#needed a new portrait huh

[kellystar321]

.

[shellshocklove]

ridin' shotgun | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: as the snow covers the land, joel starts to like his new life on the farm, but is it too good to be true?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, guns, vomit, use of pet names, fluff, angst, fingering, oral (f receiving), some tags are left out to avoid spoilers, no use of y/n

a/n: this is the second part to this. so i'd recommend reading that before this one. i'm very sorry this took me so long! i'm hoping it was worth the wait! <3 also a big thank you to @dustydaddyyy who's always up for helping me when i'm stuck <3 happy reading!

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

“Morning, Joel,” Arthur greeted him as Joel entered the kitchen.

Joel felt far from rested. His eyes burned with sleep behind his eyelids. He’d love another hour or two on his pillow, but Arthur’s heavy steps coming down the stairs had woken him.

Damn, these thin walls.

“Mornin’,” Joel said as he sat down at the dining table, looking past the curtain on the portrait of the day. The world was blue with dusk, contrasting the low candlelight inside. Alma stood at the stove, butter crackling in the frying pan as she cracked an egg, then another, two suns in a greasy night sky.

“I think we’ll bring the logging sled today,” Arthur spoke up and gestured out the window, “I think the snow is more than deep enough for the sled.”

“Yeah?” Joel looked out the window again. Assessing the snow, he guessed it was about two feet give or take.

“Yeah, I think it’s gonna be enough– If not we’ll test-drive the sled, make sure it can handle the weight.” Arthur continued, but Joel lost interest as soon as he heard the sound of a door shutting down the hall.

Joel hummed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flickering to the door of the kitchen waiting to see you walk through. A moment later, you padded into the kitchen in your pajamas, feet clad in soft wool socks. You’d thrown a sweater over your sleep shirt, but Joel remembered how the thin fabric had clung to your skin last night. Remembered the shape of your nipples poking through, the sounds you’d made as you’d whimpered his name. Joel’s cock twitched in his pants at the memory; crashing against the wave of shame and guilt that washed over him when he recalled what he’d done after he’d stepped back into his room.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Arthur greeted you as you sat down, opposite Joel.

“Good morning,” you smiled, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, tiredness like a faraway look across your face.

“Did you sleep well?” Arthur asked.

Your eyes widened at the question, quickly flickering to Joel before they found the table. Your face dug deeper into your hand as you twisted slightly in your chair. A shy smile blossomed across your face.

Huh.

A forgotten tickling feeling of pride filled Joel’s chest as he watched you. The way you avoided his gaze, like your dreams would show through your eyes if you did. But Joel didn’t need to hold your gaze to understand. Something had shifted, both for him and for you. It was different now.

A chuckle escaped Arthur at your motions, “That good, huh?” Arthur teased, “All fairytales and rainbows?”

“Something like that,” you breathed out a chuckle.

Joel cringed. He was closer to a nightmare. Why did he even entertain his thoughts of you? You were the one who was a rainbow, while he’d paint you in a dull grayscale.

Joel let out an inaudible sight, and leaned back in the creaky kitchen chair, as his hands twisted in his lap. He didn’t miss the way his movement caught your eye as he felt the drumroll of your gaze break over him. Joel didn’t dare move, scared he’d scare the warmth of your attention away. But something pulled at his chest, and he couldn’t deny himself to look at you, to drink in your early morning shyness. You didn’t look away this time, instead you smiled. It was a small and polite smile, but it still felt like a kiss to his skin. The small moment between you only lasted a second, but to Joel it felt like an eternity – one he wouldn’t mind spending with you.

You dropped your gaze when Alma placed the breadbasket on the table, and like it had broken a spell, you immediately stood to your feet, “Let me help you, Alma.”

A moment later the table was set and ready, and Arthur was already helping himself to a fried egg. Safe for the sound of cutlery against porcelain plates, a silence fell over the kitchen.

“We uh,” Arthur started, looking over at you, “We were thinking of using the logging sled today,” he informed with a dig into his eggs. “'Could use your help saddling up the horse.”

“Okay,” you nodded, reaching across the table for the butter, “but I need to milk the cows first– you know how they get if I don’t do it first thing–”

“I can do that, sweetie,” Alma interrupted you with a smile, taking a bite of her bread.

“Oh, okay,” you turned your head to Alma as you said it, giving her a smile, but Joel could see the worry behind it. “But if it’s too much I’ll be right there–”

Alma cut you off again, “I can handle it– I did this all by myself before you came along, you know.” She said it with a wink to put you at ease, but Joel saw how your teeth dug into your bottom lip, and he wanted nothing more than to ease it away with a kiss.

No. No kiss.

Shit.

After last night, Joel couldn’t think straight. He wanted you now. He wanted what he knew he couldn’t have– what he shouldn’t have. With his eyes boring down into his plate, he tried to will his wants away. Tried his best to not build memories on things not yet said – to not feel the ache of never having touched you.

The air nipped harshly at Joel’s cheeks. The sun had finally risen over the mountain, shining its light over the crystals in the snow. A thousand diamonds blinked at him as he helped Arthur pull the log sled out of the barn. It was covered in dust and dirt, and the cobwebs stuck to Joel’s mittens like cling film. Clapping his hands, a cloud of dust evaporated from his hands – almost cartoon-like.

Joel picked at the yarn, trying to cover the hole that had become wider and wider every day. He felt bad about it; you’d made them for him out of the goodness of your heart, and now he’d ruined them– or the work had. Sharp branches had hooked themselves through the stiches, and the rough bark had worn the yarn down.

As Arthur checked the sled, and got it ready, Joel felt himself drawn to the open stable door. Leaning against the barn door he watched you quietly. You worked with practiced hands, saddling the old workhorse, Ingydar, as you talked to it in a low voice.

“You’re going to work in the woods today,” you said to the beloved nag, “Work in the woods with Arthur and Joel. Do you remember Joel? He’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

Joel felt his cheeks warm at your words, his eyes falling to the worn wood floor, as he continued to listen to your little conversation.

“Yes, he is! He’s very nice– fed you too many carrots last time he said hello, didn’t he? But you liked that, didn’t you?”

Joel looked up at that, his eyes locking with yours’ as you looked straight at him, a teasing smirk covering your face.

“That ain’t how I remember it,” Joel defended, stepping closer to the open stall door. You tightened the straps on the saddle while your smile grew larger at his words.

“No?” You teased, moving on to checking the straps on the bridle.

Joel stepped closer, his mitten clad hand coming up to pet the old horse. “No,” Joel shook his head, “you kept handin’ me all those carrots ‘s how I remember it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you laughed, stepping closer.

“Sure, you don’t,” Joel teased, a rare smile tugging at his lips, matching your own.

Locking eyes with you again, Joel felt something light bubble under the surface of his ribcage. You really were beautiful like this – eyes sparkling and smile wide. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him the way you were right now – like he hadn’t lost everything, like he didn’t have blood all over his hands, like he was worthy of a smile.

Stepping even closer, you noticed the holes in them. “Joel, your mittens.”

“Sorry…” he started, trailing off when you grabbed his hands, “They get hooked in the branches ‘nd–”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off, with a shake of your head, “I can fix them– it’s no problem.”

The sun shone through a small window in the back wall of the stall. Bright white light lit up the back of your head, crowning you in the morning. You stood so close now, the warmth of your finger brushing over his rough skin through the hole, and his hands suddenly felt heavy in yours.

A burden you shouldn’t bear.

“Uh…” Joel cleared his throat as he stepped away, pulling his hands from yours, “Thank you.”

Finishing up saddling the horse you led it out the stall door, the iron shoes click-clacked against the worn wood floor before it fell silent against the snow when you led the horse outside. With a nod in the direction of the house you told him to wait inside for you.

“Would ya let Arthur know he can go right ahead with the sled?” he asked you, his body half-turned towards the barn house.

You let out a breathy laugh, a frosty cloud of smoke clouding your smile before you nodded.

Inside, he waited for you on the couch, watching you wave Arthur off on the horse through the window. Joel’s heart picked up its beat when he heard your hollow steps across the porch. He shifted slightly in his seat when you walked in, almost standing but then decided against it in the same moment, rubbing his hands over his thighs instead.

Stomping off the snow covering your shoes you smiled at him like always, and Joel didn’t know what to do. A feeling starting to bubble under the surface of his skin. Excitement? Nervousness? Dread? Joel couldn’t tell. Maybe he felt all three at once– if that was possible. Excitement at the prospect of being alone with you, but also nervousness at the prospect of being alone with you. They gathered around his heart, filled his chest, but the dread, it climbed up his spine, bit its cold teeth in the back of his neck.

“Just let me grab my things,” you hurried with a gesture towards your room.

Joel cleared his throat and nodded. It felt clumsy and awkward, and he cursed himself for it while he waited for you. He couldn’t be alone with you. Couldn’t entertain the growing feelings. It wasn’t right – to you – Joel needed to stay away, to keep a friendly distance.

Joel sighed and closed his eyes.

Nothin’s happenin’. 

Like a broken record, those two words spun in Joel’s head in the few seconds it took before you were back in the living room, dropping down next to him with your basket overflowing with yarn.

It felt like déjà vu.

You worked in a comfortable silence, and Joel didn’t know if he should say anything. He watched how you worked your needle with a practiced hand – you made it look so easy – but Joel knew it wasn’t. A lifetime ago he’d spent way too many nights with a needle in his hand trying to mend a hole over the knee of tiny pink pants, his stubby fingers gripping the needle tightly, guiding it clumsily through the fabric until he was red in the face from frustration.

He needed to thank you, but should he say it now or wait until you’d finished? The longer he watched you, the stronger that bubbling feeling felt, bubbling over, up his throat and over the bite of dread.

“There!” you smiled when you’d fastened off the last stich. You grabbed a hold of his hands before he’d had time to think and pulled the mittens over his knuckles.

“Thank you,” he said, voice scruff but tone still shyer than he’d expected.

You smiled at him again and leaned a little closer to readjust the mittens, tugging at the yarn where you’d mended them, pulling them into the right shape.

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You locked eyes with him and suddenly Joel noticed how close you sat. It made him hold his breath as his heart started hammering against his chest.

His gaze flickered towards your lips for half a second, wishing for something he couldn’t have– shouldn’t have. He caught himself quickly, finding your eyes again but they were fixated on something else, his lips. Who leaned in first, Joel would never know, the only thing he knew was the feel of your breath against his lips before they brushed over yours in a soft kiss.

Warm. Joel felt so warm.

His hands worked by their own volition; mitten clad, and soft against your cheek, pulling you closer to him, but not close enough. Your hand grabbed at his jacket in the crook of his elbow, tethering yourself to him, to the moment, like you’d float away if you didn’t. You hummed against his lips, a desperate sound as you shifted closer.

The sound messed with Joel’s head, he wanted to hear more of it, pull it from you again. His tongue teased at the seam of your lips, a distant thought at the back of his head questioning where his boldness suddenly came from, but he ignored it.

It didn’t matter.

The sound escaped you once more and you opened yourself up to him. Joel’s other hand, moving with desperate urgency, found your hip – pulling you even closer. He licked into your mouth, and he fell deeper into you, deeper into the grip you’d snaked around his heart.

A loud slam of the kitchen door pulled Joel away, and the reality of what he’d done trickled coldly down his spine. Out in the kitchen Alma rummaged around while you looked at him with bright eyes, pupils slightly dilated with a hazy smile across your lips.

Joel felt awful.

He shouldn’t have done that.

He’d taken advantage of you. He’s too old for you – none of this was right.

You noticed the change in him, you must’ve, because your eyebrows pulled together in the smallest of frowns as you regarded him.

“Joel,” you started, your voice low and soft, but he just shook his head.

“I’m sorry!” Joel quickly stood to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans as though that would somehow erase what he’d done. “We– I shouldn’t have done that– I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” you tried to grab at his hand, but Joel only shook his head again.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel was out the door before he could regret it, lord knows he couldn’t take anymore regret. His life had been full of them, full of ‘I shouldn’t haves’. He dug his mitten-clad hands in the pockets of his jacket, his head hanging low as he headed down the road towards the forest.

A heavy blanket of clouds had shaded the morning sun, the world darkened in the beginnings of real winter. As a snowflake kissed his cheek, his thoughts wandered to the butterfly he’d seen all those weeks ago. How it had rested over his knee– made him think of Sarah.

You’re on the right path.

Joel had never felt this lost.

The kiss.

It took up most of Joel’s mind. When he worked himself hard with an axe in his hand, when he was counting sheep, but most of all, each time he saw you. Then his thoughts had a mind of its own, reminding him of how your lips had felt against his own, the feel of your body under his touch, and the sounds you’d made just for him. The kiss had been the first kiss who’d made him want another. The first kiss where he’d pulled away and not been satisfied. He needed to kiss you again, to feed this new hunger for you.

But it wasn’t right. An old man like him with someone like you. It wasn’t a good idea– would never be a good idea.

So, Joel tried his best to avoid you, but avoiding you was impossible – you lived in the same house, shared a bedroom wall. He saw you every day whether he liked it or not – and he did.

He liked you, and it scared the shit out of him.

He felt like he lived in a cruel state of limbo. He didn’t know what you were thinking. If you were mad (you had every right), if you were disappointed (he hoped you weren’t), or happy (maybe the most devastating thought of all).

The fire crackled loudly, sparks kicking, the sound making you look up from your book. Joel’s eyes found his own book, rereading the same paragraph he’d been trying to read for the last thirty minutes– ever since Arthur and Alma had retired to bed. This was the first time he’d been alone with you since the kiss, and he felt it all over his body. The aftermath of the kiss sticking to his body like the Austin heat had done in the peak of summer – he couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t ignore it.

“When was the last time you cut your hair?” you suddenly spoke across the silence.

Your question was unexpected, and it made him pull his brows together in a frown. “You sayin’ I look bad?” Joel asked, dogearing the page he was on before closing his book.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “No-no, I mean it’s just a little long.”

Joel looked at you for a second before he ran a hand through his hair. Well, it wasn’t like you weren’t right. Lately his hair had started to get in his eyes, even when he pushed it back. Most days when he was working outside, he could tame it under the knitted beanie you’d made him, but it had started to have a life of its own.

“Boston. I think, Tes–” he cut himself off before he said her name, clearing his throat awkwardly to cover his slip up. He’d forgotten, forgotten for a second that she was dead. Forgotten she’d died for him and his stupid quest to find his brother. Died for nothing.

“I can trim it for you… if you want?” you asked with a bite of your lip.

He couldn’t say no to you.

“Uh… yeah,” he nodded, “Okay.”

As you led him up the stairs to the bathroom, Joel tried not to think too hard about what it would mean – you cutting his hair. He tried not to think about how the last person who’d done something like that for him was Tess, and what it meant that she was gone– that it now would be you.

Your fingers running through his wet hair felt good– what didn’t feel good was the way his back almost gave out from leaning his head in the bathroom sink. The basin was too small, and the tap hung too low for him to comfortably turn his head, instead the water spilled down his face.

Why the hell was he drowning himself for you?

“Done soon?” he grunted, his hands gripping the sides of the sink while he felt your fingers scrub at his roots.

Yes, Joel was uncomfortable, but the way you stood so close – practically leaning on him – it felt nice. So nice that Joel thought that if his eyes weren’t already shut, they’d flutter shut at your touch.

Soap suds ran down the sides of his face as you giggled, “Just a little longer.”

You maneuvered his head back under the tap, your right hand running through his hair under the water while the left covered his eyes in a useless attempt. Then you grabbed the towel resting next to him on the porcelain, the world suddenly silenced through fabric as you dried his now clean hair.

“You can stand now,” you told him with a small tap to his back as you stepped away. You’d laid the towel around his shoulders, ready to catch any excess water.

Joel groaned, “I don’t think I can.”

You giggled again and then your hands wrapped around him, helping him up. Joel groaned again, but this time for show. He liked the way you touched him, gentle – always gentle. He plopped down in the chair you’d brought in from the spare bedroom, while you got your comb and scissors ready. The wooden chair creaked as he shifted his legs, widening them while he rested his hands in his lap.

He’d never seen this chair before, but then again Joel hadn’t explored the house much – it didn’t feel right. He was a guest after all, only staying for a few months– or was he? His eyes found you in the mirror, and then that thought suddenly felt awfully wrong.

“Ready?” you turned around to him, a pair of kitchen scissors in one hand, and an old shaver plugged into the wall in the other.

You didn’t say much as you worked. It was uncharacteristic for a hairdresser, at least from what he could remember. Back before the outbreak he’d rarely gotten his hair cut by someone other than himself. With his clipper guard set to four he’d tidy up the sides when it was needed and called it a day.

Your quietness was also uncharacteristic to you. You never talked his ear off, but you were never this quiet – at least you weren’t before the–

Stop.

Joel tried not to think about that.

He’d gone and fucked everything up now. Instead, he stole a glance at you in the mirror, watched the way your lips pursed in concentration to the metal sound of scissors snipping, and the low buzz of the shaver.

He needed to apologize to you.

“I…” he started, watching your head snap curiously to watch him in the mirror.

No turning back now– just say it.

“I’m sorry ‘bout the other day– It wasn’t right to kiss you like that.”

Your curiosity pulled into confusion across your face, and your eyebrows tugged together in a frown.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Joel,” you told him, your voice gentle, “I didn’t exactly–... well I definitely wasn’t stopping you.” You said it with an awkward laugh. Your kind, always kind, eyes that’d watched him in the mirror, now glued to the back of his head as you gently combed his hair.

Joel felt something bloom in his chest at your words, and despite himself, he felt his cheeks warm slightly as thoughts invaded his mind. 

Maybe he should tell you why he did it. 

Shit, did Joel even know why he did it? 

“I thought you–” Joel felt the words stall in his throat for a second, before he cleared it decisively. 

No going back now, he thought to himself, just rip off the band aid you idiot.

Another part of Joel screamed at him to stop the words before they even left his lips, and his doubts gnawed at his insides with more intensity than ever.

“The other night, when you were asleep,” he paused to swallow, a lump growing in his throat, “I was getting to bed and I heard–... well, y’were sort of having a dream, sweetheart.”

With nervous eyes, Joel found your face in the mirror, and watched the way the smiling expression dropped off your face, quickly replaced by a wide-eyed look of pure mortification. 

“I–” you stuttered out, and Joel rushed to correct himself. 

“It’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about, I shouldn’t a been watchin’ you, I just–... thought maybe y’liked me, or something.” 

His words hung heavy in the air between you, and Joel’s heart picked up its beat as he watched how all your movements suddenly went quiet, along with the shaver, seemingly processing all this new information.

Your eyes found the back of his head again, and when he felt the comb run through his hair again, Joel suddenly felt very guilty for even bringing it up. 

Stupid. Why on earth would he do that? Was he trying to send you into an early grave? 

“I’m sorry you walked in on that,” you finally managed, your eyes fixated on your working hands as you refused to meet Joel’s eye – looking infinitely embarrassed.

You’re sorry? He didn’t want to hear those words leave your mouth ever again – the only person in this bathroom who was sorry, was him.

In the mirror you looked so small, and it was his own doing. Your teeth dug harshly into your bottom lip as your combed, and combed, and combed his hair in a shaky hand. Joel felt his heart break.

He’d dug himself too deep now, Joel thought, he had to tell you, to reassure you it was okay.

After a beat of silence, Joel spoke again.

“I’m not.” 

Your eyes widened at his words before they snapped to the mirror, staring at him as the shears trembled slightly in your hand. Still, you didn’t say anything.

Joel didn’t have the faintest idea where he was going with this, and with the way you looked at him now, his doubts seemed to overtake him as he got the sudden urge to swallow his words right back up. 

“Look, forget I even said anything angel, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it–” 

The word slipped from his lips like the most natural thing in the world. Something flashed in your eyes through the mirror, he could’ve sworn it, and Joel seemed to realize a beat too late what he’d called you. Feeling his cheeks heat up, his embarrassment forced his gaze to fall anywhere but at you, quicklyfinding his hands knotted in his lap.

“Joel,” you said softly, and despite himself, Joel felt the earlier warmth expanding like a balloon in his chest, “It’s okay.” 

He perked up at your words, his eyes snapping from his hands to you as you moved, coming to stand in front of him. Your hands deftly moved the comb through his curls as he looked up at you through the strands. You seemed focused on cutting the ends, before you let out a breath. 

“It would’ve been okay if you had been watching, you know,” you said, your voice simple and even.

Joel felt his entire body tense at your words as his eyes bored into your face. He watched the way your face grimaced slightly; your eyes focused on snipping the strands right.

“I just mean I–” There was a pause as you gave him a half-embarrassed smile, your lips pursed together as you seemed to search for your next words. 

You were standing so close, so close he could smell the sweetness off you. You made him dizzy. Dizzy with warmth. Dizzy with proximity. Dizzy with something heavy in the depths of his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Joel didn’t know why he did it, didn’t know why the way his hands moved felt like second nature, but when the tips of his fingers grazed the back of your knee in an attempt to reassure you, it felt like something was calling to him.

“It’s okay,” he told you, “You can tell me, angel.” 

Finally, your eyes met Joel’s. Those kind sparkling eyes bored into his own as you, in an attempt to gather some courage, swallowed hard.

“I–I do like you,” you said.

The finality of your words lodged something loose in Joel, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time flicker to life in his chest.

“That so?” he asked, his voice a little lower.

Somehow, you were stood even closer, only slightly taller than Joel as he angled his head up towards you. Your chest started to rise and fall in a quicker rhythm at his question. Looking at him, your lips twitched in a nervous smile as you turned slightly away from his, placing the comb and scissors on the sink gently.

You nodded.

Still turned away from him, he watched how you gathered yourself, your hands resting on the porcelain as your head hung low between your shoulder blades.

“When you…” you trailed off, moving the comb and scissors in a perfect parallel line next to each other. “When you,” you repeated, “kissed me… I thought maybe… you liked me back.”

It was now or never.

Joel knew it.

Standing from his chair, Joel’s hand found your shoulder, turning you to face him. You didn’t look at him right away, your head tipped in a bow as you fiddled with your fingers.

“Hey,” his fingers brushed lightly under your chin, tilting your head up. Your eyes were wide, flickering like sunlight over wavy water as you studied his face. His eyes fell to your lips – he couldn’t help it, and the memories of how they’d felt against him resurfaced in his mind. If he just leaned a little closer, he’d feel them again.

“Joel… if you don’t want me– if you don’t like me, you can just tell me– I’m a big girl.” Your voice sounded almost breathless, like you’d run up a flight of stairs or walked miles in knee deep snow.

Joel shook his head before you’d even finished your sentence. Don’t want you? Don’t like you? It was absurd.

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?” The way the words left your lips, broken, beaten, it had Joel’s heart tear apart in his chest.

“It ain’t right, angel. I’m too old f’you– I can’t take advantage of you like that.”

