#and sit there all day and all night for weeks on end with his shotgun

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

100%!!

I think your response gave me the space to expand on my thoughts a bit though, which was nice.

do you have any tips for being comfortable with other people concealed carrying since you're a gun owner? I'm not, but due to a recent law a place I previously considered a safe enough space is now allowing concealed carry (this comes after some shootings in the surrounding area, but again, the place itself didn't seem too bad). It's only for people with licenses, but the gun laws don't seem particularly strict in this area, and it's majority-white and uncomfortably conservative/ignorant when I'm visibly Black, queer, and disabled.

I'm pretty anxious about this, but I can't tell if that's just bc of my biases against guns or if I should actually be nervous considering the "lots of these people suck" circumstances of it all. Would you happen to know of anything I could do to feel more comfortable/safe (minus getting my own gun bc i'm too young even if I wanted to)?

I am not a gun owner. I do carry a weapon, I do not own a gun. I'm not the guy to go to for gun advice.

[fryingpan1234567]

some CHB headcanons

every cabin has LEDs around the inside, but there’s a constant battle over what color they are

Percy has his rippling back and forth from teal to blue and it looks like light dancing through water all over his walls and floor

the Apollo cabin can usually settle for orange and yellow as a common ground

the Aphrodite kids have a different color for each time of day and sleep with pink on the lowest brightness setting

the Hermes cabin has like ten different strips and they’re all constantly shifting

Demeter cabin’s shifts with the seasons

ANYWAYS MOVING AWAY FROM THE LEDS

they have movie nights, which I will talk about in a different post

before everybody goes back to school, the Aphrodite and Hecate cabins have a massive salon at the end of the summer with new haircuts and magic hair dye and outfit recommendations and fake but enchanted sturdy nails and a whole bunch of other stuff and basically it’s a week straight of spilling hot tea between everyone in camp

if someone asks where a camper got their hair done when they get back to school they just go “oh, um… summer camp.” and their friends will snort and be like bro isn’t summer camp the opposite of a makeover?? but they get no argument, just a shrug and a half smile

when I tell you pride month over there is a fucking riot

because Mr. D is in on it, right?? because he’s the god of gender?? and Chiron is aroace and has been raising dumbass gay heroes for literal centuries?? PLUS the sheer fucking amount of queer peeps up in there?? dude yeah

cabins competing for who shows the most pride

Demeter’s roof is covered in rainbow flowers

Hecate’s is enchanted to emit actual light in whatever flag colors of whoever uses the front door, even when they’re straight (it’s just a rainbow)

Percy collects a bunch of shed scales from the hippocampi at the bottom of the lake and then puts them all over his cabin

I could make a whole post about CHB pride but

every single Apollo kid is also a theater kid fight me

Rachel Elizabeth Dare painted a skateboard for Percy’s birthday and he brings it everywhere now, it even sits in his backpack at school

Leo, Annabeth, Percy, and Piper fucking love horror movies. Frank, Hazel, and Jason fucking hate them. They watch through their fingers, if at all

Piper loves the band Surfaces with all her heart, but she also is a die hard Green Day and P!ATD fan

Jake Mason is covered in burn scars up to his neck, just like Deadpool, just not bald lol

Hephaestus and Apollo kids faintly radiate warmth (like more so than a normal person)

the Stolls sometimes stay at camp year-round because their mom is off on international missions that are too high-risk for them to help with

the seven are AVID Smash Bros players

really everyone but

not as many people go to the Athena campers for help with homework as you might think, but whenever anyone does, they’re happy to help

the sun chariot blasts music at a frequency only the Apollo kids can hear, so their life kind of has a shitty soundtrack that consists of a mix of Broadway, Queen, modern stuff, and random bits of Beethoven every now and then

the Romans swear on few occasions

the Greeks know when to swear and when to be polite

the Valhalla peeps swear unbridled and all the time

the Egyptians never swear (in English)

for the longest time, Will Solace thinks the only gift from his dad is his healing prowess— which is obviously great, but he expresses being upset over the fact that he’s not very good at archery

well, considering this is the dumbass who didn’t bring a weapon to actual fucking Tartarus, Nico drags him to the weapon shack thing immediately afterwards and made him pick something out

he's immediately drawn to the Celestial Bronze shotgun.

Nico’s just like “what in the redneck shit did you just pick up” and Will jokingly aims it at his chest and grins and says “you know I’m from Texas, right?”

that’s how they find out Will is one of the damn best marksmen in Greek demigod history

some of the Disney nerds in the Apollo cabin sing What Once Was Mine to the little ones who need bandaids for knee scrapes and give them lollipops afterwards

Percy Jackson absolutely used to make poverty and struggle meal jokes all the time, but he got weird and concerned looks for it at CHB, so he kind of just stopped. But one day, aboard the Argo II, the PERFECT opportunity came up and he just HAD TO and as per usual— everyone else looked at him like he’s crazy— but Leo laughed so hard chocolate milk came out of his nose and that’s the story of how the two of them became Best Friends

[jessmaybank]

Right here - Rafe Cameron

Based on the song Right here by Chase Atlantic

Outer banks x chase atlantic masterlist

Navigation

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x fem! Reader

Word count: 7.4k

Summary: in which a secret friends with benefits relationship gets messy.

Warnings: drug use (weed), swearing, SMUT, fingering, unprotected sex, choking, nipple play, oral (f receiving).

AN: lots of mutual pining, teasing, jealousy & angst. friends to lovers. This is easily my fave thing I’ve ever written. Flashbacks are in italics, enjoy!

I'm so far from the line, yeah

I'm too deep in my mind, yeah

If she calls, I'll be right there

That's three calls in a night, yeah

“Hey” she says quietly, phone pressed to her ear as she answers his call in the middle of the night, something she still hadn’t quite grown accustomed too yet. her voice sounded so delicate and sweet, it made Rafe’s head rush.

This was the third call she had received from him this week, and it always ended the same. Each time she would tell herself that it was the last, but here she was, tangled within her lilac sheets, unable to let the call go to voicemail. She always seemed to bend her rules when it came to him.

“Hey. Did I wake you up?” He asks, voice tainted with something that sounded like concern, but she wasn’t quite sure. Rafe wasn’t exactly known for his ability to emphasise with others. Rather, his actions were always driven by his own selfish wants and needs, and he was extremely stubborn. That was was something which she learnt the day their arrangement started.

“Rafe, I swear to god, move. I shotgunned the couch” she said, arms crossed as her lips move into a small pout, her doe eyes hard to miss.

Rafe thought the expression was nothing less than adorable, observing the way her eyebrows were furrowed slightly to be more convincing, hoping to get some sympathy out of him. But despite the frown on her face, he knew she was biting back a smile. She liked being teased just as much as he liked teasing her.

The corners of his mouth upturned into an amused grin, something which should of annoyed her further, but it didn’t. Instead, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from matching his expression.

They were at toppers house, in the midst of a party which had just began to die down, the crowds of young adults sprawled around the large living room getting smaller by the minute. She had no intention of going home anytime soon, and neither did he.

“Not anymore, angel” he says, manspreading on the couch to get comfortable, but also just as a way to tease her further. But once again, the familiar nickname he picked for her, and only her, made it near impossible for her to be mad at him.

They had been friends for a long time now, so in theory she should have been used to it, but she just wasn’t. Every time the word left his cherry red lips, she felt like a giddy teenager again.

She sighs in defeat, tugging on one of the loose threads of his hoodie which he gave her, one of the many endearing gestures which made all the constant teasing seemingly tolerable.

“Stop being greedy and just sit next to me” he says, patting the empty space next to him. His shiny gold rings that decorated his fingers were a stark contrast to the dim light which began to engulf the room as it grew later into the night, and she began to wonder how one mans hands could be so attractive.

Maybe she was being greedy for wanting the whole couch to herself, but she was not about to be criticised by Rafe Cameron himself. He was quite literally the epitome of greed, even if she failed to recognise that sometimes, her delusion towards him a symbol of her naive nature.

She pretended to hesitate before sitting down on the couch next to him, the smell of her sweet perfume invading his senses, throwing him off track. She was the only person who could make his nonchalant nature falter so easy, and the feeling was so unfamiliar to him he almost felt uneasy whenever she was near.

Every time Topper threw a party, she had an end-of-night tradition. She would sprawl across the expensive couch with a blanket, smoke the pre-rolled joint she would bring with her every time, and slowly become one which the couch, her body melting into the white leather. Luckily, Toppers parents were gone for the week this time, so she had permission to smoke inside.

She turned her body, leaning her back against the armrest of the couch, before draping her legs over Rafe’s lap. They weren’t exactly used to such affections at this stage in their relationship, but she was a bit tipsy, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him stop her from getting comfy.

Her squeaky clean converse dug into his thigh a little, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he sent her a glare, and he prayed he put on a good enough of a show to convince her it was real.

“What? I warned you” she said, shifting slightly to retrieve the blanket which was hung on the back of the couch, throwing it over them both.

Rafe placed his hands under the blanket and rested them on her legs, just below her knees, the evening breeze coming through the windows seemingly prevalent. He was a bit cold in his t-shirt, but he would never dare to ask for his hoodie back. He noted how warm she felt as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her legs, and suddenly he wanted to bury his head between them.

She dug her dainty hands into the pocket of his hoodie, retrieving a slightly crumpled joint and a dodgy lighter. Her manicured pink nails made her hands look so fragile, and Rafe couldn’t fathom how one girls hands could be so fucking cute.

She lights the joint, the flame lighting up her face in an orange tint, the warm hue painted over her features a perfect picture to him. He watched as she inhaled and exhaled again and again, and it dawned on him then that he could watch her do anything, and he would never get bored.

“Sharing is caring, angel” he says, placing his hand out in front of her. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress the small grin which graced her lips, her sweetness practically radiating off her as she passed him the joint, captivated in the way he inhaled before blowing a thick cloud of smoke into the living room, blurring their vision slightly.

Weed always made Rafe a little more touchy than usual. When he’s sober, his anxiety is always apparent in his tensed muscles or his clenched jaw, or the way he always runs his hands through his hair when he’s stressed out. But as soon as marijuana was flowing through him, his mind relaxed, and so did his body.

he’s pretty dazed by the time he passes the joint back. He digs his hands under the blanket once again, running the tips of his fingers innocently across her thighs, relishing in her smooth skin. but the feeling it caused her was anything but innocent.

“Do you mind?” She says, her voice betraying her as it came out shaky. He turned his head, and when she saw the mischievous glint which lay behind his bloodshot eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

He had to poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue to suppress a grin. He thought her flustered state was completely endearing, and he loved knowing the effect he had on her. “Am I distracting you, angel?”

“No” yes.

She hoped she was convincing, but he could see right through her, mostly as he observed the way she drew in a sharp breath as his hands travelled further and further up her leg, her skin tingling at his touch.

“You see, I don’t believe you” he smirks, shifting towards her, his hand stopping right at the hem of her denim mini skirt, fingers dipping under the material ever so slightly, as if he was daring himself to go even further.

“Rafe” she whispers. fuck. His name had never sounded so pretty until it came out of her mouth.

She took another hit of the joint, trying to distract herself from his dirty little games. But the higher she got, the more she melted into his touch.

She sent him a half-hearted pleading look, one which should of convinced him to back away, but unfortunately for her, he could read her like his favourite book, and the way her legs squirmed on top of him, parting ever so slightly, gave him all the confirmation he needed.

His fingers dipped under her skirt, the cold metal of his rings grazing the top of her thigh, cooling down her burning skin. She looked around, making sure no one was paying attention, and relaxed a little when she noticed everyone left was either passed out or too engrossed in conversation to notice either of them.

His lips parted as he made contact with her clothed pussy, coming to the realisation her lace underwear was soaked. His shorts tightened as his cock grew rock hard, and he prayed she couldn’t feel it under her legs, but of course she could.

Her legs squirmed once again as he started toying with her clothed clit, her calf’s rubbing right against his cock, and he swore she was hell-bent on torturing him.

Her eyes fluttered shut as his hand dove into her underwear, running his fingers up her folds, almost groaning as he felt her arousal. The heavy pants coming from her glossy lips were drowned out by the music which played from toppers speaker, and suddenly Rafe wished the room was silent.

The joint fell from her fingers and onto the blanket as he inserted two fingers inside of her, the pit of her stomach heating up as pleasure flows through her, sinking her body further into the couch.

He retrieved the joint with his free hand before it burnt a hole in the blanket, taking a hit before putting the roach into the ash tray next to him. She was shocked at how nonchalant he looked, pretending as if his fingers weren’t inside of her as they sat in a room with all of their friends, at risk of being caught at any moment.

He began to pump his fingers in and out of her, in awe of the way she struggled to keep her eyes open, the bloodshot whites in her eyes making her look even more fucked out. He draped his free arm on the back of the couch as he continued to finger fuck her with his other, and when their eyes met, electricity shot down her spine, entranced by his blown out pupils.

she lifted the blanket to cover her mouth as moans threatened to spill out of her, her legs now spread for him underneath the soft material. He didn’t care that they weren’t alone, he didn’t like the fact she wanted to hide her face from him.

He shakes his head slightly, tutting as he brings his free arm down, pulling the blanket from her face before cupping her jaw. “Let me see you” he said, his voice steady. And as she bit her lip to suppress a whimper, pussy clenching around his fingers, he knew he was in trouble.

“No, I can’t seem to sleep” she says, voice quiet through the phone, but he heard her clearly.

“I’ve been thinking about you today. Can you come over?” he says, and her eyes shut in defeat.

He would always do this, call her up and sweet talk her into coming over so they could fuck. Rafe never gave any of his feelings away, living up to his fuck boy reputation, and so everytime she would leave his house, thinking she was nothing but a warm body to him, she swore to herself she would never let him pull at her heartstrings like that again.

But just like him, her lack of self control betrayed her every time.

She takes a while to respond, and Rafe had to question if he managed to fuck everything up in a 2 minute phone call.

“I’ll be there in 10” she says, her voice sweet like honey, and finally he felt like he could breathe again.

Well girl, what do you think about

Staying right here in bed?

I didn't hear a word you said

I wasn't that high, I swear

Her eyes drifted open at around 8am, the morning sun making her wince as she tries to focus her vision, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Her movements come to a halt as she feels the weight of someone pressed up behind her, arm draped over her waist and head buried behind her neck.

Her eyes widen slightly as she turns so she’s almost on her back, observing how at peace Rafe looked as he was cuddled up to her, his chest rising and falling every few seconds, the sounds of his breathing relaxing her somewhat.

She must of passed out before she had the chance to leave last night, which happened sometimes whenever they were together super late. Sometimes, by the time Rafe was done with her, she would actually struggle to move, exhaustion overtaking her limp body.

But this was the first time they woke up like this. Usually, she would stick to her side of the bed, and he would stick to hers, abiding by Rafe’s stupid rule of no cuddling, as if it would somehow cure his growing infatuation for her.

He was not a relationship person, and that was something she definitely learnt the hard way. Growing up in the household that be did, Rafe had always struggled with letting people in. His father had made it impossible for him to trust, and whenever he got close, he would bolt, too scared to let himself feel anything.

For some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to let go of her. So instead, he made a bunch of stupid rules, in the hopes that it would stop him falling too deep.

Peering up at him with tired eyes, she came to the realisation that she would let him do anything to her as long as it meant he was this close. She would let him walk all over her, whatever way he wanted, if it meant she could stay in bed, like this, with him, just for a little longer.

She almost jumped out of her skin as Rose called for Rafe from downstairs, and the moment she could see his eyes battling to open beneath his eyelids, she turned back around, pretending to be asleep.

he shifted behind her as his eyes fluttered open, adjusting to his surroundings. He mentally cursed his lack of self control as he observed the position he was in, but surprisingly, he didn’t move.

Instead, he ran his fingers through a lock of her hair, the sweet smell of her strawberry shampoo making him second guess every single decision he’s ever made. He trailed his fingers all the way down to the curves of her bare hips, before planting a sweet kiss on the back of her head. It took everything in her to remain still, to suppress a bright smile, but she did, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine at his sweet affections.

Rose called for him again, and he rolled his eyes, but he still just couldn’t bring himself to move. He trailed his eyes to last nights hickeys that were littered across her neck and shoulder, and he realised then that maybe, just maybe, he would bend his rules, if it meant he could stay in bed, like this, with her, just for a little longer.

It's happening again

Well, I don't give a fuck about your friends

I'm right here

Oh, baby, take a look around

I'm the only one that hasn't walked out

I'm right here

His eyes spotted her as soon as she entered his house, seemingly uninterested in the party around him. She looked good, too good, as he observed her appearance. Her summer dress painted her figure in the most delectable way, and her glossy lips looked so succulent he had to hold himself back from kissing her when she sat down next to him.

“You look happy” she says, sarcasm dripping off her tongue as she speaks. The amusing look on her face subsided as she noticed the way he licked his red lips, his blue orbs filled with something she couldn’t place.

She lent back, still facing him, almost touching his arm that was draped over the back of the couch, his fingers close to her shoulder. It took everything in him not to run his fingers along her soft skin, a deep craving to trail his fingers over the freckles littered on her shoulder, and he had to question wether he was starting to go insane.

“You didn’t answer yesterday” he says, taking a swig of his bottle of whiskey, a usual favourite for him.

Is that why he looked so glum? It couldn’t be, it’s Rafe we’re talking about here. So then why did he look so doleful? She was burning to know, but she knew better than to pry when it came to him. So, she tried to comfort him in the only way she knew he would let him.

“Can I make it up to you?” She says sweetly, and that caught his attention instantly, head turning to face her. Her doe eyes were glistening with desire, her organs pumping with adrenaline, and she swore she saw his features soften.

Her sinful thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder, and she caught the way that Rafe’s jaw clenched at something behind her before she turned around, revealing some touron she met at party a couple weeks ago. If she was being honest, she didn’t even remember his name, but she didn’t have the heart to be rude.

And just like that, she was ripped away from him, the missing warmth from her beside him making his insides twist in the worst way possible as he watched her disappear into the crowd, muscles tensing as he paid attention to how her hands were intertwined with his. Is that why she didn’t answer yesterday? Was she with him? His blood ran cold at the thought, his face contorting with disappointment as he ran a hand through his hair, taking an extra big sip of his whiskey.

He then focused his dull gaze on the empty seat beside him, and before he knew it, time started to slow.

They both sat naked in his living room, her heart racing as she straddled him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The sweetness of her cherry lip gloss drowned his tongue as he hummed into her mouth, her insides tingling at the sweet sound as their lips moved together in a passionate kiss.

She realised then that she loved every single sound he made. Even if it was a rude remark, which wasn’t exactly uncommon with Rafe, at least it was something. At least she got to hear him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you” he mumbled into her mouth, fingers entwined in her messy hair. His voice was low and quiet, but the words pierced through her heart as if he shouted it at the top of his lungs.

She noticed that he would only say nice things to her when they were fucking, and although she didn’t complain in the moment, she always felt uneasy afterwards, his empty words lingering in her mind.

“Yeah?” God. Her voice sounded so weak and fragile, she wished she could just lay on the floor and let the ground swallow her hole. Maybe then, her conflicting thoughts would finally subside.

But Fuck, he loved when she was nervous because of him. Her shaky voice made his lips curl up into a smirk, pushing her hips down in line with his cock, watching her lidded eyes as she pushed herself down onto him, stretching her out and taking him whole.

“Your so fucking beautiful, angel” he moaned, not being able to stop his thoughts whilst he was inside her. In fact, he never could. Whenever they had sex, he would just speak his mind freely, not being able to hold back.

Her moans were full of sin as she began to bounce on his cock, digging her pink nails into his shoulders and throwing her head back in pleasure. He took the opportunity to wrap a hand round her neck, squeezing just the right amount, making sure he didn’t hurt her too much. He brought his other hand up to play with her nipple, pinching on the sensitive skin, and she jerked on top of him, making him smirk.

“Fucking addictive” he mumbles, letting go of her neck and gripping her hair instead, pulling her head forward to look him right in the eyes.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean” she says, clawing her nails down his bare chest, leaving little red marks to replace the old faded ones.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and pushing her against the couch, her back sinking into the soft material. “Oh, I mean it”

Her eyes screw shut as he pounds into her, her breathing increasingly unorganised as his nails dug into her hips. His forehead glistened with a thin layer of sweat, his hair sticking to it, and he had to bite back a smile as he saw how fucked out she was beneath him, her cheeks stained with a faint redness.

“I hate you” she says, a sincere look on her face. And if he didn’t feel her pussy clenching around him in that moment, he might of believed her.

“Earth to Rafe” Topper says, waving his hand in front of his face, and he snapped back to reality.

“Jesus man, what’s gotten into you”

He shrugs in response, an unamused look on his face. “You playing?” Topper asks, turning his head towards the circle of people sat in the middle of the room. Rafe follows toppers line of vision, and his jaw clenches. Usually, he doesn’t indulge in party games, but as soon as he saw her sat in the circle, he was making his way over.

She sat with her best friend, Tara, laughing and giggling as she sips on her vodka soda. He sat down opposite her, their eyes meeting, and suddenly it was like they were the only two people in the room.

“Rafe looks good tonight, doesn’t he” Tara says, a small smile painting her features, snapping her out of her daze. No one knew about their arrangement, and so she didn’t really have a right to be mad, but she couldn’t deny the way her heart sank at her friends words.

“I guess” she says, doing her best to mask her jealousy with a bored look, but it didn’t really work.

The games started off innocent, a few harmless truths and dares, but as always, it turned sexual very quickly. Topper was always the one to blame for that.

“Okay, this round is 7 minutes in heaven. You know the rules, if the bottle lands on you, you have to spend 7 minutes locked in a room with whoever it lands on next. No backing out” Kelce says, and her heart began to beat a little faster.

Kelce lent forward, gripping the glass beer bottle and giving it a spin. Rafe looked across at her, observing how her eyes were glued to the bottle as it span, and he hoped to god he wasn’t going to have to watch her go into a room with somebody else.

His thoughts were interrupted as their eyes connected, and confusion filled him as he took notice of her wide eyes. He looked down, and when he realised the bottle was pointed at him, it was like all the colour drained from his face.

People began to cheer around them, topper leaning over to pat his back, but she couldn’t do anything but sit, completely frozen. Kelce then span the bottle again, and her heart sank to her feet as it landed on Tara.

Tara giggled as she stood up, smoothing out her dress with her hands, but Rafe didn’t move, clearly hesitant. He tried to ignore the alcohol induced encouragement from everyone around them, and she had a sliver of hope that maybe he wouldn’t do it.

But when she saw him stand up and begin to lead her best friend into one of the downstairs bedrooms, it was like a dagger straight through the heart. She sat there for a minute or two, in her own world as she pinched herself, over and over again, to stop the tears which threatened to spill out of her.

She made her way outside, pushing through the back doors of the house and into the empty garden, the evening breeze giving her goosebumps. She knew she only had herself to blame, he told her what it was from the start and she didn’t listen, but that didn’t make the pain any easier.

She sat down on the stairs of the outside decking, arms crossed as she rubs her arms, trying to warm herself up. She heard some commotion from inside, and turned her head to see through the glass doors.

Everyone cheered as Rafe and Tara made their way out into the living room, and she struggled to breathe as she observed the way Tara pulled her dress down and fixed her hair, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what went on.

Rafe’s heart sank as he returned, scanning around the room to find she was no where to be seen. His gaze landed on her figure outside, and he didn’t hesitate to make his way to her, ignoring the confused looks from Topper and Kelce as he walked straight passed them.

She didn’t have to guess who it was as she heard the door open, and she shot up, walking towards the pool, not wanting to speak to him just yet.

“Where are you running off to?” He says, a quizzical look on his face as he follows her down the garden, shoving his arms in his pockets.

“My best friend, Rafe, really?” She says, sass laced within her voice as she runs a hand through her hair, halting her movements as she stands right in front of the pool, the moonlight reflecting in the water ever so slightly.

“Nothing happened” he replied, and although he knew she would never believe it, he was telling the truth.

Yes, it’s true, Rafe may be known for having a wandering eye, but as Tara sat on the bed, trying her best to seduce him, he just knew no one could ever compare to her.

“Bullshit”

She scoffs at him, her features contorting with anger as she stares at the water ahead, knowing the second she looks at him, she would give in. “I know that we’re just friends” she starts, ignoring the despair in the pit of her stomach as she cringes at her own words.

“But friends don’t disrespect each other. And believe it or not Rafe, fucking my friends falls under that category” she shouts, her voice raised as she now turns to face him.

“I don’t give a fuck about your friends, okay. I’m right here with you, am I not?” He replies back, his frustration evident in his tone.

He wished she believed him. He wished she knew that sometimes, he couldn’t even sleep at night, too wound up in thinking about how soft her hair was, or how cute she looked in the mornings when they would wake up together, and she was wearing nothing but his t-shirt.

“Yeah, after you had your fun” she mumbles quietly, but he heard it. Something in his mind clicked, and he wasn’t sure why it took him so long, but he finally figured out what was going on.

The corners of lips turned upwards into a shit eating grin, and she swore she had never been so close to punching him.

He takes a step forward, their shoes touching, and brings a finger to her chin, pushing her head up to look him straight in the eyes.

“Your jealous” he says teasingly, his features a picture of pure joy.

“Your insufferable” she says, rolling her eyes, trying her best to be rude even though he was right. But all he could concentrate on was the fact she didn’t even deny it.

Her poker face disappears as he moves her hair off her shoulders, bringing his head down to plant harsh kisses along her neck, biting the sweet spot in the way he knew she liked it.

“Admit it” he mumbles into her neck, his hot breath making her insides tingle.

She debated it for a second, before she decided she had a better idea.

She palmed his cock through his shorts, trying not to get distracted by him as he lifted his head up, mouth agape, his darkened eyes illustrating that he wanted to devour her mercilessly.

And when she knew he was fully distracted, she pushed him into the pool.

Rafe emerged from the rippling water, his wet hair clinging to her forehead, and she couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“I wish I could say I’m sorry” she giggles, bending down and crouching to get a better look at him, ignoring the glare that painted his features.

His glare didn’t stay for long, too caught up in how cute her laugh was. The cogs in his brain turned as his eyebrows furrowed into a thoughtful look, and before she could react, he was tugging on her arms and pulling her into the pool with him.

“Fuck you!” She shouts, almost chocking on the water as she laughs, making sure to splash him in the face.

“All you have to do is ask, angel” he smirks, trailing his eyes down to her breasts, rejoicing in the way her hardened nipples were poking through her dress, like they were begging to be touched.

