#but WHO KNOWS maybe i’ll get em cross posted one day

[aquaquadrant]

Hi! I love your writing and recently read your ethubs clock fic for limited life, and I was wondering if you had an ao3?

OUGHH thank u, i actually do have an A03 i’ve been posting on for many years. however, i haven’t posted anything on there lately bc of the whole AI data-mining problem so none of my hermitcraft fics are up there. additionally, all my fics are currently locked to registered users only, bc that helps combat bots.

which is. unfortunate. bc the majority of readers seem to come from guest users and i def noticed a decline in views/comments. but c’est la vie.

here’s my A03 account if you wanted to check it out anyhow (remember u have to be logged in to view my works). most of the stuff on there is from tangled: the series but i’ve got stuff for a lot of different cartoon fandoms. camp cretaceous, owl house, star wars TCW and rebels, just to name a few.

(if anyone needs an A03 invite to make an account u can PM me, i’m pretty sure i’m able to send invites via email? i’ll try at least LMAO)

[pearlessance]

The Hand That Feeds - Idle Threats [iii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Tommy sets Joel up on a date with a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman at the Tipsy Bison. He has a much better time in the restroom with a little girl who can’t keep his fingers out of her mouth.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

When Joel wakes up the next morning, several hours later than usual, Tommy’s already sitting at the table beside Ellie. Maria is there too, smiling affectionately at the two of them as they bicker back and forth about one of the horses in the stables.

“She’s crazy,” Tommy says. “Always buckin’ and snappin’ at people. And she goes on hunger strikes, too. As if we don’t already worry about feeding ‘em.”

“Oh my God, dude,” Ellie grumbles. She stands from the table and disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she acknowledges Joel as he laces up his boots only long enough to place a plate in front of him and say, “Made you a sandwich for lunch.” And then she turns back to Tommy. “She’s not crazy. You just have to be gentle. Approach with caution, isn’t that the saying?”

Joel thinks of you briefly at Ellie’s words. Approach with caution. It’s fitting, considering Joel tends to lose all morality within touching distance of you. But he’s not supposed to be thinking of you at all, and so he shoves the thought from his head as quickly as it appears. 

But then he thinks he’s been outed, as if his brother could read his mind. “Speaking of crazy,” Tommy says. “Mike’s back from his run so he’ll be on watch tonight. You’ll be free of her from now on.”

He’s not sure why, but it bothers him a little that you’re being referred to as crazy. Made even worse when he realizes his brother is currently comparing you to the broodmare out in the stables. He wants to say something but doesn’t know the words to speak without making himself look suspicious.

Thankfully, Ellie does it for him. “You know, Tommy, I’m starting to think you’re just a pussy.”

Joel knows he should probably chastise her. Especially in front of Maria—who has always been a little standoffish about Ellie and her lack of discretion. But he doesn’t. Joel laughs to himself instead, comforted when his brother breaks out into chuckles of his own. 

“Maybe so,” Tommy says. He stands from the table, and Maria follows him. But when she nudges Tommy with an elbow, he pauses and proceeds to ask, “You got plans tonight? Before your watch?” 

Joel shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not really.”

“So you’ll come have a drink with me then? At the Bison?”

Joel hesitates. He’s not sure why—quality time with his brother sounds like a fine time to him. But there’s something in the tone of his voice that puts Joel on edge. “Why?”

Maria answers for him. “To catch up,” she says. “Been a minute since it was just the two of you. You deserve that, I think.” And then she turns to Tommy and raises her brows, a suspicious smile on her face. “You know what? I’ll take your watch for you. Mike and I have some stuff to discuss anyway. You two can have a guys' night.”

He can sense the bullshit from a mile away. All but solidified with the grin Ellie hides behind her hand.

But Joel isn’t in the mood to argue. It’s obvious they’re doing it for a reason, but whatever it is can’t be that bad. Otherwise, Tommy would’ve told him already. “Alright, then.”

“Come help me move this firewood and I’ll buy the first round,” Tommy offers.

Joel agrees, and after making sure Ellie would be occupied and safe within the walls for the day, they set out towards the edge of the perimeter. 

Tommy has the back of his truck bed overflowing with split wood. And truthfully, Joel is happy to see it. Because manual labor is a welcome distraction. Tommy’s incessant talking will occupy his mind and moving the wood from the truck to the stockpile will occupy his hands—both of which have tended to stray towards you as of late.

The only problem is that twenty minutes in, after updating Joel on how domestic his life has become since marrying Maria, Tommy looks over at his brother and asks, “Honestly, I never thought you’d be into the young ones.”

Joel’s chest tightens at the insinuation. He decides to play dumb, even knowing his brother likely sees right through him. “What do you mean?”

He throws an armful of wood onto the pile and puts his hands on his hips. Tommy’s got a light sheen of sweat on his face and a smug expression beneath it. “You had a conversation with her? Seriously, Joel? You think I’m that stupid?”

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth,” he shoots back. “And you should be careful—throwin’ accusations around like that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “Is it an accusation?” 

For a split second, Joel thinks about lying. But he’s never lied to his brother in all his life. Evaded direct questions and neglected the truth a little, sure. But he’s never lied, not to Tommy—and he doesn’t want to start now. So, he stays silent. 

It’s answer enough. “Jesus, Joel,” he huffs. “She’s just a kid.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He forces his eyes away from Tommy, unable to face him. He gathers another armful of wood instead.

“No, no. I think you do know. Which makes this whole thing that much worse.” 

Joel has half a mind to snap back at him. His brother is far from perfect, despite judging Joel like he’s got no mistakes made under his belt. But what he’s done is wrong. And isn’t this deserved, after all? Tommy’s allowed to be mad, to be disappointed.

So, Joel lets him cut deep. 

“She don’t know any better,” he says. “Just an angry little girl, lost and lookin’ for someone to take care of her. And it can’t be you, Joel. Not like this. If you wanna…” Tommy moves his hands, swiping one out in front of him. “If you wanna keep her safe, protect her, that’s…ya know, that’s one thing. But usin’ her?”

Joel stops him, spine straightening as he tosses wood onto the pile. “It ain’t like that.”

“It’s cruel, s’what it is,” Tommy tells him. And Joel makes no argument. “I mean, seriously, what d’you expect is gonna happen? You two will, what? Fall in love, live happily ever after? You’re thirty two years older than her. Best case scenario, you live to be, what? Seventy? Seventy five? And she’ll still be around, left with nothin’ for the second half of her life. That what you want? She’s lost enough.”

He hears him. All of it. But Joel wants to know exactly what his brother means with those last three words. She’s lost enough. But now isn’t the time to ask, and Tommy isn’t the one he wants answers from. Joel lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I told you, it ain’t like that. You think I’d let it go that far?”

Tommy scoffs. “You’ve already let it get this far. I don’t even know what all has happened and frankly, Joel, I’ve got no interest in findin’ out. I’m just sayin’ that whatever the hell’s goin’ on between you two, you’ve gotta put an end to it.”

Joel picks up more wood from the back of the truck. “I know,” he says, piling it on.

“I’m serious.”

“Goddammit, Tommy, I said I know,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “You gonna let me do all the fuckin’ work today or what?”

Tommy, thankfully, lets the subject go. But that painful ache in Joel’s chest? That stays and gets comfortable, makes a home where it doesn’t belong. They move the split wood in silence, though his mind is anything but.

There wasn’t a word untrue in his brother’s little spiel and Joel knows it. He doesn’t know what he wants from you, what business he has with you at all. It’s wrong to even think of you the way he does, to look at you the way he does…and acting on his impulses has been, perhaps, the worst thing Joel has ever done. Worse than killing. Worse than torturing. Worse than any lie he’s ever told.

Because he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little.

No. If Joel Miller could go back to the first day he met you, he’d still stare at that black lace beneath your wet shirt. He’d still admire the snow clinging to the ends of your hair. He’d still drink you in and eat you up and he’d still find an excuse to touch you, no matter what he tells himself.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t grow, that he can’t change. It doesn’t mean that he can’t be a better man, a man worthy of keeping you safe.

And he will, Joel vows silently. He will keep you safe, no matter what he’s done to you in the past. Someone has to look out for you, to keep you from falling off that edge of decency you like to toe so much.

When they’re tossing the last few logs onto the pile, Tommy wipes his brow with the back of his hand and says, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to find somebody.”

Joel shrugs. “I’ve got you and Ellie and this place. Don’t need much else, Tommy.”

“I know,” he says. And then again, “I know. But, uh…you know what I mean. Like a woman. Not a girl, but a real woman. Any of these other broads catch your eye?”

There’s something a little like hope in his eyes, and Joel knows his brother too well to believe this conversation is anything but a setup. “Why’re we talkin’ about this?”

Tommy squeezes the back of his neck. “That, uh…you know that drink we’d planned on havin’? It was…it was a lie. Kinda. You know Kelly? Works over at the grocer on Fourth Street. She’s real close with Maria.”

“No,” Joel immediately says, seeing right where this is headed. “No, I’m not doin’ that.”

“C’mon, man. What could it hurt? She’s got it real bad for you, ya know. The whole rugged caveman man thing seems to do it for her,” he jokes. Tommy’s laughing, but the joy bleeds from his face when he sees the threat in Joel’s eyes.

“I said no.”

When Joel turns to walk away, deciding to skip any quality time with his brother altogether for the sake of his sanity, Tommy grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. “Joel, look. Just…give it a shot. Kelly’s a real nice girl. Real pretty, too. Real young.”

Joel narrows his eyes. Thinks about clocking his brother in the goddamn nose.

Tommy laughs again and shakes his head. “Alright, I’m sorry. That was a little uncalled for,” he admits. He raises his hands in surrender. “All I’m sayin’ is it could be a good thing to put yourself out there a little. Get her out of your system.”

Joel doesn’t agree. There’s no erasing you, no scrubbing his hands clean. He’d made sure of it because he never wants to forget you. Never wants to wake up beside a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman like Kelly one day and realize the taste of you has faded from his mouth, that the feel of your fingertips pressing into his flesh is nothing but a whisper of a memory. 

He’d consumed the forbidden fruit not once but twice, all to ensure he’d always remember the taste of ambrosia.

So, no. Having a drink with Kelly would not get you out of his system.

“Tell you what,” Tommy says. “You go have a drink or two, see where it leads. And if you decide she ain’t worth the effort, come on over and we’ll crack open that bottle of Johnnie Walker that I found from the nineties.”

The scotch sounds like a much better idea than facing the woman currently waiting for him, but the longer Joel thinks about it, the more his brother’s words slot together in his brain. Maybe Tommy’s right. About trying, at least. 

You’re too well embedded within him for Joel to ever forget you. But maybe it would help to curb his…urges if he was distracted by someone else. If he wasn’t always so high strung, if he could lose himself within a body that isn’t yours. 

Could he protect you better that way? Protect you from him a little easier? Maybe…maybe it would help. Maybe he could somehow keep you safe without it also being cruel, as Tommy had put it.

And, for you…it was worth a shot. For you, he would try.

“You want a ride back to town?”

Joel shakes his head. Tells his brother he needs the walk back. It’s only a couple blocks to the bar and Joel needs the quiet. Needs the time to think, to convince himself that this might actually work. 

And it could…right? Kelly isn’t bad looking. She’s got pretty blonde hair and green eyes, and her voice sounds a little like a character from a movie Joel watched once. Some southern belle who made pies and sat them on the window sill to cool. 

Even though Joel doesn’t want to convince himself it matters, Kelly is also in her late thirties. Nearly twice your age. Young…but not twenty. 

Joel makes his decision as he steps onto Main Street.

The Tipsy Bison is one of the most popular attractions in the commune. It’s a warm little place. The lights are low, and there’s always some blues rock song playing in the background. The walls are covered in framed photos, taxidermied mounts, old-school plaques. Little momentos all courtesy of Jackson’s population. Joel’s been here a couple of times with Tommy, and he can’t deny the nostalgia it brings up in him. 

It feels like before. Before the outbreak, before the end of the world.

He thinks of you then, wonders how different you’d be if the two of you had met in that world instead of this one.

And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Joel begins to wonder if he’s fucking cursed. 

Because there, at the end of the round bar, you sit in one of the oak stools. You’ve got one leg folded beneath you, leaning against the bartop with a ballpoint ben clutched between your fingers. You’re writing in that journal you tried so hard to casually hide from him the other day, the one Joel has an insatiable desire to read.

You look beautiful when you think no one’s looking. Lively and youthful, soft and sweet. You’re wearing a pretty black dress with a sparse, white floral pattern printed on it. A jean jacket rests over your shoulders, and it’s a size too big but Joel thinks it fits you just right. Your black socks are bunched down around your ankles, and beneath the barstool there’s a pair of leather boots that sit unoccupied. Your hair falls loosely down your back, and Joel wants to run his hands through it. He knows it’s soft, knows it feels a lot like satin.

But maybe he needs a reminder.

“Joel! I’m so glad you could make it!”

It’s only then he notices Kelly in her yellow blouse. She’s sitting just two seats down from you, sunshiney demeanor grabbing the attention of the rest of the patrons as she calls out for him.

Your whole body goes rigid at the sound of his name. And Joel’s blood ignites in his veins as you turn your head slowly and glance at him over your shoulder.

It’s a simple look, but it feels far from innocent.

Kelly approaches him, and Joel forces himself to look at her instead of you. Forces a smile onto his face, too, despite the obvious sway of her hips. He tries not to think about how her subtle charm isn’t nearly as enticing as your foul mouth. “Saved you a seat,” she tells him.

He lets her take his hand and pull him to the bar. Kelly smells like patchouli and Joel doesn’t hate it. It’s just…not quite right. Too earthy, too warm. He can’t explain it.

The desire to leave already rises in him. This is too much, too uncomfortable. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, turned back to that leatherbound journal and scribbling intently, Joel cannot take his attention off of you.

Kelly notices. She sits between the two of you, and her head pivots from him to you, and then back to him. Her voice is lower as she suggests, “I know this isn’t the most secluded of places. Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?”

Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.

“Try the northwestern outpost,” you say without picking your head up. It’s resting casually in your left hand as if you hadn’t just blatantly been listening in on a question very clearly not meant for your ears.

“The outpost?” Kelly laughs, a crease forming between her brows in confusion. “Why would we go there?”

“Ignore her,” Joel says.

It’s then that you finally look up from your journal. Your mouth quirks up at the corners as you look only at Kelly. “You’ll like it there,” you tell her. “Trust me. It’s secluded and private, just like you want. I’m sure you two could get up to all kinds of nefarious activities.”

Kelly flushes, cheeks turning crimson at your insinuation. “O-oh…I didn’t mean…”

“What?” You snicker. “Isn’t that what this is?”

“Stop,” Joel orders. And he means it. Hopes you’ll see the warning on his face and take it seriously. But you don’t even look at him, and Joel wonders if this is how Maria feels. Invisible.

He couldn’t survive it for weeks like Maria has. Thirty seconds of it has his skin crawling.

“No, it’s not,” Kelly says. Her face is still pink, but her shoulders are pulled back all the same. She’s confident as she tells you, “It’s a date.”

Your eyes widen at that, brows rising. Joel can tell you’re holding back a laugh, can sense the impending doom that’s bound to follow whatever the fuck comes out of your mouth. And his assumption is proved correct as you say, “Hm. That’s…real interesting. Didn’t peg him for a man who’d be into someone like you.”

“That’s enough,” Joel says through gritted teeth. He’s been able to see right through you from the very beginning, could see that dog-like fight buried beneath your innocent looking exterior. Joel knows you’re a brat, but he’s beginning to think maybe you’re just simply fuckin’ vicious.