A frown pulled at your face then, “Take advantage?” you questioned with a shake of your head. “I’m a grown woman, Joel. Would it be taking advantage if it was what I wanted? If what I wanted was… you?”

Joel had never thought about it like that before. The thought of you wanting him back had seemed like a fantasy – something that would never even be a possibility.

Your fingers moved a strand of hair out of his face, brushing it away, and Joel held his breath. Hesitating for just a second, you cupped his cheek gently and leaned closer. The softness of your lips over his own had Joel reeling – didn’t matter how quick or chaste the kiss had been – it only left him wanting more.

“I look stupid.”

“You don’t look stupid, Joel,” you laughed, full of joy.

You adjusted the bandana holder and fixed the crooked kerchief around his neck slightly. The red fabric picked up the warmth in his lined leather jacket, and the metal holder caught the shine of the sun.

Joel couldn’t believe he’d said yes.

This morning when he’d gotten up with the sun, Alma had stuck her head out of her and Arthur’s bedroom right as he was on his way out the bathroom. Arthur wasn’t feeling well, and Joel had prepared himself to work in the woods alone. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had gotten sick, and with the way he was looking lately, Joel figured it wouldn’t be the last.

He'd been washing his dishes from his breakfast when you’d padded into the kitchen. With a look over his shoulder, he’d caught the way you’d smiled at him before you padded over to him.

“Good morning,” you’d said and wrapped your arms around him from behind.

“Mornin’, angel,” he’d hummed back. He’d dried his plate and placed it on the counter before he’d turned around, still in your embrace.

Joel wasn’t used to it yet, your affection, he still had a hard time comprehending it was meant for him. That it wasn’t some joke you’d so cruelly played on him. A joke to see how long you could feed him this adoration until he’d get hooked on it, hooked on you, before pulling away.

Joel didn’t dare hold you too tightly. Everyone he’s ever held in his arms had been pulled away by death’s hands. Every day since you’d told him you liked him, wanted him, Joel had been afraid to lose you.

Maybe that’s why he’d said yes? You’d convinced him it’ll be safer for you if you knew how to shoot.

Joel didn’t know.

The only thing he knew was that he’d caved under your wide and blinking eyes. You’d looked too cute to say no, and he disliked seeing a frown upon your lips, unless he could kiss it away.

Which he did – but only when you were alone.

You’d both agreed to keep this thing, the fondness, the love, growing between you a secret. It was easier that way, at least until you both knew what it all meant. Right now, it was a thing, a fondness, but not yet a love, although Joel wasn’t far off if he were being honest with himself, especially when you looked at him with those moony eyes.

With a pat to his chest, you pushed off him with a smile. In a closet upstairs you’d found you both a cowboy hat and some bandanas you’d insisted on him wearing. The whole thing was silly, but the way you’d lit up with happiness when you’d placed the cowboy hat on his head, it didn’t matter to Joel.

“C'mon cowboy,” you laughed, and grabbed his hand.

He let you drag him with you before he caught up with you. He pulled at your arm so you crashed into his side, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. It made you giggle, and the sound bubbled around Joel’s heart.

Ingydar stood waiting dutifully in his stall, where you’d gotten him ready. The saddle bags were packed with your lunches and a box of ammunition, and at the back of the saddle you’d rolled two sheep skins and tied them with leather ties. Everything was ready for your day out together.

Or your date, Joel thought as he trailed after you, closing the stable door behind him as you led the horse outside.

Joel insisted you get on the horse first with his help. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable and sat as safely as possible before he slid his foot into the stirrups. You wiggled around to mess with him, and Joel grabbed your knee to steady you. It made you giggle again, and he earned himself a ‘Relax, honey’. Then you leaned back and made space for him to get in front of you.

Joel liked the sound of ‘honey’.

“Y’alright back there?” Joel said over his shoulder after he’d gotten on the horse. Placing the shotgun over his lap, Joel made sure the safety was on before his hands came down to take yours where they rested over your thighs, and gently guided them to slot around his waist.

“Y’actually gotta hang on sweetheart, or you’ll slide right off the minute he starts trotting,” Joel said, fighting back a smile when he felt your arms tighten around him.

“I know how to ride a horse,” you retorted, and his chest shook with a slight chuckle. 

“Not saying you don’t, angel,” he replied easily, and kicked Ingydar lightly in the sides.

The old horse started walking, and Joel pulled on the reins, steering it down the road and then south towards the woods.

“’Just makin’ sure you ain’t gonna fall off ‘s all,” he said.

You hummed in return, leaning your body against his back. “It’ll have to be a really bumpy ride for me to fall off, Joel,” you spoke, the innuendo not lost on Joel.

He decided to pull at the thread a little, “And I s’pose you’ve had a lot of these bumpy rides, have you, angel?”

Your hands around his waist tightened slightly as he felt you lean over his shoulder, your hat dumping into his. A smile tugged at his lips, and in his side vision he could see you narrow your eyes playfully at him. 

“What are you insinuating, Joel Miller?” you asked him, your tone only half-sharp.

A chuckle rumbled in Joel’s chest, before he bit back a smirk. “I’m not insinuatin’ nothin’,” he replied, keeping his tone as normal as he could.

He felt your eyes study him for a moment before he heard you let out a dissatisfied hum. “You definitely are.” 

“Well, we got an entire horse ride to god knows where to debate it,” he shot back, which made you smile.

You leaned back again, and a second later he felt you rest your forehead against his back. Joel figured you must’ve flicked your hat off; letting it rest against your back tied by the string around your neck.

“An entire horse ride to god knows where?” you repeated half-mockingly, speaking into his back but Joel could hear your smile in your voice, “You really know how to make a girl wait for it.”  

“You have no idea, angel,” Joel replied, an otherwise joking tone overshadowed by something else, something more honest.

Behind him, Joel felt you shift, and a small spark of pride filled his chest. He had an effect on you, the same way you had an effect on him. Quickly, you changed the subject, and that spark of pride grew larger in Joel’s chest.

“Did you have a plan, by the way?” you asked him, your voice light and innocent, “Or are we just riding this horse off into the sunset?” 

“It’s the middle of the day,” Joel pointed out, “And you’re the one who put me in a bandana, so don’t even bother tellin’ me you ain’t the one with the plan.” 

You let out a giggle at this and pressed your face into his back once more. “Just keep going straight for now, you bore, I’ll tell you when.” 

Joel chuckled at you, and did as you said, guiding the horse south at the edge of the forest where the snow wasn’t as deep. He felt you tighten your hands slightly around his waist, before you fell into a comfortable silence.  

The horse held a steady pace, rocking you in a soothing rhythm in the saddle. The day was bright and sunny, almost blinding against the snow. Joel had never gone down this way before, never seen the stone face of the mountain up close, the way it cried glittery winter tears when the sun shone.

“There’s a river down here somewhere,” you suddenly spoke, breaking the silence that had built between you. “There’s a nice little spot down there where we can camp.”

Joel pulled at the reins, following in the direction you’d pointed. “You’ve been down this way before?” he asked.

“Maybe once or twice a year,” you started, “There’s this town, Jackson, maybe a week’s ride south. I’m not exactly supposed to talk about it– they run a pretty tight ship, coming off a little more threatening than they are, but they’re sort of like a commune. Arthur has this deal with one of the ladies, Maria, where we help each other out by trading.”

A frown pulled at Joel’s face, “I thought y’all were all alone out here?” 

“Well, we are, but not really. It’s because of them we still have running water and electricity– we’re connected to the same system they use. And then usually in the fall or in the spring Arthur will go trade with them for things we need like soap, or nails and stuff we can’t make on our own at the farm.”

Joel hummed, and the puzzle pieces of information you’d given him, started to fit into the bigger picture he’d painted of your life at the farm. He could understand why Alma and Arthur still resided at the farm. It was their home, the place where they’d lived their whole life, but for you, for you it was different.

“So… you know ‘em? You’ve gone with Arthur to meet this Maria?” he asked.

“A little, I guess. She’s uh…” you trailed off, resting your cheek against Joel’s back instead.

The river finally came into view, and Joel let you have the silence. He guided Ingydar down towards the riverbank. A wound cut the ice in two where the river poured backwards eternally. The water clucked under the ice as you rode along the edge; was it wishful thinking to think it sounded like the coming of spring?

“She?” Joel prodded gently.

Joel heard you sight before you sat up, no longer leaning your weight on him. “She invited me to come live with them… in Jackson.”

Joel frowned, “’nd you told her no?”

“Well… yes– I just, I can’t leave them alone.”

“Sweetheart–” Joel started, but you cut him off.

“Let’s stop here!”

You didn’t say anything as Joel watched you loosen the saddle bags and sheep skins, while he petted the old horse. He found himself wondering how you’d ended up on the farm, and if you could’ve been happier somewhere else– like Jackson.

He tied Ingydar to a tree, before he waded back to where you were trampling the snow flat. He helped you form a bench out of the snow, cutting through the layers until you found a hard enough crust to hold both your weights. The sheepskin warmed under him, as he sat down with a groan. It made you turn around from where you sat on your haunches in front of the fire you were building, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth.

“Tired already, old man?” you teased as you stood to your feet and walked closer.

Spreading his legs, Joel made room for you to stand between them, as he tipped his head back to study you above him. Your smile was dangerous, wild and wonderful.

“Old man, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at you, not able to resist the urge to wrap his hand around the back of your knee.

Your teeth caught on your bottom lip at his touch, and a pride swelled inside Joel. Pride at pulling a reaction from you. Before you could answer him, a boldness took a hold of him, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you down into his lap.

You yelped out a giggle and your hands came down to brace yourself against his shoulder. Joel felt a feeling overcome him; one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Happiness.

It tickled at his heart, teared at something inside, and it scared him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice coated in concern, and Joel felt his cheeks heat up. He let out a dry chuckle, embarrassed by how easily you could read him.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I just…” he trailed off, studying your face and watching how your eyebrows pulled together in the smallest of frowns.

He shook his head again, before he leaned forward, not thinking it through as he brushed his lips over yours in a kiss. You reciprocated the kiss immediately, although maybe a little caught off guard. Joel’s arm around your waist tightened, as his other hand brushed up your side. He needed to hold you close for just a second, just to know this was real, that this feeling was real, and that you were real.

You broke away first, breathless with a giggle before you dove down again for another peck. Joel let you kiss him; let you cup his cheek and bring him closer. You shifted in his lap, your core rubbing slightly over his crotch. It could’ve been an accident, but the small gasp you let out told him it wasn’t. His arm around your waist tightened, and he had to pull away.

Wide eyes looked back at him, and Joel couldn’t help but stare at your lips. He felt like a teenager, a teenager sneaking out the house to meet a girl. To finally be with you without the secrecy – to touch you and kiss you openly.

“You’re somethin’ else, aren’t you?” he whispered.

A smile teased at your lips before you leaned in closer, your breath brushing over his ear, “You have no idea.”

Blood coursed south, and Joel felt his cock come alive behind the confinements of his jeans. It was cold enough for a man to freeze his balls off, but desire’s warmth filled him anyway.

He pulled his head away, finding your eyes blown full of lust. A smile teased at the corner of his mouth as he spoke, “Let’me teach ya to shoot before you get too excited.”

“Before I get too excited?” you laughed, and sat up properly in his lap again, “I think that might be you, old man.”

Teaching you to shoot was less of a success than Joel had intended. He’d found a couple of old glass bottles in the barn to use as target practice, but your aim was terrible, missing each shot. To your credit, it wasn’t your fault. He’d taught you how to load the gun, how to stand safely, and with his hand snaking around your body, how to hold it properly.

He could swear his intentions were good at first, he actually wanted to teach you, to make sure you knew how to shoot, and safely, but when he saw how your body shivered from his voice in your ear – he decided to play with you a little.

Maybe he whispered a couple of innuendos in your ear while he dropped his voice an octave just to see your reaction. Or maybe he pressed himself a little closer to your body, showing you how it was done like in those cliché romcoms he’d been forced to watch with Sarah.

It didn’t take long before the empty bottles, or the shot gun was forgotten, as you pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss, your cold nose rubbing against his own.

But Joel didn’t have it in him to complain.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound at the door jolted Joel from his sleep. He’d almost been dragged under, laying in that limbo state between awake and asleep– not yet in dreamland, but not still among the living.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Joel sat up, letting the duvet fall into his lap and exposing his chest as the streak of yellow light coming through the ajar door cut his bedroom in two. Joel had to squint to see you properly in the doorway as he shed the last grip of sleep.

“Angel?” he questioned, as a tight grip of fear ran through him. He sat up properly now, ready to jump out of bed, his hands already searching for his shotgun resting at the foot of the bed.

With his eyes now fully adjusted to the dark, he watched how you quietly stepped inside his bedroom, closing the door as gently as you could – and the panic seemed to seize just a little. You padded to the edge of his bed, still so quiet, with your hands clasped nervously over where the hem of your sleep shirt met the bare of your thighs.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whispered.

Joel shifted over slightly and lifted the duvet for you to slip under. An open invitation– one you were quick to accept.

“D’you have a nightmare?” Joel whispered, the wolf hour keeping his voice down.  

You shifted closer to him, your head rested on his pillow, and Joel couldn’t help himself from touching your waist gently – his fingers dancing over the soft cotton of your shirt.

“No,” you whispered back, “just couldn’t sleep.”

Joel hummed and shifted over onto his back, extending his arm for you to shift closer. It felt natural now – touching you. You felt like his, and he felt like yours. He didn’t know where it was going, but he was starting to enjoy the road to you. To get to know you more, what made you laugh, your quirks, and the way your body felt under his hands.

The weight of your head on his chest, Joel welcomed; his other hand quick to intertwine with the one you’d slung over his middle. He just wanted you close now, every chance he got.

“’Just try ‘nd get some sleep, my angel.” Joel pressed a kiss to the top of your head before he pulled back and closed his eyes. With you in his arms now, he knew he’d have no trouble falling back asleep.

“I–” you whispered.

Joel hummed; his eyes still closed.

“I kept thinking about you.”

Curiously Joel opened his eyes to find yours. You had tilted your head to look at him, you mouth slightly parted as you studied him with moony eyes. The way you looked at him stirred something inside him, a warmth pooling in the depth of his core.

“Yeah?” he questioned with a slight cock of his eyebrow, “’bout what?”

Then you got shy all of a sudden, hiding your head in his chest. “Thought about how you touched me,” you whispered.

“Touched ya how?” he prodded, gliding his hand up your arm slowly.

He knew it was wrong to play with you like this. Everything was still new, each touch unexplored and seeking. He couldn’t fuck you, even if he wanted to, and he did, badly, but Joel couldn’t risk it. Not in this world, not at this farm, it wasn’t fair to you.

Over him you held your breath as he teased your skin, eyes fluttering shut as his hand moved down the side of your body, and under the duvet.

“Like… like how you touched me in my dream,” you exhaled in a breathless voice.

Now Joel sucked in a breath, holding it in his lungs as he tried to calm himself down. He had an idea on how he’d touched you in your dream, but he couldn’t hold himself back from asking anyway.

“’nd where did I touch ya in your dream, angel.”

You squirmed against his body when his hand reached your bare thigh under the duvet, and soon your fingers locked around his wrist to guide it up over the soft skin of the inside of your thigh.

“Here,” you whispered.

A small gasp escaped you when he brushed his thumb gently over your clothed clit. Joel felt the wet warmth of you against the pad of his finger, making his cock twitch to life in his pajama pants.

“Here?” Joel whispered back, as his thumb started rubbing small circles over your clit.

“Y-yes.”

The noise you made, the noise he pulled from you from his small touch, sounded like the sweetest melody in Joel’s ear, and he wanted to hear it again. He ran his fingers through your cloth covered folds, and felt the wetness already seeped through.

Fuck.

“My angel… You’re so wet already,” he tutted, “Were you touchin’ yourself thinkin’ ‘bout me in that bed of yours?” he hummed in your ear.

A shiver ran through your body when his fingers found your clit again. Slowly, he started circling his fingers again, and the quiet moan that escaped you filled his chest with desire.

“Yes,” you breathed out, almost a whimper.

His teeth caught on his bottom lip, biting down to stave off the groan he wanted to let out at your words. He needed more of you, to feel the softness of you, to pull more of those breathy whimpers from your breath.

“Tell me, angel.”

In a bold move, Joel dipped his fingers into your panties, gliding two thick fingers through the seam of your folds, dipping into your arousal soiling your panties. His touch made you suck in a quick breath, as your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. A proud grin spread across Joel’s face. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, even longer since he’d been with a woman he felt something for.

He’d felt something for Tess, but that had been so complicated – it didn’t work right, they didn’t work right together as more than friends, like the puzzle pieces didn’t quite fit together. But the sex had been good, something to make them both forget for a little while.

Everything with you worked almost too easily, and Joel wanted to make you feel good, you deserved it, he thought.

“I-I,” you said breathlessly, as he worked his fingers slowly up and down from your hole to your clit, “I thought about your f-fingers.”

“Yeah, baby? Where?” He whispered in your ear before placing a kiss to the column of your neck. Joel was playing with you now, seeing how desperate he could get you before he tasted you.

“I-inside… I thought about your fingers inside me.”

Joel smiled into your neck. This felt as good a time as any to slip a finger inside you, so he did, slowly. You keened under his touch, and the sound of the small gasp you let out made Joel’s cock even harder.

“Like this baby?” he teased, pumping his finger slowly in and out of your wet warmth. He felt your hand wrap around his wrist, holding his arm, almost guiding him in his movements. He curled his finger inside you, trying to find that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

“Y-yes, Joel–ah!”

There it was.

He liked the sound of his name falling from your lips like this, and he intended to hear it again. He couldn’t help but think about the way your cunt would squeeze around his cock, how tight you’d feel around him, as he continued to massage the spot with the pad of his finger.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed, and placed a kiss to your cheek.

“Uh-uh,” you nodded, your eyebrows pulling together in a frown of pleasure, “Uh-uh.”

He felt your walls flutter around him, and Joel knew he had you just where he wanted you. Quickly, he pulled out his finger before slipping in a second. Your wetness dripped down his hand, coating him in your arousal with every pump of his fingers inside you.

Your breathing picked up, and small moans escaped you in time with the thrusting of his fingers. Joel had to contain himself from rubbing his bulge against your thigh, chasing any kind of relief.

This wasn’t about him, he told himself, he only wanted to make you feel good.

He knew you were close now, with just a flick of his thumb over your clit he’d have you coming on his hand – but Joel didn’t want it to be over yet. He needed to taste you, he’d thought about it as he’d jerked himself of, fantasized about how you’d taste on his tongue.

Suddenly, Joel pulled his finger out of your cunt. A strangled noise of, what Joel could only describe as disappointment, escaped your lips. It made Joel chuckle.

“Joel,” you whined, and squeezed your fingers around his wrist.

He didn’t answer, instead he sat up, a teasing smile coating his face as he shifted down the bed and pulled the duvet with him.

“Calm down, angel, be good f’me, okay?”

His hand wrapped around your calf to spread you apart for him, and he slotted between your legs. He placed a gentle kiss to your knee and let his eyes find yours where they looked back at him wide with anticipation.

“Are you gonna be good f’me?” he asked as he gave you another soft kiss, but this time to the inside of your thigh.

A breath escaped you in staccato, and you nodded, “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good girl,” he rumbled, placing fluttering kisses up your thigh until he reached your core.

Joel didn’t want to waste any more time.

He stripped you out of your panties, and threw them to the side to get lost in the bedding. Finally, he got a good look at you, and fuck you were beautiful. Your cunt glistened with your wetness in the low white light of the moon coming through the window. Your hole pulsed when his thumb found your clit, where he pulling the hood back slightly as he teased you.

“Please,” you pleaded, your hand wrapping around his shoulder; searching for something to hold on to.

“It’s okay, angel,” he comforted you, as his finger spread your lips apart, and put you on display for him before he pinched them together. Under him you let out the smallest of whimpers as he played with you.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on you now, baby,” he told you, his finger back to circling your clit. “Gonna taste you pussy.”

His eyes flicked from your cunt to your face, searching for any indication that this wasn’t what you wanted. But Joel didn’t find any, your mouth had dropped open in the smallest of o’s, and your eyes were glazed over in lust.

“Please, Joel,” you begged, spreading your legs wider for him.

A grin spread across Joel’s face, and at last he finally closed the distance between his lips and your cunt, placing a kiss to your clit to start.

A hand found his head, as your fingers dug into his hair, which only made him smile wider. He dipped lower, flattening his tongue to taste you properly. You tasted so good, a sweet-salty taste he instantly craved more of. He licked a stripe from your clit to your hole, gathering up the arousal leaking from you, and hummed in contentment.

The fingers in his hair tightened their grip as he teased at your hole, pushing his tongue inside you a couple of times and earning himself the sweetest moans. Joel made sure to remember every twist of pleasure, and whiny moan.

He continued with a lick up the seam of your folds, which made your hips buck, chasing the swipes and zigzags of his tongue.

“That feel good, angel?” he prodded before latching onto your clit.

“Y-yes!” you gasped as he sucked and flicked his tongue.

The noises he pulled from you went straight to his hard cock. He could feel the precum leak from the tip and staining the fabric of his pajama pants. Shamelessly, he started bucking his hips against the bed.

He had to calm down, this wasn’t about him.

With a sudden move he pulled away, making a breathy whine escape you at the loss of his mouth. Joel sat up on his knees, before his hands found the back of your knees.

“Hold your legs f’me, angel,” he commanded, and pushed your legs up towards your chest. You did as he told you, and hooked your arms under your knees to put your cunt on full display for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “so pretty f’me… so messy– listen.”

He ran a finger down your cunt to prove his point, a slick wet sound filling the air.

“Please, Joel,” you begged again, your voice broken with a breathless whine.

“Please what, angel?” he mocked, a spark of pride filling his chest as he watched you bite down on your lip.

“Please… make me come,” you whispered, and Joel thought he’d never heard anything sound so hot in his life.

He dove down again, consumed your cunt. His tongue lapped at your core, his finger teased your hole, pushing the pad just inside your opening; in and out, in and out. His lips found your clit again, where he flattened his tongue before drawing precise circles. Around his finger your cunt pulsed – you were close.

Joel never slowed down his tempo, determined now to make you come. He continued to lick and suck, thrusting his fingers inside you fully now as he pushed up against the spot he’d found earlier. Your breath picked up the pace, small breathy moans and whines escaping you in an increasing tempo.

“R-right there,” you heaved, your face scrunched together in pleasure. “D-don’t stop– I’m gonna c-come.”

Joel hummed against you, continuing his rhythm with his fingers and his tongue, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You started to mumble something, but Joel couldn’t hear it clearly between your heaving breaths.

He was determined now.

Curling his fingers again, your eyes snapped open, “Joel!”

Your cunt spasms around his fingers, and then you came around his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut as you moaned, as your body squirmed under him.

