round these parts, that’s for sure. We’re in Bourbon County.” 

Ghost shot Soap a glare, and lightly shoved him back. “We’re not here to drink. We’ve got a job to do.” 

Champ glanced back at the two. There was an amused crinkle around his eyes, only partially hidden behind his sunglasses. “Aw. All work, no play? That’s no fun.” 

At the end of a tarmac, a truck sat idling. As they approached, a marine stepped out of the driver’s side and took the duffel bags from Champ to put in the back seat. She then met him with a fist bump, and gave their visitors a proper military salute. 

“Gentlemen, this is Corporal Yeong. She’ll drive you to the hotel,” Champ said. 

Soap, stepping up to the opened door next to Champ, regarded him with a confused look. “You’re not coming with us?” Ghost, who’d entered the back seat from the other side, peered out as well.

“Oh, I am, worry you not,” Champ said. There was a grin in his voice. He and Yeong exchanged knowing looks. “Matter of fact, I’m gonna race ya there. An’ I’m gonna beat ya.” 

“It’s because he’s a dirty cheater,” Yeong said. 

Champ shrugged without a care. He tipped his sunglasses down to look at Soap over the rim, and winked. “You can ride with me if ya like. Much faster’n this hunk a’ junk.” 

“Johnny…” Ghost said from inside the cab. He sounded distrustful. 

Soap looked between the Brit and Champ, a grin tugging at his lips. He dropped his pack in the truck and took the cowboy’s proffered hand. With a little help, climbed up to sit behind him in the saddle. He held his arms up awkwardly, unsure of where to put them, until Champ guided him to circle them around his waist. 

“Alright,” Champ said, eyeing Soap over his shoulder, “very important that you hold on tight, ‘kay? Don’t wanna lose you in the woods right after you just got here.” 

“Got it. I’m good.” Soap tightened his hold just a little bit, realizing now that Champ was quite a bit smaller than he’d initially thought. Being up on the big-ass mule made him look huge. Champ nudged the truck door shut with his boot, and strode up to the driver side window. Yeong stared at the road, her fingers firm around the wheel. 

“Pray for your friend,” she said. Ghost met her eyes in the rearview mirror, his brows furrowed. “It’s a crazy ride.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” Ghost muttered. He leaned back in his seat, back hitting the cushion with a dull thump. They’d been in America not ten minutes, and he was already exasperated. 

Where the hell did Nikolai find this guy? 

Champ settled into his saddle, adjusting to the new weight behind him. Danger pawed at the road, his horseshoes scraping against the asphalt with a satisfying clack. “Steady now,” Champ cooed, more to Soap than to his steed.  

In perfect unison, both truck and mule launched forward. Also in perfect unison, both passengers shouted alarmed expletives and held on for dear life, Soap squeezing around Champ’s waist and Ghost clinging to the handle above his window. 

“Bloody—do you always do this?!” Ghost shouted, unsure if he should be glaring at Yeong or at Champ. 

Yeong laid harder on the gas, the truck quickly overtaking the mule. There was a tight, satisfied smirk on her lips, but it lasted only a moment. “More often than you might think,” she answered. “I’ll admit, though, that Champ especially likes to do this when we get visitors.” 

Soap hadn’t stopped cussing since they’d started sprinting. Champ grinned like a madman under his bandana, perfectly at home astride his hurtling mule, even with an inexperienced passenger. He watched the truck speed past them, unbothered. “Alright, Soap!” he shouted, giving the Scot’s arm a pat with his free hand, “things are about to get a little bumpy!”

“It’s already bloody bumpy!” he yelled back. Champ couldn’t see him, but he gleefully imagined the expression on Soap’s face. 

“Hold on!” He tugged the reins, directing Danger to make a sharp turn off the asphalt road, onto a dirt trail leading into the forest behind the airfield. 

From the truck, Ghost watched helplessly as his sergeant and the crazy fucking cowboy vanished beyond the treeline on that bloody mule. 

Soap was just as helpless. As promised, the uneven trail was indeed bumpier than the road. He ducked every time they came upon a low-hanging branch, despite Champ’s assurance that nothing was low enough to smack him on this path. 

“Where the hell are we going?” he asked, yelling over the wind in his ears and the adrenaline in his blood. 

“Taking a shortcut,” Champ answered. “Yeong was right: I am a dirty cheater. We ain’t losin’ this race.” 

The trail was well-worn, Soap noticed, but it was narrow and winding. Even still, Champ and Danger maneuvered it with expert precision. Danger didn’t so much as slip on the damp earth, nor did Champ miss a turn. They moved as if they were one being. And Soap was left holding on for dear life. 

“You know your way around a gun, right?” Champ asked once they reached a relatively smooth stretch of trail. The question caught Soap off guard. 

“What? ”

The cowboy reached for something to his left, under the leg of his saddle. Soap quickly realized that it was a rifle, and watched in astonishment as Champ pulled it out. “Got a target up ahead if you wanna take a shot.” 

Soap peered over his shoulder to get a better look at the firearm. It was a bolt action rifle. Beautiful piece, really. Were they not zipping through the forest on a runaway mule, he would have been happy to try it out. But alas, “Mate, I’m barely hangin’ on back here!” 

Shooting from a helicopter or a truck was one thing, but horseback was a different beast entirely.

Champ, still completely unbothered, only shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He dropped the reins—much to Soap’s alarm—and shouldered the rifle. He switched the safety off, yanked the bolt handle to chamber a bullet, and took aim. Soap followed his gaze to a human-shaped target set up a ways down the path.

Boom.  

Soap’s jaw dropped. There was a new hole in the dummy’s head that hadn’t been there before. 

Boom.  

And another in its chest. 

“Holy shit…!” Soap shouted. Two perfect kill shots on horseback… from a distance! Champ chuckled, taking plenty of pleasure in his passenger’s awe.

“Last chance, Scotty. We’re almost through.” Champ held the rifle by the forestock, offering it again to Soap. “I hear you’re a helluva shot too.”

Aw, hell. That sounded like a challenge. Well, he couldn’t just let this cowboy show off without at least trying. Soap pried one arm away from Champ’s waist and took the rifle, but he hesitated to release his other. Sensing his apprehension, Champ, after taking the reins again, reached his free arm around Soap’s back, offering him a point of security. He ducked down low, almost lying against Danger’s neck, to give Soap more room to aim. Soap flicked off the safety, chambered a bullet, took a breath… 

Boom!  

Champ howled in delight. “Hell yeah! You got it! Good shit!” 

Soap lowered the rifle and flicked the safety back on. He had hit it. Caught the dummy right in the shoulder. He huffed. On one hand, he knew he could do better. His marksmanship is what earned him his damn nickname! But, on the other hand, he’d never had to shoot anything from horseback before. 

“Alright, Scotty.” Champ patted Soap’s thigh, then took the rifle back and shoved it back into place under his saddle. Soap wrapped his arms around his waist again. “We’re comin’ up on a jump. Gonna need you to hold on real’ tight.” 

“A what—?” A jump?! Soap felt his heart leap into his throat. He was still kinda-sorta getting used to the galloping, and now he had to deal with a jump?!

“I got a feelin’ your spooky friend’ll skin me alive if I let you fall n’ crack your head open. So put the squeeze on, partner; you won’t hurt me none.” 

The jump in question was a deep, rapidly approaching ditch. On the other side of it was the treeline and the road. Soap cursed under his breath, pressed his chest to Champ’s back, and sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. His hold tightened around Champ to the point that he thought he might crush the smaller man when he felt the mule’s hooves leave the ground. For a brief moment, it felt like they were flying. It was as euphoric as it was fucking terrifying. And then it wasn’t very euphoric at all. As soon as they landed on the other side of the ditch, pain shot up through his groin. A strangled noise erupted from his throat. He doubled over as much as he could, head pressed between Champ’s shoulder blades. 

“ Ach—Champ, my fuckin balls…!” he whimpered. Tears welled in his eyes.

Champ snorted. “Oop, sorry about that, partner. Should’a warned ya about the drop.” 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, we better fuckin’ win after all this…!” 

“We will,” Champ said confidently, patting Soap’s arm. They burst through the treeline, the hotel in the near distance. Champ pointed to a truck tearing down the road, much further away than they were. “See your friend! We got this.” He dug his heels into Danger’s ribs, spurring the mule on even faster—something Soap hadn’t thought possible at this point. Oh, but it was. They shot forward like a speeding train. Danger’s heavy breaths reached his ears over the whipping wind, snorting with every powerful stride he took. 

In a matter of seconds, horseshoes met asphalt once more. Champ pulled on the reins, bringing Danger to a skidding halt. Soap could swear that he saw sparks coming from the mule’s hooves. 

“Hold on, Scotty,” the cowboy said, his free arm reaching back around to hold Soap in place. He gave the reins another tug and clicked his tongue, prompting Danger up onto his hind legs with a triumphant bray. As he came back down to earth, the truck slowed to a stop a few feet away. 

Soap breathed out a heavy sigh, his hold on Champ going slack. He leaned his weight onto the cowboy a bit more as he tried to catch his breath. Champ knocked his knee with a fist and a chuckle. 

“Alright back there, Soldier?” 

“My balls are killin’ me, mate,” Soap said, the stain clear in his voice. That got a bark of laughter from Champ. Soap dismounted with some assistance, but his knees buckled as soon as his feet touched the ground. 

Ghost stepped out of the vehicle with both his and Soap’s bags. Even through his mask, he looked unimpressed. “You did this to yourself. On your feet, Sergeant,” he ordered. 

“Gimme a sec, LT,” Soap said, still gasping for air. “God, I’ve been through less painful helicopter crashes.” 

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Champ chided playfully. 

Soap scoffed. Slowly, he stood up, his legs shaking under him. “Next time,” he said, pointing to Ghost, “you’re riding with him.” 

“Fat chance of that.” Ghost shoved Soap’s bags into his arms. 

Champ pointed to the hotel doors. “Check in at the counter. I believe you’ve got a two-bed room to share.” 

“Sounds good,” Ghost said with a nod. He gave Soap’s shoulder a push to get him moving. Champ couldn’t help but smirk at the Scot’s bow-legged walk. 

“See you fellas later tonight,” the cowboy said with a tip of his hat. 

He hung back to speak with Yeong, leaving Ghost and Soap to enter the hotel alone. Once they got checked in and received their key cards, they headed to their room. Soap didn't voice his complaints of the new soreness he felt, but it was clear by the strain on his face and the change in his gait that he was hurting. 

Ghost felt no sympathy. 

In their room, Soap dropped his bag and all but collapsed onto the first bed, an arm draped over his eyes. 

“That damn yank is out of his mind,” he said. 

Ghost dropped his duffel on the second bed and sat down. “Truck ride wasn’t much better. Thought that corporal was gonna flip the damn thing.” 

“Fuckin Americans,” Soap groaned. Ghost echoed the sentiment. 

Over the course of the next few hours, the two settled into their room—as much as either of them really could. They knew their trip here was a short one; they hadn't brought much by means of clothing and personal items as a result. 

They checked in with Price via video call, letting him know that they’d made it to the US in one piece, albeit one of them more bruised than the other. Price, naturally, found the whole ordeal amusing. 

“Nik told me that Champ was a wild one,” he said with a sniff. "Can’t believe you got on a horse named Danger with a guy that dresses like a fuckin’ cowboy.” 

“Apparently Danger is a mule,” Soap retorted, a little annoyed with the teasing. He was never going to hear the end of this.

“Not that I don't trust Nik,” Price continued, tone shifting to something more serious, “but you boys think this bloke’s gonna be any help on your mission?” 

Ghost shrugged. “Remains to be seen,” he said flatly. “All we know so far is how well he can ride a mule.” 

“Actually, in the forest, I got to see a bit of his marksmanship,” Soap added. He adjusted how he sat on his bed, ignoring how it made him wince, and continued, “Man whipped out a bolt-action rifle and made a headshot from at least three hundred meters away on the back of a sprinting mule. Then he made another one center-chest immediately after.”

Price whistled, his brows raised. “Damn. Guess Nik wasn’t exaggerating when he said Champ was his best sharpshooter.” 

Ghost, to most, looked blasé as ever, but Soap could tell that he was at least a little impressed. 

“Well,” Price said, leaning away from the screen, “rest up tonight, boys. Work begins tomorrow.” 

Soap and Ghost exchanged glances. “Not sure how much rest we’ll get,” the sergeant admitted. “Champ said earlier he was going to take us to a ‘right and proper rodeo.’” His imitation of Champ’s accent was poor, but it got a chortle out of Price regardless. 

“As long as I don't get a call back saying that one of you broke your neck riding a fuckin’ bull,” he said. 

“Won’t be me,” Ghost said, pointedly looking at Soap. 

“Oi—I’m not goin’ near one of those monsters,” Soap said, sounding offended. “The mule was Danger enough.” 

Ghost leveled him with a deadpan stare, which he met with a cheesy grin. It was a bad joke, of course, but he knew that Ghost secretly liked it. 

They finished up their call with Price, then set out to explore the base that they’d be calling home for the next week. The heat of the Kentucky summer had them both drenched in sweat in no time. Soap took some comfort in seeing that it wasn’t just them suffering, though; all the marines in their full uniforms, even with their rolled-up sleeves, looked just as miserable. Some shot Ghost strange looks, likely wondering why the hell he was wearing a full balaclava in eighty-plus degree weather, but no one said anything. 

After locating and wandering around the exchange and commissary for an hour, the two sought out the firing range. There was a scoreboard that Soap took particular interest in. He stood under the board, arms crossed, reading all the “W.C.”s that topped the charts for distance. He shook his head, muttering “There’s no way” under his breath. He turned to one of the range administrators, thumb pointed at one of the top scores. “Is this right? That’s Champ’s distance record?” 

The administrator glanced up at the record in question. “Yep. Furthest bullseye we’ve seen here.” 

“That’s, what, a mile and a half?” Soap stared at the number in disbelief. Ghost’s head whipped around as well, his eyes a bit wider than normal.

“Just about,” the administrator said. “Saw the shot myself. Kid’s one helluva sniper. Better than any SEAL or other special forces I’ve ever seen. Didn’t even have a spotter when he did that.” 

“No fuckin’ way…” Soap grumbled. When was the last time he’d felt intimidated by someone else’s marksmanship? 

“Good thing he’s on our side,” Ghost said.

“Aye, no shit…” 

The two of them stayed at the range until mid afternoon. Soap tried his hand at usurping Champ’s record, refusing Ghost’s offer to play spotter. He didn’t get it, but he did still impress the administrator and other observing patrons by hitting the target at all. Soap grimaced, staring through his scope at the nick he’d left on the edge of the target. “Bastard,” he mumbled.

Even still, he did get to etch his initials into the board under Champ’s. 

“Stay focused, Johnny,” Ghost reminded. “It’s not a competition.”

Soap waved him off. He wasn’t trying to pout; it just wasn’t often he came across someone that was a better shot than him. He’d get over it. 

But who said it couldn’t be a friendly competition? 

The two of them hit up one of the on-base restaurants for takeout after leaving the range, and headed back to their rooms to eat. It was mostly for Ghost’s benefit, giving the lieutenant relative privacy to take his mask off. He sighed in relief once he peeled the balaclava from his skin. Beneath it, his hair, head, and neck were drenched in sweat. 

Luckily, he had several extra masks, so he wouldn’t have to put this sweaty one back on. 

Soap flipped through the TV channels for something mildly interesting, landing on some old western movie. It made him chuckle at how closely the characters’ attire resembled their new cowboy friend’s. 

At some point after they’d finished eating, Ghost put one of his other masks on—this one less dramatic, with a much simpler skull pattern on the face—and turned away to nap. Soap wasn’t far behind, nodding off shortly after the movie’s climax. The both of them had endured a long flight from across the pond, and they had a tough week’s worth of work ahead of them; they deserved this moment of rest. 

Neither of them meant to nap for a few hours, though. Jet lag was having its way with them. It was nearly five thirty when there came a knock to their door. Ghost woke first, always the lighter sleeper. He rolled over, looking first to Soap, and then to the door beyond. He adjusted his mask, making sure everything was covered, and then walked over to peek through the peephole. A cowboy hat and reflective glasses filled his view. That was enough to tell him who it was. Shaking off his grogginess, Ghost opened the door and… and looked down much further than he’d expected to. 

Champ was a solid foot shorter than Ghost, eye level with his chest. This surprised the both of them. They stared at each other, taking a moment to process this information.

The cowboy whistled, his brows nearly disappearing into his hat. “Ho-lee shit, Spooky, what the hell’re they feedin’ ya in the 141? I knew you were a big boy, but damn.” He playfully tapped the side of his fist to Ghost’s chest. 

Bold. Most people made no attempts to touch Ghost.

“I get the bones left over from steak nights,” Ghost said, completely deadpan. “Suck out the marrow.” 

Champ tilted his head. “I can’t tell if you’re jokin’ or not,” he said with a chuckle. He peered around Ghost, into the room. “You n’ your buddy ought’a throw on some civvies. I got my truck out front, ready to go.” 

“To the rodeo,” Ghost clarified. He looked Champ up and down, trying to gauge what sort of civvies would be appropriate for such an occasion. His hat and bandana were the same, as far as Ghost could tell, but the cowboy was wearing a different shirt now. It was a bright blue, long sleeve button up, with the buttons unfastened low on his chest. Black ink peeked out through the V, but Ghost couldn’t quite make out what the tattoo was. His chaps were different as well. These ones were bigger, flashier, and had tassels dangling off of the back of them. To top it all off, Champ had an obnoxiously large, shiny belt buckle hooked onto his belt with “CHAMP” engraved in bold letters. 

Yeah, Ghost didn't have anything remotely similar to wear, clothing-wise. He was glad for it, too.

“Don’t sound too excited now,” Champ teased, pulling the lieutenant from his observations. “Y’all don’t gotta come if you don’t wanna. But I know some a’ the organizers, an’ I got y’all some good seats up close.” 

“Can’t turn that down now, can we?” Ghost turned to yell at Soap, “Johnny, wake up. We’ve got a rodeo to get to.” He glanced back down at Champ. “We’ll be out in five.” 

“Sounds good,” Champ said, giving his arm a tap. “I’ll be waiting out front.”

Ghost closed the door and listened to the sound of retreating cowboy boots until they faded from earshot. It surprised him a little to notice that he didn’t hear the jingling of spurs. 

What an eccentric fellow indeed. 

Soap stirred on his bed and raised his arms in a long, luxurious stretch. Various joints cracked and popped. It sounded delightful. “Time is it?” he asked sleepily. Ghost glanced at his watch. 

“Seventeen-thirty. Put on some civvies; Champ’s waiting for us outside.” 

The both of them shuffled out of their sweat-dried clothes and into cleaner, casual wear. Soap donned jeans and a tight, short-sleeve shirt that squeezed his chest and biceps just right. Ghost adopted jeans of his own and a light zip-up hoodie, hood up, of course. It made his balaclava look slightly less out of place. This was about as “civvy” as it got for him. 

“Hey, LT,” Soap said, drawing Ghost’s attention. Soap was in the bathroom, combing the bedhead in his mohawk down. He had a goofy look on his face that told Ghost that he was about to say something moronic. “Think we’ll find a cowboy hat here that’d look good on you?” 

Ghost rolled his eyes and didn’t bother with a response. Soap still snickered anyway. 

As promised, Champ was out front, sitting in an idling red truck. Soap found it a little surprising; he’d expected someone that dressed like Champ to have one of those oversized, ego-boosting, too-big-to-be-safe-to-drive American trucks. This beast was older, its paint faded, and much more practical. Hooked up behind it was a very fancy horse trailer—much more on-par with Champ’s eccentricities. That trailer looked loads more expensive than the truck. 

Champ had his arm resting out the rolled-down window, patiently waiting for his guests. He perked up when they stepped through the hotel doors, and waved them a two-fingered salute. Ghost gave the trailer a questioning look as he approached the driver-side back seat. 

“You’re bringing the mule?” 

“Yep,” Champ said, his smile evident despite his bandana. “Danger loves rodeos as much as I do. Volunteered to be a pickup rider for tonight.” 