Poor Kelly, for what it’s worth, retains her composure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your voice is sickly sweet, sarcasm almost undetectable in your answer. “You’re just so…so nice , Kelly! And so pretty, you know? Like, uhm…hm. How to put it…” You tap your pen against your journal as if you’re real deep in thought. Joel can hear the words before they leave your mouth. “You’re just so lovely and soft spoken. And Joel’s…well, Joel’s Joel.”

Kelly giggles and actually thanks you, completely unaware of the insult in your sugary words. And then she shrugs and says, “You know, sometimes opposites attract. Right, Joel?”

It feels like a kick to the chest when you finally, finally turn your eyes on him. It knocks the air from his lungs, the flicker of spite in your expression more threatening than that of any rabid dog he’s ever encountered. You smirk and repeat Kelly’s words. “Right, Joel?”

His heart is beating so fast he thinks it might explode. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t, and Joel is left with the two of you staring right at him, expecting an answer. He swallows hard and says, “...Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” You stand to your feet, gathering your journal and pen in one hand and your boots in the other.

Joel watches you sit on the other side of the bar, further out of earshot this time. The bar is too small for you to sit anywhere and not hear them, but the effort is there. And Kelly, it seems, is satisfied with it.

“Sorry about that,” she says to Joel, voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you met her before? She’s kind of a recluse. Sticks to herself. Bit of a troublemaker, really.”

He hardly hears her, ears finetuned to pick up the cadence of your voice as you speak to Tara who’s tending the bar. You laugh at some joke she makes, and order ‘that one drink that doesn’t taste bad but has all those different alcohols in it. What’d you call it last time? A long island?’

“Anyway,” Kelly says. “Can I admit something to you?”

Joel, genuinely, could not give a fuck less about whatever she’s going to say. But he forces himself to pay attention to the woman in front of him and not the girl at the other end of the bar. “Sure.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” she says.

Me neither, Joel doesn’t.

“She has a point, you know. I feel like we don’t have much in common. But…I like you, Joel,” Kelly confesses. She sets her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing lightly. 

And it’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong—too soft, too tender. Not enough claws. Not enough you.

But that’s not fair, is it? Joel isn’t hear to compare the two of you. He’s here to try. For you. For your safety.

He tries to give her a warm smile, knows it comes across as more of a grimace. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“So, how do you like Jackson so far?”

The small talk is slowly killing him. “It’s great,” he says honestly. “I think it’ll be good for Ellie.”

She nods. “Of course. I’ve heard a little about what you two went through to get here. It must’ve been hard, a young girl like her.”

“Ellie’s strong,” Joel says.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Kelly defends. “I just mean girls that age can be a little unruly. Best to have a routine, you know? So they don’t end up like that.”

Joel almost pressures her then, urges her to say exactly what she’s thinking. He can read between the lines, knows she’s referring to you and your bad behavior. Joel wishes he could come to your defense. But he can’t, so he just says quietly, “Yeah.” 

He’s not adding much in the way of discussion. He knows he should be asking about Kelly, about her family or her pastimes or anything. But he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t have it in him to pretend he does. He’s thankful when Tara approaches and asks if they want to order anything.

Kelly orders a Coke, and Joel orders a double whiskey neat.

Tara sets them down in less than a minute, and Joel’s already tossing his back before the glass can touch the bartop.

She eyes him suspiciously for a moment and then carefully asks, “Do you…drink a lot, Joel?”

“No.”

You burst into a fit of rambunctious laughter, trying to play it off like a cough at first. But your amusement is loud and obnoxious and you’ve got one hand over your mouth, and you quickly give up pretending to be polite. When you notice they’ve both turned to stare at you, Kelly with her brows knitted together in bewilderment and Joel with that signature scowl on his face, you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’m sorry,” you choke out through your giggles. “I just remembered something funny. Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

Joel turns back to his date, but sees you stand out of the corner of his eye. Watches you disappear down the hall to the back of the bar.

“Oh, okay. Well that’s…that’s good,” Kelly says. “That you don’t drink. I don’t either.”

He nods once. Clears his throat. Prays silently for this awkward atmosphere to dissipate. 

“Maria told me….uhm, she told me you had a daughter.”

Nope.

Joel’s barstool scrapes against the floor noisily as he rises to his feet. “Been a while since I’ve had something so strong,” he says, nodding to his empty glass. “Whiskey went right through me. I’ll be back.”

He finds you right where he expects. You’re in the dimly lit restroom at the back of the bar, standing with your back against the counter, hands braced behind you. Joel catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and thinks he looks a little untamed, a little feral. You’ve got a playful smirk on your face as if this whole situation is just so funny, and it rubs his nerves raw. “You need to leave,” he says, standing as far away from you as possible.

You don't comment on his words. Don't even acknowledge that he’s said them. “Kelly, Joel? Really?”

No, not really. It’ll never be Kelly. Not the one he ends up with, not the one he distracts himself with. Joel knew as much the moment he set foot in this bar. But he doesn’t correct you—he’s too busy trying to get himself under control. Too busy trying to stop staring at your bare thighs, at the space where they disappear beneath the seam of your dress. He’s too busy praying to a God he stopped believing in long ago, begging for strength.

Because he’s all out of options. Nothing he’s tried has worked, and Joel knows now that it’ll take some divine force to keep him from you.

“I didn’t take you for the kinda man to move on so fast,” you continue. “I wonder if Kelly knows where you spent your night.”

“Stop that,” he warns. “That ain’t fair.”

“Fair? And you somehow think you being here, flaunting her like that in front of me is?”

“I’m not flauntin’ anybody.”

This has got you worked up, Joel can tell. So much so that he can see the pulse throbbing in your neck from here. “You’re an asshole, dude. Seriously.”

Joel stiffens at the curse word in your mouth. But he doesn’t do or say anything about it. It’s not his place. Not anymore. He made sure of it. “We can’t do this. It ain’t right.”

“You can’t,” you correct. “Don’t put this on me, Joel. You do what you have to do—but don’t make it my fault.” 

“I’m not blamin’ you,” he insists. Anger rises in him, hot and uncontrollable. It’s not your fault and it never has been. Joel hates that he’s somehow put the idea in your head and he aches to set it right. You’re not the problem. He is. Joel and his inability to keep his hands off you. 

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, the fuck it is.”

“No, I’m—” Joel stops, sighs heavily, presses his fingertips into his throbbing temple. “Will you stop and hear me out for one second?”

“Mm…let me think.” You’re grinning like this is some kind of joke. It only serves to annoy him more. You tap your index finger against your chin in a forgery of contemplation and then say, “Probably not.”

And Joel loses it. He crosses the small room in just two steps, grabs your face in his hand and tilts your chin upwards, forcing your attention to remain only on him. “I’m not askin',” he says darkly. It’s a wretched thing on his part that he enjoys the flash of unease in your eyes, but Joel’s too angry to think too deeply about it. “Now, you’re gonna shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen. You understand?”

You look up at him through your lashes and Joel’s weak in the knees. While your eyes are shining and bright and painfully innocent, your response is anything but. “If you want me to shut my mouth, then maybe you should put something in it.”

Joel swallows as you reach below his belt. He catches your wrist in his hand seconds before you find evidence of just how much you affect him. A hundred images flash through his mind— fantasies of what he wants to do to you, how badly he wants to defile you. He wants to push you to your knees and force himself down your throat. Wants to wake up to your mouth around him. Wants to feel your tongue on the underside of his cock, familiarizing itself with the veins there. He wants to peer down at you beneath the dinner table, that sweet mouth of yours drooling for the sustenance only he can provide. Wants to finish at the back of your throat with the taste of you on his lips. “Enough,” he snarls, equal parts to himself and to you.

“What’s wrong, Joel? You don’t like it when I’m mean to you?” Your voice is sugary sweet, that same subtly sarcastic tone you took with Kelly. But then it falls away, all radiance bleeding from your words. “Join the fucking club.”

It’s then he sees it—the slight tremble in your bottom lip, the way you fight against your watery eyes, the slump in your shoulders. You’re not being bratty just to make him mad. You’re doing it because you’re hurting. Seeing him here with another woman has hurt you, and Joel feels his heart crack behind his ribcage at the realization.

He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself, knows he probably shouldn’t. Knows it would be best to just let you hurt for a little while until you decide to hate him. Because if you hate him Joel won’t have such a hard time resisting you. He wouldn’t be begging the divine forces for strength to hold himself back if you were pushing him away. 

But he can’t let you be hurt if he has the power to fix it, either. He should. But he can’t.

His grip on your jaw softens. “I didn’t know,” he says. Joel wills his fingers to stay still but they, like you, don’t listen to his wisely spoken advice—his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his pinky presses against your throat to feel the flutter of your pulse. “They set it up…Maria and Tommy. I didn’t know.”

Your stare is hard, but he sees the long breath you release and knows that his confession has done its job. “And that’s somehow supposed to make this better?”

“No, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know the words to make this right. “I’m just sorry s’all.”

Your eyes narrow just slightly, searching for something on his face. A lie, maybe—but he would never lie. Not to you. He feels the coil of anxiety that’s weaved itself around his neck loosen as you place your hand over his and lean into his touch. “Joel, why did you follow me here?”

He doesn’t know.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself. 

But as he stands here now, holding you close, slipping his free hand around your waist and resting it against the curve in the small of your back, Joel can admit the truth. “I can’t stay away from you, baby.” 

You stare up at him so beautifully—a perfect picture of innocence, the most mouth-watering fruit he’s ever seen. You press a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb, bringing his hand down lower, just beneath your jaw. “No one’s making you go anywhere,” you say. “You can stay right here.” 

Joel stares at you, entranced, forgetting that too much of a good thing can turn to poison, as you press your lips to each of his fingers—index, middle, ring, pinky, and then repeat the action in reverse. He feels a little like he’s being worshiped. It makes heat bloom in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

You’re right. Joel hates it when you’re mean. To him, anyway. But you make up for it when you’re being like this; sweet and kind and angelic, his perfect little girl. Ambrosia-flavored venom, Joel thinks. “I can’t,” he says. 

And then your soft tongue darts out between your lips, licking up his middle finger, and Joel’s breathing turns heavy. You watch him tremble as you pull his hand closer, leaning forward to take his finger into your mouth.

He shudders at the softness of you, at being inside of you. You’re so pretty like this, Joel thinks. With his finger in your mouth, the low lights reflecting in your hair, eyes wide and desperate. “Fuck,” he breathes, drawing out the word. 

You pull your head back, mouth hanging open. “Language,” you scold. And Joel laughs lightly, and you mirror the sound, and then he’s lifting you onto the counter, and this time you take both his middle and index finger into your mouth and Joel is moaning.

It feels so good. It’s so fucking good that he could die . Pretty girl sucking on his fingers because it’s the only part of him he’s allowing you to have in this moment. But he knows how badly you want more because Joel does, too. Wants to feed you his cock, wants to fuck you right here in this bathroom with your panties pulled to the side and his date waiting out there for him.

But no. No. You deserve better than this. Better than a sleazy bar bathroom, better than to be kissed only in secret. Better than him. “We can’t, baby,” he whispers. 

You only hollow out your cheeks in response, sucking his fingers in deeper. Joel lets you because he can’t bring himself to stop it. 

“I’m sorry, I…it ain’t right. It ain’t…you’re too young, sweetheart. You know what…goddamn, you know what people will say? About the both of—both of us?” Joel moves his free hand from your spine, rests it on the inside of your thigh instead. “They’ll think I’m some dirty old man, touching’ you like this…they’ll say I’m a pervert, that I’ve got no business bein’ near you. And they won’t be wrong, baby, don’t you get that?”

You squeeze your thighs together and tilt your hips forward, whimpering sweetly around his thick fingers in your mouth. Your eyes are pleading as you grab his wrist and slip his hand beneath your dress.

Joel can’t help himself. He presses hard against your clit, grinning at the little whine you let out in response. “Y’like that, hm?” You’re nodding and Joel’s mouth is watering and he knows he shouldn’t but, fuck, he has to. “You know what they’ll say about you?”

When he moves your panties to the side his fingers glide through your slit easily. You’re so wet, so fucking wet and he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that it’s all for him. Your head falls back, thudding softly against the glass mirror. Your chest heaves and your breath is hot against his drool-covered palm. 

“They’ll call you a slut, baby,” he whispers tenderly. “They’ll say you spread your legs for any man who gives you attention, and that ain’t what you want, is it?” Joel rubs circles around your clit, feeling it throb beneath his middle finger. His hand moves fast, desperate to get you there, to take that ache away. “We can’t have that, sweetheart. You know why?”

You shake your head, tongue sliding between his fingers. Joel pushes them in deeper.

“Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”

A whimper leaves you at that. Joel chuckles darkly as you lift your legs, trying to find purchase on the countertop to no avail.

He wonders if you think he’s joking. Joel knows he’s not.

“C’mon. You got it. Legs up,” he says, nudging your knee with his shoulder. When the heel of your boot catches the edge of the counter, he helps you with the other one and praises, “There you go. Spread ‘em wide, baby.” 

Joel’s cock throbs in his jeans, painfully hard, pushing against his zipper. He ignores it because the second he gives it any thought he’ll be pulling it out and indulging himself in you as if last night meant nothing. And it can’t mean nothing. 

His name is muffled in your mouth as you whine, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. He knows how close you are, can feel it in the needy movement of your hips.

“S’okay, I know,” he whispers. He allows himself to appreciate the way you look with his fingers in your mouth for one more second before hooking them around your jaw and pulling your face toward his. Your eyes flutter open, but there’s nothing but blind trust in them. It makes him feel bruised, tender, devoted. 

And then he takes his fingers out of your mouth, reaches down, and slides them into your pussy instead.

Joel kisses you hard, echoing the sound of your moans. You taste a little like alcohol and a whole lot like addiction, and he’s never been so thrilled to have a fix. He drinks you in, tongue sliding against yours, licking into you like it’ll be the last time. Joel knows it won’t be, and he wonders why that thought is so goddamn comforting. 

Your legs begin to shake. One of them slips off the countertop. “Joel,” you whimper into his mouth. “Joel, I’m gonna come, I’m—”

“Go’head, baby, c’mon. Give it to me.” His fingers are covered with your drool and slick, pooling in his palm as he strokes that spot inside you that makes you writhe. He’s still circling your clit with his other hand and keeps up a steady pace. When your fingers tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck and pull, Joel just kisses you harder despite the ache it brings.

“Ohh, God, God, Joel, please don’t stop, don’t stop—!”

He feels your walls clench around his fingers and Joel lets out a moan of his own, his cock convulsing in his jeans. “Yeah…there you go. Good girl, baby. You listen so fuckin’ good when you’re all full’a me, don’t you?” He fucks you through it, relief reverberating through his ribcage with the sounds you make. “Sweet little thing, just need ta’ be told what to do, ain’t that right? Hm?”

You moan his name one final time, and before your breathing evens out you’re pulling his flannel out of his jeans and tugging at his belt buckle. “Joel, please, please, please.”

He thinks you beg so prettily. He thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not your attention, not your desperation, not your trust or admiration. Yet he doesn’t stop you, even knowing he should. 

Never in his life has he wanted someone so badly. And never in his life has he wanted to protect someone so much. It’s an impossible task. One he’ll undeniably fail over and over and over again. He thinks about his conversation with Tommy and his gut wrenches.

But then you look up at him and all doubt ebbs away, fading into nothingness. Joel knows this feeling. Had nearly forgotten it, in truth. But it hits him like a freight train now, like a bullet to the head. You smile at him and Joel feels heat stain his cheeks and it’s here, here, in this sleazy bar bathroom that he remembers what it feels like to be cherished.