You looked so beautiful– you sounded so beautiful.

He continued to massage his fingers inside you, thrusting them slowly as you rode out your high. Making sure to drink in every sound, every squirm and twist of your pleasure as he watched you calm down.

When your breath had started to come back to normal, Joel pulled his fingers from your cunt. His fingers were coated in you, coated in your slick arousal and your cum. With a cheeky smile he brought his fingers to his mouth as he locked eyes with you and sucked them clean. The wide-eyed look on your face was the sweetest thing he’d seen.

“Joel,” you begged, your hand pulling him down over you.

He held himself up with a hand digging into your pillow, and he couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at you. He never wanted to forget the look on your face in this moment, never wanted to forget what you looked like glowing in a post-orgasm bliss.

Your hands cupped his cheek and pulled him down to your lips. The kiss was desperate, wet and messy, and it made Joel’s heart soar inside his chest. His cock was so hard. He could slip it inside you just for a moment, only the tip.

“Please,” you said breathlessly between kisses, “you can fuck me, Joel.”

No, not yet.

With a shake of his head, he came to his senses, “No, angel, this was just f’you.”

Your eyes widened with confusion; a slight frown pulled at your eyebrows as he pulled away. Joel bought himself some time by pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around you, careful not to press his hard cock into your ass.

“There ain’t exactly any condoms out here,” he told you, “It’s just too risky.”

It was a sorry excuse, Joel knew it, and he could tell you did too. His boner rubbing into your ass told you as much. Joel wanted to, he wanted to fuck you, but he just couldn’t, not yet anyway. Not until he knew that it was what you wanted, that he was what you wanted.

A moment went by before he heard you whisper, “You can pull out?”

Joel couldn’t hold back the smile threatening to spill across his face, “I’ve heard that one before, didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, turning around in his arms to find his face.

Shit.

“Nothin’,” he shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that right now, didn’t want to feel that grief that’s never gone away, didn’t want it to tear at the happiness he felt in this moment. “It’s just somethin’ from before.”

Your interest seemed to pique at that. You turned around fully in his arms and slung your arm around his broad chest. Your eyes glittered with curiosity, “How was it? Your life before?”

Memories flashed before Joel’s eyes; days of hard work under the Austin sun, drunk laughter at the bar with his brother, pink birthday parties, and singing along to girl groups in the truck.

He held his breath for a moment before he let out a quiet sigh, “Normal, I guess.”

When he looked down at you where you rested your head on his shoulder, it seemed his brief answer had disappointed you, so he decided to elaborate, “I worked too damn much– me ‘nd my lil’ brother we uh, had a business together–”

“Contractors,” you remembered.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “that’s right.”

“What’s his name?” you asked.

“Who’s name?” Joel frowned.

“Your brother,” you said, the ‘duh’ not spoken out loud, but your tone indicative of it either way.

“Uh, Tommy.”

“Joel and Tommy,” he could hear the smile in your voice. “What’s he like?”

Joel sucked in a breath, “A pain in my ass first of all.”

A playful slap landed on his chest and Joel couldn’t help but smile, “I’m serious.”

Interlocking his fingers with your hand on his chest, Joel opened up to you. “Tommy always wanted to be a hero. He enlisted in the army right outta high school, I was… well, it doesn’t matter– they shipped him off to Iraq a few months later and he…” Joel trailed off, his eyes fixating on a crack in the ceiling.

“What happened when he got back?” you gently asked with a squeeze of his hand.

“Turns out bein’ in the army doesn’t make you feel much like a hero,” Joel sighed, “I watched out for him, kept him outta trouble, made sure he had a steady job.”

“You’re a good brother,” you told him, but Joel felt the opposite.

“I don’t know,” Joel shook his head slightly, “Then the outbreak happens, and Tommy convinces me to join a group makin’ their way up to Boston, which I did, mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive. We meet Tess, join a crew ‘nd… did some things I ain’t proud of, but we were survinin’, right?”

You squeezed his hand again, urging him to continue. “Then Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joinin’ the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was eighteen– wants to save the world. ‘Course, last I heard he quit the Fireflies too. So, now he’s on his own out there.”

“And that’s how you ended up here, looking for him.” You said the words slowly, like you were contemplating each word, “and he’s still out there somewhere.”

A lump of guilt grew in Joel’s throat. Had he abandoned his brother for the safety of your arms? Let Tess die for nothing?

“Yeah,” he swallowed around his guilt, “Last contact I heard from him came from around the Cody tower– in Wyoming.”

“Cody?” you sat up, “That’s not too far from Jackson… maybe that’s where he is? I need to ask Arthur, but there’s no other settlements around here except in Jackson.”

A small glimmer of hope awakened in him, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded your head, “when spring comes you should go to Jackson with Arthur– maybe he’s there!”

Your enthusiasm was cute; the way you seemed to glow above him. “Maybe,” he hummed, noncommittedly, as he pulled you down to rest against his chest again.

A moment passed in silence before you whispered, “And this Tess… was she your wife?”

“No, she… she was my partner– but she was family.” The words strained in his throat, like they didn’t want to come out, “She’s dead… got bit.”

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you said, your voice gentle as you squeezed him tighter. “I understand… my family–” you cut yourself of, but Joel understood.

Dead.

“Arthur said I wasn’t the first person passin’ through. I’m guessing that was you?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “I uh, my family and I, we were travelling with a group. It wasn’t very large, but I guess it was big enough to draw attention. One night, uh,” your voice started to tremble, and it broke something in Joel.

“Angel,” he whispered, his hand wrapping tighter around you, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, “it’s just really hard to talk about.”

“Don’t apologize, I know baby, I know,” Joel soothed before pressing light kisses to the top of your head.

“One night,” you cleared your throat, “We’d camped, had dinner and I… I waited for my parents to fall asleep so I could sneak into the tent of this boy that I liked, Ben. He was the only person my age in our group. I had just turned eighteen and I was in love, I guess.”

You paused, and Joel pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “We were fooling around in his tent when I heard something outside,” you continued, “Ben said I was being paranoid, that I was just afraid to get caught by my parents, but then we heard a gunshot. It was chaos, e-everything, t-they’d killed my family, Ben, e-everyone. I managed to hide behind a tree, my feet were like frozen to the ground, I-I couldn’t run. I saw each and every face of the men who murdered my family. They raided the camp, took e-everything.”

“Angel,” Joel soothed when you started crying, “You’re safe… you’re safe now.”

“I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to get away– I just ran, ran as fast as I could for as long as I could. I’ve never been so cold, or tired or hungry as when I stumbled on this farm. I don’t remember the first days, I was so sick, but Alma and Arthur took care of me– I owe them everything, they saved my life.”

You were full on crying now, and Joel tried his best to calm you. He whispered soothing words in your ear, pressed soft kisses to your skin, and held you in his arm. He let you cry, as he cursed the people who’d done this to you – cursed the world who continued to take, and take, and take.

Joel couldn’t leave you, and maybe deep down he’d know it for a long time. He’d do as you’d suggested and go with Arthur to Jackson come spring, but he was coming back for you.

He wasn’t gonna leave you.

The days came and went and collected into a tranquil rhythm of the cogs in Joel’s routine. He’d wake to the bleeding blade of the sun over the lip of the mountain, or your kisses over his heavy eyelids. After that first night together, you slept in his bed more nights than not, as his bed transformed into a room for just the two of you. A place where Joel didn’t have to think or be anything other than completely himself. A place to laugh and smile, whisper under the bright moon, and hear his name fall from your lips in breathy moans.

Your chest rose and fell in a steady beat, your eyes closed so delicately you looked like a sleeping angel. And you were, his angel. Joel never made a habit of watching you sleep, but sometimes he’d indulge himself in the peacefulness of the hour between night and dusk. By the time the room started to turn blue with the morning light, that’s when Joel missed you too much; wrapping his arms around you with just enough movement to wake you without being blamed.

He’d let you dream for a few moments longer, though. Content to lay in the silence with you before the noise of the day would pull you apart. But the moment of peace could only last for so long, the soft thumps of Alma’s steps down the stairs told Joel it was time to wake up.

Under the crinkling of the sheets, Joel’s hand found the dip in your waist. He was about to kiss you good morning when he heard Alma’s steps come closer and closer. A surge of panic coursed to his chest.

“Joel?” she knocked on his door.

“I ain’t decent yet, Alma,” Joel yelled through the door. The loud bass of his voice made you blink your eyes open, looking up at him with a curious look.

“I’m sorry Joel– I was just letting you know that Arthur isn’t feeling well today.”

Joel sighed. This was the third time in as many weeks Arthur was sick, and now Joel was in for another day alone with the work and the trees.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be out in a second.”

“I’m going to get started on breakfast for you, Joel,” she answered.

When Joel had thanked Alma, and her steps had faded away, Joel indulged himself in a morning kiss. The way your lips slotted against his felt like oxygen rebounding his lungs. 

“Again?” you sighed when you broke away from the kiss, your hand found his hair to brush a curl from his face.

“’s the cold I reckon– ‘nd the work… it ain’t exactly easy on the old man.”

You hummed and cupped his chin. “Maybe I should go with you today? Help you out?” you posed.

Joel heard himself chuckle and shook his head, “That ain’t happenin’, angel.”

A gasp left your lips in mock shock, “Why?”

“’Cause the animals would miss you, and I intend on stayin’ on their good side,” he said, a smile hanging off his face.

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully, intent on making him cave, “They’ll be fine.”

Joel only laughed, “You say that ‘nd the next thing I know I got Colonel Eggsworth on my ass.”

“I don’t believe that,” now you were giggling, “Colonel Eggsworth is the nicest rooster we’ve had!”

“I ain’t takin’ any chances, angel,” Joel pecked your lips.

“Coward,” he heard you mumble under your breath as he got out of bed. It made Joel smile, and a warmth gathered around his heart.

Back in the routine, after another quick kiss, you sneakily slipped back into your room to get dressed. While Joel pulled his sweater over his head, he thought about what it meant to wake up each morning with you and feel three words rive at his heart, never having it in him to say them, to let them spill out his mouth.

Maybe saying nothing was honesty’s default. Maybe it was how he could avoid telling you all the stupid things he wanted to say. So, for now he said nothing. Said nothing at the breakfast table. Nothing when you’d helped him saddle up Ingydar. And nothing as you waved him goodbye.

After months working in the woods, Joel did his work on autopilot. He always started with a reconnaissance round, looking for which trees to chop down. Then, with the weight of the axe in his hands, he’d start his work. Now, after they’d brought the horse out, the work was somewhat easier. He still had to chop down the tree, and clean off the branches, but he could move the trunks much easier now with the horse.

The wind howled like a hound, biting at Joel’s cheeks but the sun was out, and Joel didn’t mind. He’d gotten used to the cold by now, and Arthur had taught him quickly how to layer up. The increasing number of knitted pieces of clothing you’d made him also helped.

By the time the sun was at its highest peak, Joel debated going back for lunch. He’d done so every time he was alone out here, and especially after they’d started bringing the horse. The walk back had been cut in half on horseback, maybe even more than half now that he didn’t have to wade through the snow.

Looking back, Joel almost couldn’t see Ingydar where he’d tied him to a tree. He’d gone deeper into the woods than yesterday. Maybe it wasn’t worth it today? He could eat his packed lunch and finish up a little earlier instead.

The days had gotten shorter and shorter, and the hours of daylight had shrunk in the months he and Arthur had been working. But the sun had turned, Joel felt it. It wasn’t much, maybe a half hour or so, but he felt the difference.

He ate his lunch in the company of Ingydar, feeding him some carrots he’d snagged from the basement. He was a good horse, old and tired but hard working. Joel worked until the sun dropped behind the mountain, a shadow coating the world as it grew darker and darker. He needed to get back before it got properly dark. Joel quickly gathered his things, swinging his gun over his shoulders before he was back on horseback.

The horse knew the way back by itself at this point, even in the dark, but something wasn’t right. What was that smell? Small snowflakes started to fall from the sky the closer he got to the edge of the wood, but the smell only grew stronger.

Smoke.

Thoughts tumbled in Joel’s head, small fleets on a stormy sea. With a kick to the sides of Ingydar, they picked up their pace. The muted rhythm of horse hoofs against the packed snow trail, beat along to Joel’s heart.

A cloud of smoke rose up to the sky, dancing through bright yellow and orange flames. Joel couldn’t get there fast enough, pushing Ingydar to the limit as they galloped up the trail to the house. Joel’s heart was in his throat.

What the fuck was happening?

The flames licked at the sky, devouring the house, moaning and kicking like a beast. The heat was unbearable, the light almost blinding. Ingydar neighed loudly as Joel quickly jumped down, not bothering to tie him to something or calm him down. Joel watched the house burn in total disbelief. Frozen to the ground by shock, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

You.

Where were you? You had to been able to get out somehow, right? Why was everything so quiet?

Something caught his eye then, only a few steps from the porch stairs. His feet carried him without a second thought. Arthur was clad in only his pajamas and his robe. He must’ve been forced out of bed. The snow around him was stained crimson from where the life had spilled out of him.

Joel’s first thought was that he was dead, but then Arthur’s eyes flickered open to find Joel’s. The snow creaking under Joel’s shoes must’ve pulled him from his slowed death.

“Joel?” he croaked, blood spilling from his mouth.

“Don’t try ‘nd speak.” Joel’s voice came out colder than he’d expected. This couldn’t be real. Falling to his knees, Joel worked quickly, placing Arthur’s head gently in his lap as he found the source of the bleeding.

The blood oozed from a hole in his stomach. A bullet wound, most definitely. Joel put as much pressure on it as he could manage. His mittens drank the blood greedily, saturated by red. It just kept coming, the warmth coating his fingers.

What the fuck had happened?

Under him Arthur coughed, spilling more blood down his chin, coating his white beard in red. “Listen…”

Joel shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. This was just a bad dream. If he could just open his eyes, he’d be back in bed with you. He just needed to open his eyes.

“She’s alive,” Arthur managed to say, “They took her alive. Raiders–” another cough, “Broke in. Alma dead.”

The panic in Arthur’s face was almost too much for Joel to watch. His breath was heavy, breathing through this new information as his head spun with questions. Arthur’s eyes glazed over, and Joel knew there wasn’t enough time.

“Where is she?” he hurried, his hand lightly tapping Arthur on his cheek. He just needed to stay alive a little longer.

“Woods.” Was the only word Arthur could manage, as he used the last of his strength to point south.

An awful stench mixed with the smoke, and Joel knew Arthur was gonna die. His body couldn’t control itself anymore, ridding itself of the last of pieces of life. There was nothing beautiful about it. Nothing peaceful or dignified. Not how an old man like Arthur should leave this world.

Joel grabbed Arthur’s hand, it was clammy and cold, but it was the least he could do – Arthur wasn’t gonna die alone. He tried to think of something to say, anything at all, but the words died on his tongue.

“Alma…” Arthur whispered with his last breath, and Arthur’s hand went slack in his hand.

An eerie silence fell over the farm, safe from the fire crackling and moaning. Emotions raged inside Joel, fighting to bubble to the top. Anger, confusion, guilt, grief. A loud crack could be heard, like glass shattering, and it pulled Joel from his shock. He gently laid Arthur down on the ground, before he managed to rise on unsteady feet.

A loud noise started ringing in his ears, and Joel’s breath started coming out in an uneven pace. Shit. Joel tied a fist over his chest, his body tilting forward as he tried to catch his breath over the panic tying up his throat. He took a few shuffling steps before he hurled, gall burning his tastebuds as Joel vomited on the ground.

When he’d thrown up all there was in his stomach, Joel groaned. He ripped off the bloody mittens as quickly as he could, his hands digging into the white snow to wash his mouth of the bitter taste.

Joel burned inside and outside. Standing so close to the house, the heat was unbearable. Everything was unbearable. Sarah was dead, Tess was dead, Alma was dead, and Arthur was dead.

Could he take anymore grief? Joel wondered. How much grief was a man supposed to endure in a lifetime? None of this was fair.

Had he just gone back to the house for lunch, they’d all be alive. Had he not dragged her across the country to find his stupid brother, she’d still be alive. Had he not told that soldier she was hurt, she’d still be alive.

As he stared into the raging fire, Joel felt his own anger simmer to the surface. It pushed away all the grief, and the guilt, and sharpened his senses, made him laser focused. His arms and legs moved by their own accord, tugging the shotgun from his shoulder, before he started moving in the direction Arthur had pointed.

They were gonna pay for this. They’d made his world go up in flames and struck the match on their own life in return.

As Joel vanished into the night, he left a piece of himself behind. He was going to find you. He was going to hold you and kiss you again. Nothing or no one could come in the way of that.

Nothing could come in the way of Joel.

i hope someone liked this? i'm very curious about what your thoughts for the last part will be, so if you have them please leave a comment, reply or an ask. they are always super welcomed, and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

next part -> here!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[aventurineswife]

HII AUTHOR! ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD DAY? I HAVE A QUESTION. How would the SAHSRAU react if you suddenly got bored with HSR and switched to genshin?

Oh boy... The jealousy and the angst are sure burning up...

At first, they don’t notice.

Everything is normal. The Museum of Divinity still stands. Your artworks are still there. Your music still echoes through the stars.

But then… something changes.

The paintings stop appearing. The music stops playing. The museum doors remain shut.

The characters wait for your next command. It never comes.

The Galaxy is silent.

And that’s when they realize.

“There must be an explanation.”

Welt starts running calculations, probability theories, even dimensional travel theories—anything to explain your sudden disappearance.

Himeko sips her coffee, trying to stay calm, but her hands are shaking. “They’ll be back. They always come back.”

(You in fact did not come back.)

March 7th: "Uh, guys? You might wanna look at this..."

She holds up a blurry, pixelated screenshot she managed to capture—a screenshot of Teyvat.

Himeko’s mug shatters. (Like her heart ahem)

Blade stops moving entirely. His entire reason for existing has just left him behind.

Stares blankly at the sky, gripping his sword. If you are no longer here, then what purpose does he have?

Dan Heng acts calm, but he's already in crisis mode. He's scrolling through files, trying to find any clue as to why you left.

When he sees the Teyvat screenshot, his grip tightens on his spear.

Dan Heng: “…We’ve been abandoned.” (yeah no shit, Sherlock-)

Aventurine immediately plays it cool. "Well, well, well. Looks like our dear Creator has found another plaything."

Sunday is not calm.

"BETRAYAL! TREACHERY! ABANDONMENT! I HAVE BEEN CAST ASIDE!"

He dramatically collapses on the museum floor. Aventurine just watches with amusement.

But the second he sees the Teyvat screenshot—

Aventurine: “…Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

They both hate the idea of you playing another game more than they hate each other.

Kafka smirks, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "So, you’ve moved on, huh?"

Black Swan looks at the fading murals of your art, her expression unreadable. “All things fade… but I never expected our Creator’s gaze to turn elsewhere.”

Deep down, they wonder—were they not enough?

Luocha: "I suppose even gods grow tired of their creations."

Jing Yuan: "Hah… It seems we have been cast aside for another world."

They act philosophical about it, but they’re both lowkey miserable.

Jing Yuan tries to joke about it, but even Yanqing notices something’s off.

Luocha stares at a fading portrait of you, quietly wondering if he will ever see your light again. (Probably not but ahem)

March 7th is the first to start coping.

"It’s fine, it’s fine! Maybe they’re just… on a vacation! Yeah! They’ll be back! Right?"

Sparkle is already scheming. "If our dear Painter has found another world… then perhaps it’s time we follow them there."

(They are actively looking for ways to break into Teyvat.)

Sighs, so the list goes on...

Blade stops fighting entirely. (What's the point if you're not watching?)

Dan Heng avoids everyone. (He refuses to believe it.)

Kafka and Black Swan start theorizing. (Will you return, or is this the end?)

Sunday begins plotting. (If they cannot bring you back, they will find a way to make you remember them.)

March 7th, Sparkle, and Aventurine?

They're looking for a way to invade Genshin. (Yeah, with Silver Wolf's help)

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

They wait.

And wait.

And then—

One day—

A new painting appears.

It's… different.

A familiar signature, but a different style.

A mural of Teyvat.

And on that day, the last hope shatters.

You are gone.

Their Creator has truly moved on.

But that doesn’t mean they’ll stop searching for you. Not ever.

My back hurts... I'm taking away your guys' SAHSRAU privilege. I need someone to write this as a fic or expand it and I'm not gonna write it, that's for you. 🫶

[hyukalyptus]

more chubby reader x taehyun please?? Preferably w/ a strength kink… I’ll let your imagination take over the rest since I love your writing !!

ok girl!! honestly there’s a draught of tae x chubby reader huh?? when like. he very clearly is the typa guy to love chubby women.

cw. chubby!reader x taehyun w a strength kink, reader does yoga and wears leggings, body worship, lifting reader up, sex.

i’ve said this before but tae loves …LOVES women sm bro. ugh he’s the kinda guy that loves to explore every inch of someone until he’s got you so memorized he could carve you out of stone or paint a life size portrait of you. wants to learn every quirk of ur body, every hidden freckle and every hidden stretch mark. every single thing that makes ur body so fkn sexy.

loves doing those tiktok trends where the dude bro lifts his girl. just to show off how strong he is. the idea of everyone seeing his strength but also how perfect you are. how perfect you are in his arms, on his shoulders, wrapped around his waist.

loves taking you to the gym so he can stare at ur ass in those leggings for an hour. ur doing ur yoga/ab workout in the same part of the gym while he’s on multiple machines, but always orients himself so can stare at you, trying to think of how he’d fuck you in that new pose you were trying out.

bringing you home just to drop ur gym bags to the floor and pick you up, his hands on ur ass with ur legs wrapped around his waist. laughing out loud, “what are you doing?” and he doesn’t even need to answer bc u know he’s taking you to ur room. ripping ur clothes off u to fuck you right there.

ugh and he’s such a manhandler tooooooo. like throwing you to the bed, using his big strong hands to put you into whatever position he wants you in. on ur knees, ass up maybe? maybe he wants to hold you up against the wall? maybe ur on ur back and he’s holding ur legs up to access ur pussy? u can’t even comprehend what’s happening half the time he’s so quick at switching positions.

just hands on anything that jiggles. loves feeling u squish under his hand. how ur body reacts to his strength.

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART FIVE.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.4k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve.

You forgot to ask his name. Again. You let him leave the shop and you didn't ask his name.

You rolled in your bed, holding your pillow on your chest, feeling all foolish. When did he start getting to you so much? Probably the beginning. This idiot’s mysterious act got you good, you thought.

Finding sleep had become a difficult task. Your mind was plagued with warm thoughts of him, while your body was desperately cold from the lack of functioning heating. Especially as the weather reporters announced this winter as one of the coldest in the decade.

