#“just rotate them through the forest!”

[caprine-bees]

the internet will really be like ROTATIONAL GRAZING and then ignore that it takes an individual about 2 hours to take down, move, and set up 1 rotational pasture.

[thestuffedalligator]

The duchy was founded - unofficially - when some enterprising little thief had read through the royal lawbooks, looking for loopholes like a worm trying to wriggle its way through a brick, and had discovered that while the king's men could follow a man across mountains, forests, and plains, they were not granted the same jurisdiction over bodies of water.

This had started the popular idea amongst the kingdom's criminal underbelly that if a thief took a boat and paddled out into the middle of a pond, the king's men technically couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, the realist interjected, it'd never work; if you tried it, then you'd be one thief in the middle of a pond, with all those guards waiting on the shore for you to either wash up with the flotsam or die of starvation.

Still, the idea was alluring. It hung around the popular consciousness as a thought, an untested hypothesis, an interesting fact.

It would've remained so if it wasn't for Edmund Snood, an enterprising young thief who hadn't quite enterprised an escape plan, and with the guard closing behind him had grabbed a rowboat and cast himself out into the largest of the kingdom's lakes so fast that he had skipped like a thrown stone.

And as Edmund fended off the banks and the horrible, grinning, patient faces of the guards waiting for him there, word had spread across the kingdom. Soon enough, thieves and thugs were all paddling up to the little rowboat with a sandwich and a few words of encouragement, attaboy, Eddie, show them who's boss, eh? We're all rooting for you back home!

And after four days, the duchy was founded - unofficially - when Jack "Jackal" Jaseroque had lashed his rowboat to Edmund's and took over the duty of paddling while Edmund took the first sleep he had in half a week.

After that, another boat lashed together with the two. Then another. Then four more. A lean-to shelter was built, torn down, and rebuilt bigger. Walkways were tied together. And then in a wave of tidal force, the thieves and thugs, bandits and brigands, vandals and vagabonds of the kingdom all sailed out to the little assemblage. Leather bladders were inflated to help with bouyancy. Ramshackle halls were raised. A strict rotation of paddling duty was arranged to fend off the banks.

And the tune of the realist had changed - they can't be watching all the shores, right? So if we just spend a couple days here, keep an eye out, and head out again once we've spotted a gap, then who cares about a little bit of paddling in the meantime, right?

The duchy was founded - officially - when Edmund Snood took on the role of dukedom to universal acclaim. This was also when the name of the little commune had been agreed on, as the makeshift structure bobbed gently on the water's surface.

It was called the Robber Duchy.

[hier--soir]

fake it

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: does joel know you well enough to know when you're faking it? warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] smut, smut, smut, it's pretty much entirely smut, dirty talk, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, faked orgasm, panty sniffing, cunnilingus. word count: 5.7k masterlist a/n: i've had this idea worming around in my head for days and i just had to get it out so heRE WE GO

“We’ll stop here for the night.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of Joel’s voice, and the truck rolled to a stop as he parked it in the middle of a field, directly on the edge of a thick forest. The three of you had been on the road for hours since leaving Bill and Frank’s place, and you’d drifted in and out of a fitful sleep for the past few hours, painfully aware that it was your turn to take first watch once you stopped somewhere for the night.

“Fucking finally,” Ellie grumbled from the backseat, and Joel shot her an annoyed glance through the rear-view mirror.

It was already dark outside, and you shone a torch ahead into the inky black mass as the three of you spread your sleeping bags out on the ground. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline spiking in the darkness. You’d always been afraid of it; the dark, and what lurked within it. And being in the middle of a field, late at night, unable to make a fire, was surely one of the worst case scenarios you could think of.

“You guys sure we’re safe out here?” Ellie asked warily. You noticed her eyes staring out across the forest, trying to spot anything through the thick mass of tall trees.

When Joel didn’t answer her immediately, his own eyes drifting outward to gaze into the darkness, your stomach dropped. After a second of too much silence you discreetly elbowed him in the side. His head snapped around to look at you, frowning as he rested a hand on his rib. 

“We’re fine,” you assured Ellie quickly, raising your eyebrows at Joel, as if to say, right?

“Yeah,” he said, eyes sliding from you to her. “No one’s gonna find us out here. You should get some sleep, we’re movin’ early in the morning.”

She nodded, still looking somewhat unconvinced, before slipping into her sleeping bag and rolling over so that her back was to the pair of you. You stared at your partner for a moment, chest aching with anxiety, hating the way his tone of voice hadn’t calmed your nerves.

Too anxious to sit down and rest for a moment, you shouldered a hunting rifle instead, positioning yourself close to the truck, where you could see both of them clearly. Every few minutes you rotated your body, watching the trees from every angle, making sure you would notice if there was even the slightest sound or movement. You hands grew clammy where they held the gun, and you had to readjust your grip on it every once in a while.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel’s voice drifted over to you after a little while. You turned, huffing out a laugh when you saw him lazing on his sleeping bag, sipping from his flask of whiskey.

“What am I doing?” you chuckled. “What are you doing?”

“Getting’ drunk on the job,” he smirked, tipping his head back as he drank. You swallowed thickly, smile fading as you stared at his long, thick neck, and the way it was exposed when he tilted his chin up. It had been weeks since the two of you had done anything more than kiss, too preoccupied with Ellie, and getting to Wyoming.

It was as if Joel could sense where your thoughts had travelled, because his expression darkened, eyes squinting greedily at you from across the open space.

“Why don’t you come over here, darlin’,” he said, resting a hand on his thigh.

“Joel,” you warned quietly, but he just patted his thigh in encouragement, taking a long sip from his flask.

“Just c’mere.”

You spared a glance around you, will power hanging by a thread, but ultimately shook your head, refusing. Joel let out a huff and stood up. He moved slowly, eyes never straying from your face as he stalked towards you, like a predator hunting his prey. And you watched him, tongue darting out to wet your lips as he came to rest beside you, leaning against the truck. Doing your best not to look at him, you tightened your grip on the gun and allowed yourself to lean back against the vehicle as well.

Joel held out the flask to you. “What’s got you so worked up, sugar?”

Casting an irritated glance in his direction, you snatched the flask from his hand and took a long swig, welcoming the stinging distraction as the liquid burnt down your throat.

“You know I hate the dark,” is all you said.

He hummed from low in his throat, nodding once. He stretched out a hand and snagged one of your belt loops with his finger, tugging you quickly into his side. You stumbled into his chest with a sharp gasp of surprise.

“It’s not so bad,” his deep voice drawled, plush lips grazing your ear. You shivered, tucking the flask away before placing a hand on his chest, your fingertips digging into the soft muscle there. “Nothin’ scary about it.”

Joel let his nose trace along the shell of your ear, and then across your cheek, and then his fingers were gripping your chin, turning your face to his..

His lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, sucking and biting, lathing his tongue along your bottom lip until you welcomed him into your mouth with a pitiful sigh. His tongue pressed against yours, stroking slowly, coaxing your jaw open. You were vaguely aware of his other hand gripping the zip on your jacket and tugging it down. Heat flared in your abdomen, and you gripped the collar of his jacket, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and pulling back, enjoying the way he groaned as you stretched it out before releasing it with a wet pop.

You watched, glossy-eyed and already a little dazed, as Joel pried the gun out of your hands. He placed it gently onto the bed of the truck. His hand traced over your stomach, fisting the material intermittently, and then he was gripping your hips, spinning you so your chest was to the car, and he was pressed firmly against your back.

“Joel,” you muttered nervously, but he ignored you, sponging kisses behind your ear, suckling on the sensitive spot where your neck met your jaw. You could feel him, hot and hard against the curve of your ass. One of his hands drifted along the softness of your lower stomach, toying with the hemline of your shirt, and a stuttered gasp escaped your lips.

Sharp teeth grazed your neck, nipping at the skin and then he was lapping over it with his tongue, soothing the piercing ache he’d caused. You sighed at the feeling, rutting backward against him. You allowed your eyes to drift shut. And then they slammed back open again, as you realised neither of you would be keeping watch if you shut them. Joel’s face was hidden against your neck, there was no way he would see if anyone snuck up on the camp. Your heart thundered in your chest at the thought, and you kept your eyes open from then on.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough and wanton with need. “I’ve been missin’ you.”

“What abou-“

“She’s asleep,” he reassured, grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the way he was straining against his jeans, cock desperate and begging to be touched, as if he’d been thinking about this moment for hours, days, weeks. The ache between your thighs grew painful, and you rubbed against him harder.

“We have to be quiet,” you murmured quickly.

His only response was the distinct sound of his belt clinking, and then a shuffling noise as he dragged his pants low enough to free himself from the tight confines of his underwear. Not wasting a second, he gripped the waistband of your jeans and tugged them down as well, only satisfied when they rested around your knees, giving him full access to you.

One of his fingers glided messily between your folds and he sighed into your ear, marvelling at how wet you were for him already.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Wish I could put my mouth on you right now. Know you’d taste so good for me, baby, always do.”

You groaned. A soft, pathetic sound.

“It’s been so long,” he groused, and you murmured your agreement. It felt like you were suspended in the air, anticipation holding you firmly in its grasp as you waited for him to do something, anything. “Can’t stand it; s’all I could think about today.”

He tapped the rough pad of a finger against your clit and your entire body flinched forward against the car. As if he could sense the way your knees were buckling, his free arm wrapped around you, holding you up. You murmured his name desperately, hips pushing down against his hand.

“Should I fuck you with my fingers first?” he asked quietly, middle finger circling your entrance. “Or should I let my cock stretch you out?”

When you didn’t answer, mind too fuzzy to string a sentence together, he said, “Hmm?”

“Please,” you keened roughly, turning to glance at him over your shoulder. “Just want you, need you inside me.”

You saw the way the muscle in his jaw worked, lips pursed together as tension rolled through his shoulders. And then his cock was gliding through your folds, smearing your slick over his length, before the blunt tip of him nestled at your entrance. A harsh shout left your lips as he pushed himself, bottoming out in one thrust. Instantly, one of his hands slapped over your mouth, fingertips pressing into your cheek. Your eyes widened, darting around the clearing that surrounded you both on all angles.

“This ain’t gonna work if you do that,” Joel said gruffly, adjusting his hips so he pulled out halfway, before pressing himself back into you. The burn was delicious, and you fluttered around him, gripping him tightly after so much time missing him inside you. A garbled version of your name escaped him, and you whimpered in response, bucking your hips backwards, silently begging him to continue.

He set a gruelling pace, pressing into you relentlessly. One hand covered your mouth while the other gripped the front of your shirt tightly, holding your body still as he fucked into you. When your body jolted against the car from a particularly rough thrust, he muttered a gruff apology into your ear, but didn’t let up. Back arching, you contracted around him, revelling in the sound of the muted groans being let out against the back of your neck.

You bit down into his palm, a muffled cry escaping you. The thought of Ellie waking up and discovering the pair of you flitted through your mind and you cringed. But it disappeared from your mind just as quickly, Joel’s movements driving it away.

The air filled with sounds of heavy breaths and an odd squelching sound, as your slick squeezed around his cock and dripped out of you. Low curses spilled into the atmosphere, and Joel was saying something, speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear him over the roar of blood in your ears. Everything was heightening. The muscles in your abdomen tightened and twitched with every movement of him inside you, and your hips strained backwards, meeting him thrust for thrust. It was all so fast, so desperate, and your body was begging for release after being left untouched for weeks.

But right as you felt yourself reach a precipice, as Joel pushed himself to hit the deepest part of you, everything was ruined.

Because a violent image ripped through your mind of someone storming into the camp in that moment and dragging Ellie out of her sleeping bag. Of someone pointing a gun at you and Joel, while you were defenceless. The darkness of the night seemed to crush in around you, reminding you of its presence and suffocating you. Anybody, or anything, could be out there right now, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Goosebumps rose across your skin. You gasped at the thought, icy dread spiralling through your veins, your orgasm drawing further and further from reach. Except Joel took your gasp as a good sign, and groaned in response, hand dropping your stomach to toy with your clit as his thrusts grew jerkier. You jerked against him, mewling into his hand. It felt good. It felt so fucking good, and yet you couldn’t focus, too distracted to lure back the orgasm that had been dancing in the edges of your periphery.  

Your head was a violent jumble of pleasure and panic. A devastated moan tumbled from your lips, mouth hanging open as the head of Joel’s cock angled against your g-spot.

“There?” he asked breathlessly, and you nodded, reaching to grip the back of his neck. He moved faster, pushing and pulling and hitting that spot over and over. And you could feel the coil inside of you burn again, liquid heat spreading through your limbs as your body tried to reach that high again, but it just wasn’t fast enough. The car was cold against the front of your body, and your brain was on such high alert, that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get there.

“Come with me,” Joel encouraged gruffly, fingertips holding your jaw in a bruising grip. “Come on now, let me have it.”

He was so close. You could feel it in the way his rapid heartbeat crashed against your back; in the ragged breaths that were exhaled across your neck. His hips were stuttering against you, thighs tense. And you wanted him to feel good. Wanted him to let go after so long – god, he deserved it. So you did something you’d never done with Joel before.

