#I will cross post this on AO3 too I guess

[inawickedlittletown]

Rather Be The Hunter Than The Prey (BuckTommy) - 3/3

Summary: Buck doesn't tell Tommy immediately about the big change at the 118. Tommy decides to do something about it.

Author's note: Title comes from Natural by Imagine Dragons.

Everyone on Ao3 wanted a part two for the little coda I wrote post-episode 7x10. And I guess I did too. So now it's a three parter.

Part One - Part Two

Read on Ao3

-

“No,” Buck said. “Tommy, this is a horrible idea. You don’t know her.” 

Buck hadn’t even really told Tommy much about Taylor. Most of the LAFD knew her, though. If not for breaking the story about Jonah, then because of the book. She’d made her name in other ways too and Buck hated whenever he spotted her at a call or when he turned a tv on and she was on. He had succeeded in avoiding her for so long and didn’t want to bring her back now. 

“I’m just saying that we need her because she crosses lines. She’ll pursue the story once she knows there is one and she can help us take out Gerrard.” 

Buck didn’t think that Tommy really understood who Taylor was. He had listened to Tommy’s whole plan. He’d even taken notes as Tommy detailed everything he set in motion. He knew that Tommy was making sense, he was just a little wary about Taylor. He’d already made the mistake of trusting her in the past and this time around, they couldn’t afford her to go off the rails even if that was maybe exactly what they were counting on. 

“I guess maybe she does owe me one,” Buck said. “I’ll call and see if she will come meet with us.” 

“That’s all I ask,” Tommy said, smiling at him in a way that made Buck want to kiss him and maybe even drag him back up the stairs to his bed. 

He called after breakfast and after they had cleaned up his kitchen. Tommy was at his side, offering support. At least, Buck wasn’t the only one that had had to talk to an ex this morning. 

“Buckley, why are you calling me?” Taylor said. 

“Hey, Taylor,” Buck said. “I, uh, I was hoping we could meet up.”

She laughed at him. “If this is some kind of booty call, I’m not interested.”

“No…no, nothing like that. I’m…I’m dating someone. Listen, it’s about a story you could report on. It’s better if we explain in person. Are you free at all today?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor said after a pause. “I can be. What kind of story are we talking about?”

“Getting an awful man out of a job that puts him in a position of power that could determine life or death,” Buck said. 

“Oh,” Taylor said. “That sounds…yeah, I can meet up.” 

They set up a time and Taylor agreed to meet at the loft even though Buck thought it might be weird for her. It didn’t seem to be probably exactly because of who Taylor was. He’d already piqued her interest and now nothing else mattered. 

It was a few hours later when Taylor knocked on his door. Buck braced himself for seeing her again. Then, he walked over to open the door. She was still Taylor. Her red hair was in loose ringlets that framed her face in a way that made her approachable and cute. She did look awkward for a moment, but then she smiled. 

“Hi.” 

“Uh, hi,” Buck said, letting her in. “Come in. Do you want a drink?” 

“Water,” she said and headed straight for the table, where she deposited her purse. “So what exactly is this—” Taylor trailed off. 

Holding the glass of water in hand, Buck turned. Taylor was turned towards the stairs where Tommy was making his way down. Buck almost laughed, because in a way he was getting used to seeing the reaction that people had to Tommy. He couldn’t blame them — couldn’t blame Taylor — Tommy was certainly eye-catching. 

He set her glass of water on the table and that seemed to break the spell.  She immediately turned to him, question in the raise of her eyebrow. 

“Tommy, Taylor’s here,” Buck said. 

“Thought I heard the door,” Tommy said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Casey says everyone he got in touch with is in.”

“Taylor, this is Tommy,” Buck said. 

“Hi,” Tommy said. 

Tommy offered his hand and Taylor shook it. She looked thrown and though Buck had seen Taylor in many different forms and states, this was still somewhat new. 

“Take a seat,” Tommy said. “Evan can start explaining.”

“Right,” Buck said and he motioned for Taylor to sit. She did, watching Buck carefully. 

“Bobby got replaced at the 118 through a series of circumstances,” Buck said and he explained it all, knowing that he was probably leaving out more than he should. 

Taylor drank some of her water before speaking once Buck was done. “Sounds like an asshole to me,” she said. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“Well,” Tommy said, taking his own seat. “We were hoping that you would help us expose Gerrard for exactly who he actually is.” 

Taylor leaned back in her chair. “You know, the last time I did a profile on the 118, the department shut it down. Made it into a fluff piece.” 

“And yet you still managed to use your connection to Evan to get that story on Greenway out, putting his job and reputation at risk,” Tommy said. 

Buck inhaled. He hadn’t expected Tommy to bring that up. 

Taylor had the decency to look contrite. She didn’t even try to defend herself. She did look from Tommy to Buck and back again. 

“Defensive, I like it,” she said in the end. 

“You also published an unapproved book about the LAFD,” Tommy pointed out. “I have the approval, or at least the consent of the Assistant Fire Chief,” Tommy revealed. “Well, to an extent.”

“Who even are you?” Taylor shot back. 

“My boyfriend,” Buck answered. 

Taylor laughed and laughed and then she clapped her hands. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. Maybe I should have, come to think of it. Alright, boys, I guess count me in.” 

It took a very long two weeks for everything to be worked out. Every shift that Buck had leading up to it made him antsy. He was glad when everything was finally in place. 

Chief Williams scheduled Taylor’s stop by the 118, including the invitation for Tommy to be there. She also made sure that Chief Simpson was available. Buck had helped to set up cameras to capture everything that went on with Gerrard in the time leading up to the interview. He’d had to be a bit sneaky about it, but Taylor had provided everything they needed. At Tommy’s instruction, he didn’t share their plan with anyone. It meant that the cameras captured everything as organically and as genuinely as they happened. 

Gerrard making a limp hand motion at Buck was right there as clear as day. Gerrard making a comment about Hen only lasting for so long because she was practically a man. His dismissiveness of Chim’s contributions as a paramedic when they lost someone on the way to the hospital. The way he berated Ravi and said stuff about how the department was going nowhere with the diversity hires. All of it was captured on camera and more. So much more. 

Eddie, Hen, and Chim thought it was ridiculous that Taylor Kelly was coming to interview them. Gerrard shared the news after returning from a call. Buck had to pretend that he was upset about it too and when Gerrard got wind that she was Buck’s ex-girlfriend, it seemed to make him want her there more. 

Buck had never seen him more welcoming of anyone, the way Gerrard was with Taylor. It was yet another big difference between him and Bobby. He treated Taylor like an honored guest, offering her coffee and water and showing her around with warmth that made him seem fatherly — or maybe grandfatherly considering his age. It was eerie. It almost made Buck doubt that the plan would work.  

Taylor took her time. Buck hated her a little for it, for how she asked them about the rescue of Bobby and Athena and how it felt to be rewarded for it. He could see how Hen and Chim took it all in as much good humor as they could muster. Eddie was monosyllabic. 

Then, she singled out Gerrard. 

“This is so pointless,” Chim said. 

They were in the kitchen. Buck had sort of steered them there. Hen had been throwing him a few looks as if she suspected something. Meanwhile, Taylor was with Gerrard, cameras pointed at him. She was keeping things light at first. 

Chief Williams and Chief Simpson hadn’t arrived. It was possible they wouldn’t, but Buck hoped they would. 

Tommy got there and they all saw how Gerrard stiffened when he walked up the stairs. 

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic. Well, some kind of demonstration outside. I think some people heard there were reporters here today.” 

“Some people?” Hen asked. 

Tommy didn’t answer. Buck just hoped the live feed was working, they’d figured it was better if Gerrard didn’t know other people were there to see it all.

At the table, Gerrard suddenly stood up. “What kind of question is that?” he said, louder than necessary. “Things were better when people knew their place. None of the quotas for diversity that need to be met so no one gets their tiny little feelings hurt.” 

“I just thought it’d feel great to have such an inclusive firehouse,” Taylor said. “To lead the 118 which I know is quite diverse and doesn’t look like what the fire department even in LA looked like in the past.” 

Gerrard just stared at her. 

“Of course, I do know you aren’t happy that diversity exists,” Taylor said. “I wonder why take the job at this house at all.”

“What are you talking about, girl?” 

“I’m talking about how you act around the people you are supposed to lead. The very same people that literally run into fires to protect the public who you in turn are supposed to support and protect and lead.”

Gerrard didn’t respond. His jaw was tightening. 

“Earlier today I posted a little preview for the interview. Just some of the things I’ve uncovered along with the many many complaints made against you by your own firefighters. Some investigating into your placement here also revealed a few things I’ll be looking into after this.” 

Buck watched Taylor a little bit in awe. Tommy was at his side and he felt the heat of him from how close they were standing. Ordinarily they wouldn’t stand so close, but it was nice to just rub it in, especially when Gerrard looked their way. How he glared at them like his eyes could set them on fire. 

“She’s really a spitfire, isn’t she,” Tommy said. 

“That wears off,” Buck said. 

“What?” 

“Being impressed by her.” 

Tommy laughed. 

“What is happening right now?” Ravi asked. 

“Someone needed to take out the trash,” Tommy said. 

“You said people were here?” Hen asked. 

“Do you know how many queer first responders there are in LA?” Tommy asked. 

It all happened quickly, in a way. Gerrard responded with anger and vitriol and demands that Taylor take her videos down once his demands to see them brought Taylor’s tablet out and ready. It wouldn’t even matter if she took them down, though, not with the reach that Taylor had these days and not with the work that had been put into getting them out into the wider public. Buck had even gotten Josh to share it over the dispatch twitter. 

Gerrard was still demanding Taylor take the videos off when he seemed to then realize that the videos had come from inside the firehouse. That’s when he turned on them. Rushing towards them, face red in anger. His eyes seemed to narrow on Tommy and Buck and how close they stood. Buck almost moved away, but Tommy didn’t let him. 

“Which one of you?” He asked. “Putting cameras in here without anyone’s consent? Spying! Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“Who do you think you are?” Chim asked. 

“I’m your Captain,” Gerrard ground out. 

“Bobby is our Captain,” Hen said. 

Gerrard pointed his finger at Hen. “So, it was you!” 

Hen shook her head. “No, but I give props to whoever did it and I wish they had let me help.” 

“This is hostile! It’s an attack and a breach of—”

Gerrard was closer than ever, coming at Chim and Hen. Tommy stepped away from Buck. He got between them and Gerrard. Buck could see that it was taking everything for Tommy to do so and despite how big of a man he was literally and figuratively, this was still hard for him. Buck wanted nothing more than to step forward and offer him a hand to hold. He knew he couldn’t. Tommy had asked him not to if it came to it. 

“I did this,” Tommy said. 

His voice was little more than a whisper, but he cleared his throat. 

“No one deserves to work under you, to be belittled every day while doing a job that is already full of risk and that requires trust. No one needs to hear the vitriol that comes out of your mouth or the little motions because you think it’s only men like you that deserve to be here. They don’t. I won’t stand aside and let you do this to anyone. I won’t let you hurt them or put them in a position of getting hurt.” 

“Of course it’s you, Kinard. Still a coward, still a groveling people pleaser. Should have known you like to be down on your knees like the faggot you are.” 

Buck felt like his heart had gotten caught in his throat. His ears were ringing. He wanted to pull Tommy back, wrap him up in his arms at the same time as he wanted to just throw a punch. Buck heard a general gasp go around them and it was louder because it came from the people down below. Casey and everyone that had come with him. 

“None of you deserve to work here. In fact, none of you do. I will make sure this is the end of your careers with the LAFD,” Gerrard said. “You’re all fired.”  

“No,” Assistant Chief Williams said. “They are not.” 

They saw Gerrard’s face go from red to pale white. He sputtered, but no words came out. 

“Chief Williams is correct,” Chief Simpson said, at her heels. “I didn’t know why she insisted I come down here, but I’m glad she did. I see now I made a mistake in placing you here, Vincent.” 

Buck stepped towards Tommy, reaching for his hand and he felt Tommy grasp his tightly. 

It didn’t matter what Chief Simpson said to Taylor about what she could air, or how he wanted to handle things. Not with the crowd that Casey had gathered and not with all the things that Taylor had gotten up on Instagram and TikTok. He couldn’t put a stop to it, not even the spin that Taylor managed to put to things because as Buck had pointed out, Taylor wouldn’t just allow them to dictate things. This time, it was to their advantage. 

After all, it was Taylor that found the connection between Councilwoman Ortiz which became a much larger partly unrelated story. One that Taylor was hell bent on investigating. 

“She knew about him,” Taylor said to him as her camera man was packing up. “Ortiz asked him to put himself forward for this job. I just don’t know why.” 

Buck told her to talk to Hen and Karen. 

After it was all said and done and Bobby was reinstated as Captain, Buck found himself tucked into Tommy’s side out in Hen’s backyard where Hen and Karen were hosting the celebration for everything beginning to revert back to normal. 

“You’re a little bit scary, you know,” Chim said to Tommy.  

“Not really,” Karen put in. “He’s on our side.” 

“I just did what I wish I had been capable of doing a long time ago,” Tommy said. 

Buck kissed his shoulder. It was a little early, but he really did think he wanted to keep Tommy forever. 

[clefclefairy]

in today's episode of time is a flat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, I think it's incredible to have seen the Fanfic Posting discourse turn the full xbox 360 on "don't clog up ao3 with useless tags THIS ISN'T TUMBLR!!!" to "don't tag everything you can think of on tumblr! save spam tagging for ao3!!" and i'm willing to bet it's in no small part because a lot of older users still remember when only 5 tags on tumblr showed up in searches. now it's 20.

[starfinss]

ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀᴛ ʙᴀɴᴄʀᴏꜰᴛ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴄʜ. 2

Chapter One can be found here!

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Lockwood & Co.

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Anthony Lockwood + Lucy Carlyle

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: SFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5,507

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: The client’s daughter flirts with Lockwood, is a massive nuisance, and Lucy gets jealous, among other things.

It took us far longer than we would’ve liked to find Madeline Quintrell, who had stationed herself in the kitchen, where she was casually eating a sandwich. I was the one who found her; Lockwood had gone to search the living room, and when she saw me, she let out a surprised squeak of fear. My rage reached a tipping point when I saw a rapier from the kit we’d left in the kitchen set across the table, just by her hand. I marched over and snatched it up, carrying it back to its proper bag, zipping it inside.

“What the Devil is wrong with you?” I spat, a bit sharper than I meant to, but I was angry.

I was fed up with this girl prancing about like she was immune to Ghost Touch, and somehow, miraculously, traversing the house without any incident besides my rapier at her throat when she’d startled me in the study.

“I was hungry,” she said simply, setting her sandwich down on the plate in front of her, “could you give that back to me now?”

I stared at her. “Give what back to you?”

“The rapier. I picked it out—”

I laughed, incredulous, and quite tired of this farcical series of events. It was a short, unpleasant sound, but it shut her up. “No. You don’t get a rapier of your own until you pass your Third Grade, and since you haven’t, no rapier for you. I’m not letting you handle a weapon if you’re not qualified. This isn’t a game, Miss Quintrell, it’s a job, and it’s not a safe one. You have no idea what you’re playing at. You try and fight a Visitor with no training, you die. That’s it.”

“But if Lockwood were to protect me—”

“Shut up,” I said, and I knew I probably shouldn’t have, but I was beside myself with rage, “Lockwood doesn’t have timeto protect you. He’s here to investigate your house so you can have a safe place to live. You’re getting in the way of that. Chasing after boys is hardly a reason to try and play act being an agent.”

Her face turned a frankly impressive shade of red, almost rivaling the color of her hair.

“Well,” she scoffed, “he clearly doesn’t have a girlfriend. A shame, he’s a very handsome bloke. The other girl in your agency is pretty, but she doesn’t seem to be interested in him. And you. Why would he be interested in you?”

I didn’t want to be affected by that. I really didn’t think I would be, either. But for some reason, that stung. Not the part about my appearance, I didn’t care about that. I didn’t need to be beautiful to be a good agent. It was the second part that sent a strange jolt of stinging embarrassment through me. Why, though? Why did I even care if Lockwood was interested in me?

“This isn’t about me,” I said finally, but she cut me off.

“But this is about you,” she mused, her expression smug, “at least I’ve got the guts to go after a boy. You’re the one blushing like a schoolgirl every time he smiles at you— don’t think I didn’t see, I’m not blind. You’re jealous.”

Absolute nonsense, I told myself, I was not jealous. Complicated, unpleasant feelings were swimming laps in my veins, and I could feel my face growing hot from them. I had to stay calm. Haunted locations were no place for such feelings. I could sort them out once I was back in my bed at Portland Row, with no hungry Visitors to provoke with my racing thoughts.

I took a deep, cleansing breath. “This is not about me,” I repeated, firmer this time, “this is about you, swanning off when we’re not looking. You don’t seem to care that you could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

The door to the kitchen opened, and Lockwood stepped in. He looked at Madeline with a mix of relief and irritation, sighing heavily. At the sight of him, he stomach did an uncomfortable twist, and I forced myself to look away.

“Right, there you are,” he said, “I’m glad you’re safe, Miss Quintrell. No more wandering off, please, we’ve still got an investigation to complete. If you must stay, stay in here, where the largest amount of iron is. And don’t touch anything in our kit. Come on, Luce, George and Holly are already set up in the master bedroom.”

“No,” Madeline protested, “I want to come, too.”

I rounded on her, my fury outweighing my inner turmoil, but Lockwood put a hand on my shoulder. I could see that muscle in his jaw again, tensing. He was reaching the end of his rope.

“I simply cannot allow that, Miss Quintrell.”

His voice was tense, the usual politeness it possessed when dealing with our clients rapidly draining away.

Madeline stood up, pulling her dress down. It took me a few moments to realize what she was doing; trying to appeal to Lockwood with physical appearance rather than smiling and batting her eyelashes. If Lockwood was affected at all, he hid it well, dark eyes remaining fixed on her face.

I really doubted he was affected, though. All she succeeded in doing was making herself look rather silly.

“Please?” She asked, in a soft, simpering tone that made me nearly erupt with fury.

“That’s quite enough of that,” Lockwood said with a cough, and I could see what I could have sworn was a faint blush on his pale cheeks, “I’ll be calling your father now.”

“Why isn’t it working?!” She erupted, and Lockwood stopped mid-stride as he was crossing the kitchen to where the phone was hanging on the wall.

He stared at her, puzzled. “Why isn’t what working, Miss Quintrell?”

“I’ve been flirting all night. Blokes like it when we want their help, yeah? I—”

“Ah, there it is,” the skull drawled, “letter opener. I’ve had just about enough of this girl. Letter opener, I say!”

“Ah,” Lockwood said, “that’s what you’re doing. I’m sorry, Miss Quintrell, but I don’t tend to go around with my clients.”

“I’m not your client,” she supplied, “my father is.”

Lockwood shrugged his narrow shoulders. “That’s quite close enough for me.“

Ignoring anything else she said, Lockwood finished his journey across the kitchen, where he dialed the number to the guest house. The phone rang twice, and when Sir Quintrell picked up, I could hear him from across the room. He didn’t seem pleased that his daughter had snuck out, however, even with how much he seemed to dote on her.

Lockwood and I remained with Madeline until her father came from the guest house to fetch her, apologizing profusely (and loudly) for her behavior before putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her out the front door and away.

The rest of the investigation passed as smoothly as it could in a haunted location, and by the time Lockwood and I joined George and Holly in the master bedroom, George had already located the source, and was pulling up floorboards while Holly fought off an angry Specter in the form of a man in a high Victorian collar with impressive mutton chops. Off in the corner, a Shade was hovering, a grey smudge of a thing in a Victorian style nightgown.

Lockwood joined Holly, and I knelt beside George, aiding him in tugging up the floor. With much sweating and swearing, we discovered a bundle of letters, unreadable due to age, but once we shoved them into a silver link pouch, the Visitors blinked out of existence and were gone.  For a moment or two, the four of us sat there, panting, as we took in the silence, before moving to gather our kit, then back down to the kitchen.

“You sorted the Shade upstairs, then?” I asked, and Holly nodded.

“It didn’t put up much of a fight,” she said, “just stared at us rather crossly while we looked for the Source.”

I grunted in assent before rising to my feet from where I’d been sitting cross-legged, folding the iron chains up and packing them away.

“I’m going to do a final sweep of the house.”

I stepped out of the kitchen and into the dining room, letting myself breathe. I really was going to do a sweep of the house, but I also needed to clear my head. I was trying to figure out why what Madeline said had gotten to me the way that it did. I was fond of Lockwood, I knew that much. Maybe I didn’t like it when other girls looked at him like that, but what of it?

With racing thoughts, I walked the length of the dining room once, then again, before exiting into the main hall, and finally drifting into the living room.

“You don’t seem well,” the skull said, startling me, “don’t tell me that tart got to you, Lucy.”

“No,” I said, a tad sharply, “I’m fine.”

“You’re a horrid liar.”

“Shut up. I am not.”

“You absolutely are. It’s the way she was looking at Lockwood, right? You don’t like when other girls get too close to him. I’ve been telling you as much for a while.”

“I am not. And even if that is true, I don’t have time for this.”

A dark chuckle. “If not now, when? You never have time. And you think I’m the weird one.”

“You are,” I said, “you’re a haunted skull in a jar. That’s textbook weird.”

“Are you alright, Luce?”

Lockwood’s voice startled me even further than the skull’s had. I heard him bite back a laugh at the way I jumped, and I glared at him.

“Fine,” I said, “just peachy.”

“Liar,” the skull reiterated, its voice adopting a taunting, musical quality, “liar, liar, pants on fire.”

I had half a mind to turn the tap closed, and I was setting my bag down on the ground to do so when Lockwood spoke, rendering me sidetracked.

“You don’t seem peachy,” he said, regarding me with dark eyes, “Miss Quintrell didn’t do or say anything to bother you, did she? Other than the obvious, of course.”

I snorted half-heartedly, offering what I hoped was a reassuring look. “It’s nothing you need worry about, Lockwood. She got on my nerves, but I’m able to deal with any further feelings on my own.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Luce—”

“I’m fine,” I said. And I was. Probably.

Prettiness wasn’t my profession. I was content with my apprentice, even if it wasn’t much to be proud of. I had nice eyes, and I liked the way my waist was shaped. I had some things about myself I was fond of.  I wasn’t about to let the words of a cosmetically challenged rich girl define my self worth. And I didn’t blush every time he smiled at me, did I? That was ridiculous. George would’ve teased me about it ages ago if I’d been doing that.

“Liar,” said the skull, once more. I glared pointedly in the direction of the jar.

“Oh, all right, then,” I retorted, “tell me what I’m lying about. Enlighten me, Skull.”

“Besides always claiming to abide by the one biscuit at a time rule, you’re lying about what you feel for Lockwood,” the Skull drawled, “It’s sickening, I tell you. You’re going to wind up Ghost Touched, the lot of you, for all the time you spend smiling and blushing and staring at one another. I wish you’d just get it over with, telling him, so you stop with all your blasted sighing.”

“I don’t do that,” I retorted, even though I felt heat beginning to rise to my cheeks, “and what she said about— never mind. I don’t know why I’m entertaining this. I’ve got thicker skin than to let someone who I don’t even know do my head in.”

“Hold on,” Lockwood said, and honestly, for a moment, I’d forgotten he was there, “what’d she say to you? I can surely take it up with our client if she offended you. My patience with her is already rather thin, with her disrupting the investigation, and I prefer not to have my operatives face disrespect if I can help it.”

“Yes, tell him,” the Skull said, “tell him that she said you’re an unsightly troll and that’s why he isn’t interested in you.”

This was all becoming too much. I felt heat settle in the apples of my cheeks, much to my annoyance.

“That isn’t what she said at all,” I said, leaving out the added troll comment, “she didn’t say anything about my appearance. Why do you care about this, anyway?”

“Because I like watching you squirm. But you don’t deny the last bit, do you?”

“First of all, rude,” I said, “and second of all, no, I don’t. She phrased it differently than that, though.”

“Phrased what differently?” Lockwood said, and I ignored him.

“Right, right, she said;” the Skull cleared its nonexistent throat, warping its voice into a hideous falsetto, “and you? Why would he be interested in a troll like you?”

“No,” I said, “why are you so set on her calling me a troll? I think you’re the one who wants to call me a—”

“Lucy!” Lockwood cried, successfully getting my attention this time, and by now, the color in my cheeks had spread down to my neck, and I felt hot with embarrassment.