The news was pretty depressing, with one sordid headline after another. You stopped reading the articles in detail. It was killing your spirits, and frankly you didn't need that. People were out on the streets, demonstrations increasingly frequent and violent. The whole atmosphere of the city had changed for the worst.

Your teeth chattered a little as you turned in your heavy blanket, a bottle filled with hot water resting to your feet.

Your eyelids finally grew heavy as a familiar silhouette filled your mind. That had become a regular thing as you fell asleep, his face haunting you. You didn't even fight it anymore, letting the memory of his voice echo in your mind and lull you to sleep. 

The night had been restless, filled with honking, police sirens, the distant screams and chants of protesters. You wondered if he went to that kind of event. Probably. The thought twisted your stomach—not just because it was dangerous, but because you didn’t want to imagine him as part of the chaos you tried so hard to shut out.

When morning light seeped through your curtains, you were reluctantly pulled out of Morpheus’ arms. You had to face a new day, and you really didn't want to, feeling the exhaustion adding up. It was a bit early — not early enough that you’d have time to fall asleep, but enough that you had extra time. After getting your breakfast of choice, you reached for your sketchbook.

At first, you didn’t notice anything unusual—just your own messy sketches of his face. Then you saw it: unfamiliar handwriting scrawled next to the portraits, on yellow sticky notes, careful not to ruin any of your pages. Your breath caught as you read the first line. ‘Basically forgot me, huh?’ Your eyes widened as you stared at the sloppy ink.

‘looks like the only thing you forgot is the shape of my nose’ You could hear the smugness in his voice just reading this. 

This handwriting was messy but legible, he mixed uppercase and lowercase letters inconsistently. 

Next to the pressed flowers, another note, reading ‘you kept them’,  and at the end of the couple of pages filled with his portraits, he added, ‘flattered to be your muse.’

You felt the embarrassment grow in your stomach, bearing its ugly head. You didn’t know what scared you more—that he’d never show up again, or that he would.

It was signed with his name. You swallowed as you read it. Hobie. You repeated it to the walls of your home, tasting his name on your tongue, letting it twirl in your mouth like a wine connoisseur. 

You couldn't figure out the taste. And before you knew it, you had to leave and go to work. 

There was quite a mess in the street leading to the flower shop. Ashes from stuff burning during the night, trash all over, bins laying on the ground, glass scattered from broken front windows and the smell of sulfur in the air. 

It filled you with growing unease, your guts twisting as you reached the shop. It seemed that this stretch of street had been spared the wrath of the protestors. You sighed as you unlocked the door, the sound of your keys melting into that of the bell above the door.

You did the bare minimum, only switching the water before going to sit behind the counter, not feeling like doing anything of substance.

Soon, Hobie came in. Much earlier than any other time, which was weird. You didn’t expect him. He gave you a familiar wave and none of you mentioned the sketchbook book. 

He looked like he had gone through a war or something, his eye bags somehow even deeper, the hollow of his cheeks more defined. He gave you a smile, making your stomach do the familiar flip of… intimidation, yeah, that’s the word. Definitely intimidated by that gentle smile and mug.

You wondered if he’d been out there last night, caught in the chaos. Maybe that’s where the exhaustion came from.

He sat down on the floor, his back against the wall. He had curled up in the corner beside you, hidden from view. You looked down at him from the height of your stool. It gave you a new point of you, you never saw him from this angle. 

“Comfortable?” You finally broke the silence.

“Very much.”

You had no idea what he was doing, but you didn’t ask. You think that’s why he kept coming back. Ever since the funeral incident, you learned not to be too curious. He’d talk if he wanted to.

At this point, you assumed this had become his resting place, warm and cosy. You wondered if he had that comfort elsewhere.

“Want some tea?” You offered.

“...Yeah, I'll have a cuppa.”

You stood up and headed for the back of the store, turning on the light. You almost sneezed at the amount of dust. Yep, this needed cleaning too. 

You plugged the kettle in and let the tea infuse. You grabbed two porcelain cups from Rose, the delicate gold lining and flower paintings fitting the shop’s atmosphere. All of it was such an old lady thing.

You came and handed him one. He nodded and you two drank in silence.

The tea was comforting, for sure, its aroma spilling in the air and meddling with the sweet scent of flowers. It was hot on your tongue and warm against the palms of your hands, which was always welcomed in that climate.

You glanced at his form on the ground. He looked quite funny, all punk and scary, holding the small, delicate porcelain. It looked like a little girl’s toy in his large, scarred hands.

You weren’t sure whether it was the cuppa or his presence that gave you energy, but you eventually started to take care of some potted plants, tending to the soil.

You heard him follow behind at some point, watching you do some work as if it was a common form of entertainment. 

“You’ve got a bit of dirt on your cheek.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You wiped it off with the back of your hand.

“Wait, no! Don't take it off. Adds character.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?..”

“You look like you've been in a flower fight. It’s very avant-garde.” He grinned down at you.

“...” You glared up. “I’m going to ignore that because you look like you’ve been in an actual fight.”

He just laughed at that.

Soon though, you were both back behind the counter, as he took that warm spot in the corner. He looked quite relaxed, like he could doze off anytime.

You took care of the occasional customer, and Hobie kept it quiet this time. You were still a little mad at how good his last suggestion was, and a little more afraid of just how good he was at slipping into your life.

As the evening crept in, the cloudy sky darkened a little. You watched the last customer leave, happy as can be, holding a big bouquet of roses. You were a little envious of those people with places to be and company waiting for them.

You looked at the clock. Time to close. You expected him to stand and stretch like he had somewhere to be, but he didn’t move. You stood and turned around the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’. You also turned off the warm lights, letting the last bits of sunlight peak through the cloud to shine yellow rectangles on the old waxed floor. 

“You’re still here,” you said softly, barely a question.

He tilted his head, the corner of his lip lifting up in that familiar smirk. “Guess I am.” 

There was something in his tone, neither apologetic or teasing, instead weirdly honest. He didn’t seem in a rush to go, and for once, you didn’t feel the urge to make him.

You dragged yourself back across the shop and eyed him in his cosy corner. You plopped down next to him, tucking your knees under your chin. He didn’t say anything, nor did he tease you for your choice of seating. You didn’t notice he moved until you felt the comfortably heavy weight of his arms around your shoulders. He smelled of old leather, sweat and pine. 

Without thinking, you leaned into him. Wordless, the moment stretched. You didn't feel the need to question anything.

You could get used to this.

Part six.

[cinnoasch]

Charmed [2] (March x Reader)

A/N: Here is part 2! Once again extremely fun to write. I have received requests and am working on them, so they will be out soon! Story under the cut!

Charmed [1] Here

Word Count: 2852

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

March runs a hand through his hair as he tosses another balled up piece of paper behind him. He had already finished his orders for today and now he was hunched over his desk, drawing. Papers are scattered across the desk, many of them have scribbles across them or large X’s drawn on them. He knew what you had said, that you didn’t care if his drawing was good or not. But to him, it mattered. Everything he did, he put his best foot forward. It had to be perfect.

“Woah, it’s like a tornado came through here.” 

March glances behind him. “Oh, hey Ryis.”

“Hey.” Ryis replies, walking into the shop. He approaches the back of the shop, peeking over March’s shoulder. “Oh…those aren’t blueprints.”

March jolts and in a frenzy pushes all the papers and pencils off his desk. He looks up at Ryis, face burning in embarrassment. “...there was no point in me doing that, huh? You saw?”

Ryis grins, chuckling. “Yeah, I saw. So, I’m guessing things went well last week?”

“...I mean I guess.” March mumbles. “The only thing that’s not going well is this.” He gestures at the state of the room. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I’d rather work on nails than this.”

“It’s troubling you that much?” Ryis asks. He picks up a few papers off of the ground, looking at each of them. “These aren’t bad, you’re definitely progressing.”

“Yeah… but it’s not perfect.”

“It doesn’t need to be.” Ryis replies. He sets the small stack down on the table, and the portrait you gave March catches his attention. “Hm, don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.” March says as he leans back in his chair. He sighs slightly, his gaze wanders over to the portrait. “...I don’t want to give them something half-assed. Not after receiving something like that.”

“I get that. You want to give them something that invokes the same feeling you had, right? In my opinion, I don’t think it has to be a drawing. As long as it’s from the heart, I think that makes all the difference.”

“From the heart?” 

Ryis nods, “Mhm. Just think about it. You’ll figure it out.” He gives a wave as he walks out of the shop. “See ya.”

“What the hell…?” March shakes his head. He stands up, stretching slightly. From the heart…? What did that even mean?

When you drew that portrait, was that from the heart? Heat slowly rises on his cheeks and March pushes that thought away. It was embarrassing to think about. Even more so, it was embarrassing to think about how happy he was whenever he looked at it.

March already knew why that was. Even Ryis had mentioned it last week. Was it because of these feelings that he wanted to give you something that expressed that? Something that was perfect? 

Just then the shop door opens and Valen walks in, greeting him. “Good morning March. My, it looks like you’ve been busy. Practicing drawing, I see.”

His face turns red as he quickly starts gathering the papers and pencils off the ground and tucks them away in the desk drawer. He clears his throat, leaning against the desk. “Did you need something, Valen?”

“Yes, actually. I’m in need of some new medical tools. My old ones have dulled considerably.”

“Okay, I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you, March.” Then Valen adds, “You look…distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

March blinks a couple of times, then he sighs. “...sort of.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Don’t you want me to get started on your tools?”

Valen smiles. “Those can wait. Go on, tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help.” She leans against the wall, waiting for March to respond.

“...If you wanted to give someone a gift…” March starts slowly. “What would you give them?”

“Hmm, that depends on the person I’m giving the gift to. Though I assume you’re giving something to a certain someone… say Y/N, for instance?”

“You…better not say anything to them.”

Valen chuckles, “I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that. Let’s see here…” She hums in thought. “Ah, well why don’t we rely on your strong suit then? Y/N did mention in passing that they recently lost a bracelet of theirs while in the mines. Maybe you could do something with that?”

“A bracelet?” He mumbles. He did recall a copper band that dangled off of your wrist, though you haven’t been wearing it as of late if he remembered correctly. “I could make them a new one… maybe silver?”

“I think that would be a perfect gift.”

March nods in agreement, “Thanks, Valen.” He takes a seat at his desk, grabbing a pencil and a blank sheet of paper from the drawer. He glances back at her. “I’ll have your tools done soon, promise.”

She lightly smiles. “I’m not in a rush to get them, so no worries. Good luck, March.” With that, Valen leaves the shop.

March starts to sketch out a few designs. It was no different than working on blueprints. He could do this. This could be just the thing that would tell you exactly what he wanted you to know. 

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

Friday night rolls around and March walks into the inn, fiddling with the finished silver bracelet in his apron pocket. Now that the day was finally here, he was slightly nervous. Did he go overboard with this? The past few days he had been working on the bracelet, even starting from scratch at some points because he wasn’t satisfied with it. Yesterday he had finally finished it though, the bracelet adorned with a few gems he bought from Balor, as well as some small designs March added himself. It was just some flowers and leaves, though he had to admit adding them was harder than he thought, especially on such a small piece of metal.

Would you like it? Hell, would you even accept it? 

“March!”

The sound of Olric’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Come on over, we’re waiting for you, bro!”

March makes his way towards the back of the inn, seeing that he was the last one to arrive. You’re standing in front of the table, your assortment of tools on the ground beside you. Elise, Hayden, Landen and Valen chat amongst themselves, greeting March when he reaches the table. He takes a seat next to Olric and Elise claps her hands together.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, we can get started! Now, as we all know, Y/N has offered to be our model for tonight. I see you have all your tools with you.”

You nod with a smile. “I figured you guys might ask me to do different poses so I thought I might as well bring some props along.”

“Oh, can you pose with the pickaxe first?” Olric asks. “Like you’re in the mines!”

“Then the ax next.” Landen adds with a grin. 

As everyone continues to give out suggestions, March rests his arm on the table, lost in his thoughts once again. He hated feeling nervous. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, hell he rarely ever felt nervous until you moved into town. But at the same time, March felt excited. He never gave someone a gift that was this special, let alone someone he liked. Yes, liked. He was certain of this now. He liked you. 

“March?” 

He blinks, seeing you wave a hand in front of him. “What?”

“Did you have a suggestion?”

“Uh, no…” He replies, glancing away from you. “Let’s just…get started.”

With that, the group gets to drawing, small conversations popping up here and there. Mainly about your adventures, how you were liking life on the farm, the drawings you brought to show. 

“Oh, Y/N. May I ask you a question?” Valen speaks up.

“Yeah, sure!” You smile, leaning on your pickaxe.

“This drawing here.” She says, pointing at one of the papers on the table. “This is the bracelet you mentioned before, right? The one you lost in the mines earlier this week.”

You take a few steps forward, nodding. “Mhm, that's the one! Actually that was given to me before I set off on my first adventure, a present from someone in my hometown.”

“Oh, was it your lover by any chance?” Elise asks.

March lifts his head slightly at that question as you laugh, waving your hands in front of your face. “No, nothing like that. Just a childhood friend of mine.”

“Childhood friends! That reminds me of one of my romance novels. Do you still keep in touch with them?”

“Here and there. We send each other letters every now and then.”

“Do you ever think about going home?” Landen asks. “You must miss it.”

“I do…” You say. “But, I definitely think Mistria’s a place I can call home now.” Your gaze wanders over to March as you continue, your eyes meeting. “The charm of the town, you all…I guess I just fell in love.”

Valen chuckles, “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure everyone agrees that you’ve become an important part of Mistria now.” She then glances at you and March, posing another question. “That reminds me. Y/N, I had an… acquaintance, we’ll say, ask me what I would give someone if I were to give them a gift. I told them it depended on the person, what do you think?”

You turn your attention to her, thinking for a few seconds. “Well, I do agree that it depends on the person. The gift has to fit their personality or things that they like. But, I do think as long as the gift is meaningful, it still holds value.”

Valen hums in response, smiling as March also turns his gaze towards her. “So…if the gift was homemade and… let’s say from the heart. Would you accept it?”

“I would.” You laugh a bit. “Are we still talking in hypotheticals here? These questions are awfully specific.”

“Of course. I was just curious.”

March lets out a small sigh of relief. He was never telling Valen anything ever again. 

Your conversation continues as you continue posing and switching out your tools. Eventually, everyone finishes their drawings and just like last time you go around the table showing them. 

All of them had little details added here and there, whether it be crops, animals, even rocks. But each of them had their own appeal. And now came March’s drawing.

“March, your turn.” Valen says.

March slides his drawing to the middle of the table then crosses his arms as he mumbles. “I wasn’t finished with it yet… but there you go.”

You all take a look at the drawing. You could definitely tell that he improved, even if you only had a tiny glance at the drawing club’s work when they first started. You notice he drew you while you leaned on your pickaxe, a soft smile on your face. It was heartwarming, and carefully drawn.

You nod smiling. “I really like how you drew the expression here. Soft, warm. You put a lot of practice in, huh?”

March’s face heats up as you stare at him. He avoids your gaze, looking at the ground. “I just had spare time on my hands, that’s all.”

“Well, keep at it. I want to see a complete drawing one day.” You reply. Then you begin packing up your tools, turning your attention to the rest of the group. “This was fun! I’d love to join again next time.”

“You’re always welcome here, Y/N. You’ve made these past two Friday nights very enjoyable.” Valen says. “Are you heading back to the farm now?”

“Yep, early day and all. Good night everyone!”

They all say their goodbyes as you leave the inn and March hurries after you, drawing in hand.

“Y/N, wait a sec.”

You turn as you stand beside Balor’s cart, seeing March jog up to you. “Hey, March. I didn’t forget anything did I?”

“Well, one thing.” He says, handing you his drawing. “You wanted to keep it right?”

“Oh, right!” You take it, tucking it away carefully in your backpack. “You could’ve given it to me tomorrow, but thank you.”

March nods, then he hesitates with his next question. “You’re welcome… uh, can I walk back with you to the farm?”

“Oh, um, sure.” 

You turn on your heel as March follows behind you silently. Within a few minutes you arrive in front of your house.

“Thanks for walking with me, March.” You say with a small smile. “Well, good night.”

“W-wait!”

You freeze as your hand hovers over the door handle and you look at March.

“I…” He averts his gaze as he pulls out a silver bracelet from his apron pocket. “This is for you.”

You stare at the bracelet, watching as the moonlight reflects off of it. The gems on it sparkle and you can see small flowers and leaves carved on it. “Did you make this…?”

“Yeah… I heard about you losing your old one, so I just thought you might like a new one.”

“Oh, so you’re the acquaintance Valen was talking about!” You laugh. “I was wondering why you seemed so interested in the conversation.”

March scoffs slightly. “She just happened to visit the blacksmiths and mentioned it.”

“Uh-huh… you are a bad liar, March.”

“… are you going to take it or not?” He sighs.

“Can you put it on for me?” You ask. 

March freezes for a second but to your surprise he takes your wrist with one hand, and slips the bracelet on with the other. You were joking when you had asked but you didn’t think that March would actually comply.

“Mhm, perfect fit.” March mumbles quietly. He begins fiddling with the bracelet, turning it around your wrist.

“Uh…March?” You speak up. 

He doesn’t respond, though you do see a small smile appear on his face. Then suddenly, he lets go of your wrist, stuffing his hands in his pockets quickly. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just… making sure it wouldn’t slip off.”

“It’s okay.” You reply. You chuckle slightly as you smile. “Say, if I made you a matching pair, would you wear it? Ah, but it might get in the way when you work… what about a ring then?”

Then your eyes widen as you quickly realize what you had said.  You laugh nervously, averting your gaze. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t-”

“If it’s from you, I’ll wear it.”

You look at March, the moonlight illuminates your surroundings so you can see the blush that appears on his face.

“W-what?” He asks. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that is all…but if you’ll wear it, I’ll make it.” You reply as you look at the bracelet on your wrist. You smile gently as you hold your arm up, letting the light reflect off of the silver band. “I love it, March. Thank you again. I think this is the best present I’ve gotten in a while.”

March only nods, staring at you quietly. In his mind, he could make this moment better, if he just closed the gap between you two. He could hear his heart beating, loud and fast, almost as if it would jump out of his chest. If he made that move, would you reciprocate? Would things change between you if you didn’t? He was aware of how unfriendly he was at first when you moved into town, but slowly you somehow changed that. You had undeniably charmed him.

His gaze flickers to your lips. If he couldn’t say it in words…actions would do just fine, right? Screw it. March gently takes your wrist and lowers it, his hand slides down to hold yours. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It was quick, chaste, and it was over just as quickly as it happened. 

March pulls away, the blush on his face even more apparent now. You’re still trying to process everything, not quite believing what has happened. 

“Um…I guess I’ll see you later.” He mumbles quietly, letting go of your hand.

He was slowly regretting going based off of instinct, but in his mind, it felt like the right thing to do. The perfect thing to do in a moment like that.

March begins to walk away, leaving you standing alone in front of your house. But you call out to him and he turns around, seeing you smile.

“I feel the same way.”

He returns the smile, laughing slightly. He doesn’t say anything, only giving a wave as he walks off. He knew you’d visit him tomorrow to talk. His smile only grows larger as he walks home, a slight bounce in his step. A smile that was carefully depicted in a portrait. A smile that everyone had mentioned never seeing on March. A smile of someone slowly falling in love.

[blindmagdalena]

The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real. 

It couldn’t have been. 

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness. 

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush. 

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue. 

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze. 

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap. 

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable. 

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.  

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

 ”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck. 

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. 

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back. 

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth. 

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind.  “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils. 

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.” 

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide. 

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake. 

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose. 

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile.  Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you. 

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow. 

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin. 

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him. 

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband. 

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain. 

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms. 

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

-----

Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.” 

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

[takusan-no-ai]

Green Cop

PAIRING: Zhu x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: Zhu and (Y/N) meet at a gardening club, but he isn’t aware that she is an officer.

There was nothing like a day off spent in town, the sun shining down and the air fresher than daisies. Zhu stretched after having a small cup of coffee. Lumina square had recently opened up a new hangout near N.E.P.S.; a gardeners club to be exact.

Zhu looked at the flyer in her hand. “I finally have a nice place to visit on my days off and interact with likeminded folks,” she said to no one in particular.

“Because my genius level of skill and knowledge in gardening frustrates you for all the hard work you put into it?” Qingyi asked, suddenly appearing behind Zhu. The woman nearly fell out of her seat in shock.

“What? No! I really do appreciate your insights Qingyi. It’s just that I’ve been wanting to talk to others just as passionate about gardening as I am. I don’t want to waste this opportunity.” She stood up with her head held high in determination. “I will make a friend!”

Finally arriving at the small gardeners club, Zhu was met with a terrible realization; everyone around was a bunch of introverts! They all kept to their own small patches of dirt, only doing the bare minimum of communication. Zhu looked around nervously, not knowing what to do.

“Excuse me?” A young man said while walking up to her. He smiled, the sun shimmering behind him, creating a divine portrait before her. Zhu quickly composed herself and smiled back. “My name’s (Y/N). I know the atmosphere can make even the most social butterfly camouflage into the background. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.” Zhu introduced herself, blushing softly.

“Thank you. I’d actually like to see what can grow in this soil and pick a plot for myself.” (Y/N) nodded at Zhu’s request and showed her the ropes of the gardeners club. Days were spent together. Meeting up, talking about plants, maintaining the greenery, and shooing away destructive critters.

Before she even knew it, Zhu was looking forward to seeing (Y/N) on the weekends. Her coworkers could tell she had something to look forward to, with how she’d doll herself up for what was a simple checkup on her tomatoes at the club.

Sadly, she had to work overtime on the weekend, which meant she would be late to watering her plants; and she took note of a raccoon that had been eyeing her tomatoes recently.

Sighing, she picked up her phone. “Hey (Y/N)? Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure thing Garden Goddess. What’s up?”

Zhu had to hold back a chuckle,“Garden Goddess? Thats new. But anyways, I’m running behind with my work and don’t want my tomatoes to get unhealthy or eaten. Can you check on them for me please? I’m almost done here so just a quick update is all I need.” She could hear him humming on the other end of the phone, as well as an engine starting.

“Sure thing. I’ll wait for you.” Zhu nearly dropped her coffee mug.

“There’s really no need for the hassle–,” and just like that he’d hung up. Moments later she received a text, only containing a laughing emoji. She huffed and puffed her cheeks, blushing from his light teasing.

“I really don’t want him to see me so underdressed…huh?” Where did that thought come from? Zhu had no idea. But her beating heart and reddened face only encouraged her to work faster. Sadly, that didn’t last too long, as it had began to rain shortly after she had finished her call.

Finally! She finished work and rushed to the club, not even grabbing an umbrella or changing on the way out. Thankfully, it was close by. Zhu made it and looked around, spotting (Y/N) sitting on the bench, her tomatoes covered up safely, and him holding his umbrella above a small family of raccoons who were shivering cold.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing? You’ll get sick!” She scolded him. (Y/N) looked at her with a large smile, only for his eyes to widen in confusion.