Ghost pulled the door open and slipped into the back seat, settling in the middle space. Soap took up shotgun. If Champ noticed him still wincing from the lingering soreness between his legs, he didn’t say anything. 

“What’s a pickup rider?” Ghost asked. 

Champ shifted the car into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot, onto the road towards the main gates. “Y’know the people that ride buckin’ broncs an’ bulls? Pickup riders’re the ones that help ‘em off safely once they complete their ride, or herd the animals away if they fail.” He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Ghost better, since it was otherwise useless to him with a trailer in back. “Got you boys front row seats. Hope you’re excited.” 

“Ecstatic,” Ghost said without a hint of emotion. Champ snorted and turned to Soap. 

“He always like this?” 

Soap tilted his head thoughtfully, a playful smirk on his lips. “He’s just shy. Usually he’s a ray of sunshine. Even tells jokes.” 

“Jokes, hunh?” he turned his head in Ghost’s direction, brown eye catching him in his peripherals. “Would love to hear one.” 

Ghost was staring hard at Soap, who was trying not to laugh. “I’m lookin’ at one,” he growled. Champ pushed an amused breath through his lips. 

The drive to the fairgrounds hosting the rodeo was about half an hour. Champ, after asking what his passengers wanted to listen to and getting indifferent responses, tuned the radio onto one of the local country stations. His gloved fingers drummed on the steering wheel, loosely following the guitar strums. Most of the conversation shared on the drive was between him and Soap, with Ghost only occasionally giving his input. Champ was a friendly guy. Chatty. 

Ghost was left to wonder if he had another Soap MacTavish on his hands. God help him; he didn’t know if he could deal with two of them. 

Then again, maybe that worked in Champ’s favor. Soap had somehow managed to chip away at Ghost’s hardened shell. 

Fuckin’ hell…  

It was still plenty light out when they pulled into the fairgrounds, the time just after six. Champ chatted briefly with the woman working the back gate, then drove as directed to park his trailer. He skillfully maneuvered his oversized haul into the designated spot, and killed the engine. 

“Still got another hour before the rodeo starts,” he said, pocketing his keys. “I’ve gotta go get set up n’ check in with the organizers n’ other riders. Trust you two’ll be alright on your own in the meantime?” 

Soap dropped down from the truck, Ghost following suit. “We’ll be fine,” Soap said. He paused next to Champ, noticing, like Ghost had before, how surprisingly short the cowboy was. He’d felt it earlier on the mule, when he’d had his arms around Champ, but he hadn’t seen him on his own two feet yet. 

He wasn’t small, though, relatively speaking. Underneath that bright blue shirt, there was solid muscle. Big arms, broad chest, thick middle. For his height, Champ was pretty well-built. 

Soap and Ghost left Champ to handle his affairs, and made for the more populated part of the fairgrounds. They had time to kill before they were to meet Champ again at the western bleachers. Ghost kept his hands in his hoodie pockets most of the time and followed behind as Soap led the way through the various attractions. There were rides with dramatic names that neither of them were willing to approach, plenty of shady-looking game stalls, and a seemingly endless abundance of junk food carts. 

Some of the smells had Ghost feeling uneasy, dredging up old, unpleasant memories, but he kept it to himself. Even still, Soap, ever perceptive, made an effort to steer clear of the barbecue trucks. While the cooking sausages did smell mouthwatering to him, he was presently more interested in some of the games. Namely the shooting games. 

“You didn’t get your fill earlier at the range?” Ghost asked as they approached a stall. The operator greeted them eagerly and explained the objective: shoot as many of the cutout groundhogs as possible before the timer ran out. 

Soap handed over the appropriate amount of cash, and grinned up at Ghost as he shouldered the miniature rifle. It had an infrared laser that interacted with sensors on the groundhogs. No physical ammunition. “I’m gonna win you that prize, LT,” he said, nodding to a stuffed cartoon ghost dangling from the prize wall behind the operator. 

Ghost narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. “Very funny, Johnny.” 

As soon as the timer started, his cheery demeanor vanished, the hardened soldier taking over. The toy gun wasn’t the most accurate thing in the world, go figure, but Soap adapted quickly and knocked down groundhog after groundhog. The operator watched on in amazement, clearly not having expected such a performance. 

Needless to say, Soap did win that prize. Soldier mode deactivated, he gleefully claimed to the ghost plushie, and handed it to Ghost. The lieutenant gave him the most annoyed stare he could muster, his skeleton-gloved hands reluctantly accepting the toy. 

“I am not carrying this around all night,” he growled. 

“Aw, but I won it for you,” Soap said, giving the plush a squeeze on its sewn-on rosy cheeks. “It looks just like you.” 

Ghost pulled the toy away and tucked it under his arm, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head in his exasperation. He did, in fact, end up carrying it as they continued to wander. Soap played a few more games and scored a few more prizes—small ones, thankfully, that could easily be stuffed into pockets. 

As the time neared for them to head over to the bleachers, Soap made a quick stop to grab himself and Ghost a bratwurst from one of the food carts, then they made their way. Champ was easy to spot in the ring with his bright shirt. Danger was also easily the largest mount, towering over the other horses by a good few inches. 

With a direct comparison, it became obvious the differences between a horse and a mule. Danger’s ears were huge, and his face was distinctly donkey-like. It was in the eyes. Those lashes were long. 

Courtesy of Ghost’s imposing stature and skull mask, Champ spotted them just as easily. He veered sharply from his path around the arena and met them at the fence. Soap reached out, resting his hand on Danger’s nose. 

“Didn’t get me one?” Champ asked, tipping his head at the half-eaten brat in Soap’s other hand. The Scot stammered, caught off-guard, but Champ just laughed and waved. “Kiddin’, kiddin’. I don’t need to be eatin’ anythin’ right now. Don’t need nothin’ comin’ up while I’m chasin’ a runaway bronc. Nice toy, by the way.” He nodded to the ghost plush pinned against the Brit’s side. Ghost grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.  

Champ pointed to a trio of reserved seats a bit further down, near the chute where animals were being lined up, that were for Ghost and Soap. He followed them as they walked along the fence, explaining the events they’d be having tonight. 

Steer wrestling, tie-down roping, team roping, barrel racing, bareback riding, and, the final event, bull riding. The excited giddiness was evident in Champ’s voice as he described each sport. 

“The animals don’t get hurt, right?” Soap asked. 

“Naw. We got strict rules in place to avoid harmin’ the livestock. An’ if there is an accident, we got plenty a’ vets on standby to see to ‘em.” He looked out to the crowd seated on the bleachers. It was a lively night, with anticipation for a good show. He sat up a little straighter in his saddle. “The participants’re much more likely to get hurt,” he said, “but that’s why folks like me‘re here to help. Y’all best get t’ your seats; we’re startin’ soon.” 

Soap gave Danger a parting pat on the neck, and met Champ’s fist with his own, then he and Ghost took their seats. They had a great front-row view of the whole arena. Soap nudged Ghost’s shoulder. “This is pretty cool, ey, LT?” 

The lieutenant lifted a brow, eyes scanning the crowds of people. It was a sea of cowboy hats as far as he could see. “More people than I expected.” 

“Yanks love a rodeo, apparently,” Soap said, leaning back in his seat. “I’m excited to see what the fuss is all about. Still think you should pick up a cowboy hat, though.”  

Ghost hummed, keeping his thoughts to himself. He settled more comfortably in his seat, setting the ghost plush in his lap.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, welcoming the guests to the rodeo. The crowd roared back at him in response. Ghost abstained from showing any excitement, but Soap clapped and offered a few excited hoots. The announcer chattered on, explaining what was in store for tonight, thanking sponsors, introducing judges, and directing everyone to stand for the American National Anthem. 

American patriotism was a bit nauseating to witness, but the Brit and the Scot said nothing. They stood like good soldiers, watching the pretty young lady parade around the arena with an oversized flag, standing on the back of a white gelding. 

“Ghost, you know how to ride a horse?” Soap asked once they were allowed to sit again. 

Ghost shook his head. “Not well. Only done it once or twice.” 

“Today was my first time.” 

Eyes wide in disbelief, Ghost’s head snapped in Soap’s direction. He had half a mind to smack the Scot upside the head, or to strangle him. “Never been on a bloody horse before, an’ you decided your first time would be riding bitch with a mad fuckin’ cowboy?” 

A loud throat clearing on his left briefly drew Ghost’s attention. He met the glare of a middle aged woman, who gestured to a young girl sitting in the seat next to Ghost. The girl stared up at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. She couldn’t have been more than five years old. “Language,” the woman hissed. 

Soap snickered at his right, earning himself a glare of his own. “Impressionable youth around, LT.” And that earned him a concealed, but no less rude gesture. 

The first event, steer wrestling, started with a bang. It surprised the two to see just how fast of a sport it was. And aggressive. Soap grimaced as the first rider dropped from his horse onto the steer’s neck and wrenched its head around until it fell to its side. It bellowed in alarm, but it did get up and trot away unharmed once it was released. 

“Jesus…” Ghost muttered. But he was intrigued. 

After every round, Champ and the other riders herded the animals into their exit chutes while the competitors reveled in the crowd’s cheering. 

The next event was even more aggressive. The steers were smaller. Skilled enough competitors hooked them around their necks with a lasso from horseback, sprinted to them, slammed them down on their sides, and tied their legs together with a wire. But still, once their roles were done, the little steers just got back up and trotted along. 

Tough creatures, these cattle. 

Ghost wasn’t one to cheer, but he found himself mentally complimenting or criticizing the performances. As if he had any room to do the latter. 

Soap, on the other hand, started to clap and hoot. He was clearly enjoying himself. It wasn’t football—real football—but it was entertaining nevertheless. 

By the end of the steer roping, the sun was finally starting to sink in the sky. Thankfully, their seats were facing away from the setting sun, so they wouldn't be blinded. 

“Oi, where’d Champ go?” Soap asked, sitting up in his seat to scan the ring. Ghost did the same, finding neither the cowboy nor his mule. 

“Don’t see him,” Ghost said. 

Speak of the devil, though. The man in question appeared from the rider’s area and hopped the fence, jumping down onto the audience side. 

“Evenin’ boys,” he said. His sunglasses were gone, no longer necessary in the fading light. He plopped down in the empty seat next to Soap with a sigh and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Enjoyin’ your first rodeo?” 

“Better than I expected,” Soap said. 

“Know what I’d say if I ever came to another one of these?” Ghost asked. Champ leaned back in his seat to meet Ghost’s eyes, brows lifted in anticipation.

Hunh. Now that he didn't have his sunglasses on, Ghost noticed that Champ’s left eye was an icy blue color, starkly in contrast to the deep brown of his right. 

“‘This ain’t my first rodeo.’”

Soap groaned loudly, his head dropping into his hands. That was exactly the reaction Ghost was gunning for. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit, he does have jokes,” Champ said, his eyes crinkling with a hidden smile. 

“No he doesn’t,” Soap said through his hands, “I was lying when I said that.” 

“I thought it was funny.” 

Ghost huffed. “At least someone appreciates my humor.” 

Soap turned fully away from Ghost, very pointedly ignoring him. “Done for the night, Champ?” 

“Naw, just taking a break.” He craned his neck, looking at the crowd behind them. “Givin’ Danger a rest. We’ll sit out these next two events, n’ hop back in for the last—” Soap jumped to lean in close, making Champ stiffen. He frowned, confused by the very sudden and intense eye contact. “Uh…” 

“Woah. You see this, LT?” 

“Noticed it a minute ago, Johnny.” 

Champ blinked twice, then realization struck him. “Oh.” A faint red tint crept up from under his bandana. “Yeah.” 

“That’s neat.” Soap retreated from his personal space, lips quirked in a half smile. “Bet that makes you popular with the ladies.” 

“Heh. Sure does.” He scratched at his jaw, a little uneasy. “Fellas too.” 

Ghost did not miss how Champ watched them both for a reaction, nor did he miss how he relaxed when neither of them batted an eye. Soap caught on too. 

It’d be hypocritical of them to be anything less than indifferent. 

The announcer’s voice rang again over the loudspeakers, announcing the next event: team roping. It was a welcomed change of topic for Champ. He shifted his focus to the arena. Ghost and Soap did the same. 

“So, this one’s tricky,” Champ explained. He laid one arm around the back of Soap’s chair, and gestured with his other. “Takes real teamwork. Gotta time it just right to snare the steer. Lassoing the horns is one thing, but catchin’ its hind feet?” He whistled a long, low note. “Lot harder ’n it looks.” 

The first steer shot out of the shoot, and a pair of riders shortly after it. One rider successfully caught the steer by its horns with his lasso, but his partner missed the legs, disqualifying them from the competition. Champ gave them a consolation clap. 

“Crazy,” Soap said, “‘cos that looks very hard.” 

“Oh for sure. I think it’s the most difficult event,” Champ said. 

“You ever do any of these?” Ghost asked. 

For the briefest moment, Champ’s eyes glazed over. Nostalgia was hitting him hard. “Yep,” he said. “Done ‘em all. I grew up doin’ this stuff.” 

“Any good?” 

Champ leaned his head back, pondering the question. “Yeah,” he said eventually, “pretty good. Won more’n a few medals n’ trophies.” 

The next steer ran from the chute, its roping team in hot pursuit. These two managed to catch it properly, suspending it on its forelegs. Champ clapped heartily, and yelled out a few cheerful words. 

The other teams came and went, most of them securing their steeds. Champ was enjoying himself, enthusiastic in his cheers. Now that they had their resident rodeo expert with them, Soap asked questions here and there, seeking clarification on various aspects of the events they’d seen so far. Techniques, scoring criteria, the cattle, the horses, et cetera. 

Once the announcers listed off the winners and the cheering faded into a low chatter, Champ leaned forward in his seat, elbows propped on his thighs. “This next event’s my favorite,” he said, an excited twinkle in his eye. “ Barrel racin’.” 

Workers set up three barrels in the ring in a triangle while the announcer explained the clover pattern the racers would run in. 

“I was real’ good at this back in the day,” Champ said. He nudged Soap’s shoulder, the mischief clear on his face. “Bet you could do it. Got some good practice in on the trail earlier.” 

Ghost scoffed before Soap could answer. “Don’t even think about it, Sergeant. I’m not haulin’ your ass—” he paused, glancing at the little girl sitting on his other side— “not haulin’ you back to Glasgow with a broken neck.” 

Soap put his hands up, crossing them over his chest in an X shape. “Aye, no worries here. I’ve had my fill of crazy riding for a lifetime.” 

“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Champ said with a smile. “I’ve got you boys for a whole week.”

Ghost pulled Soap back by the shoulder so he could level the cowboy with a hard stare. “Champagne, if you break my sergeant, I will be very displeased.”  

“Hoo,” Champ replied, his shoulders jolting up. “Chills up my spine. That’s a mean mug ya got there. Don’t worry, Spooky; I got no plans a’ breakin’ either a’ ya.” 

An announcement rang overhead, drawing attention back to the ring for the first racer. Champ hooted as she shot from the chute on a sorrel horse. She whipped that horse around the barrels, sending dirt flying with each tight turn, and zoomed back to the finish line, clearing the course in just over sixteen seconds. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, she was flying,” Soap said, almost breathless. 

“That was just a girl,” Ghost pointed out. “Couldn’t’ve been more than sixteen.” 

“Yep,” Champ confirmed, “they start young. I was, what, six? Seven? When I first barrel raced.” 

Soap breathed out through tight lips. “Crazy yanks.” 

“That’s for sure,” Ghost agreed. 

The next girl to race was even younger, and even faster. Champ took great pleasure in the way Soap’s jaw dropped. 

Most of the other racers were adults, but their runs were still plenty thrilling. Champ couldn’t help but jump up in his applause with a hoot and a holler after one racer cleared the course in fourteen and a half seconds. His enthusiasm was infectious; it got Soap yelling out a few cheers as well, and even Ghost clapped once or twice. 

The winners were announced—fourteen and a half won—and Champ leaned back into his seat with a huff, grinning to himself. “Good shit,” he said. 

“Language,” Ghost said, drawing a confused hum from the cowboy. He jerked his head to the kid next to him. “Already got in trouble once with the mum.” 

“Well, then I’d best get, ‘fore I say somethin’ that’ll get me in trouble.” He stood up and adjusted his collar, smoothing it down against his neck. “Time t’ get back out there anyway.” 

“Two more events, right?” Ghost asked. 

Champ nodded. He hooked his thumbs into his belt, hands framing the shiny, oversized buckle in the middle. “Yep. Bet y’all have ‘bout had your fill a’ this country folk nonsense; I won’t be offended if ya wanna catch a cab back to base.” 

Soap and Ghost exchanged looks, as if communicating telepathically. “We’re good, Soap said after a moment. “Already watched the wee bulls get manhandled; I wanna see the reverse.” 

The cowboy shook his head with a soft laugh. “Trust me, a tramplin’ ain’t a pretty sight. I’ll be doin’ my damnedest—” The girl’s mother cleared her throat and glared daggers at Champ, but he ignored her— “to make sure no one gets hurt.” He offered a fist to Soap, which the Scot knocked in return. “Meet’cha back here when I’m done.”

“Didn’t offer me a fist bump,” Ghost noted as Champ disappeared back into the work area. Soap rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder to the Brit’s. 

“Don’t get your feelings hurt. Probably guessed you wouldn’t have obliged him. And I’m sure you wouldn’t have.” 

“Probably not,” he agreed. 

Workers scrambled about the ring to clear it for the next event: bareback riding. The giant stadium lights overhead switched on, illuminating the arena. Champ rejoined his fellow pickup riders astride Danger, his shirt practically glowing under the harsh light. 

Everything was set. The announcer called up the first rider and bronco combo. Music started playing. The big iron gate swung open, and the bronco launched up into the air, its rider flailing about on its back like a ragdoll. His cowboy hat was gone within two seconds, and he didn’t last more than four more before he was sent flying. A few people on foot helped him up, while Champ charged on after the horse to pull its buck strap off and herd it back to the chute. 

All in all, it looked like a painful sport. Soap grimaced, reminded of the soreness still plaguing his loins. A funny thought did occur to him, though. He side-eyed Ghost, a grin creeping onto his face, and breathed in—

“If you say anything about wanting to get onto one of those fu—” ahem— “one of those animals, I’m gonna toss you in there right under the next one’s hooves.” Ghost spoke casually, not even bothering to look at Soap. The sergeant snickered. 

“Actually, I was gonna say that this reminds me of riding in the car when you’re driving. Bumpy as all getup.” 

“I just might throw you in there anyway.” 

The next rider had a nasty bronco. The damn thing was all over the place, jumping sideways, twisting mid-air, kicking its back legs high. The poor rider didn’t stand a chance. Soap winced as he hit the ground, narrowly missing a kick to the head before someone could rush in and contain the situation. 

Rider number three fared better. The horse put up a good fight, doing its damnedest to throw its charge off, but the man held on tight until the buzzer went off, signaling that he’d done it. Now they actually got to see the “pickup” part of the pickup rider’s job. Champ swooped in next to the bucking bronc, practically flushed against it, and helped pull the rider off. He held onto him for an extra second, making sure that he was okay, then let him down to collect his hat and his glorious praise. Eighty-five points. The crowd roared for him. 

Of the eight remaining riders, only four were able to keep themselves atop their broncos. It struck the soldiers as a light miracle that no one was injured amidst the violence. Champ and his fellow pickup riders did damn well in keeping things safe—as safe as they could be, given the dangerous nature of the sport. 

It did not go unnoticed how Champ and Danger seemed to parade around the ring after every successful rescue. His mouth may have been hidden, but his eyes and his body language did the smiling for him. And the mule? The mule held his head high, and strutted. 

What a pair, those two. 

The winners of the bareback riding were announced, and then the arena was cleared so that preparations for the final event could proceed. Champ stopped at the fence for a moment. “Fellas!” he called to the soldiers, “get excited. This’s the event everyone’s been waitin’ for!” He clicked his tongue and tugged his reins, bringing Danger up onto his hind legs. The immediate crowd echoed a small chorus of oohs and ahs as he sped off, following the other staff into the back. 