“Did she upset you in any way?” Lockwood said, “I noticed you were particularly cross in the kitchen, when we found her.”

“I was already cross,” I said, “you would be too if you found someone messing about during an active investigation.”

“Well, cross-er ,” Lockwood relented, “she called you a troll?”

I sighed. “No. That was something the skull added.”

“I was merely reading between the lines.”

“Shut up,” I said, nudging the bag containing the jar with my foot, “what she said isn’t important. I’m fine. I’m just frustrated that she managed to get under my skin.”

“Well,” Lockwood said, a half smile tugging at his lips, “for all intents and purposes, I think you’re lovely.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what face I was making in that instant, but I probably resembled a deer in the headlights. It was like something in my brain just completely stopped working as I stared at him, unsure of how to even begin to formulate a response. My heart was doing that familiar, funny thing it does whenever Lockwood is involved, but on a far greater scale than I was used to. My face was hot enough to fry an egg on, and I was surprised that steam wasn’t rising from my skin.

For someone as perfectly lovely as Lockwood to say that I could be described as the same word wasn’t something I really knew how to comprehend.

Surely, he was simply commenting on my abilities as an operative, or as a friend. He was probably just trying to make me feel better, which was strange, because not even I was sure what I was feeling. Whatever it was, it was extending dangerously beyond the realm of platonic that I tried hard to stay within when it came to Lockwood.

I wanted to say a retort of some kind, sharp and snappy; in an effort to deflect his confusing compliment with the banter I was more used to between the two of us, but instead, all that came out of my mouth was:

“What?”

“She commented on your appearance?” He said, as casually as if he was discussing the weather, “well, now, so am I, if I may.”

“She didn’t,” I said, stupidly.

“Oh,” Lockwood said, “well, I still stand by that statement regardless.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. Before he’d followed up with that bit, I was going to politely thank him for commenting on what had to be my abilities as an agent, but that had completely evaporated. He didn’t mean my skills. He meant me.

And everything imploded. It was like someone smashed the thin glass window between us, as my suppressed feelings, the ones I only ever entertained when I was alone, rushed in like an unblocked river. I denied it relentlessly, but every shared glance with Lockwood made my heart feel like it was twisting into the Windsor knots he wore his ties in. I’d long dismissed it as nerves when I was in the field, and as pure silliness when I was at Portland Row, because that was what it had to be.

There was no way he’d look at me like I was sunshine when I was standing in the kitchen the morning after a case, spreading jam on toast and dressed in my silly pink-and-yellow nightie. There was no way I’d catch him looking at me like I was precious and incredible when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, or that his caution and care for me was in any way different than his concern for George or Holly when we were in the field. I’d dismissed it as imagination, because it had to be. I was silly for all of it.

But he’d demolished all of that in a single blow, and with so few words that it was astonishing. I stared at him some more, at a complete loss for words, and an infuriating, mirthful glitter worked its way into his dark eyes.

“What?” I said, once more, my voice a little strangled, “you— you what?”

“I said I stand by—”

“No,” I interjected, “I heard you. I think. You think I’m pretty? That’s what you’re saying?”

A short chuckle. “Well, that’s usually what people mean when they call someone else ‘lovely,’ Luce.”

I was too stunned to formulate any kind of intelligent response, and it didn’t help that the skull was being suspiciously quiet.

“How long have you thought that?” I asked.

“Great question,” the skull said, “do you have any others just as silly?”

“Always,” Lockwood said, as if it were obvious, “I think I realized just how lovely you were when we went to the Fittes ball together. Blue really is your color, I think. But really, I’ve thought that about you since we met.”

I reached up unconsciously, to where the very same pendant he’d given to me that night rested just below where my collarbones met. I didn’t understand how he could say things like this so casually, like when he’d ever-so-nonchalantly told me he’d die for me beneath the department store during the Chelsea Outbreak. Now, it was this. A casual confession of attraction, said in the same unapologetic way.

He continued to stare at me, glimmering mirth and something dangerously close to affection in his eyes, and I knew.

“Have you… been flirting with me?”

He laughed at that. A merry, lovely sound. He stepped closer, just a few paces, and I had to bend my neck back a bit to look up at him.

“What do you think?”

I felt annoyance bubble in my chest. It joined with the other emotions I was feeling in an exhilarating concoction as I stared up at him with wild, incredulous eyes, and I finally allowed impulse to take over, because I couldn’t take itanymore.

“You’re an idiot, Lockwood,” I said.

Faster than even I could comprehend, and before I even knew what I was doing, I was grabbing the front of his greatcoat by the lapels, and in another quick motion, I was on my tiptoes, my lips molding against his.

He made a sound of surprise when our mouths met, and when he did, it seemed to break through the impulsive haze that had overtaken me. Mortification growing, because I’d just kissed my employer, I was about to pull back to apologize until I was blue in the face, but then his hands found my waist, and he was pulling me flush against his body, stopping any thoughts of doubt in their tracks.

My hands moved from the front of his coat to his chest, and then my arms were around his neck, and one of his hands was in my hair, drifting down so his palm could cup my face as he sighed against my lips.

He tasted like the Earl Grey tea he’d been drinking earlier, something that didn’t surprise me, but thrilled me nonetheless.

He pulled back for a mere second before diving back in, repeating the action a few more times before I felt his teeth graze my lower lip, sending sparks dancing down my spine, and I knew for a fact that the dam between us was breaking for him as well. He’d been craving this just as much as I had.

I made an unintentional sound against his mouth, a soft, breathy gasp, and I could feel him moving, crowding me against the wall not far behind me. The kiss grew fierce and unrestrained and passionate, turning into the kind of kiss that came from an endless amount of pining; the kind where you couldn’t help yourself anymore. My mind was full of something similar to Ghost Fog, only far more pleasant.

It felt good to kiss Lockwood, I realized. It was fulfilling a need I didn’t even know was there, or maybe one that I’d been ignoring. I didn’t particularly care which it was at this point, and from the way Lockwood’s hands slid down my body to slip under my coat, resting comfortably in the bend of my waist, he didn’t care, either.

My hands rose to tangle in his hair, and I felt electricity buzzing in my blood at the soft sound he made against my mouth as my fingers combed through thick dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. His hands slid further down my body to rest on my hips, long fingers bunching in the fabric of my skirt before drifting upwards once more and slipping under the bottom hem of my sweater. The feel of his palms against my bare skin drew a sudden gasp, sending my head spinning off into outer space. One of my hands slipped from his hair to the back of his neck, then sliding down to wrap around his tie, fingers catching in the knot, using it to tug him gently closer.

Slowly, reluctantly, Lockwood pulled back, enough to put a small gaps between our mouths, and I wanted to close the distance once more, but he spoke before I could do so.

“Were you jealous? Of Miss Quintrell?”

In response, I pulled him back into a kiss, which he allowed for a frenzied moment before gently pulling away.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, brain still wreathed in fog.

“So that’s a yes, then?”

The laugher in his voice made my blood boil, but a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I looked down, my eyes fixing on a fleck of salt that was stuck to Lockwood’s collar, debris from a salt bomb we’d set off during our tangle with the Visitors in the master bedroom. I moved my hand from where it remained on his tie, flicking the granule away with my thumb.

Lockwood’s hand found my face, cradling my jaw, an action that seemed almost forbidden when coupled with the unfamiliarity of it, and I unconsciously leaned into his touch.

“Luce, please. Tell me, did she upset you?”

“It’s stupid, really,” I said, “she just said I didn’t have the guts to go after a boy I fancied, and that she did.“

Smug satisfaction settled on Lockwood’s face. “So you fancy me?”

I stared at him. “Obviously. Why do you think I spent the last few minutes snogging you? That’s a usual activity between people who fancy one another. She also implied I wasn’t very pretty, but I don’t particularly care about that. Prettiness has never been my profession.”

He ignored the former part of my statement, brow furrowing. “Who ever told you that you’re not beautiful, Lucy? And who taught you that rubbish?”

I shrugged, indifferent. “My mother.”

Lockwood made a displeased face. “I reckon I’m going to have to have a serious talk with your mother.”

That one sentence alone sent butterflies swarming my stomach, but the mental image of Lockwood facing off against my mother was enough to make me smile, my heart glowing with warmth.

“Before you do that,” I said, “do me a favor?”

Lockwood smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah? And what would that be?”

“Kiss me again.”

And he did. It was softer this time, with less of the frantic energy from before, now that the mutual affection we had for each other was firmly established. There was no Madeline Quintrell now, just Lockwood and me, in each other’s arms. We were so wrapped up in each other that we didn’t hear the door opening.

“I finished the sweep of the upper floor— Oh!”

It was Holly. Lockwood and I broke apart quickly, and I realized how compromising our position was. I was still backed against the wall, lips kiss swollen, and Lockwood’s usually neat hair was in disarray, even though he still somehow made it seem intentional and elegant. It was clear what we’d been doing.

Lockwood and I looked at each other, identical deer-in-the-headlights expressions adorning our faces, and I turned my head to look at Holly.

As she took in the scene, I watched as a slow smile spread across her lips, broadening to a grin, before she turned halfway to the door behind her.

“George! You and Kipps owe me twenty quid! Each!”

“What?!” Came George’s muffled voice, “why?!”

Holly looked at us and then back to the door, giving us a knowing smile before turning and walking away.

“You know why!” I heard her say as she closed the door behind her.

“Did they bet on us?” I asked, astonished, and Lockwood chuckled.

“Seems so. I wasn’t exactly subtle with the flirting, I’m surprised it took you as long as it has to realize what I was doing. I suppose they caught on before you did.”

That was embarrassing. I felt my cheeks warm again.

“Yeah, well, excuse me for that,” I said dryly, “I’m not exactly used to being flirted with, especially when someone like you is doing the flirting.”

Lockwood looked at me quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I laughed, astonished. “You mean— Lockwood, you’d have to be completely thick not to realize how attractive you are. You’ve surely seen the effect you have on girls— Madeline Quintrell is a testament to that.”

I was surprised I was able to be as blasé about that as I was, but snogging the life out of someone kind of gets rid of the need to beat around the bush, I think.

“I’m aware I’m charismatic,” Lockwood said, stepping away from me, but remaining close, “I know how to talk to people and tell them what they want to hear. I’m also aware that I’m what’s considered to be conventionally attractive, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t see what that has to do with me finding you to be lovely.”

I combed my hand through my hair, patting it down, and straightening my clothing.

“You’re sort of out of my league,” I said, “that’s what I mean.”

Lockwood smoothed his hair back into place, straightening his tie.

“Nonsense,” he said, “if anything, you’re out of my league. I don’t deserve you, Lucy. London doesn’t deserve a girl as wonderful as you.”

And that was where he ended the conversation, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of my nose, and sending my emotions into a tailspin once more.  Thoroughly flustered, I reached down and pulled my backpack onto my shoulders. Lockwood and I finished sweeping the lower floor with minimal chatter, bathed in a comfortable silence as his hand rested on the small of my back.

After we’d finished, we met the others in the kitchen, where Holly was smiling like the cat that got the cream, and George looked like someone who had just lost twenty quid. He quickly busied himself with calling a night cab, ignoring us.

We’d booked a hotel in the nearby village in advance since the trains back to London wouldn’t be running again until morning. I was to be rooming with Holly, which wasn’t a problem, I was used to doing so when cases took us away from London for a few days. What was a problem, however, was the way she was looking at me like she wanted to wring me out for information every time I caught her eye. It also wasn’t helpful that the skull kept bemoaning about baring witness to Lockwood and me in the living room back at Bancroft Hall.

“If I weren’t already dead, I’d carve out my own eyeballs and die again. Disgusting.”

I decided that was enough of that, and turned the tap closed for the night.

I took a shower and tucked into bed after that, and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

All of us were so tired that we didn’t particularly care for conversation as we packed our things and boarded the train back to London. I fell asleep in our train compartment, and only woke when George shook me awake. Lockwood kept stealing looks at me, giving me smiles that made my stomach do backflips, and I could think of nothing but what had happened the night before in the living room of Bancroft Hall. I hoped it wasn’t a one-off thing, and that Lockwood’s attraction was more than just attraction, as mine was for him.

I’d dismissed it as a silly crush at first, and tried to push it down until it faded out, like crushes tend to do. I thought my stint away from the company after the Chelsea Outbreak would remedy that somewhat, but if anything, it just made it stronger. It reached a boiling point when I actually rejoined, and by then, I realized that my feelings for Lockwood were very much not platonic, like I’d been insisting to myself. I’d just been the last to realize it.

I’d have to get the outsider’s perspective from Holly, since the last thing I wanted to do was talk about boys with George, but I was still a little too mortified to look her in the eye after she’d walked in on us. Good thing she’d split from us upon our return to Portland Row, undoubtedly on her way to her apartment to see Dalia.

George started on a late breakfast after dropping his things in his room, and I retreated to my own as well. I figured I’d have a nap a bit later, after I’d eaten.

I didn’t even hear Lockwood come upstairs, and I didn’t even notice he was there until he cleared his throat. I jumped so hard I almost tripped over my discarded boots.

“Blimey,” I said, “knock next time.”

He smiled. “Sorry. I wanted to talk to you.”

I looked at him warily, crossing my arms. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“What happened last night,” he started, and I tensed, waiting for what he said next. I was waiting for him to say that it couldn’t happen again, or that it was a mistake, but instead, he said, “I meant every word of what I said to you.”

I blinked, a little owlishly. “You did?”

He stepped closer, and I did as well, tentatively. “I fancy you, Lucy Carlyle,” he said, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest, “would you…”

Would you believe it? He was blushing. I’d never seen him blush before, and it was even more obvious because of how pale he was. It was one of the most endearing things I’d ever seen.

“Would I what?” I asked, voice quiet; expectant.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? Just the two of us, obviously. I know the head chef at a restaurant in Kensington, he owes me a favor. If you’d accompany me, I’d be honored.”

I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. “Yeah,” I said, “I mean, yes. I’d love to have dinner with you, Lockwood.”

He swallowed, sighing, then broke into a smile. “I’d like to take you to so many more places, Lucy. It would make me very happy to be yours.”

I stepped closer, taking his hands in mine, squeezing. My stomach was aflutter with butterflies and ladybirds and every other thing that flies. I wasn’t used to this, but that didn’t mean I didn’t like it. It thrilled me and terrified me all at once. It was incredible.

“And I would be happy to have you,” I replied, raising my head to look at him. His hand slipped from mine to cradle my jaw.

“You really are so lovely,” he whispered, nothing but affection in his dark eyes.

And he leaned down to kiss me, a smile still on his lips. It was perfect.

And, for the record, so was that dinner.

[purplebirdsees]

Warm-up: Whatever - Part 3

part 1 / part 2

… Wait. Where was the folders section again?

The main isle was a little less crowded compared to the other isles which gave me a second to breathe, but didn’t help much from my ever growing heartbeat. Remember what mom said? If you’re lost, look at the big card boards with numbers. I started to walk, head looking up at the numbers. Four: Markers, pen—five: another pen isle… seven, eight, nine…

My walks started to turn to jogs. Ten: scrapbook, stickers; eleven: glue, tape, fasteners; twelve: notebooks… I gritted my teeth; screw this, at this point I should just go on every isle. I went inside the twelfth isle, looking for something, anything, that resembles my dad. Brown hair, kinda tall… what was he wearing again? Was it green? No, that’s me… White, right? My eyes hopped back and forth with the slightest bit of brown hair. No, too long; too short… that’s a kid…

I went to the next isle. Empty. Next. One girl. Nex—it was that kid again.

I slowed down my walking, careful not to make my face show too much emotion. He glanced at me, looked at me with such a deep frown he looked almost cross-eyed, then rolled his eyes.7

What was that kid’s problem?!

Whatever, I thought, as I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, which was a hard bound notebook cover the part where I could see his face, and went back to the main hallway for the seventh, eighth time. He was probably… having a bad day, right? At least, that’s what my mom would always tell me.

'Unless they punch you or harm your body, just don't mind them, okay, Tsuzuru?' Was what she said, countless of times, which at first felt as if she was trying to dismiss the problem. At the end, though, she'll somehow catch them doing something, like make a face or say an insult. If they're lucky, she'll just give you a nasty glare, which usually resolves most cases, resulting with said kid instantly cowering towards their parents, unable to answer the question why they're upset.

If only she was here…

Then, my stomach suddenly dropped as the worst idea came into mind. What if… what if dad went home already? Maybe he forgot me, or had to go do something… or maybe there was an emergency?

I remember the drive from here to our house was quite far, I even took quite a long nap on the way here. Maybe I can ask for some help, but I barely had any money, which meant I probably had to—

‘… Yeah, I’ll be there tonight, don’t worry. No, it’s fine, you don’t have to take the job, I’ll do it… Promotion? Haha, yeah; we both know how our boss is, come on.’

… Dad?

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But… thanks for covering for me today… Why do you sound like I’m gonna die soon, you bastard. Okay, okay, I’ll see you later, don’t do anything stupid while I’m out… Yeah, sure, go tell yourself that. Okay, bye.’

Dad…!

I ran towards his voice, bumping on a few people along the way, but I didn’t care. He was here, he didn’t leave me. I don’t have to walk home… he’s… he didn’t…

'Tsu—oofgh.'

I clung tightly onto his shirt, the pit on my stomach now going up to my throat as relief washed over me. I could feel burning on my face, my eyes, my throat.

Dad gave me a soft pat on the head. I heard a small chuckle, then he gently pushed my shoulder so that he could have me face him.

'Are you okay?'

I let out a small uhn.

For a second, he looked at me, carefully studying my face. 'Okay, let’s go.'

Dad didn’t ask me to go find the rest of the materials, and instead asked for the list. He asked if I wanted to stay in the car instead, to which I said no. Then, without much of a few words spoken, we picked out the items on the list.

Without my mom’s stories, though, I couldn’t drown out the sound of my ever growing heartbeat. Every time I saw a hint of movement at the corner of my eye, my instinct was to hide, whether it be behind a bookshelf, behind my dad, or simply covering my face.

After a while, though, as we checked out the list to see if we missed anything, the kid was nowhere in sight. Maybe they went home, I thought, as I looked around the area with little movement from my head as I can, just in case he is still here, and he finds me searching for him, god forbid. It seemed clear, I thought, as I sighed,

'Tsuzuru.' Dad beckoned, as we walked towards the cashier, nodding his head towards the notebooks and pens. “Is there something you want?”

On reflex, I shook my head.

Dad then pointed at my hands with a raised eyebrow. 'How about that one?'

Confused, I looked at my hands, then realized I was still holding the notebook I used to hide my face with. I didn’t really think much of it, not with all my anxiety making me focus solely on making myself hidden. Its cover was made out of dark green leather, with a pen attached. My heart hitched in my chest as I saw how pretty it was, and even considered his offer of buying it. I never had anything like this before, I bet it would be so nice to write on it. When I flipped it on its back to look at the price, however, my eyes widened in shock, and instantly placed it on the nearest shelf.

I shook my head again, lowering my gaze to the ground.

Shehehehehmmm…

I looked up, and instantly felt the blood in my face drain.

The person who was before us on the cashier was the same snooty8 kid. He had the same weirdly big grin, his silver braces glaring back at me as menacing as his eyes. He then turned to his companion, who seemed to not care much about what was happening, as their whole focus was poured onto a conversation that they were having on the phone. The kid rolled his eyes, then looked back at me again with a squint and a smirk.

I looked away instantly, my relief gone. I could feel my resting heart’s steady pace spike up, every beat inching upwards my throat. I covered my mouth, afraid that it might spill out, as I felt something hot and searing rise up from my throat. I clutched my free hand onto whatever I could, which was dad’s coat.

'Hmm?' My dad asks, as he looks at me. 'Is something wrong?'

'Ahahaha, I really like this notebook brand! It’s super expensive, but mother said I can buy anything I want! Ha, ha, ha! I love my mother!'

I replied to dad with a shake of my head.

'Hmmm… I guess, I can do the rest from here.' He then patted my head twice. The snotty kid rolled his eyes. 'Do you want to stay inside the car?'

I nodded. He gave me the car keys, along with a reminder to close it once I’m inside. With one last nod, I started to head out of the store. This was a good thing, I thought at first, because then I wouldn’t need to deal with that kid again. That is, if I survive going through him first, because he was in the middle of the way towards the exit.

To avoid eye contact at all costs, I kept my eyes trained on the ground, pretending to fiddle with dad’s car keys. Every step I took, the more my ears filled with the sound of blood nervously pumping through. As I was two steps away from him, he slid himself off the way.

Was that… a peace offering? I took one, two steps, but as I was about to take my third, my foot seemed to get caught onto something. Good thing I instantly caught myself, but in the process, I had to hold onto the counter of the cashier with a loud bmp! I looked back, only to be greeted with the kid and his muffled ‘ahahahaaaaammmff’, his left foot slightly sticking out.

I stood up and ran.

Out of that place. Out of that stupid kid, and his stupid demeanor, and his stupid way of laughing, with his stupid, stupid big smirk and his stupid leg. Looking back, I wished I tripped harder on his feet, maybe even leave a big, ugly bruise, or stain his shoe. I wanted to yell at him, but all I did was ran. As I arrived near the car, panting, I gave out a frustrated, high-pitched yell, slamming my fist on the car door. The pain shot through my fist to my whole arm in an instant, as I seethed and sat down on the driveway, cradling my ever reddening knuckles.

I couldn’t bare to stand, or even look at the car. I just sat there, helplessly, blowing short breathes onto my knuckles, hoping the throbbing pain goes away. Just like mom would do it.

Pain, pain, go away! She’d say, her gentle breath warm and ticklish on raw, angry skin. As much as he would breathe on it, however, it felt like the searing hot pain got worse and worse, until his vision inevitably got blurry from tears. In a hurry, I raised my head up, willing the tears to go back to my eyes.

But after a few minutes, there was a voice that called my name. The voice got louder and louder the more they called, and as I heard footsteps grew louder, closer, I felt something big and warm wrap around my shoulder. They called out again. I let out a shaky breath. Then, I felt a thumb slowly flick the back of my earlobe.

'Come on, lets go.' The voice urged. A stubborn tear slipped past with a small sniffle, and I felt the hand go from my shoulder to my throbbing, red hand, slowly prying it open to get the keys. They then unlocked the car door, grabbed me by my armpits, lifted me up, and placed me on the seat, strapping a seat belt along with a few pats on the head.

And the tears never stopped. Big, fat droplets trickled down my red face, as the feel of dread and shame and frustration burst in my chest, like an uncontrollable and unstable bomb. Yet, tears were the only way the emotion bomb could seep its remains out, as it dripped from my face, then down, pooling on my closed fists. Well, at least the coolness of the salt water kind of helped sooth my bruising fist.

When the car stopped, dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either, as he stared at the driveway, his brows knitted as if he was pondering on what to do.

'… Are you okay now?' He asks, his head tilted slightly towards me with a slightly raised brow.

The question only made my eyes pool with more tears.

He sighed, the kind where it’s low and long, with a pronounced ‘haah’ as he exhaled. 'Come on, let it all out, while you’re still in the car.'

I wiped my eyes, attempting to stop it from tearing up further, but it seemed that every time I wiped the tears grew more and more consistent in quantity.

'Tsuzuru,' He started, as he rested his elbow on my car seat. 'You did the right thing not to be provoked.'

… Huh?

'I saw that kid was trying to provoke you. You didn’t try anything, to—that, you know… you didn’t do anything… aggressive.

I nodded, not really understanding the words provoke and aggressive. Those were… good things, right?

Dad then shifted in his seat, his knitted brows deepening, as if he was struggling in finding the right words. 'But… Next time, just tell me, okay? And stop crying over it.

… I-I’m sorry.

'Hmm?'

I did… I don’t like that kid.

He let out a small, amused breath, patting my shoulder. 'Don’t worry. Just promise me, once you’re old enough, you’re going to work hard to prove to that kid you’re not weak, okay?'

I nodded, wiping the last of my tears and snot with my hand.

'Now, come on, clean yourself up. Don’t show your brothers you cried okay? You’re their older brother after all; if you come back and show them that you cried over some dumb kid’s words, they’re gonna think their older brother’s weak. Here, some tissue.'

I wiped my eyes and nose, blowing onto it loudly. When I finished, dad held out a small parcel wrapped in paper.