“Wow.”

“…What?”

“I didn’t know you were a cosplayer Zhu. So that’s your profession? It suits a beauty like you.” He said with a smile. On one hand Zhu wanted to blush and correct him. On the other, much larger hand however, she needed to take him and the raccoons somewhere safer.

She led him towards N.E.P.S, and placed the family of raccoons into a box after drying them off and feeding them some complimentary fruit. With everything taken cared of, she sat back and finally relaxed.

“So…you’re not a cosplayer?” He asked. Zhu perked up, realizing she had one last loose end to fix.

“Ha. No, I’m officer Zhu Yuan. And…I wanted to know if…you were free next Saturday?” She asked, growing progressively more embarrassed.

(Y/N) smiled and clutched her hand. “I can’t deny an officer, now can I?”

- Fin

[taesanluv3r]

forever muse

han taesan x reader

i needed to write something tht's target audience is me bcs ive been so so sad and need to feel better. friends to lovers <3 insecure and jealous taesan TT mentions of other idols as their classmates. cuss words, lowercase intended, ignore any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors! enjoyy :3

wc: 3,387

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"yn, this is crazy good! thank you so much"

kim leehan shoots yn ln a big smile, his hands holding onto a framed drawing of himself. it had been the kim boy's birthday and yn had gifted him one of her infamous hand-drawn portraits. it was a gift she gave to everyone on their special day, something she could whip up the night before and simply put inside of a wooden frame she picked up at her local art supply store. by the end of the year, almost every one of her classmates had received one. everyone except for her own best-friend, han taesan.

he doesn't understand why, watching with envious eyes as she stroked the loose ends of her hair behind her ear, grinning at the other guy's compliments. he couldn't help but notice the way the skin beside her lips dipped into dimples when she smiled, or the way her cheeks stained a shade of red darker than the cool-toned pink blush she had put on that day. a billion thoughts ran through his mind in that moment. it was his own birthday just two months ago, yet all he got from her was a card and a new sweater- which, granted, was the really nice sweater he'd been eyeing for a while and he was really thankful for it but still! couldn't she had taken the time out of her day to draw him the way she did others? was it cause he wasn't as pretty as the girls in their class? or maybe he just wasn't as handsome as leehan! or maybe she didn't care for him as much as he thought she did, maybe she just didn't want to waste her time and the ink of pen on him because maybe he just wasn't worth all of it and-

"taesan! you there?" the familiar female voice interrupts his rapid train of thoughts, his eyes widening slightly and his back straightening up. "huh? sorry, did you say something?" the boy asks and yn snickers, sitting down on her desk beside his. "no, don't worry about it. just wondering what you were zoning out about, that's all" he nods at her words, "it's nothing...i take it mister kim 'popular' leehan liked your little gift?" the obvious blush on her cheeks made his stomach turn, watching as she stared at the boy across the room from them. taesan rolled his eyes before she turned to look at him again. "i guess he did" yn smirked, a prideful look displayed against the features of her face. "well good for you" he replies, though his voice came off somewhat thicker and colder than it usually was. that, paired with the way he slammed his book shut and got up from his seat, left the girl confused by his sudden mood change.

"hey, where you going?" she asked, looking up curiously at his tall figure. he just shrugged, "i don't know, just gonna take a walk or something" the girl laughs, finding her friend's mysteriousness rather silly. "want me to come?" her eyebrows cocked up as she inquired, head tilted off slightly to the side. he shook his head, a single sentence escaping his pursed lips before he was out the door,

"i wanna be alone"

he disappeared into the distance, leaving his best-friend alone with the thoughts that began to swim into her brain. strange, she thought. the han taesan she knew was rarely ever this way- especially to her. sure, he looked mean and mysterious but even then he was never this cold. what's up with him?

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

the bell had gone off and their last period of the day had started, yet the desk beside yn's remained empty. taesan hadn't returned from his walk. it worried the girl a little, her mind coming up with a thousand scenarios, unable to focus on whatever piece of the great depression her history teacher was trying to teach to the group of seniors. the girl's gaze moved towards the window that was starting to get wet from the sudden droplets of rain that had fallen from the sky. hope he doesn't get caught in the rain...he might get sick, she thought, wherever he is...

as soon as the class ended, the girl stuffed all her belongings into her bag, not really caring for the creases that might fold onto her textbooks. as she's about to leave the classroom, a voice stops her. "yo, yn! me and some of the others are gonna head to the froyo place...come with?" leehan smiles cheerfully at her, his perfect hair and his perfect teeth complimenting his perfect face, but the girl shakes her head. "sorry, leehan, i have something important to do. have fun though! happy birthday, again- bye!" she didn't even give the boy enough time to process her words before she was running out the door.

the girl skips through the whole school building in the speed of light, her eyebrows knitted together when she can't find a single trace of her friend. yn stands on the steps at the back exit of the campus, groaning when she can't find an umbrella amidst the rain that began to grow heavier. she sighs, swinging her backpack over her head, deciding to make a run for it. her feet take her to the entrance of the art building that was separated from the main one of the academy, her make-shift backpack-umbrella proving to be useless as she spots her wet hair through the reflection on the glass doors. yn ln pushes on it, her damp shoes making contact with the white marble floors and she entered the cool building. if i can't find him here...where else would he be?

she begins to walk up the staircase, a sense of comfort engulfing her body at the familiar scent of her favourite area in the whole school. her fingers graze softly over the collection of canvases displayed on the walls, a smile making its way onto her lips when she spots a piece of art of her own. it's odd, but the girl seemed to have felt a presence when she arrived at the second floor, his presence.

the smell of acrylic paint mixed with melted hot-glue entered into her nostrils, causing her to wince at the intensity of the scent. a minute goes by and she finds herself entering the empty art room at the very end of the hall, it was the art room she self-proclaimed as her own, one that nobody apart from her ever really used. her hand presses softly against the door, a creaking noise alerting anyone that happened to be inside- though it was rare, she just knew he'd be in there. as expected, the girl walks in and is immediately met with his familiar figure sat on the floor. his head titled upwards to look out the window, his knees to his chest and his hands resting on them. yn sighs in relief when she noticed that despite the rain he remained completely dry, like he'd been here the entire time when she was worried he'd wandered off elsewhere.

"i've been looking for you...even got rained on" her voice is sweet, like she just knew he wouldn't be up for her usual enthusiasm. han taesan didn't look at her, paying her no mind as he continued to examine the droplets that pitter-pattered onto the glass windows from outside. this confused the girl, the same way he did when he abruptly got up and out of the classroom hours ago, the same way he did when his words came out so coldly earlier. "what's wrong with you today?" she asked, starting to get annoyed at her friend's ignorance. he scoffs, "today?" he repeated, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to look at her at last.

"what's wrong with me everyday?"

his words take her by surprise, as did the way his voice cracked and eyes watered slightly as he spoke. it's a sight she'd never seen before. never in the years they've been friends would she have ever imagined she'd see han taesan...cry.

"what...what are you talking about?" yn asked, the empathy in her heart threatening to escape as little tears through her eyes. "it's just...i feel like you don't care about me the way you do others!" the boy's voice is clearer now, almost louder and strict. she's about to say something, but he won't let her. not until he's done. "i mean, sure, i'm not as handsome and popular as leehan. sure, i'm not as smart and punctual as class president jungwon! and maybe i'm just not as cool as hanni and minji- or as funny as haruto-" yn tries to interfere, "what are you even saying-" but even then he doesn't let her. "but i mean, i'm your best-friend, right? i'm the guy you're closest to...so why? why does everyone except for me..." he trails off in frustration, eyes moving from the floor to the ceiling, anywhere that wasn't a direct view of her. of the girl who stared at him with intent, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"why does everyone get a drawing for their birthday and all i get is a sweater and a card?"

the minute those words entered into her ear, a feeling of shock coursed throughout her body. a look of absolute disbelief present on her complexion as she let's out an exasperated sigh. "you're kidding me...right?" taesan fully looks at her again, confused this time. "i'm not" his voice is stern and serious, making the girl realize the weight of the situation. her features soften, a small smile returning to her lips as she looked into his teary eyes and sweet pout.

"you're so stupid, taesan...of course i care about you! just as much- if not more than anyone else" yn says, a giggle escaping her mouth towards the very end of her sentence. "then how come you never draw me?!" he exclaims slightly, eyebrows knitting together. this time, she fully laughs at his dramatic expression. "are you kidding?!" she asks, the same intensity in her tone. yn sighs before getting up, she fixes the wrinkles on her skirt and stretches an arm out for him to grab. the boy sits still however, only staring at her with eyes that resembled a lost kitty. the girl rolls her eyes, "c'mon! i need to show you something" she sighs once more when he doesn't budge. "fine, stay there. i'll bring it to you"

his eyes trail off to follow her as she rummages through a drawer over on the other side of the art-room. the side he knew she spent most of her free-time sitting in, running her pens and pencils over sheets and sheets of paper. he stares curiously at her when she pulls out a familiar looking sketchbook. yn closes the drawer, walking back towards the boy who was still sitting on the marble floor.

"here, look at this" she says, sitting beside him and handing him the book. taesan looks at her confused, "what? the sketchbook you always have your head in and never let me look through? you're really telling me to look at it? now?" she nods, "mhm! take it or leave it, taesan. this is a once in a lifetime opportunity" he shakes his head at her words but his fingers began to stroke over the leather material of the expensive-looking sketchbook's cover. he used both his hands to softly pry it opened, greeted with her messy scribble-like handwriting on the very first page.

'this book in your hands, the book i always use though if you looked into it you'd be confused flipping through the pages you'd find the same idea overused you'd find that only one person remains my forever muse.'

yn watched the way his eyes scanned over the poem she wrote, the confusion evident on his face as he tried to analyze the riddle-like clause. "your forever muse? if this whole book is a collection of drawings of kim leehan, i really don't want to see it" taesan says, scoffing in the process. the girl furrows her brows, "what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes, "what do you mean? i'm obviously talking about your seriously obvious crush on mister popular!" her mouth falls opened in shock, "you idiot, i do not have a crush on that dork! never!" he chuckles, "you don't have to lie, yn...i understand it if you do...i mean isn't he just so dreamy?" he bats his eyelashes dramatically as he looks up at the roof, mimicking the way most girls thirsted over his popular classmate. she clicks her tongue before placing one nice big slap on the side of his arm. "ow! what was that for?" he whined, rubbing the spot that hurt.

"that's for being a fucking idiot...just look through the fucking sketchbook if you don't believe me!" her words are loud in his ears, a new voice of anger that juxtaposed the sweet tone she used earlier. it freaked the boy out for a second, sensing that he was wrong and obliging to her words. "alright fine...no need to yell" he said, fingers going back to fiddle with the pages of the book that now sat on his lap. he took a deep breath in, as did she, before finally flipping over to the next page. he gasps in shock, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight before him. there, drawn in ink and pencil, the one thing that caused this whole scene to begin with. the thing he'd been longing for that he thought she never cared to make. it was a portrait of himself.

"what...is that me?!" the boy turns to face her in shock, suddenly questioning the reality of this situation. she snickers, "yeah, no shit! and if you could quit yapping and looked through the rest of the book you'd find a thousand more drawings of you" taesan lets out a laugh, wasting no time as he continued to flip through each and every page. yn watched the way the corners of his lips began to point upwards, his smile getting bigger and bigger after every drawing.

soon the ink-stained pages turned into blank ones, yet to be doodled on by the artsy girl. taesan shuts the sketchbook closed, turning to look at his friend with the fondest of eyes. "so you do care about me" he says, his voice sincere and warm. she laughs, "i care about you so so so much, stupid" he giggles, a giddy feeling in his tummy, "i mean obviously you do...a whole book of drawings of me?! you might as well just tell me you're in love with me!" he's laughing still, though he can't help but notice the way she had quieted down. did he say something wrong?

"hey...you okay?" he asks, a hand moving up to press softly against her shoulder. she's frozen, unable to utter a word. "was it something i said?" he continued, tucking bits of her hair away from her face. "what is it, yn? just tell me..." the boy was growing impatient, not really understanding what was going on in that little head of hers. she sighs, looking up at him again. "okay...but you can't be dramatic about it" she says, making him roll his eyes, "when have i ever been dramatic?" the girl glares at him, "taesan" he goes silent, "okay, i'm sorry, just tell me" she nods once, inhaling deeply.

"taesan, i think i kind of really am...in love with you"

han taesan gasps, his eyes as wide as the earth as those very words left her lips. yn watches his shocked expression, beginning to regret everything she just said. "fuck, i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said anything-" her rambling comes to a halt when his gleeful laughs serenade the room, confusing the girl for the millionth time that day. "why are you laughing?" she asked, unsure of what emotion she was supposed to feel. he smiles, "because i'm happy. don't happy people laugh?" his cheeks were dusted with a shade of pink, a similar colour on his lips that smiled warmly at her. "huh?" yn was still lost, everything that he spoke beginning to sound like a foreign language to her.

"i love you too, yn. i always have. i mean, why else would i be jealous of mister popular and all our other classmates?" the boy's words were natural, he spoke like he had no doubts and worries anymore. she looked at him with adoring eyes, eyes that were glossed with a layer of pre-mature tears. "oh don't cry, you idiot!" he said, his ears catching the silent whimper that fell out of her lips. "well then don't make me, stupid!" she whined, slapping him on the chest. taesan giggles again, pulling her into his embrace. "you're such a big baby, yn" he says, his teeth out for display as he grinned into her hair that still smelled of rain. "says the one who was literally about to cry because he thought i didn't care about him" she pushed herself off of his chest, a great big pout present on her lips as she glared at him like a child. he clicked his tongue, "don't look at me like that, yn" she's confused again, "like what?"

"like you want me to kiss you"

yn smiled, "and what if i do?"

the girl moves, getting on her knees and scooting closer to him. he adjusts as well, their faces inches away from each other now. his hands found home over on the sides of her face, her own ones soothing the skin of his neck. they stare at each other for a while, neither one of them making a move. yn gets impatient, one hand moving from the back of his neck down to the red tie beneath the collar of his school uniform. she tugs at it, sending taesan forward and crashing onto her lips. they kissed like they'd never again, an entanglement of tongues filling the otherwise silent room with lustful sounds. she giggles as they separate, gasping for air. their foreheads remained stuck together, her eyes never leaving his. he grins, leaning in to connect their lips once again. it was quick this time, a soft peck followed by about a dozen more.

"you're so handsome, taesan" the girl says, examining his features closely as she traced her finger over each one of them. "even more than leehan?" he asked, the envy still existing in his heart. she rolls her eyes, "a billion times more" the boy raises an eyebrow, "really?" yn looks up at the ceiling, as if she were making a really big decision. "maybe not a billion times more..." taesan frowns, his expression sending her heart to beat faster than a bullet train. "i'm kidding. you're a billion times more handsome than anyone ever" she assures, playing with the ends of his dark hair. "oh yeah?" he smirks, feeling proud again. "i mean duh...you are, after all..." yn trails off, pressing her forehead against his again.

"...my forever muse"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"yn! so sad we missed you for froyo yesterday" kim leehan says as yn ln enters the classroom. she smiles, "yeah sorry about that, i had somewhere to be..." he nods in understanding before hopping off of the table he sat on and beginning to walk over to her. "that's alright, maybe you can come after school today? it'll just be us though...what do you say?" he had a shit-eating smirk placed onto his lips, confidently winking at the girl. she opens her mouth to answer but a familiar voice enters the classroom, interrupting her before she could even speak.

"the answer is no! and stop perceiving my girlfriend! she does not want you!!"

han taesan glares at the other boy, an annoyed look on his face as he wraps a protective arm over yn's shoulders. the girl sighs, slapping a palm over her forehead when leehan shoots her boyfriend a weirdened out look. the kim guy moves his gaze from the han boy and over to the girl, raising his eyebrows so as to ask for confirmation. she nods slowly,

"sorry leehan, my boyfriend asked me out for froyo today already"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

writing this made me feel so much better after ive been sad TT hope u guys enjoyed this <3 reblogs n feedbacks r greatly appreciated!! tysm for readinggg! love, kona.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@mysral this is your fault

Vaggie  s l o w l y  putting together the pieces of her strangely un-demon-y rescuer’s identity together as she recovers from multiple traumatic amputations in the MANSION this random demon lady brought her back to,

while Charlie (who assumed vaggie knew who she was) (and then Panicked when she realized vaggie did Not Know) frantically runs around her home throwing blankets over incriminating stuff, trying to not freak out the new friend she found dying in garbage-

later she takes Vaggie on a little stroll down a hallway (once Vaggie's capable of like, standing without flopping over) (arm in arm) (so Vaggie doesn't just flop over)

and they walk along in companionable silence for a bit until...

Vaggie: "So.... Miss Morningstar, huh? Sure fits you better than your old man."

Charlie: "(bleats in startled goat noise) HOW DID YOU- I mean, pfft! It's not that big of a- I mean I'm only the third most important- well the second now? With mom gone? But-!

Charlie: (gives up) Yes, that's me. Princess of hell. For all the good THAT does."

Vaggie: "Hey, you're doing a good job, princess. You're at least not letting some random stranger die of her wounds next to dumpster."

Charlie: "Thanks. (sighs) Can you keep calling me Charlie? Please?"

Vaggie: "Charlie. I can't feel my arm you're holding on so tight."

Charlie: "SORRY!"

Vaggie: "And now you've let go completely, I'm falling."

Charlie: "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry-"

Vaggie: "I can barely stand. Okay? I'm not, running off anywhere anytime soon or whatever."

Charlie: "Okay. Right."

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: "…And the whole princess of hell thing doesn’t freak you out?"

Vaggie: "Nope."

Charlie: "Not even a little?

Vaggie: "I'm more freaked at being found by the one decent person in hell, to be honest."

Charlie: "But the me being princess thing disappointed you, maybe? Thought I'd be taller or something?"

Vaggie: "You? Tall-er? Yeah no. I get neck pain looking up at you already."

Charlie: "I could hunch down!"

Vaggie: "And what, join me in neck pain? You'd have to fold yourself in half to get on eye-level with me, Charlie."

Charlie: "I could do that! I'm very foldable!"

Vaggie: "You're a sweetie. No."

Charlie: "Heheh."

Charlie: ".... how did you find out though? I thought I'd covered-"

Vaggie: (points up at the GIANT FAMILY PORTRAITS of Charlie and the king and queen of hell LINING THE WALLS OF THE HALL THEY'RE WALKING DOWN)

Charlie: "-everyyyyythhhh oh FOR FUCKS SAKE-"

Vaggie: "Nice emo phase, by the way."

Charlie: "SHIT!!!"

Vaggie: "Aw. I think you were cute.”

Charlie: “(distressed goat sounds) Can we just… steeeer ourselves and the conversation down a less embarrassing hallway..?

Vaggie: “Is that you as a baby?”

Charlie: “You know what that’s enough exercise for one day I think you need rest.”

Vaggie: “Is baby you chewing on a-”

Charlie, walking quickly: “Rest!”

then there's Vaggie, ten minutes later, left alone while Charlie- THE PRINCESS. OF. HELL.- runs out to get more bandages and pain killers for her. like this is normal. like this is not a thing to freaked out about

"SHIT!!!!!!"

vaggie's gonna freak out about it a little, tho.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: A dangerous spirit is bound to an old family portrait that brings misfortune and death to anyone who buys it.

Warnings: Cannon violence and gore. flirting if you can call it that

Word Count: 10,688

Provenance

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

Music thrums through the dimly lit bar, mingling with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, drawing a crowd that fills nearly every corner.

I managed to escape from Sam and his research onto the safety of the dance floor two songs ago. And while I wasn’t always privy to dancing, it’s hard to ignore a live band.

So, I let the bassline sink into my bones, guiding my steps as I start to move. My hips sway in time with the sultry beat, each sway slow and deliberate. My arms lift, hands tracing soft arcs above me as I lose myself in the music. Then, fingertips brush my waist, and if they didn’t feel so familiar, I’d pull away. But, I know these hands, I know each callous as I feel them through my dress. “‘You come to dance?” I ask, turning in his hold to face him. He wears that charming smile, eyes dropped to my hips that still move with the music. “No, uh…” his eyes move back to my face. A smile stretches itself onto my lips as I tilt my head to indicate I’m listening even if I’m dancing. “Uh,” he turns his head away, “Sam was tryin’ to wave us down, but you were, um….” his eyes meet mine, “distracted.”

“Little disappointed that wasn’t a ‘yes,’” I tease, although I know he isn’t the type to dance. I slide my hand over his where it rests on my waist, gently pulling it away and taking it in mine. “Too bad Sam needs us, huh?” I say, starting to walk backward and leading him with me. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Too bad.” Something mellows in his eyes then, something I can’t quite grasp before I turn around and guide him back to our table. 

The moment we reach Sam I collapse onto the little stool with a bright smile and a satisfied huff, taking my abandoned half-drunken soda into my hands. “Alright, I think we got something,” Sam announces, looking between us.

“Hit it!” I point at him.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Dean answers, glancing back at the bar to a girl I forgot he was talking to.

“Or not…” I mumble as he continues. “I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh?” he asks, looking back at us, “I’m so in the door with this one.”

“So, what are we today, Dean?” Sam mocks. “I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

I avert my eyes to the newspapers strewn about the table, pretending like I do not hear their conversation. “Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills,” Dean answers, and I can hear the grin on his face, “I mean, hey, it’s not that far off right?”

“You are being particularly icky with this one,” I comment, looking at him now as I bite on the thin black straw in my drink.

“She’s right,” Sam adds. 

“Yeah, well it’s working,” Dean counters, “By the way, she’s got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam answers.

“Yeah, you can but you don’t,” he argues. I hit his arm, throwing him a look. He shouldn’t be pushing his brother like this. He can’t possibly expect Sam to be ready to move on when his girlfriend died only a couple of months ago, let alone not feel guilty for moving on. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sam bites back. But, I give Dean a ‘don’t’ look, they don’t need another thing to fight over. “Nothing,” he answers, taking my warning, “What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all…” Sam trails off, his findings coming to an abrupt end. “Dean!” he yells, gaining back the attention of his brother, “….No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside.”

“Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department,” Dean rationalizes, taking a sip of his beer.

“Says the guy who wasn’t paying attention,” I mumble.

“Hey!” he grumbles.

“What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Sam interjects, “Dad says differently.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, suddenly more interested. 

“Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

I have to give John credit, he seemed to have a hunch for these sorts of things and was persistent enough to keep up on it. It’s admirable at the very least. “Alright, I’m with ya,” Dean replies, “It’s worth checking out. We can’t pick this up til first thing though, right?”