Ghost lifted a brow. “Quite the show off, in’ he?” 

“Aw, I kinda like him,” Soap said. 

“Didn’t say I didn’t.” 

Soap rolled his head to the side, giving Ghost a knowing look. “You don’t like anyone. ‘Cept me, of course.” 

Ghost met his gaze, deadpan as ever. “Who says you’re the exception?” 

A dangerous smirk formed on the sergeant’s lips. “I got the impression last time I had my mouth around—”

Ghost’s hand shot to cover Soap’s mouth, cutting him off before he could finish that sentence. “Watch that mouth, MacTavish,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Children around.” 

Soap’s eyes twinkled, but he said nothing more. 

The staff poured back into the arena, taking up their posts. Champ settled next to the chute, not far from Ghost and Soap. The announcer addressed the audience, asking if everyone was ready to see some bull riding. The crowd roared back at him, Soap joining in with his hands cupped around his mouth. He was loud enough for Champ to hear. The cowboy gave him a pleasantly surprised look. 

“Christ, Johnny…” Ghost muttered. 

“I’m having fun, LT,” he retorted. “You should try it sometime.” 

A loud bang rattled the chute door, followed by an angry bellow. The announcer noted that someone sounded unhappy; best not to keep him waiting much longer. Music started—some upbeat country tune—the rider gave the signal, and the door flew open. The bull that careened out wasn’t particularly huge, as far as bulls went, but he was mean, showing his rider no mercy. The poor bastard made it four seconds before falling off. He landed hard on his front, garnering a few sympathetic groans from the crowd. A bullfighter rushed up to distract the bull while Champ came in to yank its buck strap off and direct it back to the chute. 

“Shite…” Soap mumbled, leaning forward in his seat. “Is he okay?” 

The rider was still for a long moment. The crowd hushed into concerned whispers. 

“He’s movin’” Ghost said. “Look. He’s gettin’ up.” 

Slowly, the rider got up to his knees, and then to his feet, steadying himself with a bullfighter’s help. 

“Probably concussed,” Ghost concluded. Soap echoed his agreement as the rider limped out of the arena. 

“...That was pretty awesome though.” 

Ghost closed his eyes. “No, Johnny.” 

Soap scoffed, halfway offended. “What? I don’t want to try it!” 

Three more riders took their turns, and all three went flying from their bulls. The announcer noted that the bulls were feisty tonight. Would anyone be able to hold on? 

The fourth rider could, apparently, but his bull didn’t have quite as much fight in it as the previous animals. Still, Champ was at his side as soon as the timer went off, an arm around his back to haul him off of the bucking beast. The rider stared at Champ, as if taken aback by him, but the cowboy only winked before letting him down and trotting off again. 

According to the judges the whole performance was only worth fifty-six points. The crowd cheered regardless, happy to see someone complete a ride. 

Two more riders failed in a row, two more succeeded, and the last one slipped off just before the buzzer. With only three people qualifying, they all automatically made the top three places in the competition. 

Champ disappeared from the arena. Soap and Ghost sat up, preparing to leave, but the announcer spoke again, catching them and the rest of the crowd by surprise. 

“It seems we have a surprise bull rider tonight, folks!” the voice boomed. The crowd murmured, voices whispering over who it could be. 

Ghost had a sneaking suspicion. “No…”

“One of our pickup riders wants to try his hand! No worries to our winners, though; he is not joining in on the competition.” 

“What?” Soap looked between Ghost and the arena, watching a couple of bullfighters and a pickup rider file out for the last ride. 

“Everyone, say hello to Mr. Wayne Champagne! He’s the fella in the blue that’s been helpin’ keep our riders safe all night! Can we get some love for Mr. Champagne here?” 

Champ stood up on a fence behind the chute and waved his arms, stoking loud cheers from the audience. He looked over to where Ghost and Soap were, and shot them a double finger guns. 

“He’s fucking mad!” Ghost shouted, springing up from his seat. He unconsciously squeezed the ghost plush in a tight fist. Soap followed behind, watching nervously as Champ settled down in the chute. 

“No fuckin’ way…” 

The opening riff of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fUtD40GqGY">B.Y.O.B</a> blared over the speakers. The door swung open. The bull tore out of the chute with a vengeance. Champ looked positively tiny on the beast, but he was holding on, despite its greatest efforts. His hat flew off a few seconds in, leaving his dark, curly hair to flop around wildly. 

“Holy shite.” Soap gripped Ghost’s shoulder, unable to tear his eyes away from the raging bull. “He’s gonna make it!” 

Ghost felt a similar level of disbelief. 

The crowd was going wild. Their cheers were deafening, loud enough to drown out the buzzer that marked the end of Champ’s ride. 

The pickup rider came to his side quickly to help him off of his bull. Once his feet hit the dirt, he snatched his hat and thrusted it up into the air, earning himself one final cheer. 

“What a spectacular ride! Eighty-seven points for Mr. Wayne Champagne!” 

“That’s the second-highest score of the night,” Ghost noted. He almost sounded impressed, but he mostly sounded annoyed. Not only had the yank gone and done something stupid, but he’d done it well. 

Champ jogged over to the gate where Soap and Ghost stood slack-jawed—or rather, Soap was slack-jawed; Ghost was largely unreadable—and hopped over the top. “Howdy, boys!” he said, breath heavy from exertion and adrenaline. 

“Yer aff yer fuckin’ heid!” Soap exclaimed. He ruffled the cowboy’s already messed up, sweat-slicked hair, grinning ear to ear. “Did you have that planned all night?” 

Champ waved the Scot’s hand away playfully and replaced his hat on his head, his chest shaking with barely-contained laughter. “‘Course I did. Figured I oughta have a little fun before I’m whisked away from my vacation.” 

“Steamin’ Jesus. How’re your balls feelin’ after a ride like that, huh?” 

“Wha—?” Champ blinked, looking a little startled by the question, then huffed out a breathy laugh. “Still not as sore ‘s yours, Scotty. Gotten used to takin’ abuse like this.” 

Ghost, wanting to stop this conversation before it continued any further, cleared his throat loudly. “We should get going. Busy day tomorrow.” He paused, eyes narrowing on Champ. “And you’re out of your goddamn mind.” 

Champ was about to hit the Brit with a lighthearted retort, but a shrill voice behind them cut him off. “Excuse me!” the mother from earlier shrieked, her hands clamped firmly down over her daughter’s ears. “You’re all filthy! There are children here!” 

Ugh. Champ rolled his eyes so hard that they threatened to roll right out of his head, and bit back an extra nasty retort so as to hold onto a shred of professionalism. He lightly slapped the back of his hand to Soap’s chest and started walking to where the trailers were parked, the soldiers following behind. There was still a pep in his step; he wasn’t about to let some bitchy suburban helicopter mom ruin his good mood, his adrenaline high. 

Fuck her! He rode the fuck out of that bull! And he was fuckin’ proud! 

Once out of earshot of the miserable woman, Soap resumed his excited chatter, asking questions about technique, how it felt, how bad it really hurt. Champ explained it all in great detail, ever the expert on the subject. He was just starting to tell Soap that he might be able to pull off a ride on a smaller, tamer bull, and Ghost was ready to admonish him again, when an unfamiliar voice called from behind them. 

“Wayne Champagne!” 

The three of them stopped in their tracks and looked back, Champ turning halfway to face three oncoming men. All of them were rodeo competitors, judging by their cowboy hats and flashy, tasseled chaps. The middle one was the first one that Champ had pulled off of his bull earlier—the first man to actually stay on his bull, and the man that went off to win third place in the competition. He was clearly the leader of this little group. His two buddies—one burly man with a thick beard, and a taller fellow with bright red hair—hung back an extra couple of feet. 

Ringleader stopped in front of Champ, pushing the boundaries of personal space. Champ raised a brow. “That was some good riding back there. Unexpected. Made all of us look like damn amateurs.” He wore a smile on his face, but it was devoid of any earnestness. Ringleader’s buddies had similar smiles.

Soap and Ghost stood behind Champ, bodies tense. They could tell that this was not a friendly confrontation between competitors. 

That didn’t stop Champ from trying to play it off as one, though. He scuffed the heel of his boot in the dirt and breathed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Naw, y’all did great. You especially. First one to stay on the bull all night.” 

“Uh hunh.” Ringleader nodded, his jaw flexing to one side. He gave the two soldiers a quick glance, but his focus was on Champ. “‘Champagne,’” he repeated. “Only ever heard of one family with that name. You wouldn’t happen to be related to Liam Champagne, would ya?” 

Now Champ tensed, his shoulders visibly stiffening. All projected ease vanished from his demeanor. He lifted his chin, eyes steeled, and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

Ringleader continued, an air of arrogance about him. “Liam was friends with my dad, back in Michigan. Had a couple of daughters, didn’t he? Emily and—” he shot a quick look back to one of his buddies— “and what was the other one?” 

“Myra? I think?” 

“ Somethin’ like that, yeah.” 

Champ tensed further, tight as a compressed spring. 

“There a problem here?” Ghost cut in. He took a step forward, but Champ put a hand to his stomach to stop him. 

“No problem,” Champ said, his gaze not leaving Ringleader. 

“Don’t know much about her, but I remember a couple a’ things about Emily. She had these weird eyes. One blue, one brown. Just like  yours, hunh?” Champ didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “And I remember hearin’ that she gunned her own dad down.” 

Now Soap stepped up, a hand on Champ’s shoulder. “Sorry—what the hell is—” 

“Back off, MacTavish,” Champ hissed, shaking his hand off. “I’ve got this.” Soap furrowed his brow, confused, but reluctantly retreated. 

“So now you’re here, dressin’ up like a man, goin’ by a different name? You some kinda tranny freak, Emily?” Ringleader gave the two soldiers a smug look, a crinkle on the bridge of his nose. “You a faggot too? These your British boyfriends?” 

“I remember you,” Champ said suddenly, his voice cutting like glass. “Didn’t I take your virginity in high school? Don’t remember it bein’ too great neither.” Ringleader’s smile dropped. His buddies gave him looks of shock and disgust. Champ continued, “Wonder if your daddy’s any better. Bet I could find him, wine n’ dine him, make him a new son that’s not a bigoted piece a’ shit.” 

Ringleader swung a fist. Everyone saw it coming from a mile away. Champ even looked directly at it before it hit him. It struck Champ across the apple of his left cheek and sent his hat flying. Quick as lightning, though, Champ came back, snatching Ringleader’s belt and driving his own fist into his crotch with vicious intention. The sound that left Ringleader’s throat was like a donkey’s bray, his body doubling over involuntarily. 

Soap and Ghost both cringed, the former squeezing his legs together just a little bit with a soft noise of sympathy. 

Champ followed up with an elbow to Ringleader’s back, catching him right between his shoulder blades and sending him coughing into the dirt. 

The two goons lunged, and the soldiers moved to step in again, but Champ snarled at them to stay the fuck back. He was fast. He ducked to avoid the bearded man’s punch and caught him in the jaw with an uppercut that sent him staggering. He crashed into the red headed man with a guttural roar, shoulder to his gut, and rammed him against the side of a trailer. Redhead tried to wrench him off, but Champ came back with a headbutt, knocking his brows to his forehead with an audible thunk. 

Ouch.  

Redhead went limp, unconscious. Champ stood up, a little shaky, a little disoriented. Headbutts weren’t always a good move. 

“Knife!” Ghost shouted. Champ heard footsteps behind him and sidestepped, avoiding Beardo’s hunting knife that surely would have skewered a kidney. He spun and wrapped his arms low around his waist, holding him from behind. With a grunt, he hefted Beardo up off of his feet and suplexed him, dropping him on his head. He too went limp.

“My sister’s name is Mireya,” the cowboy spat as he pushed himself to his feet again. He stomped on Beardo’s wrist and kicked the knife away. There was a wild fury in his eyes, almost animalistic. Feral. Rabid. 

Those eyes turned to Ringleader, who was up on his hands and knees, still coughing. Champ rushed over to him and shoved his heel into his ribs, knocking him back down onto his stomach. He stepped over and straddled his hips, taking a fistful of his hair to lift his head up. He leaned in close, voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “Call me what you want. I just want you to remember that your first time gettin’ your dick wet was with a tranny. An’ that same tranny beat your ass years later.” 

Champ threw Ringleader’s head down and stepped away, panting. When his gaze snapped up to Ghost and Soap, he looked half-ready to attack them too. Soap raised his hands to placate. “Woah, hey, we’re all friends here.” 

“At ease, Champagne,” Ghost warned. “No one else has to get hurt. We’re on the same side.” 

Champ scoffed and straightened his shoulders. “Don’t patronize me.” He turned sharply and disappeared between the trucks, headed back towards his own. Ghost and Soap exchanged looks. 

That was fucking crazy.  

It had all happened so fast, too. Despite taking a punch—which he’d taken like a, well, a champ—Champ had laid out all three men in less than thirty seconds. 

Ghost shook his head as he stepped over the fallen ringleader. “Fuckin’ yanks,” he muttered. Soap grabbed Champ’s forgotten hat, and then they followed after the cowboy. 

He was in his truck when they found him, his head down on the steering wheel, hair a mess with sweat and dirt. He had music playing—hard rock, from the sound of it. Something angry. Ghost rounded to the passenger’s side and pulled the door open. Champ’s head lifted, eyes still burning with fury from the fight. They darted back to Soap then, as the sergeant climbed into the back seat. 

Slowly, Ghost reached for the radio and turned the music down.

Two soldiers. One cowboy. A whole lot of tension. 

Champ didn’t trust them. Not right now. 

After a long moment of silence, he spoke up, “Well? Anythin’ to say, Lieutenant? Sergeant?” 

Soap shook his head, lips pursed just so. 

“You’re bleedin’,” Ghost said. He gestured to the wet patch on the left cheek of Champ’s bandana. 

Champ cursed under his breath. He flipped down his sun visor and pulled open the mirror, then yanked off his bandana. In addition to the cut on his cheek, his nose was also bloody, likely from the headbutt. Red ran down his lips, into the short, dark hair that covered his chin and jaw. He folded the cloth and dabbed it at his nose, trying to clean the worst of the mess up. 

When he looked over, he caught both of the soldiers staring. One brow quirked, he said, “I know I’m handsome, but damn. Careful how long ya look, fellas; you might start fallin’ in love.” 

Ghost ignored him and searched around, spotting a miniature first aid kit in the cubby on his door. He opened it and sifted through the supplies, finding some alcohol wipes. “Here.” He tore open a packet, and motioned for Champ to lean in. Champ, still feeling the rush of fight or flight, hesitated. “Come here, Champ,” Ghost said more firmly. 

Tentatively, Champ complied. He leaned forward, left cheek turned towards Ghost. His nose wrinkled a little under the sting of the alcohol wipe, but he voiced no complaints. His eyes drifted from the skull mask over to Soap, who continued to stare. 

Now sans-bandana, his piercings were visible. There was a small, silver ring through his septum, snug against the skin, and a flat stud in his left nostril. This man was just full of surprises.

“I’ll apologize for this tomorrow,” he said. “But tonight, I ain’t too sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Soap replied. “Those guys were arseholes. Got what they deserved.” 

Champ pressed his lips together, a low hum in his throat. “Everything he said was true. To an extent.” Ghost paused his cleaning for just a moment. “Missin’ context, of course, but it ain’t really any a’ your business. However, if we’re gonna have any problems about it, best tell me now.” 

“Don’t know what problem we’d have,” Ghost said. Soap nodded in agreement. The Brit grabbed some ointment from the kit and dabbed it onto Champ’s cut, then stuck a bandage over it. “Like you said, it’s none of our business.” 

Champ blinked and slowly leaned back in his seat. He brushed his fingers over the bandage, wincing a little at the tiny bloom of pain. It was already starting to bruise around the cut. Tomorrow, it would surely be nice and purple.

“You let him hit you,” Ghost pointed out, stashing the medkit back where he found it. “Baited him, even, from the looks of it.” 

“Heh.” Champ flipped the sun visor back up, a mirthless smile on his lips. “Had to have a solid reason t’ beat the shit outta him. Bigots’re so easy to piss off.” 

“Could’ve blocked the punch.” 

“Could’a.” Champ shrugged. He rolled down his window and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the center console. “Y’all mind if I smoke?” The soldiers shook their heads. He placed one between his lips, and offered one to his company. Soap accepted; Ghost did not. He lit both of their cigarettes, and then Champ took a long drag, letting the smoke and the burn fill his lungs. It took the edge off, dampening his fury so that it wasn’t so sharp. He could come down from this. He always did. 

Once he finished the cigarette and stubbed it in an old soda cup, he turned the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. 

“Wait—” Soap looked out through the window as they started to move. “Danger?”

“Had someone load him up before I got on the bull,” Champ said. “Not gonna forget ‘bout my best boy. I’d die before I ever leave him behind.” He did press on the brakes, though, his face going pale at something he did forget. He pawed at his head, then looked around, a bit frantic. “Shit—where’s my—?”

“Got it here,” Soap said, holding up Champ’s hat. It was a bit dirty from its multiple tumbles tonight, but it was intact. Champ gratefully took it back and flipped it over, fingers feeling the sweat band along the brow until they found the piece of metal wedged under. Two silver pendants. Dog tags. Champ breathed out a sigh of relief, then placed the hat on his head where it belonged. 

Music turned back up—still playing early 2000s hard rock, which felt right, given the turn the night had taken—Champ weaved on out of the parking lot, off the fairgrounds, and embarked on the half-hour journey back to the base. 

This time, he wasn’t nearly as chatty. Soap tried once to start a conversation, but it quickly became clear that Champ was in no mood. He was still angry, even as the adrenaline ebbed from his systems. Another cigarette calmed him a little more, but he was still burning inside. And Ghost, of course, was his normal level of chatty outside of a combat situation. 

A break from the heavy guitar came in the form of a phone call, which made Champ jump. The text on the radio screen read “Bluebird” with a chick and a blue heart emoji. Champ cursed under his breath. “Y’all speak Spanish?” 

“Only a little,” Soap replied. 

“‘Kay. It’s is my sister. She’s got a sixth sense, I swear—always knows when somethin’ happened.” He pressed the answer button on the screen, forced a smile, took a breath, and said, “¡Buenas noches, mi pajarita! ¿Como esta? ” The stark contrast between his normal country accent and his perfect Spanish gave the soldiers whiplash.

The sister didn’t answer immediately. There was a pregnant pause that made Champ visibly nervous. 

“Mireya…?” 

“¿Qué histice? ” a woman asked. 

“Wha—? Hey.” Champ grimaced, his grip tightening on the wheel. He continued in Spanish, “Now is not a good time. I have coworkers in the car. ”

“What happened? ” she asked again, more insistent.  

The cowboy flicked his hand and sighed. “Nothing. Got in a fight. I’m fine.” 

“Wayne…” She sounded disappointed.

“It’s fine! Some people were talking shit. I didn’t start the fight; I just finished it.” He glanced at Ghost, feeling a little embarrassed. His little sister was admonishing him in front of his coworkers. “Bluebird,” he said, continuing in English, “really can’t talk right now. I’ll call ya in the mornin’, ‘kay?”

 Mireya went silent again, a sigh of her own coming through the speakers. “Fine. First thing tomorrow.” 

“Of course. Te quiero mucho, Bluebird.” His smile softened into something more genuine. “Good night.” 

The call ended. Champ leaned back in his seat and rubbed his brow. He’d had a headache brewing since his scuffle at the fairgrounds, and it was reaching its apex. 

“Fuck it.” He scrolled through the contacts on the screen and hovered over one labeled “Boss.” “Y’all speak any Russian?” 

“No more than Spanish,” Ghost answered. 

Champ pressed the call button and, after a few rings, Nikolai greeted him. Once again, whiplash struck when Champ responded in not-quite-perfect Russian. His normal accent came through a little more in his pronunciation. 

“Niky. Wanted you to hear it from me before it reached you through the grapevine. I had a bit of a brawl—”

“Already? Champ, I told you to play nice with Price’s men!” 