You faked it.

Your chin tilted upward to the sky, and you let deep, elongated breaths rattle through your chest, singing his name into the palm of his hand. Joel made a deep guttural sound. His fingers rubbed messy circles against your clit, and you bucked against him, heart thrashing in your chest. He said you’resotight, and you said I’m comingohgodJoelohfuck, and through it all, you could feel it growing inside of you. Your lungs burned inside your chest. He was stretching you so perfectly, so deliciously, and you let out a genuine moan at the feeling of his rough thrusts. You could feel him in the bones of your skull, in the tips of your toes, and in every inch of your body in between, and yet you needed more.

Joel trembled, his entire body shaking against yours. You felt his cock jump inside you in quick, jerky movements and clenched around him, and then he exhaled a deep groan, and went still.  

After a few moments, he pulled out, and you gasped at the cold sensation. Rapid breaths left his mouth, he peppered soft kisses down the side of your neck, removing his hand from your face only to wrap both arms around your torso and hold you against him. Your core ached, clenching around nothing as his spend seeped out of you, spilling onto your inner thighs.

Turning in his arms, you offered him a dazed look. Your body was hot, coiled like a string pulled taught, waiting to snap. He kissed you, with less rush this time, and you returned it lazily, reaching down to tug your pants up over your hips again. Your tried not to cringe as your underwear pressed against you. You were uncomfortably wet, and the cold material stuck to your tacky skin. Joel did the same.

Pulling back from the kiss, you rubbed the side of your jaw, flexing your mouth open in an attempt to soothe the ache that had settled there. Joel watched you all the while. His dark eyes flickered over your face, trying to see you through the darkness.

“You good?” he asked quietly, at the same time as you heard a twig snap somewhere in the trees, off to your left. Your head snapped to the side, eyes glaring out through the thick inky black, ears straining. “Baby?”

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “Thought I heard something.”

Strong fingers gripped your chin, turning you to face him once more. A frown had settled across his face, eyebrows drawn tight across his forehead. His lips were a thin line, and his chest still shook as he regulated his breathing, but you could see it there; the understanding. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest as nervousness zipped through your body. He knew. There was no way, you told yourself. No way he could have known. And yet the longer you stared at each other, the deeper his frown got.

Wordlessly, his hand dropped between your bodies, and he pressed his palm against your mound through your pants. A soft sound of surprise escaped your mouth as his fingers curled against you, pressing against where your clit ached. You whimpered softly, numb fingers gripping his hand and holding it against you. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and you stilled, hand going lax on top of his.

“Fuck,” Joel said gruffly. “Fuck.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to deny it, to tell him it was fine, to say anything, but a rustling sound caught both of your attention. It was coming from the same spot as before, only this time it seemed louder, more pronounced. Your breathing paused.

“Get in the truck,” he said.

“Joel,” you tried, panic laced through your voice.

“Get in the truck now,” he said, grabbing the hunting rifle from the truck bed. “I’ll get the kid.”

Blood rushed in your ears as you walked swiftly to the passenger side of the truck, swinging yourself up into the seat and shutting the door behind you as softly as possible. Anxious goosebumps rippled across your skin as you stared out the window into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of Ellie or Joel. Minutes passed, and then the doors opened, and Ellie slumped inside, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, as Joel slammed into the driver’s seat, starting the car and tearing out of the field.

“Did you see anything?” Ellie asked from the backseat.

“No,” he said, not looking at either of you.

“Then why are w-“

“Go back to sleep,” Joel ordered her firmly, and you cringed at his tone, turning in your chair to offer her a sympathetic smile. She didn’t return it, laying down across the backseats and turning her back on the pair of you.

The car was entirely silent as Joel drove the three of you back onto a road, and continued heading towards Kansas City. And as much as your body yearned for sleep, you found yourself wide awake, eyes focused out the windscreen, watching the tarnished landscape pass you by, exposed up by the car’s headlights.

After an hour of driving, Joel finally spoke.

“Ellie?” he said, tone even.

No response came from the back seat. You watched him out of the corner of your eye. He repeated her name.

Satisfied when there was no response, he spared a glance in your direction, before turning back to look at the road.

As if against your own will, you whispered his name quietly, pleadingly.

“Don’t,” he practically growled.

“I’m s-“

“You thought I wouldn’t know?” his lip curled upward, a grimace painting his face. “Think that I don’t know you well enough to know when you’re faking it?”

Your entire body stilled. Heat prickled across your skin, and you prayed to a god you didn’t believe in that Ellie was truly asleep in the backseat. Your hands were clammy, and you wiped them fruitlessly against the material of your jeans, unsure of what to say. He waited for you to speak, and when you didn’t, a loose sigh rattled from his chest.

“You do this thing,” he said quietly. “When you come.”

“What?”

“This huge smile,” he frowned. “Like you can’t help yourself. Like it felt so good, that you can’t control your face, and you smile so big I can see every one of the fuckin’ teeth in your skull.”

“Joel—"

“Every time,” he interrupted firmly.

“I-“

“And I didn’t realise,” he whispered harshly. “How much I look for it – that I wait for it, I god damn expect it.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured feebly, heat flashing through you. You gazed at the side of his tense face, stomach twisting at his words. You’d never known you did that. Never known he would notice if one day you didn’t.

“You’re sorry?” Joel scoffed. His hands gripped the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. “You should be angry.”

You watched him with bated breath.

“First time I touched you in weeks, and I didn’t even make sure…,” he trailed off, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. “Like you’re some fuckin’ toy.”

“It was good, Joel,” you spoke in a hushed tone, glancing over your shoulder at Ellie’s back. “I swear, I was just distracted, and it was dark, an-“

“It’s not good with me,” he said curtly, and you stopped, wetting your lips anxiously.

Before you could say anything else, a soft murmuring came from the backseat, as Ellie started to wake up once more. You cringed, straightening in your seat and returning your gaze to the road ahead.

“This isn’t over,” Joel said, voice rough. And when he turned his head to look at you, just for a second, you nodded in acknowledgement. A dark glint of determination shone in his eyes, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

A long, tense day passed by before Joel could get you alone again. You felt the frustration rolling off of him in waves. Those dark eyes watched you, uncaring of whether you noticed or not, his hands twitching towards you whenever you were close, aching to touch you, to repent. Without a chance to shower, you spent the entire day with a sticky reminder of the night before. You were uncomfortably wet, your own slick mixed with Joel’s come making a mess of your underwear, streaking down your thighs inside your trousers.

It was late afternoon by the time he spotted a house in the distance, and when he pulled up outside of it, he ordered you and Ellie to stay in the car while he checked it out.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” she said from the backseat, as soon as Joel was out of earshot.

“Me too, kid,” you muttered, eyes on the front door until he reappeared, giving the all clear for you both to get out of the truck and go inside.

“There’s a few rooms,” he told you as you looked around the house, eyes drifting over the dusty furniture, bookshelves, dining table. “Two down here, one upstairs.”

“Shotgun upstairs,” Ellie said quickly, heading towards the staircase at the end of the hall.

“Are you hungry?” Joel called out to her back.

Ellie paused at the bottom of the stairs and gave him a look that said what do we even have to eat? But all she said was that she was gonna crash, and grumbled something about him never letting her get any sleep as she marched up the creaking steps.

“I think I’m gonna get some sleep as well,” you yawned, stretching your arm out against your chest. Joel’s eyes flashed to yours, and he huffed quietly.

“Is that right?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You faltered, pulse quickening at the insinuation laced in his words.

“I—”

“First door on the right,” he motioned his head towards the hallway, and you followed him wordlessly towards the room.

It was small, cosy. Late afternoon light gleamed in through a north facing window, and the sun’s rays shone across a double bed in the middle of the room, and a bare side table. Silently, Joel stripped the sheets off the bed, leaving them in a pile on the floor before unzipping his sleeping bag and draping it across the mattress.

“You tired?”

You watched his hands as they spread the sleep bag out, flattening out any lumps in it. Thick, long fingers pressed against the material, and heat spread through your lower stomach.

“Yes,” you said honestly, and he nodded, tilting his head to look at you. You unzipped your jeans and discarded them on the floor before crawling onto the bed.

“How tired?” Joel queried, kicking his shoes off and joining you on the mattress. He rested back on his heels, hands splaying across your kneecaps as he gazed down at you.

You mmm’d from the back of your throat, wetting your lower lip. “Not too tired.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped as his eyes drifting across your body, down your bare thighs, to rest on the dark spot on the front of your panties. His fingers traced down your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until he gripped the hem of your underwear.

He pulled them down your legs, tantalisingly slow, and you watched with wide eyes as he lifted the ruined material up to his face. Maintaining eye contact, he held them over his mouth and nose, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away as he inhaled deeply. Heat soared across your cheeks, and you would have been ashamed, if it weren’t for the way you could see him beginning to bulge against the zipper of his jeans, hot and hard for you.

“I want you,” you whispered brokenly. Joel dropped your underwear onto the bed beside your body.

“I know,” he gritted his teeth, sliding his palms down your inner thighs and prying them apart so he could settle in between them.

One hand raised to cup your face and you smiled, nuzzling your cheek into his palm. His thumb grazed your bottom lip in a silent request, and you parted them for him instantly, welcoming the digit into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it, wetting it, and watched intensely as he lowered his hand down your body, and pressed the finger between your folds.

“Christ,” he cursed, mouth falling ajar as he felt you. “You been like this all day?”

“Yes, yes,” you whimpered.   

“Then I’m a fuckin’ monster,” he chuckled mirthlessly, staring between your legs with hooded eyes. “Left my best girl all worked up. God, darlin’, look at you; dripping wet for me, desperate for something to come on.”

“Please,” you exhaled sharply. “I need you, want your cock inside me so bad.”

He tutted quietly, shaking his head a little. “You think I deserve it?” his eyes flashed to yours, mouth downturned. “Think I deserve to be inside this pretty pussy, when I’ve been so mean to it?”

Your thighs tensed painfully as his finger started rubbing lightly against your bundle of nerves.

“Because I don’t,” he said ruefully. “Think I need to make it up to you first, what do you think, baby?”

“Okay,” you exhaled.

“And we aren’t finished unless you come,” he said darkly. “Do you understand?”

Your lips felt numb, tongue heavy in your mouth as you stared up at him through hooded eyes. Joel glared down at you, nostrils flared. “Say you understand.”

“I understand,” you finally mewled in frustration, twitching into the mattress as his thumb swiped over your pulsing clit. “F-fuck, Joel, please.”

His finger dragged between the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading you open so he could see your glistening core. He swore under his breath, the tip of his thumb gliding over your entrance where he could see remnants of his seed still easing out of you. His knees thudded against the old mattress as he dragged himself down the bed, and then his mouth was on you.

“Ohhh,” an exaggerated moan left your mouth, leaving your lips parted in an O shape as your head dropped back into the pillow. His tongue flattened to lick a stripe up your core, all the way from your entrance to above your clit and you shuddered into his mouth, crying out at the contact. His hands gripped your thighs and dragged them over his shoulders, pushing his face deeper into you.

Joel’s nose dragged across your clit as his tongue circled your entrance, and slurping noises filled the air as he cleaned the remnants of himself from your hole. You gasped, fire racing through your veins at the idea of him drinking down his own come, and your hips bucked off the bed. The tips of his fingers dug into your thighs in a silent warning to stay still. You clawed your nails into his scalp, raking through his messy hair, doing your best not to absolutely writhe against his face.

He groaned against you, pulling back momentarily to smirk up at you, your slick shining on his lips and beard. It was shameful, the way the noises he made went to your head. The deep, growling moans, the way his hums vibrated against you. You absorbed them and filed them away into your memory, somewhere only for you to ever see. Your hips framed his face, thighs bracketed over his shoulders as he gripped them, no doubt leaving bruises where his fingertips dug into your flesh.

Joel worked painstakingly slowly at first. His hot, long tongue glided along the entirety of you, and then he dipped it inside your weeping hole. Your eyes rolled back as he pumped his hot muscle in and out of you, until you were begging him to just please fuck me Joel please I’m sorry, but then he just sped up, moving upward to flick the tip of his tongue across your clit. You gasped, back arching off the bed as he swiped back and forth sharply, his lips suctioning around it as he abused your swollen clit.

And then one of his hands disappeared, and he eased a long, thick finger inside of you. He stroked along your walls, hooking his finger against your g-spot as you cried out his name, clenching around the digit. Encouraged by the response, he swiftly pushed a second finger inside, scissoring them and stretching you out as he sponged messy kisses against your clit.

Your mind was a blur. “Shit, Joel.”

Every single nerve, every point of feeling in your entire body, was directed to the apex of your thighs, and you trembled with the intensity of it. Every kiss, every lick, every suck was a reverent apology, a vow to never let it happen again. Joel was on his knees at the altar of his god, begging for forgiveness, and you were more than happy to grant it.