And it’s been so long, so very long, that Joel’s forgotten until this very moment just how hungry for it he’s been.

What’s a starved man to do but devour?

You carefully snake your hand beneath his jeans. Your fingers are soft, delicate, as they wrap around his hard length and squeeze. There isn’t a second that you look away from him, and he wonders if you can read his mind, if you can see the shift in him, if you can hear all his rapturous thoughts of admiration.

The leather of his belt bites deliciously into his hips with the extra pressure. Your hand begins to move, stroking him softly. Joel’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head, but he resists because he doesn’t want to forget this moment. Doesn’t want to look away from you. He reaches up and takes your face in his hands. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says, kissing you softly. “Keep goin’, just like that.”

Just a few quick touches and he’s melting; putty in your hands, unable to catch his breath. “Like this?” You squeeze him harder, stroke him faster, and Joel groans. “Am I doing good?”

He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed as he explodes so quickly at the sweet sound of your voice. “Fuck, sweetheart— mm, so good. Such a good little girl, shit.” 

A pretty smile graces your face as he coats your hand in stickiness, satisfied with your work. You draw out every last drop until he’s trembling, and even then you make no effort to slow your movements.

Joel grabs your wrist to still you, every inch of him overly sensitive. And when you wiggle your hand out of his jeans you giggle as you lick up the mess he made. He can’t take his eyes off of your pretty pink tongue as it slides between your fingers, the filthiest thing he’s ever seen. 

When you’re finished, you push yourself off the counter and straighten your dress. “I get it,” you say quietly. “Why you don’t want to be with me. I mean…I don’t really, because I don’t give a fuck what any of these people have to say about me.”

It nearly gives him whiplash. Joel doesn’t understand how you can be licking his come off your fingers one second and go right back to being angry with him the next. But that irritation has slipped back into your voice with a vengeance, leaving Joel at a loss.

“So, I guess I get it, but I don’t understand,” you continue. “I did tell you this would happen, though, didn’t I? Gave you the idea, most likely. So…you know. Go ahead. Go have your date with Kelly. Go find an age appropriate woman, and I’ll find an age appropriate man, and we’ll just—”

“No.” His voice is dark, leaving no room for argument. The thought of you with someone else brings up a fiery rage in him, burning his insides, leaving nothing behind but bloodthirst. “Don’t be like that.” Please. He doesn’t want to lose this place. He doesn’t want to lose you.

“No?” You shake your head. “I’m not going to wait around for you to make up your mind about me, Joel.”

You shoulder past him and walk out of the door without another word.

Joel feels the loss like a knife.

[part two] [part four]

[estrellex]

racing hearts - dr3

summary: a rekindle with daniel and y/n that started with a simple pre-season gathering by carlos, who happened to be a close friend of y/n. did carlos secretly become cupid for the night in hopes that they would find something in one another? maybe, but only time would tell how their journey went face claim: nailea devora (i love her sm)

em speaks: omg first post! I did have this storage in my google docs (before daniel left vcarb lols) that I loved so I thought this was the first post. this is a learning post so feel free to lmk how it goes 😭. part 2 🌱

thrusday evening..

"come on, mi hermana, just this once," carlos’s voice was almost pleading over the phone. you sighed, pacing your room. "carlos, isn’t this gathering just for drivers? I’d feel out of place."

"por favor! one time, and I’ll never ask you to come to one of these things again," he promised dramatically.

you hesitated, weighing your options. carlos had been pestering you about this for weeks, and, truthfully, you didn’t have anything better planned. "fine," you relented, your tone teasing. "but if this turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you."

"blame me all you want!" carlos exclaimed, triumphing in his voice. "it’s my last year with Ferrari, y/n. you’ve been there since the beginning. it wouldn’t feel right without you."

that last part hit home. you had been by his side since his karting days, through every high and low, and it broke your heart to think about his uncertain future after Ferrari.

"alright," you said softly. "send me the details. I’ll see you then." "gracias, mi hermana. see you saturday," he said before ending the call.

saturday evening..

you pulled up to carlos’s place, nerves prickling. crowds weren’t your scene, even if they were made up of familiar faces. spotting lando among the guests, you made a beeline for him.

"thank god you’re here already," you blurted, startling him. "you scared me, you muppet!" lando shot back, making you chuckle. "sorry," you said, still grinning. "so, how’s the gathering so far?"

"eh, boring as usual," he shrugged. "are you coming to any races this season?" "maybe, if carlos ever bothers to invite me," you teased, just as carlos appeared.

"what’s this about me?" carlos asked, his eyebrow raised. "that you never invite me to races," you retorted. carlos pointed accusingly at you. "what do you mean? I always invite you, but you’re always ‘too busy.’"

"photography stuff," you defended, crossing your arms. as Lando tactfully excused himself, carlos sighed. "hermana, I get that you’re busy, but you need to take a break. explore. have some fun."

"is this your way of setting me up with someone?" you asked, suspicious. carlos laughed. "well, the last time I tried, you didn’t exactly make it easy." "to be fair," you countered, "the guy was nothing like me."

"fair point," he conceded, laughing. "whatever. i’m going to find rebecca. she actually understands me," you said, walking off as carlos’s laughter echoed behind you.

yourinstagram posted a story

later that night, you stood by the balcony, admiring the view. you couldn’t help but think you should’ve brought your camera to capture the moment. meanwhile, carlos nudged daniel. "mate, remember my best friend y/n?"

daniel raised an eyebrow. "barely. just glimpses at races." carlos grinned. "she’s one of the most creative people I know. trust me, you’ll like her." "where is she?" daniel asked, intrigued.

carlos pointed toward the balcony. "go say hi." daniel approached, his voice breaking your thoughts. "pretty night, isn’t it?" startled, you turned. "yeah. only if I had my camera." 

"you know phones exist, right?" he teased, his signature smile disarming you. you laughed, shaking your head. "it’s not the same. it’s instinctual for me to want my real camera."

"figured as much. carlos’s been talking about you all night," he admitted. "all good things, I hope," you replied, studying him. "mostly," daniel joked. "but maybe you should take a picture of me. It’d last longer."

you rolled your eyes, chuckling. "very funny, ricciardo." "I was starting to think you didn’t recognize me," he feigned offense. "oh, please," you shot back. "who doesn’t recognize the ‘honey badger?’"

the conversation flowed effortlessly. daniel’s humor was infectious, and for the first time in a while, you felt at ease in someone’s presence. "you really love photography, don’t you?" daniel asked, his tone soft.

"yeah," you said, looking at the stars. "it’s how I see the world. a way to freeze moments." "maybe you’ll freeze one of me sometime," he teased, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

"maybe I will," you replied, smiling. carlos watched from afar, a knowing smile on his face. he didn’t say it, but this was exactly what he’d hoped for—a spark between two of the people he cared about most.

em speaks (again): while editing this, didn't realize that this needs more than one part. so I hope you enjoyed this first part. again feel free to msg me with your opinions it would benefit me with my writing journey here. 🙏

[findswoman]

Writer 20 Questions

Tagged by @jedi-valjean. Thanks so much!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently 115.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

363,324.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

For the most part just Star Wars (various flavors thereof), but I have a very few Tolkien things too.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cards against Monotony; or, The Best Rainy Lothal Day Ever (47)

Sixth Time’s the Charm (40)

Beautiful, Inexactly (32)

The Song, the Sea, and the Mand’alor (29)

“I saw the wolf…” (28)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Of course! I want to let my commenters know how appreciated they are! And it’s fun to meet new readers and writers.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a good number of stories with angsty endings, but the angstiest to date may be Opus Sixty-Six, in which two OC non-Human musicians captured by the Empire are forced to perform for the Emperor but resist by playing a different piece of music from what he ordered, based on what happens to the two performers at the end (not going to spoil it).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a good number of stories with happy endings, too! A lot of them involve OCs, but one that involves an happy ending for an EC following from particularly angsty source material is The Rains of Scarif, in which #JynErsoLives.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Thankfully this has never happened to me, at least not to my knowledge.

9. Do you write smut?

Nooo. I gave it a very, very tentative try a long time ago, but it was a complete and utter no-go.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven’t yet, but maybe sometime I’ll try!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, at least not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Between the Porch and the Altar was translated into French by Yahiko: Entre le portique et l’autel. It was a prize that he offered for TheForce.net Fanfic’s Fanfic Awards one year, and it’s definitely one of the most unique ways I’ve ever had a fic recognized!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Just a few times, and the results are posted on the TheForce.net forums rather than AO3: Cupcakes for a Cupcake (with Ewok Poet) and Dinner at the Hungry Hutt (with Chyntuck). But I also had aikisenshi (TheRynJedi) contribute part of chapter 22 of Shaman, Traveler, Oracle.

14. What‘s your all-time favorite ship?

I am of course partial to those that involve OCs of mine, but in terms of established characters, perhaps Kanera, and perhaps the Frog Lady and Frog Gent? I don’t tend to think in terms of ships most of the time, though (but have nothing against those who do).

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I used to say this about The Book of Gand, but it may not actually be in that category anymore! Actually, currently nothing is in that category for me right now, but that could certainly change.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Setting descriptions! OC creation! Whimsical humor! Economy of expression! Worldbuilding! Anything involving alien cultures/traditions/ceremonial/etc.!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and battle scenes! Political intrigue! Characters double- and triple-crossing each other! Overly long sentences with too many clauses! Too many em dashes! Too many sentences/clauses that begin with “and” or “then”! (Linking sentences/thoughts together in general!)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

In terms of in-universe languages, when this happens within my stories I try to signal it in some other way. In terms of real-life languages: oof, I don’t know if I’m the right woman for that job, but I have immense respect people who are able to write stories in languages other than their mother tongue.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. One sticks with what works, I guess!

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Ah, I hate this question so much. 😁 I love them all, don’t you know! But I would say that I have a very specific soft spot for the 20K+ fics I’ve somehow managed to write: The Book of Gand and Shaman, Traveler, Oracle, just because I’m so proud of myself for managing to get through them (or, in the case of BOG, the component stories thereof, all of which are in excess of 15K words and three out of four of which are in excess of 20K).

Tagging:

Anyone I know (or don’t know) who is a writer who happens to see this. 🙂

[scarlett-vixen]

hey kat congrats on your milestone!! im a proud contributor 😌 can i please request fluff J with mammon? have fun w it!!

Thank you!! It took me longer to post these than I wanted but oh well.

Prompt: J- Jealous

Pairing: Mammon x reader

Genre: Fluff

The light shining through your window was a soft pink, a notebook laid open on your desk, a jacket was thrown across the back of your couch, and there sprawled out on your bed was a very grumpy demon. You had been invited to Purgatory Hall to spend the day with the Angels, without hesitation you had accepted, now six hours later he was impatiently awaiting your return.

Mammon huffed and rolled over on his stomach, face buried in your pillow, he hated waiting on you to get back. What was so great about the Angels anyway? They weren’t nearly as fun to hang out with as him yet you always said yes when they invited you over. He was tired of them cutting into his time with you, so this time he was going to give you a piece of his mind about it when you got back, maybe you’d stop leaving him behind so much if he explained why he was the better choice to hang out with.

“You know this is my room right?” You had walked in while Mammon was busy pouting, he jumped at your voice and sat up instantly, he ignored your question and started asking his own.

“Where ya been? How long did ya plan on making me wait huh? Ya know yer the only the only human that makes The Great Mammon wait? You should be honored that I did!” His brows furrowed, he was doing his best to look tough, you saw through his little act and could tell he was overjoyed you had returned, so you decided to mess with him.

“Do I sense jealousy? From THE Mammon??”

“WHA—ME? JEALOUS? What do ya think I’d be jealous of huh?” He tried to look stern but his bright red cheeks gave him away.

“I dunno, maybe the fact that I spent the day with a couple of Angels and not you?” His blush deepened and he quickly turned away from you. “You know you’re the Avatar of Greed right? Not Envy? Or did you and Levi swap while I was gone, I mean it was a whole six hours, who knows what changed in that massive amount of time!” You teased.

“It was a long time!” Mammon protested. “I had to sit here bored outta my mind while you were off bakin’ cookies with ‘em Angels again!” He was full on pouting at this point, his plan to scold you was foiled now that you had seen through his act so quickly.

“Well Mr. Know it All, that’s where you’re wrong! We didn’t bake anything! Instead, I was teaching them how to make friendship bracelets!” You stuck your tongue out playfully, it had been a while since you had seen him sulk this hard over sharing your time, but you knew he couldn’t stay mad at you for long.

“Ya made what?”

“Friendship bracelets! It’s a thing in the human world where two friends, usually younger kids, will make a cute bracelet for the other to wear showing the bond of their friendship! Luke wanted me to teach him how to make one so I did!” You beamed, proud of your achievement.

Oh great, cool, that’s fun. I didn’t realize you and Luke were such good friends, I mean I was your first friend but it’s okay, guess he’s your new best friend now.” Mammon was still seated on your bed, arms crossed and face red from embarrassment, you couldn’t help but tease him.

“Actually, I did make a bracelet for you. I was going to give it to you but since we aren’t best friends anymore, I guess I’ll just have to throw it away, after I spent soooo long making it.” You clutched your chest dramatically. The second born rolled his eyes and tried not to look too excited, he put his hand out waiting for you to show him the gift. From your jacket pocket you pulled out a small bracelet, golden strings braided together with a little M in the middle of it, you placed it in his palm and watched him turn it over a few times.

“Ya know…I’m not really into this kind of cheesy human world stuff…” He slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, still entranced by the way it glittered in the light.

“I understand, I can take—“

“No! Get away!” Mammon pulled his wrist close to his chest and turned his body away, preventing you from touching the bracelet. “It’s mine! I ain’t takin’ it off! Ya made it for me, ya can’t just take it back!”

You started to laugh, all jealousy was now gone and in its place was genuine pride and excitement, he was so easy to win over. Maybe now he wouldn’t get so upset when you spent time with the others.

“Fine keep it, but if you never take it off,” you wrapped your arms around the greedy demon, hugging him tightly and pressing your cheek against his, you could feel the heat from his face. “Then I guess that means we’re friends forever! Do you forgive me for abandoning you?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah yeah, I forgive ya…long as you remember who yer BEST friend is when ya hang out with ‘em again.” Mammon settled into your hug, still messing with his new accessory.

“Of course, how could I forget?”

[wonderlandleighleigh]

(warning for talk of drug addiction)

She wraps up her set, and as she’s getting a drink, she notices Jo-Jo and Allen in the back.

They’re both fidgety in that way that little boys fidget when they know they’ve maybe done something wrong. 

Midge knows it well, between her son, her father, her ex-husband and her…

God, whatever the fuck Lenny is these days.

She hasn’t seen him in a few weeks. He said he just wanted to be friends, but they’ve definitely fallen into bed a few times despite that request. 

But then nothing. Silence from that particular peanut gallery. 

She’s never seen Jo-Jo and Allen without Lenny to be honest, and between his disappearing act, his absence from his friends, and their guilty-looking faces, Midge doesn’t have a good feeling about it.

“This is a surprise,” she says, crossing her arms with a quirked eyebrow. “Where is your fearful leader tonight?” 

“Hey, Midge,” Jo-Jo says. “Uh…Lenny uh…well. He’s not here.” 

“I can see that.” 

“We don’t know where he is,” Allen blurts out. “We kinda were hoping you’d know.” 

MIdge freezes, her mind flopping over the possibilities of where he might be in her head. “Did he go to visit his daughter?” 

“We called his Ma,” Jo-Jo admits. “She hasn’t heard from him.” 