I roll my eyes, though, of course, I'm not surprised. Not only does he not trust the legitimacy of a case until it has the John Winchester seal of approval rather than just trusting his brother, but of course, he’s immediately trying to go back to his potential hook-up. “Yeah,” Sam sighs. 

“Good,” Dean grins, immediately going back to the bar. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or jealous. “Anywho,” I start, “I’m gonna go back to the dance floor, wanna join me?”

“No, you go,” Sam insists.

“Okay, well if you change your mind you know where to find me. Or, if you just need anything,” I offer. 

Sam and I check out the Telesca's house while Dean reaps the consequences of a hangover. Either way, the house was a bust. There’s no sign of anything supernatural, in fact, there’s no sign of anything.

We approach the Impala and in it, a sleeping Dean occupies the passenger seat. He sleeps slouched with sunglasses on, I suppose to combat the sun for when he does decide to wake up and join us. Sam walks around the car sporting a mischievous smile as he leans into the open window and honks the horn. Dean jumps awake, his sunglasses slipping down his face. I scuff, laughing a little as I get into the backseat. To be fair, it is a little funny. And Sam, who finds it infinitely more funny than I do, laughs loudly as he takes the driver's seat. “Man, that is so not cool,” Dean grumbles, adjusting his sunglasses clumsily.

“We swept the Telescas with the EMF. It’s clean,” Sam informs, “And last night, while you were…well…out.”

“Good times,” Dean smirks, a satisfied look on his face. I cringe even though something sharp stabs my heart. 

“I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas,” Sam elaborates. 

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something,” Dean deduces.

“Yeah, funny story,” I start, “There’s literally nothing in that house. 

“Yeah, you said that,” he counters. 

“No, like literally empty,” I clarify, “Like empty empty, like more than just crime scene cleaners.”

“No furniture, nothing,” Sam explains. 

“Which could mean it’s either in storage somewhere, given to family…” 

“…Or at an auction,” Sam adds, finishing my sentence. 

****

Beautiful classical music plays in the auction house, where nearly every surface is covered in trinkets or furniture. Nicely dressed people flutter around in their expensive suits and dresses, holding champagne flutes as they chat. 

To say we stick out is an understatement. We aren’t dressed nearly as nice as we should be for a place like this. I mean, they have violin players here. I feel incredibly awkward as we walk around, it’s like everyone’s staring…. They might actually be staring. Maybe we should’ve gotten more entail for a place like this before coming in because it is a horrible day to be wearing shorts. 

The class difference feels apparent not only just clothing but in manners. Their prideful eyes flip onto us, seeping in as if they can read us. They can sniff out our class the same way we can see theirs. And it’s no help that Dean keeps stopping for the finger food, shoving it into his mouth without care. “Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean comments.

“They’re usually nicer than this,” I respond, looking around, “I mean in terms of people and environment ...not that this environment isn’t nice but it’s…”

“Disturbing?” Dean answers, popping another piece of food in his mouth. 

“I was going to say pretentious but that works too,” I nod. Thrift stores and estate sales were usually nice experiences but a place like this is more about boasting through showing your wealth than enjoying your search for items to complete your home or yourself. In other words, it’s a great way to remind you of your class and just how much you don’t fit in. 

“Can I help you?” a voice suddenly asks. An older man with grey hair and blue eyes stares at us. Dean looks him up and down before shoving more food in his mouth, “I’d like some champagne, please,” he says putting on his best posh voice. 

“No, baby, he’s not a waiter,” I cut in, putting a hand on Dean’s upper arm. 

Sam holds out his hand, “I’m Sam Conners,” he greets. But, his introduction is not met with the same friendliness. The man just looks at him, not moving. Sam gives a sharp nod, retracting his hand, “That’s my brother Dean and my sister-in-law Y/N. “We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.” 

“You are….” the man searches for the word as he looks at us with skepticism. “Art dealers.”

“That’s right,” Sam confirms. 

“I’m Daniel Blake,” he finally introduces himself, “This is my auction house. Now gentlemen and madam this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We’re there chuckles, you just need to take another look,” Dean answers, unamused, as he grabs a drink off a passing waiter. “Finally,” he mumbles, bringing it up to his lips.

“What I think my husband means to say,” I intervene quickly, the word sounding strange on my tongue. It’s a title seeped in irony—one I long for even though he spent last night with someone else. And yet, here I am, calling him my husband, craving a title that’s only pretend. “Names are such funny things. They just….slip on by. If you should like, I have no problem looking at the guest list with you so we can get this all cleared up.”

He raises his chin high, seeming to consider my offer. “Very well,” he answers, “Come along.” He turns around, stiff in his movements. I move away from Dean, my hand slipping off his arm as I throw back a wide-eyed glance. I follow after the man, moving further and further away from the boys. He goes to a security guy and asks him to go fetch the book because apparently, he can’t do it himself. “I don’t mean to come off as intruding but I didn’t see a ring on your finger,” he says.

He didn’t believe Sam’s lie. He’s testing me to determine our legitimacy. I put on my best smile, “You must have glossed over it,” I reason. I hold up my left hand, displaying a matching wedding band and an engagement ring. Both are aged silver bands, the engagement ring having a simple diamond at its center. It’s all I could come up with on short notice—quite literally in the seconds it took me to answer and raise my hand. “Charming,” he comments, lacking conviction. I put my hand back down, keeping the rings there even as my smile falters.

Finally, the rather thick book reaches the hands of Mr. Blake who simply wastes no time in cracking it open. He flips through the pages until he finds the names under ‘C,’ his finger skimming down the page. His face drops. He clears his throat. “Yes, there you are,” he declares, placing the book in a way I can see. His pointer finger is just below our names, newly placed by yours truly. “I apologize for the disruption,” he says, closing the book with a thump. 

“Oh, that’s okay. With all those names it’s easy to miss,” I reply. I almost feel bad for deceiving him, he must feel crazy. But, we do need to figure out what killed the Telesca's and everyone before them so it is necessary. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go back to my boys,” I say with a nod, wanting nothing more to get away from this man….no offense to him. 

I feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walk back to the Winchesters like he still suspects us and is just waiting for a slip. So, without a second thought, I move closer to Dean, slipping my hand beneath his blue jacket and resting it on his back. He doesn’t question it; his eyes flicker to mine, but he just pulls me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The warmth of him sends butterflies crashing into my stomach, and my pulse quickens until I can barely focus on anything but the solid warmth of his touch. My heart pounds so wildly that I have to force my gaze forward.

That’s when I notice the dark-haired woman standing in front of them. Her hair is pulled back with two curled strands framing either side of her face, highlighting her sharp, thin eyebrows and kind grey eyes that are fixed intently on Sam. She wears a black dress with a bit of a plunging neckline, accented by a sparkling brooch at its center. “But, Dad’s right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds,” she says, adding to whatever conversation was at hand, “Even the rich ones.” 

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that,” Mr. Blake says, his voice suddenly appearing from behind us. What could he have possibly found? “Why not?” Sam asks.

“I fear we have guests complaining about your….” he looks us up and down. “Appearance. We do have a very strict dress code.” A sigh escapes my lips, no way this constitutes us being kicked out. So much for creating a whole illusion.

“Well, we don’t have to be told twice,” Dean responds putting on his horrible posh voice again. He’s probably done with this scene.

“Apparently you do,” Mr.Blake retorts cooly.

“Okay. It’s alright,” Sam intervenes. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.” 

The day’s light filters in through the entryway as we step out. It’s hard to tell if guests were complaining about us or if he truly just wanted us to go. Either way, he got us to leave. We pause just a few steps away from the doorway, Sam already moving far ahead of us. 

The sun catches Dean’s eyes as he turns to look at me, a smirk playing on his lips, “I guess I’m your husband now,” he says, his voice low. My heart stutters behind my ribcage and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his and not let them dip to his mouth. “That you are,” I answer, an easy smile on my face.

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he teases.

“Apparently, you have,” I hold up my left hand for him, the rings still there. He reaches for my hand, thumb brushing over the bands, his eyes lingering on the diamond. The gentle pressure sends a rush of warmth through me, and my stomach does about ten flips consecutively. He looks at me through his lashes, that smirk only deepening, “You bad girl.”

I gasp, taking my hand from his to hit his chest. “I didn’t steal them!” I insist, but he just catches my hand again, bringing his thumb back to the rings. 

“Have to admit,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he meets mine, “I have good taste. Could’ve added a few more diamonds, though.” He says it so casually, with such cockiness, and it just fuels a quiet, barren dream that I now want more than anything. “Well,” I reply, feigning nonchalance. “You can keep that in mind for the next time we get married.”

I slip from his hold with a teasing smile, and he lets me go. I let the rings disappear from my finger, leaving the same way they came. At least I have control over them leaving. It hurts to give myself hope, and I don’t know why I do it. I fix my faltering smile before I spin around, walking backward as I speak to him. He hasn't moved from where we stood, something written on his face. “I really didn’t steal them. They aren’t real.” 

****

“Were you really flirting with that girl?” I ask Sam, a proud smile on my face. He rolls his eyes, no doubt knowing where I got my information from. “I wasn’t flirting. We were just talking art,” he defends.

I laugh, “I think that might count as flirting. At least in your book.” I don’t mean to tease him too harshly over this, after all, I’m proud of him. Maybe that sounds weird but just like Dean I want him to be happy, and it’s good if he’s trying to move on after Jessica. “Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean mocks, “Where’d that come from?” he asks as we approach their room, bags in hand. I’ll go to my room later, as for now, it’s easier to stick with them.

“Art history course,” he answers simply, “It’s good for meeting girls.”

I laugh again, nudging his arm with my own, “Look at you go.”

He scuffs despite the smile on his face. Dean puts the key in the lock, turning it as he says, “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

He pushes the door open to reveal a complete disco-themed room. The walk-in is lined with black and white diamond wallpaper, and a metal divider made of circles separates the walk-in from the sitting area. Very ‘70s. Meanwhile, the sitting area has granite-like floors and completely black walls that contrast with the two white seats that face a long dresser-like table where speakers and lamps rest, and right above it an abstract painting sits. More of the same dividers separate the sitting area from the back where the two queen beds reside, the diamond wallpaper makes its reappearance there as well as the red carpet. 

“Huh,” the boys hum at the same time.

“‘Huh’ might be an understatement,” I mumble, following after them into the themed room. I feel like we should be in Vegas with a room like this, that feels more appropriate. But, at least it’s fun…? They move deeper into their room, dumping their bags on their respective beds while I leave mine by the door. “What was…providence?” Dean asks.

“Prov-e-nance,” Sam corrects, “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

“See, your art history class isn’t just helpful with getting girls,” I say, taking a seat on one of the white seats. Apparently, they found a painting that belonged to the Telesca's. The painting was a family portrait with two young boys in suits on the left and a young girl in a frilly dress holding a doll with matching clothes on the right. And, at the center a woman, likely the mother, sits wearing a dress with similar frills and ribbons as her daughter, a balding man with a serious face standing behind her.

“Speaking of girls…” Dean snaps his fingers at his brother, smirking.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam responds, smirking right back.

“Not me,” Dean laughs.

Sam’s face drops, “No no no, pick-ups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn’t my ass she was checking out,” Dean remarks, giving him a look.

“Sam, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you,” I add, “And I wasn’t even there for half the conversation.”

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” he responds.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team,” Dean reasons. “Call her.”  I’m tempted to correct him and put it in kinder words. But, I stop myself as I realize that if we frame it as a proper date, he might back down. He might not feel ready to move on or feel too guilty about it and, frankly, no one could blame him.

****

A Re-run of Scooby-Doo plays on the large TV in front of us, the take-out we ate a while ago sitting in the trash can now as we lounge on his bed. Our backs lean on the cushioned headboards, the crisp motel blanket covering both of us as we sit side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch. He chuckles at some silly joke Scooby made, the sweet sound warming my heart.

I’m glad we decided to hang around if only to see him this content. I like the familiarity of this—of him. I wish we could have endless moments like this. If only we could live in a gap between time where all is well. I’d like that. I think he’d like that too. Time seems to melt together here where responsibility is put on hold to just…breathe. I hope Sam is having a good time on his date, that’d just make this whole day as perfect as it can get.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts as a plastic spoon comes crashing into my personal space, landing right in my (flavor) ice cream. “Hey!” I exclaim, laughter immediately bubbling from my lips, “You have your own ice cream.” He gathers a big spoonful and I don’t stop him or pull the container away. “So?” he shrugs, putting it into his mouth as he puts his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his side. With a hand on his chest, I pull away enough to look up at him, “You’re ridiculous,” I say though my voice lacks conviction. His eyes meet mine, his head tilted down slightly, “Yeahhh,” he smirks, “But you love me.” He says it confidently as if he knows it's true even though he means it in a teasing way.

Then his eyes dip down and I can’t quite find the right words because the right words are “I do” and I can’t afford the truth. Not now….maybe not ever. This hunting trip has been a blessing and a curse. I get to spend more time with him than we probably ever had, and yet to be this close hurts. It’s as if he’s the sun and to even get in his gravity field would burn me right up. Though, maybe being like Icarus would be worth it. “You’re lucky I do,” I tease.

The click of the door tears my eyes away from him. “Sam!” I say excitedly as he comes into the motel room. “How was your date?” I ask.

“It was…” he searches for the words as he removes his blazer, “Good. I got the provenances.”

“Great!” I leap from the bed, leaving the rest of my ice cream on the nightstand, “I want to hear every single detail,” I take a couple of the manilla folders from him. 

“There’s really not any details to share,” he answers with a tight-lipped smile.

I give him a pointed look, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s not gonna work on me,” I say, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the living room area. 

“Fine,” he gives in, throwing his blazer over the back of the other chair before taking a seat, “The restaurant was fancy.” I practically hang onto each word, waiting for more to come. “And?” I ask, beaming.

“And the food was good.”

I groan, laying my head against the chair, “Dude, these are hardly details!” I twist in the seat to look back at his brother, “Dean, help me out here.” He looks up from the ice cream container in his hand, “This is all you, sweetheart,” he answers, shoving more ice cream in his mouth. Wait. My ice cream in his mouth. I roll my eyes, turning back around, “You guys are being such guys right now.”

A sheepish smile rests on Sam’s face, his eyes already on an open file. “Fine!” I give up, throwing my hands up, “Keep your date a secret!” I shake my head as I pick up a file of my own. 

I get to reading as the room falls into silence that’s only broken up by the sound of turning pages. “So, she just handed the providences over to you,” Dean starts.

“Provenances,” his brother corrects.

“Provenances,” Dean repeats with a bitter tone. 

“Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…”

“And?” Dean asks, using the very word I had used. I look up from my papers, expecting to hear more information than he was willing to give me. “And nothing. That’s it. I left,” Sam answers.

“You didn’t have to con her or do any…special favors—” 

“Eww,” I laugh, “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” 

“Hey, her head is in the gutter too,” he says and I can practically feel him pointing at me. I turn in my seat again, “I didn’t say anything!” I defend.

“You sure were thinking it though,” he remarks, a slight smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.

“And you know that how?” I counter giving him a pointed look. But, Sam cuts him off before he can get a word in, “Could you both stop, please?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, returning to my reading. 

“You know when this whole things done, we could stick around for a little bit,” Dean offers, not exactly backing down like his brother wanted.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“So you could take her out again,” he answers. “It’s obvious you’re into her, even I could see that.” It’s quite a conflicting situation. On the one hand, maybe we shouldn’t push or encourage him to go on dates when he’s clearly still grieving his girlfriend. In truth, it feels wrong and inconsiderate but on the other hand, maybe encouraging him could help with the moving on and accepting process. Or, perhaps this isn’t our place at all and we should shut up. “Hey, Sam, you said the first murder was in 1912, right?” I ask, deciding to move on from the conversation of dating. “Yeah, why?” he responds.

“I have a family portrait here from 1910 with the first sale in 1912 to Peter Simms,” I explain, lifting the paper for him to see. Then, there's a familiar presence behind me, a hand resting on the back of my chair. “Peter Simms murdered in 1912,” Dean reads, holding his Dad's journal in his free hand. 

“There’s another sale in ‘45 and then in ‘70. Does that match?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, confirming this was what we were looking for.

“Then it was stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam fills in the rest of the information. “So, what do you think, it’s haunted? Or cursed?”

Dean shifts behind me, the journal coming to a soft close, “Either way, it’s toast.”

Pitch darkness cloaks us as we break in, from climbing the ridiculously tall metal gate to the careful way Sam disarms the security alarm before Dean works at the lock with careful, gloved hands. Our flashlights guide our way into the quiet auction house. It’s so different now without all the people, more enjoyable even. 

The painting is located quickly and cut from its frame with a switchblade. And as quickly as we came we left, doing almost everything in reverse. “Four minutes,” I announce, “‘Think that’s a new record.”

****

The cut-out painting lies in the dirt of a random side road. Something that took a lot of work and talent to do left to burn in the middle of nowhere. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me we’re doing the art world a favor,” Dean remarks, dropping the lit match onto the art piece. 

This had to be some sort of crime.

I swing my legs off the bed, shoving my laptop onto the duvet as I get up to answer the knocking at my door. Before opening it, I tug my shirt to sit properly off my shoulder.

“Hey, we have a—” he stops short, those green eyes dropping to my bare legs. The oversized shirt I’m wearing only reaches mid-thigh. A smirk tugs at his perfect lips, and whatever he is going to say goes out the window. His gaze drags up my frame slowly, my insides going all warm and my stomach flipping in a way I wish it wouldn’t. “What were you up to?” he asks, the smirk still easy and lazy on his face. A huffed laugh escapes me, and I hope he doesn’t notice the blush creeping onto my cheeks. “What happened with ‘we have a…’?” I answer instead.

“What?” His eyes snap back to mine from wherever they were looking.

I laugh again. “Dean,” I say firmly, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What were you going to tell me?”

He shrugs, something he doesn’t do often, his smirk turning into a goofier smile. “I have no idea.”

I give him a pointed look, he’s messing with me now. “Come on, Winchester, focus.” 

His eyes dip down again, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as his gaze crawls back up. “Oh, I’m plenty focused.”

“You were saying something about ‘we have a…’” I try again, hoping to jog his memory.

“Problem,” he finishes, shuffling a little bit as he adjusts how he’s standing. “Right. A problem.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me. “What's the problem?” I ask, leading this conversation.

“‘Can’t find my wallet,” he answers, nodding awkwardly. I try not to let the surprise show on my face. All this because he couldn’t find his wallet? “Do you need help finding it…?” I offer.

“Yeah,” he nods, then pauses. “Wait. No. I think I dropped it at the warehouse.”

“What!?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say that sooner!?” Immediately I spin right back into my room. “Let me get dressed real quick,” I add over my shoulder.

He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him as I rummage through my duffle. “Wait.” I pause, turning to face him. His eyes dart up to meet mine, eyebrows raised as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have. I brush his antics off as I ask, “Do you want me to just,” I raise my hands, wiggling my fingers, “magick it here.” 

A small look of surprise hits his face as if he hadn’t thought of it. “Right. So–”

****

“You could have encouraged him instead of fake losing your wallet, you know right?” I ask, looking up at him as his brother and Sarah converse across the room. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he remarks. 

“I don’t think making us think you could get caught for last night because you dropped your wallet is very fun,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. His wallet was in his pocket the whole time, which of course he knew about. What he really wanted was an excuse to get Sam and Sarah together again after their date. I don’t necessarily disagree with what he intended to do but it also isn’t exactly fun to be in the warehouse again. It’s like no matter what we still can't fit in.

But, he doesn’t need to say it. We both know Sam wouldn’t have come here otherwise. 

****

“I don’t understand, we burned the damn thing,” Sam says, frustrated. 

“Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious,” Dean grumbles. 

“And we can for sure rule out it’s not a duplicate….somehow…right?” I ask even though I’m not convinced of what I’m saying either. But a girl can dream. Sam turns in the passenger seat, delivering me the nastiest pointed look to ever be received. “Okay. Okay. I get it,” I say, raising my hands in defense. “I was trying to be…hopeful.” 

Dean nudges his brother's arm, getting him to lay off of me. “Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?”

“Okay, alright. We, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em,” Sam informs.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting,” Dean adds.

“Who do you think would know about them?” I ask.

****

The smell of old books fills my senses as we step into the second-hand bookstore, the little bell above the door chiming softly. It’s quiet and warm in the store with books stacked in piles littering the floor, making walking almost hard. Others are neatly arranged on tightly packed shelves in an attempt to fit more. If we weren’t here on business, I’d spend so much money here. I have to force my eyes away from the alluring spines of the novels, a gentle hand on my lower back encourages me to focus. I don’t need to turn my head to know the hand belongs to Dean.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” the old man behind the counter asks.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam answers. The man lays out a huge book, dust sprinkling from it as he opens it to reveal the many news clippings inside. He’s well organized, I have to give him that. But, my focus is broken by the flicking of pages beside me. I look at Dean, his free hand holding open some old magazine about guns. Naturally, the guy encouraging me to focus is unfocused himself. But, he looks so happy as he flicks through the pages it’s hard to be upset. “Want me to buy that for you?” I ask softly, the words slipping from my lips before I have time to think. I kind of want to hit myself for that one.

But then he turns that smile on me and suddenly I do not want to hit myself. “I’m a big boy,” he says, his gaze dipping lower. “I can buy my own stuff.” His eyes slowly trail back up to meet mine, but his hand doesn’t stay still. It dips slightly, taking my stomach with it. His middle finger hooks lightly through a belt loop on my jean skirt, the rest of his fingers splayed on my very lower back. “You rarely buy things for yourself,” I point out. He only buys himself the necessities.

“I dug up every scrap of local history I could find,” the owner announces, pulling my attention forward. “So are you crime buffs?”

“Mhm,” I hum. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” Dean asks, and I can feel the heat of his gaze pulling away from me.

“Well…” He holds up a newspaper article. The lead story, taking up most of the front page, is about the Titanic. But, a little further down to where he points is a side article titled: ‘Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.’

“Murder-suicide,” I mumble to myself. It’s certainly not the first.

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean says, stumbling on his words.

“The whole family was killed?” Sam asks.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” he explains, his voice gravelly with age.

“Does it say why he might’ve done it?” I ask.

“Let’s look,” he answers, turning the newspaper around so that he can read it. “‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist.’”

It’s certainly not surprising news considering it was the early 1900’s. “Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…” he continues. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles as he skims the page. “‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um….” he clears his throat. “So, instead, old man Isaiah…well he gave them all a shave.” He draws his hand across his throat, mimicking the motion of slitting one's throat as he laughs. 

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to put it,” I respond, my words harsh. It was hardly a laughing matter. An entire family was killed because some guy let his anger and ego get in the way when all his wife wanted was to get the kids and escape his wrath. His laugh dies down pretty quickly once he realizes no one is joining in. “Does it say what happened to the bodies?” Dean asks.

“Just that they were all cremated,” he answers.