It felt like your chest was being ripped open as heavy breaths worked their way out of your burning lungs, heavy panting mixing in the air with the sounds of his tongue gliding through your wetness. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and you moaned roughly as he let his teeth skate ever so slightly over your clit.

His fingers pumped inside you, curling against the roof of your channel in a continuous motion as his tongue rolled against your nerves. It sent a familiar fire spreading through your abdomen, warming your entire chest, until you were gasping for air, jaw aching as it hung open, in awe of every point of contact he had with your body.

You clenched painfully tight, pussy squeezing around his fingers as his tongue swiped back and forth across your clit. Joel hummed in encouragement, mouth buzzing against you in a way that sent you careening towards the edge even faster. It seemed like every muscle in your body was tightening. Arms tensed awkwardly, one hand buried in his hair, the other twisted in the sheets beside you. Thighs pressed against the side of his head, stomach burning as he built you up and up and up and—

“Oh, oh my—fucking god,” you sobbed as your orgasm hit, and Joel braced you against the bed, working you through it. Pleasure rushed through you like an avalanche. Stars burst behind your eyelids, and you let go of everything that had ever existed in your world except for Joel. You lost yourself in him; in the glide of his tongue against your core, in the way your fingers twisted in his hair, in the rough scrape of his beard against your inner thighs. He was everywhere, everything.

In time, you were vaguely aware of him pulling back, of only the drag of his fingers inside you remaining, and you knew he must have been watching you, raking in the sight of you so exposed.

“There you go,” you could hear him saying, somewhere past the ringing in your ears. “Give it t’me. That’s it, look so pretty like this, all fucked out just for me.”

And when he dragged his fingers out of you, it was only to make room for his head to drop down once more to suck and lick at where your orgasm dripped out of you, moaning as he went, desperate not to miss a single drop.

Finally, after the final waves of your climax had settled, and your limbs dropped heavily against the bed, he kissed his way up your body, wet mouth leaving a shimmering trail along your skin until he reached your face and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulled back after a moment, and you breathed deeply, lost in the way the sunlight danced across the back of your eyelids. You weren’t aware of the corners of your mouth tilting upward, of your lips peeling back to reveal your teeth as you grinned brazenly, cool relief coursing through you.

“Look at that,” Joel’s voice brought you back down to earth, and you blinked heavily, trying to focus your bleary eyes on his face. His hair was messy, a dark rough halo around his head as the sunlight shone around him. One side of his mouth was pointed upward, a small smirk decorating his features. “There’s that smile.”

[vigilante-3073]

Tree-hugger

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

PART 2

Summary: Daryl managed to convince Y/N to move closer to the prison. He keeps true to his promise of visiting her.

TW: Flirting, fluff, nervous Daryl

Y/N lived in the forest just outside the fences of the prison. Daryl tried to convince her to come inside, but she refused. Y/N operated on her own schedule, moving to different areas around the perimeter every few days. Daryl tended to think of her as an outdoor cat, only coming around when she wanted attention or food.

Daryl gave her a radio to keep in touch, checking up on her when he hadn't seen her in a few days. She had managed to survive this long without any assistance and Daryl couldn't deny that he was impressed.

Daryl invited her on scavenging missions, providing her with the opportunity to help out and get some more supplies for herself at the same time. Y/N waited for him outside the gates whenever they were going to go on a run, never going inside.

She trusted Daryl implicitly and he felt the same way. It was both the strangest and longest lasting friendship that Daryl ever had.

...

Daryl and Y/N sat around the fire in silence, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers as he watched her cook a rabbit. Life in the prison had finally settled and things were starting to function as they should.

Crops had started to grow in the yard and they had running water for the first time in a long time. They were safe and life was good.

Y/N deserved that too. She deserved to have an actual bed and a stable place to call home, even for a few days.

"You can trust them, y'know?" Daryl said, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing smoke up into the air.

"Trust who?" Y/N questioned, eyes not moving from the fire as she rotated the meat in the flame.

"My group... Or Rick, at least," Daryl said, flicking the ashes from the end of his cigarette.

"I trust you. That's enough for me," Y/N stated, eyes finding his over the fire and shooting him a small smile, "Besides, groups make me nervous and I work better on my own anyway," She shrugged.

"What about me?" Daryl asked.

"If you're willing to drag that beautifully sculpted body of yours up a tree, I would be more than happy to turn this into a two man operation," Y/N said, eyes running over him appreciatively.

"I can't climb for shit," He said with a smile, flicking the ashes from the end of his cigarette.

"I could teach you," Y/N offered.

"Nah, you just want an excuse to stare at my ass all day," Daryl said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"It is a nice ass," She smiled.

Daryl didn't push the subject of meeting the group. He knew that she would come around in due time.

...

Daryl made his way through the forest, crossbow held close to himself as he stared up into the trees. He knew that Y/N had moved into this area since the last time he saw her.

Daryl would never understand how she managed to blend in so well.

Y/N watched him walk by with a smile, lounging on a high branch that was concealed by leaves. She reached over and plucked an acorn from one of the leafy branches above her. Y/N threw the acorn, laughing as it hit the archer square in the center of his back.

"Booyah!" She yelled.

Daryl spun around, squinting up at the trees as he scanned the branches for her, "Where the hell are you?" He called.

"Over here, handsome!" Y/N yelled.

Daryl shook his head as he made his way over, staring up at her from the ground. He could just barely see her through the lush greenery.

"Why'd you go so high up?" Daryl asked.

"To watch you wander around aimlessly while I throw things at you," She smiled.

"Get your ass down here. I brought dinner," He said, holding up a string of squirrels.

Y/N untied herself and climbed down from the tree quickly. Daryl hovered at the base, ready to catch her if she slipped.

Y/N dropped down onto the ground, dusting her hands on her pants, "Is that a new shirt?" She asked, eyes running over him.

Daryl nodded, "Found it yesterday," He stated.

"Looks good on you. Plus, it shows off those big arms that I love so much," She said with a wink.

Daryl smiled slightly, cheeks flushing, "Shut up," He muttered.

"About how gorgeous you are? Never," She smirked, "There's a clearing over this way," She added.

Daryl shook his head before following her through the trees. She went to work building the fire as he prepared the squirrels.

"Rick wants to go on another run tomorrow," Daryl said.

"Are you going?" Y/N asked, blowing carefully at the base of her fire before adding more tinder.

"You got a crush on me or somethin'?" He asked.

"Of course I do. Have you seen yourself? I'd have your sexy redneck ass wifed up in a minute if marriage was still a thing" She replied casually, adding small pieces of wood to the fire.

Daryl smiled, even when he flirted back Y/N still managed to leave him speechless. He looked up as she sat back on her haunches, looking over at him.

"I'm goin' with Rick tomorrow," He said.

"Fantastic, so am I," She replied.

...

Daryl made his way out into the forest with a flashlight, it was the latest he had ever gone out and he hoped Y/N was still awake.

Daryl and Rick had gone off on a scouting mission that kept them away for a few days. Rick needed to collect medical supplies and some items for the baby.

Daryl smiled slightly when he saw firelight in the distance. He made his way towards it, turning off his flashlight as he approached.

"Howdy, stranger. I thought you forgot about me," Y/N said with a smile.

"Went out with Rick for a few days," Daryl said, sitting down on the ground beside her with his back leaned against the fallen tree trunk.

"Rabbit?" She asked, holding up the stick of cooked meat.

Daryl nodded, taking the stick from her outstretched hand and pulling some meat off the bone.

Y/N watched him eat for a moment before turning her attention back to the fire, "I missed you," She said.

"Missed you too," Daryl replied gruffly.

"You gonna stay out here tonight?" She asked.

He nodded, "I'm not climbing a tree though," Daryl said.

"You're going to sleep on the ground like a-" "Normal person? Yeah," Daryl said.

"Oh, so you think I'm abnormal?" Y/N questioned.

"Yeah," He stated.

"Don't insult me, Daryl, I'll fall in love with you," Y/N said.

He huffed a laugh, "Would that be a bad thing?" Daryl asked with a smile.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter," Y/N smirked.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 26: Tour Date

Word Count: 998

Rating: T

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: None

Summary: Eddie wants to impress a girl he met on tour, but his nerves get the better of him

@corrodedcoffinfest

The little ding of the bell over the door breaks Eddie’s concentration as he steps into the small bookstore. 

“Great,” Eddie mumbles under his breath.

He sighs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Hi,” a sweet voice greets him. “Can I help you with anything?”

Eddie looks up, intending to say yes, but his mouth simply hangs open silently when he sees you standing there. In your lightwash jeans and forest green sweater, Eddie thinks you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Yeah. Uh, yes.” Eddie steps closer and holds his hand out. As he does, he realizes this isn’t the way most customers greet employees of the shop they’ve just walked into. “I’m Eddie.”

To his delight, you shake his hand without making him feel like an idiot, and introduce yourself in kind. 

“What can I help you with, Eddie?”

“Well, my friend’s birthday is in a few days. I was going to buy him a book in the last city we were in, but I couldn’t find a bookstore anywhere in Charleston. At least, not near our hotel or venue, anyway. But now I can’t remember the name of it.” Eddie realizes he’s rambling but, for the life of him, he can’t figure out how to stop. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him. “Do you remember what it was about?”

“Kind of. My friend had us watch the movie version. It was about these kids. They, uh, got in trouble for some reason and two of them ran away. Hid out in an old church or something.”

Your face lights up. 

“Did it have Rob Lowe in it? And Ralph Macchio?” you ask.

A stab of annoyance strikes Eddie as you name the pretty boys in the movie.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Eddie says, trying to inject a little more enthusiasm than he feels. 

“The Outsiders. That’s one of my favorite books,” you say, gesturing for Eddie to follow you. “It shows that it doesn’t matter if you’re an outcast as long as you’ve got other outcasts who have your back.”

“That seems pretty much like the friend group we have,” Edde says as you pluck the novel off a shelf. 

“Before, you said your hotel and your venue. What do you do?” you ask as you hand over the book. 

“I’ve got a band,” Eddie says. He knows he probably should’ve said “we’ve got a band” but this could make him seem cooler to you. “We’re touring now.”

“And you stopped in little ol’ Asheville, huh? Hope we aren’t too boring for you,” you say. 

“Not boring at all,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “In fact, I’m really starting to like it.”

He gives you a smile and feels a rush of satisfaction when you duck your head shyly. 

“Would you like to come to the show tonight?” Eddie asks, figuring it’s now or never. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you affirm, giving him the prettiest smile Eddie has ever seen.

“Great.” Eddie lets his thumb stroke against the pages of the book in his hands.

“Oh, let me get that for you.” 

You walk back around the counter and press a few buttons on the cash register. It gives Eddie a few moments to take in the features of your face, and he finds he likes each one more than he did the last. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says when you hand him back the book in a small paper bag. “I, uh—”

“It’s my lunch break,” you blurt out. “D-Do you want to have lunch with me in the cafe next store?”

Eddie gives a toothy grin and nods.

“I’d love to.”

“And she likes metal.”

Jeff, Gareth, and Frank have been hearing about you nonstop for the last hour. 

“We’ve gotta play some Poison. They’re her favorite,” Eddie says. 

“You wanna change the set list?” Gareth asks.

Jeff shrugs and answers before Eddie can.

“We always rotate some of our covers. And we know how to play a handful of Poison songs. What the hell? Sure.” 

After going through their repertoire, they decide to play Nothin’ But a Good Time. 

When it’s time to go on, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt this particular combination of nervousness and excitement before. The venue they’re playing in isn’t very big, so it probably won’t even take the duration of the first song for him to figure out if you’re there or not. God, he hopes you are. 

Their opening song is called Bite the Hand and until the first chorus, he doesn’t see you. But when he lays eyes on you, a grin brightens his face, even though his fingers stumble over the chords. 

Luckily, no one in the audience knows it was a mistake since it’s an original song. But the guys in the band know, and Eddie can feel their gazes burning the back of his t-shirt. 

Just gotta shake it off, Munson. 

Unfortunately, it only goes downhill from there. He skips a song, so he starts playing something entirely different from the rest of the band, his voice cracks a few times, and he smacks his chin against the microphone, causing feedback to whine over the speakers.

But worst of all, Eddie thinks, is when they play Nothin’ But a Good Time. He made such a big fuss about playing it, but then he goes ahead and sings the first verse twice instead of the second one. 

After the show, Eddie is nervous to face you. All he wanted was to impress you, yet he just played one of the worst shows of his life. So it surprises him when you throw your arms around him and tell him how much you enjoyed the show.

“It was great! You’re so talented.”

From behind the stage curtain, Jeff, Gareth, and Frank give each other disbelieving looks. The drummer shakes his head in bewilderment.

“Jesus, if she liked that, she must be down as bad as he is.”

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go (Pt. 6)

John Price x f!Reader

Summary: the next morning with Price settles you're his girl

warnings/tags: nsfw!!, creampie, praising, handjob, p in v sex, fingering, cowgirl

a/n: it's finally here!!! im sorry for the wait!! and this will be the last chapter of this series :,) i feel like there isn't more to say for john and this reader, so i hope you lot enjoyed it!!

song for this chapter is She by Harry Styles!!