Champ waffled, taken aback and offended. He looked to Ghost for support, but the lieutenant wasn’t privy to the conversation. “Not with them! They’re fine. Probably would have backed me up if I’d let them. No—I got in a fight with some shithead hillbillies. Figured I’d tell you in case these two decided to tattle on me.” 

Nikolai snorted. “I doubt they would have. Were you hurt?” 

“No. Just a cut on the cheek. I’m fine.” Mostly fine. Angry still.

“So you are getting along then?” 

“Other than this little incident, yeah, things are going smoothly. I like these guys. They’re funny.” 

“Ghost? ” The Brit perked up. Apparently he recognized his namesake in Russian. “You think Ghost is funny? ” 

The corner of Champ’s lip quirked up, almost a smirk. “Yeah. He’s pretty funny. I think I’m growing on him too.” 

Ghost narrowed his eyes on Champ. “Hope that’s not me you’re talkin’ about,” he growled. 

“Oh! He’s there with you?” Nikolai asked, switching to English. Ghost glared at Champ, who pointedly avoided his gaze.

“I’m here too, Nikolai,” Soap interjected, his head popping up between Ghost and Champ to break the glare. “You know your man’s fuckin’ crazy? Where the hell did you find this cowboy, huh?” 

“That’s a story for another time,” Champ interrupted, any traces of humor vanishing from him. “That’s all I wanted to say, Niky. We gotta go. Call you if anything else comes up.” He hastily ended the call before the Russian could reply, and stared straight ahead, eyes firmly on the road. 

That was… abrupt. 

Soap leaned back into his seat. He and Ghost both stared at Champ for a long moment, but neither of them said anything. The cowboy met Soap’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Another time,” he repeated. 

He turned the music back up, letting it fill the space as it had before.

Pulling up to the base gate, Champ collected Soap and Ghost’s papers that permitted them passage. He noted with an inquisitive brow that Ghost’s papers had no photo, nor any name. It just listed his rank, his affiliation, and “GHOST.” The gate guard noticed it as well, but everything still checked out after a quick phone call to a higher-up. They were allowed entry without issue, save for a quick comment about the new shiner on Champ’s cheek. 

“I’ll drop you two off at the hotel first. Gotta head to the stables n’ take care a' Danger,” he said. “Thanks for comin’ out to the rodeo. Hope ya had at least a little bit a’ fun.” 

Soap leaned forward, forearms resting on the backs of Champ and  Ghost’s seats. “I wanna see the stables. Are there any other horses?” 

“Nah. Stables are there mostly for me,” Champ replied. “I’m the only one that brings a mount around.”

“I’d still like to see ‘em.” Ghost gave the sergeant an annoyed side eye, but he paid it no mind. 

Champ shrugged. “If ya wanna.” He flipped on his blinker, and turned down the road that brought them to the tiny stables and fenced-in pasture. It was a two-stall structure, simple in build, but it served its purpose. Once he backed his trailer into the designated spot, he hopped out of the truck and rounded to the back to start unloading. Soap followed after, curious, while Ghost stayed where he was, decidedly less curious. He looked down at his lap, realizing that he still had the damn ghost plushie Soap had won for him. He stared into the cartoon eyes, zoning out…

Hearing laughter from the stables after Danger was unloaded, though, pulled him back to the present. Ghost leaned his head back with an exasperated sigh and pushed his door open. He set the plush down in his seat, and followed the cackling to the stable’s door. 

Was he prepared to see Champ dumping a stout beer into a bucket for his mule to eagerly slurp up? No, he wasn’t. Ghost paused at the threshold, watching the scene unfold, dumbfounded. 

“What the fuck?” 

Soap was doubled over, trying to contain his laughter. Ghost looked to Champ for an explanation. 

“Medically necessary,” he said. It clarified nothing. Ghost’s deadpan relayed as much. “Danger has trouble sweating, and beer helps.” 

Ah. That still made no fucking sense . 

“He’s just—” Soap struggled to speak, struggled to breathe— “The mule’s just poundin’ back a brew!” 

Champ crushed the now emptied can and dropped it into a nearby recycling bin, then grabbed another beer from the minifridge in the adjacent stall. “Think fast, Scotty,” he said, tossing the beer to Soap. “One for you too, Spooky?” 

Ghost shook his head, eyes narrowed. 

“Suit yourself.” He grabbed a can for himself, pierced it at the bottom with a pocket knife, popped the top, and promptly shotgunned the whole thing in a matter of seconds. Soap blinked in surprise, then shrugged and followed suit. 

“You’re all fuckin’ insane,” Ghost said, now sounding more disappointed than exasperated. 

“You’re one to talk,” Champ retorted. He swiped his sleeve across his mouth, cleaning off the stream of beer that trickled down his chin. “No one in our line of work is sane.” 

Ghost couldn’t argue with that one. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He shook his head and turned around. “I’m walkin’ back to the hotel,” he grumbled. 

Soap disposed of his beer can and jogged after him. “Wait up, LT!” He paused at the barn doors and glanced back over his shoulder at Champ. “See you tomorrow, yeah?” 

The cowboy nodded and gave a two-fingered salute. “Tomorrow. Bright n’ early.” He returned to caring for Danger, and Soap followed Ghost. 

Behind them, they could hear rock music resume. It was a song they’d heard earlier in the truck—one that Ghost at least was already familiar with. The singer’s voice drifted out on the wind, “Living just isn’t hard enough… Burn me alive inside… Living my life’s not hard enough…” 

The hotel wasn’t far away. The two of them walked back in the muggy summer night air, accumulating another layer of sweat to cake onto the already existing layers. Soap muttered something about needing a shower. Ghost was eager to get one as well. He preferred the dry heat of the desert to this humid nonsense. 

It was nearly eleven when they made it back to the hotel. Back in their room, they both seemed to breathe out a sigh they’d been holding onto. Soap stripped off his shirt, grimacing at how it clinged to his skin. 

“Crazy day,” he said, tossing the shirt aside and stepping into the bathroom. Ghost listened to the shower sputtering on. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Got a feelin’ our stay’s only gonna get crazier.” He unzipped his hoodie and discarded it, then sat on the bed to wait his turn for the bathroom. 

“It always seems to,” Soap agreed. “I got a good feeling about Champ, though.” 

Ghost huffed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

[facewithoutheart]

#11 for the incredibly specific AUs ask, Snowbaz but make it a polecat instead of a ferret 🙏

Omg YES I read this one and IMMEDIATELY thought BAZ.

11. I don't know why you've got a ferret on a leash but at least I've stopped crying on public transportation to watch that lil guy go

Ok, and because we’re going super specific AU, I’m setting this in random American town with bad public transportation. Let’s call it… Smoutston.

The METRORail is #5 on my list of least favourite places to cry. Better than Whole Foods (the WASPs get so judgy when you block the avocados with a good ugly cry), but not nearly as good as sitting in traffic at a red light (I can’t help but love how I must look to whoever’s parked next to me: mascara running down my cheeks, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, the sounds of Beyoncé’s ‘Sorry’ pounding over my stereo… like I’m some mysterious tragic figure rather than a bloke who’s left his morning tea on the kitchen counter).

That is to say: today isn’t the worst day I’ve had since moving to America, but it’s not the best.

Until I see him.

He’s wearing tight Wranglers and a black cowboy hat, toffee curls spilling out down his neck (does he have a mullet?) (oh god do I even care?). I’m so distracted by how perfectly he fills out his pearlsnap shirt that I almost don’t see the…

“Is that a skunk on a leash?” I accidentally ask out loud, because of course I do.

But he doesn’t take offense at my words. He ducks his head and smiles. “Ain’t she a beaut? I call her Agatha.”

God, his words come out like molasses; slow and sweet and thick enough to drown me.

When he turns the full wattage of his smile towards me, I have the unique displeasure of watching it dim.

That’s what I do these days: I steal joy.

“Are you all right?” He draws out the vowels as his lips turn down.

I sniff. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’,” he says, then gets up and moves to the seat next to me. (As early as it is, we’re one of the few travelers.) “Wanna pet her?” He asks, gesturing toward his animal. “She won’t spray ya, I swear.”

Agatha lifts up her tail at his words and, I swear, she cocks her eyebrow like she’s daring me to try.

“I’ll pass,” I say, knowing my recent trend of luck (nonexistent).

Again, I make him frown. He wrings his hands in his lap. “I’m disturbin’ ya, aren’t I? Here you are, a handsome chap on his way to work and I’m beggin’ ya to touch my critter.”

At this point I’m fairly certain he’s laying on the accent to cheer me up.

Funny enough, it’s working.

“You’re not disturbing me at all.” Then, because I decide today can’t get any worse, I add, “besides, you’ve already made my morning better.”

His eyes light up. “Have I?”

I smirk. “You’ve given me something nice to look at.”

“Agatha?” He tilts his head. “But you said you didn’t want to—oh.” He blushes when he realises my eyes are stuck on him. “Um.” He seems to be flustered, unsure of what to say.

I wipe away the tears from my cheeks and decide I want to try something different today.

I want to change my luck.

“Does she do any tricks?” I ask.

He smiles, as if grateful for a chance to do something other than sputter at my flirting. “She sure does.”

As the METRORail fills up with workers on the way to the rodeo, we watch Agatha dance and catch peanuts from Simon’s (that’s his name) hand. The new audience claps and cheers.

It feels nice, I think, taking Simon’s hand in mine, to spread joy.

From this ask list

[ganseybois]

How about some summer fun with alfie and thomas at the beach with cyril playing fetch? And maybe thomas gets hit on and alfie comes in all jealous? XD

here you go! thank you for the ask, I hope you like it!

“Cyril, go on, get the bloody ball.” Alfie roared.

Cyril did do as he was told, although begrudgingly it seemed. He was getting a little too big (Tommy was ultimate, an absolute softie when it came to the animals, and so gave them treats whenever he wished) and so Alfie had suggested they go to the beach to have Cyril work out. It was harder for anyone to run in the sand after all. So here they were, on a beautiful day, the beach crowded, two criminals, bare-chested and happy as they played fetch with Cyril.

Alfie was sitting on the sand under an umbrella, as content as a child although you might not have thought so from his expression. But of course, Tommy knew him better than anyone, so he could see it in the way Alfie’s shoulders were relaxed, his eyes were soft, his toes wiggling through the sand. Tommy was standing by him–they had chairs with them, but they were hardly being used.

“Mate, look at him.” Alfie rolled his eyes, throwing his hand in the direction of Cyril. The dog was simply sitting, ball in his mouth. “Doesn’t know what the hell to do, does he?” He looked like he made to get up, but Tommy patted his shoulder.

“I’ll go, stay down. I don’t understand, didn’t you play fetch with him as a puppy?”

“Course I did, but Cyril is an old chap now ain’t he?”

“As his master.”

Alfie let out a short laugh. “Call me old all you want Tommy, it’s not as threatening as you think since you’re constantly in my bed.”

Tommy grinned. “Lower your voice.” Alfie simply shrugged and then Tommy went on his way to Cyril, getting down on one knee in front of the dog. “Cyril, go on, take the ball to Alfie, hm?” he pointed at Alfie, and when Cyril still did nothing, Tommy grabbed the ball and shot it toward Alfie. “Go on.” And Cyril began his trot to his master.

Tommy stood up, about to walk back, but someone tapped him on the shoulder. Tommy tensed, enough for the person to feel and looked over his shoulder, frowning considerably at a rather handsome man who was smiling at him.

“Thomas Shelby?”

“Yes?” he asked, moving so the man wasn’t touching him any longer.

“Hi, I’m David.” he held out his hand.

Tommy shook it. “Have we met?”

“No, no, I just know who you are.” his eyes raked over Tommy’s entire body, his face, eating him up. Tommy felt as though he wanted to crawl out of his skin at the sight of it. He knew he was attractive of course, and was not oblivious to the way people looked at him, but he was usually fully clothed when people hit on him. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you here, on the beach.”

Tommy pulled his lips into a polite smile. “Well, even someone like me needs a day off.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He took a step closer. “Would you perhaps like to go for a walk?”

Tommy raised his eyebrow. “You’re very forward for a man out in public?”

“What makes you think you know what I want?”

“I’ve never met a man who looks at another man’s lips who didn’t want to kiss him.” Tommy said blandly.

“And you think I’m forward?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, not wrong. I’ve never seen a man quite as beautiful as you.”

Tommy kept his smile very polite, unsure of what to do, simply because this was so public and it was a man. Alfie see, though they had come here together, was very careful of Tommy’s boundaries in public, being two men. Alfie didn’t give a flying fuck, but he never wanted to overstep. This man, it seemed, had so much confidence that he did not care (or was so stupid, that he did not care enough).

“I appreciate the interest David, but I’ll have to decline.”

“Wait!” and the man took his hand.

At that exact moment, Alfie Solomons had appeared, his face clouded in anger. Tommy was certain he hadn’t heard much of the conversation, but had probably started walking toward them the moment they had begun to talk. Cyril was by him, as though he was a suitable guard dog.

“Alfie—”

“Hello mate,” Alfie was not smiling, and was looking only at David, “can we fucking help you?”

David didn’t let go of Tommy’s hand. If they weren’t on a beach, if they were anywhere else, Tommy would have been able to get out of this himself. But his fear of being outed kept him rooted, because he was a man in politics now, everything mattered too much. Being seen with Alfie here was one thing, being courted in public was something else.

David grinned at him. “Is he yours?”

Alfie raised his eyebrow. “I’m his guard.”

Tommy ripped his hand away. “And I belong to no one.”

David looked between the two of them. “You can join too, you know.”

Alfie let out a soft chuckle, Tommy absolutely dreading whatever fate was about to befall this man. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be physical violence. “Mate, listen,” he put his big hand on David’s shoulder, squeezing it very tightly, “first of all, if you ever fucking touch this man again without his consent, I will break every single finger in both your fucking hands, you hear me? Second, right, don’t you fucking ever presume that this man is just to be had as if he’s some common whore. You ever try to contact him outside of this moment, I will make my dog here eat your balls off, understand me? He’s a frightful fucking thing.”

Tommy almost laughed. If Cyril got any calmer, he’d be dead.

David looked afraid, but he looked even more insulted. “I was just—”

“I promise you this mate, I could not fucking care less about what you’re about to say, all right? Get out of my face before I beat you senseless.”

“Alfie,” Tommy put a hand on his shoulder now, “enough, come on.”

David and Alfie stared into each other’s eyes (Tommy had to admit, he was a brave man, most people would have cowered by now), but Tommy’s touch was enough to get Alfie to turn away, huffing like an animal, and followed Tommy back to their umbrella. Alfie sat down angrily, grabbing Cyril and holding the dog close to him, petting him, although it seemed as if this was more for Alfie’s benefit than anyone else.

Tommy wrapped his arms around his legs. “Would you have behaved that way if it had been a woman?”

Alfie snorted. “Course.”

“Well, we’re in public Alfie, you shouldn’t.”

“Mate, you don’t belong to me, I know that right? But I cannot stand idly by, yeah, and just watch people think they can fucking do and say whatever they want to you. For the first time in your fucking life it looked like you genuinely did not know what to fucking do.”

Tommy hated admitting it, but it was true. “Men are usually more subtle about their desires in public.”

“Man or woman, I don’t fucking care. I am a man who is territorial ain’t I? If I was a dog, yeah, I’d piss all over you.”

Tommy let out a small laugh, and Alfie grinned at him in turn. “Animal.” he tilted his head, looking at him. “I wish I could kiss you right now.” he said quietly.

Alfie kissed the top of Cyril’s head. “I know, I know Tommy.” The most he could do was move so his foot was touching Tommy’s through the sand. For now, that would have to be enough.

[dancemachinetrait]

24th May, 1910- Windenburg House

Lady Elaine led the way up to the attic of Windenburg House, through the grander rooms into a series of increasingly dusty corridors. She was followed in a huddle by several overawed members of the Dramatic Society. 

‘Haven’t been up here in years. Used to spend hours in the attic when I was small. Best place on Earth for a nipper. The Ilvars never throw anything away, you know, not so much as a bean. Drives Mater quite demented. She wants to get the place up to date, all mod cons, clear out the detritus. No patience for sentiment. But Pater just says you never know when something might come in handy. Darn lucky for you fellas, eh?’

There were muffled gasps from Myrtle, Daisy and Diana at this very-nearly-swearing from Lady Elaine. She led them to a wooden ladder, which they scaled one by one into the cool dimness of the attic. It was crammed from floor to ceiling with paintings, furniture and curios. There were several taxidermied animals, including something goat-like with huge, curved horns. ‘Oh! What is that?’ breathed Diana. 

‘Ibex’, Lady Elaine responded. ‘My grandfather shot him in Abyssinia in ‘54. Handsome beast, ain’t he?’

‘The sixth Countess of Ilvar’, she continued, gesturing with her cane to a portrait of a beautiful woman in Regency attire. ‘Famous belle in her time, but quite notorious. Left my great-grandfather to run away to the Continent with an Italian count. It was the most appalling scandal. Story goes that great-grandpapa ordered her portrait destroyed, but the footman he told to destroy it was in love with her, and hid it up here instead.’

There was a squeal from Myrtle, causing everyone to turn around. She was recoiling from what looked like a pale, waxy hand, with strange symbols inscribed on the palm. ‘It touched me!’

Lady Elaine chuckled. ‘That was Great-Aunt Clothilde’s. She became a spiritualist after her husband shuffled off. Used to hold seances in the billiards room. Drove Mater to distraction. It’s probably not a real hand.’

‘Probably?’ squeaked Daisy. 

‘I was fond of Aunt Clotty’, Lady Elaine went on, almost to herself. ‘Used to let me play with her crystal ball. Always had a peppermint. That’s her in the purple and black.’ She indicated a small painting propped on a chest of drawers, showing an older woman in Aesthetic dress set against a Gothic mountain landscape.

‘Now then’, said Lady Elaine, ‘I don’t suppose you chaps have decided what play you’re putting on?’

The group exchanged sheepish glances. There had been much voracious argument on the matter, but no decision. ‘We, er- we’ve been discussing it’, Honour said diplomatically.

‘Not to worry! More fun that way. Let’s just haul this lot open and dig in. Inspiration’s bound to strike.’ 

They began to drag open the ancient wardrobes, trunks and dressers, dislodging huge clouds of dust. Lady Elaine kept up a running commentary on every treasure they unearthed. 

‘Let’s see now, flintlock pistol, eighteenth century- this must have belonged to my great-great-grandfather, the fifth Earl. Silly blighter pipped himself in the foot going after a rabbit. Notoriously poor shot. Criminal waste, it’s a lovely piece. Oh, don’t be wet, it isn’t loaded.’ This was directed at Myrtle and Mattie, who squeaked and ducked when she aimed the pistol experimentally in their direction.

‘Now these are a treasure. My grandfather’s sword-sticks. Took ‘em to the Crimea. Just look at the balance on that.’

‘Take the other one, Clem, old chap. I’ll show you the ropes.’

previous | next | beginning

—————————————————————–

Sorry that I haven’t updated for [checks watch] two months. Yikes. What was meant to be a relatively straightforward scene that moved the plot along got completely and entirely hijacked by Lady Elaine (she does that), so I’m going to have to split it up into parts. If I had any self-control I wouldn’t have spent all my time on elaborate poses that move the plot forward not at all, but here we are. I had a lot of fun making this scene and I hope you enjoy it.

[dweetwise]

Deathslinger x doctor or deathslinger x oni? Headcanons or fluff for whichever one you choose, I don’t mind :) (happy birthday to your blog!)

oh it’s been a long time since i’ve written sparkslinger! thanks for requesting <3 i made this as a continuation to my previous fic of them, i hope that’s ok!

word count: 1740

Caleb X Herman: Accidental martyr

Since starting his arrangement with Herman, Caleb had to admit that his time in this neverending hell had become a lot more entertaining.

Whether it was getting roped into questionable experiments, late nights drinking cheap whiskey in the saloon, or his own sporadic visits to the old hospital, being around the doctor was a great way to alleviate the boredom between trials.

Unfortunately, that often came at the cost of Caleb’s sanity.