He swims towards her, skin glistening with water droplets, and she just couldn’t help but stare at him in absolute awe.

He dipped his head down, brushing his lips against hers, lingering there for a moment as he grabs her thighs, wrapping them around his waist and pushing her back against the pool wall. Her hands clung to his wet hair, and as she registered just how heavy her breathing was, she knew she was too far gone.

“Someone’s ganna see” she whispers, unable to concentrate when he’s touching her like this.

“Let them” he says, his voice hoarse. He brought his hand up to cup her flushed cheek, before their lips connected in a sweet kiss.

One draw at a time, yeah

One more, you'll be fine, yeah

And I swear she was right there

The blue glow and the night wear

“Tell me how you want it, angel” he mumbles into her collar bone, trailing sloppy kisses all the way down from her breasts to her stomach.

He had turned up to her house in the middle of the day, not even bothering to phone her. It was rare that they spent time together during daylight hours, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. And as always, it had taken him all of 5 minutes until he had her striped down to her underwear, her black lingerie set making his head rush.

“Slow” is all she says, and he’s a bit taken back, lifting himself up so their face to face again. Rafe was an experienced man, but never has he once had slow sex. She lifted her head into the krook of his neck, planting sweet kisses along his skin and up to his jawline, occasionally biting, but not enough to actually hurt him. He came to the conclusion then that as long as she kept kissing him like that, he would try anything for her.

He hooked his fingers in her underwear, pulling them down her legs and revealing her drenched pussy. It didn’t matter how many times Rafe saw her naked, each time still felt like the first.

He buried his head between her legs and kissed her throbbing clit, before lapping his tongue teasingly over the bundle of nerves, small whimpers leaving her mouth at the sensation. She dug her manicured nails into her sheets, and she could feel him smirk against her pussy.

“You like that?” He asks lowly, even though he already knew the answer. She nodded her head, screwing her eyes shut as his licks got harsher, but remained slow.

He placed one hand on her stomach as he ate her out, looking up at her blissful state, and as she moaned his name, he felt like he had died and gone to heaven.

He pulled away, climbing up her body to meet her face once again, pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth as he lined himself up with her entrance, pushing his cock into her painfully slowly. The pit in her stomach grew heavier and heavier as he stretched her out, and he practically groaned into her mouth.

He started fucking her with slow but harsh strokes, gazing deeply into her eyes, and it dawned on him then that this felt like more than just sex. He trailed his thumb along her bottom lip before pushing it into her mouth, watching as she sucked on it with lidded eyes, and as she looked up at him, she realised that his blue orbs had some green in them.

What he didn’t know, was that when he knocked on her door earlier that day, and she peered at him through her window, she decided that this had to be the last time they fucked. The jealousy and sadness that he brought on her was turning her into someone that she didn’t recognise, and she knew she had to stop before it was too late, before he had broke her completely.

She savoured every minute as he thrusted into her, digging her nails down his back, leaving little red marks. He replaced his thumb with his lips, tongue diving down her throat as she hummed into his mouth, their kiss sloppy as they were both moaning messes.

He buried his head in her neck, biting her shoulder gently as his eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed at how good this felt even though it wasn’t what he was used to.

The feeling was so bittersweet as she let a single tear roll down her red cheeks, tangling her hands in his hair, only now realising that she had fallen in love with Rafe Cameron, and now she was going to have to heal.

Girl, I've been taking it slow

You know I've been taking it slow

You're sitting alone, why are you sitting alone?

Baby, just pick up your phone, oh

'Cause I've been rolling all damn night, whoa

She took a sip of her champagne as she walked through the beautiful flower garden, mentally praising Toppers parents for choosing to get married in such a picturesque place.

Her hair was plaited into two, with daisy flowers weaved into her hair, sticking to the floral theme of the wedding, and her lilac silk dress was accompanied with matching heels.

She walked to the end of the establishment, making sure no one else was around, before retrieving a crumpled up joint and a lighter from her purse, wasting no time in lighting it, staring at all the luscious plants around her as her body started to relax.

She’s interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, and she almost gave herself whiplash with how fast she turned around.

“Jesus! Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to creep up on people?” She asks, eyes slightly wide as she takes a look at the man in front of her. He stood in a black suit, which she could tell was expensive, and a glass of whiskey sat in his ring clad hand, the condensation from the glass rolling down his fingers.

“Says the one getting stoned at a wedding” he says, smirking as he gestures to the lit joint in her hand.

“Hm, touché. But its the only way I’m going to be able to get through Toppers mums speech. I love Top with all my heart, but that woman is the devil” she says, taking a drag of her joint, watching as some of the loose embers fall onto the floor.

He laughs then, a real laugh, which for some reason melted her insides, and her cherry red lips turned upwards into a bright smile.

All Rafe could think about was how someone as beautiful as her could exist, and he didn’t even know about it. He made a mental note to punch Topper later for not introducing her to him.

“You like daisies?” He asks, and confusion fills her features for a second before she realised he’s talking about her hair.

“Uh, yeah. They were my mum’s favourite” she said, a certain dullness laying behind her eyes. His hands grew clammy as he put two and two together, but he didn’t say anything, not wanting to intrude on the personal life of a complete stranger.

“I like it. You kind of look like an angel” he says, and he clears his throat as he realised what he just said, his forwardness even shocking himself.

Her smile never wavered as he spoke, features lighting up at his kind words, and suddenly she needed to know who on earth this man was.

“I’m Y/N” she says, leaning her arm out to shake his, her dainty arms no match for his muscular ones.

“Rafe” he responds, mirroring her actions, and as soon as his skin touched hers, she had a feeling he was here to stay.

She sat alone in the island club, watching her phone light up as his contact came onto the slightly cracked screen, the small vibrations of her ringtone filling the room. Her head fell into her hands as she sighed, doing everything she could to go against her urges to answer the call.

She had been ignoring him for a few days, trying to detach herself, but every time he called, she got closer and closer to caving. Everything she did was for him, and now, everything she was doing was because of him, and it was so painful.

Rafe was at toppers with the boys, sipping on his whiskey as he held his phone up to his ear, listening to his ringer as the call went to voicemail for the third time that night.

“Fuck” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he shifted on the couch, the same couch where he had his first sinful encounter with her.

“Who are you calling?” Kelce says, eyes squinting with suspicion as he looks at Rafe, registering his stressed out state.

“No one” he replies, and it was impossible to miss the look that Kelce and Topper gave each other.

“Rafe, you might think you were being sneaky, but we know you’ve been seeing Y/N for months now. You guys are kinda obvious” Topper says, eyebrows raised as he confesses to his best friend, a small smile on his face.

“Plus, I saw you guys fucking in the pool the other night” Kelce says, and Rafe’s eyes widen.

“Shit” he says, not really sure what to say. For the first time in his life, he was stumped.

“You really like her, huh?” Topper says, always able to know what his best friend was thinking.

Rafe hesitated before nodding his head, taking another sip of his whiskey, rejoicing in the way it warmed his insides and numbed his pain.

“She won’t return my calls” he says, his mind a spiralling mess. He was trying to rack his brain to figure out what he had done wrong, but the more he thought about it the more confused he got.

“you have to make a gesture, something to show you care. Girls eat that shit up man” Topper said, patting Rafe on the back, Kelce nodding along with him. And as he was racking his brain for ideas, one thing did spring to mind.

Oh, baby, take a look around

I’m the only one that hasn’t walked out

I'm right here

She scanned the perimeter as she stepped onto the boat, the salty smell of the ocean wafting through the mid-day air. She spotted topper at the bar almost immediately, making some sort of cocktail concoction, and she couldn’t help but giggle as she walked up to him.

“Your late” Topper says as he spots her, the sound of the blender making it hard for her to hear, but she did.

“Fashionably late” she corrects him, gesturing to her matching bikini, lifting her sunglasses off of her eyes and resting them on her head, her hair cascading off her shoulders elegantly.

“Why am I here anyway? Frozen Margarita’s don’t really seem like much of an emergency” she says, eyebrows raised as an amused look paints her features.

“Oh but it is. I need you to test my recipe” he says, and as much as she wanted to be annoyed for dragging her out here for no reason, a margarita did sound good.

“Can you go get me some more lime juice from downstairs?” he says, and she nodded her head in response, placing her purse down on the bar before heading for the stairs.

The heels of her wedges clicked as she walked down the wooden stairs, heading straight to the downstairs bar. She flicked through the cupboards as she tried to find the desired lime juice, before her eyes landed on a glass vase which sat in the middle of the bar.

She drew in a sharp breath as she gazed at the bouquet of fresh daisies, accompanied by a card with her name on it, and her eyebrows furrowed. She brought her hand up to stroke the fragile petals, and the memory of her mother plagued her mind.

“What the-“

“They were your mother’s favourite” a male voice says, and she didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “I remembered”

He pulled on her heartstrings as he stood in the doorway, a baseball cap sitting backwards lazily on his head, and a crooked smile on his ruby red lips that she could never get tired of, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t believe he remembered such a small detail like that, and she began to think maybe her prejudice towards him was all wrong.

“Rafe” she says quietly, clearly in shock, her doe eyes wide as he makes his way to her, and holy shit, he never really could get over how his name rolled off her tongue so sweetly.

“What are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to do since the day we met” he said, and she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but stare at him in awe as goosebumps formed along her tanned skin, melting into his touch as he brought a hand up to her cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb before cupping her cheek in his hand.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick. I’m sorry I made all these stupid rules for us, like no cuddling, or keeping us a secret, because the truth is, every time your near, it takes every ounce of my self restraint not to touch you, or not to tell you that every inch of me belongs to you” he says, wrapping one hand around her waist, pressing her body against his, and she prayed he couldn’t feel how fast hear heart was beating right now.

“I only did those things because I was scared of actually letting someone in” he says, finally letting himself breathe as he paused. “Scared of having to admit that I love you, angel”

She grinned like a cheshire cat as he finished his sentence, admiring the way his cheeks blushed with a faint redness as he poured his heart out, and she swung her arms around his neck tightly, never wanting to let go.

“I love you too” she says, before reaching up on her tiptoes and claiming his lips in a gentle kiss.

“You know i would do anything for you, right?” She whispers against his lips, practically breathing the same air as him, and just like that, his signature smirk was back.

“Well in that case, how about you start with taking this flimsy thing off” he says, pulling on the straps of her bikini top, a small giggle leaving her glossy lips as she playfully hit his arm.

“Gross. Please don’t” Topper says, and they both jumped out of their skin as they spotted him in the doorway, arm leant against the wooden frame with a smug look on his face.

“Jesus! How long have you been standing there?”

Oh, baby take a look around

I'm the only one that hasn't walked out

I'm right here

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD & CASSANDRA CAIN (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

—

“Blind Spot” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) and (Cassandra Cain & Platonic!Reader)

| Reader is introduced (this time “formally”) to the second of their new boyfriend’s extended family.

| SFW, stalking(?), batfam shenanigans, worried!Jason

| The pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic sources: beg.=batman:under the red hood, middle=dceaced, and end=batgirl#1 • all comics)

| part of the meet the bats series

| 3k+ words

Jason’s roof is bumpy. Not like asbestos bumpy or anything, though in Gotham you could never be too sure, but it certainly wasn’t smooth.

“Hey, baby, was your apartment built before or after 1989?”

Jason answers immediately.

“After. I needed a place without a sprinkler system though, so I wouldn’t bet anything special on this building being too up to code.”

“Mm,” you hum, letting your head drop to the side. That still didn’t rule out asbestos.

The new view that greets you is of the back of Jason’s head and the broad scarred expanse of his back.

You’ve decided you’re not going to worry about the possible poison in the walls yet. Hopefully Jason’s paranoia extends to that type of stuff and he’s checked it out already.

“Hey baby?”

In the beat it takes for Jason to let out an acknowledging grunt your eyes catch the black glint of yet another weapon being picked up. You snort.

“You got all those guns, any of ‘em actually do anything interesting?”

His shoulders shake as he laughs.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, just...” your brown fingers snap and you sit up, legs crisscrossed over the cushions, “…there was a rumor going around the other day ‘bout Harley and a beanbag shotgun. Got anything like that?”

Jason scoffs, “You have got to stop listening to whoever is spreading these rumors and giving you your theories.”

“Shut up.” You wait until he’s taken the last piece of the pistol in his hand apart to knock him in the head with one of his throw pillows. “Answer the question, Todd.”

For a good minute he can’t, keeled over laughing as he is, but you have no problem waiting him out, laughter of your own occupying you.

“Alright,” he gasps in air, talking through his giggles. His voice is a little higher than usual. “Short answer is no.”

When he’s done he lets his head fall back into the couch so he can look at you with raised brows.

“Satisfied?” He grins, voice back to normal.

“Believe it or not,” you wiggle around so you can bend over and smack a wet kiss onto his lips, feeling his smile widen, before sitting back up, “no. What’s the long answer?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘insatiable’ under his breath, before going back to his assigned task for the night. You shrug, but a shiver down your spine cuts off whatever response you might’ve given.

Brows furrowing, you lean back on the couch as an uneasy feeling settles in your gut, gaze moving to slide around the apartment until you settle on a familiar item on the small table near the window.

The aloe plant you’d gifted Jason a few weeks ago sits atop it. Surprisingly, it still looked healthy, which was nice. You’d gotten it for him because they were low maintenance, but you could never be too sure with the vigilante schedule he operated on. There’s a small bit of movement behind the plant though and - without your say so - your eye focuses on it instantly. Or at least tries to. For some reason what you’d thought was a bug ends up disappearing on you though.

The longer you look out at what amounts to nothing the more severe your frown gets, face morphing into a grimace.

The darkness feels like it’s watching you back and the prospect makes you queasy. The possibility of a potentially deadly game of hide and seek runs through your mind; somebody popping up from the darkness and smashing the window—

A particularly harsh clink from in front of you snaps your mind back to reality. Jason’s reaching for his briefly disregarded rag and gun oil, parts of a good sized rifle laid out before him, shoulders rising and falling in easy, tempered motions. Instantly you begin matching your breaths with his own, doing your best to shake the feeling of unease off.

Jason starts talking again with a low contemplative tone and you let his voice settle over you like a blanket, slumping back into the couch as you watch the back of his head.

“The barrel of a shotgun isn’t even big enough for a regular sized bean sack—”

“—Bean sack,” you parrot quietly and Jason flips you off without looking. You snicker.

“A bean sack gun,” he continues like you hadn’t interrupted, “just isn’t practical as a primary weapon. It’ll probably lock up and misfire then - look at that - you're dead.”

You huff, “Jason this is supposed to be a fun conversation.”

“This is fun,” he grunts, picking up a tiny brush to clean with.

Your eyes roll.

“Alright, whatever, what about glitter?”

“Please stop.”

You buss out laughing.

“I don’t think I want to. But- just hear me out,” you cut in when you see the furrow that takes over his face, “If Sam and Dean can shoot salt guns then I don’t see how much different glitter would be if you factor in the weight difference.”

The new expression that takes over his face is even worse than beforehand and he gives you this narrow look like he can’t believe you’re being serious.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Those guns aren’t designed for impact, just range, and,” he scoffs, “to look cool probably.”

“Ohhh—” you stop as the confusing patch of night outside the window catches your attention again before scooting farther away from the window. Why it’s even throwing you off you can’t tell, but you don’t want to stress over nothing. You clear your throat and go back to joking with him. “—You don’t think the salt shotgun is cool, Jay? Is the Red Hood too good for the Winchesters?”

“Absolutely.”

He grins at you over his shoulder and you scoff, kicking out to shove him with your foot. He barely rocks from the force of it.

After that an easy silence fills the space once more and you rest your head onto the back of the couch, breathing in deep in an attempt to quell the clench in your stomach.

When you look over again the image through the window is clearer. On the apartment across from Jay’s there’s a fire escape just slightly above his own and — you squint, crawling to the end of the couch to get a better look — and there! Right there! A short burst of breeze causes a heavy piece of fabric to flutter and what’s wrong finally becomes obvious.

You lean even further.

What should be the rest of the metal railing is blocked by a large patch of darkness that you do your best to follow with your eyes, only going a little cross-eyed and blurry in your efforts.

Passively, it occurs to you that maybe this was something you should bring to Jason’s attention. The night coming to life and inching closer wasn’t normal after all, but—

There! The fabric shifts again, another larger piece this time, and with your gaze now having something concrete to focus on more and more of the misplaced darkness starts to come into place.

Glinting stitches, a brief flash of yellow as another gust of wind displaces fabric. Then a light in the house across from you flicks on. Barely any of it leaks through their curtains, but it’s just enough to make the outline of a person perched on the railing, what you can now tell is the smear of a cape draped over the outside of the fire escape and catching the breeze every few seconds, come into staunch focus.

Your eyes go wide.

“Jason?”

His head whips around and he’s looking up at you from his disassembled cache of guns on the floor, gaze sharp. You don’t know what the hell he detected from your voice, but you can see the way his face crests once he gets a look at your expression and your stomach twists.

You didn’t think you looked that alarmed.

Jason’s gaze follows yours when you turn your head back for confirmation, and it’s brief but for a second still the same blotch of black is there before you take your next breath and it’s - the person’s - disappeared.

“Crap,” he curses and you go rigid, falling back as the sounds of him quickly reassembling a gun fill the room.

Next thing you know he’s up and walking over to open the window.

You scramble up from the couch, “Jay! Hold on, are you sure—?”

The window slides open with a small click and a few beats pass before - baffled - you watch Jason sigh and set his firearm down on the side table beside the aloe.

He sticks his head out the window.

“Cass,” he whisper-yells.

From behind Jason you watch nothing happen. It’s quiet except for the city’s usual ambiance and there's a cursory creak of old metal before—

“No, not you too, get out of here. Don’t you have a city to patrol?”

—a face appears in the window, right in front of Jason, and you take in such a harsh breath you stumble back a few steps.

So close to the window with the light from the living room as an aid you can make out the long pointed ears at the top of what you can now tell is the person’s — Batgirl’s, that was Batgirl’s — mask.

Right. Okay. You suppose if Robin popped in to visit and your boyfriend rocked a red helmet and killed people in his spare time then Batgirl also popping in wasn’t too far a stretch of the imagination. You suck in a breath until your lungs fill with enough air to make your chest twinge.

Batgirl’s low scratchy voice fills the quiet.

“The city.” Batgirl seems to fix Jason with a look but the mask makes it hard to tell, before finishing, “Will survive…five minutes.”

Then she pats the hand he still has on the window sill. “Kind of you,” you hear her say before she’s slipping in past the width of his bulk. Jason makes an exasperated noise and moves to let her in - not that she wasn’t already doing that perfectly fine on her own.

After the incident not even a full week ago Jason can’t seem to not throw you a panicked look from behind the woman. You only shrug, heartbeat steadily settling back down. At least you were awake this time. You look over the faceless vigilante, not an inch of skin - of the person underneath - showing. Though you were no less perturbed.

The only huge difference is that it was the blank mask of the Black Bat that’s staring at you from the darkness and you’re not at imminent risk of being beheaded. That was…something. You purse your lips, rocking back onto your heels with your heart in your throat.

The Bat doesn’t say a thing, just looking at you with indents that probably indicate eyes behind them and a face full of more of those glinting stitches.

Jason clears his throat, moving around so he can stand beside you.

“Is this some kind of trend now?”

His irritated grumble brings Batgirl’s attention back to him and you relax, leaning into the arm he presses into the dip of your back.

“Oh,” she breathes. You’d be pressed to think she was being sarcastic if it wasn’t for: “Heard about Robin. Seemed like…fun,” she proclaims.

You briefly wonder at the fact that you’re apparently an interesting enough deviation for Jason that you’re piquing the interest of vigilantes.

Then Batgirl’s attention shifts squarely back to you and you can’t remember how to breathe again, let alone what you were just thinking about.

“Um,” you choke out, “Hi.”

Jason’s tan hand snakes under your shirt to rub at the dark brown skin there. You focus on the warmth from the point of contact, breathing out slowly.

Batgirl’s head shifts, indicating the window behind her. “You noticed me.”

It’s not a question.

“I mean - barely,” you say. A half aborted chuckle falls past your plush lips. “I pretty much just thought I was losing it.”

“That’s good,” she says and you pause confused. She turns to Jason, tone brightening. “Robin was right. She’s impressive. For a civilian,” she concedes at the end.

When she walks up to you next she holds a hand out. After a moment of hesitation you reach out to take it, her grip is strong and when she shakes your hand you have to steady your arm or else risk her jerking you around.

“You have a good eye. Good instincts. Useful starting point…for learning.”

“She won’t be,” Jason grunts. You roll your eyes at him, you didn’t even want to be a vigilante but he didn’t have to shoot the idea down so hard.

Batgirl shrugs, “I know,” she dismisses. She squeezes softly at your hand. “Y/n. It was nice meeting you. Had to see. Who’d…put up with him,” she ends snidely.

Jason huffs and you laugh despite yourself, squeezing her hand back in turn. That seems to have been enough for her because you can just make out the smile underneath her cowl before she lets go.

She sends a parting nod Jason’s way and he scoffs quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” he says to Batgirl’s retreating form. "See you later, yeah?” he adds, voice dropping.

She stops part way through slipping out the window, half her body already lost to the darkness, before giving a curt nod. A jaunty wave is sent your way next and then…nothing.

You don’t even hear the fire escape creak before she’s melted into the shadows and disappeared back into the night.

─────

Jason doesn’t know how to conceptualize this, but he has to know. He needs that confirmation before he can truly rest easy.

There’s no one else who reads people as well as Cassandra. Maybe she’ll be able to finally get rid of the way he can’t help but jerk away from your closeness sometimes, from the natural pull you have over him. How much he can’t stay away even as reluctance and fear pulls at him.

Jason sighs.

Or help him figure out how comfortable you really were with the whole Red Hood thing. It’s not that he didn’t trust you to keep the secret, just that he wasn’t sure if you were saving face with him or not. The last thing he wants is for you to feel obligated to stay with him. Or intimidated.

Cass waits until he’s just settled beside her on the roof before speaking.

He’s silently grateful for it. For some reason verbally asking for her assessment seemed like more a betrayal than needing the read at all.

This way he can delude himself into thinking she offered the information up unprompted. Something tells him it won’t change anything; he ignores that voice.

“She’s good,” Cass nods. She pointedly doesn’t leave it at that though so Jason stays still, let’s the wind lap at his hoodie and whisp at his hair.

Cass sighs, so still her shoulders barely move, and then turns to him. There’s a low tuft in her voice like she knows exactly what he’s doing here, knows he’s looking to her for salvation.

“Good,” she stresses. Breathes in once. Exhales. “But hiding.”

Jason’s heart doesn’t skip a beat but his gut does twist, caving in on itself in a bid to hide. He starts shaking his head.

The thing about Jason, he stopped trusting his heart a long time ago. Too late to save him from some other grievances in his life but good enough to keep him alive for this long. To protect this second chance, trusting his gut has been crucial. So why did it feel like he was being gutted?

“…hiding what?” When she takes too long to answer Jason finally turns. “Cass—”

She intercepts him easily, barely a rustle of fabric before her closed fist is pressed against his breastbone. It holds him in place more firmly than it has any right to.

“She’s hiding.” She manages somehow to make him feel the weight of her eyes meeting his own before tutting at him. “So are you.”

The plea Jason’s about to let out gets stuck in the base of his throat and he clears it.

“What do you mean?”

Even in the cowl the disbelieving look Cass throws his way is clear, fabric over her brow creasing.

“You are…leading her.” Her head canters barely a centimeter to the side. “She won’t…move. Not without…looking to you…first.”

All he can do for a moment is breathe deep and swallow back the argument bubbling up his throat. They both know Cass didn’t talk if she wasn’t sure, and Cass didn’t make mistakes about these things.

This wasn’t emotions; it was pure science, and body language for someone like Cass was near impossible to skew at the base intention level. And well…Jason can’t even lie to himself enough to believe he hadn’t expected her assessment to be anything other than confirmation for what he already knew.

He shakes his head, hands shoving into his pockets, “How am I supposed to fix that Cass?”

Cass gives a blithe little shrug, turning away from him again. Her cape billows out wide behind her, wingspan almost large enough to wrap the whole of Gotham in her protective embrace.

She snipes, unrepentant, “Why do I? Have to…know?”

Her voice carries on the wind with more leniency than the question suggests.

Jason sighs, rolling his shoulders back and shifting to look out over the stretch of rooftops laid out before them also.

“You don’t,” he grunts. “Sorry— thanks for this Cass. I owe you.”

She nods, shrugging.

“Cool,” she says. “I’ll call. If I…feel like it.”

He can almost hear the smile in her voice. He imagines it’s the little barely tolerate one she tends to give him. It’s not the smirk he knows she’s prone towards sporting with the others, but the fact he gets anything more than the blank look she gives when she’s mad but doesn’t have the energy or the words to say anything more to him is miraculous enough. He’s lucky to have any of her good will at all considering how heated some of their past conversations have gotten.

Cass never treats him like he’s a ghost, more so like she’s doing him a favor; looking past all the skeletons peeking over his shoulder to see Jason. Just Jason.

It’s not great. Even if he does know why.

It’s not the way you look at him; like he’s whole. Like the him that you want is exactly what’s in front of you, not some specter from the past or poor imitation you have to put up with.

One of Cass’s hands moves to rest against the holster on her belt and she raises one foot to prop up on the border surrounding the roof before leaning into his space.

She punches his shoulder, softly for her, and he takes it.

“You. Should keep her…a civilian. Jason,” she stresses. “An alive one.”

Jason hasn’t even begun to react before Cass is tilting forward, firing off her grappling gun and dropping off the roof in a second.

‘I’m trying,’ Jason thinks at the charcoal of her cape.

He takes another few minutes to look out over the city, let the sounds of a broken metropolis and its people wash over him - for his gut to settle back into stone - and then he climbs down the fire escape.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

Alright, so, this is my first time really writing Cass so don’t hate me. I didn’t want to shove her into a ‘woman who soothes a man’s woes’ role, but I did still want to give her and Jason a more tolerant and supportive relationship than they’d ever have canonically (and this is a Jason-centric story so some centering is inevitable). Also, I tried to match her speech patterns from the 2000’s comics so don’t come for me, she usually only speaks in four word sentences at the longest and breaks her sentences up so she can presumably search for the word she needs, otherwise her grammar is totally fine so yeah, hopefully my portrayal of her wasn’t too too bad. I will be advancing her sentence structure and speech patterns when she shows up again in a later part in order to depict how her speech advances in the comics too, just because I want to practice with her some more. Also just believe that once Cass realized the Reader-Insert had sensed her she stayed in a more compromising position (in front of a potential light source) just to really test how well she’d be at actually finding her after sensing something was off.