'… You wanted this, right? Here.' I thanked him as I received it. I tore off the paper and saw that it was the same dark green leather notebook I used to hide my face with. My head snapped back at my father, who had a small smile. He patted my shoulder again, then flicked my earlobe, as I shook my head, knowing how expensive the notebook was.

'It’s not everyday I get to treat you, right?' He said. 'Just… remember what I told you, alright? We’re a family; we help each other out. Just work hard, and help your mom with taking care of everyone else. If you do that… then that notebook was worth the investment, alright?'

Mine. I beamed at the notebook, then hugged it tightly to my chest.

Mine...

---

7 BRO KICK THAT GUY. FUCKING KICK HIS ASS WTF ATTITUDE???

8 [tsz]… who added this.

NOTES:

too tangent-y for some reason I kept getting off topic

its ok I guess but I don’t know how to add this in with the rest of the project

too long. i think.

[quin-ns]

Sleeping Bag (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: you can’t get comfortable in your sleeping bag, so joel invites you into his

Tags: age gap (mostly implied), anxiety, fluff, protective/caring!joel, comfort, cuddling, sharing a sleeping bag (instead of the one bed trope lol), kissing (forehead and lips), it’s just cute short and fun

A/N: simple and quick, inspired by ep 4 when joel and ellie were in sleeping bags in the woods, but no explicit spoilers. I’ve been wanting to write for joel since episode one and finally got an idea. pretty sure more will be coming soon…

Cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • writing masterlist

After sleeping in a bed in the QZ’s for years, suddenly trying to get comfortable in a sleeping bag on the ground was proving difficult for you.

What a spoiled thought to have, right? Well, it wasn’t just that. You were out in the open woods. There could be infected anywhere. They could come for you any second. How could you close your eyes and rest peacefully knowing you were no longer behind the barrier walls?

Ellie was already asleep, you could hear her light snores. Your back was facing him, but you assumed Joel was asleep as well given his stillness. You rolled from your side to your back and sighed.

You had to sleep. You should’ve been tired. You and Joel had taken turns driving, although since you didn’t have much driving experience Joel became concerned when you began to struggle with the gear shift and mixed up the pedals (it only happened once but he couldn’t let it go). Joel had grown exhausted and didn’t want to stress you out by making you drive without him as backup/support, so you all stopped for the night. He was thoughtful like that; even if he was a bit grouchy sometimes.

You turned from your back to your other side, eyes landing on Joel. He was facing you, eyes closed, breathing steadily. The older man actually seemed to be at peace. He only looked like that when he was asleep. The moment he woke up, you knew he’d have that slight pout and furrow of his brows that you’d become accustomed to.

If Joel caught you staring, you wondered what he’d say. You could never pinpoint the way he viewed you. Friend? Daughter? Burden? You’d be way more okay with the previous two as long as it wasn’t the third. Although if you were being honest with yourself, you hoped it was none of the above.

Despite his age and his tough nature, you had a thing for Joel. Like, a thing. Feelings, attraction, affection—whatever you wanted to call it. Definitely a crush. Love? Maybe. It was a little bit confusing, but nothing in this life was simple.

Joel had taken you under his wing a while back and looked after you. He was incredibly protective and even if he wasn’t the best with expressing himself, Joel cared for you. He made you feel safe. He was there for you when you had no one else.

You rolled to your other side. Then back. Simply put, tossing and turning. The thought that you were being loud don’t even cross your mind until—

“What are you doing?” Joel’s voice caught your attention.

You let out a sigh, feeling bad that you’d woken the man up. You turned back to face him. “I can’t sleep,” you confessed.

“I can tell,” he murmured. “Do you plan on rolling around all night?”

You frowned to yourself. “I'm sorry.”

Joel exhaled softly and even in the dark, you could see the sympathy in those deep brown eyes of his. You hadn’t realized that subconsciously, you’d moved closer to him.

“It’s okay.” He had a soft spot for you, even though he’d probably deny it.

“I’ll try and be… still, I guess.” You knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep. “Just go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.” That was a lie.

“No,” he decided after a moment. You furrowed your brows. “You need sleep too.”

“I can’t get comfortable,” you replied. You let a few seconds pass before adding, “…and I’m too anxious.”

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Joel promised like if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that.

It meant a lot, it really did. But you huffed out a humorless laugh and went to a worse case scenario. “You’re all the way over there. If an infected wanted to get me, it could. Before you could stop it.”

Joel was quiet for a few beats. You hadn’t meant to insult him, but it was true. It didn’t matter how safe you felt with him there. They were faster than him. Faster than anyone.

“So then come over here,” Joel offered, voice still thick with sleep. It sounded incredibly enticing.

The image of you crawling into his sleeping bag crossed your mind faster than you could stop it. You had to do a double take. “Like… scoot over there?” you tried to clarify inconspicuously.

“If you’re against sharing with me.”

So, he had meant what you’d hoped for. Your heart skipped a little beat and you swallowed.

“I’m not.”

All Joel did was hum. You unzipped your sleeping bag and left the warmth. Joel was ready and waiting when you moved over to him, enveloping you into the safety of his sleeping bag and heavy arms. You wiggled around a little bit until you got comfortable. For the first time since you’d left the QZ, it didn’t take long.

“Thank you,” you mumbled softly, trying to keep your breathing calm. Being so close to Joel was causing you to become less focused on sleep and more focused on the way his breath sounded so close to your ear.

“Mmhhmm,” he hummed from deep in his throat with closed lips. You thought it was going to be left at that, but then you heard his gruff voice. “I know it’s been hard on you.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but he continued. “Even if you’re too stubborn to admit it beyond makin’ snarky comments.”

You took in a breath. He got you on that one, and you both knew it. “Since when do you know me this well?”

“Since always,” Joel pointed out. “You’re easy to read.”

“For you maybe.”

“Yeah, for me,” he agreed, sounding pleased with himself. Joel was silent for a long moment, listening to the soft rustle of your body as you gazed around your surroundings. The grass, the trees, the darkness… “I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

The sudden apology confused you. “What?”

“You’ve never been outside of the QZ before, and for good reason,” Joel started. “It’s a scary world out here and I shouldn’t have subjected you to it. I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

His voice was full of guilt that seemed to come out of nowhere, but given all he had to say you suspected he’d been carrying it since you left.

“I wanted to come with you,” you assured him. You never second guessed that decision despite everything that had happened so far. “Where is this coming from?”

“You’re scared and it’s my fault.” You could hear the deep frown in his voice.

“You’re the reason I feel safe right now,” you said without a second thought. It was true. You wanted him to know that. There was something you wanted to know too, now, and you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you not want me here?”

“I do,” Joel confessed. “That’s why I’m selfish.” There was a pause but you didn’t dare speak. “I didn’t want to be away from you.”

A wave of realization crashed over you.

You wiggled around, turning until you were facing him. You offered him a soft, delicate smile that you hoped he could see despite the dark.

“It almost sounds like you care about me. A lot,” you couldn’t help but tease.

“You know I care about you,” Joel stated, like it was the most obvious thing. Maybe he’d tried to cover it up in the past, but someone would have to be blind to not see that you meant something to Joel.

“I care about you too,” you admitted with much more ease. He knew, though.

Joel, in an uncharacteristically soft gesture, pressed a kiss to your forehead. You could hardly believe it. But it felt nice. You liked the affection. And coming from someone like Joel who never let their guard down, it was significant enough to leave you speechless.

“It’s gonna be daylight soon,” he muttered. “You should try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed with a slight nod. “Just… one more thing.” It took everything you had to be brave enough to say that, and to do what you were going to do next.

There was basically no space between the two of you, but you managed to bring your hand up to Joel’s face and cup his jaw. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Joel didn’t hesitate to kiss you back. He took charge, but it wasn’t surprising. He had a dominating presence and was rough around the edges, you didn’t think he’d be delicate with you.

Not that you minded.

His lips moved against yours, almost in a frenzy. Like he was scared you’d slip away from him. It was so needy, so passionate. You wished you would’ve done this much, much sooner

Joel found the willpower to break away from the kiss before you. You would’ve happily lost consciousness in order to kiss him for just a few more moments. But then you’d worry him, and you hated to see Joel worry.

But you didn’t see worry when you looked into his eyes. You saw a hint of wonder. You were both staring into a new beginning as you gazed upon one another. He was panting a little, both of your soft breaths intertwining.

“You need sleep,” he reminded you.

Of course he still couldn’t drop the protector role. He wasn’t wrong about that, either. You smiled to yourself, the feel of his lips still ghosting yours despite the distance. You twisted in the sleeping bag without a word, knowing that you’d never be able to sleep facing Joel. You’d probably be too busy staring at him…

So yeah, you laid with your back to his chest and closed your eyes. His arms held you tight against his firm body. Not only providing warmth, but security as well.

“Goodnight,” Joel mumbled to you, already dozing back off. You could hear the soft smile in his voice despite the tiredness. It seemed easier for him to sleep wherever, although you liked to think you were bringing him some kind of comfort as well. With the way he held you against him it wouldn’t be an unrealistic thought.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you replied softly, finally able to relax your breathing. The feel of Joel’s body pressed against you, his strong arms around you—it felt like a dream. Safe and sound, away from the dangers that lie not far off. And soon enough, you were finally able to close your eyes and fall into a peaceful sleep.

[neon-danger]

y’all best be commenting on the fanfics you like because fanfic writers are stupid sometimes and sometimes we just need motivation but other times

[joelmillers-whore]

I'll Be Here In The Morning

summary: after a heated argument, you try to go to sleep alone, but joel knows you can’t and he doesn’t like not sleeping next to you. he comes back and the next thing you know, the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other.

Recommended Song(s): Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Word Count: 4.2K

Series or One-Shot

Warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, joel x female!reader, no mention of Y/N, no outbreak, slight relationship insecurity, they have a fight but it’s not shown, SMUT, joel calling reader darlin’ because why not, joel reassuring them and being sweet, also age gap i guess, canon divergent, praise kink, unsafe sex (don't be like joel, use a condom)

A/N: hey ya’ll! this is my first TLOU fic and i am so excited to post it here (also my first time posting on here). i am an AO3 user through and through but i thought it was time to broaden my horizon so to speak. i was so overwhelmed with how many of you wanted to see this type of fic, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think or request anything you want to see. i’ll try to get to it/ i’m trying to be more active. i’m not sure if my asks are open so let me know if that works lol. anyway, i hope ya’ll enjoy this!!

Slamming the bedroom door behind you, you crossed your arms over your chest. You were angry, furious even, mostly with yourself but also with your boyfriend. Anger was coursing through your veins, pumping white-hot rage through them that made your chest constrict when you thought back to the petty fight you’d had with Joel not ten minutes ago.

It was mindless, stupid bullshit but you’d gotten angry over it anyway. You weren’t even a hundred percent sure just how it started, but you did know that you had been a simmering pot, ready and waiting to explode. So you had needed to get out of there, away from him. You didn’t fight with Joel often, even though your clashing personalities would beg to differ. When you did get angry though, there was no holding either of you back. 

You and Joel each had your own way of dealing with anger and most times, you chose to walk away, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing or to say something hurtful that you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. So, here you were. In the bedroom. Fighting back against your racing heart and rising body temperature.

You had come back home after a long day on your feet and something mundane had set you off, and Joel just happened to be in the line of fire. Before long, you and Joel had gotten into it and not in the fun and sexy way you found yourself always wanting from him, regardless of what kind of mood you were in. 

You thought back to the argument and how dark and endless Joel’s eyes had looked, how they seared into you when you were fighting, keeping you locked in and firmly in place. A shiver ran up the length of your spine as you imagined how he had crossed his arms, clearly in frustration, but how even when you were angry, you hadn’t been able to look away from his broad chest or how the material of his shirt had been pulled so tautly over his bulging muscles, making you bite your lip.

That annoying little flutter in the pit of your stomach made you groan in exasperation because even when you were upset with him, you couldn’t deny the sexual chemistry you and Joel had. 

You shook your head, trying to shake yourself from your lust-induced daydream. You were overtired from work and clearly still reeling from an argument that you hadn’t been expecting to come home to. You glanced over at the clock; it was later than you had realized it was. How long had you and Joel been fighting for?

The all too familiar feeling of regret settled into your bones. You hated fighting with Joel, with the one person you considered to be more of a family to you than your actual family. But what was done was done and there was no going back now. 

Neither one of you held onto anger for long, both of you deciding a long time ago that if either one of you were still angry in the morning over what had transpired the night before, you would agree to sit down and hash it out. That rule had probably saved your relationship more than once, and anger between the two of you never lasted for more than two days at most.

Rolling back your shoulders, you held firm to the idea that holding onto what you had said and dwelling on it wouldn’t help you now, so you thought about something else instead. You thought about how your muscles ached and how a migraine was slowly forming. The only cure that could help you now was sleep. 

You knew that come the morning you and Joel would be back to bickering lovingly with each other and laughing over breakfast, just like how it always turned out. He was bound to forgive you, you hoped. But what if this fight was the one that tipped him over the edge? What if when he left, he wouldn’t come back?

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach like a thousand-pound boulder. You bit back the sting of tears and honed your hearing, listening for anything in the darkness that enveloped you. Disappointment manifested quickly when you heard nothing, except for your harsh breathing. Fuck.

You had fucked up royally, laying into him like that. And he wasn’t even there so you could fix it, there was really nothing you could do at the moment. You debated for a minute about calling him but you decided against it. He needed time to cool off— you both did. And you wanted to give him that time. 

With a heavy heart, you started getting ready for bed. Maybe if you went through the motions, pretended like everything was fine, and sped through the night, Joel would be there when you woke up, smirking like you were his whole world again. So you rid yourself of your clothes and changed into something more comfortable; one of Joel’s shirts that went down to your knees and some sleep shorts. You lifted the hem of the shirt to your nose and inhaled, getting lost in the scent of him that still lingered.

It was warm and clean with a faint hint of coffee. It was Joel to the core and you rubbed your thighs together when you thought about how that scent crowded you when you and him made love, or when you had first started seeing each other, you had stayed up during a rain storm and just talked for the whole night, staying awake on black coffee and powdered donuts. 

Mindlessly, you climbed into bed and settled in, trying to fall asleep despite the gnawing feeling in your gut. You sighed heavily, flipping over the pillow and then fluffing it, repeating the motions until you made your head spin. You never could sleep alone. Even before you had met Joel, you hated it. And right now, you hated it even more, especially when you reached over to his side, feeling for him.

But there was nothing there except the coldness of the sheets. You grew annoyed at yourself for how needy you felt without him snuggling next to you, his body heat warming you up better than any blanket could. You wanted Joel here, not anywhere else. And he knew it, which was why he almost never left you to sleep alone if he could avoid it. Almost never. Until now. 

You closed your eyes and tried to count sheep, thinking that it could help. You tried not to concentrate on how alone you felt or how you missed him so much it hurt. Counting sheep must have helped because before you knew it, you found yourself in a dreamless sleep, tossing and turning for the majority of the night. Your ears pricked up when you heard a noise, thinking you heard the bedroom door open. You stiffened, attempting to remain calm and closing your eyes tighter.

Whoever it was moved around in the dark, their shadow fidgeting with the dresser before they climbed into bed next to you. They nudged themselves closer to you and relief washed over you when you recognized their scent. It was Joel. He came back. Just like he always did. 

He shuffled his body closer to you, his solid front melding to your back, as his face snuggled into the crook of your shoulder, just how you liked it. It confirmed that he was there and he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. 

“You still mad?”, Joel mumbled, his Southern drawl coming out gruffer as he tried to keep his voice low. He nuzzled your shoulder deeper, planting a soft kiss there. 

You shook your head, as best as you could in the position you were in. You were well past the anger stage. And right now, you just wanted him beside you, with you. Right here. You felt Joel’s growing hardness rest against your back and a dull throbbing started in your cunt, making you squirm. 

“I thought you weren’t coming back”, you croaked, the shroud of darkness acting as a shield against how scared you were at the thought of Joel not coming back at all. 

Joel held you tighter, his arms flexing as he wrapped them around you in the same way you were used to. His gesture of keeping you close was more of a comfort to you than any of his words could. You craned your neck slightly, trying to make out the expression that was on Joel’s face, but it was hard.

The bedroom was mostly dark except for a tiny sliver of moonlight that shined through the window, and even then, it was tough. You could make out the tiniest of details in the low light; like the imperceptible way that his eyebrows creased when he was focused on you, or how you could tell that he was still smiling because of the way his eyes crinkled, despite being unsure of your mood. God, you loved this man. 

Joel was there for you and you let out a tentative and shaky breath, grateful that he came back to you. You let any remaining tension drain from your body, and shifted your hips, which earned you a sharp groan from Joel, his hand flying to hold your hips in place. 

“I’ll always come back to you, darlin’”, his voice was gruff and came out strained. His hot breath fanned over your ear, “Always”. 

“Promise?”, you asked, grinding back into him again. It was the last confirmation you needed and then you would drop it, let the argument fade away. 

You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice, “Promise”. 

The tightness that had been sitting on your chest was no more and you were feeling bold, and a little more than turned on. The idea that Joel would always come back to you made you wet, and you rubbed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure you felt between your legs.

As if sensing your arousal, Joel’s hand wrapped around your middle, pulling your ass flush with his erection, his hand splayed across your clothed stomach, holding you to him. 

You felt his short stubble run along the side of your neck, and your jaw, the abrasive sensation making your pussy flutter with the idea of that stubble rubbing against you harshly, until you were swollen and red down there. 

“Baby...”, Joel protested weakly, his half-hearted attempt at drawing out the tension between you two. But there was tension and it was a string that was being pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment. 

You grabbed Joel’s hand that was on your stomach, guiding it lower and lower until you stopped at the waistband of your sleep shorts, your chest on fire from your choppy breathing. 

“Please, Joel”, you whined, grinding your ass back into him and moving your hips in slow circles, spurring him on. “I want you to make me feel so good like you always do”. 

You were back to guiding Joel’s hand past the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear where he could feel how wet you were for him. He groaned, the vibrations from it making your skin tingle. An almost non-existent fuck was whispered as Joel’s hand found your soaking cunt, his deft fingers sliding through your folds.

When you removed your hand from his, letting him take charge, he hesitated. But when his thumb found your clit and you moaned, throwing your head back, he continued, not stopping for even a second. 

“This good?”, he asked, as he teased your hole with his thick digit, pulsing the finger in and out, just enough to taunt you with pleasure and then rip it away when it felt too good. It was frustrating but you figured you somewhat deserved it for the fight from earlier. 

You hummed, “Mo-more”, and you bucked into his hand, gyrating against it as you searched for more friction. 

Joel sucked the pulse on your neck hard and you groaned, your head rolling to the side in pure ecstasy as he licked the spot when he pulled away. Fulfilling your command, he continued to work you over, work you to the edge. Your moans mixed with the sound of his finger, which soon became two fingers, pumping into you, a squelching emanating from you with every pump.

He was stretching you out, trying to prep you for his cock. Even this far into the relationship you needed some prep, he was that big. But you wouldn’t want it any other way. You loved his size and his girth and how deep he could go. 

“Can you come for me, darlin’?”, Joel asked, as a groan slipped past his lips. 

You flinched when his fingers curled, bringing you back to the moment as a tingle started low in your belly, the pressure building and building until it was too much, it was all too much. 

“Fuck—”, you cried, cutting yourself off as your orgasm slammed into you, making you see stars. It was searing and hot and violent. 

Your hips stuttered as they rocked into Joel’s hand, finding comfort in the fact that he was still lazily pumping into you, helping you ride out the aftershock. 

“That’s my good girl”, he praised, thumb whispering over your swollen clit. You whined from the added pressure, feeling another orgasm start to build. 

You had just cum and yet Joel was ready and willing to give you another one. Even when his engorged cock was nestled into your back, twitching with the need for his own release. He wanted— no, needed to give you your pleasure before he could seek out his own. Joel teased your clit again, pinching it as you yelped.

He removed his hand from your underwear and brought it to his mouth. You still weren’t facing him but you could hear the obscene sounds coming from him as he licked and sucked his fingers clean of your juices, not letting a drop go to waste. Fuck, you were so turned on already it was positively insane. 

Joel gripped your waist and turned your body toward him, positioning himself so that he was slotted in between your legs, his upper body resting on his forearms, so as to not crush you with his body weight. Both of your chests were heaving at this point as another shot of excitement and arousal shot through you.

You brought a hand to Joel’s cheek, thumbing over his scruff and savouring this tender moment between the two of you. 

“I’m sorry”, you said, swallowing your nerves. 

In the softness of the moonlight, Joel’s eyes glimmered when they looked down at you. It wasn’t quite lust or amusement in them, but something else, something closer to love and adoration.

He dipped his head down and kissed you. It was tempered and subdued but sweet as he licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance into your mouth. You granted it to him, letting him explore your mouth like it was the first time. A swallowed-up moan left you and Joel pulled back. 

“Me too”. 

It was simple and yet he meant it with his whole heart, you were certain of that. Picking up where you left off, Joel palmed your breast through your— his shirt, making you tremble beneath him. He pinched your nipple and it made you arch your back off the bed, both to escape and chase that feeling. 

“Let’s get this shirt off, hmm?”, Joel mused, playing with the hem of it. You nodded and lifted your upper body off of the bed as he helped you out of it, tossing it somewhere behind him. 

“Your turn”, you said, almost breathlessly, and Joel obliged. He sat up on his knees and stripped himself of his own shirt. 

You couldn’t help but pause and appreciate him and his physique. He wasn’t insanely built like an athlete or someone who stuck to a strict diet all so that they could get a six-pack. Joel’s body was sculpted from years of manual labour and although some might not be turned on by a broad chest and a toned stomach, you certainly were, and you were enamoured by it.

Your hand seemed to have had a mind of its own because you were raking your fingernails along his chest and stomach, drawing a line all the way down to his waistband. You watched as his muscles tensed from your touch, his eyes snapping shut like he had to concentrate on restraining himself.

Your hand remained on his waistband, your index finger playing with the dark line of hair that led all the way past the pants and to the straining member, you knew awaited you. 

“If you don’t quit staring at me like that, darlin’, this might be over before either of us want it to be”, he drawled, quiet and low. 

Your eyes snapped to his, which were dark and endless pools filled with lust. He looked like he was ready to devour you and your thoughts came to life when he gripped your thighs forcefully and spread them apart, making quick work of peeling you out of your shorts and drenched panties. 

Joel groaned above you, “Such a pretty pussy, and ‘s all for me, ain’t she?”. He bit the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you jump. But you didn’t go very far, his grip on the back of your thighs holding you close to him and keeping you in place. 

You wiggled your hips, trying to get him to hurry up, “All for you”, you whine. 

Joel chuckled, but didn’t tease you for much longer, answering your silent prayer as he dove into your cunt, lapping and sucking like he was a man starved. You writhed beneath him as he continued, not letting up as he brought you to the edge of another orgasm. 

“How you feelin’, baby?”, Joel asked, as he came up for air. You nodded fervently, feeling like you could die if he didn’t continue what he was doing. 

He chuckled as he went back in, the vibrations making your head swirl and your toes curl at the sensation of his tongue fucking into you. You were so close it hurt and Joel could tell.

He shushed you before bringing his thumb to your clit and massaging it in tandem with his tongue, making you mewl and bury your hands in his short hair, pulling at his scalp as you begin to grind yourself on his face, practically riding him as you chase your high. 

“I’m gonna—”, and you do. 

You cum hard and quick, this orgasm ripping into you like a hurricane. The blinding wave of pleasure had all of your inhibitions clouded, as a light buzz started coasting through your body, leaving you sated. Your mouth is agape, a mix of a whimper and a shrill moan escaping you. 

You felt as though you had just run a marathon, your body was on fire and yet there was a calm as you came down. You revelled in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling drunk off of it. There was a slick layer of sweat that coated your whole body, but you didn’t seem to care. Your mind was quiet as you listened to your breathing, your heart hammering below the surface.

Running a hand through your hair, you felt the mattress dip when Joel shifted his body weight, his beard glistening with your slick. You reach down and grab his face with both hands, bringing him to your lips. You groan when you taste yourself on him, the tang fueling your growing desire to be filled deep with him. 

Joel murmured something against your lips but you couldn’t hear, your heart beating too loudly. “What?”, you asked. 