This moment was a prime example of such an occurrence. After Herman had showed up to their latest encounter with a torn jacket and fresh wounds, Caleb was practically forced to play doctor to make sure the man didn't succumb to his injuries.

That didn't mean he had to be nice about it, though.

“Figures ye’d be cocky enough to try to take the bitch out on yer own,” Caleb snarked.

He attempted to clumsily dress one of the numerous gashes marring the doctor’s shoulders; the Entity’s handiwork, no doubt.

“What can I say? I’m a man who likes to push the limits—shit!” Herman hissed out a curse when Caleb tightened the bandage a little too forcefully.

“Don’t do it again,” Caleb growled, masking the uneasy feeling in his chest with anger.

Herman waved off both the threat and concern with a simple "Yes, yes, now get on with it" and Caleb went back to his mediocre job of caring for the wounds.

Since that first night in the saloon, they’d never talked about whatever this was between them. And that suited Caleb just fine; he was a man of few words, and if anything, he should thank his luck that the blabbermouth he kept for company hadn’t deemed it a subject worth discussing.

Apart from a few snide comments of Herman getting his ass kicked by the Entity, Caleb didn’t bring up the incident again.

And he’d probably have forgotten about it completely, if he hadn’t happened to pick up some spare parts from Autohaven a few days later.

“Are you alright?” Philip asked as soon as Caleb arrived at their designated meet-up spot.

“Just dandy,” Caleb drawled, inspecting the Wraith’s latest haul of scrap from the junkyard.

“You don’t have to act tough, Caleb,” Philip insisted, clearly not getting the hint.

Caleb whipped around to give the other killer a properly disgusted look that he hoped conveyed just how little he appreciating being coddled like a damn child.

“It’s okay; we’ve all been there. I understand,” Philip said, giving a look of sympathy that made Caleb’s skin crawl.

“The fuck you on about, boy?” Caleb spat.

“The Entity,” Philip said.

The Wraith flinched at his own words, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“It… punishes us when we’re not brutal enough or efficient enough,” Philip said, lowering his voice. “And after your leg—there have been rumors, you know.”

Caleb felt the anger bubbling up. Not only did he hate people bringing up his brief time of injury and subsequent uselessness in trials, he also had an inkling of just who had been spreading these specific rumors.

“What kind’a rumors?” Caleb asked.

“You’ve been going to the hospital a lot to treat your wounds,” Philips said. “Herman even had to borrow ointments from Sally, since you’ve been coming in so often.”

Caleb’s eye twitched as he tried to reign his temper. Herman knew damn well that Caleb was insistent on keeping their whatever-it was a secret, yet he seemed to happily gossip to anyone he came across.

“‘Scuse me,” Caleb said. “I’ma need to have a chat with the good doctor.”

When Caleb slammed open the door to Herman’s office, the man didn’t even flinch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t break my furniture,” the doctor merely offered, not even looking up from his book. “I could hear you stomping here from across the hospital.”

“You,” Caleb snarled, grabbing Herman by the collar. “What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Herman said, infuriatingly calm even when face to face with a very dangerous and very angry gunslinger.

“Why does Phil think I’m gettin’ beat up by spider-bitch?” Caleb spat. “Why does Sally know I’ve been comin’ here and you need a bunch’a salve for it?”

“Oh,” Herman said, finally getting his point. “That’s not something you should worry about.”

“Try me,” Caleb snarled, tightening his grip around the man’s jacket collar.

“It might be easier to talk without the strangulation,” Herman countered, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.

Caleb released his hold but didn’t back off, crowding the man against his office chair.

“Then talk,” Caleb commanded.

“Very well,” Herman said. “As you may or may not know, our Eldritch overlord closely monitors our performance in trials. However, if said performance isn't up to par, it isn’t afraid to take disciplinary measures.”

“So ya didn’t fight it, it fought you? That what yer sayin’?” Caleb asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Herman said, still annoyingly secretive.

“So what’s that gotta do with me? And stop fuckin’ horseshittin’,” Caleb said.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Herman paused, as considering how to phrase the message simply enough for Caleb to understand. “There was word of the Entity being more agitated than usual. I concluded it was only a matter of time before it chose you as its target, and as a precaution, I deliberately attempted to draw its ire.”

If Caleb was confused before, he was even more so now. The doctor had… volunteered to be the Entity's pincushion? And for what?

“Why?” Caleb asked, hesitantly stepping back from the man and his unknown motives.

“You’re my patient,” Herman simply answered.

“Oh, like these sorry fuckers?” Caleb said, pointing at a human heart sitting neatly in a jar on the desk. “You wanna cut me up yerself, that it?”

“...No.”

“Then what? Ya get off on bein’ tortured?” Caleb prodded, angry at still not getting a real answer. “Well, what is it!?”

“I don’t know!” Herman snapped, slamming the book shut.

It was the first time Caleb had seen the doctor lose his composure, and on reflex he reached for the empty holster on his hip.

“I’ve spent over a decade studying the human psyche, and I don’t know,” Herman said, moving to stand up. “I have no illusions of morality, yet seeing you in agony over your leg—”

“I was fine!” Caleb rebutted.

“The thought of inflicting more pain on you was simply out of the question. So I offered myself up in your stead, until you were recovered. And then I… just kept going.”

“Hold on,” Caleb realized. “You’ve—for all this time!? It’s been, what, months?”

“Fifty-three days, according to my calculations,” Herman said, so matter-of-fact.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers,” Caleb said. “That shit ends now! ‘M not about to let you deal with my punishment!”

Herman was silent, for once, and Caleb could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was a sudden realization that Herman probably felt the same way that Caleb did, a few days ago when he saw the man badly hurt.

Protective.

The anger slowly released from Caleb’s body, and he took a step toward the doctor in a silent peace offering.

“I’ma big boy, doc,” Caleb said. “Been through shit none of yer experiments even come close to. I'm not fuckin' made o’ glass."

"I realize that," Herman said, sighing. "It wasn't my intention to patronize you."

"Pfft, like that ain’t your goal most days," Caleb shot back, the good side of his face drawing into a smirk.

"Well," Herman said with a dry chuckle. "Not in this particular instance."

An apology was left unsaid, but Caleb didn't want one. Still, he kept unwavering eye contact, waiting for a promise that never came.

"And?" Caleb asked when neither of them were budging.

Herman sighed in annoyance, most likely peeved at having been out-stubborned.

"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Herman reluctantly assured.

"Good," Caleb said, and then inexplicably felt unsure about where that left them. "So, uh… we good, or…?"

Herman smiled. He usually just grinned, or giggled or laughed like a psychopath, but now he looked stupidly handsome with a smile stretching over his lips and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Splendid," Herman said.

Caleb could only withstand another few seconds of looking at the damn smile before his patience ran out.

"Get over here," Caleb said, tugging the doctor closer by his lapels and into a kiss.

They didn't do this often, and feeling the warm, chapped lips against his own, Caleb couldn't help but think what a damn shame it was. After the injury to his jaw that felt like a lifetime ago, Caleb didn't think he'd be doing much kissing for the rest of his days, but Herman never seemed bothered by it.

Large hands settled on his hips and Caleb could feel the dormant energy lying underneath, electricity always at the doctor's fingertips. It was absurd to think that their hands, constantly used for killing and more often than not caked with their victims' blood, could be used to hold each other this gently.

Realizing he was getting alarmingly sappy from nothing more than a kiss, Caleb pulled away from the liplock and reluctantly stepped away from the doctor's embrace. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide the reddening of his sickly pale cheeks.

"Alright, now come on," Caleb urged, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Are we going somewhere?" Herman asked.

"Yer comin' to Glenvale where I can keep an' eye on ya," Caleb said. "Don't trust ya not to break a promise."

The words came out harsher than he meant to. Luckily, Herman didn’t appear to take it personally, instead going to grab some of his things without any further fuss.

"If you wanted a romantic getaway this badly, you should have just asked," Herman teased.

"Shut up," Caleb said half-assedly.

Watching Herman pocket a jar of an unknown substance, Caleb suddenly remembered something crucial.

"Oh, one more thing," Caleb said.

"I'm all ears.”

“Tell Sally to keep ‘er fuckin’ trap shut,” Caleb snarked.

He received a fit of maniacal giggles in return, and Caleb realized that the sound that once grated on his nerves now brought a sense of belonging.

He still didn't know what this was between them, but he'd be damned if he let it go.

[lofitowns]

fireworks - mammon

❝ I OFTEN THINK THE NIGHT IS MORE ALIVE AND RICHLY COLORED THAN THE DAY ❞

in which a certain white-haired demon keeps pulling you away from his brothers (gn! reader)

         fandom ; obey me!

         word count ; 2085

         warnings ; n/a

         (y/n) - your name 

this is based on the recent summer festival event :) i love mammon with my whole heart

this isn’t the best thing i’ve ever written, considering i haven’t written in a while, but i hope you like it! it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope i did alright. i tried hard to find mistakes, but if i missed any, don’t hesitate to tell me!

     You couldn’t contain your excitement as your feet hit the pavement and lights danced in your vision. It had been a while since you had been to a proper festival. 

     You walked past countless booths, each one seeming more incredible than the last. The games didn’t look all that different from the ones you had in the human world, which surprised you. There was buttery popcorn and sickly sweet candy, the smells were intoxicating.

     Mammon, the ever spirited boy, was jumping around. The smile on his face was one of radiance, you wished it would stay like that forever. It nearly brought you to tears. 

     “I’m so psyched!” He exclaimed, tugging on your sleeve with a faint blush on his cheeks. You heard Beel’s deep laugh behind you, “We haven’t even started yet, and he’s already fired up!”

     Once your booth was set up, each of the boys was beaming at their handiwork. It was nice to see them all working together for a change.

     Lucifer explained the outline of the evening. You would all rotate between cooking and selling based on the lots you drew earlier. There would be two cooks and two salespeople while everyone else was free to wander the festival. 

     According to this system, you’d be selling first alongside Mammon. You felt a sort of tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach as your lips quirked up.

     Ever since you arrived at the House of Lamentations, you felt the closest to the white-haired demon. He made you feel safe and comfortable. He was your first after all, and he never failed to remind anyone and everyone. His brothers always teased him because of this, but you didn’t mind. You thought it was cute.

     “I guess you and me are up first for sellin’, (y/n). Think ya can manage?” Mammon questioned, moving so he stood behind the counter.

     “You can count on me!” You assured him, even if you were a bit nervous. You had never done anything like this up in the human world, but the only way to learn was to do.

     He let out a soft chuckle, “That’s what I like to hear!”

     It didn’t take long for a few customers to walk by, stopping to gaze at the bright pink sign Asmo had painted. You had suggested making it stand out, to which he wholeheartedly agreed. 

     “Welcome!” Mammon greeted, drawing out the second part of the word, “How about a deliciously sweet candy apple? The sugar coating’s crunchy, and we use only the freshest apples!” His words seemed to draw people in. He had always been charismatic, it seemed almost second nature to him.

     The couple nodded, placing an order for two apples. 

     “Way to go!” You complimented him with a smile after handing the two their orders. 

     “What, are you in awe of the Great Mammon’s sales skills?” A scoff left your lips, “I ain’t gonna lose to anyone when it comes to stuff like this!”

     It was mere moments before another demon stopped in front of your booth. Mammon shoved you forwards, “You’re up next, (y/n)!” 

     You took a deep breath and greeted him, leaning over the counter, “Hey, handsome!” That sure got his attention, “Come try out glossy candy apples!” You finished it off with a big smile.

     “That’s it! And here’s two for you, sir! Please come again!” Mammon handed over the apples before turning back to you, “You nailed it!”

     It went on like that for a while, you and Mammon would take turns trying to lure in customers. After a while, it seemed to come naturally and you were almost sold out.

     Lucifer came forwards to let the two of you off on a break, meaning your shift was halfway over.

     “Here, have a drink. You’ve earned it,” The white-haired demon’s hand outstretched to you, holding a small paper cup.

     Both of you took a drink, you using the opportunity to take in the figure in front of you. While you always thought he looked handsome, he looked especially so tonight. The lights cast by the red and white lanterns gave his smile a glow that felt, ironically, heavenly. The gold, white, and red colors of his yukata were vibrant against his tanned skin, making you almost drool.

     “You did pretty well,” He spoke, breaking you out of your trance.

     “Thanks to you, Mammon.”

     Your words brought a bright blush to his cheeks, you had to hold back your laughter. He was so easy to fluster, it was adorable.

     “Wh-What’s with the cute act? You lookin’ for a kiss?”

     It was your turn to turn red. You could feel your face heating up, flowing to the tips of your ears. Your eyes danced with mirth, taking a step closer to him.

     “Yep.”

     His eyes widened, it seemed like he thought you would have said no. “Fine! But only because ya want it so bad,” He tried to play it off, but his face had definitely gotten redder.

     It seemed like he was going agonizingly slow, waiting for you to back up if this was a joke. You reached your hand up, placing it softly on his face. He nuzzled his nose into it.

     Your lips pressed against each other’s soon after. They were a bit chapped and tasted like the candy coating of your apples. What were mere seconds felt like an eternity. You always felt like time stopped when you were this close to him.

     His eyes were still closed when you pulled back, the red still evident on his face. A soft sigh fell from his lips when he opened them and smiled. The two of you held each other’s gaze for a few moments before he broke the comfortable silence.

     “Okay, I’ve got my pep back! Rest up, then let’s go sell some more apples!”

     The pair of you worked in sync, one greeting and taking Grimm while the other handed apples out.

     “Mammon, (y/n), it’s almost time to switch,” Lucifer finally announced, causing you to turn your gaze over to him.

     “Finally! I’m exhausted,” The demon next to you let out a huff, reaching his arms up and arching his back as he stretched.

   -----

     You didn’t see much of Mammon until all the candy apples sold out. After that, you had to take your booth down, it felt like you had only just put it up. The night was going by so fast!

     With all the brothers finally free, you took the opportunity to walk around with them. It was a struggle to try and keep up with how energetic Mammon was. He would often take your hand, trying to lead you off somewhere else but the rest of them were always close behind. They weren’t about to leave you alone with him of all people.

     When music filled the air, you were all drawn to a small plaza filled with people dancing. You watched in awe at the couples twirling and laughing, it seemed like they were having a great time.

     You reached over, grabbing Mammon’s hand, “Come on!” You laughed, a smile gracing your lips. 

     He happily agreed, holding onto you tight so you wouldn’t slip away.

     Mammon switched between twirling you around and holding you close, but he never once let your hand go. As he looked down at you with those cobalt eyes, you felt like you two were the only people in the world.

     Every so often, his brothers would try to cut in, claiming it was their turn with the human! He was hogging them! Mammon would swiftly pull you away, shaking his head at them and sticking his tongue out. This caused you to laugh, setting your forehead on his shoulder.

     The two of you ended up gently swaying, his right hand rubbing up and down your back while his left held your hand in his. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again, looking away while his face flushed red once more.

     “What is it?” You inquired, reaching your hand up to brush away the bangs that fell over his eyes.

     “I... I was just gonna say ya look really... Nice right now.”

     A genuine smile grew on your face, letting your hand drag down his cheek. “I think you look incredibly nice right now.” He finally gained the courage to look at you, a bright grin growing on his lips.

     “Of course ya think I do! I am the Great Mammon after all!”

     You laughed as he returned to his normal self. You leaned up, rubbing your nose into his cheek, placing a soft kiss on it.

     “H-Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?” He stuttered out but none the less, he brought you closer.

     “Ah, it’s almost time for the fireworks...” You heard Lucifer comment, causing you to pull from Mammon’s embrace. 

     “Oh, that’s right! Hey, (y/n)! Come with me. I know a great spot for watching the fireworks!” Mammon took your hand in his once more, starting to pull you off in a direction opposite his brothers.

     It wasn’t long before you heard your name being shouted behind you, but you were too giddy to care. Voicing your curiosity, you asked Mammon where he was taking you.

     He answered with a simple smile, quickening his pace.

     The scene in front of you was striking. He tugged you up a hill which overlooked the whole festival. The fireworks started soaring off into the sky as you took a seat next to your demon.

     Your eyes filled with wonder and amazement as you took in all the lights, colors, and smells in front of you. “Wow, Mammon.”

     “Yeah, pretty, ain’t it! I knew you’d like it, I am your first man after all!” He grinned, proud of himself.

     “Yeah, you are,” With that, you wrapped your arms around his waist, nudging his arm over your shoulders. 

     There was an undeniable heat radiating off of him, fueling the redness in both of your cheeks.

     The lights danced in the sky, letting off sparks of red and green and yellow. 

     Mammon turned his head, raising a hand to grab your chin. He tilted your head to the side so you were facing him.

     The look of utter admiration in his eyes was enough to give you butterflies. The tickling in your stomach increased every second he looked at you, you felt like your heart might beat out of your chest. You had never had anyone look at you quite like this before.

    “Can I... Can I kiss ya?” His voice was soft as velvet, searching your face for any kind of hesitation. You had never had anyone care this much about you either.

     Your words were stuck in your throat, so you simply nodded.

     His touch on your cheek was tender as you watched his eyes flutter shut. You were in the process of shutting yours when you heard loud voices and rushed footsteps. A soft growl left Mammon as he pulled back.

     “They’re up here, I know it!” Levi exclaimed, scrambling up the hill.

     “Mammon! You can’t just take the human off like that! You’ve had them enough today!” Asmo cried as the six demons came into view.

     You turned your head to look at the brothers and, suddenly, your quiet filled with the sound of raised voices.

     “Come now, Mammon. You know you can’t have them for yourself.”

     “That’s not fair!”

     “Hey! They wanted to be here with me!”

     "Yeah, right!"

     You sighed, shaking your head as you grew tired of their silly fight. It could be annoying, but it's not like you had seven cute guys fighting for your affection in the human world.

     “How about we all watch them together?” You suggested, looking from one brother to the next.

     It took a few moments for them to process what you said.

     Mammon was the first to speak, grumbling, but in agreement. “Alright, fine. If that’s what my human wants.”

     You weren’t sure how much of the firework show was left, but you were okay spending it with all of them. You’d have to get your kiss later.

     Seven bodies surrounded you, Mammon to your right, and Belphie snuggling up to you on the left. You took a look at all of them, smiling to yourself contentedly. 

     Mammon was sulking next to you, not at all happy that his time with you had been interrupted. You reached your hand over, lacing your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze. He looked down at you, his eyes immediately softening.

     You leaned up, pressing your lips against his chin.

     “Hey! Wait! That’s not fair!”

thank you for reading :) have a good day!

[beautifulchaostrash]

Hi! could I get some fluff with Lester Sinclair and a female S/O? like a date, they go to the woods to search for animal bones and other cool stuff that can be found in the forest and at some point they get lost because they were too distracted being adorable? thank you so much!!!💞💞💞💞 love ya! hope you're doing well💞

A Paisley Afternoon

Lester Sinclair x Fem!Reader

SFW, mentions of abuse, swearing

Word count: 4,884

assasdjhajfsgawgeu you are SO sweet! QwQ I hope you’re doing good as well!

Quick disclaimer: I have not seen the House of Wax, and I haven’t really written for the Sinclair brothers that much, so if their characterization seems off plz let me know! This was hella fun to write and I’m super glad you requested this! (I’m also lowkey simping for Lester Sinclair, what have u done to me)

I know u asked for fluff and while this mostly is, I made the ending kinda angsty cause I can’t help myself...T-T but it has a happy ending tho

cut because this is a loooong ass fic

“S-so uh, Y/N! V-Vinnie asked me to uh, go get some stuff from the forest, ya know, for his artstuffs? And uh, ‘was wonderin’ if you wanted to come with, since yer a big fan of nature and stuff, heh. I-if you don’t that’s ok I understand I-”

You silenced his nervous rambling with a kiss on the cheek.

“I’d love to! Could we make it a picnic? I don’t get to cook for you often,” you hummed.

Lester blushed a deep red. “Y-yeah if you wanna, I’d love that...uh, m-meet you at our usual spot? Four pm?”

“I’ll see you then!” You gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before turning to go back into the house.