You woke up the next morning with an unfamiliar warmth next to you. The feeling of a solid mass pressing against your back; a large appendage that resembled an arm draped over your waist. Your eyes adjusted to the sunlight that penetrated through the curtains on your window.

You brought a hand to your face and rubbed at your eyes before looking down to find a man’s arm was what was anchoring you in your sleeping position. John’s arm, you reckoned, and the color of your cheeks was a stinging red. You bit your lip to withhold the smile that grew on your face as the memories of last night flooded back into your mind.

It was difficult to contain yourself from squealing giddily at the realization.

With as much care as you could muster, you gently and slowly rotated your body under the crushing weight of his arm to face him. John stirred in his sleep lightly, making you freeze and hold your breath for a second. But he only sighed and stayed in his peaceful sleep, out like a light. You turned fully to face him, your eyes gleaming at the sight of his face.

His lips were in a pout, slightly parted as light snores escaped them. His lashes were long and fanning over the apples of his cheeks almost. You’ve never seen someone look…so pretty, while they slept.

One of your hands came up to his face, your gentle fingertips dared to ghost over his features. You carefully brushed the messy hair on his forehead, then trailed down to trace his long nose, his bearded cheeks, his velvety lips.

Would it be wrong to kiss him, you wondered. You didn’t want to disrupt his slumber, you liked the intimacy of being bundled up in his arms as he was in such a vulnerable state. But you dared to regardless. Once again with the gentlest movements, you planted your lips over his cheek. You took a beat to test if that woke him up, but all you got in return was the tightening of his grip on your waist.

It only encouraged you further, and you followed with another kiss, this time to his forehead, your hand caressing his hair once more. He stirred a bit more and your smile grew wider, your heart was fluttering with adoration.

God he’s just perfect, all you want to do is kiss every pretty thing about him.

You went to lean in a third time but a gravelly hum stopped you on your tracks. John’s eyes stayed closed, but a smile tugged at his cheeks and a husky chuckle rumbled within him. His arms encapsulated you impossible tighter and closer to him.

“I could get used to wakin’ up like this,” he said, his voice raspy with sleep and almost a whisper.

You giggled and matched his low tone, “morning, John.”

He adjusted his head on the pillow and let out a pleased sigh. One of his eyes opened up to a mere squint to look at you, the rays of sun making his crystal eyes shine. He grumbled out a good morning

You cupped his cheek, your thumb caressing his skin. His large palm rubbed the skin of your bare back, making goosebumps scatter around your body.

Your front was pressed flush against his chest and abdomen and, well, you shouldn’t be surprised at the feeling of his morning wood pressing against your belly. You bit your lip at the sensation, feeling your core grow slick.

John chuckled again, “Sorry, love…can’t help it.” His voice was a slur as he gradually began to wake him more and more.

“Don’t mind at all,” you cooed. You felt bold enough to snake your hand down his front until it reached his pelvis. You stopped there, and your fingers raked through the patch of course hair that was forested there.

John let out a pleasant, heavy sigh. His member twitched against you, as if asking to be touched.

Your eyes were fixated on his face, watching the microexpressions as he reacted to your touch.

“About last night…” you started, “is that something you’d like to do again?”

John’s smile grew into a smirk, his nails ran up and down your back tenderly, “would you, princess?”

You responded by letting your hand trail lower; dainty fingers wrapping around the base of his hardened cock and giving him one, two painfully slow pumps.

John sucked in a breath at the feeling, a hand now coming under your hair to hold the nape of your neck.

“Does that answer your question?” you teased.

"Bloody hell, love," he breathed, his husky voice almost a growl as the grip on your neck tightened, "what I wouldn't give to wake up to you like this every mornin'."

His words made you melt. The idea of having John like this, the realization that last night was most definitely not a one-time thing, and that you had a man like him eating off the palm of your hand; all yours to enjoy.

It only spurred you on, and you let out a soft mewl in response as your hand stroked up and down his shaft, watching as his lips parted and hearing his breath hitch at the feeling of you.

John's other hand snaked down to your thigh, grabbing the underside of it to lay it over his hip. He pulled you closer as you worked on him, his nose pressing against yours before he leaned in to kiss you. You felt the hairs of his mustache graze your upper lip, his plush lips against yours turning into a sloppy kiss when his tongue pried into your mouth. Now you knew he was growing desperate.

The hand on your thigh traveled up your quad, squeezing and massaging it before it made its way to your sex. You were soaked and bare and the feeling of his hand soothingly massaging you through your folds made your whole body shiver.

It made you think about the night prior, how John had been the first man to make you feel this good, this satisfied. Like the strange loneliness you had felt when you first met him was completely gone; like he's been the missing piece in your sweet but mundane life. The man set you alight like a burning pyre whenever he was around, more so when he put those tender but calloused hands on you.

You keened at the feeling of his middle and ring finger pads rubbing tight circles on your clit, spreading your slick and coating your pussy with it. Your hand on his cock similarly smeared his precum, and the two of you panted into each other's mouths.

You let out soft sounds as he kissed you sloppily, a mess of tongue and teeth telling you just how desperate John was for you.

"Never felt such a perfect pussy," he slurred, "come 'n ride my cock, pretty girl."

His breathless words made you whine, and you did not hesitate to press your hand against his chest, indicating him to lay on his back as you straddled his lap.

Any ounce of self-consciousness or shyness was absent in you. You presented your naked body to John, the body he had ravaged multiple times by now. Your hips ground onto his, making his cock glide between your folds as you teased him before granting him entrance.

It made John let out a needy groan, his hands holding onto the plump flesh on your hips as he guided your hips to grind with more pressure on his leaking cock.

"C'mon, sweetheart...stuff this cock in that pretty pussy...'s all yours, do whatever you want with it." You never thought you'd make John so desperate, but you couldn't deny you desired his cock just as much.

You lifted your hips and took hold of his cock, aligning it with your entrance before you slowly sank down on it. Your mouth fell open and so did his as he watched you with lust-blown eyes, how your pussy swallowed him whole.

It made John let out a moan and fuck it did something to you.

"Fuckkk, baby, tha's it," he looked up at your face with shameless want.

You bottomed out, sitting on his cock for a moment before lifting yourself only to sink back down, bouncing on him at a selfish pace.

You indulged in the way his lips were parted and exuded moans, how his hands stroked up and down your sides and curves tenderly as your hips bounced on his cock and ground down into his hips.

How his blue eyes devoured you and the way you moved.

Those starved eyes had been on you since the moment he stepped through the doors of your cafe, and they only grew hungrier the more you spoke, the more time you spent together.

And fuck were you proud of yourself for having this man under you, cock buried deep inside of you and letting you fuck him; letting himself belong to you, never to let you go.

Your pace grew sloppier and desperate as you fucked yourself with his cock, and John wouldn't have it any other way. His hand scaled up your body and splayed on the valley between your breasts, feeling the way your heart raced. Your head was thrown back as you lost yourself in him.

"That's it, baby, that's it," he babbled, "makin' me feel so good, love. Perfect fuckin' pussy made just for me, yeah?"

You nodded drunkenly in response, feeling his hips move under you to meet your rhythm. You took his hands in yours and laced your fingers with his, using his hold to increase your pace and reach your climax.

All you heard were John's mumbled praises and encouragements, too drunk on your pussy to be coherent. The two of you were pushing for each other's orgasms until it was finally there.

Both letting go in tandem, feeling the wave of pleasure wash over you, and feeling the way he stuffed you full.

You were both breathless, your sweat-coated body collapsing over John's, who took you in his arms with a husky chuckle of his, wrapping them around you and kissing your temple and burning cheeks.

"My perfect girl," he crooned, and you responded with a pleasant, tired hum as you melted in his embrace.

His girl, you thought. Yeah, you were his and it couldn't feel more perfect to be his.

You relished in the way he kissed your skin, the praises he whispered to you, and the way he whispered that he couldn't be more in love with you.

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 2

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = You meet the boys this chapter!

Words = 2.2k

[Chapter 1] --- [Chapter 3]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Talks of injury and EXPLICIT under the cut

Behind the door was a very handsome man. He was wearing a boonie-hat and a partially unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt. You stood there blue-screening for a moment just staring.

“You alright there love?” The man asked, looking incredibly concerned. He ran a hand over his beard “I heard you fall..”

You snap out of your staring “Yeah I did..” you lift up your wrist, it was already bruising and swelling, “Sorry, I didn’t get any sleep last night…I had a chronic pain flare up…” You say dizzily.

The man stepped into your house, carefully looking at your wrist “I can go run back home and grab a brace…?” He looked at you earnestly.

You nod, “I don’t think I could even drive right now..” blinking back tears as another wave of pain crashes over you, you let out a stuttered gasp and your knees buckle. 

The man looks even more concerned “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable, I’ll call one of my boy’s to bring it down..”

Carefully the man picked you up and brought you over to the couch, laying you down with such gentleness it surprised you. He had held you with a shocking amount of care, he was so warm too, like a heated blanket but better. He stepped back quickly typing something on his phone before looking back at you.

“Is there anything I can get you, love?” he crouched down next to your head, moving strands of hair out of your face.

“On my bed there is a heated blanket…” You explain breathlessly, wincing as the pain got worse.

The man nodded and walked upstairs to grab the blanket. He quickly brought it down and plugged it in “What setting?” he asked, holding the controller.

“Four please” You whimper and start crying feeling embarrassed.

The man sets it on level four and sits down next to your head, “Do you have any medication?”

You shake your head “no..not really, I only have muscle relaxers but it’s not gunna help”

The man nodded “I forgot to mention I’m John Price, I was in charge of taking care of the cottage while it was up for sale, I saw you moved in and wanted to give you the key back..” he anxiously checked his phone “The boy’s should be down soon love, can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks” You start crying again as your body feels like it is trying to come apart, “I’m sorry” you gasp out and curl up into a ball on the couch “It’s not usually this bad..”

“You’re okay, Love,” He reassured you, smiling.

You hear a knock on the door before the door creaks open and two men step inside. One had a mohawk and another had a baseball cap on, that's all you could see through your glassy tear filled eyes.

The men speak in hushed tones before Price sits back down next to you and gently grabs your upper forearm, close to your elbow “Gunna fit the brace on alright love..?”

You just groan softly “Okay” and watch hazily. 

Price rotates your arm and freezes as he sees the bite scar on your wrist “What happened here?” he asks softly. His touch easing some of the pain.

“Got attacked by a dog, it broke my wrist, the doctor p-put something in there to help with the infection and to set it and so it’s really tender..” you quietly explain. 

Price set your arm down “Love, what did the dog look like?” making you whine in pain, Price instantly picked your arm back up and the pain leveled out. Sighing in relief you manage to cobble together some understandable thoughts. 

“Uhm, it was oddly really dark out since it was a full moon��it was massive though, the nurses joked it was a werewolf, the doctor got oddly mad at them..it was kinda funny” slurring your words as you feel another wave of pain. 

Price looked at your wrist and then at you, “Well I think your body is rejecting it, I can see it starting to come out, can we take it out? Gaz here was a field medic and can take it out, he has his med kit..?” pointing at a small lump on your wrist that had been getting bigger over the years. 

“Sure..” you slur out feeling delirious from pain.

The guy with the baseball ca-Gaz slowly gives you some pain pills, making sure you swallow them before he puts on some gloves. You fell asleep before he even started.

When you woke up you felt eons better, nothing felt as sore. Looking at your wrist you realize it wasn’t even bruised or sprained. Groaning softly, you sit up and look around. Rubbing your eyes blearily.

“Good to see you up” Gaz sat on the other side of the couch smiling “You feeling better?”

You nod sleepily “What did you even do? It’s not even bruised anymore?” you ask confused, looking at your wrist surprised.

“That was all you Duck..” Gaz smiled kindly, “Why don’t we get some food in you and talk, yeah?” Gaz gently helps you up, leading you into the kitchen.

Mohawk was heating up soup on your stove top, he was humming softly. Price was sitting at the table looking at his phone with the implant sitting on a paper towel. He looked up, smiling at you.

“Glad to see you up, love!” He looks at you and then the implant “Soap brought down some soup, which is..?”

“Done!” Soap places five bowls on the table “Ghost is on his way down..”

“What kind of name is Soap?” you ask curiously “Did your parents want you to have a unique name?”

“Ach noo, it’s a nickname, my name is John and so is Price’s and apparently everyone else here is named John so it helps us keep everyone apart..” leaning against the counter Soap explains with a smile.

“Ohh..” nodding as you think about it “Most of the men I used to work with were named John and it was a nightmare to distinguish which was which because none of them wanted to go by their last names”

Sitting down you look at the implant curiously, it looked like a small silver ball.

“Makes sense that was messing me up, I’m allergic to silver!” You explain looking a bit surprised “I’m surprised I didn’t keel over and die..”

Suddenly all eyes are on you.

“Did I say something wrong” you ask confused looking between all three men.