“I need to be inside of you”, he whispers again, and you moan as he ruts into your bare core. 

“Then do it”, you said, looking at him through hooded eyes. 

Joel bit his lip, shaking his head as he stripped out of his jeans and then his boxers. His dick was thick and angry, the tip a bright red as it leaked pre-cum. You followed a drop with your eyes as it trailed down the shaft and you licked your lips at the sight. 

Joel chuckled, the noise shooting straight to your needy core. You sat up slightly, reaching out for his cock but he stopped you, “Not tonight, sweet thing”, he stated, “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last if you start suckin’ me off”. 

You keened at his words, desperate for some sort of relief. You snaked your hand from the pillow all the way down your chest, rubbing your nipple as you moaned, Joel’s eyes never leaving you. His eyes on you felt right, like you were putting on a show just for him, and in a way, you were. He watched your hand slide lower down your stomach and finally disappear between your legs. 

“Goddammit”, Joel hissed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, “What’d I just say?”. 

He ripped your hand away from your aching cunt, pining it above your head as punishment. You let out a choked sob, “Please...”. 

Joel’s cock twitched against his stomach at your plea, and he released you. He gripped his length and tugged harshly, letting beads of pre-cum dribble all over his hand.

You watched him throw his head back as he panted above you, finding a rhythm. As you opened your mouth to whine and tell him that you needed him, he grabbed the back of your legs and folded you in half, thrusting his hard cock into your pussy. 

The force of him slamming his cock inside of you without much warning was enough to make you cry out. You couldn’t focus on much more than the pleasure that he could provide. It was as if you could never be fully satisfied, not when it came to Joel. You would always want him as desperately as he wanted you, each and every time. His hips snapped into yours, almost to the point of pain as he set a demanding pace, burying himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“So”. He grunted with a thrust. “Fucking”. Another snap of his hips. “Needy”. Thrust. 

Joel was never one to deny you, and you knew that. You might have been needy but he was willing to give you whatever you needed. And most times, all you needed was him. Him and that fucking delicious cock. So, he made sure he delivered you another orgasm. You chased your release, the desire striking you like a bolt of lightning— fast, powerful, and all-consuming.

It started in your toes and rushed in. Joel’s thick cock pumped in and out of you hungrily. He was both providing you with another orgasm and trying to find his own release. Each thrust was more punishing than the last, each angle hitting the right spot, and guiding you both to your release. 

“That’s it, baby”, he groaned, manhandling you until you were basically straddling him, his hands on your back, holding you steady.

“Can you gimme another one?”, Joel purred into your ear as he fucked up into you, his hips losing their rhythm and you knew he was close. 

“I’ll try”, you said, snaking a hand in between your bodies, and rubbing your cunt in time with each pound of his hips. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so good”. 

He barely finished his sentence before you were shaking in his arms, finding your orgasm from his praise. 

Drunk on only two orgasms, you didn’t even know what you were saying at this point, too sensitive and too sated at the same time, “Mmm, love when you make me come”. 

Joel laughed with adoration as he continued fucking you, chasing his own release. “And I love makin’ you come, darlin’”. 

You felt your walls clamp around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. With a final few pumps, he groaned, letting his head fall against your shoulder. Joel tensed slightly and his body shook as he deposited ropes of cum deep into you.

Your head lolled to the side, feeling his body grow slack against yours. His was flush against you, trying to control his breathing as you did the same, your arms wrapped around him as you stroked his back. 

A long moment of comfortable silence passed before he lifted his head up, scanning your face. You smiled tiredly at him as he kissed you, letting the bliss wash over you both.

Joel kissed your forehead and slipped out of you. You in turn whined at the loss of being full of him. Your limbs were heavy as you melted into the mattress, feeling Joel collapse next to you. His arm drifted around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

He kissed your temple affectionately, “‘m sorry about our fight”. 

You nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I know”, you bit your lip, contemplating your next words, “I just worry that one day we’ll really get into it and you’ll never come back”. 

Joel stiffened for a moment, before he turned to you, whispering into your hair, “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that ever, darlin’. Because I’ll always be here in the morning”. 

[soft-girl-musings]

Stranger Danger

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

MK Spring Bingo entry #5

tags: reader is being stalked & responds in a way the author (a woman) has been taught to, emotional protector steven grant to the rescue, no use of y/n

wc: 1,138

fic summary: There's safety in numbers, do you want mine? (too soon?)

_____________________

“Oops, careful!”

Steven drops the last of his veggie wrap as a pair of kids rush past the bench he’d been hunched over. As he picks up the debris, he sees where one of them dropped their hat. He picks it up and half-jogs after them to return it.

“Gotta stay aware of our surroundings, yeah? Don’t want to lose our valuables.” The kid rolls their eyes but thanks him before running off to catch up with their friend.

“Oh my gosh, hi!”

Steven turns around to find you walking swiftly toward him, your smile too wide and tone too familiar.

He’s never seen you before.

“... hello,” he answers cautiously, taking one step back but failing to put much distance between the two of you. You practically cling to his side when you approach, takeaway cup and phone in hand.

“Sorry I’m late, but you are terrible at giving directions, mister.” Taking his arm, you begin to walk away from where you’d appeared.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten conversations or plans. But as he racks his brain for something, anything tied to you in his memory, Steven notices the panic in your eyes and the slight waver in your voice.

Your hands shake a bit as you unlock your phone, passing your cup to him. He takes it, still bewildered but obedient. “I swear, the cafe never spells your name right. Let me make a note for next time.” You type swiftly, showing him the screen.

being followed, please pretend you're my boyfriend

Steven doesn’t know you.

But he nods, grasping your arm closer with his free hand and gives his most convincing grin. “Steven with a ‘V’, love.”

Relief instantly washes over your features and you relax a little. “Right. I’ll remember that… Steven.”

His smile grows before he remembers why you're holding onto him. “Do you want to sit down? Or go somewhere else, maybe I could call someone–”

“N-no, it’s fine. Let’s just sit. In plain sight,” you half-whisper. Steven nods, ushering you back to the bench in the middle of the busy square. When you sit, you don't let go of his arm.

Instead, you type into your phone as you speak. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Steven glaces at your notes app again.

do you see a man in a black jacket?

Steven scans the area, careful not to look too suspicious. Unlike the person he’s sure you’re referring to: a man in dark clothes, hands shoved into his pockets and rigid as he looks around with increasing urgency. His prominent frown grows when he sees Steven next to you.

“Yeah,” Steven says to both your questions. He looks away from the menacing figure, but sets your drink down and wraps his arm around you. He's glad to feel you settle into his side, still shaking but catching your breath.

“I take it you don’t know Mr. Black Jacket?”

“No, I do. Sort of. He’s a regular customer of mine,” you sigh. “One who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Ah.” Steven keeps the guy in his periphery, splitting his focus between him and you. “Stalker, then?”

You freeze up at the term. “Yeah… he’s been pretty relentless.” 

You meet his eyes, which are swiftly filling with concern. “Thanks again for… this. I usually find a mom or another woman to walk with me until he leaves, but I saw you with those kids and just… panicked, I guess.”

“S’not a problem, love.” Steven knocks your foot with his, drawing a small smile from you. “Glad to help you feel safe.”

You laugh a little. You let your gaze drift over to the man in black, an uneasy pit growing in your stomach when you briefly make eye contact.

“He usually goes away after a while. I've told the police, but they can't do anything unless he… you know.” Your brow furrows as your grip loosens. “I don't mean to take over your afternoon, but would you mind waiting with me?”

In that moment, you could have asked Steven for the moon and he'd find a way to lasso it down for you. 

He squeezes your hand. “‘Course I can. Lovely day with lovely company, quite the ideal afternoon in my books.” 

Steven dives right into talking about anything and everything that comes to mind– which, as you learn, is a lot. Normally he'd hit a wall after a few minutes, either because he'd realized he had talked himself in circles, or his less-than-captive audience was visibly zoned out. But you hang on his every word, grateful to be arm in arm with a stranger describing the supposed viscosity of ancient Egyptian embalming oil. It's a welcome distraction. 

So distracting, in fact, that after an hour you realize the crowd has thinned around you. With Mr. Black Jacket nowhere in sight.

“I think he's gone,” you sigh with relief. Steven stands when you do, handing your things back.

“Patience won out in the end,” he beams. You see a brief look of panic cross his features.

“He doesn't know where you live, does he? Do you need an escort?” Steven's already taken a ludicrously long lunch break, but the inevitable lecture from Donna would be worth it if it meant ensuring your safety.

You shake your head. “I've been careful.” Extending your hand, you smile. “It was nice to meet you, Steven with a ‘V’.”

“Likewise, love.” He shakes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Another look crosses his face before he continues.

“Do you want my mobile number?” His words come out too fast; if you hadn't spent the past hour listening to him, you might have missed what he said. “Just in case you need someone to wait with you again, or keep an eye out. Would that be alright?” He shakes his head, stepping back. “'Matter of fact, forget I said anything, don't want you to think you've traded one creep for another–”

“Sure.”

Your simple answer stops him in his tracks. “Oh, you don’t have to–”

“No, it’s fine. Really. When you offered, it felt nice to know someone could be in my corner on this side of town.”

You take out a scrap of paper and a pen from your bag. “How about this: you write it down, and I’ll add your contact if I ever need my knight in shining armor again.”

Steven concedes, pen and paper in hand as he scribbles his number down (then asks for a new paper in case the first was too illegible).

When you leave, he watches until you turn the corner. He goes the opposite direction, back to the museum. Part of him hopes you’ll never have to reach out, for your own sake. The rest of him hopes you do anyway.

_____________________

A/N: oh steven, the man that you are. a couple more bingo prompts will be focused on this dude, which is excellent practice for some exciting projects down the line...

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟴: 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗽𝘂𝘀𝘀𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: if lando achieved a podium at silverstone, you promised you’d give him anything he wants. he thinks about it the whole race weekend, and when the two of you are celebrating his second-place finish, he tells you that he wants to take care of you. you’re disbelieving–he takes care of you every waking hour. lando, on the other hand, said that with his chest. and he’ll prove it to you. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. service top lando. shy/self-conscious!reader. mention of multiple orgasms. mention of vaginal sex. face-riding/sitting. lando is a munch & simp. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴:  lando norris x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: lotus flower bomb • wale ft. miguel

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: different type of smut? idk testing out the vibes with this one—yes, this man has one goal this fic and it’s all about you. which i guess is why it edges more into general worship? and not exclusively pussy worship. made myself mad writing this because no man like this exists, me thinks. have fun shawty mamas :)

do you want to be added to my general taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

lando pulls your body completely against his, chest to chest as you straddle his lap. he tenderly holds the nape of your neck, using his large hand to coax your head backwards. he leans forward to kiss you but pauses at the last second, and smiles at your body language. as soon as his hand gently tangled into your hair, your eyes fluttered shut and your lips pursed in anticipation for a kiss. instead of pressing your lips together like expected, lando kisses you softly on the forehead. you open your eyes halfway in question, and lando beats you to speaking.

“let me,” lando murmurs, his warm eyes gazing at you lovingly, “you said you’d give me anything i want—so, let me take it.”

he watches the astonished look in your eyes fade into a bashful avoidance of eye contact. he pets at your scalp gently, charmed at how you still shy away when you deem his devotion too intense. lando doesn’t understand why you don’t believe that he actually wants to take care of you, why he wants to love you thoroughly. his brain sings in satisfaction every time he makes you satisfied. you’re his soulmate; you’ve become each other’s rock, he’s not sure if he’d manage to withstand the extreme pressure of his life without you. so, of course when you offer yourself to him in exchange for his home race podium finish, he’s going to take advantage of that—and provide you with pleasure, solely. 

lando allows you to hide, but continues to press sweet kisses around your face. he drags his lips from your forehead, to your cheeks, to your brow bone, to your eyelids, to your nose, reveling in the heat that rises to your brown skin at his attention. he kisses you properly when he feels the tension coiled within your muscles dissipate. the slick sound of your lips meeting rings in the brit’s ears, and he moans into your mouth when he feels your manicured nails dig into his shoulders. lando captures your bottom lip between his teeth and nips teasingly; he wants your lips even plumper than they already are, he wants them to swell from his passionate onslaught. when his tongue sneaks past the seam of your lips as they part around a moan, his kisses deepen. his free hand cups your ass and drags you closer to him—there should be no space between your bodies. he’s become lost under the weight of his own kisses and swallows down every keening moan, whimper, and whine that you breathe into his mouth. he wouldn’t mind if this is as far as he took it tonight, sharing kisses like these quiets his urge to move along. you, however, care little for lando’s content; you begin to circle your hips down onto him in tight, almost unnoticeable grinds. he breaks the kiss to sigh shakily, and fulfills the question he knows you’re not going to vocalize.

“pretty girl,” lando hums at the sight of your already disheveled appearance, you look fucked out. “hmm, you want more, love? yeah, you do—c’mere and ride my face, pretty.” lando chuckles at the way you freeze at his request, and how you choke on your own breath. you’ve been bare on top of him the whole time and unconsciously started searching for more friction from his boxer-clad erection, and you clam up at the idea of grinding on his tongue—like he’s never eaten you out before.

lando doesn’t allow you any time to protest and shrugs off the shirt he’s wearing, tossing it to some random spot on the floor. he relaxes back, lying flat and rests both of his hands on your hips. he watches how your pupils blow, irises shrinking away at your arousal—he’s not going to interrupt you, and gives you ample time to bask in the sight of his toned torso. a handful of seconds pass before your eyes flick upwards to meet his own, and he sees how you automatically hide away from his stare. there’s no need to attempt to hide from him, he knows your intricacies forward and back. lando dismisses your behavior, and bodily lifts you to hover over his mouth. 

he pretends to miss your scandalized cry of his name at the sudden manhandling, and sucks marks into your inner thigh, slowly moving closer and closer to your core. lando presses a final kiss where your navel meets your cunt, and pauses to stare up at you, waiting for your permission. for the first time tonight, you hold eye-contact with him and softly whisper for him to continue, and lando smiles tenderly at the first hint of confidence that leaks into your tone.

building a strong neck is good for his day job, but lando especially appreciates his strengthened neck for this activity alone—he can feast on you without a single complaint concerning cramping or exhaustion. he messily brandishes his tongue through your lips, his moan of delight at your taste vibrating through your most sensitive area. his tongue forms tight circles and flicks against your clit, and he pauses randomly to slurp lewdly against your entrance to make sure he’s not missing any of your essence. lando whimpers depravedly when he feels your hips start to press down on his mouth, rocking against his tongue to direct him where you want—and his eyes flutter shut in pleasure. 

lando will make you come once like this and the resulting dopamine spike will cause your shyness to evaporate. you’ll start riding his face like he wants you to, leading to another orgasm. his goatee will be soaked with your arousal and lando will not care. then, he’ll make you cum once more from his fingers alone—you’ve always had a thing for his hands—and depending on how sensitive you are, lando might make you spray your release all over the fresh bed sheets. he’ll allow himself to fuck you slowly to another orgasm, that coasts over your body smoothly. and when he deems that he’s satisfied his desire of taking care of you, he’s going to paint your thighs white with his release. of course, his pleasure comes second to yours. he has the whole night to worship you, and he doesn’t see his devotion for you faltering any time soon.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime

© httpsserene 2023

[the-karma-cafe]

arthur morgan x reader ("thursdays")

(also posted on ao3 under same username)

in which the boys are curious where arthur runs off to every thursday night (ITS FOR SEX)

song is Moonshadow by Cat Stevens ! spoiler they be fucking :/ i be making them fuck for real (oh no aaaa no arthur dont have sex with me no aaa that would be terrible i would hate that)

Javier’s eyes track Arthur as he slinks away from the campfire, tuning out Sean’s boisterous storytelling. He knows the gunslinger is readying his horse to leave. He also knows he’ll be gone for a couple of hours, returning around one or two in the morning to slump into his bed after everyone has gone to sleep.

How does Javier know?

Surprisingly, Arthur is a creature of strict routine, and he does this song and dance every Thursday night—without fail. 

Javier furrows his brow, unable to quash his curiosity this time. What on Earth could he be going off to do so regularly? He never came back with meat, so he wasn’t hunting. He couldn’t be off robbing, because when he got back, he didn’t drop anything off at the contribution box. Oh, Javier, maybe he was planning to do so later on? Ah, ah, ah! What do we know about Arthur? Ever the routine-man, he donates to the camp box the second he enters camp, no matter what he just got back from. It’s always the first thing he does. Can’t be shoppin’, ‘cause it’s too late for that. Can’t be killin’, ‘cause he comes back clean. 

A cuff round his shoulder roused him from his thoughts. “Javier! Didja hear me?” Sean said, drink emboldening his speech (not that the Irishman needed much encouragement). 

Javier ignored him, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, Arthur was on his horse, trotting away from camp, everyone else none-the-wiser.

“Hullloooo??” Sean needled, pushing his side into Javier’s. 

Javier looked over to Lenny and Charles sitting across the campfire from them, and felt a spark of inspiration ignite within him. He leaned forward, beckoning them closer with his hand. They looked confused, but crossed the clearing anyway, kneeling in front of his and Sean’s log. 

“What is it?” Lenny prompted, his voice hushed. He could always trust Lenny to be discreet.

“Yeah!” Sean added, much louder. ...He could’ve guessed. 

He lowered his voice, smirking conspiratorially. “Where’d Arthur go?”

Sean and Lenny frowned, caught off-guard by the question, but Charles inclined his head in understanding. “I didn’t think anyone else noticed.”

“Noticed what??” Sean whined, leaning in closer to Charles. “Don’t be keepin’ secrets, now!”

Charles rolled his eyes, waving his hand to shush Sean. He nodded his head to Javier. “Arthur’s been leaving every Thursday night.”

Sean scrunched his nose. “So what? Art’ur leaves all the time!” Lenny nodded along.

Javier shook his head. “But Thursdays are different. He leaves around 10PM, comes back around 1AM. Why the same amount of time?”

Sean was quiet for a moment (if one could believe it), before jumping up from the log, his beer bottle sloshing in his hand. “Let’s go find out!!” he whispered loudly, grinning from ear to ear.

Javier couldn’t help but mirror his expression. He was hoping he wasn’t the only one this curious about it. He felt a thrum of excitement run through him. He pushed up from the log, Lenny readying to follow him.

“Guys,” Charles interrupted, stopping their walk to the horses. “Arthur’s entitled to his privacy. We should let him have this—whatever it is.” 

He should’ve expected this from ever-noble Charles. Sean began to argue, but Javier cut him off, knowing he wouldn’t win against Charles. “It’s probably nothing.” he retorted, trying not to feel guilty under the other man’s pointed stare. He turned away, making for the horses anyway. “I’m going. You don’t have to.”

“Wouldn’t miss this fer the world!” Sean laughed, immediately tagging along. Javier fought the triumphant grin pulling at his lips. He heard Lenny awkwardly shuffle behind them, some whispered apology to Charles.

He mounted his horse, waiting impatiently for Sean to struggle onto his own. His eyes searched the growth around the camp, hoping to find an indication of where Arthur ran off to. He could track, but Charles was the expert. It would make things much easier to have him with them…

The man in question’s voice came behind him. “I’m only tagging along to make sure you don’t ruin whatever Arthur has going on.” He turned to see Charles mounting Taima, disapproval marring his proud features. 

Javier grinned in spite of it. “Excellent! Vámonos!” he cheered, leading the search brigade with Charles by his side, the other man’s trained eye focused on the ground. Lenny followed behind them with Sean drunkenly pulling up the rear. Charles looked as though he wanted to stop him from coming, but seemed to decide against it, knowing the stubborn man wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

Charles followed Arthur’s trail down the left path from camp, past the trees, past the tracks, until they arrived in Valentine. Javier felt giddy. 

Charles stopped them in front of the saloon, hopping off his horse to hitch her, the rest of them quickly following suit.

“The saloon?” Sean whispered, creeping up the steps to peer through the building’s windows. Lenny followed behind him, and the two poked their noses over the ledge of the window, trying to sneak a glance within. Charles walked over to join them, and would have looked less suspicious if not for the two idiots in front of him crouched like children. 

Javier approached the window opposite them, casually leaning to the side of it to look in. Not that his subtlety helped him, as again, he was across from three grown men cartoonishly trying to peek inside as well. 

He spied a couple of men that looked like Arthur before finally seeing actual Arthur at the bar. He wasn’t hunched over it, like some of the other patrons were, and instead was looking around at the other people in the saloon, as if searching for someone. What could that be about? He wondered.

Before he could think on it further, Sean strolled into the saloon, Lenny in tow. Charles shared a knowing glance with him before following them in. 

Sean beelined for Arthur, and soon they all surrounded him, clapping him on the back.

“You’d go to the saloon without inviting yer favorite drinking buddy?” Sean accused, roughly pushing at the man’s shoulder. 

“My favorite drinking buddy, huh?” Arthur echoed, his voice not reflecting what Javier knew to be embarrassment on his face. Arthur slumped over the bar, tugging the front of his hat further over his face. 

Sean gasped. “Drinkin’ with me’s a treat! Ye should be so lucky!”

Javier nudged him from his other side. “We were wondering where you headed off to all the time. Had we known it was just the saloon we would not have bothered!” he laughed, waving the bartender over. He would buy him a drink to apologize.

“You too, Charles?” Arthur asked, sounding betrayed. 

Charles sighed, apologizing. “I was trying to get them to leave you alone, Arthur.” Javier couldn’t help but think the man didn’t put up too much of a fight. 

“Well,” Arthur cleared his throat. “‘F that’s all, you can all head on back to camp, I’ll be back soon.”

Sean scoffed. “Why d’you want to be rid of us so-”

A guitar strum floated over from the back of the saloon, and he trailed off. Arthur buried his head in his arms, the tips of his ears red. Javier cocked a brow, looking over.

“Miss me, y’all?” a pretty woman at the back of the room called out, guitar in hand. A couple of cheers and whoops came from the crowd, the saloon filled with noise.

The boys grinned knowingly. 

“Not. A goddamn. Word.” Arthur groaned, his voice muffled by his arms. 

Sean barked a laugh, clapping the man on the back. “Ohoho, ye rascal, we shoulda known ye’d try ta keep this beauty ta yerself!” He wolf-whistled towards the performer.

Javier grinned toothily, leaning in to tease Arthur. “You could have told us you were only leaving to see about a girl, Arthur.”

Arthur pushed up from his slump, nursing his whiskey miserably. “Like you would’ve let me hear the end of it.” He grumbled. Javier pushed his extra drink over to the man, giggling like a teenager. Arthur the Stoic, red-faced and shy about a singer. He never thought he’d see the day!

The woman, having finished her introductions while they teased Arthur, began to sing. Javier watched Arthur turn himself slightly to watch her.

Yes, I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Arthur couldn’t help the dreamy smile that twisted his mouth, watching her. She looked so content, fully in her element up there on Valentine’s tiny lifted stage. The piano man to her right had abandoned his duties to drink at the nearest table.

And if I ever lose my hands

Lose my plow, lose my land

Oh, if I ever lose my hands

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to work no more

Her southern accent colored the lyrics, guiding the notes up and down as she pleased. The patrons knew this song, and sang along with her every now and then, but none followed the exact way she sang it, allowing him to easily follow her voice amidst the noise.

And if I ever lose my eyes

If my colors all run dry

Yes, if I ever lose my eyes

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to cry no more

Sean stumbled into the fray, caught in some dance with a couple of other patrons, breaking his trance. Arthur dragged a hand over his face, hoping he didn’t look as foolish as he felt. 

Yes, I’m bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Most nights, he would allow himself to indulge in the fantasy. Convince himself she was singin’ for him, that when they locked eyes across the saloon, she had the same look in hers as he did. 

And if I ever lose my legs

I won't moan, and I won't beg

Oh, if I ever lose my legs

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to walk no more

He downed his drink and reached for Javier’s—anything to give him an excuse for the way he was lookin’ at her. Having them with him just dragged him back to reality: he was just another face in the crowd to her, and even if he did catch her eye, she would just think him old and sour-faced, and leave it at that. 

And if I ever lose my mouth

All my teeth, north and south

Yes, if I ever lose my mouth

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to talk no more

He took another deep drink, feeling that familiar haze begin to set in on the edge of his vision. 

Did it take long to find me?

I asked the faithful light

Oh, did it take long to find me?