Keep in mind that this is “wholesome” bat family fanon, but that I lean towards post-crisis when it comes to characterization and comics I read for reference (except for Duke obviously) because I largely like post-crisis canon more. Though, how I write Damian is definitely more based on the DCAMU version of him because that was my introduction to his character, but I am working on getting closer to his canon character voice for my own sake since he will be showing back up later in this series (& just in general I’ve slightly shifted how I write Jason as well since part one).

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

Slightly Rewritten - 6/30/24 (bc the way I reread this and was like “well, tell the woman thank you, goddamn” immediately told me I needed to rewrite some dialogue; like, even though I was trying not to I still ended up prioritizing Jason too much at the end)

Alt. Banner (scrapped) —

(source - Batman: Wayne Family Adventures)

Tagged: @bandshirts-andbooks

[kitchenisking]

Sterek Fic Rec

Second night of chunnuka!

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,240, sterek)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Daddy. by Krose_16 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,430, sterek)

Stiles smells like someone else. A certain alpha doesn't like it.

Daddy's Boy by Snare - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,822, sterek)

Stiles has been blushing around him all week, sputtering and cheeks going red. It’s only after a pack meeting when Derek finally sees the soft pink lace peaking out from under his waistband.

you're still you by EvanesDust - (Rating: T, Words: 7,292, sterek)

[excerpt] Stiles takes a deep breath and follows the pull of their bond to the kitchen. He stops short when he sees Derek sitting at the table. His brows are furrowed with worry and his eyes are closed. But that’s not what makes Stiles’s heart skips a beat.

No, it’s the fact that Derek, his thirty-two-year-old husband, looks half his age now. As in literally half his age. There’s no way that the man sitting in front of him is older than sixteen.

“What the fuck?” Stiles blurts out, and Derek’s eyes shoot open, the chair clattering back as he stands as if Stiles surprised him. And that just goes to show that something is seriously wrong because Stiles has only ever been able to do that when Derek’s stressed and lost in thought. “What the hell happened?”

…or the murder husbands fic that’s mostly sweet while bby Derek takes care of his pregnant mate.

Neither Here Nor There by FelOllie - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,083, sterek)

"Yeah." Stiles ran a hand through hair he hadn't washed in days, not since he'd come home from his dad's to find the loft littered with shotgun shells, black blood staining the floor and the heavy scent of wolfsbane cloyingly thick in the air, with Derek nowhere to be found. "We'll get him back. But..."

"What?" Scott asked, crossing the floor to stand before Stiles, lifting a comforting hand to his best friend's shoulder.

Stiles met Scott's eyes, his own orbs glittering with terrified tears. "What if he's just ash by then?"

Bright by thedevilyousay  - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,102, sterek)

"The strongest warlock in all the land uses his power to constantly kidnap the princess. Most people believe it’s because he’s in love with her, but they have it all wrong. He’s in love with the knight who always comes to save her."

or

Allison finally lets out all the air that’s been trapped in her lungs to giggle, a noise she quickly tries to cover with her hand. This is all too much though, honestly. Stiles isn’t even dressed, Derek has no idea that the mage only does this to see him, and she suddenly can’t remember if she took the kettle off the fire in Stiles kitchen before walking out here to greet her Knight. She tries to gather herself before she speaks.

Nothing Gory Means No Glory (but baby please don't bore me) by DefNotForWork - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,537, sterek)

“I don’t like them touching you,” he rumbled. “I don’t want anyone else touching you.” He leaned forward, and Stiles’ eyes went wide, thinking for one crazy second that the wolf might be leaning in for a kiss. He stood, frozen in place as Derek pressed in close, chest to chest, dragging his nose and then his stubbly cheek against the corner of Stiles’ slack, shocked mouth, down over his jaw and then to his neck. Stiles recognized it as scenting, but damn did it feel like so much more.

Or

Stiles puts himself in the way of a succubus, gets munched on, Derek talks about his feelings, and then they find true love. Not strictly in that order.

At Peace by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,801, sterek)

Stiles spies Derek looking adorably soft and can’t help but go to him.

The End is the Beginning by AClosedFicIsNeverRead - (Rating: Mature, Words: 6,496, sterek)

When Chris returned to the living room, rifle in hand, Stiles – God help him – looked so relieved. 

“Thank you,” Stiles sighed. He sat up and closed his eyes, trying to hold himself somewhat still as he waited to die.

Chris clenched his jaw. Raised his rifle. Aimed with tearful eyes. And pulled the trigger. 

- OR - 

The one where Stiles is bitten and left for dead by a rogue Alpha without anyone knowing, becomes increasingly unstable, and asks Chris Argent to put him down. It doesn't go the way he expected it would...

let the tension seep from your bones by To_fill_the_sea - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,510, sterek)

Derek comes home from tracking a rogue alpha that was encroaching on his territory and threatening his town. When he finally fixes the problem and comes back home he finds Stiles crying in the shower. He then does what he can to soothe and help him.

[paceprompting]

stars in his eyes✨

week 3 (and a little late, whoops) for @steddiesmuttyseptember. And a continuation in the saga of why can't I write just porn, this is 6K, wtf.

Rough | lingerie | aftercare | sneaking around (and failing so badly at it)

Rating: mature

Tags: mention of rough sex, shotgunning, teasing, fingering, sexy underwear, semi-public sex

~*~*~*~

Steve didn’t quite know what to expect when Eddie invited him to a gig. Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy, too. But that had been offhand, nonchalant—an Invite whoever you’d like to come with. Got to make sure we’re not too suspicious, right?

Suspicious.

Hiding from the wandering eyes of the people who knew them best. Not standing too close, but making sure not to outright avoid one another, either. They could sit on the same couch, but not with Steve’s arm behind Eddie’s head on the back of cushion. Not with Eddie’s legs splayed in Steve’s lap, as if he could get that spot before Robin anyway.

They’d taken to putting a bowl of popcorn between them just to be safe.

There was other little safety measures like that. They never drove each other around unless they were also driving around Robin or the kids. Steve never parked in front of the trailer and came in through Eddie’s bedroom window. Eddie did the same for Steve’s house, except when he stayed over after a movie night.

All smoke and mirrors. To keep everyone else from think they were sneaking around behind their backs. That Steve and Eddie were keeping something secret from them.

Because that was what they were doing. Sneaking around.

He hadn’t even told Robin. Not in such specific terms anyway. She was well aware that Steve had a “secret paramour”, as she called it. He told her he wasn’t in some Shakespeare romance from English, and all she’d shot back with was, well yeah, you’d probably be dead if you were.

Eddie had asked him not to tell. When they’d clearly moved on from that first mutual hands-down-each-others-pants behind the school gym the day Eddie and Robin graduated from Hawkins High. After Steve had kissed him before the ceremony to help keep Eddie from spiraling out of control and running off before he could finally walk across that stage.

Moved on to long make-outs on Steve’s bed.  To sucking Eddie off in the back of his van after band practice. To Steve keeping a stash of mixtapes with Eddie’s favorite bands on them in his glovebox and Eddie keeping a stash of Cola on hand at the trailer, along with a spare pair of Steve’s glasses for his migraines.

Their standing offer that if either of them called in the middle of the night, the nightmares too much, too real, the other went over with no question.

Steve had peeked in at the end of a couple practices, when he was rounding up the group for a Hellfire night. Had sat in Eddie’s bedroom with him while he plucked out melodies and chords on his luscious red guitar with such speed in his fingers, Steve’s head spun just watching.

But he had no clue how a concert would go.

And being a Corroded Coffin concert, led by a wild child of chaos like Eddie Munson, anything could happen.

Eddie hadn’t forced Steve to come. Knew that the bright spotlights and excessive sound from the speakers could easily send Steve into another migraine. If Steve had to bow out, he would understand. Of course, he could hardly meet Steve’s eyes when he had said that, voice colored by how much he wished it wasn’t a variable.

It had been a good morning, the day of the concert. No auras. No nausea. Steve had even slept well through the night. He knew why Eddie came by around noon when Steve was working, his deep brown eyes wide and hopeful before he said anything.

“Excited for the concert tonight,” was all he said and Eddie grinned, blinding Steve with his dimples. One was slightly crooked now from the demobat scar on his jaw, and Steve remembered how Eddie had started to turn his head away or let his hair fall forward to cover it when he noticed himself smiling.

He wasn’t doing that now.

Eddie quickly rented two of his old favorites from the Horror section to cover up the real reason he’d come by and then left, lingering just an extra moment at the counter to touch his fingers to Steve’s.

Part of Steve wanted to grab Eddie by the front of his Dio t-shirt and yank him over the counter to kiss him. But they both knew better.

He didn’t see Eddie again until the concert.

He nursed exactly one beer and stared at the small crowd gathered at the Hideout. Corroded Coffin wasn’t the only band performing—a sort of talent show of up and comers—but they were the openers. As his eyes lazily scanned the crowd, nodding every so often when Robin nudged him in the ribs to do so, Steve  wondered if he might see Eddie somewhere.

This was his crowd. The long hair, the dark clothes and leather. Steve vaguely recognized some of the names on people’s shirts—all said in the back of his mind in Eddie’s low voice, usually bemoaning Steve’s ignorance of music culture.

Steve knew there was no reason for Eddie to be out socializing. He was probably pacing back and forth in the tiny closet of a dressing room the venue had provided, wringing his hands through his curls and making them wilder than they already were.

A selfish part of him, the one that got to have Eddie in small bits and pieces when they could manage it, wanted to find Eddie and try to soak up all that anxiety for him. There hadn’t been any chance to wish him good luck.

Steve hadn’t even thought of it when Eddie had come by the video store.

God, he regretted it.

“Hey, you want to go to front with me?”

Robin’s voice filtered through to the front of his mind, and Steve had to shake his head before he turned toward her. She stared at him, eyes wide and intense, and her face way too close to his own.

“What?”

“Do you.” She tilted her chin down. “Want.” Widened her eyes and leaned further into Steve’s space. “To go to the front.” She blinked twice. “With me.”

Steve would have pulled away from Robin, but he was already at the edge of the booth with him, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle all crammed together. And he was half-sure that Eddie would never let him live down Steve “The Former Hair” Harrington falling flat on his face at a metal concert.

“Are you going to have to stand like this the whole time?” he asked.

Robin tsked right in his face, but immediately pulled back. “I would say yes, but your breath smells like citrus and yeast. Now, are we going to the front or not, because if we don’t go now, I will have to use you as a human shield to get there.”

Steve looked far over his shoulder toward the stage. Corroded Coffin’s instruments were set up and waiting, and true to Robin’s worries, as the time drew closer to start the crowd was gathering as close to the front as possible.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he said. Sure, Eddie and his band were performers, but Steve could only imagine how much easier it might be to only see people you don’t even know, who probably don’t even care as long as you play half-decent music. “If Eddie and the band see us, it might make them nervous.”

“Oh, come on. Those stage lights shine so bright they won’t be able to see the end of the stage, much less beyond it.”

“Robs…”

“Please, Steve. It’s our first concert. We have to!” Robin clutched onto his forearm, black-painted nails digging in at the points.

“Alright, alright.” He pried Robin’s hand off him and basically tumbled out of the booth with her following after. He downed the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. Jonathan and Argyle were engrossed in some personal conversation, but Nancy had noticed them leave.

Strangely enough, she had her brows raised at Robin, who gave her a bright thumbs up and then grabbed onto Steve’s arm again. He opened his mouth to question the interaction, but he didn’t know whether to pose it to Robin or to Nancy. And before he could figure it out, Robin darted for the stage and yanked Steve along behind her.

So, it wasn’t until the house lights dimmed and the stage lights brightened that Steve saw Eddie again.

His first thought was how much he wanted to bite Eddie.

Like he had guessed earlier on, Eddie’s curls were a dark, wild mess around his head. The lights surround him shone on the edges like an aura, and Steve had a flash of terror that a migraine had suddenly decided to burst his lovely, pleasant bubble.

But Eddie was only one. Bathed in the intense, bright light, shining at all of his edges and through the loose curls bouncing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Wearing a pair of overly-torn up black jeans bedecked with chains hanging from his belt loops and an equally overly-cut up Corroded Coffin t-shirt, his scarred sides and tattoos—old and new—in full view of the crowd. His guitar, his darling, shone its dazzling red now that it was were it belonged with Eddie on stage, and Steve’s eyes caught on the glint of his silver rings as he settled his fingers along the frets.

Robin practically vibrated beside him while the emcee introduced the band. Let out an ear-splitting screech even through the ear plugs he’d bought when the crowd cheered for the band. Which, thankfully, were good enough that Steve only winced from the surprise rather than sheer volume.

The drums—Gareth, he remembered—started first. The three-count that led into the starting thrum of the base. Eddie wasn’t singing on this song, since he wasn’t standing in front of a mic. The other guitarist—his name something starting with a ‘J’—joined the bass with an even, low tenor; mouth pressed close to the mic and giving bedroom eyes to the crowd.

And then Eddie…

Steve knew something was coming. In the way he grinned to himself and tossed his hair over one shoulder, practically thrumming and the stagelight aura around him growing and growing until it burst out when he finally played his starting chord.

It was one chord. Only one.

There was another line of vocals, and then he played the chord once more. The sound tore from the speakers right through Steve, vibrating through his bones and into his veins. The opening chords transitioned into Eddie’s fingers flying across the strings, and he moved—always, always moving, never still his Eddie—with the music as he played.

He saw Eddie look out toward the crowd, squinting for a second like Robin said he probably would. But his gaze traveled across as he played, never missing a note, sweat shining on his exposed skin. Steve moved because Robin did, took caught up in staring at one particular member of the band to remember to actually try jumping or cheering.

Eddie’s dark eyes stopped on a particular spot in the crowd, a lascivious grin  across forming his face. His dimples came out in full force, and still he kept playing his guitar like an extension of his body rather than a simple toll to create strange but intense music.

And he realized…Robin was wrong.

Eddie could absolutely see him.

Because Eddie was staring at him.

He’d migrated closer to one of the speakers at the front of the stage, throwing one combat boot wearing foot onto the top of it, splaying his hips out and laying his guitar across the space. He winked at Steve, he fucking winked and threw back his head as he started a solo—rings sparkling points on his hands as Eddie showed exactly why he and the other boys never gave up even when all they could get was shitty gigs. They worked for it, in every note that Eddie created from his fingers on the strings of his guitar.

The solo finished with a long-held chord like the one Eddie had started the song with—a short break for his hands in the song before he’d start up again. And Eddie found Steve immediately again, smiling like a shark in the water, the point of his canines slightly threatening. The harsh stage lights shining down on him like stars in his eyes, points of light directed at Steve.

There was no way Steve was getting out of there without losing his mind.

He’d make sure of it.

~*~*~*~

Steve knew he was staring at Eddie too much.

He blamed it on the two whiskey shots Robin had tried at Jonathan’s behest and then immediately hated, and which he ended up shooting back as they waited for the band to come out to the bar floor after the show had ended.

That and the three joints that were being passed around now in the dressing room.

He’d had to fight every urge in his body—digging his fingernails deep into palms—to be the first one to greet Eddie when he came bounding out from backstage. But it turned out not to be that much of a problem, when Eddie waved them all to join him, Corroded Coffin and another all-girl metal band in the dressing room for the after party.

Eddie had put himself next to Steve, authentically vibrating with so much afterburn energy from the show that it hid the way he tangled his fingers with Steve’s for a quick two seconds as they walked together.

But, just to be safe, they sat themselves on opposite sides of the room once the group had filed into Dressing Room A.

Eddie perched on the back of one of the couches, boots on the cushion like a damn heathen, but nobody else cared. Liquor bottles and red solo cups littered the table, slowly being abandoned now that they’d gotten their hands on the primo shit brought in by Argyle and Jonathan.

At this point, Steve was sure they could just summon the stuff at will.

But he wasn’t complaining.

He sat mainly with Nancy and Robin. Nancy stuck firmly to her second beer of the night, and Robin—only three pulls from a joint into the night—had her head lolled on Nancy’s shoulder, regaling her with a meandering, but thorough recap of the last three episodes of The Golden Girls she’d watched.

Steve made himself stare at the floor as he took another pull from the joint he was sharing with Argyle, but there was only one place his eyes would go as he exhaled, slow and smoky.

Eddie had his head cocked in Steve’s direction when their eyes met again, his pink lips around the end of his own joint as he inhaled. Gareth was talking to him, clearly used to Eddie’s ability hold a conversation without making eye contact, one hand wildly gesturing until Eddie handed over the blunt.

“Please,” Gareth scoffed, pausing to bring the join to his lips. “That move is so tired. Half the time, you can’t even do it right and the smoke just goes all over the girl’s face.” He waved his hand in front of his own face, as half the group groaned (the boys) and the other half nodded in agreement (the girls).

Eddie gave very little reaction. No, his gaze got this very particular glint that Steve had come to learn meant he was about to do something incredibly reckless and Steve could do nothing to stop him. Eddie launched himself forward from the couch to stand, effectively catching the attention of everyone in the room. His cheeks were flushed and his limbs a bit wobbly compared to the usual, but he was focused. Entirely on Steve.

“I bet the deposed king here pulled this move plenty of times in his partying hayday.” He said, crossing from his couch to Steve’s by way of walking right over the table. He jumped down with a dramatic sigh, landing in front of Jonathan—and then promptly plucked the half-gone joint from his fingers.

Jonathan squawked, but Eddie ignored him since he was quickly quieted by Argyle handing him another fresh one.

Steve tried to remain still, remain composed. He was already laid back with one arm across the back of the couch, so all he had to make sure to do was let Eddie come to him and not reach out to Eddie.

Ducking his chin, Eddie pulled from his stolen joint, stepping slowly, slowly toward Steve. He pulled the blunt away, holding the smoke in his lungs and walked forward until his knees knocked against Steve’s.

He exhaled, the smoke curling toward the ceiling along with an offer that burned in Steve’s veins.

“What’dya say, Harrington. Want to show ‘em how it’s done?”

Steve raised his brows, just to play along. He knew his fingers twitched, and if the group was sober, they might have seen him give himself away in just that action. He hummed in the back of his throat, pretending to consider Eddie’s presumptuous question, before he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.

“Suppose I have some experience,” he said.

Eddie smiled and held out the joint to Steve, waiting until it was in his hand before clamoring straight into Steve’s lap, straddling his thighs with his knees pressed into the cushions on either side. He stumbled, and Steve was sure that it was at least half of a real one, but he took an opportunity where he could find one and placed a steadying hand on Eddie’s hip.

“Bold,” he commented, loud enough for the group to hear. Robin was giggling off the side. Steve ignored her.

“Is there any other way?” Eddie sang, tapping teasing, risky fingers where Steve’s shirt tucked into his jeans.

 He didn’t look like anyone else in the room, wearing a henley instead of a polo, even if it was a dark gray—the closest thing to black in his closet he could find. But he also knew how Eddie liked the look of his arms with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, so he would wear bright pink if it meant wearing the henley.

Steve brought the end of the blunt to his lips while Eddie stared down at him. He could almost swear that the same points of light were in the center of the pinpoint pupils. Like Eddie had carried the stars and the stage lights with him off stage.

He knew they had to be careful. Shotgunning was close contact, but when they had done this before, it didn’t usually end with them separating afterwards.

When Steve had gathered enough smoke, he passed the joint to Robin without looking at her, and then used his newly freed hand to gently hold Eddie’s chin in a cradle of his fingers. Eddie’s lashes fluttered as Steve guided him down. He even had to stop Eddie from going too far, getting too close and just planting one on him.

He pressed his thumb against the point of Eddie’s chin and when he parted his lips, Steve released the smoke in his lungs, soaking into his blood after so long. 

Unlike how Gareth had complained just before, Steve let the smoke go slow, giving out as Eddie took it with his inhale. A few stray wisps curled toward the ceiling, but Eddie breathed in all that Steve had over the course of a dizzying span of time.

Their top lips brushed as the smoke tapered off, and Steve felt it shoot through his spine. He clenched the hand holding on to Eddie’s hip to keep his control, and a couple of his fingers slipped back the waistband of Eddie’s jeans.

He was used to feeling of Eddie’s boxers, the elastic band of cotton. Normally black, but Steve knew for a fact Eddie had a pair of Garfield ones from Wayne that he wore to bed if Steve could keep his mouth shut.

But this…

He felt lace.

“Eds?” he murmured, dipping his fingers lower and finding more and more thin, delicate detail warmed by Eddie’s body heat. “What��”

Eddie planted his hands on Steve’s shoulders and pushed up just enough that Steve would be the only one to hear him. He winked as he mouthed, For later.

“Damn Munson, give the man some breathing room. He just barely made it through his first metal concert,” A loud voice—Gareth—annoying only because Steve wanted to pull Eddie right onto the fucking semi he was now sporting in his jeans, echoed across the room.

Everyone was too drunk, or high, or both to fully take in what the fuck had just happened right in front of them. So Steve was sure it was alright for Eddie to risk another thirty seconds in Steve’s lap to murmur under his breath another offer Steve would have to be dead to refuse.

“Five minutes. Dressing room B.”

Steve nodded, eyes flicking down to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie tutted softly and narrowed his eyes, playful and with a hint of a threat, before he threw his head back and returned to his performed for their audience.

“Stevie here can handle himself pretty well, I think. Knows we’re not all so big and bad.” He slid off Steve’s lap, and did a pretty impressive twirl for how much less sober than he was high. Steve noticed Gareth rolling his eyes, tipping back a drink from the vodka bottle from the coffee table.

He knew he was watching Eddie too much again. And Steve almost didn’t care, until Robin decided that she’d had enough with Nancy and flopped over to lay across Steve’s front instead. He was just glad she hadn’t decided to go for his lap with how incriminating his dick was being in his jeans at the moment.

“M’proud of you, dingus,” she said, voice heavy but not slurred.

He laughed through his nose. “Thanks.”

She raised one hand up into the air, level with Steve’s face. And he honestly should have seen it coming far faster than he did, because then her palm was directly over his nose as she patted her fingers against his forehead. “You did…so good at the concert. Didn’t even complain once that you didn’t understand the music.”

Eddie was the main reason for that. Steve had wanted to know just what about metal music enticed Eddie so much to dedicate part of his identity to it. And, once given the opportunity, Eddie had launched a full-fledged campaign to walk Steve through chord progressions and the actual skills it took to play the chaotic melodies that he loved so much.

There were still some songs that Steve could not hear as anything other than a discordant headache, but, honestly…it was more about watching Eddie talk without restriction.

And, of course, Steve had lost all coherent consciousness while watching Eddie on stage.

Robin had stopped talking, tucking her face into Steve’s neck. He was probably going to have some of her makeup on his shirt, but he’d been covered in much worse before.

He realized he hadn’t been looking at Eddie. Always looking out for him, Robin. Even when she had no idea she was doing it.

Steve looked, and couldn’t find him. He turned to look behind him in case Eddie was doing something strange because the weed had really hit him, but there was no sign of his sexy, lace-wearing metalhead.

While he’d been distracted by a cuddling, giggly Robin, Eddie had slipped out of the room.

He had no idea if five minutes had passed or not.

It was probably better for Steve to be early than to leave Eddie waiting for him when he clearly had a surprise waiting. And the last time Steve had been late, Eddie’s revenge had been swift. Eddie was entirely too skilled with his mouth for his own good.

“Okay,” he said to Robin, easing her off of his shoulder. He’d hoped to pass her over to Nancy, but she had mysteriously disappeared too. A quick scan, and it was clear she wasn’t in the room either, so Steve eased her to lie on one of the pillows. He chuckled when she immediately snuggled into it.

Rising to his feet, Steve turned next to Jonathan and snapped his fingers in front of his face until he got his attention. The dude was blitzed out of his mind, but he wasn’t Steve’s permanent solution anyway.

“Watch her until I send Nancy back here,” he said, pointing at Robin. Jonathan’s eyes slowly followed his hand until they landed, and then he furrowed his brows.

He nodded, solemnly.

“Watch her,” he repeated.

Jesus. Okay.

Steve ran both hands through his hair, damp at his hairline with sweat, and took in a deep breath. They’d all been in there so long, he could taste the acrid smoke in the air, the smell of spilled drinks, a bit stinging when it hit his nose.

If he hadn’t been smoking already, he’d probably have a hell of a contact high.

Cab fares back to the hotel were going to suck.

He made his way to the door and into the hallway, even the stale air of the bar miles above the congested air of the dressing room. He sucked in as much as he could with his mouth open, scanning slowly down the line of three other doors for one marked “B” in large, white paint.

Wasn’t hard to find, and Steve smiled, knowing what was waiting for him on the other side.

“Steve.”

Fuck.

He’d be beelining for the door with Eddie behind it, he hadn’t even noticed another door opening on the other side of the hall.

He’d also forgotten he was supposed to be looking for Nancy.

At least that solved itself.

“Nancy,” he said, too high-pitched. He cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as she hovered in the hall with him, perfect brow arched high. “Finally sick of the smell of weed and sweat?”

“Just using the bathroom.” She pointed at the door she’d come through.

“Makes sense.”

Nancy glanced at the door to the first dressing room. Clearly behind Steve, and clearly being left for another room. “You going somewhere?”

Steve was in the middle of the hallway, in between dressing rooms A and B just enough that maybe Nancy wouldn’t be able to put the very clear two and two together.

“Just stepping out for a minute. Get some fresh air away from the hotbox back there.” Steve managed a single-second smile.

All it did was tip Nancy off. She tilted her head, getting that thoughtful look on her face that unlocked the secrets of the damn universe. She stared at him, and he couldn’t help it.

He looked at dressing room B.

Nancy stood a bit straighter, her shoulders rising. “I saw Eddie leave, too. Few minutes before you.”

“Not that weird. He’s probably exhausted.” Steve shrugged and stuffed his hands into his front pockets.

“So you’re going to his dressing room to…tuck him in?”

Fuck. Again.

“I—”

Nancy knew. That was the crux of it. She knew and nothing Steve could ever think of would convince her otherwise.

“So,” she said brightly. “Eddie, huh?”

He didn’t care that she knew about him.

Eddie, on the other hand, kept all of himself much closer to his chest. And he’d no say in how someone else had found out about him.

Steve didn’t know how else to answer. It seemed pointless to lie. And he wanted to get to Eddie.

“Yeah.” His voice came out as a croak, betraying his nervousness.

“Curly hair and brown eyes are really your type, aren’t they?”

A laugh tumbled out of him, because damn…it kind of was.