“Anything else?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family.” He shuffles through the papers in the book, “It’s right here….somewhere. Right—here it is.” He holds up the paper for us to see. It’s the family portrait from the painting. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asks.

****

“I’m telling you, man, I’m sure of it. In the painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad’s looking out. The painting has changed,” Sam argues for the fifth time since we’ve been sitting at the table.

“Alright,” Dean finally gives in. “So, you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?”

“Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?”

“Maybe not everything was burned,” I suggest. 

“Kind of hard to miss something when you’re cremated,” Sam counters.

“Well yeah but that doesn’t mean a keepsake doesn’t still exist,” I point out. “Or, not even a keepsake but maybe anything that’s on his person in the painting that’s still around now. If it’s personal enough.”

“Maybe,” Sam nods, seeing my point. “And if we figure out what and burn it then no more killing.”

“Yeah,” I nod with him, “We just have to figure out what…somehow.”

“And where,” he adds. 

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well,” Dean suggests. “You know it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asks. 

Dean's face goes blank, “I don’t….know..uh…I’m still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He rises from his seat and moves across the room to his bed, he throws himself onto his back and crosses his arms across his chest. I have to stop myself from ogling him with the way the grey shirt looks on him, especially with those forearms on display…

“Which is a good thing cause you get some more time to crush on your girlfriend,” he teases.

“Dude. Enough already,” Sam says firmly.

“What?” He answers in defense.

‘“What? Ever since we got here, you’ve been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?”

“Well, you like her don’t you?” He reasons. Sam groans and rolls his eyes. “Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consulting adults,” Dean adds.

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam responds, his voice rising as his frustration rises too. “We’ll just leave. We always leave.” It’s quite a reminder. The life of a hunter isn’t a kind one for many reasons, one of them being how lonely it can get. It’s knowing a normal life can’t ever truly exist because once this is embedded into you it stays. And he had tried to get away from the hunting life and it had worked for as long as it did with his girlfriend whom he was happy with until, once more, the hunting life caught up to him and he had to lose it all unfairly. 

“Well, I’m not talking about marriage, Sam,” he defends.

“You know, I don’t get it. What do you care if I hook up?” he asks, getting more agitated. 

“Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time,” he answers calmly. Sam stares at him, then huffs out a breath and looks away. Dean sits up from the bed as he continues, “You know, seriously Sam, this isn’t about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I–I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you.” But, once more he doesn’t get an answer other than a sigh.

“And…” he continues softly. “I don’t mean any disrespect but I’m sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that…but…I would think that she would want you to be happy.”

Tears fill the younger Winchester’s eyes. But, Dean continues anyway. “God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?” “Yeah, I know she would,” he answers softly, a half smile managing on his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asks. This time Sam doesn’t answer. And, luckily, I don’t have to give Dean a look to tell him not to push it because he lies back down. “Yeah, alright,” he says crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah so…” 

A little surprisingly Sam picks up his phone, clearing his throat as he does so. “Sarah, hey, it’s Sam,” he says awkwardly. “Hey, hi….Good, Good, yeah, umm. What about you?”

I have to try not to cringe at how awkward this is. It’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah good, good, really good,” he repeats himself.

“Smooth,” Dean mumbles.

“So, uh, so listen. Me and my br—we were, uh, thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again. I–I think maybe we are interested in buying it.” There's a pause before his eyes widen and he exclaims, “What?!” He stands up and paces, “Who’d you sell it to?”

Oh frick.

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

****

The Impala roars up the drive, Sam and I not waiting for it to come to a full stop before jumping out. Sarah runs down from the driveway, her eyes wide in panic, “Sam what’s happening?” I hear her ask as I move past them and up the porch.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come,” Sam says from behind me. I knock as loudly as I can against the door, “Hello?” I call loudly. Dean appears at my side, banging on the door and shouting, “Anyone home?” From what I can see the lights look off.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?” Sarah asks. But, unfortunately, she has to be ignored for now as we try and get in. Sam goes to the windows and starts banging on them as best as he can with the metal gates in the way. “I can’t knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it,” Dean announces.

“No time,” I intervene, shaking my head. If Sarah wasn’t there I’d blast it open but she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this life any more than she’s being exposed to it. So, instead, I cover my hand with my sleeve and put it on the doorknob. I apply a little magick, a stream of purple mist going into the locks. I turn the knob and push the door open, revealing the darkness that cloaks the house. “What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah remarks. I don’t wait for their conversation to pan out as I nod towards inside, quietly asking Dean if he’s going to follow. Unsurprisingly, he follows after me as I step into the house before he quickly takes the lead. 

“Evelyn,” I call as we venture in deeper. I can hear the insistent steps that follow behind us, one set familiar the other not. 

A soft glow of light stretches into the hallway just enough to lead our way. We turn into what looks to be a lounge. A blonde lady sits half-turned on the sofa. I take in the room swiftly from the burning candles to the painting that sits above the mantle. The father in the painting isn’t looking straight or down, instead, he looks at the daughter. “Evelyn?” Sarah says softly, appearing beside us. But, based on the lack of reaction or even recognition it’s likely that we’re too late. “It’s Sarah Blake…” She carefully walks into the room and closer to the woman. “Are you alright?” She slowly reaches a hand out to Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Wait! That’s not a—

“Sarah don’t. Sarah!”

Our warnings don't stop her. Evelyn’s head tips back, exposing the long cut on her throat. Sarah screams, the noise seeming to reverberate. Her head is barely attached to her neck, blood spewing from the cut rapidly.  “Oh my God. Oh My God!” 

Sam quickly intervenes, putting an arm around her as he leads her out of the room.

We’re forced to watch Sam pace back and forth even though we’re supposed to be researching. He’s been doing it all morning. He’s very distracting. 

He finally stops with a knock on the door. The person behind it is the reason he was pacing in the first place. He opens the door and in storms Sarah. ”Hey. ‘You alright?” Sam asks.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and found her like that,” she spews.  Her hands are balled in fists at her side, a fire of determination burning in her eyes. And even though she’s angry, Sam’s face relaxes. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“Don’t thank me, I’m about to call them right back if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demands. “Who’s killing these people?” 

Sam looks at us for help, and the question is clear in his eyes. I shrug, I don’t feel comfortable enough to give a solid ‘yes’ but she won’t take no for an answer. She deserves an answer. He looks back at Sarah, “What,” he corrects.

“What?”

“It’s not ‘who.’ It’s ‘what’ is killing those people,” he elaborates. Expectantly, she looks at him like he’s crazy. He sighs, “Sarah, you saw that painting move.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No…I was…I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

“Yeah well, welcome to our world,” Dean and I say in unison. I look at him a little shocked, “Jinx.”

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy,” Sam continues. “But we think that painting is haunted.”

She bursts into laughter, tears filling her eyes. “You’re joking.” But, of course, we aren’t. She looks between Sam and Dean and I. “You’re not joking.”

“God, the guys I go out with,” she mumbles. And for Sam’s sake, I hold back my laughter.

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that,” Sam explains. “Wherever this thing goes people die. And we’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.”

She takes a deep breath, “Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.”

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and…and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy,” she says bluntly. “But, if you’re right about this? Well, my Dad and I sold that painting that might’ve gotten these people killed. Look I’m not saying I’m not scared because I am scared as hell but…I’m not going to run and hide either.” She strides over to the door before pausing and turning back, “So are we going or what?” Then, she walks out. 

She’s cool. “Sam?” Dean says. Once he has his attention he points to the door after Sarah, “Marry that girl.”

****

“Uhh…isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asks as I open the door again. We didn’t have to rush inside this time but it’s easier than waiting for a lock to be picked. I probably should’ve done it when we broke into the warehouse….

“It is,” I answer as we walk in. “If it makes you feel better your prints are already inside…and on the victim and because you found her they’ve already been cataloged or considered. So a couple more won’t make a difference seeing as they likely don’t suspect you. I mean, they let you go after getting your statement so that’s good.”

She looks at me a little strangely, a tight-lipped smile on her lips. I’m probably not helping the crazy allegations. “I used to do the whole crime investigation thing….sort of,” I try to explain. The writing job I had was a weird one because I wasn’t really doing any crime investigation, I’m not certified like that. But I did need and use skills that investigators might have. It was kind of an excuse to be a nerd and write. Also, it paid well. She nods. I don’t think I’ve been convincing…maybe I should stop speaking. “You’ve already lied to the cops. What’s another infraction?” Dean remarks as Sam lifts the painting down from the wall. 

“Aren’t you worried that it’s…gonna kill us?” Sarah asks.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night,” Sam answers. “I think we’re alright in the daylight.”

Dean takes the photocopy of the original painting out of his pocket and holds it up in comparison. “Check it out. The razor, it’s closed in this one but it’s open in that one,” he points out.

“What are you guys looking for?” she butts in.

“Well, if the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason,” Dean explains.

“What’s that thing in the painting,” I ask, squinting and pointing behind the family. “I mean the painting that’s in the painting.”

“Looks like a mausoleum,” Sam answers with a tilted head. Dean looks around before grabbing a glass ashtray from an end table. He holds it up to the mausoleum. “Merchant,” he confirms.

****

Carefully I step around the gravestones, no need to upset any more dead people. “This is the third boneyard we’ve checked,” Dean complains. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“At least we’re looking for a whole building rather than a lonely gravestone,” I point out. This way we can beeline to the building area instead of searching each line of graves. “So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asks.

“Not exactly. We don’t get paid,” Sam answers.

“Well, Mazel tov,” she remarks. 

After venturing deeper into the graveyard we found the mausoleum, the ‘Merchant’ name carved right into it. Dean breaks the lock, revealing the mass of cobwebs and dust. Various nameplates fill one wall while the other side holds the urns all lined up with glass-fronted boxes built into the walls. But the number of urns is weird.

“Okay, that right there,” she points at a doll in one of the boxes. “Is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.” 

“I think it’s cute,” I shrug. The doll isn’t creepy, it’s quite normal with its brown hair and white dress. There isn’t an eye missing or a smudge on it. “Well, it was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam explains. “Whenever a child died sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

“Notice anything strange here,” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s only four urns,” I answer. “And unless I suck at counting there should be five.”

“Daddy dearest isn’t here,” he confirms.

“So where is he?” Sam asks.

****

An office building, a lot of lying, paydirt, and possibly interrupting an almost kiss between Sam and Sarah later leads us to another graveyard, a grave, and some shovels. According to what Dean and I had found, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were ashamed of Isaiah enough to not want him to be kept with the rest of the family. So, he was given over to the county who gave him a simple burial. Not a cremation. Therefore, a body to burn. Which again, leads to the shovel in my hand. Bad day to wear a white shirt because now I have to keep my zip-up on and digging up a grave is already a workout. Yay, sweat.

Sam lifts himself out of the grave to stand with Sarah and her flashlight. Even with 2-3 people digging it’s a lot of work. I don’t even want to know how long we’ve been at this for. “You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she comments. 

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug,” Sam responds. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughs and God they need to kiss already. 

Finally, Dean’s shovel hits something hard. “Think I’ve got something,” he announces.

“Oh thank God,” I sigh, leaning on the handle of my shovel as I wipe some sweat from my forehead. “This so sucked.”

“Now you can stop worrying about your pretty little shirt gettin’ all dirty,” Dean remarks. I roll my eyes, of course, he picked up on that. “I’m gonna hit you with my shovel,” I threaten, my smile ruining the seriousness of my words. 

“Are they always like this?”

“Yup.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he counters as he looks me up and down.

“And I’ll hit both of you,” Sam threatens, peering into the grave. 

“Okay Obi-Wan Kenobi,” I mumble as I help Dean clear up more of the dirt to open it. 

“Nerd,” Dean remarks.

“Dude! You saw the movie too!” I defend.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Move back so I can open this.”

****

Lighter fluid and salt in place, Dean strikes his match. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass Isaiah. Good riddance.” He tosses the match in, everything going up in flames.

****

The Impala pulls in front of Evelyn’s house, hopefully, for the last time. “Keep the motor running,” Sam directs, opening the car door.

“I thought the painting was harmless now,” Sarah says beside me.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker,” Sam explains.

Sarah gets out of the car, declaring, “I’m going with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she answers, something shining in her eyes. Okay, now they really need to kiss. Sam tries to get out of the car again before Dean stops him, “We’ll stay here, you go make your move.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes as he gets out of the car. “Sam. I’m serious!” But, he’s ignored as they round the car and move up the stairs. Dean turns on the radio, a silly love song playing. I have to shake my head with how obvious it is, the upbeat tune paired with lyrics like “I’m in love with a girl that I’m talking about…I’m in love with a girl I can’t live without…” Sam practically whips around to give his brother a dirty look. But, Dean being Dean shrugs, seeing no problem with his intervention. Sam motions for him to cut it off, his eyes wide. Surprisingly, Dean shuts it off but not without sighing. “I’m fairly sure they’ll kiss even without your ridiculous music,” I say as I watch them enter the house.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he counters. 

“I love a good love song but that was painfully obvious, Dean. Plus, can you really kiss to that one?”

“One way to find out.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna try that on your next hookup?” I ask. He shakes his head but I can’t see his face from where I sit in the backseat and with his head downturned I can’t use the rearview mirror either. But, I don’t have time to dwell on it and he has no time to vocalize an answer when our attention is taken away by the front door slamming. 

He’s out of the Impala and up half the stairs before I can open my door. “Sammy, you alright?” he calls out, shoving himself against the door. His phone rings a half second later and I don’t think I’ve seen him pick up his phone quicker. “Tell me you slammed the front door,” he says. And I try to connect the pieces of the conversation with only half of it. Something with a girl. “Wasn’t the Dad looking at her?” Dean asks. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.” Well, that answers what girl.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He suddenly directs at me. “Could you—” I nod before he can finish. I know what he wants. “Move back,” he tells them. I know this time simply unlocking it won’t work with a spirit being the one to keep it closed. I guess Sarah gets to see a door exploding anyway. “Wait! What do you mean no time?!” But my hand is already raised, a blast of energy going right through the door. Shards of wood explode inward. 

“Where’d they go?” I ask, the entryway clear of people and spirits. When he told them to move I thought they’d remain close by, not disappear. “Damn things on ‘em,” Dean answers, moving past me to go in headfirst. “Sammy!” he yells. But there’s no response. “What could be left behind?” I ask, following after him, “We saw her urn!”

“I don’t know,” he throws back. Something crashes and slides fast behind me. I spin around, a large wooden cupboard now blocking the remains of the front door. Closing us in. “Really?” I get it doesn’t want us to leave but I just broke the door. “Sammy!” Dean yells. Something else slams and this time Dean’s gone too. “Dean! Sam!” I call, moving further down the hall. How big is this house? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, flipping it open before I can catch more than the first letter of the name. “Where did you go? I looked away for two seconds and you were gone. Are you with Sam?”

“I’m a little stuck right now,” he answers, his voice sounding a little gruffer.

“Where are you?” I repeat, spinning around slowly for any sign of where he went.

“That doesn’t matter I–”

“It kind of does,” I cut him off.

“Listen,” he says firmly. “I need you to do something for me, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Dea—”

“Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“Yeah, Dean jus—”

“You gotta get back to the mausoleum and burn the doll, it might have her real hair,” he directs. ”The keys are in Baby, g—”

“I can get there quicker than that,” I cut him off. “Just…be safe and find Sam.” I hang up before he can say anything more. I roll my shoulders back, I can do this. I’ve teleported before. Hell, I managed to teleport to a place I’d never seen before back with the asylum hunt. This may be further but I’ve been there once so that’s going to have to be close enough. Also, I have no time for this. I exhale, summoning my powers forward. I don’t have time to focus on what I want as I did at the asylum. So, I put all my hope into it working as simply as I can. I flick my wrist and envision the inside of the mausoleum. Then…I’m there.

Man, I’m getting good at this. 

I waste no time in sending a small blast of energy at the glass covering. It shatters in the box, covering the doll in glass. Carefully, I lift the doll out of the box and hold it in one hand as I hold my pointer finger up. A little flame ignites from the tip of my finger, not hurting me in the slightest. “Sorry doll,” I mumble, holding her hair over the flame. Quickly, it ignites. Her brown hair goes up in flames and with it, I hope, the spirit of the ghost girl. I shake off my finger flame, not needing it anymore with how flammable the hair is. I put the doll down on the stone floor, letting it go up in flames as I take out my phone. I click on Sam’s contact, bouncing on the balls of my feet, nervously, as it rings. Please be okay. “Sam! Oh my god, are you guys okay? Did it work?” 

“We’re not bad.”

At the auction house, workers buzz around packing various things up in crates. The spirit is dead for good this time and no one else got hurt. “This was archived in the county records,” Dean announces, walking over with some papers. “The Merchant’s adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? ‘Cause her real family was murdered in their beds.”

“She killed them?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Who’d suspect her? ‘Sweet little girl. So when she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit’s been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Guess she figured she couldn’t get away with it twice,” I say, thinking out loud. Yet, through death, she was able to get away with it continuously. 

“So where’s this one go?” One of the workers asks, holding up the Merchant family portrait.

“Take it out back and burn it,” Sarah directs. Both workers seem to pause at once, looking at her strangely as if she might be joking despite her serious tone. “I’m serious guys. Thanks,” she insists. She looks back at us, the workers walking off with the painting. “So why’d the girl do it?”

“Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark,” Sam answers.

“Maybe,” Dean adds and I agree with that far more than the idea that people are born evil when it’s more complicated than that. “I don’t really care,” he continues, “It’s over, we move on.”

“Ahh,” Sarah sighs. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

I nudge Dean as he looks between the two. This is our cue to leave. “We’ll go wait in the car,” Dean says. “See you, Sarah.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I add, giving a little wave before we head out. “Now I can give you your thing,” I tell Dean.

“What ‘thing’?” he asks, looking confused.

“You’ll find out in just a second,” I laugh, skipping in front of him. I get to the car first and open the back door. I bend down as I open my duffle, taking what I left on top in my hands. I zip up my bag and turn to him holding it behind my bag before the big reveal. “Okay, it’s stupid,” I warn. “But here.” I hold out the magazine he had been reading at the old bookstore the other day. His eyebrows rise, and his mouth parts as if he wants to say something, except nothing comes out of his mouth he just smiles and takes it from my hands. “Sweetheart…” he trails off, looking down at the magazine. I smile brightly as he looks at it, practically beaming where I stand.

Then, a knock swifts both of our attentions. I look up at the auction house door, Dean turning to do the same. And right there in the doorway, Sam kisses Sarah, his head bent down to her level and his hands on her waist. “That’s my boy,” Dean smiles.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl

[wondersinwaynemanor]

you think the Wayne kids would try to get Bruce's attention all at once? one look among each other, they already know the plan and they want to be competitive about it.

like for an instance:

Bruce, in his study at the Manor, answering work emails when he hears the heavy footsteps of his children and loud voices from outside the door. he holds a breath, readying himself.

Damian, his sketchpad on his hand, opens the door: Father, no matter what they say, stay completely still. I'll work on a portrait of you.

Bruce, blinks, before offering a smile: Of course, son. Let me finish this email then I will-

before Damian can close the door, Jason barges in with a few car keys on his hands, almost hitting Damian in the process.

Damian, growls: Careless Imbecile.

Jason, grins and ruffles Damian's hair: Well, it's nice to know you love me, Dami.

Damian attempts to push Jason away from the table, but to no avail. Damian tts.

Jason, approaches the table with ease, lifting the sets of car keys: Hey, old man. I was thinking of going out tonight. What car should I take?

Damian: Don't let him, Father. He's a careless, clumsy, fowl excuse of a human being.

Jason tries to pinch Damian's cheeks before the younger boy moves away.

Bruce, blinks, before studying the keys: Anything, Jaylad. You're free to drive-

then Steph enters with a bag of chips on both of her hands, 3D glasses covering her eyes.

Steph, grins widely: Heya, B! Me and Cass are planning to watch Jurassic Park in the family room. Want to join us?

Cass also enters the room, 3D glasses perched on her nose, a gentle smile on her face.

Jason: So the others aren't invited, huh?

Bruce, blinks and smiles at the two girls: Surely after dinner, okay? Let's make it a family movie night. But first, I have to finish-

Damian, approaches Bruce's side: But Father, you already agreed that I will make a portrait of you.

Damian then looks at Steph and Cass: Traitors!

Steph, just grins even more: It might be too scary for you, Dami.

Damian, whines: I've seen it a couple of times!

Dick, enters the room next, smug smile on his face: You all better be talking about my charming personality.

Jason, rolls his eyes: Actually the exact opposite. We're talking about how annoying you are, Dickface.

Dick wraps an arm on Jason's shoulder, trapping him for a side hug: Awww Little Wing, you flatter me.

Jason pushes him away.

Steph and Cass giggle at the side of the room.

Dick, walks over to where Damian is, bringing him close to him as he faces Bruce: B, I need your help with a plan for the Titans' mission. I'm kind of doubtful about it.

Bruce, blinks and nods at his eldest: Sure, chum. I'll be down at the cave-

Cass, goes near Bruce this time, holding him by the arm: No, you said we watch.

Bruce, touches Cass' hand: Yes, sweetheart. Don't worry, all of us will watch, okay?

Damian, groans: That film can wait tomorrow night.

Steph: It has to be tonight.

Jason: I have plans with Roy tomorrow night.

Dick: I think I'll be off world tomorrow.

Duke, enters the room, a bright smile on his face: Hey, everyone. Hi Bruce, want to check out these new puzzle boards I got? Seems like you need a break.

everyone replies with something.

Bruce, pinches the bridge of his nose: Will everyone please not talk at once? Better yet, will everyone give me some peace first? I need to plan the rest of my day so I can be with each of you.

Tim is the last to enter the room, wearing a suit: B, I need you to come with me to Luthor's meeting. He's planning something and I need you to help me figure it out.

the rest of the Wayne kids erupt with different conversations.

Damian: I was here first. The rest of you can just go on with your lives without Father.

Jason: B, just tell me which car I should drive and I'll be off your shoulders.

Steph: You're not going anywhere after dinner, Bruce. We're watching the movie with and without the rest.

Cass: You already agreed.

Dick: So we're just going to ignore that I need help? This is an important mission. The world can be at stake here.

Duke: Well, I'm at stake here. Plus, Bruce needs to rest.

Tim: So we're just going to let Luthor do whatever he's about to do. We're better than this.

Bruce, stands up from his chair: Okay, okay. Everyone, just give me a few minutes and I'll let you know what happens next. Please, just... Please.

everyone grumbles under their breaths and leave the room.

Dick, speaks by the time they are away from the study: Is the bet still on?

Steph: I think I'm winning cus Cass is B's favorite and I agreed with her on the movie.

Jason: It's probably baby bat.

Tim: My money's on Duke.

[romsabombs]

OH BOY

Malevolent part 51 "The Purpose" notes

omg purpose... is it about oscar

ok faroe metaphor :(

who did we kill this time😐

what is going on bro

lilith.....!!!!!

HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE??? WHATTT THATS HARD

MY FAVOOORITEEEE💥💥 :3333

this is awesome LILITHH

THE PORTRAIT i was right about this

what the freak!!!☹️☹️ mean as hell

"which is worse, to die or to have never existed?" idk ask shubby

WHAT two weeks😦 new prison pits??

"you've been here from the start" hmm do u think the radio static at the end of each episode is lilith listening in

what is going on bro

ok who is gonna die . i think antoine

oh .. .lilith mention

what is going on bro

two days ago..

bro really thought hed go this far and have no one question his motives

blackstone is just portable kiy

a key huh . thats why kayne needs it

WOAH WHAT WAIT HUH WHA😨

MOOOVE ORTHORR

naur not the horse :(

this is hot

JUST LIKE DADDY HELLOO????😀

that was HOT

"you are being manipulated" ya no shit

arthur my pet🥰<3

shes known about u forever bro

arthur my sweet boy :33

do u think harlans voice SUFFERS doing the lilith voice

ofc we remember the butchers chair..

how is that rabid dog👺 okayyy...

DEAD and GONE 💜

"not all things that are dead are gone. and not all things gone are dead" faroe:(

the campfire light :(( OHH FAROE :(

Bull Shit 😐

THE GLASS? "you thought i'd forget:)"

oh no her magic 🤕

"let me look at it" his blind ass

oh 😟😟😟😟😟

did alia predict this

"something sinister assaults my will" OH 😦

bro they all trust him to have good intentions AND HE DOES but its . but :( but hes giving it to the enemy

"i cant do this without you" ok vro..

WOAH 🤕 nononono :(( god☹️

put him down like a sick dog

:( :( ohhh this is sad . lily all over again

it felt Necessary:(

HAHA evil thing to say

is this the first time characters have talked over eachother

it WAS antoine im correct about everything actually :33

ONE OF THREE?? ohh many more seasons to go

AZATOTH MENTIONED💥💥

ok deadnaming her dad funny as hell

the FLESH!!!!!!! 🤕

"power👺" "is that so😐"

you LIE 😡😡😡

dang he like actually cared about these people?? wild

:(( ohh antoine never survives the horrors

will we have to kill him AGAIN but fr this time???

eat the elephant‼️

day of wrath is near😟😟😟

OH SHES the day of wrath??!!

"how can i keep going" :•(

aw :((( MAN ☹️☹️☹️

what if i bash my skull into a wall

antoine bro SIT DOWN😭

scratch........🧍‍♂️

"is everything alright" "yes m'lord . besides the way i feel" me asf

thats so SADDD protect his ass 😞

they never tell him anything bro

oh wait . no nvm he knows

ohhh hes going mad🤕 jesus christ

talking over eachother again

"oh! 😃 anything! 😁"

antoine....😞

OHHH COME ON :((( WHATAT :( NOT THE WAYLAY 😟😟😟

brother you've BEEN there

his atheist ass why couldnt he jus lie

yeah what the freak . just LIE

WHAT :( :( ohh antoine :( 😞

i love this episode structure its so interesting

arthur loves not taking responsibility for his actions

:(( FAROE :( the fire can't fight the rain

WHY LIT A FIRE THAT IS SURE TO DIE??????? WHAT :(

oh this episode is devastating

he had a life :(

this is CRAZY 😟 NOO ALIA

shes just a girl living in captivity..☹️

she had to sleep eventually 😓😓

"i did not doubt you but i needed to try myself" "i understand" ohh he sounds so defeated

oh antoine 😞😞 send his ass back to the lighthouse

at least he slept ..

"let me see it" BLIND‼️‼️

THIS IS SO SAD dont yell at him bro

nurse hes talking to himself again

OHHHH this is DEVASTATING

god damn it . its the end of the world

we LEAVE her :( 🤕🤕🤕 if i fell into eternal slumber would u leaveme. ..

what thefreak!!! we should try true loves kiss

oh she left us a letter :(

thats TERRIBLE

BRO ITS ANTOINE 🧍‍♂️

lilith shes a girls girl🎀

shes traumadumping

yeah dont give it to her asf

hes like humanitys spokesperson

💥💥DADDY💥💥

racism is TAUGHT 💜

shes losing the idgaf war

shes so passionate about deadnaming her father

hes so HOT idc idc

not for comfort..

ANTOINEEEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️

antoine your whimpering is awfully distracting

lilith help us??🎀

DIVORCE DIVORCE DIVORCE🎊🎊

GOD I MISSED THIS divorce arc

"i need somewhere to scream at the top of my lungs. if they didnt hurt so fucking much" :((( hes so me

YORICK HASNT YAPPED FOR TWO WEEKS??????? fork found in GARAGE

NOOOO dont be cruel :( BRO BRO

WHAT THE FREAKKKK 🧍‍♂️☹️

it was a TEST

has he gone mad 😟😟😟

NO WHERE ??!! 😦

was it a test????

HAHA they dont TRUST him!!!!!!

antoine :( ..... 🤕

they r so alike

i cant believe it was CLICKBAIT

:(( ohhh this is TERRIBLE

HAHA what do we do now like. where are we without hope

god .

hes still ALIVE bro . hes a fighter

OHH what if i SOB and PISS and DIE

HARDDD one of the hardest monologues in the show i fear

purpose mentioned

YAAAA FUCK YOU‼️‼️‼️

WHAT BRO leave our girl faroe alone

"sometimes the things that were in our life for far too little time make the biggest impacts" OHHH WHAATATTT WHAT IF I DIE☹️☹️☹️☹️

whole ass episode about faroe and they aint even say her name once. CINEMA

ohh this MUSIC i fw this HEAVY

her death didnt have to be the end for him :( SOBBING CRYING PISSING

when one door shuts and locks another secret little hatch opens somewhere

NONONONO not today 👺👺

"you do what you have to do. i'll enjoy the starlight" he WINS the idgaf war

im literally gonna EXPLODE

first severance finale now THIS

next episode nightmare part 2 ??? i LOVED that episode im a sucker for nightmare sequences asf

guys i think he finally accepted her death :((

brb gonna THROW UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[obsessedwrhys]

Aesthete

(adj.) Someone with a deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ where Abby let's you draw a portrait of her

c/w: fluff, reader is female because I refuse to believe she's straight 😡, abby being insecure (?), gun talk, some cursing, just two lesbos bickering like a married couple, kissing, did not proof read this!!

ᯓ★

Inside your shared room, you somehow found yourself painting on another canvas after just telling yourself you'd be done with your last one. Since you were a kid, you've always been drawn towards anything that had to do with brushes and colours. It was better spending your time painting rather than talking to people, they were always rude or just straight off insensitive. All except for someone...

Abby...

She always adored your skills. Everytime you were assigned to go on patrols together, she would just peek her head from behind your shoulder to see what you were doodling in your journal. Out of everyone you knew, she was the one constantly bragging about your drawings to her friends. And you guys aren't even dating!!

Yet... which you always liked to tell yourself.

With your brush applying another soft stroke on the canvas, you started to grow bored of it, another idea already crawling up from the back of your mind. Maybe you could try doing a portrait, you have the experience but you just don't have the subject. Almost out of instinct, you knew who to find. Pretty much the only person you'd figure would be fine with this.

Abandoning your brush and pallette on the round chair, you decided to leave and try to find Abby. It wasn't hard to find her since she would spend almost all of her time in the gym. Swinging open the glass door, you headed in and walked past several other WLFs who were also training, your eyes glued to one person.

There she was, doing bench presses as usual.

You decided to stop a few feet away from where she was, almost like you were in a trance from watching her biceps flex each time she lifted the heavy weight. Not wanting to be seen as a creep, which you already have, you walked closer to make your presence known. "Hey Abby" You said with a smile. Your voice startling her a bit.

"Oh, hey" She said before setting the weight back to its rightful place. She sits up on the bench as she looks at you with a friendly smile. "You need anything?" She said, always kind and polite towards you that it somehow made you feel all giddy inside.

"I was wondering if you'd liked to be the subject of a portrait I'm doing" You said and your words struck her a bit. She looked like she just received news of something big. "Uhh... if you're worried about the portrait turning out ugly, I promise I'll be extra focused on the details" You said, figuring if that was the reason behind her reaction.

"Huh? Ah no, I wasn't worried about that. I'm just surprised you'd pick me" She chuckles awkwardly as she stands up, her height scaring you a bit. "Did you expect me to pick someone else?" You asked, the two of you walking side by side.

"Well... maybe I figured you'd choose someone more... elegant" She said, holding the door open for you to go first. "Elegant?" You scoff out of amusement.

"Didn't you show me one of your books? Where all of the people drawn were wearing those tight dresses and having their hair up so high" Abby said, recalling the memory.

"Pssh, that's different, trust me, I know what I'm doing" You opened the door to your room, inviting her inside.

"Whatever you say" She responded with a playful smile. Once you closed the door, her eyes were already examining around the room that's messy from all of your art stuff.

"Seems like you didn't take my advice" She said, looking at the stack of books you had thrown along with the pile of discontinued drawings.

"I'll do that later" You said dismissively since you realised everytime you cleaned your supplies, you were always gonna use it and make a mess anyways, best to save it for a day where you have the energy to clean.

"Soo uhh... what do I...?" Abby walks over to where you're busy setting a brand new canvas.

"You can just sit at the sofa so you can be right in front of me" You said, putting everything in place and she just does what you instructed. She finds herself seated in front of you and it somehow made her shy. Does she pose or...? This is all new to her.

"You can move your body around a bit, just try not to move your head a lot, so uh... relax" You said, already picking up your brush. "Got it" She said as she leans back onto the cushion.

With your focus on the portrait, you failed to notice the way she was watching you, her gaze was full of warmth and admiration. She was eyeing your every move as if she was watching a film.

"I never got to ask, how did you learn to paint?" Abby said and it made you stop in your act to think it over. "Can't remember exactly when, I just knew it was fun to do so I kept doing it" You simply responded and she smiles softly at your answer. "Fun huh? Is that why you're doing a portrait of me?" She said and her playful tone made you almost freeze in place.

"I guess you could say that" You said, your hand carefully doing the shades of her face. The room remained quiet for a moment, just faint sounds of your brush mixing together different colours on your pallete. "Can you lift your head up a bit?" You asked and she does just that. "Perfect" You said and quickly press your brush back on the canvas.

Your eagerness had her struggle to contain a smile. "If only you were this passionate about your gun training" She said since this was a topic that you could care less about.

"I don’t really like guns, it's too violent for me"

"True... but its also the reason why you're still alive. C'mon, at least fix your aim" She said which had you turn to look at her.

"Whats wrong with my aim?"

"Errr..." She trails off, struggling to find the right words but you were well aware of what she was trying to say. "Just try not to have your bullets flying everywhere" She said, her response having you raise an eyebrow at her.

"... don't make me draw a hairy moustache on you" You threatened which had her laugh.

"Am I supposed to find that scary?" She asked to which you pointed the end of your paintbrush at her to warn her to be careful of her next words. This action just encouraging her even more but for her sake of not wanting a horrendous looking moustache on her portrait, she'll stop.

After a while, she let's out a soft sigh. "Getting tired?" You asked, your face hidden by the canvas so she couldn't see you.

"A bit" She admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. Your head peaks from the side of canvas, trying to mimic the sweat that was still present on her forehead due to her earlier workout.

Without even realising, you were basically staring at her face a little too hard. It was funnier from Abby's perspective cause all she could see was your pair of eyes staring at her so intensely. "Am I too far away? You're looking pretty hard" She joked, pointing out how your brows were slightly narrowed.

You ended up shushing her which she found amusing. "I'm thinking, don't disrupt my thoughts" You said.

"Yes ma'am"

After a couple of minutes, you managed to finish the portrait, just a few details here and there then you were finally satisfied with yourself. "You can get up now" You said as you carefully added some tiny dots or lines. Abby pushed herself off the sofa and stood beside you.

"Damn" She said, blown away by the portrait you had done of her. It was like a reflection in a mirror. "What are you gonna do with it?" Abby asked as you stepped back to finally admire your work. "I don't know... maybe I'll hang it up somewhere in my room" You said. This caught her interest almost immediately. "You want a portrait of me in your room?" She asked, seeming embarrassed.

"Well do you want it in your room?" You asked which made her go silent.

"It's fine, I really don't mind, you'd be surprised by how many scary things I've painted and displayed on my walls" You said, carefully picking up the canvas and moving it to the other side of the room. Abby simply follows you with her arms folded.

"Comparing my face to scary things doesn't make it sound any better" She said and you could sense a tiny hint of frustration in her tone which had you chuckle to yourself. "Stop being a baby and help me hang this up" You said after finding a open spot on the wall to put it.

"You.are.unbelievable" She shakes her head slightly with a defeated smile as she takes the canvas from your hand before standing on the chair to hang it on to the nail.

Once she was done, she stepped down from the chair to stand beside you. The two of you now staring at the portrait.

"I have to admit, you're really gifted" Abby said and it made you turn your head to look at her. "Thanks" You smiled at her compliment. The second she turns to look at you, you felt yourself melt at her stare as if her blue eyes were hypnotising you. You swore for a second you could see hearts popping up around her.

Why is she looking at you like that?

Like you're the single most beautiful thing she has ever seen

"If you uh don't mind... could I stay for a while?" She asked, her voice so soft it was intoxicating.

"Sure" You blurted out without even thinking twice.

Noticing how flustered you looked, Abby tilts her head with a grin. "You okay?" She asked but her tone was anything but concern, it was like she was teasing you, knowing the effect she had on you.

"Yeahh, I'm good" You turned around and began walking back to your supplies, feeling as though you needed to escape her presence quickly to be able to think straight.

"Are you sure? Cause you looked like you wanted to kiss me just now" She said and it stopped you from reaching out to your brushes. Your mind was short circuiting.

Fuck this woman...

"And what if I said I wanted to?" You managed to say since it was easier that you weren't looking at her.

Suddenly you could hear her footsteps approaching you from behind, almost like each step she took added a weight in your chest. The tension on you shoulders relaxed the moment you felt her hands placed on them, gently, she turned you around to have you face her.

"Then kiss me" She said, no, pleaded. Her face showing how much she also wanted this.

You leaned in closer to her, the two of you haven't even kissed yet but just from the feeling of your chests pressed together made you both breathless. Eventually you pressed your lips on hers, taking it slow as you wanted to savour this moment, but it didn't last long as the desperation started to grew.

Within seconds, you were kissing Abby hard and she did the same, her hand wrapped around the back of your neck while the other is placed on your hip. The kiss was messy. Your hands grabbing at whatever you could on her body as you were completely lost in the taste of her.

Your touch was driving her crazy as well, thinking back to the countless nights of how she much she wanted this. To have you this close, to have you melt just from her lips. Out of breath and feeling tired, you pulled away but Abby didn't let you and quickly pulled you back in for another kiss. Her action causing you to yelp and for a sec she felt her stomach flip. She chuckles.

"So pretty" She muttered before pressing her lips back on yours again and again, not wanting the moment to end.

"Abby..." You laid your hands on her arms and she pulled back to admire you. The mess she had made of you.

"Yes...?" She said, gently caressing your face.

"You keep kissing me and I'm gonna pass out" You said and your words had her chuckle softly.

"Sorry, can't help it when your lips are so sweet" She said, her thumb rubbing on your cheek affectionately.

"Did you think this would happen when you asked me to come over?" She asks.

"Ummm... maybe?" You said. You had a feeling something might happen but you never thought it'd turn out like this.

"I've just liked you for a very long time but I wasn't sure you felt the same" You confessed and her smile grew wider.

"Seriously? What, was me bragging about you to everyone not obvious enough? Should I have been starting a fan club for you so you'd find out better?" She teased and you smacked her on the shoulder playfully.

"Maybe you should, then I'd know that you actually liked me" She sighs, pretending to act like she's regretting this missed opportunity.

"You're right. Maybe if I did start a massive fan club dedicated to you, we would of had this kiss sooner" She said, leaning in closer to have her forehead rested on yours.

"Well we're here now aren't we?" You looked up at her, a smirk on your face.

"True" She then started to move and you couldn't help but let your eyes flutter close, waiting for her to kiss you again but somehow the feeling of her lips on yours never came.

You opened your eyes and found her actually moving her lips inches away from your ears instead. "How about we clean your room now, hm?" She said which had you in disbelief. She was now reminding you of how dirty your room is after just kissing you.

"If tidying up my things is so much fun then sure" You moved away from her but she was quick to follow you.

"If I get to spend more time with you, I don't see anything boring about it" Abby said, already on to arrange your stack of unorganised books. You watch her with a look of gratitude, knowing this mess is gonna take a very long time to clean.

"Thanks Abs"

"You can thank me with a kiss after we're done" She shoot you a cheeky smile which had you roll your eyes with the corner of your lips curving upwards.

"Fine" You stood beside her to help with putting your books in order. Seeing how focused you were, Abby couldn't help but have her hip nudging yours on purpose to get your attention. You chuckle, knowing this cleaning session is gonna take a while.

(Now I'm gonna do super duper angst Ellie, this plot has been stuck on my mind 😄)

[lu-is-not-ok]

Hello Limbus Gamers

Why did I title this post that.

Anyway, yeah, it's that time again. I'm gonna analyze the RR4 trailer. Some of you may be asking why, but. You'll see.

Oh boy you'll see.

Starting off, we get a very brief animation of the nodes of the new Railway. And by brief, I do mean, this shit speeds past you like instantly.

They even make sure to not show the whole thing all at once to make it harder to count. I did count though. There are thirteen of these nodes in this animation. This might be subject to change, but we shall see.

Then we get the title card. We're back to single word Railway names from before RR3, and in the background we get to see some silhouettes. We're gonna learn what they are during the trailer itself, but you can already tell they're the abnos from the Battle Pass E.G.O - Dreaming Electric Sheep, The King in Binds, and Portrait of a Certain Day.

We also see silhouettes of some Sinners, and while it's hard to make out with the text in the way, I'm pretty sure there's N Corp Don, N Corp Faust, and BL Yi Sang in there.

Now THIS is interesting - a new Railway gimmick! Not just one gimmick though, but after throwing the screenshot into Google Translate, it turns out we might be dealing with two!

First, the one that doesn't need translating to figure out - the Backup gimmick. I believe it's shown a bit clearer in the next scene, so I won't be speculating on it too much yet, but from my guess it's a replacement for a similar mechanic in RR3, where you could throw another team of Sinners at an Abnormality after your initial team of 6 died to finish the Abno off from where you left it at.

That's not the most interesting part though, this is.

Our Sinners are also going to be recieving individual buffs in this Railway, potentially based on selection order, considering PM has been pushing more and more for the selection order to matter with the recent addition to the E.G.O Gifts.

If I'm correct and the buffs are based on selection order instead of being completely random, we can see the buffs are as follows:

Selection 1 - Identity Level +2

Selection 2 - SP Gain Efficiency +3

Selection 3 - too blurry for google to translate

Selection 4 - Defense Level +2

Selection 5 - Max Speed +2 (the 5 came from the semi-transparent level 45 number lmao)

Selection 6 - too blurry for google to translate

Selection 7 - Final Power +1

Selection 8 - Damage taken -10%

Selection 9 - this one i'm not too sure on but it might be Aggro +5 (the 45 came from the semi-transparent level 45 number lmao)

Selection 10 - scene cuts away too quickly to read it

In addition to that, some IDs (primarily the Backup selections but also for some reason Faust) get a head start of +10 SP when they join the fight, which is a very nice way to help off-set the issue of having to gain sanity in harder fights to even attempt winning clashes.

Next scene shows us what seems to be the Backup mechanic. It's an admittedly very brief shot that barely shows us anything of how it works, but considering everyone's low sanity and Ishmael's stagger, I'm guessing what happened is two units died and the backup units were put in there in their stead.

An interesting gimmick that honestly feels more lore-accurate than the current system LMAO.

Next up, we get our excerpts from the new Abno Logs. This one, based on the background, is for Portrait of a Certain Day. It's a bit hard to tell who wrote this Log based on the English translation, but it does give an interesting insight onto the Abnormality and by extention its E.G.O, Bygone Days.

Something about taking advantage of deaths through parading mementos of the dead in connection to Yi Sang and Gregor, huh... Gregor is the one who gave Aya's mask to Yuri as a memento, and then proceeded to keep that mask as a memento of Yuri. On the other hand, while Yi Sang personally didn't keep mementos of the League around, both Dongbaek and Dongrang had a strong emotional attachment to the last remaining picture of the League all together. There's something there I think.

Then we get to see the excerpt from Dreaming Electric Sheep's Abno Log. Again, not very clear who's writing this from the English translation. And this is a very interesting excerpt too! This is the clearest connection we get between the Abno and the 'Dreaming' part of its name! I feel like I'd need to see the whole Log to get a better idea of what is being conveyed here, but it is good to see we're getting to see some new angles on the Abno.

BIG SHEEP! It's notable that it's attacking Faust.

And there's Portrait, in all its low bitrate glory! Note that it's attacking Yi Sang.

What follows is two more shots, one of each of the Abnos, and then...

It might hard to see in that glorious 240p low bitrate, but yes. That is, in fact, N Corp Don and N Corp Faust, covered in a purple glow, attacking the Sinners.

And then, the bombshell.

Guys.

Guys.

These are Envy Peccatula.

Envy Peccatula are doppelgangers.

DO YOU REALIZE HOW HUGE THIS IS FOR SIN ANALYSIS??? Envy is one of those sins we got barely anything on due to its lack of Peccatula, and yet here we are, RR4 gave us a fucking blessing.

Anyway, back to talking about the actual fights themselves, I believe we're going to be dealing with faction-themed Envy Peccatula stages. The one we see in the trailer is N Corp, complete with a relevant background, and in the in the title card we can see Blade Lineage Yi Sang, implying we could get a BL-themed node as well. Notably, these are both factions that have enough IDs to form a full team.

The only other full team ID factions we have are W Corp and Liu Association, so these are also contenders for Envy Peccatula nodes. Seven Association is also possible, as they are only missing one ID from being a full six ID team. We could also potentially get a fraud Pequod Trio that's made up of the Pequod IDs, which would be really funny, but I'm not sure how likely that is.

Back to the trailer itself.

We finally get the Abno Log excerpt for The King in Binds, and it's very evocative in my opinion. The poetic language makes me think that Yi Sang is the one writing this Log.

This seems like an excerpt that's being used to describe a game mechanic - The King in Binds might have a mechanic where he tears himself free from his throne if certain conditions are met. Very interesting considering what we know about the abno.

What follows is some extremely quick and hard to see snippits of The King in Binds attacking Yi Sang. Yes, this is the best frame I could get from it.

Aaaand that's about it!

All in all, extremely excited about the potential Envy lore and fighting against out own units, and I guess the abnos are there too.