And are you gonna stay the night?

This would be the last time he let himself come here on a Thursday night. He was just torturin’ himself, thinkin’ of things that would never be. Head in the clouds, like Micah would say. Christ, he was glad they didn’t think to bring him along.

I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

The drink crept into his heart. If this was his last night here, with her, he might as well fool himself one last time, the drink said. What’s the harm? One last time can’t hurt. It wheedled, and he knew he’d be miserable come morning.

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

He leaned to his right, seeking Javier’s weight to nudge him for another drink (least he could do for ruinin’ his fun), but felt only air. He frowned, glancing around for the others. Sean had dragged Lenny into his drunken dance, Javier was speaking with some well-endowed woman in the corner (who seemed very pleased to have his attention), and Charles… his frown deepened, squinting at the blurry crowd. He couldn’t see Charles. Knowing the women of Valentine, he was likely cornered somewhere, politely refusing their services (although for a man like Charles, perhaps it was free).

Arthur grunted, turning back to his empty glass. Figures that his friends would quickly find company at a place he frequented, and he was left miserable and alone. He plucked his hat off his head, raking his other hand through his hair. He was sure he looked a mess—no wonder he was by himself. 

“Hey, cowboy.” a voice came from his right, startling him from his wallowing. He turned, and felt his heart jump to see his singer leaning against the bar next to him. 

Her eyes were bright, her face flushed. She seemed out of breath from her performance, but pleased, satisfied with how she had done. 

He gaped like a fish. Say somethin’, goddammit!  

She smiled, shifting her eyes to his glass. She pointed at it lazily. “Be a doll and get me what you’re havin’?”

He nodded dumbly, gesturing wordlessly at the bartender. Seconds later, a replica of his drink sat in front of her. She thanked him and brought the glass to her lips. He knew he looked ridiculous, eyes trained on the way her lips parted, the amber liquid gliding into her mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

She set the glass back down, giving him a teasing smile. “You mute?”

He shook his head—then inwardly smacked himself for yet another wordless response. “No.” Christ, you can do better than that.

She giggled, and he thought he might die. “What a scintillating conversationalist you are, Mister…” she trailed off, tilting her head. 

“Morgan.” he provided. His mind caught up to the conversation fast enough to ask for her name in turn (he deserved a pat on the back for being so quick-witted). She gave it, and he almost sighed aloud. She had a name she introduced herself with to the crowds, but he suspected it was a stage name, and he had been correct. Her real name was a privilege to finally learn. 

He repeated it back to her, experimentally rolling it on his tongue. She grinned. “Sounds nice when you say it, Mr. Morgan.” 

“Arthur,” he corrected. “‘S just Arthur. For you.” He coughed, turning to order another drink, just to have something, anything , to distract him from the weight of her gaze on him. “I mean, if you want. Morgan’s fine too.”

“Arthur,” she purred. He felt faint. “I like that more.” His next drink arrived and he immediately buried his face in it, unable to meet her eyes. Christ, he was like a teenager. He inwardly scolded himself.

She carried on, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I see you here a lot, Arthur.” she gestured over her shoulder to the crowd. “First time I seen you bring friends, though.”

So she had seen him in the crowd all those times? He squashed the thought before it ruined him. He laughed, shaking his head. “Bastards invited themselves.” He chanced a glance at her, her attention on the crowd instead of him. He eyed her drink, already half-empty in her hand, before looking up, up, to the curve of her chest, the proud slope of her neck, the strands of hair falling loose from her updo, her lips, her nose, her eyes… he forced himself to look at the crowd instead. “Don’t you have some adorin’ fans to go talk to?”

She turned her head to look at him, but he kept his eyes focused ahead. “I thought I was already doin’ that.” she sidled closer to him, nudging her shoulder against his arm. Warmth radiated off of her. “Unless you’re not one of my adoring fans.”

Arthur felt heat creep up his neck and he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she echoed, amusement coloring her voice. “I don’t think you’ve missed a single one of my performances, Arthur Morgan.” he felt a shiver run up his spine. “If anyone’s a fan, it’s you.”

He pulled the lip of his hat down over his eyes. “Maybe.” Guilty as charged.

She laughed, and rounded to his front. She flicked up the front of his hat, and his eyes met hers. He stilled, entranced. There seemed to be a glow about her, some hazy halo enveloping her body. How much had he had?  

“You won’t admit it?” What had they been talking about again? He tried not to focus on their difference in height, how easy it would be to scoop her up, his hands so large on her hips… 

“Well?” He flexed his hands, trying to reign himself in. Her face was expectant: eyebrows raised, pretty lips pursed. 

He shook his head. Couldn’t this woman see he couldn’t think straight? 

Apparently that counted as an answer and she scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes. “You embarrassed?”

Yes. Why did she think he was, again? He sighed. “I’m sorry, miss,” he tried her name again, wanting to say it over and over. “I believe I am too drunk for this conversation.”

She grinned in understanding. “Why don’t we talk someplace quieter, make things easier on your poor head, hm?” 

Someplace quieter? His mind echoed, while his body nodded dumbly, stumbling behind her. She took his hand in her own, leading him up the stairs. His eyes were trained intently on their hands, her hand small, warm, in his, her fingertips roughened from guitar strings. 

What was she doin’, touchin’ a man like him? He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, as much as he knew he should. It felt nice, to indulge. The hazy shroud around his vision encroached further inwards, tunneling his view.  

“Here,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear. She pushed open a door, leading him inside and shutting it behind them. It was suddenly much quieter. He breathed a sigh of relief, some tension leaving his set shoulders.

“Nicer up here, isn’t it?” she prompted, releasing his hand. He ached at the loss. He dragged his gaze up to watch her dance over to the… bed. He gulped, valiantly fighting off the thoughts that sprang up at the sight of her. 

“Mhm.” He didn’t know what to do with himself. He stood awkwardly where she had left him, staring dumbly at her. What the hell was she thinkin’, bringin’ a man like him up here, alone with her? She could get herself hurt, or worse. He frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “I shouldn’ be up here with you.” He shook his head, forcing himself to look at the ground. “Ain’t right. You shouldn’ trust me.” his words slurred, but he hoped she was taking him seriously despite it. 

“Why not?”

He groaned. God, her voice. He buried his head in his hands. “I ain’t. A nice man, miss,” he spoke her name again, and god, hoped she couldn’t hear how he loved to say it.

He felt her hand on his arm. When had she gotten up? She was so warm. He lowered his hands, chancing a look into her eyes, hoping he was strong enough to resist their pull. 

Christ, of course he couldn’t. She looked up at him through her lashes, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. He breathed in, unable to bring himself to look away this time. She smelled like the alcohol everything smelled like in the saloon, but a sweet undertone ran beneath it. He was reminded of the saccharine scent of canned peaches. 

Her hand smoothed down his arm to his hand, lacing their fingers together. Her other reached up, up, and palmed his cheek, her touch gentle like she was approaching some wild horse. He leaned into it before he could stop himself, his stubble scratching against her skin. 

“How ‘bout,” she started, her voice soft and quiet, “I decide that for myself?”

His eyelids felt heavy, and he felt himself forgetting what she was even responding to. His free hand began to move of its own accord, bumping into her thigh, smoothing up to her hip. He looked down. Just like he had imagined… 

She moved, and his gaze shifted to her face, slowly nearing his. His breath hitched. This was some sweet dream. He would awaken in his tent, frustrated and wanting, would take himself in his hand and relieve himself to the sight of her like this in his mind’s eye. He would wait until next Thursday and slink back to the bar, eager for more. Her lips touched his and he sighed into her mouth, whiskey on his breath. He would stay asleep forever, if he could, lips pushing against hers, nipping at her soft skin, tonguing past it. 

She parted from him, gently, as if to not scare him off. He breathed heavily, eyes lidded, vision tunneled onto her mouth. She started to speak, but he cut her off, pushing hungrily into her, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. He had waited so long, so long. He would take it, even if it wasn’t real. 

She gasped into his mouth and he almost moaned at the sensation. God, what a privilege to finally have her all to himself. To have her in front of him, touching him, kissing him, instead of with her crowd, Arthur by himself at the other end.

Her knees buckled, falling back onto the bed. He huffed, breaking from her. He thrust his hands beneath her thighs, hearing her squeak in surprise. “Easy, girl.” he muttered under his breath, picking her up and tossing her into the pillows at the head of the bed, following soon after. 

He climbed onto the bed above her, and stilled, looking down at her. Her hair had spilled out of its updo, hair piece having been discarded… at some point, perhaps before they had even entered the room? His memory felt hazy. She looked up at him through her lashes, her lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes softened. “Yer beautiful, miss,” he whispered her name. 

Her cheeks flushed prettily. “Thank you, Arthur.” she breathed. She tilted her head up slightly, her eyes slipping down to his lips. 

He reached out, taking a piece of her hair between his fingers, twisting it around. It was soft. Of course it was. It was devastating how perfect she was. “I liked your song, earlier.” he mumbled, focused on her hair. 

“I… I’m glad.” she whispered, her hand winding up his arm, to his neck, to his head, to take off his hat. She placed it down somewhere, and her hand soon wound its way into his hair, her short nails scraping at the back of his head. His eyes slipped closed, humming at the sensation. “I was hoping you would be here, tonight.”

He blinked open his eyes just enough to see her face. “What?” he asked, his voice gruff. 

She averted her gaze, blush deepening. “Been lookin’ forward to seein’ you at my performances.”

He scoffed. Now he knew this was a dream. “Uh huh.” He leaned in, burying his nose in her neck. “You don’t gotta lie t’me.” He turned, placing open-mouthed kisses along any skin he could find. Her breath hitched in his ear. 

“I-I’m not.” she insisted. He hummed, laving across a section of skin before taking it between his teeth, sucking slightly. She held her breath for a second, forcing out her next words. “I been… been dreadin’ the day you stop showin’ up,” she breathed out, “and I’d have missed my chance.” 

He parted from her, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. They were lidded, but earnest. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. “I counted at least ten other men better-lookin’ and closer in age t’you. Yer tellin’ me not one o’ them caught yer eye?” 

“‘S that really so hard to believe?” she palmed his cheek again, stroking it with her thumb. 

“Yes.” he laughed dryly, but leaned into her hand all the same. 

She brought up her other hand, cupping his face. “Look how sweet you are, baby.” she cooed, bringing his face closer to nuzzle her nose against his. “What a cutie-pie!” she teased.

His eyes softened, tracing the features of her face. He wished he could pause time, sketch her in his journal. He’d just have to memorize how she looked, and try his best to replicate it later. Once he woke up, of course. From this dream.

She connected their lips and he groaned, not expecting the sudden contact again. Her hands moved from his face to wrap around his neck and scratch at his shoulders. It felt like she was sucking him in, how truly he could not pull away. 

He rubbed his hand up her thigh, pushing up her long skirt. Her skin was smooth under his rough hand, moving up to grab at the soft flesh of her ass, squeezing and pulling her up towards him. She arched slightly, and he grabbed his other hand behind her waist to pull her closer, closer still. 

Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples stiffening through the thin fabric. He nudged her head to the side with his nose, moving to kiss down her neck. She sighed in his ear, her hands busying themselves with his arms and shoulders. Drink made him sloppy in his movements, his tongue wetting her neck and chest as he made his way down to her breasts. He didn’t bother to tug the fabric down, instead mouthing over her nipple through the fabric, flattening and swirling his tongue into the mound. 

She whimpered, her hand moving up to tug at the hair on the back of his head, her other moving down to tug her shirt down under her tits. He parted from her while she did so, unable to help the smirk twisting his mouth at her desperation. 

“You like that, doll?” he muttered, taking in the sight of her bare breasts, her shirt bunched up underneath them. 

She stuttered out a response, arching up towards his mouth. Seeing her like this sent a surge of confidence through him. She was his. No one else downstairs got to see her like this. Just him. Only him. He brushed his lips against her nipple, watching her try to push into his mouth. 

He smiled against her, and she whined, tugging his hair. “Don’t tease me, Arthur.” she breathed. Fuck. He took it into his mouth, his hand encircling the other, twisting and toying with it. He would give her anything she wanted if it meant she would say his name like that again. 

He dragged his mouth down, not missing the soft moan she gave at the loss, cool air ghosting over her wet nipple. He kissed down her stomach, moving his hands down underneath her thighs, pushing them up, up. 

He bunched her skirt around her, and pulled back. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead in surprise. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He looked up at her. 

Her face was reddened with embarrassment, her hands covering her cheeks. 

“Care to explain this?” he teased, running his hands down her thighs, closer, closer. 

She bit her lip. “I…” she looked away. 

He tilted his head, indicating he was waiting. 

“I… did say I was hopin’ to see you tonight, didn’t I?” she laughed breathily. 

His chest rumbled in approval, looking down at her exposed cunt, already wet without him touching it. “All this…” he drawled, glancing up at her, “for me?” 

She nodded, hiding slightly behind her hands. 

“Too kind to me, sweetheart,” he lowered himself, breathing her in. He kissed her thigh, feeling her twitch. “You shouldn’t have…” his breath ghosted between her legs, and she shuddered, anticipation building. He placed a few more open-mouthed kisses inside her thighs, feeling her arch into him, growing desperate. He took pity. 

Gripping her soft thighs in his hands, he licked one long stripe up her slit, gathering her wetness onto his tongue. She gasped, tightening her legs. He forced them open, holding them up. “Be good, princess, or I won’t be good to you.” he admonished, kissing her thigh. 

She shuddered. “Shit, yes, sorry yes, please, I’ll be good, please,” she breathed, trying to wiggle closer to his mouth. 

“Good girl,” he praised, flattening his tongue against her clit, lapping at it softly. She cursed, her hands fisting the bedding. He laved up her slit, once, twice, three times, before closing his lips around her bud, lightly sucking it in and swirling his tongue around it. 

“Fuck, Arthur,” she gasped, and he groaned against her, working his tongue inside of her, circling the entrance before pushing in, lapping up at her walls. He smoothed his hand up her thigh, reaching her clit with the rough pad of his thumb. He pressed gentle circles into it, his tongue spreading into her. She hissed, bucking into his ministrations. 

He pulled away, sliding his thumb down from her clit to her entrance, gently working his way inside. 

“Arthur…” she whined. 

“Yeah?” He teased, mimicking her tone, pushing his thick thumb further inside of her. 

She moaned, pushing herself onto him. “Arthur, please, I need more,” she breathed, meeting his gaze. “I need you .” 

He felt himself throb against his already-strained pants. He cursed under his breath, moving to unbuckle his pants. In his tunnel vision, he didn’t see her move from her position on the bed. 

Her hand came to rest over where his struggled with the buckle. “Let me, baby.” she cooed, moving his hands away. He blinked, letting her move him, watching her smaller hands undo his belt, working his pants down, taking him… oh. She took him out, palming his length. Shit, it looked bigger in her hand. Or maybe he hadn’t been this worked up in awhile. She ghosted her hand up and down, barely fluttering her thumb over the tip. His breath hitched, trying not to buck up into her hand, and failing, miserably. 

She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. He reached out, stroking her cheek with his hand. “Hey, girl.” he breathed shakily, her hand jerking up suddenly. 

She giggled. “Hey, yourself, handsome.” 

He flushed, suddenly embarrassed to be on the other end. He looked away, only for a moment, before feeling a warm wetness engulf him. He gasped, whipping back to look down at her, half of his length having disappeared into her mouth. “Shit, darlin’,” he cursed, his accent dragging at the words. He bucked up into her lips, smoothing his thumb across her cheek. 

She hummed, the sound sending vibrations into him. “God, sweetheart, you’re bein’ so fuckin’ good to me right now,” he hissed, his hand reaching underneath to cup her jaw, squeezing it and guiding himself further in. 

She opened her mouth wider to take him. “Christ, you’re perfect,” he groaned, feeling her tongue slide up, her hand taking what her mouth couldn’t. 

She pulled off of him, kissing his tip, pumping her hand over the slick she had left. His breath shuddered. She smiled up at him. “You want more?” 

“God, yes.” he pushed her back onto the bed, muscling her onto her stomach, ass in the air. She squeaked in surprise, and he palmed her ass, squeezing it open to get a better look. God, she was practically dripping for him. He bit his lip, groaning. He rubbed himself up her slit, gathering the wetness there, rubbing it onto himself. “All this for me, darlin’?” he whispered, squeezing her hip. 

She wiggled herself back, trying to take him in. “Fuck, Arthur, it is, please, just fuck me already,” she whined, his tip sliding just past where she wanted him. 

“If the lady insists,” he teased, aligning himself with her, before softly, gently, pushing into her. 

She turned her face into the mattress, moaning, grabbing at the covers. “ Jesus, Arthur.” she groaned, her words muffled. 

He pressed in further. Halfway. “Can’t hear you, doll.” It was taking everything in him to go so slowly. 

She turned her head to the side, pushing back to take more of him in. He hissed, his hands twitching on her ass, squeezing her. 

He let out a breath, finally fully seated. He didn’t want to hurt her, he couldn’t. He gyrated against her, desperate for some kind of friction. A whine built in his throat. “Can-” 

Before he could ask, she forcefully pushed back into him, and he cursed, abandoning all hesitation and fucking into her. She cried out his name, arching against him. She was so tight and hot around him, her ass bouncing back against him with every thrust. It was all he could do to keep himself standing, his vision focused solely on where their bodies met. 

“Ar-thur,” she gasped, her breath shuddering, “God, God, you’re so big Arthur, Jesus Christ,” she moaned, her words starting to devolve into sounds with no meaning. 

He kept himself rooted deep within her, barely pulling out before slamming back in again, and again, and again. Her hands grasped for purchase anywhere, everywhere, on the bed, moaning noises that almost sounded like his name, pushing back into him with every thrust. 

Shit. Shit. He screwed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure he could last much longer. 

“Miss,” he breathed her name. “I, shit, I-” he grabbed her thighs, his fingers bruising in their pressure, forcing her back into him. 

She whined at the pressure, growing limper. 

“Fuck! Fuck,” he yanked himself from her, grabbing at himself and finishing on her back. 

She had collapsed into the bed, giving a small satisfied moan. He breathed heavily, immediately grabbing a towel from the closet and cleaning her off. “S-Sorry, Miss.” he caught his breath, “Should’ve grabbed the towel before doin’ that on you.” He discarded the towel, placing a small kiss on her back, then immediately wondering if that was too much.

“What?” she said, muffled a bit by the covers. She turned, pushing herself up to sit and look at him. She frowned, reaching out and cupping his cheek. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, cowboy.” Her frown twisted to a smile, “I oughta be thankin’ you for such a nice time.” she teased, pinching his cheek.

He suddenly grew bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’ know about all that, but I definitely am thankin’ you.” Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, her lips slightly swollen… he had so many things to remember for his journal. “Best dream I’ve had in awhile,” he mumbled, moving to get under the covers. 

She joined him. “Dream?” she laughed, “You still drunk enough to think you’re dreamin’?”

He shrugged, opening his arms. She shifted into them, laying her head on his chest. “Could be stone cold sober and still think this was a dream.” He pecked her head. “I’ll miss you in the mornin’, girl.” 

She snorted, but snuggled into him anyway.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Arthur groaned, the light only hitting his closed eyes, but giving him a headache all the same. His back didn’t hold the ache it usually did, though, laying on this terrible cot. It was the small victories, he guessed.

He thought back to his dream last night, and sighed wistfully. What he would give to have that right now, his cock painfully hard this morning. He forced himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. 

A hand reached across his stomach, ghosting against his length. He jumped, looking over to his side. “Well, good morning to you, too.” she yawned, lightly playing with him, a teasing look in her eye. 

He blinked. He squinted.

He rubbed his eyes again.

“Holy shit.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Bonus

The woman placed the guitar against the wall, happily engaged in conversation with some of the patrons closest to her stage. “Excuse me,” Charles butted in, stealing her attention from them. 

She turned to him, confused, but polite. “Yes, sir?”

He smiled kindly. “I’m sorry, Miss, but could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on the favor, don’t it?” she laughed.

He nodded in understanding, and pointed to Arthur, hunched over the bar. “Do you see that miserable man over there?” She looked, and stiffened in recognition. “He has been coming to this saloon every Thursday night, just for you.” he turned to her. 

A blush painted her cheeks. “You’re kiddin’.” she laced her fingers together nervously. “He’s never said anything to me.”

Charles shook his head. “My friend—he is shy with women.” he leaned in conspiratorially, “Especially women he likes.” The woman’s blush deepened, her gaze darting over to Arthur. He straightened up. “All I ask is that you talk to him. I’m afraid my friends and I have ruined his Thursday, and I’m sure that would cheer him up.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing. He could tell why Arthur was so taken with her. “He sounds sweet,” she spoke softly. “I would love to.” 

He thanked her, watching her make true on her word and walk over to Arthur. Charles noted his reddened ears and fumbling fingers and smiled. Hopefully, this would make up for it.

[prime-adeptus]

HEART SHAKER! – YONE X READER

Yone usually regrets saying yes to what Kayn or Ezreal rope him in, but this time around, he doesn’t regret it at all.

CONTENT.⠀Idol AU. Gender-neutral reader. Tooth-rotting fluff, first dates, hopeful ending because Yone deserves happiness. Requested by @fictionfordays. Hope you enjoy! ~1.3k words

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 / @angelshub @bitchcraftinc

Yone thinks he’s too old to be putting up with whatever shenanigans Kayn and Ezreal keep pulling him into.

Between promotions, interviews, production, and taking care of the group, he’s dedicated the majority of his time to being responsible and ensuring everything is in tip-top shape. He’s not unfamiliar with having responsibility be the key pillar in his life. Since he was a child, he took it upon himself to be someone his younger brother could look up to. He did everything he could to help his parents, working himself to the bone to ensure his family’s comfort. Not much has changed even when he’s become an idol.

Despite his weariness on some days, he can’t deny that he’s grown fond of his fellow members. He’ll put up with Aphelios’ pranks, Kayn’s ‘forgetfulness’ in doing his chores, Ezreal’s little jokes, and whatever else his life in HEARTSTEEL brings him. He supposes it’s why he found himself saying yes to Ezreal’s idea of a blind date.

Indulging in a silly idea once is harmless, he thinks. Maybe if he just went along, it’ll sate Ezreal enough to leave him be for a while. As happy (well, not really) as he is to indulge in his friend’s antics, he’d also prefer it if Ezreal didn’t bring up the idea every other day. And even if this is just to keep his all-too-enthusiastic friend at bay, he’s also not one to do things halfheartedly. For the first time since his audition, Yone is somewhat nervous.

Meeting new people isn’t all too familiar. He always greets his seniors, juniors, staff, or anyone he may come across on the job. But this isn’t a job, it’s something meant to potentially spark romance in his life which is far from professional. He hasn’t even been on a regular date. He’s well aware of what it usually entails, but he’s never actively sought out this sort of thing. He hopes whoever his date will be won’t feel too disappointed if he doesn’t catch their interest. He knows they’re Ezreal’s friend, but that doesn’t quite narrow it down.

He fiddles with his face mask (for safety measures, really) as he waits for his date at the table. Thanks to Kayn, the street where the restaurant is located is completely silent save for its employees and the occasional unknowing passer-by. He’s not sure what Kayn did—in fact, he’s not even going to ask—but if it means not having to stress as much about paparazzi and overly eager fans, he’s not going to pass up the opportunity. 

“Gosh, sorry I’m late—Yone?”

Said man looks up from his drink with wide eyes, surprised to see that you’re standing right in front of him. Or, more accurately, one of Ezreal’s best friends, and the fact that both of you are surprised means that the guy’s got more talent for discretion than he let on.

“Did Ezreal put you up to this?” you ask with an amused lilt, taking a seat in front of him. He nods quietly. “Hm. So that’s why he’s been so suspicious lately. Seraphine just told me she wanted me to meet a friend, but well… I didn’t think it’d be you.”

“Are you disappointed?” Yone blurts out.

The corners of your lips curl into a small smile. “No, of course not. I’m pretty happy about it, actually. But what brings you here?”

He doesn’t know you that well, he realises. While you’re always there for the group dinners or parties, he’s never had a proper conversation with you aside from simple hellos here and there. He’s not too familiar with the warmth rising in his cheeks either, but if he has to guess, it definitely has something to do with the way you’re looking at him.

“Ah, well…” He’s not sure if he should say the truth. He’s aloof, yes, but he’s not insensitive. “Ezreal thought I should try something new.”