Except, Eddie was somehow able to let Steve give him everything every chance he could. So far, Steve hadn’t yet become too much for Eddie. Sometimes it even seemed like he wanted more.

Steve was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Nancy knocked him out of his head with a gentle pat of her hand on his shoulder. She’d walked closer while he was zoned out, and her eyes were pointed as she looked at him.

“Go get your boy, Harrington. I’m sure he’s waiting eagerly for you.” She shuddered, lowering her hand. “Uck, don’t ever make me think about what you two might be getting up to in there.”

“I didn’t make you the first time,” Steve pointed out.

Nancy just waved her hand, dismissing herself from the conversation and headed for the door the dressing room with the rest of the group. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

Then remembered one last thing.

He turned after Nancy, finding her with her hand just on the doorknob. She must have heard his feet shuffling on the floor, because she was already waiting for his question.

“Could you keep an eye on Robin, please?”

“Of course.” She smiled, opening the door. “I’ve still got to find out how this episode ends.”

Steve let out a surprised huff of laughter, standing in the hall until Nancy had closed the door behind her. He hovered just a second longer, listening to the sounds of conversation that filtered through the door. No one else was going to come out, not in the time it would take Steve to finally join Eddie in the other dressing room.

He could only hope it hadn’t been five minutes yet.

Turned out, he’d just made it.

Eddie hadn’t been expecting him yet, startled enough to jump when Steve entered the room. His curls bounced and then settled over his shoulders, but that wasn’t the only thing that caught Steve’s eye.

Eddie had taken off his jeans already, standing in the middle of the otherwise empty dressing room in his stylishly cut up t-shirt and…lace underwear.

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispered.

Eddie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, nervously pulling a strand of his hair over his mouth as Steve stood, dumbstruck, in front of the door. He twisted his hair between his fingers, brown eyes flitting to Steve and holding there.

Even if Steve had surprised him, he’d already put his cards on the table. Teased Steve enough to entice him. Now, fully revealing the whole surprise.

The one thing Steve might have expected: the underwear was black.

They were shaped more like shorts than any lacy underwear Steve had ever seen. Very obscene, very short shorts, the cut of them ending just under Eddie’s butt. The legs went further down on Eddie’s thighs, but each and every bit of fabric was just see-through enough to see a hint of Eddie’s pale skin through the lace detailing.

“You’ve been wearing those the whole time?”

A smirk grew across Eddie’s face.

“That’s right,” he said.

And Steve surged forward, a fire burning in his blood at the very thought that Eddie had spent an hour and a half performing in front of at least a hundred people—all the while wearing lace fucking panties for Steve to find on him afterward.

He crossed the room in four long strides, capturing Eddie’s laugh at his behavior with the fierce press of his mouth. Eddie hummed when Steve placed both hands along his jaw, and shuddered from head to toe when Steve kept going, until Eddie’s back hit the wall.

Steve had to touch. He had to.

He brought one hand down from Eddie’s face to the soft flesh of his thigh, fingertips grazing the lace. He sighed, sliding across the fabric to cup the Eddie’s pert, round cheek. Eddie pushed onto his toes, his hands already tugging Steve’s shirt from his jeans.

The underwear was rough against Steve’s palm, scrunched a bit when he massaged and pulled Eddie against him. He could feel Eddie’s dick twitch through the underwear where it pressed against his stomach, and Steve dug his fingers in harder to make it happen again.

“Lube?” he asked, although Eddie couldn’t answer right away with Steve licking into his mouth and biting at his lips.

Steve would have loved to lay Eddie out on the couch behind them, push his shirt up and really see the dark black of the panties in contrast with Eddie’s pale skin. How hi cock stretched out the ffront, maybe didn’t even fit because Steve didn’t know if they made these type of things for guys—but they didn’t have the time. Eventually, the band would need to pack up their things and vacate the bar.

Eddie finally turned his head away to catch his breath. And answer Steve.

“Table,” he panted.

Steve hummed deep in his chest.

“Stay here,” he said, patting Eddie twice on the butt before leaving him.

Eddie slumped back against the wall, rubbing himself slowly through his underwear. He watched Steve jog over the table, laughing softly when Steve stripped his shirt. He’d only been with Eddie for a few minutes, and was already overheating, sue him.

He grabbed the little bottle of lube—perched conspicuously in the center of the coffee table—and returned to Eddie. He’d opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment about Steve’s rush, but he never got the chance for more than a syllable. Not with Steve curling a hand into the thick of his hair, and kissing him hard.

Eddie floundered for a moment, lost in feeling just how Steve explored his mouth with his tongue before his hands landed on Steve’s biceps and he started moving his lips.

One-handed, Steve clicked open the lube bottle. Had to let go of Eddie’s hair since that was his dominant hand, and slicked his fingers. He felt some of it drip onto the floor, but he didn’t really care.

“Give me your hand, babe,” he said, and tipped some more onto Eddie’s fingers. He clicked shut the bottle and threw it to the other side of the room. Eddie laughed as it clattered on the floor, his slick hand bumping against Steve’s bare stomach.

Steve’s head was swimming, he wanted Eddie so much.

“Want to start for me?” he asked, at the same time unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand.

Eddie bit his lip and nodded.

They moved at the same time, Steve getting his hard cock out of his pants and slowly slicking himself with his lubed hand. Eddie arched his back and reached behind him, quickly getting his hand into his pretty, slutty underwear and prepping himself for Steve.

Steve stroked his cock slow, almost leisurely. Watched as Eddie’s mouth parted when he slipped at least two fingers inside, and the tensing of his shoulder while he thrust them in and out. Steve wondered how the lace felt against his hand, getting a little wet from the lube.

“God, as soon as you’re ready, I’m going to put those panties down to your thighs and take you while you’re facing the wall. Going feel that lace dragging against the bruises from my hips on your ass afterwards,” Steve said. His breath caught in his chest when Eddie dug his teeth into his lower lip and stared at Steve through his dark lashes.

His eyes still had that glint in them. The stars from the stage.

“Feeling real frisky there, Steve.”

Steve took in a deep, shaky breath, unable to hold back his smile. “You don’t surprise me unless you want it that way. When you want me to fuck you hard and fast, even if we didn’t have the time crunch.”

“Maybe,” Eddie muttered, arching his spine as he added another finger to whatever his count was. “You still owe me one after this, Harrington. I had to go hours in this scratchy lace while being cooked under those stage lights.”

He was a bit breathless, now. Head tipped back with a soft moan as he hit a pleasurable spot inside him, the sounds of his fingers growing louder. Steve couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and mouthed a messy pattern at the exposed line of Eddie’s throat.

 “Anything.”

”Okay, then.” Eddie’s voice lilted up, and Steve could hear the trickster idea forming in his head.

Steve was either going to seriously regret this or develop some new kink. Eddie had a way of doing that to him.

“You’re wearing them next.”

“Deal.” Steve bit lightly at Eddie’s throat and then stepped back, dragging his eyes down the line of Eddie’s body, clad in black, lace underwear. “Now, turn around.”

[morning-star-joy]

he built a fire just to keep me warm

a stranger's heart without a home Chapter 14

Pairing: friends with benefits Joel x F!Reader, Post-Outbreak

Chapter Summary: You struggle under the weight of bad memories when Joel finds you and takes care of you.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Death Throughout (Reader's younger sister and Sarah), Heavier Descriptions of Grief/Depression/PTSD/Survivor's Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, lowkey ends with a little angst

Wordcount: 8.9k

chapter 1 || chapter 13 || chapter 14 || masterlist

ao3 link

As the days got colder, the leaves began to change color with the chill.

Green turned to vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow, painting Jackson as a beautiful picture of autumn before those leaves began to fall.

And when they fell, that was when you remembered.

There was nothing to distract you from the memories. Dina was busy with friends. Tommy was busy with family. And Joel…

Surprisingly, neither of you were avoiding each other. He had shown up for coffee in the morning a couple days after…well, that. The sight of him at your back door finally gave you some sort of peace after two restless nights.

You hadn’t let yourself think about it much since it happened, and you didn’t think Joel had either. When he showed up on your steps at the break of dawn, he looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes matching your own, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

He had explained to you over a cup of coffee that he had taken on the nighttime guard duty on top of the gates for the next couple of weeks. You weren’t necessarily surprised—you knew he had been restless being out of commission for patrol, and that this job probably would help him feel more useful as he continued to heal completely from his injury.

Still, a part of you couldn’t help but notice the timing of it all. Joel’s nights suddenly being occupied by a reasonable excuse right after—

You shook your head, turning over onto your other side, cheek pressed against the pillow as you tried to beckon sleep towards you once more.

Eventually, even thoughts of Joel ran their course.

And when you began to see familiar images flicker in your mind’s eye—shotgun, tattoo, smile, wrong choices made—you knew trying to fall back asleep was a helpless cause.

With a sigh, you pulled the sheets off your body. You glanced towards your bedroom window to see that night had fallen on Jackson since you had tried to go to sleep right before dusk had arrived, trying to escape the daunting calls of memories by not being awake to deal with them.

You pushed yourself off the bed, pacing to your dresser to pull some clothes on, knowing you wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. The autumn chill in the room bit at your skin, and you shivered, rubbing a hand down your arm to try and warm yourself up as you fought to keep the memories at bay.

Tugging on a cardigan that Maria had given you recently, you stumbled out of the room, rubbing at your tired eyes as your bare feet carried you down the hallway towards your kitchen. When you entered the room, your gaze fell on the back door, to the small window on it that you had pulled the blinds off of, so you could watch for any visitors.

Just in case.

You turned away, knowing there was no reason to wait at your small table tonight. Pacing into the living room, you moved to sit down on the couch when that familiar frame on the fireplace mantle caught your attention from the corner of your eye.

Pulling your cardigan closer around yourself, you spun on your heels, trying to block out the nostalgic feeling of the cool fall air and the memories it brought with it as you walked to your front door.

The only thing you would get if you stayed here was another breakdown, and you weren’t prepared for one of those.

Not tonight. Not alone.

With your boots pulled on and hastily tied, you exited the house quickly, trading its empty hallways for the cooler breeze on your porch. It whipped across your face with a larger gust, but you braced yourself against it, clutching the fabric of your cardigan tighter. You hurried down the steps and the pathway before exiting through the gate of your picket fence.

You know, I want a house of my own someday.

Her words echoed in your head, and you tensed, wrapping your arms around yourself tighter.

I don’t mind if it's small, but I want it to be pretty. Cozy. Like a fairytale, you know? Picket fence and all.

We’ll get it, you heard your own voice respond to hers in your head. We’ll find a place to make our own someday.

You inhaled sharply, turning your face up to gaze at the sky above. Luckily, the stars were covered by clouds tonight. Even though it made your path darker, you were glad for it. You didn’t know how much you could keep yourself together if the stars were taunting you tonight.

As you continued to aimlessly walk the streets of Jackson, you quickly realized that you had no idea where you were heading. You had walked out of your house with no destination in mind except that you needed to get away—but to where? Where was there to run off to?

“Hey there, stranger!”

You paused, the sound of a familiar voice you hadn’t heard in a while pulling you out of your pervasive melancholia.

Turning towards it, you couldn’t help the flicker of a small smile on your face when you saw the owner sitting on his porch. A stream of cigarette smoke escaped his lips as they curled up in his own smile back at you.

“Hey yourself, old man,” your smile grew with your witty greeting, and Eugene chuckled as he leaned back in his chair.

“Been too long,” your former Firefly comrade replied, gesturing with his hand not holding the cigarette for you to join him on the porch. “Come on, sit with me for a bit.”

You gave an over exaggerated sigh at his invitation, but your smile grew slightly as you walked up the pathway until you reached his porch. Eugene smacked you fondly on the arm as you passed, and you playfully swatted his hand when he pulled it back, earning a familiar warm bark of laughter from the man before you sank into the seat next to him.

He didn’t say anything as you settled, only offering his cigarette to you silently, which you turned down with a shake of your head.

“I hate smoking, you know that,” you muttered, and he huffed out another quiet laugh, giving a small nod at your reminder.

“Yeah, but I figured it’d be rude not to offer,” he said, and you shot him a small smile at his thoughtful gesture as he pulled the cigarette back to take another drag.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You leaned back in the chair as Eugene continued to smoke, blowing it in the opposite direction of you so it wouldn’t end up near your face, and you couldn’t help but smile at the subtle consideration he showed.

Eugene had always been a comforting presence, all the way back to the Fireflies. Sure, Tommy was the one who had brought you into the cause, and the bond you had forged was unbreakable. But Eugene had welcomed you with open arms the moment you had stepped foot in the first camp you had made home for a time.

In a way, the man had become something of a father figure to you. He was similar in ways to your own father; the dedication to a rebellion at the cost of everything dear to them was familiar, even though Eugene was much warmer. Kinder, friendly, with a hell of a sense of humor.

But then again, that everything Eugene had forsaken for the Fireflies was his family—the wife and daughter he had left to become a rebel. So really, he wasn’t that different from your father after all. Maybe he was even worse than the man who had raised you.

“You been taking care of yourself?”

The words pulled you out of your silent reverie, and you turned to look at Eugene while he continued to smoke, his face turned in the opposite direction of you.

You couldn’t help but wonder if that was intentional at this moment. His question was casual, but you were sure there would be poorly veiled concern on his face if you could see it right now, a look he probably was trying to hide from you since he knew how much you despised anything resembling pity.

“I’m surviving,” you replied quietly with a shrug of a shoulder, and Eugene paused in his smoking, turning his face back to you so you could see the deep frown on his face.

Ah shit, here we go, you thought with an internal groan.

It was clear that he didn’t like that half-assed response, and now his familiar caretaker-mode had been activated.

“You don’t gotta just survive anymore, you know,” he said honestly, his voice almost soft. But you winced as if his tone had been biting, the words cutting into you like a knife with the truth of them. “We’re safe here. You can start fresh.”

A quiet, almost bitter laugh left your lips, but you held back the typical chill from your voice at this topic of conversation. You didn’t want to snap at Eugene, not when he had extended an invitation to sit with you as the autumn chill of the night had become almost too much to bear.

Maybe that's why he offered to let you sit with him, a voice in the back of your head spoke, and you sighed wearily.

“Say that to the hunters,” you mumbled, gesturing towards the thigh where you had been stabbed before the seasons had changed, and Eugene sighed.

He reached out to the ashtray on the small table between you, snuffing out the cigarette and leaving it there, shooting you an understanding look.

“There’s always risk,” he admitted, leaning back with his legs stretched out on the porch in front of him, arms crossing over his chest. “But you can’t deny we’ve been safer here than anywhere we’ve been with the rebel bastards.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t outright deny that claim.

“Eugene, you know why I can’t settle,” you said quietly, your eyes moving back to meet his.

He softened, a look of pain crossing his face as you knew he understood exactly what you meant.

“Ah, shit,” he sighed, glancing back out to his front yard. There was a small tree shedding its red and orange leaves, and he gazed at it for a moment before pushing himself to his feet. “Hold on, lemme grab something real quick.”

Your brow arched in question, but you didn’t say anything as he opened his front door to disappear inside the house. Your fingers drummed against your knees, considering for just a brief moment if you should try to escape.

Eugene returned quickly though, almost as if he could tell you had been pondering a way to get out of the situation before you had to talk about your feelings any more. He held a decanter of amber liquid in hand and two shot glasses, offering a smile at you as he set the alcohol down on the table between you. Nudging one of the glasses to you, he took the time to fill it before filling his own.

“Drink up,” he said warmly, lifting his own glass in a salute as you took yours.

You lifted it in your own acknowledgement before throwing back the shot, relishing the burn down your throat before setting it down so he could refill it again.

Eugene didn’t say anything more as you drank together, but you knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing you were thinking, after all.

Bright eyes and a brighter smile. 

A well-loved shotgun. 

Wrong choices made.

You threw back another shot to stem the growing tide of memories that threatened to break through the barriers and crash onto the shore in your mind. You let the alcohol numb you to the emotions, holding back the pain all thoughts of her brought.

Thoughts that only returned with full force as you watched more leaves fall from the tree in Eugene’s yard when an autumn breeze rustled through it.

Vibrant leaves of varying shades had been falling that day, too. You had been watching them while you paced, arms crossed over your chest, trying to hold back the pounding of your heart in your chest as it threatened to burst with anxiety.

Eugene had been there that day. 

He had returned when she did not. 

He was the one to tell you, the one who held you as your entire world came crumbling down around you.

You cleared your throat, taking another shot as you felt the tears prick at the back of your eyes.

A solid hand gently clamped down on your shoulder, and you sent a weak smile towards Eugene as he gazed down at you now. There was a familiar look in his eyes that showed that he shared your pain, in his own way.

You knew that he felt guilt for what had happened. And while in your darkest hours, you may have blamed him, you knew it wasn’t his fault. Not really.

No, it was those who made the calls.

Even more than that, it was you.

It was your fault, for letting her convince you to join that godforsaken rebel cause in the first place.

Maybe if you had said no, she’d still be here.

Maybe you’d still be in Seattle, standing in the rain or trying to count the stars through the light polluted sky.

Eugene’s hand on your shoulder squeezed it gently, bringing you out from your spiraling thoughts back to the present. You focused on the kind smile on his face, letting it anchor you to this moment now.

“Let them take care of you,” he said softly, his smile not wavering even as you began to pull away. “Dina, Tommy—hell, even that brother of his with that stick up his ass.”

You laughed, the sound drawn out of you with surprise as you looked back at Eugene with wide eyes.

“How—” you shook your head as you cut yourself off, choosing a different choice of words before continuing, “Why do you—”

“Come on now,” Eugene said with a warm, booming laugh that you couldn’t help but smile at. You knew he was trying to distract you, to get your mind off of what pained you, but you were happy to let him at that moment. “I may be old, but I’m not blind, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving his hand off your shoulder, prompting him to lean back into his seat with another deep chuckle.

“Joel is…” you trailed off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, as if the mere thought of him brought on a headache—which it just might, at this point. “He’s a friend. Or I thought he was…”

The last words were mumbled more to yourself than to your companion, but Eugene laughed at them anyway, earning a tired glare from you at his apparent amusement.

“Something funny, old man?” you tried to snap, but his laughter had always been contagious, and you couldn’t stop a smile from growing on your face as he grinned down at you.

After a moment of no reply other than his chuckling, Eugene shook his head, downing another shot before refilling both your glasses again.

“I mean, you didn’t see it,” he said slowly as he raised his glass back up to his lips, “since you were a bit busy bleeding out and all—”

You snorted a laugh at the casual way he said it, earning another chuckle from the older man before he continued.

“—but the way he held you,” Eugene said softly, shaking his head as he looked at you with a look you didn’t recognize, one you quickly turned away from. “I’d say that’s a…friend worth holding on to, that’s for sure.”

You bristled at the way he enunciated the word choice you had used to describe Joel, not liking the connotation you couldn’t decipher the meaning of—or didn’t want to decipher. Shaking your head, you quickly threw back another shot before sighing deeply, allowing your guards to slip for just a moment.

“Tell him that,” you muttered, the words tired as you set the glass back down beside you. “That man can’t seem to make up his mind for more than one second.”

Eugene sighed beside you, pushing himself forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he watched the side of your face.

“So from what I’m hearing,” he started, his voice holding a familiar teasing tone, and you turned to see a slow grin form on his face as he finished, “is that you found somebody just as emotionally constipated as you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you reached out to kick his leg jokingly. He didn't bother trying to dodge it, letting you get the kick in even as the hit made him recoil slightly as a reflex.

“I’d say he’s worse than me,” you mumbled, and Eugene let out a low whistle as he leaned back in his seat again.

“My deepest condolences, then,” he said in a deep, playfully somber voice, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of it.

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured to yourself, shaking your head. You picked the glass back up once Eugene refilled it. “Whatever it is, it’s…”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the glass impatiently, trying to figure out how to describe it.

“If I’m not pulling away, he is,” you finally admitted quietly, staring down at the drink in your hand. “Seems like right now, it’s his turn.”

If you weren’t slightly buzzed, you probably would have frozen up as you realized you had let slip more of the truth of your relationship with Joel than you had to anybody else. 

As it was, you simply let the truth of the words hang in the air, almost relaxing a fraction with finally getting some semblance of the truth—whatever the fuck that was—off your chest.

“Well,” Eugene said slowly, pulling your attention back to him. He was looking out at the dark streets thoughtfully, taking a moment to gather his words before finally responding, “maybe it’s your turn to hold onto him, then.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the way those simple words shook you to your core.

You turned back to face Eugene, your eyes wide with surprise and other emotions you couldn’t recognize, couldn’t conceal in that moment, and he only smiled softly down at your shocked confusion.

“Here,” he murmured, pushing the rest of the decanter towards you. “Take it. Drink away your troubles for a night. But—”

His emphasis on the word brought your attention back to him from where it had begun to wander, and you focused on his face as he finished seriously, “Don’t wallow in it. At least, not for too long. I’m too old and tired to see the people I care about in pain anymore.”

You laughed softly, your lips tilting up in a genuinely fond smile.

For a moment, you paused, staring at the decanter. You didn’t know if that was a promise you could make, and you didn’t want to lie.

But when you look back at Eugene’s face, at the earnestness in his gaze, the need to offer you some sort of comfort…

“I’ll try,” you said quietly, and he gave a small nod before another smile stretched across his lips.

“Alright, now off with you,” he said playfully, gesturing towards the porch steps, and you couldn’t hold back a laugh as you stood, grabbing the decanter as you left. “Go on, get off my property.”

“Fuck you, old man,” you replied snidely as you walked back down the pathway, returning his middle finger with one of your own back over your shoulder.

Eugene’s laughter followed you as you walked back down the empty Jackson street. Your feet continued to carry you away from the direction of your house, but this time, you knew where you were heading.

You knew this path well, so well that you wondered if you could walk it in your sleep. The few streetlights were dodged by reflex, even as it wasn’t there that you were heading to.

No, your feet slowed before you could reach Joel’s house, even as you could see it in the distance. You spared one fleeting glance towards it before turning to the cemetery, walking through the gates and down the lines of gravestones until you reached the one with a familiar name.

You sank down onto the grass, sitting back as you brought the decanter up to your lips for a long drink.

Drink away your troubles for a night.

The words repeated in your mind, and you took it to heart. You knew the second part would be harder to keep a promise to, but you weren’t thinking about that right now.

Slowly, you made your way through the decanter, letting it numb you to the worst of the grief so you didn’t break down right then. You sat in the pain instead, staring at that name as the first drop of rain landed on your head.

You glanced up, brows furrowing at the dark sky without a star in sight, wincing when another raindrop got in your eye, and then another on your cheek, before a memory flooded your mind’s eye.

A puddle. 

A rainy Seattle sky.

A bright smile from an innocent child.

Laughter began to bubble from your lips, disbelief flooding all your other emotions as you looked back down at the tombstone.

“You did this, didn’t you?” you said into the empty air, as if she could hear you, somehow. 

Your lips tilted up in an exasperated smile, shaking your head. Even though there was no response, you could almost hear her voice in that moment; the laughter in it, accompanied by a bright smile and a sparkle in her eyes. Brighter than the stars in the night sky.

Your star in the sky.

As the rain continued to fall harder, you didn’t move. You stayed there, decanter held loosely in your hand even as you didn’t take another sip. Eyes falling shut, you let the rain wash over you, holding the image of her smile clear in your mind and close in your heart.

When the rain began to fall, Joel cursed under his breath, his footsteps quickening down the streets back home.

It had been impossible to sleep the first couple of nights since that night, so he had taken up the nighttime guard duty on top of Jackson’s gates to pass the time. Eventually he became so exhausted that by the time that dawn came, when he got back home, it didn’t take long for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Joel ran a hand down over his face, trying to ignore those thoughts that still lingered in the back of his mind about the night in question, even as tired as he was now.

He knew it was wrong to not go back to her, even after he had told her where he was going.

He also knew it was wrong to want to go back to her.

It was wrong, so wrong, to miss her.

But it wasn’t as wrong as trying to avoid her after what they had done.

No, what he had done.

Joel groaned quietly, moving his hand up to run his hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his face as he walked quicker, trying to get back home fast enough to avoid getting more drenched than he already was.

Distracted as he was, he almost missed it when he walked past the familiar sight of the cemetery on his way home.

But he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, and he turned, jumping slightly as he saw the faint outline of somebody crouched in front of a grave. Their silhouette was blurry through the rainfall, but the light of dawn that began to peek through the clouds illuminated the scene enough for him to see them there.

Joel frowned, leaning closer to get a better look. Why was somebody visiting the cemetery that early, and in this downpour of rain? 

A part of him was almost worried that they were passed out, and he took a step closer, trying to get a better look. They were sitting up, though, which meant they were conscious. But that isn’t what gave Joel pause.

No, it was the familiar way that their hair fell into place, even as drenched as it was.

It was the set of their shoulders, even as they were hunched forward, not set back in a casual air of quiet confidence as they usually were.

Even the clothes he recognized, and Joel’s heart thumped hard against his chest once as he stared at her sitting there. In the rain, in the cemetery.

Alone.

His foot began to rise, prepared to take another step forward, when he jerked back. Joel pulled himself out of his thoughts, quickly turning to walk the remainder of the way to his house.

It wasn’t his business, he told himself, almost scolding himself as he climbed the steps to his front door. If it ever had been his business, it certainly wasn’t now. Not after how he had let her in, let her see a glimpse at whatever the fuck was going on inside his head—and even more terrifying, inside his heart—only to try and shut her out again.

Joel swung his front door open, stepping inside and letting the door shut behind him with a loud click that was echoed by his heavy sigh.

He made to move forward, but his feet remained glued to his entry mat. Joel shook his head, running a hand over his hair, shaking the water droplets from his hand as he scowled to himself.

Not. His. Business.

But still, he didn’t move. Couldn’t bring himself to.

In Joel’s mind, he saw her standing next to Tommy’s fireplace, the dancing flames of the lit candles casting a light on the side of her face while she gazed at the names she didn't know in thoughtful, understanding remembrance.

All of a sudden, too many things began to flash through his mind: Tommy’s near slip-up of a name; the framed drawing on her own fireplace mantle; the question about Dina that she couldn’t answer; the fear when she looked down at Hope; the morning they had shared coffee in his kitchen, and she asked that question that he knew the answer to all too well.

“Goddammit,” Joel muttered to himself, reaching out to grab what he needed from a stand in his entryway, before pulling the door back open and heading out to where he needed to be.

It was impossible to know how much time had passed while you sat there.

You were lost in the numb pain, helpless to relive the memories that the name scrawled across the cold tombstone above an empty grave brought to the forefront of your mind.