“If he were touring it’d be in the papers,” Allen adds. “Seriously, we got no clue where he is. We thought maybe he was…y’know. With you. Cuz you two are…amorous and all.” 

Midge takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “He isn’t with me. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.” 

The two men give each other worried looks. 

“Is there another woman, maybe?” Midge asks, not really wanting to know the answer, but aware that now is not the time.

“There uh…” Jo-Jo gives her an awkward look. “There aren’t any other girls.” 

They stare at each other for a long, long moments, before Midge shakes herself loose. 

“Let me grab my coat. We’re goin’ on a Lenny hunt,'' she announces, as she walks off. “Susie! Grab my paycheck! I gotta go on a Lenny hunt!” 

“Christ,” Susie grouses. 

***** 

And so the four of them, a motley crew of Midge Maisel in her stylish blue coat over her black dress, Jo-Jo and Allen in their suits and overcoats, and Susie in her leather jacket, walks down the street, following Midge’s lead. 

“Where has he been staying?” she asks. 

“Mostly with friends,” Allen says. “We thought maybe he got a place and didn’t tell us, but we can’t figure out where.” 

“Talked to his dealers?” Susie asks. 

“Two out of four of ‘em say they haven’t seen ‘em,” Jo-Jo responds. “The other two wouldn’t admit one way or the other.” 

Susie rolls her eyes. “Fucking dealers. Who are we dealing with?” 

“Ruthie,” Allen tells her. “And Patrucio.” 

Midge stops. “Like from Shakespeare?” 

“Fucking dealers,” Susie rolls her eyes again, nudging Midge along. “Come on. Ruthie usually posts up at the same spot every Saturday night.” 

“How do you know that?” Midge asks. 

“I work with comics,” Susie tells her.

***** 

Patrucio is a bust. He doesn’t know where Lenny is, and on top of that, while they’re sitting with him in the dark, dingey club, his hand slides slowly but surely up Midge’s leg, getting far too close to what lies under her skirt for anyone’s taste.

Ruthie is an older woman; probably in her early fifties, and they find her posted at the back of a bar in the Village. She’s nice, but not terribly interested in helping them, at least when confronted with Jo-Jo and Allen. 

Midge and Susie, however. 

“We’re not looking to give you shit, Ruthie,” Susie tells her. “Just lookin’ for the guy. Make sure he’s not lyin’ in a ditch somewhere.” 

“It’d be a shame if he was,” Ruthie agrees. “He’s a sweet kid.” 

Susie looks confused for a moment, giving Midge an opening.

“Any sign of him at all in the last few weeks?” she asks. 

Ruthie leans forward. “I’ll tell you and your girlfriend here, but those two idiots can take a hike.” 

“Hey,” Jo-Jo protests, as Allen takes him by the arm. 

“We’ll wait outside.” 

“Good boy,” Ruthie praises before turning to the two women. “I don’t trust Lenny’s hangers-on. Leaches, mostly.” 

“Fuck yeah, leaches,” Susie agrees. 

Ruthie takes a drag off her cigarette and sits back. “He scored from me about a week ago, but I haven’t seen him since.” 

Midge slumps back a little in her chair. “Okay.” 

“He said he had some thinking to do,” Ruthie goes on. “Might be posted up in a hotel somewhere.” 

“Thanks, Ruthie, we really appreciate it,” Susie tells her. “Stop by the Gaslight sometime for a cup of coffee on me.” 

Ruthie grins and pats Susie’s hand. “I do love coffee.” 

***** 

They head to the Gaslight after that, ringing up hotels, asking for some of Lenny’s aliases, as well as his real last name. 

They get a hit at the Mayflower.

“Of-fucking-course he’d be there, of all places,” Midge whispers, tugging her coat on quickly. 

“We’re gonna go with you,” Jo-Jo insists. 

“Nope!” she snaps. “I’ll call when I’ve found him.” 

She heads out into the, and it starts to rain.

***** 

It’s the same room, because of course it is. 

How long has he been here? This whole time? Is he just getting loaded in the room where they…

She tries to push the thought away as she knocks on the door. She’s soaked from the rain. Even though she’d gotten a cab quickly, it had been enough time in the downpour to drench her. 

There isn’t a response for a long moment, but eventually the door does open, and there he is. 

“Hello,” he says, looking confused and concerned. 

“Hi,” Midge responds, starting to shiver a little. “Jo-Jo and Allen came to my show and told me you were missing. So I dragged Susie into forming a search party with them.” 

“And you’re the last one standing?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I told them to stay behind, and that I would call if- when - I found you.” 

“You found me,” he tells her. 

“Not dead, even,” Midge adds. “Bonus.” 

“I like to think so,” Lenny agrees. 

“Okay,” Midge nods. “You’re clearly not in the mood for visitors, so I’ll just-” 

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence before he’s taking her wrist and gently tugging her into the room, closing the door behind them. She notices the room is in good shape. Much like the last time she was here. He’s a tidy person, her Lenny. Not that he’s hers. That’s just-

“I appreciate that the four of your were worried,” he tells her.

“Three,” Midge corrects him. “Susie could give a shit.” 

Lenny chuckles and nods. “Fair enough.” 

She watches him quietly for a moment. “Are you alright?” 

He waves a hand, dismissing the concern. “I’m fine.” 

“Then what are you doing holed up here?” she asks. “Specifically in this very blue room?” 

He doesn’t answer, shuffling his feet, looking down. 

Midge sighs and sheds her coat, rubbing her arms before heading to the bar cart to pour herself a drink. She stops in her tracks, spotting the little bottle on the coffee table. She turns to Lenny slowly, without saying anything. 

“I didn’t take any,” he tells her. “I bought it a week ago, and I just -” He rubs his face. “Fuck, Midge, I don’t know. I wanted to know that I could have it, and not actually use it. That I could fucking control myself.” 

Concern colors her face as he speaks. “Have you been here going through withdrawal?” 

He doesn’t respond, averting his eyes again. 

“You have, haven’t you? You’ve been here, going through withdrawal with a bottle of dope just…here,” Midge huffs. “Lenny.” 

“I had to try.” 

“Can I pour it down the drain now?” she asks softly. 

He hesitates for just a moment before nodding, looking down again.

She sighs softly and heads for the bathroom with the bottle, before stopping and turning back to him. “Is there any more?” 

His answer is a quick, decisive “no.” 

She nods and makes quick work of the dope down the toilet, flushing it before walking back out, finding Lenny hanging up her coat carefully. “I guess I’m staying,” she comments gently. 

“I…it’s wet,” he reasons helplessly. “And I’ve missed you.” 

She gazes at him quietly for a long moment, really taking in his appearance now. He’s thin, and tired-looking. Pale. Like someone getting over a terrible illness. She steps up to him, slowly wrapping her arms around him. “I want to stay,” she promises. 

In a few silent moments, they’re both undressed, Midge in one of his shirts and Lenny only wearing his undershorts. She pulls the covers on the bed back, and they both climb in. 

He’s asleep in a matter of minutes, gripping her tightly, his face burrowed in against her neck, and when she’s sure he’s out, Midge reaches out and picks up the phone, dialing the Gaslight. 

“Hi, Susie,” she whispers. “I’ve got him. He’s okay. Mostly.  I’m gonna stay here tonight. Can you call my place and let my parents know? Thanks. Bye.” 

She hangs up the phone and holds him tighter.

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

A Glorious Moment in Sakaar

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: You’ve always disliked Loki, but when you end up stranded with him on an unknown planet, you put your hatred aside in order to work together. Turns out, the only thing you really hate is how much you actually like him. 

Warnings: weapons, violence, enemies to lovers, implied smut

A/N: Had this in my drafts and just decided to post it... I’m definitely in a Loki mood on this fine day haha. 

I hope you all enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated :)

Loki Masterlist

Out of all the people in the world who you could’ve gotten stranded with on an unknown, trash planet, Loki is the last person you’d wish to accompany you. 

As soon as the two of you get thrown off the Bifrost and land on random dirty roads, he speaks. “Well, this looks rather unpleasant.” 

Rolling your eyes, you don’t bother to respond, instead opting to scan the area around you. Wherever you landed, it’s heavily polluted. 

“I think I’d rather have ended up in Hel,” Loki complains, his hands on his hips as he surveys with you. 

“I wish you had.” 

Loki looks over at you and chuckles. “What? Don’t want to be stranded here with your favorite God?” 

You pretend to frantically look around. “What do you mean? I don’t see Thor anywhere.” 

“Very funny.” 

“I know I am,” you say before smirking at him and walking away. Loki is quick to match your pace. 

“Let’s try to find some type of civilization and figure out an escape plan.” 

Continuing to walk, you head towards a tall skyscraper-like building that you see in the distance. “Already on it.” You point ahead to show Loki. 

Loki scoffs. “No need to point. I noticed it a while ago.” 

“Sure you did.” 

“I did. I’m a God for crying out loud. I sense things long before-”

A knife sits at the base of your throat, stopping you in place. You look over at Loki who’s in the same predicament. 

“Loki?” you ask before you’re pulled back harshly, the knife lightly grazing your skin. Loki growls, lunging towards you. 

“Hurt them and you’ll all suffer merciless deaths by my hand.” 

You gasp at Loki’s protectiveness. Is it possible he cares for you? No, don’t even think about it. You hate this man. Remember?

The man behind Loki laughs at him before looking over at his partner. “I think the Grandmaster would like this one.” 

The person behind you nods. “Let’s take ‘em in.” 

You share one last glance with Loki before a bag is thrown over your head, preventing you from seeing anything else.

---

The bag’s removed from your head and you squint, your eyes adjusting to the harsh overhead lighting. You’re strapped to a chair, seated right next to Loki. 

In front of you is a man. He’s tall in nature, just like Loki, and he’s smiling at the two of you. 

“Where the hell are we?” You ask, struggling against the restraints. 

The unknown man walks up to you before speaking. “Now, there’s no reason to do that. I’m just simply feeling you out before deciding whether to kill you or not.” 

Again, Loki speaks up, surprisingly coming to your defense. “You’ll have to get through me before you even think of touching them.”

The man laughs at this and turns his attention onto Loki. “You must be the one they said I’d like… Seems like they were right. I do like you.” He claps his hands together. “Okay, so here’s the deal. You’re on my planet, Sakaar. I’m what they call the Grandmaster and usually with newcomers, I’d either kill them or throw them into the pits… which I guess is also death, but that’s not the point! The point is I like you two… especially you.” He points at Loki. “So, great news! You’re welcome to stay, I mean once people land here, they never really leave…” He awkwardly smiles at that, not knowing what else to say. 

You look over at Loki, who’s already staring your way. The two of you gaze at each other silently before the Grandmaster once again claps his hands. “Let’s get the cuffs off these two!” 

Once the cuffs are opened, you rub your wrists and stand up. The Grandmaster motions for the two of you to get away. “Go! Go mingle and have some fun!” 

You look around the room and notice a gathering of people a few feet away. They’re all drinking and dancing, seemingly having the time of their lives. 

You grab Loki’s arm and guide him towards the crowd. “C’mon, we gotta find a busy area to talk.” 

Loki pulls his arm from your grasp. “Shouldn’t we find somewhere quiet to talk privately?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, because then someone might hear us.” 

“So instead, we’re to talk in the middle of a gathering?” 

Shaking your head in irritation, you gesture towards the group of people. “They all seem drunk! Sounds like the perfect opportunity to blend in and discuss.” 

Loki sighs. “Very well. I need a drink first.” 

As he walks towards the bar, you once again grab his arm, stopping him in place. “What’re you doing?” 

“I just told you. I’m getting a drink.” 

“We need to be level-headed for this.” 

He scoffs. “Darling, I really think you’ve forgotten that I’m a God. I can’t get drunk.” 

“Yes, you can. I’ve witnessed it multiple times.” 

He shakes his head. “I was just full.” 

“That’s not the point! Just please-” You look towards the dancefloor. “Dance with me.” 

“Pardon me?”

Instead of answering, you grab his hand and drag him over to the other dancers, pulling him flush against you, your back to his chest. You swear you hear Loki gasp as you sway your hips against him. 

“What’re you doing?” His mouth is right next to your ear, his hands moving to grip your waist tightly. Your body heats up with his touch and you want to scream over its betrayal. 

You turn your head slightly to look up at him. “We need to blend in.” 

As he stares down at you, you get lost in his eyes. They’re an exquisite, light blue, pulling you in and making you forget about the situation around you. Erasing those thoughts from your mind, you focus on the plan. “I say we find where their weapons are placed. Steal some and then find a ship to escape back to Asgard on.”

“Your plan sounds impossibly easy.” 

“Maybe it will be.” 

“You know just as well as myself that it won’t be. But, I’ll go along with it. It’s not the worst of plans you’ve thought of and I fear we don’t have many other options.” 

“Gee, thanks.” You spin around in his arms so you’re now facing him, chest to chest. Loki’s staring down at you, his eyes blazing. One of his hands moves to your face, grabbing your chin and tilting your face upwards. He licks his lips, his tongue sliding out to swipe across his bottom lip. You watch and you can’t help but wonder what his mouth would feel like against yours. 

He leans down until his face is only inches from yours and you find yourself panting with a neediness you haven’t felt in a long time. Loki’s staring at your lips, ready to claim them for himself-

You remember where you are and pull away quickly, putting some distance between the two of you. “What’re you doing?” 

Loki grins. “Just blending in, darling. You didn’t seem to mind.” 

Trying to steady your rising heart rate, you take a deep breath. “Let’s just go find their weapons.” 

Loki gestures for you to walk in front of him. “After you.”

---

Finding and stealing weapons turned out to be easier than you thought. Loki managed to grab multiple knives, as well as the same giant gun that you did. 

Now, you’re heading towards the ship’s garage, intending to steal the best one you come across. You’re in an elevator, heading up to the top floor. As the doors are about to open, Loki puts his arm out in front of you. “I hear voices on the other side. Follow my lead.” 

You nod your head. The doors open, revealing two guards with guns. In an instant, Loki has them both on the ground, knives stabbed into their chests. 

He turns to look at you and grins. “Told you they’d come in handy.” 

“You just wanted to show off.” 

“For you? Always.” 

You roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today and follow Loki towards a large, circular ship. “You think they’d have more guards in this area.” 

Loki walks over to a station pressed against the wall, searching for the ship’s key. “You’d think, but let’s not stick around to find out.” Once he locates the key, he picks it up. “Ah, got it!” 

The elevator opens back up, revealing ten new guards. 

“Uh, Loki?” 

Loki turns just in time to see five guards running full speed at him. He laughs before throwing the gun to the floor, placing the ship key in his pants, and pulling out two knives. “Well, hello. This is going to be fun.” 

Across the room, you’re shooting at the other five guards, backing up as they move forward. You manage to knock three of them to the ground and drop the gun as the other two come running at you, full speed. 

“Y/N!” Loki yells. 

You turn to see him throwing you a knife and you catch it midair. Turning back to the two guards, you smirk. “Unfortunately for you two, I’m rather skilled with knives.” 

“Not as skilled as myself though, just to be clear!” 

You chuckle at Loki’s comment. “That’s what he tells himself to sleep better at night.” 

Right after you say those words, you’re lunging at the guards, slicing your knife into one of their thighs. They hiss out in pain and you use the opportunity to grab them, placing your knife at the base of their neck. The other guard rushes you and you kick out, hitting them square in the stomach before dragging your knife across the captured guard’s neck, causing him to fall to the floor. You fall down and roll over, jumping back onto your feet before the other guard can tackle you. 