He gawked for a minute before jogging down the porch steps, stammering his goodbyes. He drove off as if he had gotten de-pantsed during gym class and was retreating to hide out his shame in the locker room.

...

He would never call this a date. Not in a million years. After all ‘Dates are s'posed to be nice and fancy, and if there’s one thing I ain’t it’s that!’. Lester’s self-deprecating humor came back in your mind as you sat on the edge of the boarded-up well. The well served as your go-to meet spot for these kinds of outings.

Even though you had both been dating for years, Lester always treated every date as if it were his first. As if he couldn't believe that you wanted to spend time with him. It broke your heart to think about, but it was sweet in away.

Every time he came up with an excuse. ‘Bo wants me out of the house for the evening'...'We need more parts for the House of Wax, and I need some help'... 'You’ve spent a lot of time inside lately, you should go on a walk'! And I’ll come with to protect you in case people come by.’  But you knew better.

You knew that Lester was too nervous to ask you outright. You’re snapped out of your daydream by the slam of a car door. Looking up to see Lester jogging towards you, Jonsey following close behind.

“S-sorry I’m late! Lost track of ti-...Y/N! How many times have I told you not to sit on that well!?!” he picked up his pace, sprinting to where you sat.

You sheepishly stood up, not noticing that you had been leaning on it in the first place.

“Sorry sweetheart, guess I jus’ got tired,”

He pulled you into a tight hug, then pulled away to check your body for injuries. He was like a flustered mother goose, almost.

“That well is ancient, why it-it was 'prolly here before Bo and Vinnie were even born! If you p-put too much weight on it, it could-”

“Collapse and I could get hurt, I know, I know. Gah! You worry too much darling,” You stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss into the bridge of his nose.

He stood back and put his hands on his hips, eyeing you up and down.

“Why I oughta-” He wagged a finger in your direction.

“What? You oughta what? What’re you gonna do huh?” you smirked and leaned into him, tilting your head.

“I oughta…” He trailed off at your sudden challenge, blushing hard.

His eyes widened and a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“I oughta kiss you, fer being so reckless!” He crossed his arms.

You giggled and put a hand over your forehead. “Oh no! What a tragedy! Forced to kiss the most handsome man in the world! Whatever shall I do???”

You sank to the ground and leaned against Jonsey, putting a hand to your forehead. Lester looked down at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Aww shucks!” He muttered.

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his waist and ghosting your lips against his. Lester pressed his hands against your waist and closed the distance between you two. You stayed connected for a moment, savoring the tangy taste of sweat and dirt on your tongue. You only broke away when you heard Jonesy snuffling around in the picnic basket you brought with. After shooing her away from your food, Lester went back to his truck to gather his bag, and you were both on your way.

You and Lester walked through the forest, taking your time to pick your way for the undergrowth. Even though you both did this often, and usually traveled the same path each time, you never failed to find stuff.

Jonesy, not learning her lesson from the last time, went after a badger and got her ass kicked again. Leading to a very angry rant from Lester, even though she couldn’t understand what she was saying.

Even though you were looking for animal bones, anything was game. From discarded beer cans to cool looking rocks, weird plants, whatever you managed to find.

You both stopped in a small clearing, the trees were sparser here and the grass a bit taller. A perfect place for treasures to hide. Lester beamed, moving to start sifting through the vegetation. You set your basket down nearby and followed suit, hiking up your pant legs to avoid the mud.

A few minutes and a couple of oddly shaped rocks later, Lester called out to you. He showed off a very excellent stick, that was a bit shorter than him and looked thick and sturdy. He handed it to you, proclaiming that it was going to be your 'wizard staff'.

“Wizard staff?” you chuckled, grabbing the stick from his hands.

“Why yes! You are the most magical person I’ve met! You’ve got to be some sort of powerful enchantress! Sein' as you’ve put a spell on my heart~” he smiled and grabbed you by the waist, leaning down to kiss you.

You gasped when he pulled away, blushing at his cheesy comments. You sure as shit weren’t gonna let him get away with it without firing back with some of your own.

“That’s funny, seeing as you’re the one who’s charmed me~” you whispered in his ear, your breath hot on his sensitive skin.

You spun around and stooped down to pick through the grass,  ignoring his flustered gaping. He smiled and kneeled next to you in the dirt, enjoying the silence of the forest.

You both trek on for another hour or so, before finding a level area near a creek to collapse and have lunch. You made quick work, unfurling the blanket and setting out the food. You tossed a few treats towards Jonsey to make sure your meal wouldn't get sacrificed.

You fell onto the ground with a thud, letting your aching muscles relax. Even though it wasn't hot out, the humidity made doing anything outside torture. You don't know how Lester managed to do it every day.

“You need to eat, here d-drink some water,” he pushed a canteen into your hands along with a sandwich.

“Water?” Taking a swig from the canteen, you smirked. “Why, I think you have more than quenched my thirst, gorgeous~”

Lester went red from ear to ear as he realized that you were ogling his backside while he rummaged around in his bag. He flushed and sat down next to you, suddenly very invested in the ham sandwich in front of him. You finished your sandwich and leaned against his shoulder. Lester blushed and started stammering. You silence him with a kiss, one hand moving to cup his cheek, the other moving to his chest.

He reciprocated, wrapping his arms around your waist and deepening the kiss. His lips slid against yours, chapped and sweaty, and tasting faintly of blood. It was more than gross, it was ghastly, repulsive even, and yet so so addicting. Every time you think you get enough of him he leaves you yearning for more. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought him to be a succubus or some kind of land-dwelling siren.

But nope, it was just Lester. Lester bringing you gifts in the form of wildflowers, pretty rocks, and books. Lester giving you full-throated, heartfelt praise and sappy comments. Lester giving you more passion and love and charm in one smile than anyone else could give you in a lifetime. Bo may be a smooth-talking seducer, but Lester? Lester was straight up husband material, and it made your heart melt.

And it made other things melt as well, you realized as you were craving more of him. You opened your mouth slightly, pushing your tongue on his lips to savor more of that sickly sweet taste. He obliged you, parting his lips to brush your tongues together. Straddling his waist, you press your body against his, leveraging a more intimate kiss.

He gave out a small groan, which only spurned you on further. Your  hand reached down to pull at the hem of his shirt, when his rough hands gripped your hips and pulled you off of him.

“Not in front of Jonesy!” he hissed into your ear.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the notion.

“Jonsey? Babe, she’s just a dog she doesn’t care what we’re doin’, she doesn’t even understand what sex is!”

He puffed up , a bit offended by your words. “She is not jus’ a dog, she is an innocent creature and does not deserve to be exposed to that kind o’ stuff!”

You snickered again, conceding defeat. “Alright alright, but you owe me, mister,” you teased.

He smiled and kissed the top of your head as you snuggled into his side.

“Don’ worry bout a thing darlin’, I always pay my debts,”

You both relaxed, exchanging kisses and occasionally commenting about work, or the weather. After a while, you both decided it was time to move on, and you packed up camp.

As you stopped to refill the canteens from the creek, your eye noticed something odd in the water.

Upon closer inspection, you realized it was a very smooth rock. You, of course, fished it out to take home with you. Only then did you realize what about it that had caught your eye in the first place. The rock itself was a dark color, flat, and about the same circumference as a small wine bottle. Right smack in the middle of the rock was a hole going clear through to the other side.

Your jaw dropped. It was a hag stone. You had heard of them before but had never expected to ever find one naturally occurring. They were ridiculously rare and only formed under specific circumstances. Even though it seemed to be a bit silly, you mentally thanked the forest and the creek for giving you such a gift. “Lester!” you called out. “Come look at what I found!”

You ran over to him and dropped the stone into his palm. His eyes widened, his fingers running over the smooth surface, tracing the round hole.

“You found this in th’ creek?” he held the stone up to his face and peered through the hole curiously.

“Yeah! It was just sitting there,”

“Well I’ll be, I never seen anything like it!”

“They’re called Hag Stones! It's rumored they hold powerful magic, since they're only created through natural means,”

Lester hummed and pushed the stone back into your hands.

“That’s a real hell of a find y/n!” He smiled.

You palmed the rock, thinking for a moment. An idea popped into your head.

“Say Lester do you have any rope or string?” you asked.

He nodded and went to retrieve it from his pack. It was a small bundle of thin para-cord, stolen off some unfortunate tourist. 

“Perfect!” you beamed.

Taking the loose end, you compared the length to your neck to gauge it, then took a small pocket knife and cut the rope. Looping one end through the hole in the rock, then tying both ends in a secure knot. Beckoning Lester to lean down, you looped the necklace over his head, leaving it to rest on his neck . He looked down at it and smiled.

“When Hag Stones are worn around the neck like this, they make the wearer pretty much immune to curses and bad luck. It’s even said that if you look through it, you’ll be able to see into the kingdom of the Fae Folk! And because we found this one in the forest, it grants you favor with the tree spirits!” you bit your tongue and blushed, realizing how silly and hippy-dippy you sounded.

“‘Course that’s just all legend, but it is still pretty though, and I think it suits you nicely.”

Lesters’ eyes widened, and he tried to lift the stone from around his neck. “I can't! Y-you need this more than me!”

You snatched his hands from the cord and laced your fingers in his, shrugging.

“You deserve it baby, you deserve to be protected. You deserve to be happy and loved too! I’m plenty safe with you and Jonesy around. It’s your turn to be taken care of,” you leaned and pressed your forehead against his.

Reaching up, you rubbed his cheek, surprised when your hand came away wet. Looking up you saw that he was crying.

“Oh, Lester? What’s wrong sweetie?” you wiped away the streams of tears with your thumbs.

“N-nothing I just-” he closed his eyes and let out a choked sob. His hands came to rest atop yours. “No one’s ever t-told me that, that i d-deserve to be happy and s-safe!”

He burrowed his face in your shoulder and sobbed. You stood and held him there, rocking back and forth while rubbing circles on his back in through his hair. His arms gripped you tight enough to hurt, but you didn’t mind. Even as you cooed and shushed him, anger bubbled behind your soothing tone.

You were furious. Furious at his parents for treating him like he didn’t exist, at Bo for bullying him constantly, and at Vincent too. Even though Vincent wasn’t as nasty, he still brushed Lester off like a horsefly that wouldn’t leave him alone. When Lester tried to talk to him, show him something, even just say hi, Vincent would always sign the same things.

‘I’m busy,’

‘Go bother Bo,’

‘Lester please, I have a headache, be quiet,’

It made your blood boil and your vision go red. Yeah sure, Vincents’ mute and can’t eat or smile without his deformity causing him pain. Bo was treated like the devil incarnate by his parents in favor of Vincents’ artistic talent. But they had the same fucking parents. The same fucking childhood. The least they could do is treat him like something more than a piece of dirt. Some days you wondered if they even cared about him.

You snapped out of your ire when Lester pulled you into a tender kiss, lower lip still trembling slightly. You pulled back and planted kisses all over his face, on his nose, chin, eyelid, everywhere. He devolved into a fit of wet giggles, his nose crinkling as your lips tickled his handsome features. He wiped his eyes again and looked you in the eyes lovingly.

“I love you, Y/N,”

“I love you too, Lester,”

You smiled and gave him one final kiss. He beamed. Taking the stone, he held it up to his eye, peering through the hole at you.

“Well hey! Would’ya lookit that! I’ve already found myself a fairy! And a mighty cute one at that!~”

You giggled and pushed him away bashfully. “Go pack up the rest of our stuff ya goofball!”

>>>>>

Following the river, you continued to look for stuff along the winding trail. You snagged a pretty decent haul, all things considered. Animal bones and carcasses and rocks and some jewelry left behind by a camper. Nothing really out of the norm for the pair of you, and things were going great.

That is until you realize too little too late, that the sun had all but set, and left you in the dark with no idea of where you are. You tried to follow the creek down back the way you came and kept following it. And kept following it, and….

“Lester? I don’t recognize any of this…”

You hoped that Lester would put on his brave act and reassure you that yes, Y/n. He knew the woods like the back of his hand and that you would be home in no time. You did not get that.

“Yeah, me neither, I don’ know where the hell we ended up. It’s too dark for me to read my compass an’ I left the flashlights at Ambrose ‘cause I didn’t think we’d be out past dark,” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. “Ah, damn it’s dead! Knew I shoulda charged it before I left this morning! Did you bring yours?”

The lack of panic and fear in his voice made your skin crawl. How the hell is he so calm??? And no, you didn’t bother to bring your phone with you this time, not wanting to be annoyed with phone calls from work. Lester seemed to notice your mounting panic and quickly set about comforting you.

“Y/N! Y/n, dont be upset, we’ll be ok! You got me an' Jonesy here to protect you. I’m pretty sure that this creek leads to the main road, and we can follow the road back to Ambrose. You have extra food in that basket right?”

“Uh, yeah, treats for Jonesy, some apples and an extra sandwich I think, and we have water in the canteens still,”

“Alrighty then, If worse comes to absolute worse, we’ll make camp for the night in the forest. Then I can make a fire and we’ll head out in th mornin' when it’s light out, ok? Hey…” He reached out and put a hand on your shoulder. “We’re gonna be ok.” he said with an air of finality, putting you somewhat at ease and strenghtening your resolve.

You continued to follow the creek, holding hands so you wouldn’t get separated. You walked on for what seemed like hours, but eventually, you came across the road Lester talked about. You would’ve cried out for joy if you weren't so goddamn tired. You hadn’t realized how far you went into the forest. Lester stepped out into the middle of the road and looked towards the sky, looking for something. You stepped out and looked up with him. You gasped at the sight of the sky. You had never seen so many stars in the sky before. Well, that’s a lie, Lester took you stargazing often, but it still stole your breath every time.

“Fuck” he whispered under his breath. “It’s a new moon,”

“Why’s that bad?” you asked.

“Can’t tell which way east is, ‘least not very easily,” he muttered.

He scanned the sky further, peering at it with an intense stare. Even though you were horribly, horribly lost, you were happy to be able to spend time with Lester. A little bit of impromptu stargazing was also a plus.

“Jesus, you think after a while i’d start to remember to bring the flashlights, huh? Guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” He chuckled.

You reached out for Lesters’ hand again, squeezing it gently. He continued to curse under his breath before giving up on whatever it was he was looking for. “Y/N, I’m really sorry this turned into such a shitshow, I-”

“It’s ok pumpkin, shit happens sometimes. The only thing we can really do is try to do better next time,”

“Yeah, I guess,”

You both stood there staring at the sky, not knowing what to do or where to go from here. So you stood, and stared at the sky, in the middle of the road, like a couple o’ crazies.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the car approaching you in the road. A door slammed, jarring you out of your stupor. You rubbed your eyes, stuggling to adjust to the birghtness of the headlights. You heard a voice call out.

“Lester? Jonesy?” it was Bo, of all people, and he seemed to be somewhat concerned  for once in his goddamn life.

“Yeah we are we, just got,” Lester was cut off, the worry vanishing from Bo in an instant once he realized you guys were ok.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!?!? IT’S ALMOST ONE IN THE FUCKING MORNING AND YOU GUYS SAID YOU WOULD BE BACK AT DAWN!!!” he roared. “You haven’t been answering your phone Lester, and YOU, for whatever fucking reason, decided to leave yours at home, what in the fuck happened?!?”

“We got lost,” Lester shrugged.

“Lost?” he hissed. “Fucking lost? Let me guess, asswipe didn’t bother to bring flashlights did he?” Bo asked you, sarcasm and venom dripping from his voice like sour honey.

He was about to launch into another bought of cursing, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Bo whipped around to face his twin, who signed something quickly. You couldn’t make it out in the darkness, but whatever he said, it pissed Bo off.

“Don’t you fuckin’ ‘Bo’ me, I’m tired of this lardass going ‘round ‘causin trouble!” He whipped towards you and jabbed his finger in your face. “And you! You-”

Something inside you snapped. You were exhausted, in pain, and flat out sick of everything.

“What?! I’m what Bo? I’m a worthless, good for nothin’ piece o shit? Huh? Just like your FUCKING BROTHER HUH?!?”

“Ya know what, now that you say it-” he smirked.

CRACK The air around you was still, and thick. Bo doubled over, trying to comprehend what happened. You clenched your jaw, refusing to show tears on your face, even as pain blossomed through your joints.

“Not another fucking word out of your goddamn mouth, Bo Sinclair, or so help me god I’m gonna be the one gluing your lips shut! Got it?” your voice quaked low and dangerous, and even Bo knew better than to try and talk back.

“The way you treat Lester is fucking shameful! The ONLY thing you seem to be good at is making people feel like shit, and I would fucking expect an ADULT MAN to have more emotional maturity THAN A FUCKING THREE OLD!!!” you felt your voice go shrill and high, warbling with rage.

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT YOU PUNCH PEOPLE ‘CAUSE YOUR DADDY DIDN'T LOVE YOU, ‘CAUSE NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE, LESTER’S DADDY DIDN’T LOVE HIM EITHER, AND NEITHER DID HIS MOMMA!!! A detail you seem to fucking forget even though he’s YOUR FUCKING BROTHER, AND YOU SHOULD BE TREATING HIM WITH MORE RESPECT THAN YOU GIVE TO YOUR FUCKING PICKUP!!!

And you!”

Vincent jumped and almost fell backward when you turned to talk to him. You could see his eyes wide with fear under his waxy mask. Good. You wanted this lesson to fucking stick.

“You have less spine than your fucking wax statues! If you had even an ounce self respect, you’d grow a pair and stop putting up with Bo’s bullshit! Or at the very least, you’d stop cowering in the basement being all sad and tragic and try to be invested in what Lester is trying to say rather than blowing him off with bullshit excuses because you can’t be FUCKED to give shit!!!”

You finally let yourself pause, catching your breath. You heard Vincent shifting his weight on his feet, and felt the eye daggers Bo was stabbing you with. “You three are brothers, so fucking act like it,”

And with that, you grabbed Lester by the hand and led him to Bo’s truck. Neither Bo nor Vincent seemed to make any move to follow you. Opening the driver’s side door, you let Jonesy hop up into the back. Noticing that the keys were still in the ignition, you pulled them out and tossed them to Lester. You slid into the passenger seat and let out a silent sigh. Christ, did your head fucking hurt.

You noticed that Lester seemed a bit anxious, but you could tell that he was happy that someone stood up for him.

You looked over at the twins just in time to see Bo smack Vincent's hand away.

“DOn’t fuckin’ touch me!” he growled.

“Bo, get in the fucking truck,” you hissed.

Vincent scrambled through the driver’s side door into the backseat. You exhaled through your nose, noticing that he chose the seat opposite of where you were sitting.  Bo was a little late to the party, but you savored the humiliation of him having to crawl into the backseat of his truck.

Satisfied, you leaned against the headrest of your seat, trying to steady your breaths. The purr of the engine was a welcome distraction from the tense air around you. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point because the last thing you remember was Lester carrying you to bed. He gave you a kiss, whispering a gentle ‘thank you’ before you drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

BONUS:

Bo gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes.

“I cannot believe you are making me do this,” he mumbled.

“Please, Bo! I don’t wanna get yelled at again!” Vincent signed hastily.

Bo raised an eyebrow. “You really are a self absorbed prick, aren’t you?”

Vincent dropped his hands in exasperation before picking them up again. “Fine, It’s the right thing to do, and I’m a jerk just like you, now will you please-”

“Alright, alright,” Bo waved Vincents’ hands down.

He reluctantly got up from the couch and trudged up the stairs, Vincent tugging him along . Bo gently knocked on Lester’s bedroom door. Hearing a muffled ‘yes’, he opened it to see Lester standing near his dresser, putting his gear away. Y/n was fast asleep under the covers.

“She asleep?” He nodded his head towards your shape on the bed.

“Uh, yeah i think so, why?” Lester whispered.

“We need to talk,” Bo stated numbly.

“Oh...Uh, gimme a minuet,” he stuffed his pack in the wardrobe before following Bo and Vincent out into the living room.

Bo stood for a moment, shooting his twin a sour glare. He rubbed his forehead and inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry,” he groused.