Eugene had told you not to wallow in it, but here you were. 

Wallowing.

You sighed, your grip tightening on the decanter. It had been a while since you took a drink from it, and you wondered if you should sip at it again now. Maybe it would help ease the chill that had settled onto your skin from where the damp cardigan was sticking to your body.

The rain hadn’t let up, continuing to beat against you without mercy, but you didn’t care. In a way, it reminded you of home. It reminded you of her.

Even though she was gone, you could feel her everywhere. Her presence was always most palpable this time of year; the one that she had loved most, and the one when she had died.

You closed your eyes at the blunt thought, a shaky sigh leaving your lips along with a shiver as a raindrop hit your face. The soaked cardigan was pulled tighter around you with your free hand, bracing yourself for another raindrop as the breeze seemed to be shifting it right towards your face.

But another one didn’t fall.

In fact, it seemed as if the rain had suddenly stopped altogether. 

One of your eyes opened, and then the other, glancing up towards the sky to see if it had really finally alleviated.

What you had not been expecting to see was a stretch of black fabric, blocking out the gray clouds and the rain that continued to fall from them.

A frown stretched across your face, following the canopy of the umbrella down to the large hand holding it up. The scars across the knuckles were familiar, and your heart lurched in your chest as you followed the arm to see him.

Joel was standing above you silently, holding the umbrella over your hunched form, his body facing away from you as he gazed out away from the tombstones. He didn’t say anything, even as you stared up at him in poorly concealed shock.

After a moment where you didn’t acknowledge his presence, he finally glanced down at you. A frown tilted down on his lips, his eyes flickering over your face and then your body, taking in the sad, sorry state of you soaked from the rain.

“You’ll catch a cold if you just sit in the rain like that,” he muttered finally.

It was a poor excuse, and you couldn’t help but laugh at it, even as he watched you in confusion at the sound, along with the slightest hint of concern.

“I’m from Seattle,” you said quietly, the bite of your snark not as strong with the weight of your emotions as you turned away from his analysis. “It’ll take more than a little rain to knock me out.”

Joel sighed quietly, shifting slightly above you, and you glanced back up to see that the umbrella was not covering him at all with the way he held it above you. The rain was hitting him full-force, despite his words to you, and you scoffed gently.

“You, however, are not used to the rain,” you said in a hushed tone, too tired, too weary to speak in your usual tones of confidence, “are you, cowboy?”

Joel looked back at you, his frown deepening as he glanced over you again.

“Rain did exist in Texas,” he said slowly, his brow raising slightly as you rolled your eyes. “What? It rained there. Not to mention in Boston.”

You just shook your head, reaching out with your free hand to pat the space on the wet ground next to you.

“Come on, stop standing around like a jackass,” you muttered, and now it was his turn to scoff.

He hesitated, and you turned away from him at the sight of it, staring stubbornly at the tombstone. You started preparing yourself for his inevitable rejection, until you heard his feet shift.

Joel lowered himself to the ground beside you, shifting the umbrella to his other hand, and you glanced from the corner of your eye to see him continue to hold the umbrella over you, even now. It made you roll your eyes, reaching out to grab his hand that was holding it to pull him closer.

“You’re the one who’ll catch a cold,” you mumbled, ignoring the way Joel’s gaze flashed to you as your hand wrapped around his.

Still, he didn’t say anything, and neither did you as he shifted closer, moving the umbrella so it covered you both as best as it could, before letting your hand drop back to your lap. Now you both had one shoulder that was out in the rain, but neither of you complained. You sat close together under that umbrella, even with the way he still faced in the opposite direction of you.

“I’ll have to take you to Washington someday,” you said casually, tapping your fingers against the decanter in your hand. “Then you’ll see what real rain is.”

You shot him a smirk as you glanced back at him, and he looked back at you, scoffing at your words with a shake of his head, causing your smirk to only grow.

It was strange how, even though you had spent days apart after…whatever had happened between you recently, you were still able to fall back into your typical banter so easily.

In a way, it was almost like nothing had happened. Everything between you felt the same as always, and that eased a tightness in your chest that you had felt for days, even though you had tried to deny its presence.

After another moment of quiet shared with him, a silence that had only become more relaxed between you in recent weeks, you decided to break it before you even realized what you were going to say.

“Why don’t you look?” you asked quietly, staring at the tombstone in front of you. Joel stiffened at your side, letting you know he understood the implications of your words, but still you continued, “It’s right there.”

He shook his head, still facing away from the grave, replying just as quietly, “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

You laughed softly, turning to look at the side of his face, eyes dancing over his strong side profile even as he continued to stare in the opposite direction.

“I already told you, though,” you mumbled, the words pulling his attention towards you so you finally locked eyes. You kept his gaze as you repeated the word you had used once before, “‘Everything’. Remember?”

Joel merely watched you for a moment, his face as blank as always, but not cold.

After another moment, he gave a nod.

“Yeah, I remember,” he murmured, keeping your gaze while the rain continued to fall around you, hitting your shoulders on the outside of the umbrella even as most of your bodies remained protected, hunched together under that dark fabric.

You stayed quiet, looking over his face, taking in the fine lines of age and scars, the deep color of his eyes that always remained so guarded, so protected from the outside world.

Your hand twitches, but you held back the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out to him, instead holding the decanter tighter as the question slipped from your lips, “What was yours?”

Joel inhaled softly through his nose, his gaze flashing away from yours. You tensed, realizing you had taken it too far.

You shook your head, looking away from him back to the tombstone in front of you. Shame at pushing the boundaries you still had between you flared strongly as you shifted awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head to yourself. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Sarah,” Joel finally said quietly, his voice almost inaudible, but you heard it. “Her name was Sarah.”

Your eyes slowly shut, your heart squeezing in your chest as the image of the memorial shrine in Tommy’s house flashed through your mind.

A part of you had known, especially since your conversation with Ellie.

But to actually hear it from Joel himself…

You inhaled deeply, trying to breathe through the sudden nausea that gripped you at the thought of what he had to endure all those years. The everything that he had lost.

Wordlessly, you held out the decanter to him. You could feel Joel’s stare focus on your offer for a moment before he slowly took it, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye to see him take a long drink from it.

He passed it back, and you let it rest in your lap while you stared back at the name of your own everything in front of you.

“And yours?”

Joel asked the simple question softly, and you could tell from the tone that he wasn’t pushing you to answer. You knew that if you wanted to, you could say nothing, and he wouldn’t blame you. He wouldn't force you to reveal your own loss, even as he had just told you his.

But your mouth opened, and her name came tumbling out, not able to be held in any longer. It was the first time you had said it in…years, and no small amount of pain coated her name as you spoke it.

It hung heavy in the air for a moment, the silence growing between you.

For a moment, you didn’t think Joel was going to say anything.

And you were right. He didn’t.

But what he did do spoke more volumes than words, and it stunned you more than anything he could have said in that moment.

The warmth of his skin pressed against you as his hand found yours from where it was wrapped around the decanter. He tugged your hand from it, holding your palm securely in his larger one, and your eyes slid shut as a wave of emotions threatened to break you at the quiet strength of the simple action.

You could feel his callouses brush up against your own; a testament that this life had not been kind to either of you, if what you had both just confessed wasn’t enough of a sign of that. But instead of focusing on that pain, you focused on the feeling of the old scars on the back of his knuckles as your thumb rubbed across them. 

Scars that were healing again, scars he had reopened to save you. 

To protect you.

A deep inhale was sucked in through your mouth, trying to keep the waves of emotion at bay, and Joel’s hand slipped from yours to place on your shoulder.

“Come on,” he murmured, giving it a reassuring squeeze that anchored you to this moment with him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You let him pull you to your feet, no part of you able to complain as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you away from the cemetery. Leaning into his side, you let the way he held you tighter to him in response ground you, focusing on that feeling that you had gotten from him once before, when he and Tommy had saved you from the hunters.

Safe.

You were safe.

She hadn’t said anything since they walked into the house.

Even as she sat on his sofa, soaking wet from the rain she had been sitting in for God knows how long, she said nothing.

It made Joel’s chest squeeze with an unfamiliar feeling, his eyes darting back to her from where he was stoking flames to life in his fireplace.

She never said nothing.

The woman always had a dry quip or cold remark, no matter who she was with. Maybe she even had something kinder to say, a rare hint of fondness, if she was with Tommy or Dina—an indicator of that warmth burning deep within her that he had only caught glimpses of, buried beneath her jagged, icy walls.

But she was never silent.

Joel could understand what brought it on; the confessions they had both made at the cemetery still hung over their heads, even as they had finally escaped the rain for the shelter that his home provided.

She had only said the name of her everything that she had lost, not who it was, but he already had it figured out from what he knew. There was no reason for him to try to get confirmation. He wouldn’t push her to say anything more on the subject, not with the intense pain that coated each syllable of that name she had spoken.

The only thing he was focused on now was ensuring that she didn’t catch that cold.

Joel stood once he got the fire going, moving silently out of the room and to the staircase. He walked to his room at a fast pace, quickly grabbing a t-shirt and sweatpants without really taking the time to look them over. When he returned to where he had left her, she hadn’t moved an inch, and he sighed softly.

“Here,” he murmured, reaching a hand out for her to take.

She didn’t take it.

In fact, she didn’t so much as look at him, or even blink at his voice. She was staring off into the fire he had started, and Joel’s frown deepened as he held out his hand a bit further, softly calling out her name once to catch her attention.

That did work, and she finally looked up at him, blinking a few times as she glanced over his face, then down to the clothes he held out in his other hand.

“Come on,” he urged gently, beckoning with his free hand for her to take it. “We need to get you out of those clothes.”

The fact that she didn’t make any remarks with poorly hidden innuendo at the comment like she usually would only made his chest tighten further.

Joel helped her stand, placing the clothes he had grabbed onto the couch before reaching out towards the drenched cardigan. His eyes met hers, gaze questioning as he sought her permission, and he softened slightly as her lips finally quirked into a small smile before she nodded, giving him permission to help her undress as she was still in that dissociated state of grief.

He began to go through the process of helping to peel the wet clothes from her skin, averting his eyes once her shirt was pulled off, and she stood shivering in only her underwear. Joel turned away, giving her privacy so she could undress completely, only glancing over when she walked past him in the t-shirt and sweatpants he had brought down for her.

Picking up the discarded wet clothes, he draped them over a rack he had next to the fireplace to dry them before sinking onto the floor next to her.

“What about you?”

Her words were so quiet they were almost inaudible, but he heard her. Joel turned his head, looking down at her in confusion while she stared in the fire again, until she returned the gaze.

She glanced up and down his body, her brow arching in a way that was familiar, even as it was much more tired than it usually looked on her.

“You’re drenched, too,” she said flatly, and Joel looked down at himself, only just realizing that she was right.

Instead of admitting he had forgotten about himself while focused on the mission of getting her taken care of, or dwelling on the fact that she was concerned about his own health in the midst of her state, he just shrugged.

“I wasn’t out there for as long as you,” he muttered, glancing away into the fireplace, and she huffed.

“Joel Miller, I think you may just give me a run for my money in the savior complex department,” she said softly, though there was a hint of that familiar dry humor to the words that elicited an almost relieved laugh from the man.

“Well, isn’t that somethin’,” he murmured, glancing back at her just quick enough to flash her a small, rare smile as he drawled sarcastically, “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

She laughed at that, her familiar eyes crinkling with the amusement he had drawn out from her, and his smile grew just a fraction, the tightness in his chest easing slightly at the sound of it.

Shaking her head, she turned back to look into the fire, and Joel did the same.

After another few moments of silence that was neither uncomfortable nor particularly peaceful, her body continuing to shiver slightly, he pushed himself back up to his feet.

“I’ll make you a cup,” he murmured, moving towards the hallway, turning back slightly in surprise as she called back after him.

“Of tea?”

The comment made him chuckle low, the two words dangerously close to teasing. She remembered how much he detested the stuff, just from that one interaction in her kitchen when she had made it instead of coffee, and was throwing it back in his face for a laugh.

It was oddly comforting.

Shaking his head, he glanced over his shoulder with a small smirk at the sight of her faint amusement at her own dry humor.

“Oh, funny,” he murmured, giving an almost playful roll of his eyes before he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, calling back out even as he knew he didn’t need to clarify, “Coffee!”

“Ah, a man after my own heart!” she called back from where she was now out of sight, and Joel shook his head again, even as his smirk grew just slightly when he entered his kitchen.

She was sitting up a bit straighter when he returned to her, holding a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. He held one out to her, and she glanced over the mug with over exaggerated judgment.

“Boring mugs,” she repeated her teasing from months before, looking at him over the rim of the plain mug as she took a sip. “What, you got all those cool carvings but no fun dishware?”

Joel hated the way he could feel his cheeks heating slightly at her choice of adjective for his carvings that were around his house. She couldn’t know that they were truly his, shaped by his own hand, but the comment was still…flattering.

His face turned away, clearing his throat and distracting himself with taking a sip of his own coffee, even as he could feel her amusement just from how she was staring at the side of his face.

“Joel Miller,” she said slowly, her voice dangerously teasing, and he held back a sigh as he knew the jokes at his expense had certainly not stopped yet as she asked, “are you being shy?”

His head whipped back around, eyes narrowed in a glare as he snapped, “I am anything but shy, sweetheart.”

She laughed, her eyes no longer so somber and empty, but bright with amusement. Even if it was at Joel’s expense, he couldn’t help but be relieved at the sight of it.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” she smirked as she glanced over him with the words, and he relaxed further as he recognized the familiar innuendo. “So what’s the deal, then? Why does me complimenting your décor choice get you all flustered?”

“Flustered—” Joel repeated with a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief at the insinuation. “You couldn’t get me flustered if you tried.”

Her eyes light up further, her smirk growing as she leaned forward slightly.

“That sounds like a challenge, Miller,” she said in a low tone, and Joel cursed himself internally at the menacing glint that began to shine in those sharp eyes of hers. “I accept.”

Joel shook his head, wanting to turn away, but he couldn’t help the bemused words as they tumbled out of his lips, “You may just be the devil herself, you know that?”

“Really?” she perked up at the comment that he definitely had not meant to let slip out, his eye twitching as he realized she was trying to fluster him already. “How do you figure that? Enlighten me.”

Joel groaned silently, tearing his gaze away from her to focus on the mug in his hand.

It was plain, yes, but it wasn’t white like the others; this one was a dark brown, a recent addition to his kitchen.

More than that, it was a subconscious choice from looting some houses on patrol before his injury. An attempt to reply to that coy remark about his poor taste in cups from months before—you should get yourself one—in some way, with some kind of small progress, even as he didn’t realize it until just now.

Joel knew exactly what she was. He had known for months, maybe even since he had first met her. 

She was a temptress, a devil. A personification of everything he desired, everything he craved. And yes, that included lust, but it also included—

Joel’s grip tightened on his mug, gaze hardening as he stared down into the coffee.

It included lust. That was it.

But as he looked back up at her, seeing the way her hair was still pressed against her face in wet strands, sticking to that small scar on her cheek that almost formed a dimple every time she smiled, his hard exterior softened just a fraction again.

Because some part of him, some small piece of his heart or his soul or Lord knew what, knew that wasn't all it was, no matter how much he tried to push back against it.

God damn it all.

She leaned back as his gaze met hers, a look of uncertainty flickering through her sharp eyes before it disappeared just as quickly.

Joel couldn't help but wonder about whatever he had just accidentally let her see.

“Well,” she said slowly, covering up the slightest hint of trepidation in her voice with humor that he had begun to pick up on as her trademark deflection of her feelings, “didn’t know I would succeed in the challenge that quickly.”

Joel huffed, turning away from her, even as he couldn’t find it in his cold, closed off-heart to truly be mad at her for her teasing.

Because somehow, it wasn't that closed off to her anymore.

She didn’t press him for an answer.

Still, he couldn’t help muttering a bitter sounding “fuck off”, but it only made her laugh.

And that sound finally eased the remaining tightness in his chest completely.

When your clothes finally dried, Joel left the room to take your empty mugs to the kitchen, leaving you to change in privacy.

After pulling your cardigan back on, you folded the clothes he had let you wear, leaving them on the couch with a pat and feeling a sense of familiarity for when you had left his jacket there after tending to his injuries, before making your way towards the kitchen yourself.

At the sight of the early morning light filtering through the windows in the room, you winced.

“What, uh…” you trailed off, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. Your voice pulled Joel’s attention to you from where he was washing the mugs, his eyebrow raised as you finished lamely, “what’s the game plan here, exactly?”

He followed the line of your deliberate gaze towards the windows, his shoulders bunching up slightly as he understood the insinuation of your question.

“It’s still pretty early,” he murmured, turning back to the brown mug he was cleaning—huh, that was new. “You should be safe taking the back door. Ellie shouldn’t be up yet.”

The mention of Ellie made you freeze, your gaze flashing back to the window and towards the garage at the edge of the property.

God, you hadn’t even thought of Ellie catching you sneaking out the back—and you had taken the back door out before, once or twice.

Your hands clenched and flexed at your sides, opening your mouth to say something about the matter, but you decided against it. Joel seemed relatively unconcerned, so you were probably safe to head out that way, like he said.

“Alright,” you murmured, your hand grazing against the kitchen doorway as you leaned against it. Your eyes flickered over his back as he moved to wash the other mug, the one that had contained your coffee, once again prepared exactly the way you preferred it.

At the thought, you spun away, hand falling from the door frame as you walked towards the back door. You pushed a basket of clean, yet to be folded laundry out of the way of the door, your hand moving towards the handle before you paused.

Something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. A piece of fabric, sitting innocently in the laundry basket, nearly buried by soft flannels and t-shirts.

You leaned over to get a better look at the lacy edges of a pair of black underwear, peeking out from underneath Joel’s clean clothes.

Heart stopping, breath catching, you froze completely at the sight of it.

There was no mistaking what it was. The sight of it didn’t shock you—you had seen him deliberately take it right in front of you, after all.

But the fact that he had cleaned it.

With the intention to give it back to you?

Even as it now just barely peeked out amongst his own clothes, waiting to be folded. The sight of it was shockingly…familiar.

No, not just familiar.

Domestic.

Intimate.

You looked back over your shoulder at Joel in the kitchen, his back turned to you as he began to dry the brown mug.

That was new, you thought again.

Then, your own words that you had only just teased him with earlier: Boring mugs. What, you got all those cool carvings but no fun dishware?

Something in your chest began to ache, and you fumbled for the door handle, even as your eyes remained glued to Joel’s back while he moved to dry the mug he had made your coffee in that morning.

You yanked the door open, finally tearing your gaze away from him as you hurried out of the house. You quickly closed it behind you before making your way through the yard and out the side gate.

Even in your haste, you remained careful about it, making sure that there were no prying eyes as you looped through the empty greenhouses and around the streets to make your way back home.

Maybe someday, you’d realize that the ache in your chest was your heart.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 1 thoughts

bouncing. bouncing up and down. off of the walls. this episode was SO good. thank you. everyone say thank you, chris carter. thank you for fainting scully, tomato lover scully, doctor scully, crying mulder, plotting mulder, breaking and entering mulder, and for skinner in general.

but back to who i was before yesterday... allow us to return to past juni.

it’s been 800 years… (and by that i mean a week and 2 days have passed since i last watched an episode)

we left off in a pretty… precarious position. so i’m interested to see where things go from here. and hopefully they will be less stressful.

but i’m so happy to be back! i swear once i finish this show i’ll have to quit my job. there will be nothing to get me through LMAO.

it sounds like mulder is going to do some breaking and entering… again, fork spotted in kitchen

how the HELL did he fake his own death… this is giving sherlock!!

god, hearing her voice trembling again as she talks about identifying his body… i did not need to relive this pain!!

so we go back to him crying and watching alien stuff on his couch the night before her big meeting

“an act of faith began with an ineloquent certainty that my journey promised the chance not just of understanding, but of recovery” <- oh… so he admits to the whole thing being about healing…

and he says that he hoped finding the truth would reunite him with his sister, which i KNOW he was thinking all along, but hearing him SAY IT is still devastating; the way he never actually said it aloud before was very impactful, and so is his decision to break that vow of silence

“a belief which i now know to be false and uninformed in the extreme” <- NOOO please do not give up my king… i do not entirely believe this kritshcgau fool

he’s sobbing. he's so pretty when he sobs even if it is sad.

“my folly revealed by facts which illuminate both my arrogance and self-deception” <- oh no… i wanted him to Realize he was being Like That... but not in this way…

so he picks up the gun, saying it would be easier to end this journey if the pain had just been his own… and oh my god......

but then the phone rings… and it’s kritshcgau? he’s trying to explain that he might have been followed after leaving his apartment, but mulder does not give a FUCK LMAO

he wants to know who this man is and if they really gave scully cancer because of him. understandable.

he’s looking around for bugs in his room as he is warned of what’s going on…. and he finds one on the ceiling!! and not the insect kind, the camera kind!!!

mulder finds someone upstairs watching him on camera and burning stuff, but then this mystery guy picks up his shotgun and shoots mulder??? maybe?? it’s hard to tell??? strategic cutoff??

(i assume it’s shotgun guy from before, but frankly i don’t remember what his face looked like, so. listen! a lot can happen in a week and two days)

ah, it feels so nice to be watching the intro again. nature is healing… and by nature i mean me.

scully gets home at midnight, checking her voicemail… she starts to get undressed for bed

“keep going, FBI woman” <- WHAT THE FUCK. 

IT’S MULDER??? she’s soooo GAGGED LMAOOO THE LOOK ON HER FACE???? i’m howling 

MULDER BABY YOU CANNOT JUST SAY THAT WHEN YOU BREAK INTO SOMEONE'S HOUSE. BAD BOY (sprays with water) (sprays with water) (sprays with-

“mulder? what are you doing? why are you sitting in my bedroom in the dark?” <- a VERY reasonable question!!!!

he says there’s a dead guy in his apartment. she’s had ENOUGH of his shenanigans, and he clarifies that he is NOT joking

he had been under surveillance for at least 2 months!!!!! that is freaky omggg… god only knows what they saw him doing

he says that he can’t talk to anyone at the bureau because this whole hoax leads back to the FBI!!!

HOLD ON PAUSE. WHY THE FUCK DOES SCULLY HAVE A POSTER OF DIFFERENT TOMATOES ON HER APARTMENT WALL. HOLD ON I’M FUCKING CRYING. STOP. THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. oh my gooood. 

she saw a poster of tomatoes and said you know what? this would look FANTASTIC in my apartment. 

god, scully, you truly are the best character of all time. i had no idea you felt so strongly about the humble tomato. 

i cannot complain about anything else that happens in this episode, i’m out of breath from laughing. oh my god. this is gonna get me through so much. tomorrow i’m gonna go to work and a customer is gonna yell at me and i’m just gonna smile thinking about scully’s tomato poster.

i don’t even really remember what was happening. 

okay, right, so the guy whose apartment was above mulder’s, he was destroying records of himself calling the FBI. so who in the FBI was he calling?? and must it be the one who is behind all of this??

“i will not allow this treason to prosper- not if they’ve done this to you” he says <- OKAYYYY!!! protective man is in his protective mode 🔥 you truly do LOVE to see it. it’s almost as good as scully in doctor more but let’s be honest, nothing can ever beat that.

ohhh, he says they can lie back to them!!!! sneaky sneaky man... your fox-like nature is showing

so it was HIS IDEA to have her come and make the ID on his "body" even though it was false!!??

so she was ACTING in that meeting??? WAS SCULLY A THEATRE KID?? because she sold that for real!!!!

he’s going on about how he’s asking her to lie so they can find out who this enemy from within is….

scully runs into skinner after identifying the body, who asks if it’s true that mulder is really dead, and she lies, saying yes. he wants to know if she’s okay, and she pulls the “i don’t know what to say” card, which is entirely understandable.

he asks how she made the ID if he died from a shot to the head, so she says she saw him earlier that morning and he was wearing the same clothes. and there’s a look skinner has into the distance as he tries to determine how and why they would have seen each other before 6:30 am. like you could see the gears turning in his head as if he was saying omg, so they WERE together this whole time. it’s comical, in a way. 

which also leads me to wonder, well i’m no expert in these things, but if you know someone long enough, wouldn’t you recognize them even sans face? by body alone? 

he says he’s very sorry. and when she tries to leave he very sternly calls out “agent scully >:| section chief blah blah blah thinks you’re hiding stuff” (paraphrased obviously)

skinner looks SOOO suspicious of whatever she's plotting lmaooo. and he is right to be!

meanwhile, a very alive mulder is going to the department of defense to scout some advanced research using the dead guy’s ID!! ooooo high stakes, high stakes!!!! he's narrating that if they’re busted, they’re done for good!!

now scully is in the office with the section chief. and he’s talking about someone from the DOD giving her classified information. 

they ask her for information and she’s clearly hiding stuff…. but she identifies kritshcgau!!! omg i didn't think she was going to!!

uh oh… kritshcgau sees mulder in the DOD!! “hey! how’d you get in here?” “through the front door” <- lmao he can never be serious!!

kritshcgau tells mulder to come with him… is this a trap??? 

he’s gagged because that card gives mulder LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE which i take is a BIG DEAL

yes, it is, because it would give him access to EVERYTHING!! even the thing he wants most of all… the cure for scully’s cancer!! you can see the tears forming in his eyes at the thought… oh man. ohhh mulder…

cancer man has burst into mulder’s apartment… now what are you doing here, you freak???

OHHHH he finds a photo of mulder and samantha on his desk when they were kids... ohhhh... my heart 😭😭😭😭😭

(there’s also some art on the wall of mulder's apartment that i can’t make the details out on. one piece seems to be some sort of pastoral scene with a sheep in it? and the other seems to be abstract. does anyone know what they are? i mean, it’s no tomato poster. but still)

CSM is actually crying seeing this photo and the blood he presumes to be mulder's on the carpet, and i don’t know if he feels genuine sadness or is just heartbroken his decades long alien colonization plan has been thwarted. honestly i do think he’s sad about mulder. he seemed to be in love with both mr. and mrs. mulder tbh, and that can do things to a guy. 

he finds the secret ceiling camera...

scully is in mulder’s office now, calling someone. she pulls out the phone number shotgun guy had been calling!! holly answers it and says she is so sorry to hear about what happened to mulder…. but scully has no time to talk about these things

who is this holly? how does she know scully? are they friends? i need the backstory.

scully… you are so beautiful…. holding this paper and calling holly on the phone, telling her when the calls were placed so she can track down who shotgun man called a million times…..