“Hey, that makes both of us! By the way, I have the same Poro keychain! They’re really cute, aren’t they?”

He feels relieved that you seem to be carrying the conversation just fine even if he doesn’t think he’s great at it. Usually, the extroverts of HEARTSTEEL are responsible for answering interview questions. Yone’s there for the more professional and practical side of things, like speaking to other producers or the company president. As you start to talk about your day, he listens to every word and finds himself getting lost in how much he likes being in your presence. You’re more animated than he is and you still ask about his day even when he doesn’t believe it’s as interesting as yours.

He really likes that about you, he concludes.

“I forgot to mention this, but isn’t this district usually full of people? Why’s it so quiet today?” Your curious expression practically has him melting at how adorable you look. He prides himself on keeping his composure, but your presence alone is making him doubt his ability to be calm.

Yone is never nervous. The only other time he’s felt that way was when he first stepped through the company doors as a trainee. But the longer he sits here with you, his heart races and it’s getting harder to focus when you’re undoubtedly quite a perfect match for him.

(Damn that kid and his ‘super senses.’)

He clears his throat. “Kayn’s responsible for it.”

Perfect . He zoned out thinking about you when you’re right in front of him and he completely forgot to answer your question. Lucky enough, you don’t seem to mind.

“I’m… not sure I want to know the details.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t ask, either.” He chuckles. “I think it’s better not to.”

Your laughter rings beautifully like every song he’s ever loved. Everything feels new, and his thoughts are running a mile a minute, but he thinks he wants to take this jump into spontaneity and adventure with you.

“It’s getting late… I should head back. Gotta be on set early tomorrow.”

“Could we do this again?”

Your features soften into a teasing smile. “You like me already, don’t you?”

“Well, yes—”

“Of course, we can do this again,” you say gently, “I like you too, Yone. You don’t have to be so nervous around me.”

You reach over the table to take his hand in yours and he damn near short circuits at how your hand fits in so perfectly with his. He can barely process the coy glint in your eyes from how flustered he feels.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Oh, a gentleman!” you chirp, “Now I wish I’d spoken to you sooner.”

The walk to the train station is too short for his liking. He’d really like to spend the rest of the night with you, but you still have things to do and Yone can’t be away for too long lest something happens in the dorm. As if you could sense him sulking, you gently tug on his sleeve and urge him to look at you. Before he can ask, you’re already leaning up to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, an action that has his eyes widening and his heart racing once again.

“I’ll see you again, Yone.”

His face feels like it’s burning as he watches you skip and disappear into the crowd. How can a single person reduce him to such a state so effortlessly? Still, he can’t help but look forward to the next time he’ll get to spend time with you again. He thinks you’re going to be quite the presence in his life and he’s more than happy to let that happen. 

Yone usually regrets saying yes to what Kayn or Ezreal rope him in, but this time around, he doesn’t regret it at all. He couldn’t wait to see you again. Maybe without his friends meddling in this time, but he supposes he does have them to thank for leading him to you.

Plus, he still needs to get your number.

[spockandawe]

Double edit: actually, that's enough of that.

Edit: I was expecting maybe thirty notes tops. This is a surprise, and one that doesn't delight me. If I hear about any harassment stemming from this post, I'll be more pissed at the harasser than the person this is about.

God. Dammit.

I hate this, let's just out that out there! I'm unhappy that I'm talking about any of this, I'm unhappy there's an issue that's come up at the intersection of media preservation, respecting authors, and one of my favorite book series. And I'm unhappy that I've censored the names in the screenshots I'm about ti post! I'm not happy that I'm helping to slide consequences away from someone who thought this was an acceptable thing to do to a modern working author. But I'm even less happy this is something that happened in the first place, and I'm VERY unhappy the original post has been deleted without a whisper of accountability or apology.

And here's a partial screenshot of the IA page, which has since been removed. I get the excitement to share something you love with a new audience. This isn't the right way to go about it.

First, if Martha Wells' patreon is still in place, I encourage everyone in the strongest possible terms to go sign up for it. It'll charge you one dollar. I've been a member since probably 2018, and I mistakenly believed it was locked to new members (it's labeled 'Currently Closed To New Patrons') until I had reason to look it up last night, when I tripped across this reddit post from earlier this year.

Now. I was looking it up because of this sudden patreon message:

Even if the patreon goes away, I still recommend that people sign up. Explore the stories! They're very fun! Even though the patreon has been dormant for years, I've loved having that repository in place.

In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, what kept me from immediately reblogging last night is that I've felt the same archival urges! I bound a hard copy of these stories earlier this year, and let me quote my own words from that post:

I live in a state of perpetual low key stress over the impermanence of digital media and that goes extra for sites that aren’t designed to work well as archives. I hope, desperately, that someday Martha Wells publishes more raksura, maybe even including these stories! I will buy it immediately. No thoughts, wallet empty. I own all her other raksura books in literally three formats, fingers crossed that by printing this, I can actualize a formal official printing of these stories by the author 😂

So. Archiving, yes. But especially with a living, working author, I would never DREAM of posting a public free-for-all with IA and mediafire links. My most charitable interpretation is that OP thought it was fine since the stories were "free," even though the writeups acknowledge that access costs a dollar. Ao3 is also free. Reposting someone else's fic is still understood to be a dick move.

Last night i was left kind of stunned, and I was hoping to see some kind of response from op this morning taking responsibility, and was... disappointed to see that the post was just deleted. The IA listing was deleted too, and I hadn't actually looked up the mediafire post yet but I'm guessing it's also been nuked. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see if there was anything more in the comments, so I found a surviving reblog. And there was!

So I'm writing this post because I'm... frustrated. Taking down the files is a good step. Posting them publicly was a worse step, but hey. I still more than understand if Martha Wells still deletes her patreon. I don't understand what sending her files of her own stories is meant to accomplish, but whatever. Ascribing a profit-driven motive is driving me up a wall, though. She's financially stable. I read her email, and what i see is frustration that even though it only cost a dollar to access 62k of her work through her own chosen location, control of her writing is being forcibly removed from her. I'm sure that seeing copies sold by third parties wouldn't help, but I don't think that's the root issue.

This is a fandom-heavy website, I'm sure most of us have seen posts about not reposting art when you can share directly from the artist's blog. I've seen posts about stop copying your ao3 faves over to wattpad just because you like reading there better. At a fundamental level, I read the message from Martha Wells as a deep frustration at having no way to share her creative work without someone removing control of it from her hands. And I don't know if there's any way to really take back that damage.

[starfinss]

ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀᴛ ʙᴀɴᴄʀᴏꜰᴛ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴄʜ. 1

Chapter Two can be found here!

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Lockwood & Co.

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Anthony Lockwood + Lucy Carlyle

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: SFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,227

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 

“Skull,” I hissed, “is there something here with us?”

“Nothing dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I didn’t respond, thoroughly miffed, but still on guard. I positioned my rapier in front of my body to act as a shield, and when I heard another sound, I found myself whirling around, zeroing in on the source of the disturbance with mechanical efficiency, only to come face to face with…

A person. A girl. Wide, made-up eyes stared back at me, set in a cute, freckled face, and attached to a throat I was currently pointing my rapier at.

Or, alternatively, the client’s daughter flirts with Lockwood, is a massive nuisance, and Lucy gets jealous, among other things.

It was a bright, cool autumn morning, just after the rather perilous conclusion of the Case of the Flying Top Hat, and Lockwood, George and I were just tucking into breakfast, when someone came ringing the bell out in front of 35 Portland Row.

Holly welcomed whoever had come round dutifully inside without any of us prompting her to do so, and I heard the various sounds of her getting them settled in the living room before her footsteps came towards the kitchen; she poked her head through the open door.

“There’s a client here to see you,” she said, “a Sir Ignatius Quintrell.”

“Fine,” Lockwood said, placing his napkin on The Thinking Cloth, “we’ll be right out.”

The man sitting in our loving room was somewhat an odd fellow. He was a barrel chested man with long arms and legs. He had a great square head with small, watery blue eyes set under heavy, dark eyebrows, and a carefully combed head of jet-black hair, greying at the temples. The handlebar mustache that dominated his upper lip made him resemble a cartoon villain. A spotless bowler hat sat atop his head. He reeked of money and class, as evident from his Italian suit that undoubtedly cost more than myself and Lockwood combined, and his garish scarlet tie, fastened by an ornate gold tie clip. That bit cost more than George. From the top of his hat to the toes of his gleaming shoes, he was a strange amalgamation of something out of a Victorian novel and a character from a comic book.

“Ah,” he said in a booming voice, and though plaster didn’t fall from the ceiling, it came close, “Mr Lockwood. A pleasure to meet the young man who vanquished the spirits in Combe Carey Hall, and his associates. I am Sir Ignatius Qunitrell, and I implore you help me.”

He spoke with one of the poshest accents I’d ever heard, and that, alongside his manner of of dress, made everything about him mildly comical. From the bemused look on my colleagues faces, I could tell that my observation was one we all made.

Lockwood broke the silence with a cough, crossing to sit on the sofa. I joined him after a second, and George busied himself with gathering the things to make a fresh pot of tea.

“How may we do that, sir?” Lockwood asked, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

A broad smile appeared, revealing a gold tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Marvelous of you to ask, Mr Lockwood. My wife and I have recently purchased a third house, over in Buckinghamshire. Lovely property, with a smashing guest house and pool. But my darling girl, my Madeline, has been seeing something in her new bedroom, I’m afraid. She’s scared out of her mind, and refuses to sleep in there, but won’t sleep anywhere else. You can see my problem, yes?”

Lockwood nodded empathetically. “Yes, sir, quite clearly.”

“My sweet Madeline is beside herself with fear. She read about your agency in True Hauntings, and asked for you specifically, so I came to fetch you. We’re willing to pay whatever figure you name— plus extra.”

I could already tell Lockwood was in by the way he was smiling. I knew as well as he did that this man was high society; completing a job with him would be excellent publicity. Besides, I knew him well enough to know that he would never refuse being asked for directly by a client.

George reappeared after a moment with a trey of teacups, which he passed out before taking a seat in his usual armchair.

“Tell us more about your ghost, Sir Quintrell,” Lockwood said after taking his cup, interest glittering in his dark eyes.

Relief seemed to show on Sir Quintrell’s face for a few seconds before the expression grew pleased. And so, he settled into his armchair, took a deep drink of tea, and began to speak.

“The property, called Bancroft Hall, was built in the late middle of the nineteenth century, and originally belonged to a duchess by the name of Cornelia Bancroft. She had the home built when her husband died, and lived there with her three young daughters. Some years later, the Duchess met a local businessman by the name of Daniel Frayne, and fell in love with him. They married after a rather short courtship, and the marriage was frowned upon because of his lower social status. All fairly normal happenstance, if you ask me.”

“But?” George asked, popping a biscuit into his mouth.

Sir Quintrell gave another wide smile. “Ah, yes. How astute of you, my good fellow. There always is a ‘but,’ isn’t there?” He folded his hands in his lap. “Their marriage was happy for some time, but soured, according to a servant’s recount of the events, a scullery maid, if I recall. The pair would argue often, and then there were mentions of a mistress, though I never found much information about that while looking into the estate’s history. All that matters is that Frayne ended up murdering his wife one night, and then proceeded to hang himself from the bedroom’s chandelier.”

“And the daughters?” I asked.

“Yes, the daughters,” Sir Quintrell said, “two of them left the estate and never returned. But one, the eldest, stayed behind to care for her mother’s home. She ended up dying on the property as well, unfortunately, by drowning herself in a bathtub. The house was eventually sold to the county, and was turned into a boarding house. It then went to one of the Duchess’ distant relatives after a time, and it remained in the family until the last member died, and my wife and I purchased it. It wasn’t until we moved in that we noticed the Visitor activity.”

“An esteemed history, indeed,” Lockwood said, “Holly, did you get that? Good. George will need it.”

“Does that mean you’re accepting my offer?” Sir Quintrell asked. Lockwood’s smile grew.

“When do you want us to be there?”

A light sparked behind our new client’s eyes, and he clasped his hands together.

“As soon as you can, Mr Lockwood. The sooner you can come, the more I will pay you, in fact.”

“Then we’ll be there tonight,” Lockwood said, and I looked sidelong at George, fully expecting the outraged expression he was wearing. He rose from the sofa with a sigh, shuffling off into the house, undoubtedly to prepare for a trip to the archives. Holly handed him her notebook on his way out.

The conversation after that was short, mostly just Lockwood and our guest exchanging pleasantries that I was surprised didn’t put me to sleep before Sir Quintrell excused himself, picking up a long, slim walking stick I hadn’t noticed before from beside his chair, and then he was gone just as quickly as he’d come.

“You ought to think more about George before you agree so quickly,” I said, and Lockwood simply smiled.

“He’ll be alright. You worry too much, Luce.” He gave me one of those smiles of his that made my stomach feel all funny. “Now, would you like another cup of tea?”

As the day grew late, we worked in the basement office as Holly cleaned and organized our kit until it gleamed, and then once more until it was blinding. George came back a handful of hours later, still grumpy about the time crunch, and told us that Sir Quintrell had told us most of what we needed to know. He had found a floor plan of Bancroft Hall, however, that he’d photocopied for all four of us. He’d also found guest registry from when the hall served as a boarding house, but beyond that, much of the information was what we already knew.

Holly rechecked our kits, and I helped her sort through them before repacking and making sure the iron filings had been filled and stocked sufficiently. I knew I didn’t need to, Holly was perfectly efficient as always, but it gave me something to do besides stabbing a dummy with my rapier.

Shortly before dusk, we were on the train to Buckinghamshire.

“I reckon we could get to Chequers from here,” George remarked as we got off the train, heavy duffle bags slung over our shoulders, “just pop round. I wonder if the P.M. is in.”

“Maybe he’ll need our services one day,” Lockwood said with a grin, “we’d be set for life with that sort of money, wouldn’t we?”

As we left the station, a stout, flaxen haired youth was waiting for us with a car, and he said very little as he took the bags from us with surprising ease and shoved them into the boot.

The resulting car trip was short, and gave me some time to watch the rolling green hills go by. It looked like a painting, one you’d see hanging at an art museum. Fluffy sheep grazed in the fields, seemingly unaffected by the chill of autumn. The sky was blue, fading into pastels as the sun sank, leaving hues of lavender behind and speckles of stars.

George tried to question our driver about the reputation of Bancroft Hall, but got little out of him besides that he didn’t know the Quintrell family very well, they were paying him twenty quid to pick us up, and that he was late for church. That was all he would say, and when Lockwood tried to start small talk, he was met with a vicious glare.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until we reached the hall, all afraid to anger the driver into crashing the car, or something similar, and when we were safely out of the vehicle, our kits in our hands, we weren’t at all surprised to see the car speed off, leaving a plume of dust in its wake.

That was when we caught our first glimpse of Bancroft Hall.

It was a massive, sprawling structure of two wings, built in Victorian style, out of bright stone blocks. Pillars with scalloped edges held up the great carved awning, which yawned over us like a massive jaw. The windows were wide and tall, with lush red curtains hanging beyond the glass like eyelids, obscuring the recesses. Molting bushes hugged the walls, colorful leaves dotting the space around them. Conical bushes lined the front walkway, groomed immaculately. The entire house seemed to be leaning towards us, casting chilly shadows as it sat before us, backlit by the setting sun, making it seem like it was a living thing. It was a beautiful house, regardless. It reminded me of what a mausoleum would look like if it were for the living.  

“Well,” Lockwood said, flashing a smile, “shall we?”

Before he even rose his hand to use one of the great brass knockers, the door swung open to reveal Sir Quintrell, grinning at us broadly. He ushered us in with the grandiosity we expected of him, even after our rather brief interaction with him at Portland Row.

The entrance hall was a vast room, decorated with soft blues and pastel yellows. The carpet, an intricate Persian thing, was spread across the hardwood floor, just before the sweeping steps, which were made of deep mahogany. There was a sideboard made of heavy, polished wood over by the staircase, which had been stuffed so full of family photos that no room was left on the surface for anything else.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Mr Lockwood,” Sir Quintrell said, voice as booming as ever, “my wife has cooked a sumptuous meal, so I hope you all have an appetite. Surely, we have time before you need to work, yes?”

“It will cut it a little close,” George said, “We need to get ourselves set up, sir—”

“Nonsense,” Lockwood said, waving George off, “we have time for a short meal. George, stop worrying so much. Surely, it would be rude of us to refuse.”

We followed Sir Quintrell into the dining room, where a wonderful scent hit me, and suddenly, the sandwich I’d had on the train was hardly enough to fill my stomach. A woman was waiting in the room at the head of the table, grinning broadly at the four of us.

She was rather short, and shaped very much like a pear. She had a face that reminded me of some sort of holiday elf, with round, merry cheeks and happy, upturned green eyes. Her hair was bright red, done up with clips and piled high on her head. She wore a pair of black slacks paired with a pale pink blouse under a cream colored cardigan that almost completely swallowed her body. A pair of diamond earrings that surely cost more than our house dangled from her earlobes.

The woman, Lady Quintrell, was a warm, motherly sort, who behaved as if she’d known us our entire lives, making sure all of us ate our fills, serving us a delectable plum pudding upon finishing our meals. I could barely finish mine, I was so full, so I discreetly passed my dish to George when Lady Quintrell wasn’t looking.

As we polished off our meals, Sir Quintrell excused himself, saying no more than that he’d return shortly, and when he did, he had a young girl with him.

She looked like a combination of Sir and Lady Quintrell, so I could only imagine she was their daughter. She looked to be a little younger than me, possibly fifteen at best, maybe fourteen. Her hair was the same flaming red as her mother’s, worn hay straight, and her eyes were pale blue, like her father’s. She had a round-ish face, with a small chin and rosy cheeks scattered with countless freckles. Her eyes were large, and I’m no makeup expert, but I’m fairly certain she was wearing a touch too much mascara. The resulting look made her appear to be in a constant state of shock. She was wearing a fitted white sweater dress with dark leggings, as well as high heeled ankle boots that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

For some reason, I instantly hated her. I’ve gotten better at having positive opinions about other girls upon meeting them, becoming closer friends with Holly had certainly helped with that, but I felt that familiar feeling of disdain well up inside me as I studied her. I tried to shove it down, telling myself to give her a chance before making a judgement, but something about her boiled my blood.

“Mr Lockwood, I’d like you and your associates to meet my daughter, Madeline. She’s a big fan of your work, I hope you know.“

The girl’s round eyes scanned our faces with interest, pausing on Lockwood’s for the longest, a sweet smile spreading across her pretty lips. I felt my stomach do a funny twist, but I ignored it. I didn’t have time to think about what that could mean just before a case. I left those sorts of emotions at the door of a haunted location, no exceptions.

“Charming,” Lockwood said, the megawatt smile he reserved for clients appearing on his face, “it’s quite an honor to be the agency you think of highly enough to request for your problem, Miss Quintrell.”

Madeline let out a soft, tinkling giggle that made my blood squirm in my veins. I forced a polite smile, as if she wasn’t making odd, angry thoughts fill my mind. It was not a gesture that was returned.

“You’re really a genius, Mr Lockwood,” she said, batting her overdone lashes, “I love seeing you in True Hauntings and The Times.”

Lockwood puffed up, glowing from the praise. His smile grew. “Yes, well. It’s even more charming to meet a fan, isn’t it?“ His dark eyes fixed on us, glittering with merriment.

The three of made varying noises of assent, with Holly’s sounding the most genuine, but from the guarded, polite smile on her face, I could tell she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this girl either.

George cleared his throat suddenly, rising from the table. “We really should get started,” he said, “before it gets darker.”

“Yes, indeed,” Sir Quintrell bellowed, and I swore the windowpanes shook, “wouldn’t want us keeping you. My darlings, let us get to the guest house and let the agents work. If there is any problems, Mr Lockwood, ring us down there. There is a phone in the kitchen. No reason is a silly reason, even if you’re simply calling to chat.”

Lockwood smiled politely. “Your hospitality is splendid, Sir Quintrell. We will keep that in mind.”

The Quintrell family left shortly after that, only interrupted by Madeline claiming she’d forgotten something in her bedroom, and then they were gone, closing the door behind them, and leaving the house to us.

“RIght,” Lockwood said, pressing his gloved palms together, “fine. I suppose there’s no need for biscuits, but who’d like some tea?”

Holly put the kettle on, and as we drank tea, George went over the floor plan with us. The house was a maze of a thing, full of winding corridors and dead ends. It was nowhere near the level of Combe Carrey Hall, but it was a monster of a structure, and I imagined that it would be quite easy to lose one’s way. George had marked spots of activity on the maps he’d passed out to us, as well as routes to and from said active points, leading both to the entryway and to the kitchen, where we’d decided to set up our base due to the large amount of iron located there.

The points of activity marked were the master bedroom and the bathroom attached to Madeline’s bedroom. This made sense, due to the deaths that occurred in such locations, but, like always, I imagined things wouldn’t be as open and shut as they seemed. That was just how it went when you’re with Lockwood & Co.

This was proven by the point of activity in the third floor sitting room, which George hadn’t found much on besides rumors, but according to him, it was worth checking out regardless. The rumors entailed the sound of weeping and a horrible feeling of dread when one sat alone in the room, and Holly remarked that it sounded like a Shade or a Lurker, something we all agreed with her on.

With that all squared away, Holly decided she’d investigate the third floor sitting room with George, and Lockwood and I would investigate the second floor’s visitations. After the bathroom and the sitting room were taken care of, we’d regroup and investigate the master bedroom as a team due to the fact that this was where the initial deaths had occurred, making it the most likely epicenter of the haunting.

As Lockwood and I ascended the stairs to the second floor, I reached back to turn the tap attached to the jar in my backpack. As I did, a psychic pressure materialized, settling neatly into a familiar spot inside my inner ear, and the sardonic voice of the skull in the jar filled my head.

“Ah, good,” the voice whispered, “You’re listening. Now, Lucy, find a nice heavy pan and hit that red headed blighter—”

“No,” I said, before it could finish, “I’m not doing that, skull.”

“You never take my advice,” it said, “but really, you’d be better off in the long run. What’s that girl ever going to provide for society besides dimness and far too much cosmetic application?”

I ignored its last comment. “I take your advice plenty. When it’s useful, though, not when you’re suggesting the casual murder of our client’s daughter for no other reason but your personal amusement.

Lockwood hid his laugh with a cough. “What’s it saying?”

I rolled my eyes. “The usual drivel.”

A soft, spectral scoff. “I’ll have you know that this is no drivel, but a serious suggestion that will benefit all of us. I have only your best interests at heart, Lucy.”

“And Ghost Touch isn’t lethal,” I shot back, “do you sense anything yet?”

“No, nothing yet,” the ghost said, “and I still say my plan is the only sensible option. I’ll bet the office has a nice letter opener you could use. Sneak down to their posh guest house and drive the blade into her posh throat. Get her posh parents while you’re at it. I won’t tell.”

I hummed. “You won’t, no. Because I’m the only one who can hear you, skull.”

A quiet excitement filled the voice when it spoke next. “So you’ll do it? Lucy, I knew you’d come around. Now, first—”

“No, Skull,” I interjected, “I’m not murdering anyone with a letter opener.”

“Drat.”

“Yeah,” Lockwood said, mirth spilling into his voice, “normal things, I see.”

The skull stayed quiet as we rounded the corner, following Lockwood’s map to Madeline’s bedroom, our boots ringing faintly on the hardwood floors. The sun had fully set, and the hallway was dark, casting us in semi-darkness as moonlight spilled through the tall, floor to ceiling windows.

“Should be here,” Lockwood said, stopping before a door, then stepping back with a dramatic flourish, “ladies first.”

For once, he was right. He’d been the one to open the first door during our last investigation, and I supposed I did owe it to him, because upon pushing open that door, he’d immediately been accosted by a mountain of falling cushions. Oh, and a Limbless, too. That was far from pleasant. Don’t ask me what a Limbless was doing in a linen cupboard, because I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

I stepped past Lockwood, resting my hand on the knob and focusing, tapping into my inner ear, but got nothing. Slowly, I turned the handle, pushing the door open.