Maneuvering around the guard, you swipe your leg out, tripping him up, causing him to fall to the floor. You roll onto the floor behind him and wrap your thighs around his neck, effectively cutting off his air supply. Once he’s knocked out, you get back up, wiping sweat off the top of your eyebrow. Loki is staring at you, an impressed look on his face. You stare back at him, admiring how he looks. He’s leaning against the ship, his hair disheveled with his arms crossed over his chest. The guards he fought are scattered across the floor, each one either dead or knocked out. 

He walks up to you, his tall frame towering over you. “It was rather hot to see you beat up those guards.” His hand reaches down towards your face, his thumb wiping a few spots of blood off your cheek. 

You close your eyes, trying to get a hold of yourself. When you reopen them, Loki is back over towards the ship, looking at you. “Ready, darling?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, you will your legs to follow him onto the ship.

---

A gentle shake to your shoulder wakes you up. Slowly opening your eyes, you come face to face with Loki, who’s looking down at you with a small smile on his face, his hand still resting on your shoulder. You stare at his hand and he pulls it away before clearing his throat. 

“We’re almost back at Asgard.” 

You nod. “How long was I out?” 

“Two hours? I didn’t want to interrupt since it was the first time you looked peaceful in years.” 

Getting up, you glare at him. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?” 

“As a matter of fact, yes. Quite a few.” 

“I’m shocked.” You walk to the front of the ship, taking a seat in the pilot’s chair. “This thing on autodrive?” 

Loki moves to take a seat next to you. “No, I figured I’d let it go so we can crash into the nearest crater and die. Put you out of your misery.” 

“Out of my misery?” 

“Yes, since you so clearly hate being around me.” 

Sighing, you turn the chair so you’re facing him. “Who said I hated you?”

Loki mimics you. “Nobody. I can just tell.” 

“I don’t hate you.” Well, maybe a little. But, not for the reason he thought.

He raises an eyebrow. “No?” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s fine if you do. Most individuals I’ve encountered end up hating me.” 

“Well, I’m not like most individuals.” 

He smiles at that. “No, you’re most certainly not.” 

Nervous, you start picking at the arm of the chair. It’s Loki, for crying out loud. The man you can’t stand. So, why is he making you feel this way?

“You almost kissed me in Sakaar. Why?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can even think about the consequences. However, Loki doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he seems excited by the question, his eyes lit up in amusement. 

“I told you. We needed to blend in.” 

“We were already blending in by dancing. No one was even sparing us a second glance.” 

“No? Well, maybe I just wanted to kiss you then. For my own pleasure.” 

His confession spills over you like a bucket of ice water. Your body is both hot and cold, feeling too much at once. 

Your mouth slightly opens as you gasp quietly. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

All of a sudden, Loki’s moves closer to you. Too close. You can feel his breath wash over your face as his hand slowly crawls up your arm. “I may lie quite frequently, but when it comes to you, I only tell the truth.” 

With a surge of confidence, you grip the front of his leathered shirt. “Prove it to me then.” 

He growls before smashing his mouth onto yours. His lips are everything you’ve ever imagined. Soft and unmistakingly yours. 

“You’re mine now, darling. All mine,” he whispers into the kiss. Grabbing your waist, he pulls you onto his lap, your legs dangling off the sides of the chair. “Say it. Say you’re mine.” 

“I’m yours,” you manage to say, moaning when he bites down on your lower lip. 

After one more kiss, he rests his forehead against yours. “You and I, darling, have a lot of catching up to do when we get back.” He runs his fingers over your thigh. “The things I’m going to do to you. You better prepare yourself.” 

Gulping, you shiver at his promise. This ship couldn’t get you to Asgard fast enough. You’ll let him ruin you, from the inside-out. But, only him. Only Loki. You grin at the thought before leaning in to kiss him again.

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+ 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters 

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea! 

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist: 

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro​ 

[guess-my-next-obsession]

To celebrate hitting 800 followers this week, I will be doing a fun little series of oneshots inspired by various songs from the incredible Taylor Swift (since she is the QUEEN of angsty/fluffy fic inspo)!

All I want you to do is to read through these categories, pick your character, category and song number, and send in your request!

Also—thank you all so much for your support/reads/reblogs/comments/follows/literally everything. I’m flabbergasted by the fact that 800+ of you like me/my content enough to press follow. genuinely. you’re all the best. i love you, truly. sincerely. forevaaa.

(Prompts crossed out have either been posted or are WIP)

Characters:

Pedro Pascal

Din Djarin

Javier Peña

Javi Gutierrez

Robb Stark

Sebastian Stan

Angst Inspo:

Last Kiss — “All that I know is I don’t know how to be something you miss. I never thought we’d have a last kiss.”

I Knew You Were Trouble — “I heard you moved on from whispers on the street. A new notch in your belt is all I’ll ever be.”

I Almost Do — “And I confess, babe, in my dreams you’re touching my face and asking me if I wanna try again with you. And I almost do.”

All Too Well — “You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine, and that made me want to die.”

Right Where You Left Me — “Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? Breakups happen every day, you don't have to lose it. She's still twenty-three inside her fantasy, and you're sitting in front of me.”

Illicit Affairs — “And you wanna scream don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby": Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else.”

Dancing With Our Hands Tied — “And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis. People started talking, putting us through our paces. I knew there was no one in the world who could take it, I had a bad feeling.”

Back To December — “Because the last time you saw me is still burned in the back of your mind. You gave me roses and I left them there to die.”

The Way I Loved You — “I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain. It’s 2 a.m. and I’m cursing your name. So in love that I acted insane, and that’s the way I loved you.”

Sad Beautiful Tragic — “Distance, timing, breakdowns, fighting, silence, the train runs off it’s tracks. Kiss me, try to fix it, will you just try to listen? Hang up, give up, for the life of us we can’t get back.”

Fluff Inspo:

Begin Again — “And we walked down the block to my car and I almost brought him up, but you start to talk about the movies that your family watches every single Christmas, and I will talk about that and for the first time, what’s past is past.”

Ours — “Seems like there's always someone who disapproves. They'll judge it like they know about me and you, and the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do. The jury's out, but my choice is you.”

You Are In Love — “You kiss on sidewalks, you fight and you talk. One night he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses, then says, “you're my best friend,”. And you knew what it was, he is in love.”

Gorgeous — “You should take it as a compliment that I'm talking to everyone here but you, and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in the darkened room.”

New Year’s Day — “There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby, candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor—you and me, forevermore.”

Lover — “We could let our friends crash in the living room—this is our place, we make the call. And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all.”

Paper Rings — “The moon is high like your friends were the night that we first met. Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet. Now I've read all of the books beside your bed.”

Love Story — “I close my eyes and the flashback starts, I'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns, see you make your way through the crowd and say, "Hello".”

King Of My Heart — “Late in the night, the city's asleep. Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep. Change my priorities, the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury.”

Mine — “Do you remember, we were sittin', there by the water? You put your arm around me for the first time. You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter. You are the best thing, that's ever been mine.”

Smut Inspo:

Dress — “All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation. My hands are shaking from holding back from you.”

Cruel Summer — “Killing me slow, out the window. I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below. Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes. What doesn't kill me makes me want you more.”

Style — “So it goes…He can't keep his wild eyes on the road, mm. Takes me home, the lights are off, he's taking off his coat,”

Wildest Dreams — “I said, "No one has to know what we do". His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room, and his voice is a familiar sound. Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now.”

False God — “Religion's in your lips, even if it's a false god we'd still worship. We might just get away with it, the altar is my hips. Even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love.”

‘Tis The Damn Season — “We could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend. 'Tis the damn season, write this down: I'm stayin' at my parents' house and the road not taken looks real good now, and it always leads to you in my hometown.”

Cowboy Like Me — “Now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon. With your boots beneath my bed forever is the sweetest con.”

Treacherous — “Put your lips close to mine as long as they don't touch. Out of focus, eye to eye, ‘til the gravity's too much. And I'll do anything you say if you say it with your hands, and I'd be smart to walk away but you're quicksand.”

I Think He Knows — “I think he knows his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it's mine.”

I Know Places — “Baby, I know places we won't be found and they'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down. 'Cause I, I know places we can hide.”

taglist: @joelmillerscoffee @ajeff855 @wildemaven @axshadows @sherala007 @browneyes-issac @tooflef @mariasebana @tae27 @kimm4710 @stxrrylunatic @sara-alonso @paulalikestuff @jbh-castaway @oceandolores @mandomover @chxpsi @auberosier @mashomasho @nightlockcornucopia @vanemando15 @vinaispunk (sorry if i forgot you, or your tag isn’t working!)

[queenxxxsupreme]

Protector (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: In most of my Arthur fics, if I mention the reader’s horse his name is Calvin and he’s blind in one eye so if you’ve noticed it that’s awesome! If you haven’t no worries! I just wanted to point it out before anyone gets confused. I’m not sure how many times I’ve mentioned it but I know in my head that’s how it is 😂

Warnings: Micah being a dick, no actual animal abuse but it almost happens, Micah roughly grabs reader but that’s it, nothing out of canon

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You can defend yourself. Arthur knows this. But he makes sure Micah knows you aren’t the only reason he should keep his hands to himself.

***

You hummed softly to yourself as you helped Mr. Pearson prepare dinner. 

You looked up from the potato in your hand for a moment, eyes flickering around camp to take count of who was present. 

Mrs. Grimshaw had pulled Pearson away from his wagon and all the way to the other side of camp. Mary-Beth was sitting on a chair near her shared tent with the girls, busying herself with a book in hand.

 Abigail and Jack were towards the back of camp. Abigail was doing her best at keeping Jack occupied with the flowers growing in the grass back there. Molly was fixing her makeup in her tent at the center of camp.

 Micah was near the horses, messing with a saddle bag on his horse. Everyone else was gone. Today was one of those days that everyone was busy away from camp. 

“Son of a bitch!”

You lifted your head up from the potatoes you were peeling, turning your attention to where the horses were hitched. 

Micah stood by your horse, a gray Dutch Warmblood named Calvin. Micah was cradling his hand to his chest as he cursed, but then he looked at your horse and pulled his fist back as if to strike the animal. 

You were on your feet and crossing camp in a matter of seconds, grabbing the back of his coat and pulling him away from your horse. 

“Don’t you dare put your hands on my horse, Micah Bell.” You spoke through clenched teeth, holding the knife you’d been using to peel potatoes in your hand at your side. 

“That damn bastard of a horse bit me! Nearly took off my fucking hand!”

“Then don’t get close enough to him for him to grab you!” You raised your voice to match his, holding his gaze as he glared at you. 

Micah took a step towards you, knowing very well that he could use his height to appear more intimidating. But you weren’t one to back down so easily.

“Maybe if someone taught you a lesson in manners, that horse would behave better.”

“You don’t get to say shit about me and my manners, Bell.” You shook your head, pointing at him with the tip of the knife. “Don’t touch my horse, or I’ll put a knife between your ribs.”

You moved to return to the potatoes but Micah wasn’t about to let you off so easily. 

“Now see, girl, I don’t much care for that attitude you have.” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back around to face him. You didn’t even get a chance to use the knife to defend yourself because he’d grabbed the arm that you held the knife in. 

“Let me go, Micah.” You spoke through your teeth, glaring up at him. 

“Oh, Mr. Morgan isn’t here to save you, sweetheart. You’ve gotta face the consequences of your actions.” He smirked as he looked down at you. His grip on your arm was unbelievably tight and no matter how much you tried to get loose, you couldn’t seem to break free. “Don’t you raise your voice at me like I’m some little bitch of yours. I’m not your cowpoke. I ain’t scared of you, and I ain’t scared–,”

You cut him off by headbutting him. He immediately released you and stumbled back, cursing. 

“Don’t put your hands on my horse, Micah Bell.” You repeated your warning, readjusting your grip on your knife. 

“You think you’re big and bad because you’re sleepin’ with Morgan, don’t you?” Micah took a step towards you, wiping the blood from his lip. “Goddamned whore! Probably sleeping with half the fucking camp too!” 

“Micah!” Charles called his name. 

You turned your head to see Charles moving towards you and Micah. 

“Is she sleeping with you?” Micah pointed an accusing finger at Charles but Charles ignored him. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Charles asked you. 

“I’m fine, Charles.” You gave him a little smile, hoping that maybe he’d let the whole thing go. “Just had to have some words with Micah.”

“Looks like it was a little more than a few words.” Charles glared at Micah before following you back towards Pearson’s wagon. 

“Well, with someone like Micah Bell, words barely get through to him.” You returned to peeling potatoes. “Too damn stubborn.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Just a few moments later, Arthur, Bill, Javier, and Lenny returned to camp, hitching their horses up beside Calvin. 

Bill tethered Brown Jack to the same post Calvin was on. 

“Be careful of Calvin, Bill.” Lenny warned, pointing to your horse. “He likes takin’ a piece off of whoever passes by too close.” 

You grinned a little as you listened to them joke around about Calvin. He was a sweet horse, he was just crotchety and being that he was blind in one eye didn’t help that either. 

“I think it’s just you boys he don’t like.” You spoke up as the small group made their way into camp. “Kieran can brush him down any time of day and Calvin is just as sweet as could be.”

“That’s ‘cause Kieran sneaks the old man treats.” Javier spoke as he sat down at the table not too far away from Pearson’s wagon. “Found out how to get to Calvin’s heart. Sugarcubes.”

“Oh, it’s just ‘cause Kieran’s a sweet kid.” You teased, eyes flickering up to watch Arthur. 

He grunted, shaking his head. 

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about an O’Driscoll.” 

You finished cutting up the potato in your hand and then put the knife down. 

“Damn bastard!” Karen shouted as she hitched her horse to a post.

“Who are you cursing at, Karen?” Lenny asked. 

“Micah! He nearly ran right into me running outta this place!” She brushed her skirt off. “What’s got him all pissed off?”

“The wind probably blew the wrong way.” Arthur said. 

You chose to stay quiet. You turned your head to look at Charles. He was near the backside of Pearson’s wagon. His eyes found yours. You took a deep breath, shaking your head just slightly, then turned your attention to Calvin. He was okay, you knew that, but you couldn’t help feeling the need to make sure he was okay. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” You wiped your hands off on a rag and set it on the table before making your way towards the horses.

Arthur took note of your behavior. You usually were the first one to poke fun at Micah, to comment on his antics. It was unlike you to stay silent when his bad attitude was brought up. 

Arthur sat down in the seat you’d previously been in, absentmindedly scratching his scruffy jaw. 

Seeing that Javier and Lenny were engaged in a conversation of their own, Charles moved to Arthur.

“Arthur?”

“Hey, Charles.” Arthur greeted him.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Arthur nodded and followed Charles towards the lake away from everyone else. 

“I didn’t see everything, but I was coming back from switching out guard duty when I saw Micah had ahold Y/N’s arm.” 

Arthur’s eyes darted across camp to you. 

“Don’t worry, Arthur. She’s okay.” Charles assured him. “I just wanted to tell you because I don’t trust Micah. I don’t know if he’ll do anything or what he was trying to do. I don’t know what goes through that man’s head, and I don’t want anything to happen to Y/N.”

Arthur let out a heavy breath, running his hand over his face. Anger bubble in his veins. 

“He’s a snake, Arthur.” Charles spoke quietly.

“I know he is, Charles.” Arthur shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Did you…. Did you see him put his hands on her in any other way?” 

“No. All I caught was him holding her arm and she headbutted him. Caught him right in the nose and mouth.”

“He didn’t hit her or nothin’ did he?”

“Not that I saw.”

Arthur nodded his head, letting out a heavy breath through his nose. He put his hand on Charles’s shoulder, nodding his head once, then moved across camp. 