“Duck, let’s get some food in you before we go any further…” Gaz spoke softly 

You nod nervously “Alright..” 

Someone knocked on the door right as you started sitting down. The door opened to reveal a tall, strong but not muscular, blonde. Your mouth dried up instantly, he was just as hot as the other three.

Then it hit you, you had four unknown men who were all extremely attractive were in your house. You had let them perform a procedure while you had been knocked out from pain medication. However, no alarm bells rang out in your mind, if anything you've never felt so safe and content. 

“Don’t think too hard, pup” the blonde one who upclose appeared to have eyeliner on. Smirking at you as you realized you were probably staring. 

“Sorry..” you flush, feeling a bit embarrassed looking at the table.

 “You’re okay Duck, let’s get some food in you..I have a feeling you missed breakfast.”  Gaz’s soothing voice pulled you from your embarrassment as he softly brushed his hand over your back. 

You nod and watch as Soap serves everyone soup. You anxiously waited for someone to eat first, an odd anxiety created as a child from praying before eating or else you’d be punished.

Price took the first bite and you immediately started eating, you felt famished and half-starved.The soup was potato-bacon soup, it was hearty and delicious. You almost moaned from how good it was. 

“Soooo..” Soap started “Where are ya from?” He was looking at you with curious eyes.

“I moved here from the city but uh I grew up in a smaller town north here.” You smile while finishing up your soup. “Some of our property went into the woods and so me and my friends would camp out there, then I got attacked by some dog and we moved almost right after….”

“I assume you guys are from here?” You return the question with a small smile.

“We've been around here for a long time, pup” Scraping his bowl, Ghost responded.

“We live a few miles south of you, love” Price continued for Ghost, also finishing up his soup.

Gaz looked at you quizzically “Did you not go to college? Not to be judgemental but I’m surprised you could afford to move out here so young, Duck..”

Laughing you shake your head “You’re fine, I get this a lot.” setting your bowl to the side you reply “I’m actually 60! Everyone always thinks I’m still in my late teens, I have no clue why I look like how I did as a teenager.. I went to college and now I do freelance accounting work!”

Gaz dropped his spoon in his bowl, his eyes wide staring at you before they darted over to Price. Soap slapped his hand over his mouth with an expression similar to Gaz’s. Price didn’t look super surprised and neither did Ghost. 

Sighing Price looks at you sincerely “Love, you're going to think we are crazy but you’re a werewolf.”

You just stare at them blankly.

“What?” You ask incredulously, looking at each of the men. They all had genuine looks on their faces, you could tell none of them were lying. “But werewolves aren’t real..?”

“Let’s head outside and we'll show ya, pup.” Ghost stood up and opened up the sliding glass door, Gaz and Soap quickly walked outside looking excited. You followed hesitantly with Price gently leading you outside.

Gaz and Soap are stripping out of their clothes, it didn’t surprise you that Soap was commando. It was a pleasant surprise to see Gaz wearing lace panties. Your face heated up as you turned away and pinch yourself unsure if this was real. “Um, what are you guys doin?” You ask, blushing. 

“Don’t wanna rip the clothes pup” Ghost huffs, while also undressing. 

“Oh!” nodding you glance up only to find them all naked, you avert your eyes to the ground immediately. 

Soap walked up to you, looking confused “Why aren’t ya..”

“Soap..” Price grabbed Soap’s shoulder “Go over with Gaz.”

Gently lifting your chin up, Price held your face so you were looking at Gaz and Soap. Price chuffed at the boys and motioned for them to get on with it.

Soap grinned at you as you watched as his body transformed into an actual wolf. Gaz did the same, it was an odd mix of animorph-type transformation and something out of a horror flick. 

Gaz and Soap trotted up to you licking your hands and brushing against your legs. Lifting your hand you hesitantly brush your hand over Soap’s head, much like you would a dog, it seemed like he had a ‘mohawk’ even in wolf form. Gaz just sat next to you leaning against you. 

“Love,” Price grabbed your attention as he spoke. “Now they can just do a regular wolf form, however, there is another form which I’ll show you now…” 

Price stepped a few steps back before he shifted, it was an interesting mix of human and wolf, it vaguely reminded you of a furry but more wolf-like. He could stand on his back legs but also could easily run on all fours, then he shifted all the way to a wolf form.

Clasping your hand over your mouth you look at them in awe. You pinched yourself to make sure this wasn’t some insane dream. Maybe they were right?

Ghost clasped a hand over your shoulder, startling you from your awe. “Wanna try? It’ll feel good, ease that ache?”

You look at Ghost a bit confused on how he knew about the ache…

“I um, don’t know how to...” you look at Ghost curiously. 

“I’ll help ya’ pup” sighing Ghost tightened his grip on you.

It was an odd feeling shifting, it was quite painful but it was over fast. You have a shocked look on your face looking between everyone. You huff once you realize that you're smaller than Soap, Ghost, and Price. You and Gaz are roughly the same size which eases the frustration quite a bit. 

You walk around a bit getting used to walking on all fours. It felt odd and wrong- but also right? Feeling conflicted you look up at everyone else, Soap and Gaz are play wrestling, Ghost and Price are sunning themselves pressed up against each other.

It was clear the pack(?) was very close with one another. It made you feel oddly left out…sitting off to the side you watch the men-wolves? It was a really nice day out and for once in the past few decades you felt no pain. It was relaxing and so incredibly soothing. Resting your head on your paws you doze off, still quite exhausted from the past few days.

[daycourtofficial]

peppermint latte with marshmallows 🥹🥹🥹 I just know Lucien’s first time meeting Atlas was so heartbreakingly cathartic… can we get an emotionally devastating insight into him holding and meeting Atlas was like my saviour 

Okay bestie this was so 😭🥹 to write

Order your own coffee for Gingerfucker week from this menu ❣️

Peppermint latte with marshmallows = Lucien and Atlas fluff

The Forest House was warmer than his memories of it. The walls colored more black and dreary in his mind, memories of cruelty darkening the vibrancy of Autumn.

He stood just before the doors to the dining hall, the smells of breakfast wafting through the air. Pumpkin pastries were calling out to him, his stomach nearly growling in desperation for the sweet treat of his childhood.

Mere hours ago his nephew was born. A tiny thing who looked just like every other Vanserra: bright red hair and some unseen determination.

Eris had arrived quickly after Eris’s invitation, hoping to fill the house with people his mate loved, everyone rotating in and out to talk to her before her labor began.

But that was twelve hours ago. Lucien slept in his old room last night, his head slightly throbbing from the bottle of wine he found hidden in the floorboards. His arrival yesterday felt grand - a new babe nothing short of a miracle for fae. But he woke up this morning feeling out of place and couldn’t quite shake it.

He grabbed a pastry, opting out of sitting at the magnificent table. It was stunning - thousands of years old, beautifully maintained oak.

“Lucien.” Eris’ voice was colored with surprise,

“I didn’t expect you to still be around.”

He grinned, raising his pastry in a toast. “I couldn’t leave without my favorite breakfast treat.”

Eris’ face was lined with exhaustion, but he looked almost brighter.

“I should be off.” He had no idea why he lingered overnight, unable to shake the draw of his childhood home.

“Will you see them before you leave?” He hadn’t planned on it, wanting to slip out unnoticed, an exit strategy leftover from his younger years.

“Is she awake?”

“Yes, they both are. There is no telling when Atlas will fall asleep again, though.” His brother beamed with pride at the mention of his son,

Lucien took the long route, taking his time climbing the stairs of the Forest House. They seemed much grander in his memories, even though he was well into adulthood when he left.

The walls were different - covered in paintings depicting more than just his birth court. They showed several courts - landscapes depicting a snowy night, one showing nothing but the radiant colors of Starfall.

He knocked on the door, entering after a soft voice gave him permission.

“Lucien, you rat. I didn’t know you were here.”

You looked radiant in the large, red chair. It’s surprising how long it took Lucien to realize the mating bond between his brother and you because red hues always seemed so natural against your skin.

“Come, sit.” You looked to the spot next to you on the couch, the ornate red fabric groaning beneath his weight. “And how are you?”

“You just had a babe and you’re asking me how I am?”

“Well, Lucien, I thought it was obvious how I was doing.” He couldn’t help the smile he cracked. “I’m alright, I suppose. The house looks better with you around.”

“Well, Beron wasn’t exactly known for his interior decorating, was he?” Your joke ignited something in Lucien’s chest, his long presumed father’s name not quite carrying the same weight it did when he was alive.

“Do you want to hold him?” He’s not sure if you noticed where his mind went, but he was thankful for the distraction, nodding.

Lucien looked down at the impossibly small thing, the hair even brighter than he remembered from the brief glimpses he got.

“Yeah, alright. Hand him over.”

He moved slowly as he grabbed Atlas, the tiny thing hardly caring as he shuffled into a new set of arms.

Lucien could define his brother into two people: the Eris that he knew as a child, who lifted him high into the air, helping hjm reach as high as possible for apples in the back orchard.

And then there was the Eris their father wanted him to be. The one who said and committed so many atrocities Lucien wasn’t sure where his influence began and ended in Prythian.

They were both just babies once, depending on someone else to teach them how to love and be loved.

Marigold always taught Lucien how to love. There were always glimpses of estrangement between Marigold and his brothers. They all loved her, but she always kept them at a distance.

“He looks just like Eris.”

“That’s what everyone is saying.”

By the gods was he beautiful. Just like his eldest brother in so many ways.

“He’ll be a great male.”

Lucien didn’t know which one he was talking about.

[leapingbadger]

Tested

Summary: Hunter and Rex go on a mission for intel and come across some unlikely acquaintances.

Word Count: 4349

Read on AO3

“Are you sure you’re doing that right?” Rex asked,

“You know this is kind of my thing, right?” Hunter said exasperatedly. He was crouched, close to the ground, rolling dirt over his fingers. His helmet, or the replacement helmet he had been given by Echo, sat next to him on the ground. An unfamiliar face staring up at him.

Hunter understood where Rex was coming from. They had been at this for more rotations than he could count. He couldn’t even remember the name of the small, jungle like moon they found themselves on, but they seemed to be going in circles, and it wasn’t because of Hunter’s tracking skills. The muscles in his calves were screaming. Sweat dripped down his back and bandana was soaked through.

“Did you ever think that maybe this Jedi doesn’t want to be found and that’s why we’re having such a hard time.”

“I did.” He said smugly, clapping Hunter on the shoulder, “that’s why I brought the best,”

Hunter signed and got closer to the ground. They were close, he could sense it.

Suddenly he stood up, “Rex, move!” he shouted, shoving the captain out of the way just as the glowing blade of an emerald lightsaber fell to the ground where he had been moments before.

Hunter fell back onto the attack stance, blaster pulled and aiming in front of him. The stranger wore a black cloak, only his chin visible underneath.

“Well, well, well,” he said in a relaxed kind of way, “Captain Rex. I heard you were dead”

“Likewise, Master Vos,” Rex said cooly.

Both men relaxed their stance. Quinlan Vos lowered his hood, a cocky smile on his lips. His black hair hung past his shoulders, the yellow markings on his face seemed to glow in the green light of the lightsaber.

The hum on Vos’ laser sword still hung in the air. Hunter hadn’t lowered his weapon but had loosened his grip. He knew of Vos by reputation. But these were difficult times and given his last experience with a force user, he had no intention of letting his guard down.

“And who’s this?” Vos nodded at Hunter, “your tracker, I’m assuming?”

“That’s right, this is Hunter,”

Vos shut off his lightsaber with a snap hiss and stepped forward. He reached his hand out to shake Hunter’s, “not many people can track me. I’m impressed.” Hunter nodded but didn’t respond to the outstretched hand. He still wasn’t sure if they were safe yet or not.

“I don’t need to worry about you both trying to blast me, do I?” Vos asked with an amused expression, as if he’d like to see them try.

“We’re not working for the Empire.” Rex said simply, and that seemed to assuage any fears in Vos.

“So, what can I do for you, Captain” he asked, hooking his lightsaber to his belt and turning his back on them, walking through the thicket of trees, bushes and twigs crunching with every step.  

Rex looked at Hunter, shrugged and followed.

“We rescued a number of force sensitive children from the Empire. Are working to find their families, have found some but we think they’re being watched. We can’t return the kids to have them taken again. A friend suggested we try and find you. That you had a network that might be able to help.”

“A friend?” Vos asked, eyebrow raised.

“Fulcrum,” Rex responded quietly.

Hunter was only half listening to the conversation. There was something lingering at the edge of his senses that he couldn’t place. He could hear something in the tops of the trees. It was moving methodically, not like an animal. His eyes searched the dense canopy. The rustling was following them.

“We’ve got company” Hunter said quietly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vos said with a shrug.

Hunter looked at Rex who just nodded and continued to follow the Jedi deeper into the forest. Hunter rested his hand on his blaster, held his virboknife and continued to trek.

It was some time before they reached a small cave like structure in a small clearing. A circular opening looked like it had been cut directly into the rock, Hunter assumed with the lightsaber hanging from Vos’ waist. He hated to think how long that had taken.