Vincent looked at him expectedly as Lester tilted his head in confusion. Bo let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m sorry fer always yellin’ at you and tellin’ you yer a piece a shit, ‘cause ya aren’t. I know that you don’t mean to forget things. The reason why I got so angry tonight was ‘cause I was so damn worried about you, but that’s no excuse. So, I’ll try and uh, ‘manage my emotional outbursts', his words, not mine” Bo nodded at his twin.

“What he’s trying to say is that we both care about you, and we’ve both been letting our emotions dictate how we treat you.” His hands hesitated slightly before continuing. “I...as much as would like to believe, I’m not any better than Bo just because I don’t yell at you. I’m self absorbed, and I need to be more self aware and not let myself get strung up over little things,”

Lester sniffed, wiping the tears that were forming on his eyelids. “You wax-heads, of course I know you guys care about me! Why else would you come looking for me at ‘one in the fucking morning’?” he snickered. “I do appreciate your apologies though...I know you an’ Vinnie ain’t got it easy, god knows you didn’t, I was there, but that was it. Just, there. A bystander. I can’t help but wonder if I had said or done something maybe-”

“Lester,” Bo interrupted. “What happened to me-what happened to us is not your fault, or your responsibility.”

“I figure, but the problem is I’m still a bystander now, here in Ambrose. I don’t ever take charge of anythin’, I just stand there and wait for one of you to tell me to do something. Heh...that’s not really useful, ain’t It? I want-I should be takin’ a more active role in the House of Wax, we all have our part to play, don’t we?” “You’re right, we all need to work together,” Vincent signed.

Bo rolled his eyes and huffed, shaking his head at Vincent.

“OOOKAYY, if this shit gets any sweetter im gonna have a heart attack and die!” Bo stood up to leave. “Goodnight,”

“Oh no, not so fast mister!”

Lester wrapped his arms around Bo and pulled him into a hug. Vincent was quick to hug him from behind, pinning Bo between him and Lester.

“Alrighty, I love you too...ok that’s enough you can let me go

now...guys?....Helloooo?”

“We're not lettin' go 'til you hug back~,” Lester sang out.

Vincent rested his head on Bo’s shoulder in place of making a sarcastic remark. Bo grumbled, throwing his arms around Lester, who in turn, squeezed Bo tighter.

“Hey! A Sinclair Sandwich! Ain’t had one of these in a long time,” Lester giggled.

“Happy now?” Bo muttered.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Bo relaxed a little, allowing himself to sink into the physical affection. Vincent hummed happily in response, and Lester nuzzled into Bo’s other shoulder. Bo closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, believed that he was going to be okay.

-Mod Elith

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 6

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: tiny mention of canon-typical violence, fluff!!!! wow imagine that

Word Count: 1.15k

Gif Credit: x by @bobafvtt who is an angel baby that feeds my carrillo addiction

A/N: the ending of this timeline!!! not to worry tho more shall come soon 🤡also ive had “i really like you” by carly rae jepsen stuck in my head since i started this stupid thing and now u all finally get to see why

series masterlist   carrd   playlist 

You looked beautiful when you slept. You always looked beautiful, it didn't really matter when or how or where, but here - in his bed under morning light - you were iridescent. He’d spend hours looking at you if you let him, mapping out every expanse of your skin until he was dizzy with it. With you. Everything with you is softer around the edges, backlight and glowing from the inside out until the entire world is tinged sunburst yellow. Before he had to leave and it was painted scarlet again.

Horacio didn’t want to think about that now, though. It was Saturday morning on a summer day and your arms were slung around his neck. Everything else could wait.

You moved your head from the pillow beside him to rest on his chest, eyes flirting with the idea of opening. Not yet, please. Let me look a little longer.

“What time is it?” you mumbled, slurring and quiet. Your eyelashes brushed his collarbones as you looked up, heavy-lidded and slow. His hands left your waist to cup at your cheeks, fingers skimming sandpaper-light as they smoothed away the furrow of your brow.

“It’s still early,” he assured you, tracing the shell of your ear. “Go back to sleep.” You nodded, your head a dead weight on your neck as you settled.

Your tone was humorous when you met him with a mock salute, whispered and apparently oblivious to the way he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the words. “Yes, sir.”

⫸ ——– ⫷

“Horacio” you spoke into the pillows, muffled by down and cotton. Turning to face him, you were met with the sight of his bare back, rising slowly as he slept. “Isabella’s crying.”

He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he shifted. Snorting slightly at the sight of his bedhead, you contemplated the idea of grabbing a camera before getting up, your legs meeting the slight residual chill of morning air when you lifted the covers. The clock on his bedside table read just past six and you groaned, rubbing at your eyes with a sluggish hand as you walked towards the door. Twenty minutes later she was changed and sated, sleeping quietly again for what you hoped would be at least another two hours. Don’t jinx it.

Your bare feet met the cold tile of his kitchen floor as you stepped forward, mind still fogged over and molasses sticky. You could walk around his apartment with your eyes closed, though, so you weren’t too worried.

Coffee would be nice. Yes. Coffee. Motions slow and rehearsed, you opened the cabinet to bring out the mug with the chipped lip, white china smooth against your hands except for the single grained slope that had worn duller after years of rubbing touch. You leaned against the counter as you waited for the pot to fill, the rough granite pushing into your hip but doing little to wake you any further. The mug was filled shortly after and you forgoed any cream or milk, remembering how he only put in ungodly amounts of sugar. You took a hesitant sip, wincing at the heat and bitterness that stuck waxy to the roof of your mouth. You’d make another cup later. He could keep this one.

Setting the mug down on the small stand beside Horacio’s bed, you looked down at him. He looked handsome when he slept. Younger. Less stern, less hard and commanding the way you knew he could be but chose to quell. (Around you, anyway.) You brushed back the hair curling short on his forehead, biting down on your lip to resist the urge to grin like some love-sick teenager. It would be a little fitting, though. Love-sick. Drunk on it. A thing innocent but still shadowed, pressed down on all sides and smothering sweet. Like the faint trailing of a melody, echoing discordant on its reverb.

You lay back down, allowing yourself to be swallowed by the morning sun.

⫸ ——– ⫷

“Are we still just friends?” you teased, your fingers tracing mindless circles across his stomach. A kiss was placed at the crown of your head, slightly chapped.

“I don’t think we ever were just friends,” Horacio said with a small laugh, the words tickling and making you squirm. Humming quietly, you nodded.

“I guess not,” you agreed, shifting on the bed so you could turn and face him. “After all, I don’t think friends do this,” you said as your mouth scraped the stubble of his cheek, drawing out a small huff that fanned over your face. “Or this,” and you let it trail down to the curve of his jaw, the faint taste of salt sticking onto the dull grooves of your teeth.

You were gentle with it - with this broad, carved man that allowed your curiosities - light and saccharine to make up for all the time you had spent waiting, denying yourself of things readily given - a penance made all the more torturous by the cruelty of its beauty. But you were your own god now. “Or this,” you whispered as you finally reached his mouth.

Horacio’s chin dipped down, eyes tracing the swollen flesh of your lips as the pad of his thumb did the same.

You didn’t really believe in destiny but if it meant this, if it meant him, it was suddenly something more tangible. A body you could hold, arms that you knew would open, something that had somehow - slowly and without warning or notice - turned into someone.

“I like you,” you breathed.

“I like you, too.”

“No, I-,” you said a bit desperately, pleading. The words were hot honey in your mouth, dragged and longing for a thing you already had but were terrified of losing. “I really, really like you.” His small chuckle seeped through your hair, broad arms encircling your waist and pulling you in tighter. Lips met your temple, firm but still tender.

You pushed up from where you lay on the bed, hands splayed across his chest to steady yourself as you looked at the man beneath you. The words you had yet to say hung suspended in the air, enveloping the room in a hazy, gaseous thing that tasted bitter,  a bit like almonds and copper, in the back of your throat. You leaned down, gulping air with another press of your mouth against his, open and slotting easy. It was deeper this time - insistent and repeating all the things you both already took as gospel. I love you. I love you. I love you.

You pulled back, shared breaths falling in tandem between two beating chests. Your voice was quiet.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he smiled, a hand coming to cup the nape of your neck, guiding your head down until his lips ghosted across the bow of your mouth, heady smoke and sandalwood exhales prompting your eyes to close. “I love you, too.”

[softisdangerous]

Excerpt from Chap 17 of Call of the Blood

Eric’s POV - Thursday July 16th & Friday, July 17th, 2009

I closed the bar for the night. Interrogating the drainers had been useless, and their screams were both irritating and loud, but at least Chow enjoyed his work. Pam had been telling me for months that it was time to adjust our styling again, to keep up with the times and that my long hair was getting to the point of ridiculous. I did not like to change my hair, but I was inclined to let her pamper me a bit. I had been short tempered with her, nearly biting her head off at every question she asked me. My ill-temper was only exacerbated by the fact that I was ridiculously thirsty, and the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing to me was Jane’s fresh blood.

But I wasn’t about to put her at risk again. No, I lacked the control to drink from her right now. It was nearly unthinkable that after a thousand years I still couldn’t master all of my bloodlust, but I wasn’t too proud to admit it, if only to myself. It did have me questioning what made Jane so unique. I was beginning to wonder if she was all human, or if she had some latent ancestry that made her blood addictive, and made the drinker…what? What effect did she have on me? Insanity? Obsession?

Love?

I squashed that thought quickly. No, she was just unique and Godric was missing.

Pam was putting foul chemicals on my head and idly explaining what she was doing, but I wasn’t focusing on her words. I was still attempting to think. Godric missing? He would have told me where he was. He had always informed me when he was leaving, even if he knew that I wouldn’t be pleased by his departure. How could he be missing? The drainers had no methods that Godric wouldn’t have been able to overcome. He was too old, too powerful for drainers to have taken him. And based on the conversation of prisoners downstairs, I doubted there was nothing these racists could do that Godric wouldn’t simply be able to bat away. That wouldn’t stop me from questioning him, most vigorously.

I despised the newest addition to the prison in the basement. Royce Allen Williams. It constantly talked, finally admitting shame for past actions, only now, when confronted with imminent demise. I knew these weak types. If released, he would return exactly to his old ways, claim it was an act of God and continue on with dishonorable acts. My teeth were already on edge and then when it discussed escaping… I couldn’t control my rage.

Pam sighed loudly when she heard its plans to escape.

“Don’t fuck up your hair,” she demanded as I stood to go collect it.

“I won’t Pam, I’ll bring it up, let Chow do the dirty work, and then he can put the rat back in it’s cage.”

She huffed, but didn’t stop me.

I strolled down to the basement silently.

“I got a plan. I'm busting us out,” the racist claimed.

“Don't be an idiot,” the V dealer advised wisely.

“I'll come back for you. Promise,” the man claimed. I made some noise so they would know I was coming. I heard their heart rates jump and it was almost enough to make me smile. I hummed softly to myself.

“Shh, Shut up.”

“Shushing won't do you any good, Sweetheart. We hear everything. Since you made me come all the way down here, I'm gonna take out some of the garbage,” I told them as I removed the cape that Pam had placed on me to prevent the chemicals in my hair from staining my clothes. I knelt down in front of the pathetic piece of trash that had burned Malcom, Liam, and Diane’s nest to the ground. “Royce Allen Williams, we have a few questions for you, with regard to a fire which killed three of our kind.” I stared him down.

“No fucking way, man. I don't know anything,” he said, pretending to not be afraid, but I could hear his heart pounding.

“Crimes against vampires are on the rise. We even lost a Sheriff just days ago. We seek answers.” I unchained him and pushed him forward and then, most surprisingly, he turned and struck me across the face.

He screamed at me, “Die, you dead fucker!”

I was furious when I felt the burn of silver against my face, how had I not noticed? The stench of human filth was disgusting and overwhelming. One more reason to not chain prisoners this way; it was impossible to scent silver through the odor.

That silver burn against my skin… it amplified all the emotions I had been trying to resist. My fear, my rage, my bloodlust. It all came pouring forth.

I eviscerated him where he stood, drinking his filthy blood and pulling off several of his limbs. It was, in no way, satisfying. I felt worse than before, still thirsty, and more on edge than ever. I tossed an arm away, and it accidentally splattered against the final prisoner, the V dealer, Lafayette Reynolds.

“If you have any silver on you, now would be the time to reveal it,” I told him.

From his hiding spot behind a post he called out, “No way. I ain't that stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” I replied. And then I noticed how much blood I had on my hands. I went to wipe my mouth and realized I had splattered it all over. “Is there blood in my hair?” I asked the man.

“What?” he responded. Was he an idiot or just hard of hearing?

“Is there blood in my hair?” I asked him again, louder.

“I..I don't know, I can't see in this light,” he stuttered out.

I zoomed over to him.

“How about now?” I asked, looking into his deep eyes.

“Yeah, there's a little bit of blood there,” he stammered, his heart pounded deliciously. At least he was honest. I wished I could scent him more, but all I could smell was the blood of the racist and the foul scent of human waste.

“Well this is bad. Pam is gonna kill me,” I realized out to loud to him.

“Who the fuck is Pam?” he asked and I found it amusing that he had so quickly forgotten his place.

“Why, do you wanna meet her?” I asked, toying with him.

“No. No. I'm good,” he replied, and I found his mock confidence charming.

“Well, you're going to,” I told him as I unchained him.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked as I held him by the back of the neck and pushed him forward.

“To find out what you know,” I explained, kicking the remaining bits of the racist out of the way. “I wouldn't try anything rash if I were you. I'm still hungry.”

I brought him up to the office where Pam and Chow were waiting, I pushed him into the chair opposite the desk as Pam started berating me.

“What the fuck, Eric!” she snapped. “You’ve ruined your hair!”

She had already been upset with me, and now this?

“I’m sorry Pam, it was not my intention,” I told her with a sigh, I didn’t often apologize to her, but it was called for.

I sat on the stool, she put a fresh cape on me, and then she began to assess the damage.

“This is a disaster. We'll have to go much shorter than I planned.”

“Yeah, well, I said I was sorry, Pam. But he took silver to me,” I explained. I looked at the V dealer, Lafayette Reynolds. “You were there. You saw it. Defend me,” I urged him.

“I don't know what it is you wanna know, but point me in the direction, and I give to you,” he told me earnestly and fearfully.

“I've seen your website,” I started, Chow had shown me it earlier. It was an impressive bit of tawdriness, and I was certain it was lucrative. “It's quite, uh, low rent. But your clients miss you, Lafayette. They're wondering if you're ever coming back.”

“Am I?” he asked, and I let the silence linger. “Look, I'm here because of the V, right? How 'bout I give you the names of everybody I ever sold to?” Already so cooperative? Lovely.

“And all this time I thought prostitutes were good at keeping secrets,” Pam snarked, knowing the prevarication of that statement more than anyone. Prostitutes would only keep a secret for a price, and for her the price had always been quite high.

“Don't get it twisted, honeycomb, I'm a survivor first, a capitalist second, and a whole bunch of other shit after that. But a hooker, dead last. So if I got even a Jew at an al Qaeda pep rally shot at getting my black ass up out this motherfucker, I'm taking it. Now, what you wanna know?”

Pam smiled, absolutely delighted, and I could see why. This Lafayette Reynolds was a cut from the exact same cloth as her.

A survivor first, a businesswoman second, and a hooker dead last.

“The vampire you had your little arrangement with. Eddie Fournier. What happened to him?” I asked.

“I don't know. I swear to God I don't. Last time I saw him he was doing real good. But I think he may have been taken by somebody,” Lafayette had hesitated to tell me this information, he must have an inkling of the perpetrator.

“By whom?” I prompted.

“I don't know,” he started. “I mean I ain't sure.”

“Hm, that's not very forthcoming of you,” I told him. I looked over at my enforcer, who had been waiting so very patiently. “Chow, you're up.”

“No! No, chill out. Shit,” Lafayette held up his hand to Chow, motioning for him to stop, and then Lafayette caved. “I think it... I think it was... Jason Stackhouse.”

“Jason Stackhouse?” I asked, nonplussed.

“Sookie's brother,” Pam reminded me in Swedish. “Could be fun,” she added and then I remember him. Handsome, AB negative, and he had come to the bar looking for vampire blood.

“Fun, but also stupid. Sookie is too important for us now,” I reminded Pam. She was an asset, one that I wanted working for me.

“That's true,” Pam agreed, reluctantly.

“Sadly, this information is of no use to me. Not now, anyway,” I told the confused looking Lafayette. Then I moved on to the line of questioning that I had been most anxious to discuss. “I understand dealers of vampire blood sometimes trade product with one another across state lines. Any buyers in the Dallas area?” I asked, revealing some of what I had learned from the drainers before I had killed them. Their blood was all bagged up and sitting in the freezer now, and the irony of draining drainers was not lost on me.

“One,” Lafayette said right away, cooperating fully. “He never gave me his name though. I have an e-mail address. Pussylover9@shemail.com.”

Pam smirked at the email address, and I wondered briefly if she was going to change her online handle.

“A friend of mine in the Dallas area, his name is Godric, has gone missing. Now, while the circumstances of his disappearance are unclear, it stands to reason his blood would be very valuable, as he's over twice my age and ten times the vampire I will ever be,” I said and realized that I had said more than I wanted. That my worries about him were sliding smoothly from my tongue and that I needed to feed again if I was ever going to get myself under control.

“Oh Eric, you don't do humble well,” Pam said teasingly, trying to lighten my mood. She knew with Godric missing, I was more on edge than ever.

“I was not being humble. This happens to be true,” I nearly snapped at her again, and I saw her hurt at my behavior toward her. I focused back on my line of questioning.“Your associate, this ‘pussylover’, has he or she mentioned any new product coming on the market?”

“No, no. And I would tell you. You know that,” he told me and I knew that he was honest, but it frustrated me to no end that he had nothing that could help.

I turned to Chow and asked him, “Take our guest and lock him back out, will you?”

Lafayette jumped to his feet. “Fuck that, I ain't going back down there. I gave you…”

“You gave me nothing!” I shouted, furious that this man had no information that would lead to Godric.

“I'm not going back.” Lafayette tried to push Chow away, and I gave the order again.

“Chow, now.”

Lafayette fought against Chow and I found it curious. I couldn’t help but be impressed by his vigor, his fight, his passion.

“I gave you every... I gave you everything! I ain't going back down!” he continued to shout as Chow manhandled him back down to the basement.

It was then that I heard the sound of an additional human heart beat and the soft scent of roses. I reached out to my blood in Jane and, of course, she was standing in the hall outside the office. What in Hel was she doing here?

The door creaked open and there was sweet little Jane. Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. Perhaps this would scare her off for good.

“Jane,” I greeted her.

“I guess I should have called,” she said meekly.

“Yes,” I replied. She certainly had the power understatement. I turned to Pam, “Leave us. I need to glamour her.” Pam looked over at Jane and shook her head, leaving the office and shutting the door behind her. Why had Jane even come here? I didn’t want to have to do this, but she left me with no choice! I looked over at little Jane, she looked especially young and doll-like. “I have to glamour you now. You realize that?”

“Why?” she asked, clearly confused.

I prayed for the patience of Baldr, and I rested my hands on my desk. She drove me absolutely insane.

“You saw one of the prisoners, and he recognized you, even. What is to prevent you from telling the human authorities what you saw?” I asked her, and she stared me down.

“I won’t,” she promised. “It’s none of their business. You’re the Sheriff. He was the V dealer, I assume?” she asked, crossing her arms, and pushing her perfect bosom higher.

“Yes,” I acknowledged.

“I won’t tell anyone I saw him. Please… don’t glamour me,” she begged me and I saw her lip tremble in fear. I believed she wouldn’t give up this information knowingly, but her mind was open to any vampire, and now the telepath as well. I had to glamour her, for her own safety.

“It’s too dangerous for you as well. Especially now that you’re friends with a telepath, your silence could incriminate you,” I explained to her. Those dark blue green eyes of hers steeled and I could help but feel proud of her. She could be quite brave, facing something that she feared so greatly.

“What will you do? Make me forget?” she asked.

“That path leads to many problems, as you saw with Ginger. You will retain the memory, but you won’t be able to think of it. You will know, but you won’t be able to say anything about it.” I didn’t want to have to glamour her, and I worried about this.I knew too much glamouring would damage her mind. And her mind was a unique one.