***

You approached Calvin on his right side so that he could see you. His left eye was the one that was blind and he didn’t react well to anyone coming up to him from that side. 

“Hey, handsome.” You cooed, smiling softly as you reached out to rub his nose. He huffed and leaned into your touch. Your touch moved along his neck and down his side, then to his hindquarter. “My good boy, huh? Just don’t like no one else, do ya?”

“Think you have a thing for grumpy old fellers.” 

You looked up to see Arthur rubbing Taima’s nose. 

“I like the challenge that comes with the grumpy ones.”

He chuckled.

“You, uh, you know why Micah left like he did?”

“No.” You shook your head, moving around to Calvin’s blind side. “But it’s hard to tell what’s going through that man’s head.”

“Just thought maybe you’d know since you were here with him.” Arthur thought at loud.

You shook your head. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you like a book. 

“You’d tell me if something happened, wouldn’t ya?”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his. You were quiet for a few moments, locking your jaw. 

“Charles told you, didn’t he?”

Arthur nodded silently.

“He almost got a knife in his gut. He raised his fist like he was gonna hit Cal ‘cause Cal bit him. But I had it under control. No need to worry. Micah’s just a sour bastard. Don’t like being told off, especially not by a lady.”

Arthur let out a sigh. 

You gave Calvin a loving pat on the shoulder and moved to go back to Pearson’s wagon. 

“I don’t like leavin’ you here at camp with him.” Arthur followed behind you.

“I know you don’t, but you don’t have much of a choice.” You washed your hands and started to get back to work. 

His hand wrapped around your wrist and he carefully pulled you back around to face him. 

“Don’t egg him on when I’m not here.”

“I can fight my own fights, Arthur. And I’m not gonna let him hit my horse-,”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’, Y/N.” He cut you off, looking down at you. “If he ever put his hands on you, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill ‘em.”

“I know.” You placed your hand on his chest. “I know. But you, Arthur Morgan, also know that I can kick ass just as good as any man here. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I’ll always worry.” Arthur took your hand and brought it up to his lips. “Micah’s a snake.”

“Worrying is bad for such an old man’s heart.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you moved away from him. He allowed you to slip away, watching you return to your chair by Pearson’s table. 

Arthur chuckled at you, shaking his head. 

***

Arthur settled back into bed, getting comfortable while you changed into a chemise and fixed your hair for the night. 

“I think I gotta go to Strawberry tomorrow.” 

“What for?” You slipped on your chemise, pulling it down over your head and into place. 

“Dutch said there’s someone there who has information on a train comin’ through.” Arthur tucked one hand behind his head and watched you turn to face him. His eyes flickered down to look over you. 

Though the lighting from the lamp wasn’t the best, he could see an odd marking on your bicep just above your elbow. It was darker than the rest of your skin and seemed out of place. 

Arthur sat up, brows furrowing together. 

“Come here a minute, pumpkin.”

“What?”

“Just come here.” He patted the bedside next to him. 

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, confused but unaware of what he had seen.

Now that he was close enough to see just exactly what they were, he could tell they were bruises. 

You looked down to see what he was looking at. 

“What is that?” You furrowed your brows together.

“Looks like finger shaped bruises.” Arthur just barely brushed his fingers over the markings. “Micah’s lucky I don’t cut off his goddamn hands.”

“Don’t, Arthur.” Your eyes shot up to find his. “I’m serious.”

“I am too.” Anger clouded his blue eyes, making them a stormy gray instead of the pretty vibrant blue you adored so much. 

“He ain’t worth you gettin’ in trouble, Arthur. I probably broke his nose anyways.” You stood up. “Let’s go to bed.”

Arthur was silent as he laid back down and you climbed into bed with him. You curled up against his side, resting your head on his chest. 

“Just don’t want nothin’ to happen to you, pumpkin.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head. 

“Nothin’s gonna happen to me.” You assured him. 

***

Once Arthur was sure you were asleep, he put his clothes back on and slipped out of his tent. 

He looked around camp, spotting a small group gathered around a campfire near Pearson’s tent. He could spot Dutch, Hosea, Javier, Bill, John, and most importantly Micah. 

Arthur took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cross the camp and start throwing punches at Micah. 

Instead, he calmly made his way to the fire and sat down on the log next to John. 

“Thought you went to bed.” John commented. 

“Nah, can’t sleep.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Arthur! So glad you could join us!” Dutch’s voice was unnecessarily loud. Arthur hoped you wouldn’t wake up. 

“Hi, Dutch.”

“Thought you and Miss Y/L/N had gone off to bed for the night, cowpoke.” Micah offered him a beer but Arthur declined, lips pressing together in a tight line. “What happened?”

“Figured I’d stay up a little longer. Spend some time with you guys.” Arthur forced a smile on to his lips. “Don’t get to do that much anymore, do I?”

“No, as a matter of fact you don’t. You’re either off playing hero or-or…. or your off playing hero.” Bill swayed in his seat. He had too much to drink. 

“Or you know, you’ve got certain people around here up your ass.” Micah shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t have time to sit around and drink with your brothers.”

John furrowed his brows, looking over at Micah. 

“What the hell are you talking about, Bell?”

“Shut up, Marston.”

“You know what? Maybe you’re right.” Arthur tilted his head to the side a little as he looked at Micah. “What happened to your nose? I’ve never noticed it was so crooked.”

Micah scowled. 

“Or maybe it’s not.” Arthur shrugged his broad shoulders. “Maybe I just never got a good look at it.” 

“My god, Arthur, I think you’re right.” Hosea leaned forward as if to take a closer look at Micah’s nose. “Looks absolutely terrible, Micah. You might need to get that checked out.”

“Go to hell.” Micah started to stand up. 

Arthur stood up too, stepping towards Micah. 

“The next time you think about putting your hands on Y/N or her horse, the least of your concerns is gonna be her breakin’ your nose or pullin’ a knife on you, you hear me?” He spoke lowly. 

Micah held his gaze for a few moments before turning and skulking away. 

Arthur turned back to those who sat at the fire. Everyone was silent and didn’t know what to say. 

“Is Y/N okay?” Hosea asked. 

“She’s fine.” Arthur muttered, clenching his fist together. “I don’t like that fella.”

“Don’t think many of us do.” John sighed, standing to his feet.

Taglist: @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @nonodino @krenee1drful @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[kamotoshi]

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[violetlilysunshine]

No More Secrets

Boyfriend Harry Holland x Actress Reader

Summary: Harry finds out about a history between you and Tom, making him doubt himself and your relationship.

WC: 2,486

Warnings: a little bit angsty, kinda sad for a second, swearing, mentions of sex, mostly fluff 

A/N: I like to put the “keep reading” bar on all my posts (not just 18+) because I prefer it that way on mobile, if y’all don’t like it, let me know!!

MASTERLIST

Somehow, Harry had convinced you to go on a camping trip with Tom, Sam, and Harrison. You, not being the outdoorsy type because bugs, agreed and now here you were in the woods trying to set up a tent with Harrison. 

“No, it goes this way, Y/N,” Harrison barked at you in exasperation. 

“Well, that’s not what the picture looks like, Harrison,” you sassed back. 

“Well, I don’t care what the picture looks like!” he argued back before Harry came over to help you out.

“Why don’t you go help Tom unload the kitchen stuff, darling, and I’ll handle this,” he spoke against your ear, gently wrapping his arms around your waist and placing a short kiss to your temple. 

“Yeah, alright,” you answered breathily, slipping out of his grasp and walking back towards the cars.

“Alright, how do we do this?” Harry questioned Harrison.

“Mate, I have no idea, she was the only one reading the directions,” he answered. 

“Then why were you yelling at her!?”

“Because I’m sure my way will work just fine!”

“Well, she knows what she’s doing! She’s always right!”

“Just because she’s your girlfriend, mate, doesn’t mean she’s always right.”

Harry glanced down at the instruction manual laying on the ground at his feet, then glanced back at the tent in his hands. “Well, in this case she was,” he said shoving the manual in Harrison’s face before pulling the poles out of the tent to start over. 

“Ugh,” Harrison groaned, “this is going to take forever!” 

~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, so graciously cooked by Sam, you were gathered around the fire pit, under the stars. You were cuddled in Harry’s lap, sharing a blanket while everyone else was situated in their own chairs; yours had become the snack chair - featuring the s’mores supplies. 

You were all slightly tipsy, having cleared through the single case of beer you’d packed. The boys were arguing about who would have to go into town the next day to get more, not that you cared. You were content being sober, never having been a big drinker.

Harry wasn’t paying much mind to the conversation either. Instead he was focused on your fingers tracing patterns on his thigh, your hair tied up in a bun to avoid a marshmallow-chocolate catastrophe, and the way the firelight lit up your cheeks. 

You glanced down at him sweetly, feeling his eyes lingering on you. You breathed deeply before asking, “what’s up, bub?” 

“Nothing, babe, just looking at you,” he answered.

“Like what you see?” you asked cheekily, chuckling lightly.

“Oh yeah,” he answered quickly, “how did I ever get a girl like you?”

“I don’t know, Holland,” you answered, laughing breathily once more and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Would you two knock it off?” Harrison groaned from across the fire, “no one wants to see that!”

You pulled back and chuckled, slightly embarrassed because you weren’t used to attention like this. You’d hardly spent time with these boys as a group, mainly opting for solo-time with Harry.  

“Oh leave ‘em alone,” Tom answered quickly, “I think it’s cute.” 

“Yeah, only because you didn’t want her,” Harrison grumbled out, much louder than he’d anticipated. 

“What?” Harry piped up quickly. 

“Oh no,” Sam sighed, knowing the full story, and the secret you’d vowed to keep from Harry.

You had met Tom on a red carpet once upon a time, greeting him quickly before being ushered off to the next interview. You didn’t think anything would come of it, but hoped that you’d cross paths again another day. To your delight, you did on your next project. 

You ended up filming a small movie with the Russo Brothers and Tom came to set for a few days to visit them. The two of you “reconnected” and ended up getting on pretty well, hanging out casually while he was around.

The night before he left, the two of you had a night in at your apartment; you had take out together and watched a movie, during which you had gravitated closer together. You were talking a little and felt the smallest spark in the room. The two of you were looking at each other, a pause settled in the conversation. He glanced down at your lips, and you at his. In this moment, you silently agreed that you wanted to try something more. He leaned in and pressed a sweet, short kiss to your lips. You didn’t feel anything and neither did he. He pulled away and let out a breath. The both of you agreed that it didn’t feel like anything; not that it was a bad kiss, but it didn’t set either of your hearts on fire. 

After that you agreed to stay friends, keeping things simple, and nothing more ever came of it. You didn’t know that he’d told any of his friends, as you’d never told anyone yourself. If you were ever asked about your relationship with Tom, you always said something along the lines of, “it’s just not like that.”

A few months later, you and Tom ended up in Atlanta; he was filming Spider-Man and you were working on another project. This time he had Harry with him, who you got to meet. Instantly, something sparked between the two of you. You ended up hanging with Harry a lot on this trip; the two of you found ways to be alone together, even if you’d started the night out as a group with other friends.

Quickly, you and Harry built a relationship; everything with him felt easy, comfortable, harmonious. One night, you were bar hopping with the gang, Harry and you leading the pack, and Harry kept bumping his arm against yours. You got the hint, and let him tangle your fingers together, very much like the Far From Home airport scene with Peter and MJ. Things progressed from there with more time being spent together and quite a few dates. A few weeks later, you slipped up introducing him to one of your friends, calling him your boyfriend when you’d hadn’t had that talk yet; but he was smooth, instantly reaching his hand out saying, “yeah, I’m her boyfriend, nice to meet you,” before winking at you and cooling the blush rising to your cheeks.

Now here you were a year later, and your secret from oh so long ago was about to come out. You wanted to tell him about your kiss with Tom, but didn’t want to hurt him or make him doubtful of your relationship, so you let it slide. Not worrying about it and just letting life happen.

You immediately looked at Tom, knowing what Harrison was referring to, now also knowing that Tom had told people. You weren’t mad at him for this, but obviously everyone knew that Harry didn’t know, and should’ve been keeping their mouths shut.

Harry had always been a little beaten down; he felt he was living in Tom’s shadow and thought that girls wanted Tom more than him. Meeting you was different, you seemed to see him. He never thought that you and Tom might’ve had something before he came along.

Silence passed between you all, no one willing to break the tension except Harry.

“What did you say, Harrison?” 

“Nothing, I didn’t mean anything,” Harrison quickly stuttered out.

“No, you said that Tom didn’t want Y/N. What does that mean?” He questioned, looking at Tom first and then up at you.

You blinked quickly, eyes locked with Tom, urging him to speak. Thankfully he got the message, “Y/N and I sort of kissed once. It was nothing, just a peck.”

“You..... you what?” Harry asked, his face falling as you turned to look at him quickly. You pressed your hands to his cheeks trying to make him listen to your explanation as you began to sputter, “it was nothing,” and, “it didn’t mean anything.”

Harry nudged you off of his lap and stood up before stalking off to your shared tent.

You looked over at Tom, to which he quickly whispered a “sorry,” his face softening at you as well, before you locked eyes with Harrison sternly. 

“What the fuck was that about?” You seethed at him. He knew he messed up and he was genuinely sorry, but right now in this moment there was no fixing it with you so he chose not to say anything at all. His eyes looked remorseful; deep down you knew he was sorry and that he wouldn’t do anything to break up you and Harry, but he had really messed up. 

You turned around and began to walk slowly to the tent, wanting to give Harry a little time to cool off before you tried to explain. When you made it to the entrance, you slowly unzipped it and found him laying on top of the sleeping bag with his arm thrown over his eyes.

“Bubba?” you asked quietly, not wanting to push him too far, but desperately wanting him to speak to you. 

He sighed deeply. You knew he’d heard you and that he was processing, so you sat down next to him quietly, waiting for him to come to you. Tears started to well up in your eyes because you hated hurting him and you didn’t want to lose him. 

He slowly sat up and removed his arm from his face. He turned towards you and looked into your bloodshot eyes; his were red too and he already had streaks of tears down his cheeks. 

“Yes, darling?” He asked; he wanted to hear what you had to say. He didn’t want to lead the conversation yet, hell, he wasn’t sure he was even ready to have it. 

“Bubba, it didn’t mean anything. I promise. It was so long ago,” you breathed out, not really knowing where to start. You’d been so focused on him that you didn’t think about what you were going to say.

“What happened exactly?” he asked lowly, wanting to know the whole story. 

“Well, he visited the Russo Brothers on our set and we hung out and then thought maybe we could be more and kissed once. It didn’t even last a second and it didn’t feel like anything and I don’t want him at all. He doesn’t want me. We agreed that it was nothing and I didn’t even know that Harrison and Sam knew and I’m so so sorry I didn’t tell you. I know how much it hurts to find out this way,” you quickly rambled out. 

“When?” 

“A long time ago. Before Atlanta. Before we met,” you stuttered out.

He looked up at the roof of the tent, breathing deeply. He felt like sloppy seconds. 

“You couldn’t land him, so you came to me?” he spoke into the sky.

“Not at all,” you hurried out as you clambered over to him and straddled his lap, grabbing his cheeks and bringing his face down to meet yours, “I don't want him. There’s nothing between us, we’re just friends, you know that.” 

You paused, giving him time to add something if he wanted. You breathed for a few seconds before continuing, “I know that you feel like you live in his shadow, but trust me when I say that when I saw you, my world shined a little brighter. You’re not in the shadow with me at all, baby,” you whispered to him, both of you now crying heavily.

You peppered little kisses on his chin as you continued, “I looked past Tom and saw you, Harry. It’s always been you,” your voice breaking. 