Rex settled on a large tree stump that lay horizontally on the ground. He sighed as he took off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his face. Hunter wasn’t ready to sit. He was still unsettled. Whatever was following them was still lingering at the edge of his senses. It was oddly familiar.  

Vos disappeared into the cave and came back without his cape and carrying a tray with a grey liquid in a bottle. “Figured we could all use a drink” he said.

There were four cups. Hunter raised his eyebrow at Rex. He had taken the cup he was handed but Hunter noticed he hadn’t taken a sip yet. The captain knew something was off too.

Hunter slowly turned around on the spot, looking out into the deep forest, through the trees. A gentle scent wafted over the clearing, flowers, ash and…death?

Hunter spun around; blaster raised to the tree line. He knew that scent.

“Have you come for round two?” a tall and slim figure emerged, the grey markings tracing down the side of her mouth, giving her a permanent scowl. He hair was longer now, chin length and cut in a slant as sharp as the side of a blade.

“Ventress?” Rex said, blaster up, eyes darting from Hunter and Vos.

“How’s Omega?,” Ventress asked, casually walking through the clearing and taking the seat next to Vos. Any closer and she would have been sitting on his lap.

Hunter didn’t answer, lower his weapon, or blink. He had turned on his heel to follow her as she walked.

“Another one of your acquaintances, my dear?” Vos asked her sweetly, pouring her a cup of the cloudy liquid. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

“What can I say, I get around,” she replied with a smirk. She crossed her left leg over her right and knocked back the drink in one go.

Hunter was still scowling and wondering what Rex had gotten him into. He didn’t know Rex’s contact and who had put him on the path to Vos and Ventress, but he couldn’t help but wish he were back on Pabu with his squad. He, Crosshair, and Wrecker had been no match for Ventress the last time. He and Rex wouldn’t stand a chance against both her and Vos.

“Easy fellas,” Vos said, standing with his hands up as though approaching a wild animal. “She is no longer a Sith.”

“Something I believe I shared with you on your island,” Ventress added to Hunter.

“We didn’t get a great impression of which side you were on,”

“You’re still beathing, aren’t you?” Ventress replied, tucking her silver hair behind her ear.

Hunter hesitated but lowered his blaster. He watched out of the corner of his eye and Rex followed suit. They weren’t going to get anywhere with open hostility. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner the kids could get back to their families, and the sooner he could get back to his.

Rex cleared his throat, seemingly trying to get things back on track. “We’re looking for help relocating…”

“Force sensitive children. Yes, I heard” Ventress said. She looked at Hunter with a smile on her lips, “are you collecting them?”

Hunter scowled but didn’t respond. She was trying to get under his skin. It was working.

“Have the children been tested? Have their abilities been confirmed?”

“They were being kept at a secret facility run by an Imperial scientist working directly for the emperor. They wouldn’t have kept them if they weren’t” Hunter replied, bristling a little. He didn’t want the kids to have to go through anything else, especially Ventress’ ‘tests’.

“A secret facility?” Ventress looked at Vos who simply nodded. He seemed more than happy for her to take the lead. “And how did you hear about it?”

Hunter didn’t respond, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah… Omega. She was taken I’m assuming?”

Hunter felt a tightness in his check and a catch in his throat but kept his face blank. He didn’t want to think about the time she was taken from him. The many times she was taken. He fought the immediate need to check in with his squad on Pabu, making sure she was still there.

She was safe, she was fine. He repeated it again and again in his head until it took hold.

“So, what happened to the facility” Vos interjected

Hunter shrugged, “partially destroyed,”

“And the scientist?” Ventress asked.

A cloud fell over Hunter’s eyes. “He died.” He said calmly.

***

Hunter sat by the fire. Watching the embers spark and float into the deep forest night. He and Rex hadn’t had time to return to their base before nightfall. The woods weren’t safe to navigate in the dark, although Hunter had been prepared to take the risk.

Vos and Ventress did plan to help them. Rex’s contact had been right about that. Their small network was growing exponentially but it would still take time to locate a safe space for Jax and Sammi.  The kids had been in contact with their families, something Hunter was pleased about, but it hadn’t been safe enough to reunite them yet. He knew how painful that must be for their parents. They were willing to help Rex and Echo locate the families of Eva and Behrn, if possible.

Hunter heard the crack of a tree branch behind him, but didn’t stir. Rex sat down on the log opposite him and smiled.

“Need an extra set of eyes out here?” he asked

“Hm, not really,” Hunter replied, his eyes not leaving the fire, “but you’re welcome to stay.”

“I appreciate you doing this, Hunter. I know this is not where you want to be,”

“Happy to help, Rex. You know that.”

“I do,” Rex said, scratching at the stubble on his chin, “I hate to think the chaos your squad is getting into,” Rex chuckled.

Hunter smiled. He had been trying not to think about it. “I’m sure Crosshair’s keeping them in line,” he said. Rex, raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not Cross. Omega then. If she’s following the rules herself that is.”

He knew she wouldn’t be. That kid had never heard an order and followed it.  He smiled at the thought of Omega’s big brown eyes and floppy blonde hair.

“This work you and Echo are doing. When’s it going to be enough, Rex? You can’t do this forever. There’s only so much time before your luck will run out. Trust me,”

“We’re in it for the long run,” Rex said with a confident smile and Hunter couldn’t help but think back to their first missions together, his unwavering belief and trust that he was on the right track. He admired his friend but feared for him too. If Rex was an optimist, then Hunter was a realist. This was a fight that was not easily won.

For so much of their lives, their decisions, had been made for them. Hunter didn’t know how any clone could want anything other than peace after the madness and misery of war.  

“You think we can trust them?” Hunter asked, nodding to the cave where Ventress and Vos had retreated to.

Rex looked pensive for a moment, like a memory flashed behind his eyes. “Not all Jedi are trustworthy, I’ll give you that. I trust Vos, I have no evidence not to but… Ventress…she’s something different. From the story of your encounter with her and some other things I’ve heard, I like to believe she’s changed…”

“We can’t trust these kids to just anyone.” Hunter said, adamantly. “We can’t let the empire get hold of them again. Who knows what they’d do to them this time.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Rex said firmly. “How are they doing on the Island, anyway?”

Hunter smiled, a wide, serene smile that he didn’t think he was capable of anywhere but Pabu. “Good. Adapting. Omega meditates with them most days. The oldest go to school. They’re being looked after by two neighboring families so we can keep an eye on them. Baryn is walking now although things tend to start flying when he loses his temper. There’s the occasional Jedi stuff with the others too but we have been able to keep it quiet. Contained.”

Rex smiled. “Fatherhood suits you,”

Hunter felt his cheeks get hot and brushed the comment off, “Well, someone’s got to look after them.”

“You did that for Omega too, you know. Do you ever think where she’d be if you hadn’t taken her with you?”

Hunter shook his head, but he had thought about it. She wouldn’t have been chased by bounty hunters, shot at, kidnapped and otherwise threatened. But she could have died on Kamino, or been sent to Tantis earlier.  It didn’t really matter, Hunter thought. She was meant to come with them. She was their family before they even knew it. She chose him before he had an opportunity to choose her. It was a choice he would make every single time.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Rex.” He said finally. “I’ll keep watch. We’ll switch in a few.”

Rex nodded and stepped closer to the treeline, put on his helmet and sat against a tree.

The creatures of this moon were making a strange trilling noise in the trees. The air smelled like wet dirt. The scent had been stuck in his nose for days. He longed for the sweet, salty air of Pabu and the dry heat instead of this wet, cloying environment.

Hunter pulled out his knife and started twirling it between his fingers. There was a time, as a cadet that his fingers would be covered in bandages, as he tried tricks with the blade. These days it was an extension of his hand. It was intuitive, a mindless activity.

It wasn’t long before Hunter sensed her behind him. Her footsteps wouldn’t have been detectable to anyone else, that’s the nature of the Jedi or Sith or whatever she was these days. But Hunter knew, he heard as soon as she stood up in the cave.

She stepped lightly over the log and sat down next to him, a little too close for comfort. Once again, she was trying to make him uncomfortable, and once again he hated that she was succeeding. Her angular face turned towards him. “How is Omega?”, she asked, her drawling voice quieter than usual.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, “curiosity got the best of you?” he asked, turning towards her and managing to put a little space between them at the same time.

“I suppose you could call it that,” she replied, running her long fingers through her chin length hair.

“Well, she hasn’t made anything levitate or explode like some of the other force sensitives I’ve met. Does than satisfy you?”

Ventress looked into the fire, deep in thought. Hunter frowned, watching as the orange flames danced in front of her face, making her eyes look like they were glowing.

“She is…unusual…”

“She’s unique,” Hunter corrected.

Ventress turned to him, eyes narrowed her eyes. “She’s not force sensitive. Why was the empire after her?”

“Why do you care?”

“Call it professional curiosity,” she said sarcastically.

“I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. I don’t know.” Hunter said, lying. He knew Jedi should be able to sense when they were being deceived, he’d seen it in action during the war, but Ventress didn’t press, and he was thankful for it.

They sat in silence for a while. Listening to the strange calls of the creatures in the trees. Hearing the rustling of larger animals in the woods.

Ventress seemed to be comfortable with the silence, but Hunter found it intrusive, much like her presence. He didn’t know why she was here or what she wanted.

“You smell like death,” he said, into the night.

“I bet you’re really popular with the ladies,” she retorted.

Hunter rolled his eyes. It had been bothering him since she had appeared. He had been too fraught when they last met to notice but it was so obvious now.  There was something in the back of his senses, he couldn’t describe it, or see it, but it was there.

“Is it true you can see things through the force?”

Her eyes narrowed, “yes,”

“Like people?”

“All living things are connected through the force. But yes, I can see them, in my mind’s eye”

“Even dead people?” Hunter asked slowly, looking down at the knife he had been casually twirling his hands as he did so.

Ventress sat up straighter and shifted in her seat. This clearly wasn’t where she thought the conversation was going to go when she came out here.

“Yes… occasionally force sensitives can see, hear and even talk to the dead.” She paused; lips pursed as though holding in a question that didn’t want to be contained. “Why are you asking these things?”

Hunter ran his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t matter,” he said, suddenly feeling foolish. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. Why would he bring it up with this woman of all people? He hadn’t even brought this up to his family. Was that why he had been so interested in leaving Pabu? Was the stress of keeping this secret from them easier at a distance?

Ventress was staring at him intently, unwilling to let her question go. “Should I have tested you instead of Omega?”

Hunter scoffed, “I’m no Jedi,” he said, amusement in his voice.

Ventress narrowed her eyes at him again. “Stand up,” she barked, snatching the blade out of his hands. “Over there,” she gestured a few meters away. Normally, a former Sith assassin stealing his knife would set off alarm bells, but Hunter didn’t feel threatened. Without thinking he followed her directions.

“Close your eyes,” she said in the same tone, “I’m going to throw your knife. Try and catch it”

“I am not force sensitive,” he said exacerbated, “The Kaminoan’s enhanced my senses.”

“And what do you think force sensitivity is?” she asked, dryly. “Now close your eyes,”

Hunter huffed. He thought of the look on Crosshair’s face when he told him he willingly let Ventress throw a knife at him, smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

He felt his senses start to tingle, as though they were reaching out to try and find the knife. He heard Ventress pull the blade back to her ear.  As she released the knife it made a schwing sound though the air. He heard it as if came closer, second by second until his hand shot out, involuntarily, and the hilt fell into his palm.

Ventress crossed her arms looking smug, but Hunter just shook his head.

“I’ve been catching knives and everything else by brothers could throw at me since I was a cadet. This doesn’t mean anything,”

“It means I should test you further”

“Ventress,” it was the first time he had used her name, in the same tone he would use Crosshair’s or Phee’s, and it took him aback. He cleared his throat and started again, “I was just asking because…”

“You can sense dead people.”

“Just the one, my brother. But yes,”

“Well, technically two. You sensed me as well, remember? There were three people in this galaxy who knew I died. There is no way you would have known, unless you sensed it. You have no way of knowing how the Kaminoans enhanced your particular skills. They had access to Jedi. Perhaps you were supposed to be force sensitive.”

“But I’m not.”

“That remains to be seen. I can’t sense your brother in the force right now. Perhaps he’s not around but I can sense you. You look different in the force than your friend,” she nodded to Rex, sleeping slumped against a tree. How he was sleeping through this conversation Hunter didn’t know. “All clones are unique in the force, but even Omega didn’t look like this. Perhaps you find these force sensitive children, protect them, because you can sense them through the force.”

“Does it matter? It just matters that they’re safe,” He replied. He had thousands of thoughts jumping through his mind. He was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. He wished Rex would wake up and Ventress would leave.

Ventress shrugged, “it doesn’t matter to me, beyond mild curiosity. But the force works in mysterious ways, and it sent you here for a reason, perhaps it was to discover this information.”

Her words hung in the air. Hunter didn’t know how to respond. Had no way to respond. He was different by design; they all were, but could it be possible? Did he want it to be possible? He needed to talk to Tech, ask him what he thought. But that was easier said than done. The silence hung there.