OH GOD!!! IT’S SKINNER’S EXTENSION!!!

scully looks devastated by this… but just as she begins to process it all, the scientist calls her back about the ice!! she has so much on her mind, please do not make her come look at some damn ice 😭

now, i do not believe that skinner is really behind all this. if he is involved at all, it is because he made that deal with CSM to try and save her... and maybe he was tricked, but he did NOT do it willingly!

kritshcgau and mulder are talking about level four, which apparently a place and not just a classification, and is home to medical facilities!! and vast quantities of DNA storage!! from every person who has ever given blood or tissue since ww2!!! 

damn that’s crazy. how tf would you even store all that?? it’s gotta be a warehouse.

he’s saying this is the hoax into which mulder was drawn…. the US fanned the flames of UFO stories to draw attention away from the whole “mutually assured destruction” thing, which, well, not sure how well that worked out 

OPPENHEIMER MENTIONED‼️him and that damn hat…

(actually still haven’t seen that movie btw. sorry i guess. idk. i’m busy)

KHRUSHCHEV APPEARS ‼️i love to see a familiar face from my textbooks in my TV programs. it's like a crossover event.

kritshcgau says the business of america isn’t business at all, it’s war. well yeah. that is true. and the cold war was an excuse to keep spending military money with no war. which i guess that sort of maybe tracks??

writing off korea and vietnam as just countries squaring off “a few times” is kinda crazy, but his point is: no one used the big bomb.

mulder asks what we are all thinking: what does this have to do with UFOs?

well, let kritshcgau tell you, son. after roswell, the more the government denied about UFOs, the more the public believed them, which was great timing for a country developing supersonic flight

oooo, he claims they almost got caught in korea, as they were accused of using germ warfare. but it’s nothing like what they have now, like what was used for the gulf war, developed in this very building! (said with a very dramatic flourish)

this is a lot of world building at a breakneck pace, and i don’t even know if i’m supposed to believe any of it. maybe some secret top percentage of the government thinks this is true, and the tiny syndicate knows it actually isn’t. that’s my best guess.

the abductions actually did happen, he clarifies, but not by aliens. hmm. a top secret project. well without aliens what's the point?

kritshcgau says it’s about DNA control. but for what purpose???

mulder asks, why make a whole fake alien body for all this then? and kritshcgau says because scully wouldn’t have been alive to disprove the alien body if their timing had been correct!!! so he would have believed it, then they could discredit him!

kritshcgau also says his son coming back sick from the gulf war is his retribution for going along with all of this, and he's thinking there’s a cure for him somewhere in there. well i think the whole gulf war disease and advanced cancer are very different. but maybe they both have secret cures?

off mulder goes, into level 4, taking one last look at kritshcgau, who is immediately apprehended by the DOD for questioning!!!! i feel that this will be the last we see of him.

cutscene to someone racing a horse?? is it bestie well groomed man?? and his many horses??

no!! it’s the department chair guy meeting with CSM!!! CSM is pissed that he didn’t know someone was watching mulder, but the chairman denies it.

he is even MORE pissed about being cut out of this project; “i CREATED mulder” <- okay so that is not putting out the “CSM is actually his father” allegations

chair guy says that mulder is dead

OHHH BUT CSM SAYS “i’ve never underestimated mulder. i still don’t” <- DAMN!!! that’s absolutely wild… i guess it’s important to know your opponent, and how willing they would be to fake their death, and if they could pull it off or not

(CSM angrily leaves)

back to scully at the ice core guy’s lab. and again, oh my god, she’s beautiful. no no no i don’t want to hear about fetal bovine serum. what the hell does that even mean. go back to her beautiful face.

he put the junk from the ice core in the serum... the cells were dividing… into somatic development?? the beginning of a life form. she looks shocked by this, but again. idk what that means!

bleugh, the ice core sample creature... it looks ugly…….

mulder’s snooping about the level 4 area, but the DOD people are behind him, and none of the doors have opened!!! he says that if they find the cure, it will mean for sure that he has believed in a lie from the start. well, i don’t think that’s true necessarily. i mean, the abduction thing could be from an alien-government collaboration, or aliens could still be out there, just not involved with this one thing, you know?

he picks a lock (okay!! crazy skyrim reference) and finds himself in a very dark room. and i am attracted to him. don't worry about it. anyway, whatever he sees seems to shock him???

cut to a TON of CGI aliens on cots LMAO WHAT???? just laying out n about 😭 it had to smell so bad in there… i imagine aliens smell very bad

now this alien closest to him has been lovingly crafted with practical effects, which is much better. so we can see his slime. that is not the part that is better, the slime visibility; its just that practical effects look more visually convincing in such a case

scully is narrating that she had no way to reach him and talk about their discovery of an unidentified life form. which is what happens when you fake your death and go in the secret medical facility of doom.

why is he TOUCHING the nasty alien body???? EUGH!!!!!!

scully is pondering if this thing she found in the serum could be the proof of an alien or the proof of a hoax… a lot of big questions for her to handle here 

he sees some flashing lights deep in the secret corridor, and follows it…. a whole lot of strobe light action going on in here. that stuff doesn't even bother me and i was like damn, that was a lot. i imagine it was much worse for the people who already have issues with bright lights.

she says that maybe this thing in the ice core sample is biologically connected to her cancer?? 

how does this connect to all of those half-alien, half-human people they found back in arizona??!!

beautiful man is looking through the window… 

OH MY GOD HE SEES A BUNCH OF WOMEN BEING SCANNED????? WITH BRIGHT FLASHING LIGHTS?? oh man.... WHAT IS GOING ON???? what are they DOING??

what did they call it before?? inducing mega ovulation?? yikes.

BLEUGH. i paused here as scully was getting blood drawn. i am woozy. how do they fake that for filming??

she needs a southern blot, btw. if that means anything to you. to compare that culture to her own DNA.

belaughhh. she needs the match before 7. he says we can’t do that.

“it’s got to happen. everything in my life depends on it” <- YOU TELL HIM!!!

he has no idea wtf that means but is taken aback by her seriousness

NOW WHY IS SKINNER WATCHING THIS????

OHHH SHE GOES OUT AND CONFRONTS HIM!! “is this more dirty work you’re doing for the DOD??” <- OHHHHH she is NOT HOLDING BACK

he says he has the tests from the body they found in mulder’s apartment on his desk; he knows it isn't him!!! and as she compounds the lies, she compounds the consequences!!!!

OHHHHH THAT WHOLE SCENE WAS SOOOOO JUICY I’M GONNA TEAR OUT MY HAAAAAIR

“all lies lead to the truth, isn’t that right?”

“and what about your lie, agent scully? what does it lead to?”

“the truth- about the men behind what happened to me, about my abduction and the tests, about being exposed to something against my will, about being put on a table and having something implanted in me and then having my memory stolen, only to have it returned along with a disease that i was given.” (ohh she was getting more and more furious as she said this and it was SO good)

“is that your justification? if that what you’re going to tell the joint panel tonight?”

“are you afraid of that?” <- OHHH her mocking and accusatory tone… i need it bottled

“well, considering the dead man in mulder’s apartment was murdered in cold blood and you willfully misidentified him, yes, i am afraid. but i’m only afraid for you” (<- and i do believe him, that he is scared to watch her proceed in this way, almost recklessly, even though it's calculated)

“you’re going to use that against me, aren’t you? you’re going to use me as i’ve been used all along- to preserve the lies”

“where is agent mulder?”

(she walks away)

WOOO baby, that scene was ACTING!! the tight closeups on their face was crazy, and it def could have backfired had they not been so freaking talented. every microexpression spoke a thousand words. i feel energized just watching it!!

jumping up and down. jumping up and down. we are sooooo back.

ohhh she goes into the lab herself to do the testing… in her lab coat… and her goggles… spinning the blood around… i’m faint…

meanwhile, mulder's walking through some weird pipes?? 

AUGH, there’s something IN HER BLOOD WATER, and she says it could be a connection between the conspirators and the cancer in her blood…. well to me it looks like a worm

he finds a new secret door and enters with a hand in his pocket, looking around... tension!!!

she’s ready to blow open this whole conspiracy!! ooooo you'd better stand back and watch it happen!

(they’re narrating all of this because this is a tv show and that is how an audiovisual media works, but i find it funny to imagine them speaking into a voice recorder as they describe their highly illegal activities)

he reaches the end of the mystery space and finds a ton of filing cabinets??? so he’s going to the scully file. he finds hers!!! it is a paper with a bunch of letters on it. which clears up nothing

and he pulls one out for kritschgau’s son as well!!! but it looks like his is blank???

someone from the DOD calls CSM to say that “scott” (mulder with the dead guy's ID card) made his way into the pentagon!! so he’s off to go find him. stay away from him, freak...

scully is rolling some sort of paper after soaking the mixture of stuff from her blood. you’re confused, i’m confused, i’m fascinated as to how this was explained for filming purposes, but here we are

“if my work with agent mulder has tested the foundation of my beliefs, science has been and continues to be my guiding light” <3

“now i’m again relying on its familiar and systematic methods to arrive at a truth- a fact that might explain the fate that has befallen me”

i love that she sees science as familiar and systematic; she really seems to be someone that values those aspects of stability, of knowing what can and cannot be true, and as the world grows more and more complex as they unravel the conspiracies, she turns to what she knows she can rely on. it reminds me in a way about how she values the comfort of a home, of the known, of what can be experienced and understood. she seems to thrive on that sort of knowledge, and i relate to it. something steady to keep her afloat, you know? it also speaks to her rigidity in following the rules. there is order and structure that maintains things, and that can be a great comfort, or a terrible hindrance if it is used for evil. but she, deep down, believes that there still is fundamental good. the rules, the science, the facts, the comfort of them all. it’s a terribly scary world; her biggest fear is what others are capable of. of course there is comfort in the known and the material. i like that a lot.

she hopes to match the virus from the mystery organism to the stuff in her cells, which would mean that her cancer has a cause, even if a cure is unknown! and maybe then they could find a cure to the virus thingy...? is this wishful thinking??

“if science serves me to these ends, it is not lost on me that the tool which i’ve come to depend on absolutely cannot save or protect me, but only bring into focus the darkness that lies ahead” <- hey. hey ouch. pain.

i refuse to consider such a possibility. there are too many more seasons ahead.

back to mulder in the labyrinth, looking for stuff that matches the numbers on her card. ough… why does his hair look so good…

anyway, he finds some sort of liquid

OH scully has done it!!! she’s mixed her DNA with the viral DNA from the cell!! oh, the ice core doctor guy is SHOCKED to learn that she has stuff in her that was also in the CANADIAN ALIEN MOUNTAINS!!

she explains that she believes she was exposed to this material that gave her an illness… and when he asks what kind, all she says is that it cannot be cured. damn. that was very dark.

so mulder finds this little vial of stuff with the specific numbers on it?? in a tiny tiny little bottle?

is it shots shots shots shots time??

he’s leaving from the pentagon, and in a voice over monologue, points out that he is as dependent upon her as she is upon him for the cure!!! as now she must convince the committee of her story!!!

she goes into the meeting room, bracing herself…. and she begins where we began in the last episode!!!! and now we know WHY she is reporting on the illegitimacy of his work!! ah, it is sweet relief to know there was no backstabbing between them

mulder is trying to sneak out… but his card swipe isn’t working…. and the military guys enter!!! 

can he play it cool?? can he beat them in a fight??? well, it FINALLY works, and one thing he can do is run!! and he manages to!!!!

GASP! CSM sees mulder leave, and says to let him go!! he seems almost relieved to see mulder alive and with this mystery liquid

and scully’s doing her oscar-winning performance about identifying a body. an absolute serve.

but skinner comes in just as she says this…. 

her eyes are filled with tears as she pulls out the evidence… (which is just two lines on paper, but you KNOW she is going to explain it)

and she notes that the whole thing was “planned and executed by someone in this room”, seeming to blame it all on skinner… oh my god…

OH MY GOD SHE’S STARTING HER PRESENTATION AND HER NOSE STARTS TO BLEED???

SHE FAINTS?????? and SKINNER CATCHES HER????

she looks at him and says “you…..” before passing back out <- WHAT DID SHE WANT TO SAY TO HIM??!??!?!?!?!

mulder is with the lone gunmen analyzing the mystery liquid…. and it’s water??

hold on, i had to rewatch her fainting and skinner catching her… how he starts to hold her face but stops himself… the way she says “you” so quietly… and then she loses consciousness again… oh my god… to be caught by the person she thinks is killing her… 

and skinner… i don’t believe for a minute that he is behind this. how hurt he must be at her accusations, his terror in watching her march ahead recklessly and lie to these people who would kill her in a heartbeat, and actively ARE killing her, and he was the one that made the deal with the devil to try and get this to stop happening, but what if he’s only advanced the work of the devil and got nothing out of it for himself…? and she doesn't even trust him!!!!

i rewatched that scene 4 times. and it was amazing during each of them.

and mulder… with his water… mystery water in vials… what can it do?? is it really just water?? why tf would the government hide vials of water with incredibly specific numbering deep in the pentagon. i don't buy it.

oh man, we are SOOOOOO back!!!!! i am bouncing off the walls. i cannot WAIT to learn what happens next. the angst here was EXQUISITE.

i’m such a sucker for angst involving mulder/scully and skinner. it’s going to get me EVERY time. over and over and over again. it just punches me in the gut. and all the other stuff punches me in the gut too, but this one has a certain je ne sais quoi factor about it; is it the mentor/mentee relationship of it all?? the way they care about each other but don’t know how to express it?? how they go from being willing to die and to kill for each other and then suddenly that trust is entirely removed, back and forth, back and forth? oh, it’s like CATNIP to me.

scully fainting and him catching is already going to be on my list of favorite moments, i know it, i know myself too well.

AUGHHHHHAUAGGHHHHRAUGGHHHHHAUGHHHHHH i LOVE THIS SHOW see it can be SO GOOD WHEN IT WANTS TO BE!!!!!!!!!

the trickery!! the plotting!! the deception!! the mysteries within mysteries!!! i still think the aliens are real though!! what are they doing with those women?? giving then alien DNA so they can steal their eggs to make alien babies?? what is that oil stuff in mulder?? and where does krycek fit into this??? and again, those half alien things in arizona?? don’t tell me!! don’t tell me because i am excited to learn!!!

YEAHHHHH!!!

[leonskittybunwriting]

Forever (Leon Kennedy)

 

Warnings: zombie apocalypse, bear hybrid leon x bunny fem reader. Angst/comfort 

 

Part 1

 

A/N: I don't own resident evil characters, and I don't own resident evil!

Leon's bear ears twitch as his combat boots hit the muddy ground below him as he walks through the forest, his shotgun on his back and his handgun in his gun holder. 

 

His knife is hiding in his combat boot, and his machete is in his hand. 

 

He carries a bag on his shoulder. 

 

He continues to walk to his hiding place, which was a treehouse that he had built prior to the world ending. 

 

He wasn't alone; he had you. You were slightly younger than him, in your 20s, while he was in his 40s. 

 

He was surprised that you two get along because you're a bunny hybrid and he's a bear hybrid. 

 

He had found you in a small store just a few miles back about a week ago, so the both of you are still getting to know each other. 

 

He pauses for a second once he gets under the treehouse before climbing up the tree and climbing in through the window. 

 

He sees you sit up and wiggle your nose before sniffling at him. 

 

He sees you relax and give him a relieved smile. 

 

“I'm so happy that you came back safe and sound.” You whisper softly before standing up from your small nest pile and walking over to him and wrapping your arms around Leon, hugging his head. 

 

Leon smiles and hugs you by wrapping his arms around your waist and gently rubbing large curves you have. 

 

"Well, aren't you affectionate today?” Leon says softly, even though he shouldn't make any comments about the affection you're giving him. 

 

When he first meant you, he was so grumpy that even though he brought you back, he basically ignored you for the first week unless both of you were hungry. 

 

You nuzzle him gently some more and whisper, “I just need your touch; I need something to ground me today.” 

 

Leon understands that feeling all too well, and he whispers, “I can do that, sweetheart.” 

 

You smile and kiss his cheek gently, her bunny tail wagging a little, and her floppy ears move a little from the small movement she made. 

 

Leon's tail twitches from the kiss, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck, holding her close. 

 

Hybrids need physical contact with each other, not all the time but most of the time. 

 

As Leon holds you, he freezes when he hears a snarl from down below. 

 

You whimper softly as you tighten your grip on Leon and watch as he opens a small door he made in the bottom of the treehouse to see a stumbling zombie walking, and he grabs a slingshot and hands it to you. 

 

You bite your lip nervously as you put a sharp rock into the slingshot before taking aim before letting go, which causes the sharp rock to fling into the zombies head. Killing it immediately. 

 

“Good job.” Leon praises before speaking again. “After you master the slingshot, I'll teach you the bow and arrows.” 

 

You nod with a blush. You had asked him to teach you how to fight when he asked you what weapon you wanted to use. You had said bow and arrow, and he said we'll start with the slingshot first, and after you master it, I'll teach you the bow and arrow. 

 

When you had asked why not just teach you the bow and arrow, he had answered because a slingshot is small and can be hidden on you with a bow. 

 

You understood in that moment what he meant—Zombies weren't the only enemies.

 

Few weeks later

 

Over the past few weeks. 

 

You and Leon had gotten much closer; you both cuddled at night and played with each other's hair on a lazy day. 

 

He had also been teaching you bow and arrow after you mastered the slingshot. 

 

“Leon?” You ask softly as you play with your floppy bunny ears. 

 

Leon hums softly as he sharpens his machete. 

 

“How would you feel about us becoming mates?” You ask nervously. 

 

Leon pauses his movements and looks at you in shock before asking, “You wanna be my mate?” 

 

You nod with a blush. 

 

Leon licks his lips gently before standing up and walking over to you, and he whispers, “I would like that very much.” 

 

You look at him in shock before smiling and wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering softly, “I'm glad.” 

 

Leon licks his canine teeth before sinking his teeth into your neck, marking you forever. 

 

You let out a whimper, holding onto him tightly before sinking your own teeth into him, marking him forever. 

[abbysleftbicepp]

What Did I Ever Do To You?

A post outbreak day abby x fem!reader fic.

Warnings: Violence (if you squint), slight angst, some fluff, not proofread, I’m new to this so lmk if there is more that I can’t think of!!

Part 1

“Why did Isaac have to put me on this patrol?” You groaned under your breath as you reloaded her gun, and taking out another scar.

Truth be told, You never liked going on patrols to kill non-fungal people. You hated having to be at war with the scars. You’d rather be killing off infected, or doing other jobs at the settlement like looking after the cattle. You’d also often help out in the nursery, sharing your knowledge in the preschool rooms and telling stories to the older kids.

“Is that all of them?” Manny asked, trying to get his breathing steady again.

“Yeah I think so.” Abby sighed in relief. You could finally return after a long day of fighting scars who got too close to the settlement. Just as Abby finished speaking, a truck pulled up as if it were answering their wishes of not wanting to hike all the way back.

“I call shotgun!” Manny yelled out.

“You always get shotgun.” You rolled your eyes as you hopped into the back, letting Alice and Abby on.

“That’s a good girl.” You petted Alice as Jordan drove off.

There was an awkward silence between you and Abby. There was always tension in the air when you were together. You never even knew why.

“You did good out there. I’m surprised you could hold your own so well when you’re never out on these kind of runs.” Abby spoke up.

“Uhh…that sounded very back handed, but I’ll take it. Thank you.” You responded. The silence returned in the back of the truck, enveloping everyone.

“Did you hear what food they have in the canteen today? I’m starved.” You spoke up, trying to fill the silence that was taking over the truck.

“Uhm..I think it was potato and leek soup.” Abby responded dryly, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Thanks.” You finished, ending their short conversation. The rest of the ride home was quite peaceful. The sun was setting in the sky, creating beautiful orange and pink hues in the clouds. Alice had fallen asleep on the truck floor, she had quite an eventful day.

The air was warm, with a slight breeze contrasting to the cozy atmosphere. There were flowers starting to bloom in the grass, you could tell it was the end of spring.

————————————————————

Sitting in yours and Nora’s shared room, You listened to your favourite song through your Walkman. This hour was the one hour of solitude you got a day, and she liked to spend it with her eyes closed, listening to the calm music as she allowed her mind to wander.

“Hey Y/n, I’m gonna head out. Issac is wanting me to pull a shift for Mel.” Nora yelled before leaving the room, leaving you completely alone.

Your mind drifted to memories that you tried to push away. Your memories from back in Boston.

~flashback~

“Ellie! Riley! Wait up!!” You yelled as you followed them down a street to your shared hideout. You three had found a house that no one was using, and never got checked by Fedra. You all decorated the place and made it feel cosy. It became your safe space, a place to escape for a while.

When you finally arrived, Ellie and Riley were in a heated argument.

“Fuck you Ellie! I don’t wanna see you ever again.” Riley announced before storming out the door.

“What just happened? Are you okay Ellie?” You asked, worried for your friends. Ellie broke down crying as you wrapped your arms around her.

“Shh it’s okay..I’m right here..” you spoke, trying to soothe Ellie.

A month and a few weeks had passed, and Riley never returned. For all you knew, she was dead. So that’s what you assumed.

~End of flashback~

Suddenly, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder, waking you from your sleep.

“Huh? What time is it..?” You asked, rubbing your eyes as you sat up.

“It’s 8pm. Manny wants to have a movie night in his room, the whole groups already there but he insisted on me coming to grab you.” Leah responded. “Go get some slippers on and meet us in his room.” She finished before leaving.

You let out a groan, you didn’t want to be rudely awakened nor go to see a movie in Manny’s room. That was mainly because Manny shared a room with Abby, and you didn’t want to cross paths with Abby whenever wasn’t necessary.

Once you got your hoodie and slippers on, you grabbed your keys and dragged yourself out the door.

When you arrived you knocked faintly on the door, hoping that no one would hear it. Your hopes were soon crushed when Jordan opened the door.

“Ah you took your time, come on in.” He said, welcoming you into Manny and Abby’s room. When you walked in, everyone greeted you, everyone except Abby.

Sitting down next to Nora, you spoke up. “What are we watching then?”

“We are watching Spider-man 3.” Manny answered, putting popcorn on the coffee table before sitting down himself and pressing play.

You nodded, as you tried to focus on the tv. However, you could feel someone staring holes into your soul. You turned to look at who was looking at you, and you caught Abby looking away.

“Sly.” You thought to herself.

After the movie ended, Leah, Jordan and Nora all decided that they were too tired for another film. Manny insisted on you staying for another one, so you decided on staying. You probably wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep either way.

Manny put on Pirates of the Caribbean: At Worlds End, as he knew that both Abby and you had a mutual liking to the film.

After half an hour, manny got a text from one of his side chicks. “Girls, I’m afraid I’ve gotta head out. I got a hookup.” He said before rushing out the door. Now it was just you and Abby, and the tension was swallowing them whole.

When the movie finished, the tension in the room only grew. You wanted to leave and go back to your safe place, but you knew that Abby would watch your every move, and that scared you. Confidence bubbled up inside you, begging to be let out, so you spoke up;

“What did I ever do to you?” You asked looking at your hands.

“What?” Abby retorted.

“For years all you’ve done is shut me out. All I’ve been trying to do is show you kindness, show I’m worthy of your friendship but you feel disgusted to be in the same room as me.” You wanted to stop speaking, but the words would not stop spilling from your usually quiet mouth.

“I’m tired of trying to show my worth to you. I’m tired of trying to be good enough for you, when all you want is to be as far away as possible.” You continued. Abby sat there quietly.

“You tell me that you don’t have time for friends, but that’s just bullshit because we’re both in the same friend group and your kind enough to them…so why not to me?” You finally looked up, with hurt eyes. For only a split second, Abby faltered. The mask slipped for a second as she saw the pain she was causing in your eyes. You look at her with a shaky breath, seeking information that you’ve needed for a long time, but Abby never spoke. She just sat there, looking at you with shock.

You let out a short laugh, trying to take away from the tension, before walking to the door.

“Fuck you Abby.” You said as you stormed out, heading to your room.

————————————————————

COME BACK FOR PART TWO!!! Lmk if you wanna be tagged

Taglist:

@toothgapedlesbo @littlegingerperson2 @paqerings

[thissortofsorcery]

The doorbell’s ringing.

Billy puts his book down and takes a deep, calming breath before he gets up. He rarely gets a moment to himself in this house, and today he finally managed to sit down to read a fucking book with no one breathing down his neck, but someone decided to hang on the doorbell like the world’s ending.

Neil and Susan are at work, and Billy just dropped Max off at the Chief’s house, so of course no one else is in the house to answer the goddamn-

“What?!”

It’s Harrington.

“Billy-“ He says, and his voice breaks a little bit.

Billy tightens his grip on the door until his knuckles go white.

Harrington looks terrible. His hair is everywhere, the way it flops when he’s been pulling at it, and his lips are bitten bloody. Billy will bet his nails are bitten too. The Beamer’s parked on the curb haphazardly, one wheel almost climbing on the sidewalk, driver’s door still open, like he just stopped the car and climbed out without much thought.

When Billy brings his eyes back to Harrington, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. That, or he’s trying not to cry. He kinda looks like he’s been holding back the whole way over, actually.

“Look, Harrington-“

“Just—Are you busy?”

Billy doesn’t answer. 

They haven’t talked to each other in three weeks. Not since Steve drove off that night at the quarry, after they were done shotgunning beers and listening to Queen and seeing who could get more peanuts into the other’s mouth from six feet away. After they fucked. 

Steve made no effort to reach him, not at school, not through the kids’ walkies, and Billy didn’t try to send any smoke signals either. They left things pretty clear that night.

Though showing up at his house is the worst idea Harrington could’ve had.

“You can’t be here.”

“What?” Harrington blinks at him, and that lost expression gives way to offended confusion as he blinks at Billy.

“Harrington— You can’t come to my house, Neil can’t see you—“

“I fucking know that, Billy! I checked he wasn’t home, I’m not an idiot—“

“I know you’re not an idiot, Steve!”

Their eyes meet and they fall silent, breath coming just that much quicker from their raised voices. It’s the middle of the afternoon and the street is quiet, no cars driving by, no people walking past. It’s like the sunroom porch on Cherry lane is a snowglobe, suspending them in time until one of them decides to move. And Billy— Billy can’t look away. 

Last time he saw Steve, it was watching the taillights of his car get smaller in the distance through blurry eyes, tears on his cheeks making the red bleed into yellow bleed into blue. The sound of tires on gravel and his own harsh breaths, his own voice yelling Steve’s name, the slam of his fist on the trunk of the Beamer as it drove off, the engine revving, all at once and all over again in Billy’s ears, suffocating him. There were two sets of headlights illuminating the quarry that night, and then there was just one. 