“But you could have had him, why would you ever want me?” He questioned insecurely.

“Because you’re you, bub. You’re different people. You see me as I am. You appreciate me. You’re an incredible person with the kindest heart. You’re an amazing human being. You care for people so much. You’re an amazing photographer and you’re gong to make an amazing director someday. Hell, you already are with Roses for Lily,” you breathed quickly, squeezing his cheeks a little tighter, trying to make him believe you. “God, Har, I love you so much, it hurts,” you added before thinking.

You pulled away quickly, your tears stopping and eyes widening immediately. His widened as well, neither of you had said that yet.

Your brain kicked into high gear, immediately trying to talk your way out of it, but no words were coming to your mind so you were left stuttering a series of “um,” and “I didn’t mean to say that” and “what I meant was,” before he cut you off.

“I love you, too,” he said simply. 

“Yeah?” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he said before gently grabbing your waist and pulling you forward to connect your lips. 

After separating after a few seconds, you asked him, “does this mean we’re okay?”

“Yeah, love, we’re okay,” he answered, calling you ‘love’ for the first time. Your heart beat a little faster at that before he added, “I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

“I wanted to, babe, but I didn’t want to hurt you, especially when it was nothing.”

“I understand that, darling,” he breathed out, “but no more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” you answered before kissing him again.

He poured his whole heart into the kiss, wanting to show you just how much he loves you. Your tongues tangled for a while before he started to tug at your hips a little harder, trying to grind up into you. You felt him beginning to get hard and pulled back chuckling.

“I am not having sex with your brothers and best friend sitting right there.”

“They’re pretty far away, love,” he laughed, trying to pull you in with his charm, “I don’t think they’ll hear, but if they do, they’ll really know you’re mine,” he added peppering kisses down your neck and sucking on your sweet spot just above your collar bone. 

“Harrrrrrrrry,” you laughed out, pushing him away from your neck and pulling his face up to yours to plant a quick kiss on him, “no.”

“Later?” he asked cheekily, quirking up an eyebrow and smiling at you.

“Maybe, bubba,” you answer slowly, “if you’re lucky, very late tonight after we’re - and by we’re I mean I’m - sure everyone is asleep we can maybe go have sex in the car where no one will hear us.” 

He plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth before saying, “man I can’t wait for them to go to sleep tonight,” with a laugh and a final kiss to your lips. 

“C’mon tiger,” you say standing up and dragging him with you back to the group. 

“All better?” Tom asks quickly once the two of you came into view. He glances down at your entwined hands before smiling.

“All better,” you assure him settling back into Harry’s lap and pecking him quickly. 

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Tagging @thegirlintheswivelchair because she heard all about this as it was being written (and she brought up the s’mores) xoxo

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,266 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: I didn't do nearly as many read-throughs with this one so there are probably typos. Also YA'LL. ARE. GONNA. LOVE. THIS. A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: After the visit from the Saviors at Hilltop, Daryl and Y/N finally head back to Alexandria, waiting on the edge of war.

Your name: submit What is this?

That night, after the Saviors left, was to be your last in Hilltop before you returned to Alexandria to officialyl kick the hornet nest. You had said something about going to talk to Maggie but after a while you still hadn’t returned and Daryl went to see if there was anything he could help with. He knocked on the door of Jesus’ trailer and Enid pulled open the door. Everyone was there, except for you.

“Hey. Y/N ain’t here?” he drawled. Maggie noticed how his brow drew down low over his eyes, a clear expression of worry.

“She was but she left a while ago,” Jesus said, climbing to his feet. “I assumed she was headed your way.”

“Nah. She ain’t been back.” His stomach twisted a little with anxiety. “Alright… Thanks,” he said, turning to leave.

“Daryl, wait!” Maggie called after him. She got up from her seat at the table and walked over. “You’re leavin’ early in the mornin’, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Headin’ back.”

Maggie nodded. “Alright. Then let us say goodbye to ya now in case we don’t see ya.” She grabbed Daryl into a tight hug before he could protest. He was stiff at first but he soon pressed a hand to her back and returned it. “You be safe. And we’ll see ya soon.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. Sasha grabbed him briefly into a hug. Enid waved from her place on the couch and Jesus strode forward to shake his hand. “Thanks for all your help here,” he said. “It really means a lot.”

Daryl nodded again. “Mhm. We’ll be rid of ‘em for good soon. See ya’ll.” The archer’s broad frame disappeared back outside. He stopped for a minute and scanned the open space for your familiar frame, but he couldn’t see you anywhere. The first places he checked were all the guard posts along the wall but there was no sign of you. He tried Abraham and Glenn’s graves next, but no luck. Then his eyes fell on the stable and he knew you sometimes went there in an attempt to quiet your mind, and after that interaction with Negan today, the things he had said loud enough for everyone to hear, Daryl suspected that your mind needed a little quieting.

His guess was right.

You came into view, leaning up against one of the stall doors, petting a mare who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention. There was only the glow of a few lanterns to light the space and your expression was cast in shadow when he came in, the soft hay making his steps nearly silent.

“Hey,” he said, drawing your eyes. “Been lookin’ for ya.”

“Sorry,” you said softly.

“Nah, it’s not¬—nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, crossing the space to you. You didn’t have a smile for him this time and his concern grew. “Ya alright? Today was…” he broke off, not even sure what word to use.

You were usually quick to reassure him that you were fine, but this time you didn’t. You just stared ahead and absently smoothed your hand down the horse’s neck, trying to gather your courage to speak.

Daryl stepped closer to you until he was leaned up right beside you against the stall door. “Hey. C’mon. Talk to me. What is it?”

He watched you gulp and shut your eyes for a moment, gathering yourself. You shook your head a little and let out a shaky exhale before you glanced over at him. “Negan. What he—he said—and… everyone… the rest of the day today, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. And you know that feeling you get when you enter a room and people were just talking about you? It felt like that in all of Hilltop today.” You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the tears burning in your eyes from spilling out. “Everybody here must just think I—”

“Hey, c’mon. Stop that. Nobody thinks anything about it,” he said trying to reassure you. But you turned your eyes down toward your hands.

“The way some of them were looking at me? Yeah. They do, Daryl… Now all of Hilltop knows that I—that I slept with Negan. With him.” It was hard even to get the words out. “And I can’t even really blame them. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I never should have allowed—” you said quietly, breaking off and shuffling your feet back and forth anxiously in the soft bedding on the barn floor. You could no longer stop any of the tears from spilling out and Daryl saw them cascade down your cheeks as you finally looked back up at him and met his blue eyes. “I can’t even blame them for what they probably think of me. What you must think of me…” You hastily wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks. “Hell, a lot of the time—” you shook your head, staring down at your hands again, “I think the worst of it myself…”

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. His gaze was intense. He hated that you had been put in that situation. He hated that circumstances had ever collided in just such a way as to put you in a place where your only option was to submit to Negan, to allow him to lay a finger on you. And then you’d gone back. For him. “Ya want to know what I think? Ya were victimized by him. But ya ain’t a victim. You’re a survivor. That’s all ya did. Ya survived. And ya saved my ass! Ya didn’t have a choice. And any of them who are too stupid to figure that out ain’t worth it. They don’t know a damn thing about it. All the rest of us, Maggie, Jesus, Rick, Aaron & Eric, we know. We know. I’m proud to even know ya. And I consider myself lucky that ya’ve chosen me as bein’—as bein’ someone worth yer time.” He watched you wipe another tear off your cheek, your eyes wide and glassy as you looked back at him. He tilted his head gently at you. “C’mere.” His expression was soft and one you never could refuse.

It was all you needed. You fell into him and his strong arms wrapped around you tightly and pressed you into him, like he needed you there against his chest. Daryl breathed in the scent of your hair and settled you against him, smoothing his hands over your back lightly. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and focused on that feeling of safety. “S’alright. I ain’t ever thought less of ya because of what happened to ya. It ain’t your fault. Wasn’t a choice. And if anybody so much as looks at ya sideways, ya just come tell me and I’ll knock them on their ass, alright?”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. You pressed your hand flat against his chest, loving how you could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers and the expansion of his lungs as he breathed. You pulled back slightly so you could look up into his handsome face. He looked worried still, anxiously chewing on his bottom lip. But, finally, you gave him a smile, albeit still a little teary, and he relaxed some. His fingers smoothed through your hair and you sighed, feeling a return of the warmth he always gave you. It grew and spread outward in your chest, spilling into your face, and you arched up onto your toes and kissed him.

You were setting your heels back down when his arm snaked around your lower back and pulled your hips into his. You looked up and met his eyes again and he nudged his nose up once. Daryl’s request for another kiss. You gladly acquiesced and this time you both sank into it, breathing each other in. Daryl’s hand clasped your face and his thumb traced the edge of your jaw gently as your lips moved in sync with his, effortless. The sensation of your hands light on his sides was enough to send him reeling with electricity.

“Thanks,” you said softly, after you finally broke apart. Daryl’s hands were landed on your hips and he gave you a questioning look. “Just—for what you said.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me. S’just the truth,” he said. He gave your hip an affectionate squeeze. “C’mon. S’late and we gotta get up early to head home. Let’s get some sleep.” He nudged his head in the direction of the door and you nodded.

You smiled as he laced his fingers with yours and tugged you back to the trailer.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl’s bike rumbled down the road and he pulled it into the garage at Aaron and Eric’s which was standing open. You were still climbing off when the door into the house burst open and Aaron and Eric both came bounding down the stairs.

Aaron reached you first and barreled into you, drawing a laugh from you as you stumbled backward a little before regaining your balance. Daryl watched the interaction with one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Aaron said, his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

You patted his back. “You too,” you said fondly, smiling widely.

“Alright, quit hogging her!” Eric said, shaking his head. Aaron pulled back and gave you a warm smile before stepping aside to let Eric wrap his arms around you. “We’ve missed you,” he said.

“Missed you guys, too,” you replied, shutting your eyes and giving Eric a final squeeze.

“How’s Hilltop?” Aaron asked as you finally withdrew, glancing between you and Daryl.

Daryl shrugged. “Ready as they’ll ever be. Maggie’s got it,” he nodded. “How’re things here?”

“Ready,” Aaron said. “For the most part. We’re expecting The Saviors today thanks to your intel.”

You felt your stomach twist and you nodded. “Yeah… Hard to believe we’re really about to do this.”

“It’s time,” Eric said, looking suddenly sad. “You heard about Olivia and—and Spencer?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We heard,” you trailed off. “Olivia was sweet. That shouldn’t have happened to her, of all people. But Spencer? What the hell was he thinking?” you asked, shaking your head sadly. “He put himself right in the line of fire… he was naïve, but nobody deserves what happened to him.”

“He couldn’t handle Rick being in charge after his Mom,” Aaron said. “Thought he could do better.”

“Only someone who was completely clueless about what that means would say that,” Daryl drawled. “Ain’t an easy job, what Rick’s doin’. And he feels responsible for every damn thing that happens to everybody.”

You sighed. “That’s a lot of weight to carry around…”

“Speakin’ of,” Daryl said, glancing back over at you. “I wanna go see everybody. Check in with Rick.”

You nodded. “Go. I’m gonna catch up with these two for a bit.”

“They’re gonna wanna see ya, too,” Daryl said.

You felt your cheeks flush a little, nerves still at the idea of being brought so fully in as part of Daryl’s ‘family’. “Alright. I’ll meet you there in a little while,” you said with a nod. “Promise.”

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Alright. See ya soon, then. Aaron. Eric,” he said, nodding at each of them. Daryl disappeared out into the bright morning sun.

Considering what he knew was coming, Alexandria seemed quiet.

But when he pulled open the front door of the house his group shared and paced into the kitchen, he was surrounded by his chosen family. Rick placed Judith in his arms and smiled as Daryl cooed at the little girl. “It’s good to have you back,” Rick said, clasping Daryl’s shoulder when he could.

Daryl nodded. “Yah. Good to be back.” He bounced Judith a couple more times and then glanced at Carl. “Hey. Take her for a minute, would ya? I gotta talk to your dad.”

Carl accepted his baby sister and Daryl straightened Rick’s old hat on the teenager’s head, eliciting a smile.

Once Carl was out of ear shot, Daryl leaned onto the counter with his forearms and sighed heavily. “We really doin’ this?” he drawled. “Ready?”

Rick nodded. “We’re doing it. And we’re ready. Everything is set.”

“And Negan?”

Rick scowled. “I’ll take care of him when the time is right.”

Daryl stared down at the pattern of countertop for a moment. “What if I get the chance first? Or Y/N? We ain’t supposed to take it?” he asked. “If anyone deserves to put that bastard in the ground it’s her. I can’t tell her not to.”

The muscle in Rick’s jaw twitched. “Yeah… I know. But—for now? We need to knock down what he’s built first. Can’t just be him.”

“I know. But if we get a shot at him… Rick, I want him dead,” Daryl growled. “For what he did to Glenn and Abraham. For what he did to all of us. For Hilltop, for the Kingdom… but most of all for her.” The archer straightened up. “If we get the chance, no hesitation. He’s dead.”

Rick eventually nodded, a tentative agreement. He wanted to be the one who pulled the trigger on Negan, but how could he argue for you or Daryl to not get the job done if the opportunity presented itself. “Where is Y/N?” Rick asked.

“Catchin’ up with Aaron and Eric. She said she’d come by in a bit.”

“Good. That’s good…” There was the weight of many cares on his shoulders. “When they get here, I don’t want either of you two anywhere they might be able to see you,” Rick said.

“Why? They saw us yesterday at Hilltop. They already know we’re part of this.”

“I know. I just don’t want to give them an opportunity to take a shot at either of you,” he replied. “And after yesterday, at Hilltop, with what they now know? They might.”

Daryl sighed and anxiously chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Ya, about that… Negan said somethin’ yesterday. He wants Y/N alive.”

Rick stared at his friend, his brow furrowing more deeply. “Alive?”

Daryl nodded, pacing a little restlessly. “That’s what he said to his douchebag lieutenant Simon. It seemed genuine. He wants her prisoner, and I don’t think he’d kill her after he got his hands on her.” Daryl’s face darkened with rage just at the thought. “So, that means that wherever we think Negan is gonna be, Y/N needs to not be…”

Rick considered the grave expression on Daryl’s face. “Will she agree to that?”

Daryl shrugged. “I dunno. But she’s gonna have to. I ain’t puttin’ her somewhere he might be able to get his hands on her again.”

“Not sure any of us can boss Y/N around,” Rick said, a small smile curving his lips despite the grim topic.

Daryl let out an amused exhale in place of a laugh. “Ya… tell me about it.”

As if on cue, Daryl and Rick heard the front door open and soft footsteps up the hall and into the kitchen. You had a small smile for Rick and the others who were gathered in the living room. Rick returned it as you came to stand beside Daryl. “Good to see you,” Rick said. “We sorely missed having both of you around. And not just because you two can get supply runs done in record time.”

You laughed a little lightly, exchanging a look with Daryl, and nodded. “We missed being home too.”

“Listen, I was just telling Daryl—” Rick hesitated. “I don’t want either of you anywhere near the gate when they show up. I don’t want him knowing you’re here.”

You straightened up and looked at Daryl briefly. His blue eyes met yours and he nodded once to show he was onboard. “Alright,” you said, turning back to look at Rick. “We’ll hang back.” Inside, you were hoping that if Negan didn’t see you there wouldn’t be a repeat of what he had divulged loudly for everyone at Hilltop the previous day. You sighed and looked at Rick. “Once you do this today, there’s no going back. And people are going to die. Our people.”