The room reminded me of something out of a magazine or a teen film. The bed was large, set in a four poster frame, cheerfully painted white. The duvet was patterned with daisies on a soft, sky blue backdrop, with matching pillowcases. A handful of stuffed animals sat against the throw cushions. Posters for bands and television shows hung on the walls, and below the window on the left wall was a desk, painted the same white as the bed frame. Textbooks and school supplies sat neatly arranged on the desktop. A vanity was nearby, the mirror wreathed in photographs, makeup organized on the surface. A walk-in closet was attached to the wall to the right of the bed, and on the right side of the room was a door, leading to what was undoubtedly the bathroom.

“Blimey,” Lockwood said, “looks like an advert for a furniture shop in here.”

As we stepped into the room, I heard a sudden crash. I started, and I was about to ask Lockwood if he’d heard the same thing, as he often doesn’t hear all the same things I do, but from the look on his face, I could tell there was no need for me to ask.

“The devil was that?” Lockwood asked, and I simply shrugged.

“Stay here,” I said, “It sounded like it came from the study next door.”

“Oh, goodie,” the skull jeered, “yes, go get the letter opener.”

I ignored it, drawing my sword as I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall. Slowly, with practiced, catlike grace, I approached the closed study door, pressing my ear against the wood. I could hear something inside, moving about, but I wasn’t sure if it was something living or not. George hadn’t said anything about a visitation in the second floor study, but it was possible he’d somehow missed something.

Rapier at the ready, I pushed open the door, eyes scanning the dim room for any sign of movement. The room was a high-ceilinged, airy space, with tall, floor to ceiling windows on the far wall, overlooking the rolling hills behind the property and flooding the space with moonlight. The desk was punished against the wall with the windows, scattered with books and writing utensils. Heavy mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed full of thick volumes. A bright red area rug dominated much of the floor space.

Because of the windows, there was little space to hide in the shadows, so I assumed, as any agent would, that what I’d heard had been a Visitor. I was about to pull my map out to check the floor plan when I heard another bit of shuffling, just over my shoulder. I tuned myself to the room, listening, but I picked up nothing besides the usual empty silence that comes with un-haunted rooms. I furrowed my brows, puzzled.

“Skull,” I hissed, “is there something here with us?”

“Nothing dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I didn’t respond, thoroughly miffed, but still on guard. I positioned my rapier in front of my body to act as a shield, and when I heard another sound, I found myself whirling around, zeroing in on the source of the disturbance with mechanical efficiency, only to come face to face with…

A person. A girl. Wide, made-up eyes stared back at me, set in a cute, freckled face, and attached to a throat I was currently pointing my rapier at.

“Ooh,” the skull said, “now, there’s your reason to kill her. Or, you could just let the ghosts do that. Letter opener to the neck, lob her head off with your rapier, or let her get Ghost Touched. Your choice, Lucy.”

I stared at Madeline, forcing myself to take in what I was looking at as I lowered my sword, but I didn’t put it away. I stared at her some more, struggling with the feelings of sheer, utter confusion and absolutely boiling rage.

“What,” I hissed, “in the hell are you doing here? I could have run you through.”

She stared back at me, her jaw opening and closing like a rather shocked fish. “But I’m not a ghost, I’d’ve died if you’d done that.”

“Yes,” I said, stunned, and questioning whether or not she had a working brain, “you would’ve. I don’t carry a sword for fun, you nonce. Now, you will answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?”

Madeline shifted, a sweet smile spreading across her face, one that I suspected was known to work quite well in aiding this girl with getting her way. At present, it wasn’t doing its intended job.

“I just thought I could help.”

I wondered very seriously if she was completely brain dead, because only someone incredibly stupid would try to go into a known haunted location without any training or kit.

“Is she mental?” The skull said, a note of amusement in its voice, “well, who cares if she is? One less problem for you.”

I ignored the skull, continuing to stare at Madeline, unable to come up with a response to her statement that wasn’t a shriek of indignant rage.

“You thought you could help?” I parroted, my eyes narrowing in askance, “are you mad?”

She had the nerve to look offended. “Well, no. I—”

“You just assumed,” I said, incredulous, “that you could come in here, pick up a rapier, and do our job with us? Have you passed your Forth Grade? Undergone training? Do you have a copy of The Fittes Manual for Ghost Hunters? Done any form of rapier training?”

She laughed; a soft, simpering sound that made my blood boil.

“I’m sure it can’t all be too hard, can it? Where’s Mr Lockwood?”

I let out a derisive laugh, my bemusement showing plainly on my face. “Oh, you want to see Lockwood? Alright, I’ll take you to him.”

I shoved my rapier back into its spot on my belt, and, without worrying about being gentle, I grabbed Madeline around the upper arm and began to walk, marching her around the corner and into the bedroom where I’d left Lockwood. When I arrived, I didn’t let go of her, despite her weak struggling.

“Found anything, Luce?” Lockwood’s voice called, coming from the en-suite bathroom.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, my voice dripping with sardonic rage, “you’ll want to see it for yourself, this.”

Lockwood, undoubtedly put off by the tone of voice I’d adopted, appeared in the bathroom doorway with a thermometer in his hand. He looked at me for a few seconds, then at my squirming captive. He was clearly at a loss for words, and when Madeline smiled at him, as prettily as she could, his mouth pressed itself into a firm line.

“Hello, Miss Quintrell,” he said, forced professionalism saturating his words, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh,” she said, casually, like they’d met at a shop or something, “hi, Mr Lockwood. Please, just Madeline is fine. I just wanted to see if I could help. Do you have any spare rapiers? Maybe you could teach me, I’ve heard you’re very good with a sword. I’ve got good eyes, too.”

A muscle in Lockwood’s jaw twitched, something that only happens when he’s trying to keep his temper in check, which is rather a rare occurrence. I’ve only seen it happen when Kipps is involved, so this had certainly gotten on his nerves. Lockwood cleared his throat, the smile that appeared on his face a touch wolfish.

“You can let her go now, Lucy. Thanks. I’d prefer to stay professional, Miss Quintrell,” Lockwood said, voice eerily calm, “and furthermore, you do not have the level of training required to work alongside operatives such as Lucy or myself. It is far too dangerous. You need to leave.“

Madeline let out a soft, affronted scoff. She clearly wasn’t used to people telling her no. She crossed her arms, batting her lashes at Lockwood, who stared back at her, unmoved. His lack of a reaction seemed to trouble her.

“Come off it,” she said, the saccharine smile reappearing, “can’t you just protect me, Mr Lockwood? Can I call you Anthony?”

Lockwood’s expression didn’t falter, but I could tell she was testing his patience. “Just ‘Lockwood’ is fine,” he said, “everyone calls me that, even my friends. Nobody really uses my first name. And, I can’t keep my full attention on you during an investigation, I’m afraid. We can’t have you getting hurt, now, can we? Ghost touch is nasty business.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Madeline said, giggling, “really, I’m a fast learner. I’m very good in my lessons, all my instructors love me. They say I’m a star pupil.”

“Ooh, I’m betting you wish you’d followed my advice just about now,” the skull jeered, “stabbed her just there, in the jugular. She’d have been dead before she hit the ground.”

I ignored the skull again, but as it finished speaking, I felt something snap, and I was slightly more accepting of the letter opener idea.

“Miss Quintrell,” I said, voice cold, “it is too dangerous for you to be here. You’re only going to get in the way. It is safest if you leave.”

Lockwood chuckled, a little awkwardly. “She said it less delicately than I would have liked, but yes, Lucy is correct. It is for your own safety that you leave and join your family in the guest house, Miss Quintrell.”

Madeline turned towards me, and she did something that I’d seen girls do countless times before. With eyes like a predator, like I was something she’d stepped on, she scoffed. She was looking down on me, like I was some silly girl who didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Well, Lucy,” she said, “how do you know that you don’t get in the way?”

Rage boiled inside of me, and I was about to answer her, when Lockwood did it for me.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice frosty, “Lucy is one of the best agents in London, if not the best. She’s well trained, her Talent is strong, and she knows what she’s doing. You’d do well not to talk like that about my operatives, Miss Quintrell.”

I felt that funny, pleasant rush I get when Lockwood compliments me, and I smiled despite myself.

“Careful now,” the skull said, “something’s stirring. Or don’t be careful, this is only just starting to get good.”

That was something I wouldn’t ignore. Madeline was mid-sentence when I held up a hand, signaling for quiet.

“What is it, Luce?” Lockwood asked, “you hear something?”

“Maybe,” I said.

I tuned myself in, closing my eyes, and I listened. Ah, there. Just buzzing at the edges of my senses, I could hear something. The thrum of running water. It was clear enough that it could actually be there, outside my psychic senses; it sounded like someone running a bath behind a closed door. But I had a feeling that wasn’t what it was. I’d been stupid, letting my anger grow. The visitation had started.

“Did you turn on the tap, Lockwood?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, “do you hear water?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s quiet, but it sounds like a bath running. What was the temperature in the bathroom?”

“Fifteen,” he said, and he turned, walking into the bathroom again.

“It’s at ten now,” he remarked upon reemerging, “good bit colder.”

“What should I do?”

Both Lockwood and I started at the sound of Madeline’s voice. I’d forgotten she was there for a moment as I was faced with the responsibilities that come with my line of work.

“Miss Quintrell,” Lockwood said, with forced cheeriness, “you’re still here. You really should leave now. It’s not safe.”

“Stirring? I said stirring, didn’t I?” The skull mused, “it’s more like a whirlpool now, really. Use the girl as a shield, there’s an idea. Let her get Ghost Touched.”

“Skull, shut up. Lockwood, it says something’s here. Miss Quintrell, I’m going to set up a small circle of iron chains, which I want you to stand inside of and not move from. After this visitation ends, you are leaving this building.”

“Skull? What skull?”

I ignored Madeline. Psychic pressure was building in my ears as I walked over to the kit, pulling one of our smaller lengths of chains from the bag and making a circle wide enough for a single person to stand inside of. Then, with little ceremony, I grabbed Madeline by the arm and shoved her into the circle.

“Do I get a rapier?” She asked, and I nudged the kit bags away from her with my boot, even though our spare blades were down in the kitchen. I just didn’t want her getting any ideas with a Magnesium Flare and setting her own bedroom ablaze in a further act of blinding idiocy.

“No,” I said, “you stand there and you wait. Stay inside that circle and you’ll be safe. Step outside, and your chances of dying go up quite a bit. I think that’s simple enough for someone as utterly thick as you to understand, yeah?”

I admit that I was being mean. But I had very little patience for someone who thought entering a haunted location with no protection or training just because she wanted to flirt was a smart decision. If there’s anything an agent hates, its when civilians try and interfere during an investigation, especially flirty schoolgirls with underdeveloped cosmetic skills. Maybe that last bit is a personal preference, but I’m sure at least a few other agents would share that sentiment.

I drew my rapier, following Lockwood into the bathroom and into the circle of chains he’d set up inside, where I could definitely feel the beginnings of creeping fear, sending chills up my spine. The first tendrils of Ghost Fog had begun to roll across the floor, swirling around our ankles.

“Temperature?” I asked, and Lockwood glanced down at his thermometer, its luminescent dial casting shadows across his thin, pale face.

“Dropping,” he said, “a bit nippy now.”

I could hear the sound of running water more clearly now, liquid splashing against porcelain. It was a musical sound, usually, but right now, with no physical source, it was just rather eerie.

“Do you see anything?” I asked, “I can hear the water now.”

“Death glow, not too bright,” Lockwood said, “just there, in the bathtub.”

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound. I removed one of my gloves as I paced over to the bathtub, letting my fingertips run along the edge. I could hear a quiet weeping, followed by water running, overlapping with what I already heard in a strange echo. The surface grew cold under my fingers, and I focused harder.

Suddenly, I was being yanked back, Lockwood’s arm around my waist. My attention snapped to the tub, where a softly glowing hand had been reaching out, its thin fingertips searching the spot my hand had just been. I watched as the hand wrapped around the edge of the bathtub, followed by another hand, and then the top of a head, moving up to reveal a face, staring out at us with blank eyes.

The hair was the color of spilled ink, falling around the pale face in water logged strings. The skin was blue and bruised, eyes sunken and blank. The eyebrows were pitched upwards, giving the apparition a horribly sad appearance. I could hear the soft weeping again, mixing with the sound of the running water.

Slowly, the head rose, followed by thin, pale shoulders, and the mouth came into view.  Her lips were pale and blue, on par with the rest of her whole drowning victim thing. The cheeks were hollow and sunken, stained with dark tears running down from the empty eyes. I felt like I was standing in a vat of molasses, and I tried my best to shake off the Malaise, hitting my temple with my palm to snap myself out of it and avoid the inevitable Ghost Lock.

“Got any gum?” I asked Lockwood, “tastes awful sour right now. I forgot to go to Arif’s before we left Portland Row.”

He wordlessly passed me a stick, which I stuck into my mouth after unwrapping it. The burst of mint on my tongue helped clear the supernatural influences away, forcing me to focus on something else.

“She’s not moving,” Lockwood remarked, “maybe just a Shade? She’ll probably vanish in a moment, and repeat that whole rising from the bath bit. We’ll look round for the Source once she’s gone.”

Just as he said that, the Visitor rose from the water fully, revealing the thin white nightgown on the body, dripping with plasm as she stepped out and onto the floor. Or rather, through the floor. The ankles sank through the floor tiles, like she was wading through shallow water, or walking through some unruly grass. Regarding us blankly, the Ghost glided towards us, stopping before the barrier provided by the iron chains.

“Or she could do that,” Lockwood said.

The air had turned bitter cold since she’d approached, and Lockwood’s and my breath could be seen in the air in front of us, highlighted by the Other Light that wreathed the staring Visitor before us. Her head tilted, as if quizzical, and I heard the weeping increase in volume as she moved.

“Right,” Lockwood said, “is she saying anything?”

“No,” I replied, “she’s just sort of standing there and crying.”

“Not very cheerful, is she?”

With that, Lockwood waved his rapier, passing the blade through the Ghost’s form, and she shrieked, jolting backwards. As if offended, her shoulders slumped as she drifted towards the bathtub, where she vanished.

“Ah, she’s gone,” the skull said in my ear, “one less problem for you.”

“I can see that she’s gone, Skull. Easy enough Vanishing Point,” I said, “but you’d think someone would notice an entire bloody tub being a Source. Should we look underneath?”

Lockwood smiled at me, and I felt my stomach go all funny. “Excellent thought.”

The two of us got on our hands and knees, peering down into the space beneath the claw foot tub. It had been bolted down, as tubs often are, so there was no trying to haul it aside. We shone our torches into the wedge of darkness, and just at the very back, I could see something glinting.

The psychic pressure was back. With a grunt, I shoved my arm beneath the tub. I had to hurry, before the Visitor returned, but with a space as snug as this, that was easier said than done. I strained myself, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder as I overextended, and finally, I felt my fingers brush against something small and round. I hooked my pinkie finger through it, and withdrew my arm.

It was a ring. Small and dainty and silver, and burning with supernatural chill. A diamond was set in the front, hemmed in by tiny little emeralds. I deposited it into a small Silver Glass container attached to my belt, and the psychic pressure waned and then was gone.

“Nice job, Luce,” Lockwood said, “straight on, as always.”

He rose to his full height, offering me a hand, which I took, and he hoisted me up as well.

“Now,” he said, dusting off his gloved hands, “how about we see to our living Visitor?”

The pair of us stepped back into the bedroom, only to find that Madeline had gone. The circle I’d made for her sat empty, as if there had never been anyone there to begin with. I stared at it, reignited rage simmering in my chest.

“I said she’d gone, hadn’t I?” The skull said, unhelpfully.

I blinked. “You weren’t exactly specific about exactly who had gone, Skull. Did you see where she went?”

“No,” it said, “I just saw her leave. She left through the door, as many people tend to do when leaving a room, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t, thanks. We have to find her, Lockwood.”

Lockwood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right. Fine. Pack the kit over by the door, Luce, I’ll grab what’s in the bathroom. Hopefully we find her before she gets herself Ghost Touched.”

We packed up with trained efficiency, hoisting our kit bags over our shoulders as we left the bedroom and stepped back into the hall. Lockwood pulled his copy of the floor plan from a pocket inside his greatcoat, examining it. I took a half step closer to him to look at it as well.

“There are loads of places she could have gone,” Lockwood said, his voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance, “where else, if not her own bedroom? You think she went looking for George and Holly?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Where’s the stupidest, most dangerous place in the house? I reckon we’ll find her there.”

“Just give up,” the skull suggested, “let her learn the error of her ways by letting her get Ghost Touched. Once she’s blue and swollen, much like a particularly unpleasant boil or a diseased blueberry, she’ll be very sorry indeed.”

It alarmed me that I wasn’t entirely opposed to that idea. I shook my head, though.

“No, Skull, that isn’t happening. She’s our client, so no matter how daft she is, we have to find her and keep her from getting hurt.”

“Right,” Lockwood agreed, “we’d best start looking, then.”

It was going to be a long night.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter One: Filly

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: You, a seasoned bounty hunter, team up with a gruff ghoul to capture a high-value target. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Bounty hunting is no walk in the park, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Your body aches as you trudge through the settlement known as Filly. Pushy vendors eagerly try to sell you their wares, with one particularly persistent one urging you to spend your hard-earned caps on dog meat. Politely declining their offers, you navigate your way through the bustling street towards the more reputable shops and services.

Having visited Filly a few times before, you recognize familiar faces among the locals. You exchange a silent greeting with the local repair girl and spot Ma June preparing to open her shop for the day, making a mental note to stop by later. As you approach a semi-functional Nuka Cola machine, you catch sight of a man seated in a chair. He's dressed like an outlaw from the Wild West, giving off an air of danger. His gaze locks with yours as you pass by.

A ghoul.

You've had mostly positive experiences with ghouls in the wasteland, but this one seems different. There's something about him that sets off alarm bells in your head. Feeling bold, you approach him after grabbing an unbearably warm Nuka Cola.

"Hey," you stand in front of him and take a sip. "I don't personally have a problem with ghouls, but the folk around here aren't too fond of them."

Smirking, he looks up at you, his sunken eyes and lack of nose more pronounced in the sunlight. Most people find ghouls unsettling, but you've grown accustomed to their appearance after years of interacting with them.

"That may be true," he drawls. "but I ain't here to make friends."

You offer him a sip of your drink, he stares at you in confusion. Taking it as a rejection, you finish the rest and toss the bottle aside.

"You look like you're either playing cowboy or you're a bounty hunter," you remark.

"What's your guess?" he snarls.

Leaning towards him, you place your hands on the arms of his chair. "I'm guessing you're here looking for a specific doctor."

"You're pretty bold for getting so close to a ghoul, smoothskin."

"And you're pretty bold for assuming I've never been closer." A small smile creeps onto your face as he looks at you curiously.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again. Until then..." Stepping back, you give him a casual salute and walk away.

The presence of the ghoul gives you the feeling that shit is about to go down so you decide to hang around on the outskirts of Filly. Leaning against a tree just outside the bustling street of vendors, you can hear the sound of raised voices and the unmistakable echoes of gunfire coming from the center of town.

"Called it," you mutter under your breath. There's no need to dive headfirst into the chaos when you can simply wait it out and observe the aftermath. Given the hefty reward on the line for this particular doctor, it's unlikely that he'll be an easy target. If he's anything like the other high-value bounties you've pursued in the past, he'll find a way to slip away, and you'll have to track him down.

Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, ensuring that your rifle and pistol are in proper working order. As you inspect your weapons, the air is suddenly filled with distorted screams, "No, no, no!" Looking up, you witness a spectacle that catches you off guard. A suit of Power Armor is soaring uncontrollably through the sky above you. Could it be the Brotherhood of Steel? This bounty just keeps getting crazier.

The Power Armor veers off in the opposite direction, leaving you to wonder what in the wasteland is going on. With the chaotic gunfight seemingly subsiding, you make your way back towards the town center. It appears that the flying garbage can and ghoul have caused quite the commotion, scattering the combatants and bringing an end to the firefight.

As you draw closer to the scene, the absurdity of the situation becomes even more apparent. Bodies, torn apart and scattered haphazardly, litter the ground. The locals, seizing the opportunity, have already begun looting them. You catch sight of the ghoul making his way towards a path that leads out of town. Without a moment's hesitation, you decide to follow him.

Quickening your pace, you navigate through the debris and bodies, doing your best to avoid the looters who pay you no mind. The ghoul moves quickly with a dog by his side, his sunken eyes focused on his route to the wastes.

As you approach the outskirts of town, the ghoul glances back, acknowledging your pursuit. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he comes to a halt and turns to face you.

"I ain't accepting companions," he declares, a note of irritation in his voice.

"That's too bad," you reply with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of him. Your attention is drawn to the dog standing beside him, looking up at you with a wagging tail. A warm feeling washes over you - you've always had a soft spot for dogs.

Kneeling down, you scratch behind the dog's ears and ask, "What's her name?"

"I don't fuckin' know," the ghoul snaps back.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and confusion on your face. "Did you hit your head back there? How do you not know your dog's name?"

The ghoul rolls his eyes slightly, clearly exasperated. "She ain't my dog. She was with the doctor. Along with some vault dweller."

A surge of curiosity courses through you at the mention of the doctor and the vault dweller. This situation just keeps getting more intriguing. You stand up, still keeping an eye on the ghoul.

“A vault dweller?”

He begins to draw his gun and points it at you, “Give me a reason not to shoot your ass. You’re startin’ to annoy me.”

“Calm down, beef jerky.” Taking a step back, you maintain a calm demeanor. “I think we can help each other out.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun tightens, but he hesitates, seemingly intrigued by your proposition. "I don't need help.”

“Oh but yes, you do.” You pull out a small vial filled with amber liquid, capturing his attention. ���This dog will do a great job tracking its owner but I’ll do an even better job of making sure you don’t go feral. No offense but you seem pretty old - even for a ghoul.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun loosens, and he seems to consider your words. After a moment, he reluctantly lowers his weapon. "Fine," he grumbles. "But don't think I owe you anything."

You nod with a small smile, "Fair enough."

[quin-ns]

Neighborhood Dilf (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: joel finds out he has a nickname and he asks you what it means

Tags: pre-outbreak this is a happy fic guys!! I didn’t specify a year but let’s put it at 2000 for funsies so sarah is like 11 and joel is like 30ish. also fluff, humor, flirting, age gap, goofy plot (I don’t know what this is honestly), joel being the definition of a dilf and not knowing it, crushes, overall cuteness. also suburbia

A/N: I saw a tiktok where someone said they just knew joel was the neighborhood dilf and they were so real for that I had to write it. and no I don’t care that the word was popularized online we’re using it here. I’m here to provide a cute fluffy fanfic not a historically accurate one lol. also sorry if your name is bee, I tried to come up with a name for the friend that was a nickname so if it was someone’s actual name they could just imagine their full name (I overthink)

cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • main masterlist

The loud music coming from outside woke you up from your afternoon nap. After spending a semester at college struggling to find even an hour of sleep, you were taking as many of those as possible. You were a little grouchy at first as you threw your covers off and stormed to your window, but quickly calmed down when you realized it was the annual block party your neighborhood hosted during the summer.

You’d gotten an in-person invite from Bee, another girl home from college who you’d been friends with in high school before going your separate ways. You still kept in touch since she was nice enough, which is how you found out her family was hosting this year. She’d confided in you personally that she would quote “go crazy if it was all kids and old people.”

As you looked out into their front yard, which was diagonal to yours, you saw that’s pretty much all it was. Since you were such a good friend, you decided that you’d go. 

You were getting dressed (at a leisurely pace) when your phone started to ring. You picked it up from your desk after you pulled your pink sundress on and flipped it open. The caller ID read Bee’s name and you answered, ready to tell her you were on your way.

“He’s here,” she said, sounding mistified, before you could even open your mouth. 

“Who?” you wondered, furrowing your brows a little to yourself as you went to the window.

“The neighborhood dilf,” Bee replied under her breath. 

The nickname made you laugh. It reminded you of high school. It had started as a joke, something you had started calling the new guy who’d moved into the neighborhood with his daughter a few years back. Later you found out his name was Joel Miller, but the nickname spread like wildfire to all the other girls in the neighborhood and it just stuck. 

Everyone knew about it; the girls of course, their confused parents, jealous boys who thought Joel was stealing their attention—the only person who wasn't aware of the moniker (as far as you knew) was Joel. Well, you hoped his daughter didn’t know either. Thankfully, after time, everyone forgot that you had started it. It was a bit embarrassing.