Now Billy doesn’t understand why Steve is here, why he’d just show up— It’s been long enough that Billy had given up on it, given up on them.

Steve blinks first, and sniffs, but he doesn’t look away.

“I just— I had to see you.”

It barely registers at first, the words a punch to the sternum that make Billy focus more on how they stole his breath than on what they mean. Then it hits him.

Billy wants to ask why. Why now? What made Steve change his mind? Did he change his mind? But he knows they’re on borrowed time and it won’t be long until someone turns the corner and sees them together. Steve can’t come in, but Billy can’t turn him away. He looks like he’s two seconds away from losing his shit.

“Not here,” Billy says, and Steve’s face immediately crumples. “Meet me at the quarry. Fifteen minutes.”

He pulls himself back together, a little, and rubs his nose. Then he nods and runs back to his car.

The days are getting longer now, in spring.

When Billy gets out of the Camaro, Steve’s already at the quarry, but he’s still sitting in his car, engine off, just staring at the steering wheel with his brow furrowed like it’s yelling at him. Or maybe he’s yelling at himself in his head. Billy knows he does that.

“Steve,” He calls, and Harrington starts, like he didn’t hear him coming. Billy leans on the hood of the Camaro while Steve gets out of the Beamer. “So, what did you want to see me for?”

Billy crosses his arms and his ankles and aims for nonchalant, but he’s not sure he hits the mark. He can feel Steve’s gaze on him like a burn, even after all this time, making his cheeks hot and his neck start sweating. Warmer than California sunshine. He can’t help but stare back, take in Steve’s shoulders (hunched) and his legs (gorgeous) and his hands (shaking). 

“What's this about?” Billy asks again, which just goes to show how soft he is for Steve. He doesn’t ask the same question twice very often.

Steve stands in front of him, and breaks their stare-off to yank at his hair with both hands, making it stand out in an even weirder shape. He looks like a cartoon character. Billy figures they’re in for a long haul while Steve figures himself out, so he pulls himself up to sit on the hood of the Camaro.

It goes for a few minutes like this: Steve looks like he’s about to say something, then he swallows and blinks rapidly, staring at the ground, or up at the clouds. His bottom lip’s bleeding, again. He’s clearly torn about something, can’t decide wether to say it or not, and Billy might be trying his hardest to move on from them, but that doesn’t mean it worked.

“Stevie,” He calls, softly, and Steve’s head snaps in his direction. “What's wrong?”

And Steve just. Walks the six or so steps that separated them and sinks his head into Billy’s shoulder, arms going around his waist, under his jean jacket to cling to his shirt. He takes a few shuddering breaths that seem to come from the core of him, like it takes all his strength just to pull them in, but there’s no dampness on Billy’s jacket or on his neck.

And it breaks his goddamn heart. The months he’d been with Steve, he’d never seen him like this— nowhere close to this. Billy’d never even seen him tear up. 

“Hey,” Billy says, a quiet murmur into Steve’s hair, more a soothing vibration than a sound. “Hey, Stevie, it’s okay.”

Billy settles his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him closer, if it’s at all possible, brackets Steve with his knees so he feels completely wrapped up, lays his head on top of Steve’s and breathes with him until he’s ready to talk. His fingers draw patterns on Steve’s shoulder, smoothing up and down his shoulder blade.

Billy feels the telltale burn of tears in his own eyes. He’d missed being this close.

“I heard back from some schools,” Steve’s muffled voice comes from his shoulder, still sounding tight.

Inwardly, Billy sighs. He did too. And he wondered about Steve, because he spent so much time helping him study, helping him apply, he couldn’t help but stay up at night wondering, even if he didn’t want to.

Steve pulls back, sniffing, but he doesn’t go far. He stays within an arm’s length, hand resting on Billy’s knee, warm and achingly familiar. Billy doesn’t find it in himself to let go of Steve’s jacket sleeve, either.

“I didn’t get in.”

Billy very carefully doesn’t react, doesn’t take in a sharp breath, jump in surprise. Instead, his keeps his voice flat,

“Didn't get in where?”

“Anywhere,” Steve says, mouth twisting into a sardonic smirk that looks just like Tommy’s, like he’s gotten used to the idea already, galvanized it into the Steve is so dumb trophy of comedic genius all his friends have awarded themselves. “Not anywhere. But today I got—" he swallows, “today I got the last letter from California, and I thought, fuck it, right? It doesn’t matter anymore, because we broke up.”

It hits Billy’s chest like a lance.

“Steve—“

“And if— And you’re going to California, obviously, you said so, you said there’s nothing that can keep you from going—“

“Stevie, come on,”

“And I thought, whatever I’m gonna do with my life, working for my dad or some shit, it’s not gonna have you in it, right? You’re fucking off somewhere and I'm—“

Steve’s voice breaks and he clenches his jaw shut, so tight that Billy can see the muscles at his temples pop. Billy’s hand has closed into a fist where he’s clinging to Steve’s jacket, and he doesn’t know when he did that. His whole body is frozen, just staring at Steve, unblinking, desperate to understand. His cheeks are wet.

Two hands cup his face, thumbs smudging the tears on his cheeks, and two steps later Steve’s face is close to his, so close their noses are almost touching. Billy hasn’t let go of his sleeve.

“I can’t do it, Billy,” Steve says. “Can't do this without you. You’re— You’re too important.”

There’s something inside Billy that breaks open. Something old and jagged, rusted over and buried deep, that tore at him every time he moved. Steve puts his lips on Billy’s cheek and kisses the salt away, rests their foreheads together so they can share a breath. Billy does open his fist, then, and it’s stiff, but he closes it again on the back of Steve’s jacket with his other hand, drawing him in.

He can’t say anything. He’s afraid of what his voice will sound like if he tries. So he just presses his lips to Steve’s, nudges them open carefully, slowly, slips his tongue inside to feel the taste he’s been dreaming about for the last three weeks, shuddering at the sensation of Steve’s teeth nibbling at his lip.

Billy chases Steve’s lips when he pulls back, steals another kiss, then locks his knees around Steve’s hips so he can’t go too far. They stay there, faces close, voices low.

“Tell me you mean it,” Billy says, eyes searching. Once upon a time he had the fleeting thought he could see his whole life stretch out in the brown of Steve’s eyes, and he’s clinging with everything he has to the belief he wasn’t wrong.

“I'm coming with you,” Steve promises. “To California, or like, wherever. I’ll get a job somewhere. It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving you again.”

Billy nods, and doesn’t dare blink.

“Okay, pretty boy. ’s you and me.”

There’s a voice, mean and raspy, in the back of his head, that’s saying you think you deserve this, you piece of shit? you’re gonna drive him away just like last time

But Steve snuffs it out like a candle, effortlessly and without even noticing, when he huffs a laugh against Billy’s face, laying a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“Are you going to let me drive the Camaro on the way there?”

And Billy can’t let Steve get these ideas in his head, so he just kisses him quiet.

The sun sets, eventually, and the woods close to the quarry come alive. They don’t want to go home, not yet. It feels fragile, this little circle of happiness they made, and neither of them has it in him to move it somewhere else. To get in their separate cars and watch the other drive off. But they can’t see for shit, so they turn on their cars— One set of headlights illuminating the quarry, then two.

"I had to see you" | Version |

This drabble was inspired by the "I had to see you" scene from shameless, but the idea got away from me. I think I'll revisit this in the future, though, so this is Version I.

[moondirti]

Ok but like… catch Simon smoking one day and you just, sit on his lap, and kiss the smoke out of his mouth and it tastes like smoke and bourbon😍😍😍 mans would go feral I think

all i do is turn cute thoughts angsty. no i will not apologise i would recommend you read 'cigarettes out the window' before this. not entirely necessary, i just make references to it you might not understand otherwise. ghost x scout (reader) warnings: smoking, nicotine addiction, shotgun kisses

You find him on the roof, reeking of singed leaf and tobacco. Your lungs battle the frigid cold that pours through a sharp inhale; you desperately cling to the traces you can catch. It's a smell you're well accustomed with - an old friend that's quick to curl it's relentless grip around you. Even now, you lean into it.

Just when you'd gotten good at battling the urge.

He hates it when you smoke. Though it never stops him from frequenting the bad habit himself.

The thought filters, flares, then sinks to a faint nothing at the base of your skull. It's hard to focus on your shortcomings when he's this close - you digest the sight of him; imposing, a spill of ink against the backdrop of snow. In the never ending cover, you're barely able to make out the tendrils of grey that stream from a thin cigarette, clutched between thick fingers.

(Comical, almost. It looks like a toothpick in his clutch).

"So, you took my lighter."

His shoulders tense for a small moment - barely perceptible, you'd be the only one to notice.

But they do, of course. You have an odd habit of sneaking up on people.

"I told you I'd confiscate it." He doesn't turn to face you. Instead, he pulls another puff. You think you can feel it flood you. Head rush, buzzing adrenaline.

Or, maybe that's him. Almost eight months since Sudbury now, and you're still dizzy over the situation you've happened upon.

"I've been good, though." You whisper, almost whine, and come up behind him. He's sat on a ledge, his legs hanging off the edge. You wrap your arms around his shoulders both for the sake of it and the smallest fear that he fall off.

But Simon's a figure forged of resolute steel, tempered in some planet's core that far supersedes the burn of this world. Gunpowder. Nuclear fallout. Butane, swishing liquid inside the all-black lighter Soap had gifted you for Christmas.

It's all ye ever wear, Scout. Didnae know whit else ye'd like.

Nothing tips him over.

Almost.

(You graze your lips on the cut of his jaw - bared, now, with the balaclava rucked to his nose - and feel as his muscles flex underneath several layers of cotton.)

"We both know you're not up here for me, pet." He growls, the depth of it registering tenfold in your new proximity. His voice, thick with a cockney diction, seeps like molasses and hardens on the gummy lining of your lungs.

Your pocket heaves with the weight of a new pack. He's right.

"Hm. No, not originally. Bummed a lighter from Price."

"Then?"

You kiss his jaw again, a week old stubble chafing over your lips.

"Then, God had other plans."

A gale moves in from the North, biting at your cheeks. You can't see it, but you imagine Simon's nose is red, blushed in that way only you got to see on a regular basis. You bury your face into his neck to hide the fond smile that threatens to crack your face.

Timbre. Wet rain on a campfire. That sandalwood shampoo he still insists on using no matter how many alternatives you buy him.

From the shift of his body underneath yours, you assume he takes another drag. But he doesn't shrink with an exhale, not for a while.

When you look up quizzically, his lips touch yours. Just barely, a soft graze of chapped flesh, cold and split at the corner from where he was punched just last night.

Your nose ignites, smouldering acridity, tarnished herbs doused in the aftertaste of bourbon. You don't know why you stumble - whether it's the kiss, the shotgun, or the terrifying relief of an old vice. All there is are the gentle cradle of snowfall on your lashes, half-lidded, and the behemoth that breathes temptation to your gut.

"Hope you're not too disappointed, pet."

(Never.)

[turquoizxe]

4 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

Fontaine x Black!Fem!Introvert!Reader

Installation (1.5/2) : The Shit We Do

Rating ― Adult (18+)

➝ The official second installation takes place months after you reunited with Fontaine, so I'll fill in the holes (while Fontaine fills yours) about what you two have done in between those months together.

Author's Note: Uhh packing for my dorm is an ass and has been taking up most of my time these past couple of weeks besides family things, but I didn't wanna leave you guys hanging while I get to work on college. Enjoy!

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ― Fontaine being a softie for you, fluff, adult themes, drabble bcs I miss ya'll :,)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ― use of vulgar language, sexuality, mentions of drugs, and other adult themes.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 — 0.7k

Fontaine finding his way back to you was easily one of the best things that has happened to him.

Actually, it is the best thing that's happened to him.

You were sure that your family would have a heart attack if they knew the relationship the two of you now shared.

You had no plans of giving your heart to anyone else, and the same went for your pussy. It was his, and it always has been.

The memories that you had shared in high school were beyond the title of best friends, and you both knew that.

However, being able to fully flesh out these feelings in adulthood was something you thought wouldn't happen; those fantasies were only held by hope.

So the day you reunited with Fontaine ― the night Fontaine blew your back out and popped your cherry for the first time, you were sure it was a dream.

...That was until you realized that he was in your kitchen making you breakfast the morning after.

You had spent so much of your life worried about how people viewed you and judged you based on who you hung out with.

You had finally embraced what you two could be, hoping that Fontaine felt the same.

I'm pretty sure both of you had lost count of all the bullshit you got into following that day.

Fontaine never stopped having weed on him, and you never stopped smoking it― after a long day of work, your lover is always willing to share a joint with you or make you your own.

He still had his mint green Pontiac, the letter you wrote for him sitting in his glovebox, clearly tampered with more than once.

Speaking of it, you also lost count of all the places you fucked ever since you two been together. You couldn't help how much shit you two talked together, got you in trouble more than once.

"Taine', the movie's getting good." "mmtch, ain't nobody worried about that shit but you."

The back of his car in the middle of a drive-in after Fontaine decided that the skirt you were wearing was far more entertaining than the romantic comedy you wanted to see ―

"Fuck, I'm gonna come again-" "Gimme that shit baby."

back on the couch after you both got high together after a rant about your workplace, bent over once again after you innocently asked for him to shotgun because you were too lazy to roll a blunt yourself that day ―

"Shit, Fontaine." "Yeah, say that shit."

the kitchen counter, your pretty pussy on display as Fontaine seemed to be hungry for something else that day.

You were like 90% of the predicaments you ended up in because of your gestures, but he knew what you wanted, and he definitely gave it to you. And sometimes, you bit off more than you could chew.

And unfortunately, your mouth got you into trouble in more ways than one.

You two argue playfully more than anything, but when things got serious..

"The fuck you mean clones? Fontaine, I know you smoke weed, but don't be on that other shit!"

Fontaine didn't see you get mad often, and he didn't like it when you were, especially if the resolution was so easy. But him explaining clones to you was far from it. You were damn near convinced that he was smoking crack until you saw it on the news the next morning, and that's when you let him back in your apartment to fuck the attitude out of you.

In some ways, Fontaine felt as though you still acted like a damn kid. Yo mama jokes, reciting lines from the movies that you two used to watch growing up.

"All my life I had to fight!" When you were only fighting for the last bag of doritos. "Since you got your degree, and you know every fuckin' thing, when you would grammatically correct Fontaine to piss him off. "He's a good man, Savvanah, a very good man!" When you confessed to your friends that you and Fontaine were official.

The shit you two did together was beyond the comprehension of the outside.

And luckily for both of you, it was only your business. Fontaine appreciated your bold spirit when you were together.

But, he was searching for the bold side of you to make her appearance.

Unfortunately for your introverted ass, he was determined to make that happen.

𝙏𝙖𝙜(𝙨)

@blowmymbackout | @wakandas-vibranium

[dwonfilm]

Come hell or high water. | Dean Winchester x Reader.

Summary: Looming over the Winchesters and [Y/N] is the war between heaven and hell. Dean will ultimately be faced with a choice he’d never be able to make. What will happen?

This will be a multi-part story, not necessarily set in a specific season but around 4-5 would be the best fit.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, Azazel (yellow eyed demon).

Warnings: angst, supernatural level violence, season 2 spoilers in flashback.

If you missed it, here’s Part I.

Flashbacks are in bold.

Part II:

Here our trio sits, all tied to separate chairs and bloodied. Each unconscious at the moment, at the mercy of whoever held them captive—though right now it seemed they were alone. Not that it was helpful, none were in the state to simply bust out of their restraints.

Two days earlier.

It was the crack of dawn and for a change, [Y/N] was the first awake. Though in saying that, it would imply she got much sleep to begin with—which she didn’t. If she had to count the hours, she’d guess maybe two out of the numerous hours at night she’d spent sleeping. Every other hour was spent snuggled into Dean who was for a change fast asleep and remained that way all night long. For [Y/N], she was restless and worried and that never ended well when it came to a hunt. There had been a handful of times where she’d just.. known something bad was gonna happen. She couldn’t tell anyone how she knew but her intuition was rarely wrong. She’d felt off about their rescue of John Winchester from those damned Sunrise apartments. Lo and behold he was possessed by the yellow eyed demon that we now know was called Azazel. All of those events spiralled and led to John ending up dead and in hell—a deal made, a trade, his life for Dean’s. There was one other instance in which it was the day that her beloved Dean made the deal that would eventually send him to hell himself.

Tears had been flowing so long their tracks had stained [Y/N]’s pale cheeks. Everything had happened so fast—weeks, hell maybe months had been spent tracking these.. other children that the yellow eyed demon had planned a future for and now.. it all felt as if time froze. They’d found this guy, Jake, but something had been incredibly off about him—more so than the other children really seemed to present at first. It wasn’t long before Sam found himself physically fighting with Jake. After a couple blows that would definitely hurt in the morning, the younger Winchester had knocked the man unconscious. Holding the pipe he’d used to nail the final blow above an unknowing Jake. Inner turmoil clearly tearing at his brain. This constant battle of how far was too far, which had been brewing within Sam Winchester for the last year or so. Ultimately, he just couldn’t kill Jake, despite the fact that he had been trying to kill Sam. Tossing the pipe to the ground before hearing both Dean and [Y/N] yelling for him. “SAM!” Dean had been searching for his little brother, frantically at that. “SAM!” [Y/N] yelled immediately after, her body right behind Dean’s. Turning in the direction of their voices Sam would sprint off, leaving the unconscious form of Jake lying on the gravel. Now they could see one another. Dean, [Y/N] and Bobby had all come into sight. “Sam.” Dean said, voice sounding exhausted. “Dean..” Sam spoke, also sounding exhausted while holding his left arm with his right. All three hunters dropped their shotguns from the aimed position but [Y/N] however, she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was lingering. Seconds, mere seconds.. and Jake had appeared behind Sam. “Sam look out!” Dean warned, but it had been too late. Jake had grabbed a knife from the earlier battle and plunged it deep into the back of the younger Winchester. Dean, [Y/N] and Bobby frantically began sprinting towards Sam. “NOOOOOOOOO!” Dean yelled with one of the most pained and strained voices that [Y/N] had ever heard. Rushing towards Sam, who’d fallen to his knees, Dean threw the shotgun onto the gravel before him and gripped Sam’s white shirt tightly in his fists. Bobby and [Y/N] didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. They chased Jake as he ran away from the horrific scene he’d just caused. Sam fell limp, only being held up by his older brother’s grip on his shirt. It was clear this was bad, beyond bad, it was.. criminal. “Hey, hey, hey.. c’mere.. lemme look at ya’..” Dean cooed as he moved his brother into a hug. Placing his hand on Sam’s back he felt the wound, his little brother’s blood now coating his palm. Panic filled him as he stared at it, before trying to keep Sam responsive. Pulling back, he’d look Sam in the face but his brother was still like a ragdoll in his hands. “It’s not even that bad, it’s not even that bad.. alright?” Dean lied, looking into his little brother’s eyes. They weren’t fully open, Sam was clinging to the last string of life and Dean knew it. “Sammy… SAM!” He cried out, shaking his little brother out of sheer desperation to keep him awake. “Hey, listen to me.. we’re gonna patch you up okay?” Dean’s breaths were heavy, panic setting in but he’d keep it at bay as much as he could. “You’ll be good as new..” Another lie. Yet he said it anyway, at this point he didn’t know if it was to comfort Sam or to comfort himself. Here he was kneeling in the gravel, holding his little brother’s near lifeless body in his hands. “I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna take care of you.. I got you. That’s my job right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother.” By the end of that sentence Dean’s emotions had began to put cracks in the dam of his repressed emotions. “Sam. Sam. Sam.. SAMMY?” Dean wailed with his hand on his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes had closed now, there was no sign of life present in his brother’s body and he knew it. He realized it. Eyes widened with the realization and the fear that came with it: Sam was dead. “..no.. no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no..” Dean was pleading, with who.. with what.. he didn’t know.

Bringing his little brother back into a hug he stared off at the ground just behind where they were. Hands gripping at his little brother tightly, frantically, inwardly hoping this was some kind of sick nightmare. “Oh god..” he pleaded, just holding up his brother who was no longer living. Both knelt there in the dirt and the gravel, silence overtaking the area. Eery and calm were their surroundings but the emotions within the eldest Winchester were anything but—“SAM!” he cried out, breaking the silence that had briefly settled. Finally he broke, leaning into his brother’s hair and beginning to weep.

Sam’s body was now laid on some mattress at Bobby’s, on the ground and undisturbed. Dean, and [Y/N] kneeling beside him. “I just wanted you to be a kid.. just for a little while longer. “I always try to protect you, keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me, it was just always my responsibility you know? It’s like I had one job.. I had one job and I screwed it up..” Dean’s voice broke at the end of his words, as he leaned forward, just looking at his brother’s body. [Y/N] was close behind him, didn’t want to be far because this.. this was something that no one was prepared for, no one thought it would happen. This truly was in all facets the worst case scenario. “I blew it.. and for that I’m sorry.” Dean spoke, tears falling from his eyes and slowly rolling down his cheeks. He reached up to wipe his eyes and [Y/N] finally hooked her arm around his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love.” She squeezed his arm, not wanting to interrupt his emotional words to his brother but wanting to let him know that wasn’t true. Head turning to face him with tears in her eyes while Dean’s vision remained on Sam. “Yeah I let Dad down.. and now I guess I’m supposed to just let you down too? ..how can I? Am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy..” emotions break and she held onto him tightly, despite the fact that he never acknowledged that she was there. “What am I supposed to do?” These words were a little more angry, but still ultimately just.. sad. Anger came out again as he yelled towards the sky. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!” [Y/N] ran out the front door to hear the impala’s engine revving and the bright headlights turning on. “Dean! ..DEAN WAIT.” She called after him, but he was already pulling out of the driveway and taking off down the gravel road. Tears were still rolling from her cheeks and bits of her makeup had dried, others wet and smudged from the constant flow of tears. Bobby stepped out, placing his hand on her shoulder. “C’mon girly, we’ve just gotta let him go for now.” He sighed, looking at how much of a wreck [Y/N] was and dealing with the sadness of his own. He guided her back inside and closed the door, getting a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. She was on edge, not only from Sam’s death but from the feeling that things weren’t over yet.

Daylight came and [Y/N] came downstairs to find.. Sam was alive. She couldn’t believe it. Running down the stairs she hugged him tightly, which he protested after a moment or so because it was hurting him. “I’m sorry, ..I’m sorry. I just. You’re okay?” She asked, to which the youngest Winchester nodded. It was a miracle, a miracle.. suddenly she felt that same pit in her stomach remembering what happened the night before and the feeling that kept her up most of the night. From the corner of her eye she saw Bobby and Dean walking out towards the cars—that was never a good sign. Sam had been eating some breakfast and so she smiled over at him. “I’ll be right back, Sammy. I’m gonna go talk to Dean and Bobby.” Sam nodded, continuing to eat his food. [Y/N] made it out there rather quickly but more importantly? Quietly. She wanted to see what they were talking about before they were alerted to her presence. Hiding behind a broken down car, she heard the whole speech. Every single word. Just as Bobby had his hand on Dean’s face, [Y/N] stepped out from behind the car. Dean’s eyes widened and Bobby was confused until he turned to see her standing there. “I’m gonna.. leave you two alone.” Bobby said, offering a sympathetic look to [Y/N]. She was shaking, tears again staining her cheeks and the makeup she wore yesterday became a bigger mess—both because she slept in it and from the fresh tears upon her skin. Bobby walked away and there was silence that surrounded them. Tension that you could cut with a knife. “Baby..” Dean spoke, voice low. It was in that split second that her gaze pointed like daggers at him. “..please say something.” He pleaded, holding her gaze even though he knew there was pure anger on the other end. [Y/N] was still shaking, hands clenching to form fists and she was holding them so tight her hands began to turn white. Dean made the mistake of taking a step to close the distance between he and his girlfriend—immediately being met with a punch to the face. He staggered backward but he wasn’t mad, he knew he had that coming. “How could you!” She yelled, taking a step towards him herself only to shove him in the chest. “One fucking year?! ONE YEAR DEAN?!” She yelled again, shoving him again. Dean’s voice was kept low. “Baby I tried.. I tried for ten, hell I started counting down to five. She wouldn’t budge. Baby I couldn’t let him die..” He choked out, tears running down his face again. “I didn’t want him to die either Dean, we could’ve found another way!” She cried, tears searing her face and her body aching already from the violence the sobs had brought upon her. “What other way, [Y/N]?! There was no other way, dammit!” Dean yelled, but the look he got back removed the irritation and only broke his heart further. “..what am I gonna do, Dean? What am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to say..” her voice broke from the sobbing and all Dean wanted to do was hold her in his arms. Tell her things would be okay, but he didn’t know that they would be and she clearly didn’t want him to touch her right now. Silence overtook them again, only broken up by her sobs. “You really thought your life meant nothing? You really feel like our life together means nothing?” [Y/N] sobbed the words out, turning away from her boyfriend. “Baby I didn’t say that..” he spoke lowly still, both because he didn’t want to cause more commotion and because for the first time he realized just what he’d brought down on the woman he loved. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO!” She cried out, her sobs felt like stabbing in her lungs. Each and every one of them felt like bullets to Dean’s heart, but he had to reaffirm what he’d told Bobby. “You can’t tell him..” he choked out. [Y/N] scoffed, looking up at him with that same daggered gaze. Laughing the most dry and uneasy laugh that he’d ever heard. “Right, I just got my still beating heart ripped from my chest and I have to smile and pretend like everything is fine? Because you asked me to?” She was angry and it was the kind of anger that was turning calm.

Perhaps the most scary kind of anger that there was—but Dean’s eyes held so much emotion that she just scoffed again. “Fine.” It was all she could say. “Baby please let me..” Dean started, reaching out for [Y/N] but she backed away before he could touch her in any way. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.” She spoke, turning around and walking off.