Rick’s expression was grave, but he nodded. “I know. But if we leave it be, more people will die anyway. At his hands.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “I just want to make sure you really understand what we’re all getting into. Negan, he’s—” You broke off, unable to continue and sighed.

“I know,” Rick said forcefully. “We’ve all seen it with our own eyes.” You weren’t looking up at him. “Hey—” he said, forcing your eyes back to his. “Whatever happens isn’t gonna be on you. You told us all you had to tell. You stopped us from rushing in unprepared. And you didn’t even have to do any of that. We owe you. More than I can say. And I—” Rick pressed his hand over the center of his chest, “I’m so grateful.”

At length, you nodded. “We’ll get it done. We will. I know it.”

Daryl was looking at you in awe of your strength and he watched with a swell of happiness as Rosita grinned at you and waved from her place in the other room and you went striding over to greet her.

“Daryl.” Rick’s voice drew his eyes again. “Whatever happens… we’re fighting the good fight.” And it was then that Daryl suddenly realized that Rick was worried that perhaps you might not make it through this. And he was worried about what that would mean for the archer. It was war. Anything could happen.

Daryl straightened up to his full height and chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. “Ain’t gotta worry. Y/N and I are both making it through this. Rick, she’s—” he paused and glanced back over at you, feeling himself soften as he watched you laugh at something Rosita had said, tossing your head back, your eyes crinkled closed. “She’s stronger than me. And she makes me strong. We’re gonna be just fine.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was surprised when he woke the next morning and realized you weren’t beside him. He shot straight up in bed, his heart pounding, and that’s when he realized that he could hear the shower running and the gentle sound of you humming to yourself over the pattering of the water. He flopped back down onto the pillow and reached over to your side, wanting to see if the warmth of you was still there.

Your side of the bed was cool but Daryl could still see the shape of your body in the sheets and the impression of your head on the pillow. He heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and the sound of you opening the door and stepping out. The archer climbed out of bed and made his way over to the doorway. He leaned against the door frame, taking in the shape of your figure wrapped in a towel, a comb in your hands as you ran it through your wet hair. You finally caught sight of him in the mirror and you gave him that megawatt smile that always sent electricity jumping up his spine and his heart skipping a beat.

“Hey. Morning,” you said, turning to look at him leaning up against the doorframe.

“Ya left me alone in bed?” he drawled. “Real nice…”

A small smile still curved you lips. “I’m sorry. You were really deeply asleep still. Must have needed it. I couldn’t sleep anymore and I just really wanted a hot shower.”

Daryl left his place leaning against the doorway and walked over to you in front of the mirror. His hands landed on your hips and you felt a flush of heat in your chest and face at the contact.

“Yah. Ya didn’t invite me to that either,” he joked quietly.

One of your eyebrows quirked down low over your eyes and you gave him a look, obviously trying to read what was on his mind. “Should I have?” you asked, turning around again to glance in the mirror. Daryl’s hands stayed on your hips and you soon felt his body pressing up against yours.

“Always,” he said, his voice deep and a little gruff with sleep still. He bent and kissed the bare skin on the side of your neck. The stubble on his face was exhilarating and you felt goosebumps rising on your skin immediately. He next pressed his lips to the skin on your shoulder. He thought you smelled of lavender and vanilla. His fingers gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

You bit your bottom lip. “Daryl Dixon…” you said softly. Your tone was smoky, silky, and it drew his eyes to yours in the mirror. “What are you doing?” you asked him playfully.

One corner of his mouth twitched up but then his expression was almost serious. He gently gathered the wet strands of your hair, his fingertips sweeping your neck softly, sending another electric jolt through you. He pressed his lips to the back of your neck and pulled you back against him more tightly.

You felt your lips part slightly of their own accord and your eyes closed. You let out a small exhale and Daryl straightened up again, taking in your expression in the mirror and feeling a flame of heat growing in his chest. After a moment your eyes opened again and met his once more. “Do you know what you’re doing?” you asked quietly. Your breath and heart were increasing in pace and the tingles running through you were becoming impossible to ignore.

Daryl ducked his head a little bashfully for a moment, but only for a moment. When he caught your eyes again, he tilted his head back toward the doorway into the bedroom.

Now your heart was absolutely pounding. You broke from your gaze in the mirror and spun to face him, your brilliantly colored eyes searching his face. You peered up at him and once again Daryl was taken aback by the vulnerability he saw in your eyes. All he wanted in that moment was to wrap you up and make you truly his, show you exactly how goddamn head over heels he was for you. “Are you sure?” you said, and then you hesitated. “I mean, am I—am I reading this right?”

One of Daryl’s hands lifted from your hip and clasped your face gently. And he swept you in against him, his other hand on the small of your back, kissing you deeply and insistently. You felt your knees start to go weak but there was no chance of falling with Daryl’s arm around you, pressing your hips into his. His tongue flicked over your bottom lip and you granted him entrance, letting out a small noise of pleasure as he deepened the kiss even more.

You suddenly pulled back, your hand landing flush against his strong chest. “Wait. Wait…” you breathed, looking up into his handsome face, his blue eyes connected with yours. “Are you—is this—”

Daryl studied your expression and smiled at your hesitation as he realized you were worrying about him. He clasped your face again in both of his hands delicately, his eyes flickering between both of yours. “I’ve wanted this with ya for a long time. I just—I needed there to be other things first… I didn’t want to—to risk ruinin’ this because I rushed anythin’.”

You nodded though there was some mixture of confusion and disbelief on your face. You gently rested your hands on his sides. The lightness, the delicate quality of your touch drove him crazy…

“Hey, I—” he paused for a moment and licked his lips anxiously, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/N, ‘M in love with you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Daryl’s heart was pounding as he waited for your response.

The confusion and disbelief in your eyes was suddenly replaced with a wild happiness that grew, like your smile, by the moment. He felt your fingers curl more tightly into his shirt. “I love you, too,” you said. You let out a joyful laugh as you looked up at him and then immediately arched up onto your toes, crashing your lips into his again.

Daryl kissed you back eagerly, feverishly, but he pulled back suddenly leaving you wanting more. He stared down at you and you gave him a questioning look again, but were unable to stop smiling. “Can you, uhh—could ya just say that again?” he asked, a little self-consciously.

You grinned at him and looped your arms around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes. “Daryl Dixon. I’m so in love with you.”

His heart leapt to hear those words leave your lips and he crashed into you again, his arms pulling you into him and lifting you off your feet. When he set you back down, your lips didn’t separate and you pressed your hands into his strong chest, pushing him backwards into the bedroom again. You pulled his bottom lip in between your teeth, dragging them lightly over it, and smiled into the kiss as the action elicited a chesty growl from him. His fingers dug more deeply into your hips.

He broke from you for a brief moment and looked into your face. His eyes were intense, wanting. “Are ya ready for this? This okay? We don’t have to—”

You grinned at his sweetness and captured him in another fiery kiss briefly before pulling back again. “Get your damn clothes off right now,” you said breathily, grinning at him. “How is this fair? I’m already in just a towel.”

His pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth briefly and shook his head at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You grinned and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. Your eyes wandered over his strong shoulders and bare chest down to the V of his hips, hitching again on the scars crisscrossing his skin.

Your hands went to him immediately and you leaned into him. He gulped a little nervously, staring down at the unmistakable desire in your eyes. You wrapped your arms around him and arched up onto your toes again, your lips meeting his hungrily, and Daryl happily sank into it. Suddenly he felt your fingernails raking gently down his back and he almost shivered at the sensation. He felt the overwhelming warmth in his chest blooming outward, causing his head to go vaguely fuzzy.

Before he could even think about doing it himself, he felt the towel wrapped around you fall to the floor and suddenly his fingers were wandering over the bare shape of you, unimpeded by distracting or cumbersome fabric.

He smoothed his hands from the flared curve of your hips up the narrowing of your waist and onto the angles of your ribs. His fingers reached around your frame and felt the sharpness of your shoulder blades. You felt small beneath his hands, delicate, despite the fact that he knew you were no wilted daylily. His lips wandered from yours to leave a trail along your jaw and down your neck to your collarbone. You heaved in a small breath at the sensation. Your fingers found his waistband and soon both of you were only skin, completely reeling with the sensations of one another.

A moment later you let out a surprised gasp as Daryl picked you up as if you weighed nothing and laid you down in the bed beneath him. He leaned over you, propped up on one elbow, moving aside a strand of your hair with the other hand. You stared up at him wantingly, your lips parted and waiting again for his. His hands, a little rough but so gentle, clasped your face as he kissed you before tracing the line of your collarbone and wandering down to explore all your curves and angles. You pulled his lips back to yours and tangled your legs with his, gasping in pleasure as the two of you became one and moved in sync together effortlessly.

Daryl was sweet and gentle but needy and fiery all at once and you were both just bounding hearts and sensations, curling toes and waves of rising pleasure. He kept one hand laced with yours and couldn’t take his eyes off you beneath him as you moved together unless it was to press kisses to every part of you. You relished the feeling of his strong muscles moving beneath your fingers, and when you both finally reached the peak his lips on yours were insistent before they softened. He drew back to watch the expression on your face as the two of you came down from your high, rushing breaths and a heartbeat that was loud in your ears.

Daryl settled down beside you, his chest heaving and an arm draped over you which you rested your hand on.

“Oh my God,” you gasped breathily, glancing over at him with a starry smile on your face. You turned onto your side so you were facing him, knowing your face and cheeks were flushed. Your fingers traced over the scars on his chest and despite the afterglow you were basking in you felt a twinge of anger and sadness at what he had gone through.

“Yah,” he agreed, a smile curving his lips. “I can’t even tell ya how long I’ve wanted that.” You thought you saw a blush in his cheeks too. His hands smoothed up and down your side from your shoulder to your hip, memorizing the feeling of you.

You sighed contentedly. “Same.”

Daryl nudged his nose up at you and you gladly acquiesced and pressed your lips to his softly, clasping his face and running your thumb along the line of his strong jaw. You watched his blue eyes open and you drank in the softness in them. His hand came to rest on your hip and his thumb drew absent strokes on your soft skin. You pressed a hand flat to his chest so you could feel the racing of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath.

“Wish we could stay here like this forever,” you said softly.

“Mhm. Me too. We can for a while though at least,” he drawled, moving closer to you again so he could feel your weight and your warmth. You draped your arm over him, the tips of your fingers brushing his back. Daryl watched you fondly as you settled in against him and closed your eyes.

At that moment, it was hard to believe anything could ever break the sense of fulfillment and peace both of you had.

[kiwikipedia]

Pup

Fandom(s): Star Wars

Rating: K

Summary: Plo Koon’s not the only one to just spontaneously adopt it seems, Post War AU

Based loosely off of this post but then i just. didn’t? so maybe its not based on it at all lmaoo??

It was a running joke among the Masters that they could all trace their foundling lineage back to High Councilor Plo Koon.

Either through the Kel Dor Jedi himself, or through one of his Padawans— because lord knew that they all ended up with his habits when it came to just having that radar of abandoned children, force sensitive or not.

And then the joke only seemed to increase in those who knew once the War ended and the Order left Coruscant with the Clones.

The joke among the GAR was the last names. There were well over a million Clones who bore the last name ‘Koon’ now, including the 104th Battalion and the 127th Gunship Wing. If they didn’t have the last name ‘Koon’ then they might have ‘Swan’ or ‘Tano’ (because when Ahsoka decided she had found a new brother, she never let them go). There were those who donned the crest that Knight— no, Master Lissarkh and her Company wore while they sabotaged Separatist forces behind the lines, because Lissarkh had no surname to give her ‘hatchlings’ but she had a crest which was basically the same thing.

But still, Plo Koon was infamous for his habit of knowing and adopting children— and now Clones.

The Council had learned a long time ago to simply let it happen— the Older Jedi (though how many were really older than him?) fretted over the old code, but learned to drop the topic because he just ignored them instead.

So it came to no surprise when Wolffe showed up late to a Council meeting with a small child in his arms.

(Though the Council Meetings were less of the Council now days and more the Council Masters, The Commander and the Alpha Vode, and anyone who was off planet as a form of checking in.)

The good Commander had been off planet on a relief mission with part of the Wolffepack.

“A child, you have, Commander?” Master Yoda mused and the blue holographic figure nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he grunted as the child, a Nautolan— go figure— child with large round eyes, wriggled a bit, staring at them all. “She— he? Master Fisto, help— was being trafficked, sir. The boys and I took the liberty of dealing with the entire ring on the planet as part of our mission.”

There was a barely hidden note of glee in his tone at the accomplishment. “Bitey here just hasn’t happened to let go of me. I think another one of ‘em has been pulling on Wildfire’s hair for a good ten minutes.”

Kit snorted out a laugh, but looked ecstatic. “We’ll see when you get back,” he told him before he tilted his head. “Were they all Nautolans, Commander?”

“No, sir,” he reported. “There were two Zabraks—” Eeth and Agen’s own holographic forms both sat up at that. “Three Mikkians, and a handful of humans. Various ages.” he paused before a proud look crossed his face. “Some of them were vode, sirs. They’ve been protecting the others to the best of their ability too— They want to come home. They’re ready to come back home.”

“And we will give them home here, my son,” Plo rumbled, pride in his voice and Mace leaned back in his seat. “They will have a home here, with us.”

“Better vode than a thought dead brother of a Sith Lord,” he said dryly and Plo gave him a look.

“Feral is quite a charming young man, I’ll have you know. He gets along very nicely with his siblings,” the Kel Dor defended. “Just the other day he, Ahsoka, and Lissarkh were teaching some of the vode to hunt in the forests around the Temple.”

Shaak Ti barely hid a giggle behind her hand as Mace sighed, but smiled slightly. “I’m sure. We’ll need all the help we can get when it comes to hunting, if you and your children keep bringing back more every time you step a single foot so much as off planet.”

“So we’re good to bring Bitey and the others back?” Wolffe ventured, “Because, er, the ‘Pack isn’t the only group to have kids with ‘em right now.”

All eyes turned to Captain Jag where he was sitting. The pilot raised a brow. “Not me, sirs, though that would’ve been fun. The 127th didn’t find any kids this time in the Astroid Belt,” He tilted his head, smirking, looking to his right. “Banks?”

“Not me either,” the Sergeant grunted, arms crossed from where he stood, Hologram flickering as Master Swan shrugged.

“Though some kids did try and sneak on board, we got them back to their parents,” she added.

“I haven’t been off Planet because someone wont let me, so it isn’t me,” Plo mused, giving Mace and Yoda a look, though his amusement could be felt through the Force. “And Lissarkh and Ahsoka are still on planet… I can’t possibly think of anyone in my Lineage— foundling or master— who could’ve done—”

“It’s me,” Voolvif cut in, ears flicking in amusement. “Pup’s sleeping right now, but I went back to where my Master found me and found ‘im in the area.”

“A 104th child then! Not through the lineage but through the Battalion!” Plo chuckled and Voolvif flashed a toothy grin.

“Congratulations on becoming a father, Master Monn,” Mace sighed and shook his head before giving Plo Koon a look. “Even when you’re not off world you still manage to acquire every orphaned child and lost vode.”

The Kel Dor sniffed, fingers laced together as he leaned back. “Some Jedi have a habit of attracting trouble,” he said simply. “I just happen to be able to find those who need a family. And it’s a skill that I gladly pass down in my Lineage and family.”

“No more Sith Lords.”

“Now I can’t promise that, Master Windu. That would be no fun.”

though i did change some stuff?? like it just happened. Bultar and Voolvif on the new Council because I love them. Though its less of a council and more “the Council + everyone whose off world”

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

//

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

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