She nodded at me, drawing her courage around her.

I hated this. I remember what she had told me, that it felt like mind rape. I never wanted to make her feel violated, especially in light of the other trauma she had experienced.

“Fine,” she told me and I began the glamour.

“Jane.”

Her eyes glazed over and I imposed my will on her.

“You will not be able to think of the man that you saw Chow take to the basement. You will not speak of what you witnessed to anyone.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

I released her and she lurched to the trash bin, vomiting. Humans and their fluids. I’d had enough of them today. She sat on the couch, and I felt her through the blood. I felt her upset. Why did she do this? It made me hate myself.

“Why did you come?” I asked her.

“I wanted to talk to you. I can see that you’re... busy. I’ll go. I’ll text or call next time,” she told me vaguely, standing to leave. I grabbed her arm, my intention had been to ask her to elaborate, to explain what her purpose was but I felt her warmth beneath my hand and all my urges to devour and claim her came hurtling to the surface. The look she gave me, the feeling from her in the blood...lust. She wanted me. She wanted me even when I was covered in blood.

My fangs dropped hard and I was seconds away from biting her throat and fucking her on my desk.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I released her quickly and forced my fangs up painfully.

“Jane. Things are...tense. With my Maker missing,” I tried to explain, but I really couldn’t. I couldn’t explain my loss of control around her.

“Let me know if I can help,” she offered sweetly.

She had no idea of the danger I posed to her, I shook my head at her. “I will not hurt you again,” I promised her.

She smiled her strange sad smile, the one that made the area where my heart used to pulse ache.

“Goodnight, Eric,” she said softly, and then she left.

What the fucking Hel!? I slammed my hand against the wall, creating a crack in the plaster and I didn’t give a flying fuck.

What was wrong with me?

****

The next evening I took Pam to the mall and allowed her to shop and style me as she pleased. It seemed the very least I could do and having my childe close brought me comfort. I wore Godric’s platinum coated fang around my throat, as if wearing it would allow me to find him.

As we were strolling through the mall, who should we see but Bill fucking Compton.

Then, in a stroke of genius, I had an idea. Bill’s telepathic human could search for Godric. Sookie could investigate the humans at the Fellowship of the Sun and see if Stan’s assertion that they were behind Godric’s disappearance was correct.

“Go to the bar Pam, I’ll meet you there after I negotiate with Billy boy,” I told her. She brushed invisible lint from the navy tracksuit she had dressed me in and then departed with a smile. While it wasn’t what I would choose for myself, I was fine with indulging my child in her game of dressup.

I strolled through the store, and meandered over to Bill.

“Good evening, old sport,” I greeted him, hoping to make him feel at ease. He would be easier to bargain with if he was in a giving mood.

“Eric?” he said, astounded, by either my presence or my new attire, it was hard to say.

“It's the new me. You like?” I asked, smirking. How many times do we have to reinvent ourselves?

“I do. Very much,” Bill agreed, the Mainstreamer he was, he would likely follow all the latest human trends. I almost scoffed at the idea of him wearing one of those hats that truckers wear. The sales associate that had been attempting to hit on him, backed away sheepishly.

“Oh, okay,” she looked between us and I realized that she thought we were a couple. Hilarious, as if Bland Bill could stir my passions.

“We need to talk,” I told him.

He glared and I led him away from the humans and began to explain.

“The Sheriff of Area 9 in Texas has gone missing. Have you heard about that?”

“I hadn't, but I know the vampire of whom we speak. His name is Godric, correct?”

I wondered how Bill knew of Godric. But Godric’s reputation did precede him.

“Indeed. Now it goes without saying he needs to be found. Which is where Sookie comes in. As she's yours, I'm asking your permission to take her with me to Dallas,” I explained my plan to him.

“Eric, you can do whatever you want with me, but I am not putting her in this position anymore. I cannot and I will not allow you to bring her into these matters,” he said, not even attempting to barter with me.

“We made a deal, your human and I. That if I didn't kill, she would work for me as often as I like. Now, you remember this, don't you? You were there,” I reminded him.

“Taking her across state lines is a far cry from taking her to Fangtasia for the evening,” Bill said sternly, clearly not willing to discuss this further. What a fool.

“I'm only asking your permission out of respect. If I want her, I can simply take her. Is "no" your final answer?” I asked him.

“It is,” he said firmly.

I shook my head, and replied, “Poorly played, Bill.”

He wasn’t even willing to try to bargain with me, and I wondered again about his purpose with the telepathic waitress. I checked my phone on the way out of the mall, surprised to see that I missed several calls from Pam. I called her as I strolled out.

“You rang?” I asked.

“Mmm, yeah, the lovely Lafayette Reynolds tried to escape and Ginger shot him,” Pam said in her usual tone.

“Is he dead?” I asked her in Swedish.

“Not yet, our meretricious little Macgyver dug the metal hip out of his dead compadre with his teeth, used it to break his chains, and then attempted to seduce Ginger into letting him go,” Pam explained gleefully. “I like him, can we keep him?”

“Creative,” I commented as I exited the mall. “I’ll be there soon.”

I went behind the mall and took off in flight. I had to stop and pick up the accounting work from Bruce, and then I was able to return to Fangtasia. I strolled into the back, checking over the numbers for the bar. It was scented with rich thick blood, flavorful and powerful...full of untapped potential.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long,” I said as I entered the office. “How's the leg?” I asked Lafayette.

“Shitty. Thanks for asking,” he replied with sarcasm at his pain and Pam grinned again.

“After all your proclamations about what a model prisoner you were going to be, you had to try to escape,” I said, curious about his reasoning, but he did say he was a survivor first. I couldn’t really begrudge him that.

“You were going to kill me anyway, right?” he asked next and Pam smirked. We’d certainly have to kill him now, he wasn’t going to make it without medical care.

“Now you'll never know. So, what's it gonna be, Lafayette? Would you like the leg to kill you, or would you prefer us to do it?”

“I'm gonna go with plan C,” he said and he surprised me, such a rare thing for a breather.

“There's a plan C?” I asked.

“Make me a vampire,” he offered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Then he began to make his case, “And you can put me to work in the bar. I'm a good dancer. You seen it on my site. Shit, I get up there and move Earth and heaven, go-go style.”

I came and stood over him, not sure what he knew about vampires and turning. “You are aware there's a gaping hole in your leg? You're damaged goods,” I tested him.

“Not if you turn me. I'll be good as ever.” So he did know at least that much. “Look, I... I'm already a person of poor moral character, so I'll hit the ground running. And I damn near glamour people already. Give me what y'all got, and it's on me, cracker. Not only will I be a badass vampire, but I'll be your badass vampire.”

For a moment, time was frozen. I was sucked into the memory of Pamela asking me to turn her, and me refusing, and her making her case to me. And then her killing herself anyway and I decided… I chose to have her by side, my companion.

My badass vampire.

I liked this Lafayette Reynolds. He lived with a sort of honesty that was rare, and he had shown himself to have the survival instincts and spirit that would take him through the ages. He interested me, and so very few men did. He also reminded me much of Pam and I could see that they would be excellent blood siblings, thick as thieves. It would be good to have youngling around, so fresh and eager...

I scented his rich blood, his untapped potential and….it all intrigued me.

Was I actually considering this, now, with my control all over and Godric missing? Was this just another way in which I was losing touch? No, best not to make any major decisions now. We could start to drink from him now, I could reconsider later, after I’d fed, and had a clearer head. He had a few good nights left in him still.

“Interesting. I'll take it under advisement,” I told him. “Pam, Chow, chowtime,” I offered and Chow grinned at my play on words, puns really were the height of humor.

Then, I leaned over and bit Lafayette.

He was absolutely delicious.

[sugarbutterbroadway]

David Jacobs and the multitude of excuses

Jack Kelly was beautiful. Fiercely beautiful, in a way that made David’s head spin. It didn’t matter that his lips always seemed to be chapped or his hair was messy or the fact that he was always covered in paint. David smiled, it seemed that Jack ended the day with more paint on himself than his canvas. It didn’t matter that he always wore the same hoodie, or doodled on the desks, or always laughed too loud. And it certainly didn’t matter that he made David’s heartbeat quicken if he even looked in his direction. It didn’t matter that he looked so damn handsome when he was painting, the way he stuck his tongue out, and seemed to pick apart every imperfection until he was satisfied. It didn’t matter that David had been madly in love with him since Freshman year.

None of that matters.

Because it was tech week of their final spring show and David had barely said more than two words to him. And the worst part of it all was that it wasn’t Jack’s fault, Jack was trying. David was just too much of a chicken to let him get too far.

“David, right?”he said, he hadn’t bothered to lift his gaze from the tree he was painting. David’s hands shook around his clipboard and he nodded until he realized Jack wasn’t looking. And after a few beats of silence he did look. He looked up at him through those hooded eyes and Davey had to get out of there. His eyes immediately flitted around the room looking for something, anything to complain about. He locked eyes with a freshman who was definitely doing something they weren’t supposed to and he jumped at the chance.

“Put that prop down!” he was stomping across the theatre before Jack could say anything.

Davey groaned, that sadly wasn’t the last time either.

“Hey, Davey!”Jack greeted. Davey’s eyes widened slightly and he squeezed the pen in his hand. No, no this wasn’t happening. He was running on two hours of sleep,a large dunkin donuts iced coffee and sheer spite. It didn’t seem like a good idea for him to be talking to anyone. Why did god hate him? He saw Jack walking closer and fumbled with his phone pressing it against his ear, he shot an apologetic look and spun around walking in the opposite direction.

“Mama? Yes, i’m on a break right now”

That wasn’t even the worse one.

He wasn’t having a good day. It was as simple as that. A conversation with his father at breakfast had  snowballed into criticism over his plans for college once again and he was tired. He was tired of hearing about his wasted potential, and how it was his obligation to educate the ignorant. He just wanted to be a director, why was that so hard to accept? This argument led to his mother suggesting he walk to school that day, and he relented cause mother knows best. But he hated walking, the school wasn’t necessarily close and the walk signs took forever. He just wanted to disappear and the day had just started. Then he had a pop quiz in calculus that he definitely wasn’t ready for, then he got hit in the face with a dodgeball, and then the vegetarian option at lunch was just nonexistent so he was hungry. His only solace was that he got to go home early. He had practically jumped for joy the second the final bell rang.

Until he was scheduled last minute for rehearsal that day. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal, they were usually so well behaved. But today must have been Spite David Day or at least that’s how he felt. Nothing went right, everyone had found some way to piss off the director, and she took her frustrations out on him for not ‘doing his job.’  So that’s how he found himself on the verge of a panic attack slumped against the wall of the auditorium. They were actively running the show, no one should’ve been out of the theatre. But out walked Jack Kelly, in all of his swagger. His eyes locked with Davey’s. Before he could even open his mouth, Davey had turned on his heels and ran. He ran until he was in a completely different wing and hid there until rehearsal was over.

So yes, Jack was trying. Trying harder than most to befriend him, and it touched Davey, it really did. But it was hopeless now, the show was next week and then there would be no reason for them to talk again. Maybe it would be better that way, all he seemed to do was make excuses. If Jack wanted to forget his existence entirely he wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t like confronting his feelings anyways. Pining was familiar, it was something he could do in his sleep. Which he often spent most nights doing, but that wasn’t the point! The point was that he felt comfortable right where he was. The longing and pining from afar zone.

So it was fine. He had blown his chance and he would just have to get over it. That was something he was also good at doing, getting over things. There were only a few hours left of tech, then he could go home,complain to Sarah and maybe have a good cry over some ice cream. Well maybe not Sarah, she’d heard enough about Jack Kelly over the years that she could probably recite the way his eyes twinkled when he laughed just as good as Davey. She was also due to snap any day now from the stress of his pining and AP History. So no, definitely not Sarah. The family cat was just as good when it came to listening even though she hated Davey. He’d go home,complain to Cosette—yes he had a phase—cry into his ice cream and then hopefully pass out on the couch. Hopefully. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he was all out of melatonin.

“Okay!”The director shouted. He startled, smacking his head on the wall he was resting on.“That was good, take fifteen”

Fifteen? What kind of sick joke was this? He quickly sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a herd of actors running past him shouting.“Thank you fifteen!”

He took a deep breath and let his shoulders sag, thank you fifteen indeed. He leaned his head back against the wall. The director seemed to be in a good mood, maybe she’d let them go soon so he could get his pity party started early.

“Davey.”

Oh no. His eyes focused on the figure stalking towards him and he sucked in a breath. Honestly, why did god hate him? He couldn’t speak. He was expecting Jack to slow down but he continued barreling towards him. He’s not sure what he expected during this break, but it wasn’t a strong—god was he strong—arm pulling him down the hallway into the boys dressing room. He sputtered as he was thrown inside and the door was locked behind them. And well, he froze. Deer in the headlights style because there was no way that still happened. He looked at the creases in his shirt from where it had been clenched, and he stared. He stared until a hand was snapping rapidly in his face. He looked forward and loandbehold there was Jack Kelly, looking about as pissed as he could muster. Which in his case was very, and honestly kind of terrifying. His eyebrows were furrowed in the most handsome way and his lips pulled up in a snarl.

Oh shit.

“What’s your problem?”He asked. That felt like a slap in the face and was once again something Davey was not expecting. He racked his mind for something to say, but he came up short. He was stunned. Jack waited a few beats before he exhaled harshly through his nose and shook his head.

“Huh?”He prompted, “You can’t even answer me?”

Davey winced and began shaking his head. His fingernails buried themselves in the palms of his hands as he desperately tried to stop the shaking. This isn’t how he wanted this to happen—hell he wasn’t even sure he wanted this to happen. The way he planned it happening was in the courtyard of the school, under that pretty cherry blossom tree that always bloomed so full. He’d have all the right things to say, he’d compliment Jack on his painting, say he’s seen him around the school. He’d be suave and daring and confident and everything that he currently wasn’t. While his inner turmoil was spinning Jack was pacing around the room, hands gripped in his hair, mumbling to himself. Damn, he even looked attractive ten seconds away from losing his shit. He spun to face Davey, eyes aflame.

“I ain’t asking you to like me, Davey”he said, he ran a hand through his hair. He seemed...he seemed nervous.“But at least let a guy know how you feel, this-this avoidin shit been stressin me out!”

“I’m sorry”Davey whispered. The words felt heavy on his tongue and he knew they were pathetic. He knew they weren’t the right thing to say, but maybe if he just apologized Jack would let it go. That seemed to do the opposite cause Jack let out a little laugh and shook his head.

“Don’t apologize Davey, it ain’t you. Just...am I out of my league here?”He asked, flinging his arms a bit

“Like, was I gettin them hints all wrong?”

“W-what?”Davey sputtered.

“I see the way you look at me”he said patiently, “But am I readin it all wrong?”

Maybe his subtle glances weren’t as subtle as he thought, but he didn’t want to read too deep into what Jack was saying. There was always room left for disappointment.

“Ho-how do i look at you then?”Davey asked.

“Like you wanna kiss me?”He questioned, “I don know!”

Davey felt his cheeks redden, and nope, nope this isn't happening. He bit his lip and followed Jack’s eyes as they travelled down to where his teeth sunk in. his heart did a little skip, as Jack took a step forward. He wanted to take a step back but his feet were firmly planted to the floor. Half of his brain was telling him to run, but the other half really wanted to see where this ended up going. Jack took another step forward, and another, until he was within arms reach.

“Do I..do I make you nervous, Davey?”he said quietly.

“Yes”Davey whispered, screwing his eyes shut. God he wasn’t ready for a first kiss, not this way, did he even floss this morning-his thoughts were stalled by a laugh. The same laugh that made his knees weak, so much so he found himself leaning against the table.

“I’m sorry”he laughs, “I...I ain’t good at this stuff, my brothers Spot if that’s any excuse”

“Conlon?”Davey squeaks. Jack nodded his head.

“That’s the one”he said, “It’s just...I wanna know you, I wanna know Davey Jacobs”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah”He said taking a smaller step forward, “I wanna know what makes you laugh, what makes you tick,how to help when you get all jittery, how to make you smile cause boy I’ve had my eye on you since the day I got here”

Something inside Davey snaps and he pushes at Jacks chest. “No”

“No?”He said, tilting his head.    

“Just no!”Davey exclaims, “You don’t wanna know me, this is all just some joke-”

“Davey-”

“And you’re gonna go running to your friends after rehearsal-”

“Davey please-”

“And I can’t let that happen because-”

“Davey!”he shouted, waving his arms. “I like you! I genuinely like you! I’ve liked you since the second term of Freshman year when you argued with the substitute on how World War one really started!”

Davey felt mortified and his face grew even hotter. “He...he was just really stupid, okay?”

“Yes, yes he was!”He exhaled, “and i liked that you weren’t afraid to tell him that! I like how fired up you get when you debate in English class, you scrunch your nose up and you talk a mile a minute”

“I-I...”

“You don’t gotta speak”He said, “Just let me do this. I like the way you care about the cast, you get snippy sometimes but it’s because you want the best for us. You’re good with the freshman, even though they’re little beasts. I think it’s cute how you caught the volleyball with your face last week-”

“Asshole”Davey muttered.

“Hey!”He huffed, “I got that guy back for you”

Davey’s eyes widened. “You’re the one who sent Oscar to the nurse?”

“Let’s just say I didn’t see him when I spiked the ball”He winked, “but honestly Davey, i’ve had my eye on you for a while. All of my friends have been giving me hell to make a move, and I was trying to but...you gotta let me know, am I wrong about all of this?”

“No”Davey whispered, “No you’re not i’m just...i’m not too good with feelings”

“That makes two of us”He chuckled, “I’ve been plannin’ to say all of that for weeks but you make me nervous too”

“I make you nervous?”Davey says in awe.

“Everytime you look at me I get my lines wrong”he said. “I’ve been off book for weeks, but seeing you look at me like I put the stars in the sky just...God, you’re killin me Davey”

“How?”Davey asked.

“Because you’re doing it right now”he smiled. Davey bit his lip and dropped his gaze but Jack grabbed his hand and squeezed, “I never said I didn’t like it, it does wonders for my ego”

“Shut up”Davey mumbled. 

“Now that I finally hunted you down? Never” He said. “I wanted to say this a few weeks ago but you ran and I...I wanted to give you space but, when all this tech shit is over. You wanna go get ice cream? I know a place, it’s across the bridge but-”

“Yes”Davey says immediately.

“Yes?”he exhales.

“Yes, I wanna,”Davey says.

“I would kiss you right now if you wasn’t shakin like a leaf,”he says, running his thumb over the back of Davey’s hand. And this, this was better than anything he could have imagined. 

“Aye can we pause the Romance!”Race yells from outside the door, “Director called places ten minutes ago and she’s gonna have my ass if I don’t come out with both of you!”

Davey froze. “She’s gonna kill me, she’s going to actually kill me”

“I’ll tell her you were helping me run my lines”He said, “I ain’t gonna let her kill you”

“Well if she isn’t gonna kill Davey, then it’s gonna be me so let’s go!”Race yelled.

“We’re coming, keep your shirt on!”

“Shouldn’t I be sayin that to you and your--oh”Race said, once they finally opened the door. “You two are decent, that’s surprising”

“Everyone ain’t a whore, Racetrack”He sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice.”Davey said with a frown.

“Yeah Jack, that wasn’t very nice”Race smirked, “I think I like you Davey, if you get tired of this one you know where to find me”

“Don’t let Spot hear you sayin that”

“Please”Race snorted, “like I care what Spot says”

“That’s not what I heard the other day-”

“Alright!”Race snapped, “Don’t gotta go embarrassing me in front of your boyfriend”

“He’s not-”

“We’re not-”

“Yeah right”Race said, rolling his eyes. “The way Jack’s been goin on about you, you might as well be his husband”

And this time it was Jack’s turn to blush. His face turned scarlet and with a betrayed cry he was chasing Race down the hallway. Once they were out of sight Davey took a minute to collect himself and squealed. Cosette and Sarah would definitely be hearing about this when he got home.