He hastily changed the subject. “This path you’ve created. How safe is it?”

“As safe as anything now days.” She replied cooly. She paused and looked intently at his face, as though trying to read his mind.

“So, not safe at all,” he said, more to himself than her.

“Your children will be protected by Quinlan and myself. It doesn’t get much safer than that,”

“They’re not my children,” he insisted. Although they might as well be.

“You could help, you know. Your skills would be useful.  I could continue to test you. Perhaps between the Quinlan and I, we could give you some answers.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “I’m retired,”

“And I’m dead, yet here we are. Think of all those children and survivors who need help, just like Omega. You could do a lot of good.”

“I’ve got my own family to look after.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked pointedly.

Hunter paused. The light of fire was dimming now, the embers fading from bright red and orange to cool yellow amid the tangle of twigs and leaves. He had thought of little else but returning to Pabu during his time with Rex, usually in the quiet moments. But when on the island he struggled to find purpose. When you have been going night and day since you were born, slowing down was a strange sensation. But the longer he was away, the more he thought it was something he could learn to be satisfied with.

“Hmm.” Ventress cooed “well, if Island life ever gets too dull, I’m sure you can track us down,”

She stood up and sauntered back to the cave. Hunter sat bemused for a moment, staring out into the darkness of the forest. He really needed to get back home.

***

Hunter was at the ramp before the ship had even landed. The heat of Pabu hit him as soon as the ramp started to lower. The sweet, ubiquitous scent of blossom from the weeping maya tree, cooking smells from the market and salty air of the surrounding sea signaled that he was finally home.

Omega ran at him as soon as he hit the stone top of Pabu. He kneeled to hug her and then stood so her short legs dangled. She giggled and hugged his neck tighter, burying her cheek into chest. She had grown since he had left. Her hair was longer down her back, her bangs stretched to fit tightly into the braid.

“Huntah, we missed you,” she said with a beaming smile.

His brothers, Crosshair and Wrecker both came forward. Wrecker giving him his usual, spine crushing hug and Crosshair, a slap on the shoulder.

“Managed to stay alive then?” Crosshair said with a smirk.

“Yeah, despite Ventress’ best efforts,” Omega, Crosshair and Wrecker exchanged confused looked and exploded with questions at once.

“We can talk about it when we get home,” Hunter said with a smile.

They walked back to their little house. After some time in the refresher, Hunter, clean for what felt like the first time since he left, joined his family at the table on the patio.

Wrecker had created a feast. The table heaved under plates of fish, cooked meat from the market, fruits and vegetables and a sweet dessert that Omega had decorated with flowers.

“So, was the mission a success?” Wrecker asked as Hunter took the seat opposite.

“Yeah, you could say that. We found the target. Two for the price of one it turns out. They’re going to help the kids find their families find a safe place…”

“And where does Ventress fit in,” Crosshair asked cooly “I knew I should have gone with you,”

“She and Vos are an item. They may have been together before we met her last,”

“And why are you alive despite her best efforts?” Crosshair continued.

Hunter knew his brother wouldn’t let that comment go. He paused and took a sip of his wine. The liquid was sweet with a bitter, rich aftertaste. “ I let her throw my knife at me while my eyes were closed,”

“YOU DID WHAT?” Crosshair, Wrecker and Omega all shouted in unison. Batcher started underneath the table at the noise, shook head so her collar tinkled and laid back down on the warm stone patio.

Hunter chuckled and gazed out over Pabu’s harbor. He felt a familiar prickling at the edge of his senses and closed his eyes to see Tech in his mind’s eye.

He smiled at his fallen brother.  He supposed now as was good a time as any. He nodded to the empty chair they always kept for him at the family table, and sensed Tech slide into it. There was a slight scraping noise on the stone, but he was the only one to notice. Omega, Crosshair and Wrecker looked at him quizzically.

Hunter sighed, put down his glass and faced his family. “I have a lot to tell you.”

[atlabeth]

between colleagues - anthony lockwood

part 2

summary: besides, what's a bit of fake dating between colleagues anyway?

a/n: i have missed him!!! there is just something so fun about writing for l&co and anthony specifically i truly love their world and i love him!! this was originally going to be the entire thing in one fic but i decided to post this on its own and test the waters with you all because i am TIREd of writing long fics. free me from my prison. this is literally my third fake-dating fic bc i never get tired of the trope but lmk if you want to see more

wc: 3.1k

warning(s): fem!reader, mentions of: canon typical job stuff, a child dying (mentioned in passing. literally half a line), and a good ol fashioned breakdown. but this is almost completely fluff bc that's all in the background

You groaned as Lockwood pushed the door open, working through the knot in your shoulder while you all walked inside. You tossed your rapier into the umbrella stand, not even bothered by the clatter, and began unbuckling your belt. 

Winter was the worst season for ghost hunting. As if it weren’t already freezing enough dealing with Visitors and their effects, your most recent job was almost fully outside. You considered it a miracle hypothermia didn’t get you before any sort of ghost-touch.

“What are you groaning about?” Lockwood asked, glancing back at you. “I think tonight went rather well.” 

He’d removed his jacket, and his white undershirt was dirt-stained and damp with sweat. Though he looked unaffected as ever on the surface, the quickened rise and fall of his chest said, in his own way, he was just as exhausted as the rest of you. You raised an eyebrow, but Lucy beat you to the punch. 

“You think every night goes well if we come back alive,” she said wryly. 

“It’s not the best measurement,” George added. He tilted the iron charm over the door back into place then set his bag on the floor. “Tonight was rough, Lockwood. Even by your ridiculous terms.” 

Lockwood looked at you. “Anything you care to add?” 

You grimaced as you rubbed your shoulder. “I’m never breaking down a door for you like this again.” 

You did feel a bit like an action hero in the moment, but you regretted it soon after. Even more so when it didn’t even matter in the scheme of things—the source ended up being buried by the locked shed, not in the shed itself. At least you were now last in the rotation of opening suspicious doors. 

“You offered to,” Lockwood defended.  

“Because you said you would handle all the supply calls for the next week,” you said dryly. “And it looks like that may need to happen soon.” You held up your belt—once packed with salt bombs and magnesium flares, you’d emptied it completely trying to save all your lives. It was a sad sight. 

He frowned. “Even the flares?” 

“Even the flares,” you said. 

“I’m all out of them too,” George said. “Surprised we didn’t start a full-on forest fire in the backyard.” 

“I thought those would last longer.” Lockwood’s frown deepened. “They were quite expensive.” 

“At least we got paid a fair bit,” Lucy said. “And we did indeed get away with our lives.” 

“Barely,” George grumbled, kicking off his boots. He tossed his rapier haphazardly to the side, not even bothering to deposit it into your umbrella stand, and dropped his belt on the ground, still boasting a whole two remaining salt bombs. Your lip curled at the trail of chaos. “I’m going to bed. No one bother me for at least fifteen hours.” 

Lucy smiled, shaking her head as he walked off. “Dramatic, but he’s got the right idea. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” 

“See you, Luce,” Lockwood said. 

“I’ll be quiet when I come in,” you assured, and she gave an appreciative nod. Lucy dropped a stack of envelopes on the kitchen table before she went upstairs—it was her job to pick up the mail, and you were honestly surprised she remembered after all this. 

“You’re not mad at me,” Lockwood said, glancing at you as he went over to pick up the mail, “are you?” 

“No,” you sighed, and you flopped onto the couch, “just dramatic. More so than George tonight.” 

He chuckled and leaned against the counter, making deft work of the envelopes as he sorted them into piles. One for the never-ending junkmail that graced your door, and four others for each of you. “Good. I can never handle you being mad at me.” 

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared up at the ceiling. “You’re off the hook this time, so don’t worry.” 

“And I appreciate your mercy immensely,” he said. Another glance over at you. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you don’t want to turn in?”

You shook your head. “Our post-job detox is the most important part of all this. I can hold out for another hour.”

It was hardly a detox, but it had grown to become a necessity for you and Lockwood, sitting together and talking through everything in the wee hours of the night. 

One extremely tough case left you reeling harder than usual—children always got to you, and the girl’s death was particularly grisly—and apparently, Lockwood could tell. 

It took a couple days of gentle prodding, but one night, after being completely out of it in the archives with him that day, you broke—completely. Full on sobbing. Wholly embarrassing to do so in front of your boss, especially when he, George, and Lucy didn’t seem half as affected by it all. 

It turned out he was just better at covering it all up—Lockwood understood it all a lot better than you thought. He just sat with you in the living room and talked with you, talked you through it. There was a lot of crying, a fair bit of permanently swearing off ghost-hunting, and more than a bit of hatred against the entirety of the United Kingdom. 

By the end of it, though, after you’d cried yourself into a headache, gone through a quarter of a box of tissues, and actually worked out your problems with Lockwood’s help, you felt far better. 

Lockwood thereby forbade you from holding in your feelings until they burst, and so it became a routine—it was cheaper than therapy, and most therapists, save for the few former agents working in the field, couldn’t understand it anyways. You usually slumped on the couch, Lockwood usually leaning against the counter. Sometimes with tea, often with tears, always with slightly morbid jokes. 

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” Lockwood asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“It’ll heal,” you said. “It’s mostly just sore. I’ll stay away from my rapier for a few days, sleep on my other side for once, and everything’ll be fine.” 

“Good.” The ruffling of paper stopped for a moment, and his voice was slightly sheepish when he spoke again. “Are you still up for that meeting with the Caldecotts tomorrow, then?” 

You groaned and screwed your eyes shut. “Lockwood, it is three in the bloody morning. You scheduled the Caldecotts for eleven.” 

“I didn’t know that this job would go on for so long!” he defended. “The last few have all wrapped up before midnight. It’s not my fault this Visitor was particularly elusive.” 

“I am drenched in sweat, Lockwood,” you said. “Half of my coat is burnt from plasm and the other half is frozen solid. There is still dirt under my fingernails, my boots are covered in spiderwebs, and I haven’t slept in twenty-three hours. And you want me to be ready to deal with Lorena Caldecott, the most annoying woman I think I have ever met, in eight measly hours?” 

“Yes,” he said brightly. That just got another groan out of you. 

“They made you in a lab, Anthony Lockwood,” you mumbled. “That’s the only explanation for how you’re still going.” 

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll phone them first thing tomorrow morning—well, later this morning, I suppose—and see if I can push it back another day.” 

“And if not, you’re doing this on your own,” you said, finally opening your eyes again to see him walking over. He handed you your stack of mail—hardly a stack, really, only consisting of four envelopes—and smiled, irritatingly pretty even with smudges of dirt on his face. There was a reason he got away with so much, and that smile was half of it. 

Lockwood said your name cloyingly. “Come on. You know I do interviews best when we’re together. You keep me on track.” 

“I knocked down a door for you, Lockwood!” you proclaimed. “Is that not enough to get me out of this?” 

“I took the supply calls,” he said, “and I’m pushing back the meeting. We’re even now.” 

“Fine,” you said, extremely grudgingly. “But you’re getting them to push it back at least until tomorrow, because once my head hits the pillow, I don’t think I’ll be up for at least twenty-four hours.” 

“Promise,” he said with a nod. 

You sighed, finally righting yourself so you could look at your mail, and glanced up at Lockwood as you picked them up. “You get anything interesting?”

He shook his head. “Unless you consider a letter from Fittes begging me to buy the newest edition of their manual interesting.”

You hummed and looked back down at yours. You slipped your finger under the seal and tore it open, chuckling a bit when you took it out.

“How about you?” Lockwood asked.

“25% off my next Dorothy Perkins purchase,” you said, holding the coupon up. “Very thrilling.”

“Incredibly so,” he nodded. “When’s the last time you even got something from there?” 

You huffed a laugh as you worked open the next envelope. “I bought a dress for my cousin’s graduation last year. Haven’t worn it since.”

“So doubly thrilling,” he said. 

You’d opened your mouth to shoot back, but instead you frowned as you pulled an embossed card out. You skimmed through it quickly enough but got the meaning all the same. 

“Huh,” you said. “My cousin is getting married.” 

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. “Dorothy Perkins cousin?”

You shook your head, still frowning. “No. Maternal aunt’s son. Dorothy Perkins was paternal aunt’s son.”

“Ah,” he said dryly, “how could I have made such a mistake?”

You didn’t even have the energy to retort back as you stared at the letter. “I suppose I’ll need to pull out that dress again. It’s an invite.”

“Congratulations,” Lockwood said. “Are you going to need time off?”

“I don’t even know if I should go,” you mumbled, leaning your head against the side of the couch. 

“Why wouldn’t you go?” he asked with a frown. 

“Because I haven’t seen my family in a while,” you said, “and I haven’t seen this side of the family in an even longer while.” 

Lockwood shrugged. “Then it’ll be a nice reunion.” 

“Lockwood,” you said, “I’ve lied to them.”

“…Okay,” he said slowly. “About what?”

You winced. “They think I have a boyfriend.” 