Dean had rolled over in his sleep, so [Y/N] figured this was the time to just.. get up. There was no point in even trying to get more sleep, it wouldn’t happen. She just had to accept it. Slowly pushing herself up from the mattress she’d run her hand over her tired face. Turning around she looked at Dean, smiling at how peaceful he looked while he slept and she couldn’t help herself—she leaned down to press a light kiss to his forehead. It wouldn’t wake him up, he was the heaviest sleeper she’d ever met when he actually got to sleep. Running her hand through her [Y/H/C] hair to push it from her face, she turned and moved towards the door to the motel room. Sam had still been asleep and so she made sure to be extra quiet, unlocking the door and taking the key with her, holding it in her hand. Once she was out of the room and had relocked it, she slipped it into her jacket pocket and sighed. Maybe this walk in the crisp morning air would give her some clarity, make her feel better. It isn’t that she was intent on going far but she’d needed some alone time to sort her thoughts. There was a coffee shop not too far from where they’d been staying and she figured she could grab everyone’s usual before they’d woken up. Despite the crisp air feeling fresh in her lungs, it wasn’t doing anything to calm her mind. As much as [Y/N] tried, she couldn’t figure out what was bothering her so much about this case—other than the fact that it had seemingly been dropped in their laps. Sure there could be some controlling of the evil in the world but to have such a gap in potential cases.. could something really control all of species of evil? Truly make them pause any and everything? She wasn’t sure even Lucifer had that kind of pull. Before she knew it, she was at the coffee shop and they had just opened a few minutes prior to her arrival. As she opened the door, the little bell rung out to alert the workers to a customer. [Y/N] smiled and ordered two caramel lattes and a black coffee—all with a shot of espresso. Eyes flicking around the interior, it was quaint and it was very much what you’d expect from a smaller town’s local coffee spot. Leaning against the half wall by the counter, she was lost in her thoughts again. It wasn’t a day she wanted to relive but this pit in her stomach was growing and it reminded her too much of that day—the day Dean made his deal. Sure, things had worked out in the long run with that but.. it wasn’t easy. “[Y/N]?” She smiled as the woman behind the counter called out her name. “That’s me.” She smiled, taking the tray with the three coffee cups settled snugly into it into her hands after paying with the card she’d brought. Thanking the worker she turned on her heel and walked back out of the door, by now the sun had fully risen in the sky. It took less time for her walk back towards the motel room, probably because she wasn’t using the walk to think anymore. Now she just wanted to get back to Sam and Dean so they could get this day started.

Using her free hand, [Y/N] grabbed the keys from her pocket and moved towards the door. However Sam had opened it, smiling at her and stepping aside to allow her to reenter the room. “Dean’s in the shower.” He said, noticing you seemed a little puzzled when you looked at the bed you’d shared with him only to find it empty. “Ahh, makes sense.” She replied, placing the coffee tray on the table and slipping her jacket off. After tossing it onto the bed, she smoothed back her [Y/H/C] hair which the wind had messed up a little. “Is everything okay, [Y/N/N]? You’re never up before me and if you are you’re damn sure not in a good enough mood to be around other people.” Sam chuckled, which made her chuckle too. “I didn’t really sleep much. Probably two hours but that’s being pretty generous.” She admitted, pulling the cups from their respective holders and setting Dean’s on the table. Grabbing Sam’s drink she extended her arm outward to offer to him, which he happily took. “Thank you.” He spoke softly, smiling at her before taking a sip. “You’re welcome.” She replied before mirroring him and doing the same from her own cup. “You that worried about this case?” He asked, eyes glancing back to her with concern in them. She nodded, sighing. “I can’t shake it, Sam. No matter how much I’ve tried since yesterday it just.. it feels like..” she was cut off by the door to the bathroom opening and Dean walking out. “Oh hey baby, good morning.” He said, smiling to [Y/N] as he walked over to her and gave her a gentle peck of a kiss. “Good morning honey.” She replied, returning the peck and offering up his coffee. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He said as he took the cup from her hand and immediately took a sip. There was a momentary silence before the eldest Winchester spoke up again. “Since when are you the one that goes for coffee in the morning by the way?” His eyes moved between Sam and [Y/N], who sighed softly. “I couldn’t sleep.” She said before sipping her coffee again. “She was just telling me that she only got two hours, being pretty generous.” Sam added, which had [Y/N] choke a bit on her coffee. Dean always worried when she got like that. “Babe.. two hours? That’s it?” Of course he knew that hunters didn’t get as much sleep at times as others did. Dean himself struggled with sleep, usually being riddled with nightmares or just worrying about things. “That’s it.” She repeated, sighing again. “I’m gonna grab next shower if that’s okay Sam.” She looked to the younger but taller Winchester and he nodded. “That’s fine, [Y/N.] Go ahead.” She began gathering her things and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door. “Dean she’s really worried.” Sam said, turning to his older brother. Dean ran his hand across his face, sighing himself. “Yeah, Sammy, I know.” Placing a hand on his older brother’s shoulder, he lowered his voice a little bit. “No, Dean, I don’t think either of us realize how bad it is for her.” This made Dean raise his eyebrow, but his eyes began searching his little brother’s eyes for answers. “What did she say?” He asked, looking at Sam. “She didn’t fully get it out, because you came into the room.. but she said it feels like something else and with the look on her face Dean.. it’s bad.” Both brothers wore looks of concern as they settled into a silence. All that could be heard was the distant sound of the shower running behind the closed bathroom door.

About ten minutes passed, the water turned off and [Y/N] emerged from the bathroom already dressed for when they’d inevitably leave. Sam had finished his coffee just now tossing the cup into the bin. Without a word he gathered his things and headed into the bathroom to use the last bits of what he hoped was hot water. Once the bathroom door closed, Dean would approach [Y/N] and take her hands into his and squeeze them gently. “Baby.. look at me.” He spoke softly, she didn’t want to meet his gaze at first mention. “Baby.” He repeated, gently easing his index finger underneath her chin and pushing her face upward. Finally she met his gaze and his stomach and heart sunk. All that he could see in her eyes was sadness and worry. It broke him a little. “Talk to me.” He said softly, running his thumbs over the top of her hands. “I’m just.. something really doesn’t feel right, D.” She spoke, her eyes glassing over a little bit as she attempted to hold back the tears. “This case?” He asked, letting go of one of her hands to bring his now free one to her face. Thumb easily caressing her cheekbone which makes it harder for her to hold back the tears. “Everything about this, Dean. It feels like.. like..” she trailed off and tried to look away from him but gently he kept her gaze on him. “Like what, sweetheart?” He asked, letting go of her other hand to bring his up on the other side of her face. His hands were cupping her face now, so she gripped his forearms firmly. Taking a deep breath she attempted to steady her breathing. Dean leaned forward to press a kiss onto her forehead to help calm her down. “All of this has that pit in my stomach like the day you made the deal to save Sam.” She was quiet, she didn’t wanna say it too loud—she didn’t wanna say it at all. Finally he understood why she was so worked up, why she couldn’t sleep and why she’d been stressing so much. “C’mere.” That’s all he said, pulling her as close to his body as he could. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and he wrapped his own around her shoulders. [Y/N] buried her face into his chest and quietly sobbed. “It’s not gonna be like that day. I promise.” He spoke lowly, pressing a kiss to her temple, followed by another one. She lifted her head to look him in the eyes with the tears all along her face. “Don’t promise me that, you know you can’t keep it.” She whispered. He sighed knowing she was right. “I know.” It was all he said, but she knew it was his way of saying in this moment that he’d do anything to protect her. They knew Sam would be out of the shower any moment and so [Y/N] began to rub her eyes, wiping away the tears and hoping her eyes weren’t too red and puffy. Dean pressed another couple of kisses to her forehead, soothing her as best he could.

“Did you try praying to Cas yet?” She asked, her voice sounding more stable than it had earlier. “Yeah, he’s not answering me.” It was clear that Dean was frustrated but surely the angel was just.. busy. “It’s okay, he’s probably doing something.” It’s like she could read his mind sometimes, which he mostly loved about [Y/N]. “Why don’t you sit and finish your coffee? I’ll pack the car up so we can just head out. That okay?” He asked, looking at her with a little smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She nodded, slowly letting go of Dean and moving back to the table and grabbing her coffee. [Y/N] sighed before taking a sip, slowly picking at the cup with her eyes down. It didn’t take long for Sam to reenter the room after his shower. [Y/N] didn’t really look up, just sat there trying to keep her composure. He’d made his way from the bathroom directly to his bed, packing up all of his stuff into the couple bags he owned. “Dean taking the stuff to the impala?” Sam asked, which she barely realized. “Huh? Oh yeah, he’s running everything out now.” [Y/N] replied without really looking up. Now the younger Winchester was furrowing his brow, turning to approach where she was seated. Fingers with a semi-grown out manicure still picking at the material of the cup. Sam gently placed his hand upon her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. [Y/N] placed her hand atop of the man’s, the man who’d been like her younger brother too. Not that she always intended to, but often times she was like Dean in the fact that she tried to shelter Sam from how bad she was feeling. He’d given her shoulder another gentle squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay. Whatever it is, we’re gonna make it through this, [Y/N].” She couldn’t help but smile up at Sam and hope he didn’t notice her eyes and how red they likely were. “Thank you, Sammy.” She replied with that same smile that stopped at her cheeks. Just then the door to the room opened and Dean walked back in, offering a lopsided half-smile at his girlfriend and his brother. “You guys ready to go?” Dean asked rubbing his hands onto his jean-covered thighs—both Sam and [Y/N] nodding. First to leave the room was the younger Winchester, wanting to get settled for the long drive between states. This left [Y/N] and Dean alone in the room for a moment as she slowly got up from the chair. One medium length drink had the rest of her coffee gone and she threw it in the bin before stopping to stand by her man. “I love you, [Y/N/N].” He said taking her into his arms once again. “I love you too, D.” She replied, burying her face in his chest for a few seconds before both made their way out of the room. Dean reached behind him to close the door again. “I have the key, I’ll drop it off.” [Y/N] spoke before giving Dean’s side a little squeeze. She broke away from the hug and made the short walk towards the office, so he took that time to get into the impala. After offering one last wave she made her way back towards the car, looking around for a couple of seconds before stepping towards it. Soon enough she was tucked away in the passenger seat of Baby, Sam in the back with his face in a book of lore. Turning her head would have Dean come into view, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key—putting the impala into motion. Reversing out of the parking lot and taking off down the road as Baby’s engine roared freely.

[sednonamoris]

oil on troubled water

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Tensions are high between John and Arthur. Will collaborating on a train robbery bring them closer or tear them farther apart?

Warnings: Even more emotional constipation, strong language, canon-typical violence, gun violence

Word count: 2,828

A/N: Pouring Forth Oil nation rise up - hopefully worth the wait!! Tysm to everyone who enjoys this story 🥰

Series masterlist • AO3

—

There’s a train due through Scarlett Meadows in a few days. Overburdened and underprotected, Mary-Beth insists it’s the perfect target. More than that, John has a plan to rob it. A good plan, one that will force the train to stop with a commandeered oil wagon parked dead over the tracks and allow you to hit it in the dark vulnerability of night .

It’s all he’s been able to talk about for a week.

You just need another man.

“That is… kind of brilliant,” Arthur admits when he hears. He’s fresh back from Strawberry with Micah not far behind. “Uh, for you, I mean,” he quickly amends, maybe remembering that he and John are supposed to be at odds. Tensions have been high since his return. “I think that’s the first time you ever had one of them!”

“Shut up,” John snaps.

But Arthur is on a roll now, that mean, brotherly gleam in his eye. “You might be the first bastard to ever have half his brains eaten by a wolf and end up more intelligent.”

John shoots you a look, one of those see didn’t I tell you he’d be like this glares you’ve been getting since you were kids. Arthur rolls his eyes towards you in much the same can’t he take a joke for once way. It takes everything in you not to groan aloud. You and John are good, now. At least there’s a truce. But the two of them? They’ve been bickering from the moment Arthur swung down from his saddle after nearly two weeks away. You’re lucky they’re being this civil, really.

Doesn’t mean they’re being cooperative.

You fold your arms and sigh. “We doin’ this thing or what?”

They glance over at each other, then you. The payday gleam in their eyes says it all.

—

Arthur volunteers to snag most of the supplies: guns, ammunition, dynamite. He can’t resist adding on that Abigail has asked him to head into town, anyhow, after he takes Jack fishing. Neither of you miss the way John’s jaw clenches. That leaves the oil wagon between you and him. He claims to have a plan for that, too.

“All them wagons come and go from that big oil field near Valentine,” John says. “I reckon between the two of us we can snag one on its way out.”

“Actually,” you say, “I think I can do you one better.”

His brows raise with interest when you explain that one of the drivers, Norris, always pauses his route in town to grab a drink. It’ll be far easier to rush the unattended wagon there than contend with all that security Heartland Oil Co. spends half its fortune hiring. When he asks how you know all this you just shrug.

“Spent a whole week in town, you didn’t think I’d notice a big damn oil wagon parked outside the saloon every other day?”

There’s a jab waiting on the barbed tip of his tongue about the way he heard it, you were sloshed six ways to Sunday the whole time you were there. You tilt your head at him when it never comes. He looks away.

It’s strange, this fragility between you.

“So, when’s he due in next?” he asks.

“Today,” you say, then jerk your head towards the horses. “Ready when you are, Cowboy.”

—

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to nick the wagon. The saloon doors haven’t even stopped swinging after Norris before the two of you scramble into the driver’s seat and urge the team of Shires away. With John sitting shotgun the few ambitious idiots that chase after you are quick to regret it. The sheriff never even manages to mount his horse before you’re halfway out of town, and then you’re good as gone. Blood and brains paint the dirt road leading away from Valentine and toward Old Trail Rise, where John says you’ll be able to stash it.

A mile or so out you drop your masks and slow your pace. It becomes a far more relaxing journey after that. The sky is blue and the clouds are white and the grass that covers the prairieland that slowly gives way to rolling hills is so very green. The breeze fanning your face is warmed by afternoon sun, and being away from camp always has a way of making you feel free. Like you could wheel with the wind or run across the plain or softly sigh through the stony creekbed if you tried.

Beside you, John squints up toward the sky. His face scrunches at the nose, obscuring sunspots and freckles you’ve long since mapped in your mind. His scars pull the skin funny, but his eyes still manage to crinkle. They’re clear and bright in the sunshine and you can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s a secret one, filled with all the things you’re too yellow to say. Filled with the way you’ve memorized the sharp features that relax into fond familiarity when he turns his head back to look at you. Guilt wipes it away and you turn too-fast to the road in front of you. In your peripheral, you can see that the fondness never quite leaves his eyes. You don’t quite know what to make of it.

“Keep left up here,” he says after a moment. “It’s not far past this fork, off the right and into those trees.”

Your mouth is a little dry. “Sure.”

Arthur and Charles are waiting there near the skeleton of an old shack. There’s just enough room beside it for the wagon to pull in out of view. Nearby, Taima grazes untethered beside Moonshine and Old Boy and that big bay paint Arthur’s still riding after Ambarino. He’s calling it ‘Blaze’. Or maybe ‘Ember’? Something to do with fire, because he fancies himself clever after walking away from the Adlers’ burning homestead with a horse in hand.

“Gentleman,” you tip your hat.

Charles nods back, and Arthur puts his hands on his hips. “Took you long enough.”

“Not all of us spent an easy morning fishin’,” you say.

You expect another friendly jab back, but Arthur frowns. “Not so easy,” he says. “Pinkertons found us down by the river.”

Your eyes go wide. “Shit, Arthur! Is Jack alright?”

“Fine,” he says, sparing the briefest glance at the conflict across John’s face. “A little shook up is all. They offered my freedom for Dutch. Said they killed Mac— or left him for dead, it’s all the same.”

“Jesus, are we still sure hittin’ this train is the right thing?”

Charles’ mouth draws into a grim line. “We should think about moving camp.”

“Come on!” John says. “When are we gonna get a sure thing like this on a train anytime soon? Camp can’t move without money.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue the point further when a rustling in the brush stops the lot of you. Everyone’s hands go to the guns at their belts, but the figure who emerges through the trees is just Sean. He’s sat astride Ennis, crooked smile on his face and hands raised in mock surrender. The horse’s single blue eye is filled with just as much mischief as its owner.

“Don’t tell me now,” he tuts. “You old-timers are rolling over at the first sign of trouble?”

“What the hell is he doing here?” John asks, hackles raised.

It’s mostly directed at Arthur, who frowns up at the menace in question. “Thought I told you not to come along.”

Sean grins. “And I told you this is a young man’s game! The moment your one let slip there was a train in the works I knew you’d be needin’ guns, and mine’s the fastest around. It’s a job for a man in his prime. Youthful vigor, I say, and the lot of yous have run clean out ‘o that.”

John’s face is pinched in annoyance, and Charles rolls his eyes. You fold your arms and sigh.

“Mary-Beth needs to stop hangin’ around you,” Arthur gripes, but he doesn’t refuse him again.

By now you’ve all realized it’s pointless; he’s coming with.

Sean lets out a triumphant laugh when he sees he’s worn everyone down, and then launches into a monologue about being cut out of the action after his absence and finally getting out with the big cheeses to prove his far superior worth.

It’s a long wait until nightfall.

—

Sean never does shut up. Not through a one-sided shooting contest with Arthur or the conversation you try to have with Charles about potential camp locations or the nap John takes, slumped against your shoulder until the light falls. Even on the wagon ride to the tracks it’s incessant. He complains about Karen. He calls everyone old. He pokes at the tension between Arthur and John with all the subtlety of a stick of dynamite. He dubs you Sukky, Angry, Spooky, and Scar-Face, respectively, for refusing to hear one more story about his da.

You’re glad he survived Blackwater and the bounty hunters that caught up with him afterwards, really, but he sometimes he makes it hard to remember why.

Arriving at the tracks is a welcome relief.

Arthur calls out everyone’s moonlit marching orders: Charles will take care of the engineer, you and John will secure the passenger cars and start taking valuables, and Sean will handle the baggage car while Arthur runs point. It all sounds simple enough, so you’re sure something will go wrong, but all there is to do is stick to the plan and try not to get shot.

Once the wagon is in position and the horses are set loose, you fix your bandana to your face and head into the treeline to wait.

Arthur hangs back. When Seans asks what he’s going to do he flashes a grim reaper smile. “I’m gonna make sure she slows.”

“It’s do or die wit’ you, isn’t it?” Sean laughs. “I love it!”

You can feel the same manic laughter bubbling in the back of your throat. John’s eyes are flint sharp and bright. Even Charles isn’t immune to the feeling just before a big job like this; the electric air just before a lightning strike.

The train thunders down the tracks from around the bend. The ground shakes with it. Arthur climbs atop the wagon and stands tall, bandana up and gun at the ready. Tonight’s moon hides behind cloud cover, as though it knows your business and is lending you the shadows. There is only one light to break through the darkness, and it comes from the headlamp of the train. The moment it lights upon Arthur and the oil the brakes scream desperately. The train whistle cries out in alarm. Your heart hammers in your throat as it comes to a halt just a few feet away from him with a shower of sparks and the sound of scraping metal.

The conductor jumps out of the train in outrage.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?!”

Charles emerges from treeline and shadow to hit him on the back of the head. He drops, dead weight.

Nothing good.

You step up to the passenger car, gun in hand, and smile.

—

Everything goes to plan, to your great joy and surprise.

Until it doesn’t.

Just when you’ve gathered all the valuables you can carry and you’re ready to disembark with the law none the wiser, two riders shine lamplight bright from the treeline.

“Oh, fuck,” Sean says.

“Ah, there’s only two,” Arthur claps his shoulder before settling behind a crate, gun at the ready. “We’re fightin’.”

You’re quick to get into a defensive position with John and Charles, but the whole thing gives you a bad feeling.

The men ride closer, lanterns held up to get a better view of the situation. They tell you to get off the train with your hands in the air.

Arthur tells them to go to hell.

By the time the first shot is fired there are more of them than you bargained for. A lot more.

It’s a hell of a firefight. They come first from the right, then the left, then from behind, until you can’t help but hit one no matter where you fire. Someone went through the trouble of hiring a goddamn army to protect this train. The fact that they only showed up now leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It feels alarmingly like a setup.

“I thought you said there’d be no guards ‘til the state line!” you shout at John over the gunfire.

“There wasn’t s’posed to be!” he shouts back.

You share a brief glance and know that he’s thinking the same thing. He didn’t exactly keep quiet about the job, but why should that matter? Who the hell would’ve talked?

The minute it looks like there’s a window you whistle for the horses and make your break for it, galloping blindly behind Arthur through the countryside. Moonshine grunts with exertion but keeps pace, ever eager. You slip him the reins to fire off a few shots behind you, nailing the handful of lawmen that were able to follow.

Soon there’s only the sound of panting horses and thundering hoofbeats and the creak of saddle leather and Sean’s breathy, wild laughter.

He’s beaming when you finally pull up. “That was fun, real fun! I can see why they call yous the professionals of the outfit.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, but it comes off half-winded and far more fond than you’re sure he intended.

He tosses everyone their share, a nice bit of cash, and you hand him the sack full of valuables to fence. He mentioned something about a dealer near Rhodes he was going to see. This far South, you figure he might as well head a little farther before making his way back to camp.

There’s a moment where everyone just catches their breath before John speaks up. “Was that a setup? Law turned up real fast.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Arthur’s brow is pinched with worry. “I’m startin’ to get nervous.”

“You think they followed us from Blackwater?” Charles asks.

Arthur frowns. “Maybe. They found me already near Horseshoe, but… I think this lot was just locals.”

You shake your head, but say nothing. You want it to be locals, certainly. But you don’t think that’s what they were. If you didn’t know the place was crawling with law you’d head back to check some of the bodies to make certain. For now you just agree to accompany John over to Emerald Ranch to see about a lead while everyone else splits off with a final warning - mostly to Sean - to be careful about being tailed.

“Hey, Arthur,” John says just before he rides off.

“Yeah?”

“When you get back to camp,” he trails off, then shakes his head, determined. “Just— Take care of Abigail, will you? Make sure she’s… alright. After what happened with Jack and them Pinkertons, I mean.”

Arthur’s posture softens. He smiles, quiet and small, like he’s trying not to spook him. “Sure, John. Sure. I will.”

“Good. Thank you.”

They nod at each other, and all of the sudden it feels like you’re intruding on this moment between brothers. All of the sudden it feels like you can breathe.

—

You and John wind your way carefully toward Emerald Ranch, only making camp when dawn starts to break rose gold across the horizon. The few hours of sleep that you grab are restful, likely because the past several hours haven’t been.

When you wake it’s to the sound of John whistling, happy and tuneless. He sits beside the fire with a cup of coffee - freshly brewed by the smell - and a distant smile on his face. It grows wide and present when he notices your open eyes.

“Mornin’, Ghost!”

“It’s too early for you to be this goddamn happy,” you grouse, like it isn’t entirely infectious. You can’t even hide the smile on your face that starts to mirror his.

“Oh, come on,” he grins and hands you a cup of coffee. You huddle it close to your chest. “I got a pocket full of cash, a good lead on some more, my best friend, and a beautiful morning. A man don’t need much more’n that.”

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“I’m serious!” he says, but he’s laughing, too. “I know we got Pinkertons to worry about and all that, but I feel good, you know? Like a weight’s been lifted or somethin’.”

“I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with you and Arthur making nice last night,” you shoot a pointed look at him over your mug.

“No. Maybe. Shut up,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Just let me be happy.”

“Fine. Tell me about this lead, then.”

His eyes light right back up as he launches into an explanation about the local livestock market. You’ve never been so happy to hear about sheep.

[spiteless-xo]

in honor of drunk vacay tiff, what kind of drunk do you think eren and jean are ? for some reason i picture jean as a hothead who’ll try fight people who look at him wrong 😭

my friends and i regularly rent out airbnbs and just get drunk all week/end so i’m going to write this in the context of that as opposed to just a regular party or drunk over dinner or something

drunk headcanons- eren and jean

jean kirstein

jean wakes up early every morning and is immediately productive. he’s tidying up from the night before, he’s making coffee, he’s going for a walk, reading a book, w/e. he’s already been up for hours before the next person wakes up

he’ll start the morning w a baileys coffee but won’t drink too much until after he’s made breakfast for everyone. then it’s another coffee or a mimosa before the real drinking starts

casually drinks beers all day. cracks a new one the second his last one is empty. will play cards or outdoor games all day until the alcohol really hits him around late afternoon/early evening

then he gets HEATY. any game is now extremely competitive. he will argue with you until he’s red in the face if he thinks you’re cheating (but he was actually the one cheating 💀)

all that motherly cleaning up and cooking from the morning?? yeah, forget about it for dinner. he’s so lit up that he’s yelling instead of talking now, absolutely no volume control

despite being so tall, he’s surprisingly coordinated while drunk. he’s not the type to stumble around or knock things over, but he’ll breathe REALLY heavily. like he’s constantly sighing or blowing air out of his cheeks.

he’s also a big whiskey drinker, but he won’t do it alone. if someone else suggests it he’ll light up and go run to grab the bottle he brought. he’ll pour cups for everyone, even if someone doesn’t want it

he doesn’t fall asleep like a normal person. eventually, the alcohol knocks him out and he falls asleep on the couch or on the ground and then he’s out for the rest of the night. usually happens pretty early in the night, so that’s why he always wakes up early 💀

if you catch him alone right before he starts getting sleepy, he’ll have the deepest most emotional conversation with you about anything. his eyes will be completely glazed over and his cheeks will be pink but he’ll sit there and talk to you about your insecurities and vulnerabilities with no judgement. (but in the morning he hardly remembers anything)

eren jaeger

sleeps in until like noon, and then crawls out of bed, hungover from the night before, and immediately cracks a beer. hair of the dog, he claims. probably brings it into the shower with him

isn’t a functional human being until after he’s had a few drinks. then he’s a menace.

drinks mostly whiteclaws/other low calorie seltzers, but will have the occasional beer during the day. won’t drink hard alcohol unless it’s mixed into a shot

turns everything into a drinking game/only wants to play drinking games. will rally people to do shotguns or shots. always wants to play beer pong.

is generally a pretty happy, smiley, friendly drunk. also very touchy-feely. will put his arm around your shoulder if you’re talking, lean in really close to your face and stare at you intently, lay across your lap on the couch

if you’re playing as a team for beer pong and you win, he’s picking you up and spinning you around like you just one a sports championship. kissing your face, screaming and cheering, meanwhile the other team is just 😐

LOVES WRESTLING WITH THE BOYS!! idk what it is but as soon as the sun goes down, he’s ripping off his shirt and challenging all the guys to a wrestling contest ��💀 isn’t even considerate enough to move it outside, he’ll just be rolling around on the kitchen floor with jean in headlock

his contribution to the house is doing the dishes. he can’t cook so doesn’t bother helping w that but he’ll clear off the table and clean up the dishes so nobody complains that he doesn’t help.

gets really annoying if people want to do low-activity stuff like cards or something. will spend the whole time whining and complaining until someone (probably jean) tells him to shut the fuck up