You walked away from the window to your closet and slid on your flip flops—it was summer in Texas, after all.

“You need to get over here, Y/N—what?” the last word sounded distant from the phone. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be on her way,” Bee replied, but to someone else.

“Um, hello?” you asked, waiting.

Bee was quiet for a few seconds, then whisper shouted into the phone, “you’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Let me guess, Joel just walked up and professed his love for you,” you teased, laughing at your own joke. “What, were my parents asking for me or something?” you guessed for real that time, recalling the small bit you had heard her say.

“Unfortunately no, and also no,” she sounded a little too disappointed about the first part, which made you chuckle again. “He did just ask me about you though.”

“Who?”

“The dilf.”

“Just use his name,” you told her with a roll of your eyes, heading out of your room to the stairs. “Wait.” You stopped for a second. “Joel asked about me?” 

“Yeah. I changed my mind, you’re not invited.”  If it wasn’t for her obvious sarcasm you might’ve thought she was serious. “He heard me say your name and asked if you’d be here soon. I—hey!” she yelled, causing you to pull the phone from your ear for a second. You continued your descent down the stairs as she yelled something about ‘kids’ and ‘stay out of there’. “I gotta go,” she said suddenly, then hung up.

You just shook your head with a small, amused smile and left your phone on the counter. Stupid dress and no pockets. 

You headed out the front door and walked across the street towards the party. 

It was in full swing. Music, games, food table—it looked like something out of a magazine. The Grants had a huge front yard—it was one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood—and it seemed like everyone was there. There were kids running around, adults all mingling—some sitting at the fold out tables, others walking around, others chasing their kids—there was also a group of dads surrounding the grill. You glanced that way and didn’t see Joel. You wondered where he was and if you should find him, but Bee found you first.

“The kids aren’t supposed to go inside alone and two of those little jerks went into my room,” Bee complained right away, straightening out her white blouse over her jean shorts. Her pinned back brown hair was a little messy, though. You wondered what happened, which she quickly answered. “I saw them jumping on my bed through the window.”

“Sounds like fun,” you commented sarcastically. Bee looped her arm through yours. 

“My dad set up ring toss and it’s all little kids, I don’t wanna be the only adult playing. Come on.” She dragged you along in that direction and you willingly went with.

You saw a few kids from the neighborhood playing, mostly the preteens who were too old for hopscotch but whose parents had told them they weren't old enough for the mini golf (one of the boys had overshared that little comment). 

“Y/N!” a girl's voice called. You looked that way and saw Sarah Miller walking towards you. A few days out of the week when her dad was working late, you’d go over to their house and keep an eye on her (before you left for college). It was the easiest babysitting gig you ever had; she was polite, always did her school work, and hardly caused any problems. Her dad had raised her very well. 

She looked older than you remembered her being, but you had been gone for both fall and spring semesters—well, you had been home for winter break briefly, but not enough to see anyone other than your parents.

“Sarah, hi!” you greeted, accepting the hug she offered when she got close. “How are you?”

“Good!” she said with a smile. “Are you guys gonna play with us?” she asked you and Bee. “I keep beating them and it’s not fun anymore.” 

You and Bee both laughed at that. “Sure, why not.”

“It feels weird playing with her after talking about how hot her dad is,” Bee whispered in your ear when Sarah went first. “You think he’ll come over here?”

“And what would you do if he did?” you challenged while hiding a chuckle, raising your brows at her.

“Um, probably nothing,” she admitted, cheeks a little pink. “He’s fun to look at though.” 

You hummed. “You’re not wrong.” 

The two of you played a few rounds of ring toss, although Bee got very bored quickly. “Can we go get some drinks?” she asked after not that long of playing.

“Sure,” you decided. You waved bye to Sarah and the others as the two of you walked off towards the cooler.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed some of the other girls in the neighborhood that hadn’t been in attendance before. For a couple that you knew, it didn’t seem like their scene. 

“What are they doing here?” you asked Bee.

“I may or may not have also told them the neighborhood dilf was here. They, uh, wanted to… see him,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.

You raised your brows in slight disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

“I wanted more people our age here,” Bee defended. “I wasn’t sure if you were even gonna show.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you told her.

You reached the cooler and knelt down. You handed Bee a water, but she didn’t accept it. You looked up at her.

“Keep an eye out for the dilf, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be right back,” Bee told you, taking off before you could say anything. You guessed the bathroom given her speed walking inside.

You laughed a little to yourself as you stood back up. You kept the water for yourself. You looked out amongst the crowd, realizing you were now on your own while everyone was in groups. You saw a couple people you were friends with and thought of maybe going up and joining them, but someone else spotted you first.

Joel Miller, the aforementioned neighborhood dilf, was walking towards you. Bee would be jealous, especially if she knew you and Joel were actually friends.

You had thought about telling Bee and some of the other girls that you were friends with Joel, given how much they just loved to gossip about him (how he was still single, how he looked really good in his pajamas getting the mail, that one time he took his shirt off while mowing the lawn—that was a big day) but then you thought better of it, not wanting to be run out of town by a jealous mob.

You were already getting glances by the time Joel stopped by your side so maybe your humbleness was pointless.

“Saw you all alone, thought I’d come keep you company,” Joel broke the ice with ease.

How long had he been watching you? The thought made your cheeks feel warm.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased lightly, causing Joel to chuckle.

“I try,” he joked back, shooting you a small wink.

When you had first met Joel you were nervous around him. It was much easier to talk to him now that the two of you had become friends rather than acquaintances. He was an easy guy to get along with and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company rather than just gawking at him in his yard from your window (like you used to do in high school). Your crush hadn’t disappeared though, so you joked around with him as a way to keep things casual and avoid getting in your own head. 

“Sarah told me you were finally here, she was happy to see you,” Joel mentioned with a light smile.

That made you smile back. “She’s a sweet kid,” you told him. “I was happy to see her too.”

You fiddled with the water bottle in your hand as you spoke, trying to unscrew the cap. The stupid thing was stuck and after a few seconds you gave up.

Joel gave you an amused look, glancing between your face and hands. “You want help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you handed it to him. “There you go again, proving chivalry isn’t dead. Thank you.”

Joel unscrewed the cap with ease and handed it back. “Happy to be at your service.”

“So, you guys been here a while?” you asked, sparking up conversation.

“Not too long, only an hour or so. It’s been fun though,” Joel explained. “More for Sarah than for me,” he admitted, glancing around to find his daughter. He spotted her and she waved, then continued playing with her friends.

“Why’s that?” you wondered, looking up at him just as he looked down at you. 

“Just… I mean, everyone is nice and all,” he started. “But I just feel like I got nothin’ to talk about with them, y’know? Except you.”

“Really?” You tried to not sound too thrown off by that, but you didn’t know he felt like that. It was interesting to say the least. 

“Is that such a surprise?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow curiously.

You shrugged. “Maybe a little. I get it though, I haven’t really talked to anyone other than Bee yet.”

“I don’t know if you’re friends with them, but I saw a bunch of girls your age walking around,” Joel said as a suggestion. 

“Nah, I’d rather just talk to you,” you said casually, before you could even think about what you had said. The look on Joel’s face changed a little, like he was trying to bite back a bigger smile.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said after a moment. Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You had to look away to be able to breathe, almost certain you were reading into things. You really, really did not want to be disappointed.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joel said, making you realize you hadn’t spoken yet.

“Sure, yeah.”

“You know… young person lingo, don't you?”

You laughed at the awkward wording. If it had been any of the other adults here using the word “lingo” you would’ve cringed, but there was something cute about the way Joel said it. You tried to snap that thought out of your head.

“Mostly, yeah,” you replied with a little chuckle paired with a curious tone. “What’s up?”

“Do you know what a dilf is?” he asked bluntly. That alone told you he had no idea. 

You were so stunned, all you could think to say was, “why?”

“Well, those girls I mentioned… I overhead some of them calling me that,” he explained, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “It’s not bad, is it?” 

Was this karma coming back to you for starting the nickname? It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“It’s not bad, no,” you assured while also avoiding the main question.

“What is it then?” Joel’s interest was piqued now and while you couldn’t blame him, you also couldn’t think of a way to make this not weird.

“It’s an acronym,” you started. Joel watched you intently, waiting for an explanation. “It means dad I’d like to…” you trailed off, hinting at him the word to fill in the blank.

Joel just looked even more confused. “To what?”

Somehow he made cluelessness incredibly attractive.

Screw it, you thought. This was already weird. Rip the bandaid off, right? “Fuck,” you finished before you could think better of it. 

“Oh,” he stated. You knew it took a second for realization to hit. “Oh. So that means they, um,”

“It’s basically like saying you’re hot,” you explained, filling in when he couldn’t. You hoped he wouldn’t find it insulting or anything like that.

Joel looked a little bashful but found amusement in the situation nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you suggested, then sipped your water. You looked out at the people milling about rather than meeting his gaze.

“Do you think I’m one?”

You nearly choked on your water. “What?”

“Sorry,” Joel apologized quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I shouldn't've asked that.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. You paused for a minute, contemplating what you might say to that. You got a rush of bravery. “If you’re asking if I think you’re attractive… the answer is yes.”

Joel couldn’t hold back his smile. He tried, but it was a failed effort. It was like he was trying to contain his anticipation. “What about if I wanted to ask you out? What would your answer be then?”

“Yes.”

Joel grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s voice caused the two of you to look away from one another. You saw her running up to you guys and hoped she hadn’t heard a word of your conversation. “Can you come play with me? Mr. Grant just set up a bean bag toss!” 

“Sure, kiddo,” he told her. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him away. 

You smiled a little to yourself at the interaction—he was such a good dad.

Joel slowed her down a little bit to look back at you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” you replied, chuckling lightly. 

The Millers disappeared into the roaming people. You tried to follow them with your gaze but your attention got torn away.

“Waiting in a line for the bathroom in my own house is messed up,” Bee said, popping out seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s got you so happy?” she wondered, eyeing the smile on your face that couldn’t be erased.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” you replied. A part of you still couldn’t believe it. “I’ve got a date with the neighborhood dilf.”

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message! <3

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I'm actually thinking I might be doing one chapter every other night, but I would also like to draw on my comically large art tablet at some point this week, so I might skip a day or two.

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 2: Color Matching

You partially regret just agreeing to "tomorrow", seeing as this man decided that he wanted to show up at 4am.

It was the original time set for yesterday's session, and you guess he felt bad for being late, but god damn he texted you an hour earlier telling you he'd be there by 4am. Dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed was difficult, but in the end it was worth it to draw such a stunner.

You had to get there before Leon did, so there you were; half awake, dressed in a pair of fuzzy pants and a loose t-shirt, and a small cup of tea in your right hand while the other fumbled with the keys to your little work room.

That was the greatest part about your job as a professional painter. You didn't have a dress code.

Though most days you did try to look your best, some days it was just easier to be comfortable. Besides, it's not like tons of people come and see you everyday, it was usually just one person at a time.

It was 3:47am by the time you'd gotten to your workspace and settled, sitting on one of the many floor pillows in the living area you put together away from the actual painting setup. The tea was warm, it was keeping you sleepy, but you couldn't stop taking small sips. It was in your hands, there wasn't much you could do to stop yourself.

You told Leon to just come on in when he arrived, not wanting to walk all the way back down just to lead him back up. The stiffness from sleep was still in parts of your body, so you knew it would be difficult to get up, even when he did finally stride through that door. He dressed nicely today, just what you needed him to do.

Wanting to relish in the dim yet warm lighting of your various lamps for as long as possible, you beckoned the man to come over and sit with you, which confused him slightly. He thought you would be ready to get started once he showed up, but he wasn't one to argue so early in the morning. Instead, he shrugged and slowly sauntered over to you, taking a seat on a floor pillow across from yours.

"Good morning." Leon grumbled quietly, his voice barely hiding the fact that he wasn't quite awake either. That rumble in his chest made your stomach flutter. "Good morning to you, too." You responded, closing your eyes for a moment to take another sip of your tea.

"When uh-" He cleared his throat, putting a fist up to his mouth as he did so. "When are we gonna get started?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving the cup away from your lips to stare at him. "I wasn't expecting to be up so early, so just give me a few more minutes to wake up and then we can turn my main lights on."

Leon sucked on his teeth as he thought, turning his head to look over out one of the windows as he rested his wrists on his knees. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make up for being late yesterday."

You laughed softly before letting out a quiet sigh, setting your tea down on the low coffee table sitting behind you.

"Don't worry about it, but also don't make me get up so early again, old man." You attempted to joke, immediately noticing the wince on his face at the nickname. To divert, you stood up and stretched, patting his shoulder as you walked by him. "Alright, let me pull my stuff out and then we can get started."

Leon followed you with his head, taking a few seconds before standing up himself, pressing his hands onto his knees to help get up from the floor pillow.

"I'm just going to be color matching your tones today. I won't do all of it since obviously lighting changes throughout the day, buuuut..." You trailed off, beginning to rummage through a drawer in one of your desks before pulling out handfuls of paint tubes. "I just need to pull out the basic colors I'll be using."

It was still pretty dim in the room which caused you to have to squint to see the names of the colors on the tubes. Leon found that partially amusing, his chuckle causing you to glare playfully over at him. "Something funny?"

"As funny as it is to watch you go cross-eyed looking at those," he smiled, gesturing with his thumb to the light switches near the door. "I feel like it'd be easier to just turn the lights on."

"My retinas will be fried if those get turned on-" You were cut off by your own shout when Leon took the liberty of turning the lights on himself, laughing as you quickly moved to cover your eyes.

He only had to squint for a second before his eyes adjusted. You, however, were not expecting the sudden change, so you got an eyeful of bright white light. Complete and utter agony that lasted for a full five seconds.

By the time you moved your hands away from your eyes, they were watering and you had to squint for awhile longer. "Give me a warning next time you decide you want to try and murder me like that." You said, wiping away the few stray tears you'd produced from the light sensitivity. "You might live in the light, but I don't!"

The man shook his head and crossed his arms, smile still plastered to his face as he slowly made his way over to the chair in front of your easel. "That's payback for calling me an old man."

You twisted your head around to the chair so you could give him an indignant look, catching a glance as he was putting his hands up in defense with a small "what?" before you turned to look down at the tubes of paint sitting next to your hands on top of the desk.

"Nothing, just wasn't expecting to work with a toddler, that's all.." You mumbled, smile creeping onto your face as you heard him click his tongue from behind you. "I was an old man not five minutes ago and now I'm a toddler?" Leon asked, voice peaking dramatically.

"Yes, you have quite the range, Mr. Kennedy." You began sifting through the various paints you'd pulled out, humming softly as you contemplated what route you wanted to take with them. Stick to primaries? Add secondaries? Should I just use every color I need? Hmmm..

Leon watched as you stared at the paint tubes you'd picked up, tilting his head to the side slightly to try and get a better look. He snapped his head back upright when you started to speak again. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to use a lot of different colors, or just stick to a minimum.."

It was almost as if you knew what he was wondering. "Uhh... what's the difference...?" The man questioned, raising an eyebrow as you turned around, seemingly having made your decision already.

"Using just the main 6 colors-" You turned around and were faced with his very confused stare, causing you to explain a little better. "The main colors you see in a rainbow."

He breathed out a quiet "ahh" at that. Okay, good. He knows his basics. Cute...

"I can mix just red, blue, and yellow at varying degrees to get any color I need. Adding green, purple, and orange will help even more." You pursed your lips, lightly tossing the paint tubes in your hands before setting them down away from the other tubes. "I need white also. Damn.."

"What's wrong with white?" Leon asked, leaning forward a bit to watch you dig in the drawer for a tube of white oil paint.

"Nothin'. Just forgot, is all. Trying to keep this as authentic as possible..." You mumble, quickly closing the drawer with a slam after pulling out the paint you were looking for.

Silently nodding his head in acknowledgment, Leon turned his focus to his surroundings again, admiring your choice in decor once more. He bought a nice decorative pillow for his couch yesterday after being here the first time.

You grabbed a few strips of thick white paper, running your thumb along its textured surface before setting them down. You told him to stay where he was as you set up a small art palette, little dollops of the paints sitting neatly in the circular grooves.

"I'm gonna make color swatches of your skin for myself." You spoke up as you suddenly turned and walked towards him, holding the palette in your left hand while holding the strips of paper and a small yet flat paintbrush in the right. "Also, I'll need to get a picture of you in the position you want, but I'll do that after all of-" you waved everything you're currently holding in a small circle. "-this."

Leon simply responded with an "oh, okay", his knee beginning to bounce as you quickly began to mix little bits of your paint together to get a simple pale skin tone down before you even attempted to match his.

As you worked, you were starting to grow nervous with the silence, and clearly the man in front of you was as well, given he had started to sweat slightly on his forehead. He wasn't nearly as conversational as the last two agents you painted.

"So.. you've earned yourself a portrait..." You smiled slightly, holding up the strip of paper you'd brushed your mixed paint on to see what colors to mix in next. "What'd you do to earn one?"

Leon hummed. It was hard to think about every mission he's gone on, all the horrors he bore witness to, the people he saved, the people he couldn't save, how it all started, and now the fact that he's done-

"Hey, woah, I'm sorry." The sound of your voice drew him away from his thoughts. "I didn't know that would be a.. sore subject for you." He blinked at you a few times, furrowing his eyebrows soon after. "What?"

You pulled the strip of paper away from his face, pulling your lips tight with a shrug of your shoulders at his response. "You suddenly looked mad. Like... really really mad. I thought you were gonna snap at me or-"

"No. It's just bittersweet, is all." Leon cut you off, waving his hand dismissively at you before nodding once down to the paint palette in your hand. "You can keep going."

You stayed frozen in your crouched position for a few seconds longer before continuing to swatch your paint. You kept silent, not wanting to seem like you were antagonizing him.

"I used to be just a cop." The man suddenly said, causing you to look up from where you were mixing your paints together. "Only for a single day, but I was a cop. Simple as can be."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue with a small smile, which he did. "I'm sure you've heard about some of that already though, since you worked with Claire not too long ago."

His comment caused you to let out a small "ohh" in sudden recognition, nodding your head again. "Yeah, that's right! She mentioned you on that, okay.."

Leon continued to talk about all of his missions vaguely, still having to keep confidentiality in mind. You let him drone on, having gotten his skin tone matched in a few different areas now. You stopped to scribble on the papers with the paint swatches, making sure to label where each tone came from on his face and hands.

You took note of how he circled back to his single day as a cop and to certain missions. His mention of saving the president's daughter had you immediately smiling. That was a straight ticket to earning his own portrait in that hall of the White House, he could've done just that his entire life and he still would've been seeing you at some point.

You focused on mixing your paint for a little while before noticing he had grown quiet, looking up to see him staring out the window, a faint orange glow from the sun rising highlighting his features. And his tears.

Growing concerned once again, you set down the paintbrush on the palette so you could place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It seemed he didn't notice that, too lost in his head to notice anything at this point.

"Hey..." You asked with a soft voice, your eyebrows furrowing with worry. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, you know..."

Finally, Leon looked back at you, eyes widening once he realized how watery his eyes were. He turned his head away so you didn't watch him wipe the tears that had fallen down his cheeks and use his sleeve to dry his eyes. It wasn't like him to be so easily bothered by this stuff.

"I just need one more color swatch and then you can go, okay? We can save the photo for another day." You gave the man a weak smile, one he didn't reciprocate. You understood.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but you filled in for him. "Seriously, it's no trouble at all. If you need more time then you need more time." Standing up from your crouched position, you left your half-finished color match swatch with the finished ones before walking over to set everything down on the desk.

You didn't want to crowd the poor man. That was probably the last thing he needed. Despite having only painted for a select few, you've learned to just step away from these retired agents when things would go awry. It was akin to a war veteran suffering from PTSD; they did almost have the same experiences as far as you could tell.

"I'm sorry."

Leon finally managed to say to you, his hands anxiously rubbing up and down on the tops of his thighs. Must be a nervous tick.

You angled yourself so you could see him while your body still faced the desk, smiling at him while your hands worked to neatly stack the strips of paper before clipping them together with a paper clip.

"There's absolutely no reason for you to apologize." You kept your smile as you responded to Leon, looking back down at your hands to make sure everything was put together properly. "You forget I strictly work with agents like yourself. From all the vague tellings, I know that the job is tough on you guys; body and mind."

It was weird having someone outside of the agency talk to him about this kind of stuff. It was weird for him to be bringing it up in the first place. Or, at least he felt like it was.

"Still, I should know better than to do that." Leon sighed, rubbing his hand along the side of his face before stroking his chin, scratching at the stubble growing.

"Know better than to do what? Let yourself process everything you've been through?" You spoke in almost a whisper. If your tone was any louder, you fear you'd come off as accusatory.

"I get it. Really, I do." Leon groaned quietly at your words, causing you to click your tongue. You grabbed your swivel chair and scooted it over so you could sit in front of him, and when you did, you brought your legs up to sit criss-cross just like yesterday, only there wasn't a table separating the two of you. You looked solemn. He didn't like where this was going.

"The whole point of painting you a portrait is to honor you and your work as an agent, but it's not just about getting yourself painted." You leaned forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees, all the while keeping your voice hushed and gentle. "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

Your words were really starting to strike a chord for Leon. He hadn't given it much thought. He didn't want to give it any thought at all. All he thought was "I'm just going to get myself a nice fancy portrait and be done with it". He didn't even consider what the portrait of him would actually symbolize.

"Oh." Was all Leon could muster, letting his gaze fall into his lap where his hands now sat clasped together. If it weren't for the comfortable environment you had set up here, he probably would've bolted ages ago.

You let him think everything over for awhile, wanting to give him all the time in the world. Clearly he needed something, but he wasn't allowing himself any sort of leeway.

It took some courage building internally, but you decided to stand up, taking the one step closer to him before placing your hand on his shoulder once more. You squeezed it a bit, bringing his attention back to you as he lifted his head up.

You attempted to smile at him, moving your hand off his shoulder so you could hold your arms out slightly. This man needed a hug and you were more than willing to offer the leeway he wasn't granting himself.

Leon stood up rather quickly which surprised you, and startled you just a bit, before feeling his large arms tightly wrap around you. It was a little awkward since he had to bend a bit to hug you properly, but it worked out in his favor, and yours too, since he got a better opportunity to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

He sighed happily when he felt your arms slowly wrap around his chest, doing your best to squeeze him for that extra bit of comfort, even rubbing up and down on his back. It had been so long since he had a real hug. It felt good.

You let him hug you for as long as he needed, which was longer than expected, but definitely not unwelcome by any means. Though, his warm breath against your neck and the smell of his cologne was causing you to blush. That's really the last thing you needed him to see after being so vulnerable and open with you.

You felt him start to pull his head away, prompting you to pat his back gently as an end to the hug. Despite the fact that it was faint, it was clear to you that he was blushing when you were finally able to look up at him.

You wanted to remain calm for Leon, letting out your nervousness through a quiet cough. "I know we've only met up twice, but if you ever need a change in scenery, just know that my workspace here is always open to you. I'm always open to you, okay?"

Your words were making him feel weird. Something he hasn't felt in a long time was creeping up his chest. Your smell lingering on his coat wasn't helping, either.

"Yeah-.. yeah, okay." Leon huffed through his nose, reaching up to scratch at the stubble underneath his jawline as he averted his gaze to the floor.

The sun was fully up now, so you walked over to where the light switches were next to the door, flipping them off. All your other ambient lights could be turned off later. For now, you needed to focus on the man still standing in front of that maroon chair.

"You can stay if you feel you need to, but I just want you to relax." You said, looking over at him as you heard his footsteps slowly walk past you to the living space.

"I'll head out." Leon bent over and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from where he'd set it down on the rug near the floor pillows. He placed his on his head as he walked over to where you stood next to the door, not really wanting anyone to look at his tear-stricken and red face any longer.

Once he finished fiddling with his helmet, you reached out and took his hand in both of yours, patting the top of it softly. "Text me when you're ready to come back over."

You couldn't see Leon's face anymore since he'd put the visor down, but you could definitely see him nod his head. He opened the door and let himself out, touching the side of the doorframe as he rounded the sharp corner and walked down the stairs.

After closing the door behind him, you started walking around your workspace to turn off all the lamps and other ambient lighting, pausing to listen to the sound of his motorcycle start up and drive off.