He still seemed lost. “Strange thing to lie about.”

“You don’t understand.” You sat up, putting the letter to the side. “My family’s from Liverpool, right? We’re all so busy that we never really have time to meet up, but I make it a point to call my mother a few times a month so she knows I’m still alive.” 

Lockwood nodded. “Yeah, I know. You usually call her after every rough case.” 

“Right. Because my mum hates my career,” you said. “I thought she was going to have a heart attack when I told her I’d scored my first job with Tendy’s. I thought she would actually pass away when I told her I quit Tendy’s for you.” You glanced at Lockwood. “She thinks you’re a lunatic, by the way.” 

He shrugged. “Many do.” 

You smiled and shook your head. “She hates that I’m an agent, but so long as I stay alive, she says she can deal with it. But she has a rule on our calls that I can’t talk about our jobs—says they give her nightmares. So instead, she talks about every facet of my personal life.” 

Lockwood’s eyes finally flashed with understanding and he nodded. “Hence the boyfriend lie?” 

“Hence the boyfriend lie,” you echoed. “She will not stop bothering me about it—apparently the dating life of her daughter is more important than anything else. So on our last call, I just lied and told her I had one to get her off of my back.”

Lockwood actually had the nerve to laugh. “And how did that work out for you?”

“It worked fine,” you said, “and it was going to continue to be fine. But then Will had to go out and get engaged, the dolt.”

“So just go on your own,” he suggested. 

“I can’t show up alone,” you grumbled. “Not only would it be completely embarrassing, but the questions would start up all over again.” 

“Then don’t go.” 

“I can’t not go!” you exclaimed. “Will’s a lovely cousin.” 

“You just called him a dolt,” Lockwood said. 

“I call you a dolt all the time,” you said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like you.” 

Lockwood chuckled and shook his head, and that was when an idea came to you. There was a slight furrow in his brow when he glanced back at you. 

“I don’t like that look.” 

“Come to the wedding with me,” you said suddenly. 

Lockwood’s expression sobered even further. “You can’t be serious.” 

“It’s the perfect solution!” you exclaimed, moving to the edge of the couch as you clasped your hands together. 

“You want me to be your pretend boyfriend,” he deadpanned. When you nodded, he shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” you asked. “You’re quite possibly the best candidate for it all. We’re best friends, we know each other well— God, I’ve talked about you enough in general to my mum that she won’t even be surprised that it ended up being you.” 

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. “Won’t they look down on you dating your boss?” 

“You’re hardly my boss,” you said. 

“I pay your salary,” he said. “You live in my house. My name is on the door.” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” you said. “Besides, you owe me after tonight!” 

He frowned. “We just agreed that we were even.” 

“Well, I lied,” you said. “My shoulder is in excruciating pain from knocking that door down, and the only way for it to heal is for you to pretend to be my boyfriend.” 

He gave you a wry look and said your name. “Come on. This is an awful idea.” 

“It’s a brilliant idea,” you said. “You get a chance to dress up and charm an entire family—you live for that sort of stuff, Lockwood. I finally get my family off my back with some actual proof and I actually get a break for once.” 

You saw the uncertainty on his face and you huffed. “Don’t give me that look. This is the exact sort of plan you’d come up with and try to force on me if it meant we’d get a hand up.” 

“I know,” he said grudgingly, “that’s why I don’t like it. It’s dangerous when you start learning my tricks.” 

“Please, Lockwood,” you begged. “I’ll do all your chores for the rest of the month. I’ll shake Lorena Caldecott’s hand with a smile on my face.”

“That is tempting,” he said wryly. “I can never fold my dress shirts the way you do.”

“Wrinkle-free dress shirts,” you said with a gesture. “And— and, I will cash in my favor with Arif. Discounted doughnuts for the next three months.”

Lockwood’s eyes widened. “You’ve got favors with Arif?”

You shrugged. “I helped him out a couple times with ghost things.”

He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “You really are something.”

“Discounted doughnuts, Lockwood,” you continued. “Discounted doughnuts and wrinkle-free shirts and my best behavior for the Caldecotts, no matter how sleep-deprived I am.”

“…This really means a lot to you,” Lockwood said after a moment, “doesn’t it.”

You nodded. “My family— my mum—will never lay off if I show up alone. If you’re on my arm, you talk a bit about yourself and compliment me a few times and charm them with literal ghost stories, then I’m off the hook for good.”

Lockwood pursed his lips, his arms folded across his chest as he thought it through. 

“Please,” you said. “It’ll just be one night.”

After another moment, he let out a sigh almost as dramatic as your earlier ones, but his lips quirked up at the corners.

“Fine,” Lockwood said. “I’ll go with you.” 

Your eyes widened. “You will?” 

“Yes,” he said with a laugh. “It— it’ll be fine—you’re right. We’ve been living together for the past year and a half—we know each other well enough to sell it. And with half the agency going out for it, I can write off any hotels or dinners as business expenses.” 

That got a laugh out of you too, and you shook your head. “You are my savior, Lockwood. Truly.” 

“Just means we’re back in your court on favors,” he joked. “And you know what? I think this could actually be fun.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” he nodded. “Besides,” Lockwood smiled wryly at you as he stood up from his spot against the counter, “what’s a bit of fake dating between colleagues anyway?”

You huffed a laugh and finally managed to pull yourself back up into a sitting position. You cracked your neck and rubbed your shoulder, grimacing a bit at the soreness but thankful that it wasn’t worse. “Can we work out the rest of the details later? I’m exhausted, and I know you’ve got to be running on fumes.” 

His smile softened and he nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Later today, I suppose.” He frowned as he looked at the clock. “God. It really is late.” 

You hummed in agreement as you unlaced your boots, trying your best to avoid the spiderwebs when you took them off. That was your number one question about the Problem—why the hell did spiders have to gravitate towards ghosts? 

“Get some sleep, Lockwood,” you said, setting your boots with everyone else’s shoes. That mess was an issue for another day. “You’ve got to be refreshed—those supply calls aren’t going to make themselves.” 

Lockwood rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t completely bite back his smile. “Best behavior for the Caldecotts, love.” 

“And nothing less!” you exclaimed without turning around, pointing in the air as you continued up the stairs. You heard Lockwood laugh behind you, and the sound brought out a smile of your own. 

It was now nearly four in the bloody morning. Your shoulder still ached, your coat was beyond repair, and you would have to scrub beneath your nails for at least ten minutes before you settled in tonight. But somehow, Lockwood still had you smiling and feeling better about the whole experience. 

For god’s sake, you fought ghosts on a daily basis. You’d been training with a rapier since the tender age of eight. Your skills rivaled some of Fittes’ and Rotwell’s best—who cared what your family had to say about you? 

You were right. This wedding would be a piece of cake with Anthony Lockwood by your side.

[mclalan]

A small estate map of Northeast Wolderness, a wapentake within the County of Humbershire.

Pentascarth Peaks

River Wyn

Bridburn Orchard

Bridburn Abbey

Firley Village

Grinholm Mill

Skunlington Town

Skunlington Castle

Pentascarth Peaks

Pentascarth Peaks is an ancient evergreen woodland that once dominated Wolderness, but centuries of agricultural expansion have driven it back to the five hilltop peaks. Some say that Wyrms slumber within each of the five peaks, while others more accurately claim that the peaks mark the boundary of the Wolderness wapentake.

Both Bridburn Abbey and Skunlington Minster claim rights to the forest, leading to obvious land disputes. But while mortals argue over who owns what, the woods remain home to forgotten, ancient goddesses— though the monastics seem to agree on this being just superstition.

River Wyn

Leading down from Pentascarth Peaks is the River Wyn, cutting through Humbershire on its journey east to the Lyre Estuary. The Wyn boasts giant crabs with some allegedly growing to a formidable fifteen feet. But if you're tempted to go crabbing, beware of the water spirit Catharine Wart, who drags unsuspecting victims beneath the Wyn's currents.

Bidburn Orchard

Nestled within an oxbow is Bridburn Abbey's apple orchard. The monks began with the principle of ora et labora, or 'pray and labour,' but if it also produces apples so delicious and plentiful that kings from across the seas are willing to pay a pretty sum for them, then who are the Valynites to say no? Whether it's Wyn's blessed waters or the lay brothers' tireless work, the orchard certainly hasn't hindered the abbey's rise to fame and fortune. Just don’t get caught scrumping from it, or the monks will have your hand off.

Bridburn Abbey

Bridburn Abbey houses the Valynite Order, which seems more preoccupied with power and business than strictly worship. With extensive landholdings and significant influence in the region, the abbey functions as the principal rural manor of Wolderness. As a result, it has become the largest and wealthiest abbey in all of Humbershire. But beyond just collecting tithes from the surrounding peasants, the monks are skilled in land management, particularly in assarting the land of trees and marshes.

Firley Village

Firley Village, named after the fir trees that once grew in the area, is an agricultural settlement situated on the glebe of Bridburn Abbey.

A large plot of common land lies to the west of the village, while smaller plots are located south on the opposite bank of the River Wyn. While the villagers grow a rotation of barley and vegetables, they're best known for they're prized oxblood-coloured sheep, whose wool appears black but shines red when catching the light. You'd think the village would grow fat from the wealth of this highly sought-after wool, but as the village falls under the manorial holding of the abbey, it is the abbey that reaps the wealth.

Grinholm Mill

Grinholm Mill, a growing hamlet owned by the Rolleston family, offers a much more reasonable miller's toll compared to the one up by Bridburn Abbey. They've become quite popular amongst the peasants of Wolderness, (well at least by miller standards), as well as wealthy. Although they pay their tithe to the abbey like everyone else on this side of the river, they are perceived to have undermined the abbey’s milling soke monopoly—much to the abbey displeasure.

Skunlington Town

Skunlington is a prominent market town, both wealthy and influential, with a history that stretches back to the First Age. It's located behind a small range of hills that shield it from harsh weather and provides a natural defence, with an added Royal Castle on the highest peak for good measure.

The castle is about the only Royal influence in the town however, as Skunlington holds charters that grant it a degree of autonomy from the Crown. The town is governed by a council of Merchant Guild Aldermen in coalition with the Provost of Skunlington Minster. But despite this apparent independence, the town is practically in the pocket of the Archbishop of Humberthorpe, the capital city of Humbershire.

South of Bridburn Abbey, across the River Wyn, lies the land controlled by Skunlington Minster’s estate (marked in purple on the map). The large tract of empty land between Skunlington and Bridburn Abbey is an ongoing contention, as both estates claim it for their own. The bickering has gone on so long that the land has turned fallow. But the biggest source of contention is how Skunlington controls the river toll for use of its docks, with particularly extortionate prices for Bridburn Abbey. Rumour has it that Bridburn Abbey might just build a whole new town of its own, south of Skunlington, just to avoid paying this toll!

Skunlington Castle was strategically built in the First Age atop the highest hill on Pen-y-Skun for its vantage point overlooking the whole of North Wolderness Dale—crucial in the Woodsy War against the pagans. However, these days it’s the Crown's administrative center for Wolderness, run by the Under-Sheriff. Here, secular law is enforced, tasks such as collecting taxes for the Crown, raising levies, chopping off heads, that sort of thing. There’s a lot of overlap with the ecclesiastical courts however, sometimes resulting in collaboration and other times in clashes.

Skunlington Castle

But it’s not all work. The castle also serves as the hub for the gentry afterall, and they're not exactly know for their hard work. So the castle hosts games, jousts, fairs, that sort of thing, and a bed for when the King comes to visit.

[erisenyo]

Anon do I ever remember. A follow up to Part 1, here. I recommend viewing the St. Sebastian Sculpture here for the full Vibe lol

NSFW ahead - Zutara, bloodbending, D/s vibes, consensual but not sane or safe, I think we can see where this is going, handwaving anatomy and why Katara would know the latin names for things

The next time it happens, it’s not Katara who puts him on his knees.

She’s already hot with annoyance as she tromps through the forest, irritated to even be chasing after Zuko in the first place when he was just supposed to be foraging, irritated that no one else seems particularly concerned with his whereabouts, irritated that she couldn’t even lose herself in the familiar motions of laundry, the rhythms of pressure and rushing water and pulsing agitation abruptly no longer soothing to sink herself into when all she can seem to think about is—

“Fuck!” A man—broad but lean, clothes rough except for a very fine vest, mismatched swords at his waist, definitely a bandit then—shouts as he and Katara burst into a clearing at the same time.

“Another one?” another man grunts as he steps out of the tree line, eyes assessing as he unloops a coil of rope from his shoulder.

“We don’t have time for this,” a third bandit scowls, a familiar sack in her hand. “Let’s make quick work of this one, too.”

“I’ll show you quick,” Katara growls, staring at the bag she would know backward and forward with how many times she’s mended it, her waterbending surging out as her anger suddenly finds a target.

She rips water from the nearby stream, from the inexplicably soaked clothing all bandits are wearing. She barely touches what’s contained in her waterskin, and it’s only after all three of them are unconscious, her bag back in hand, that Katara considers that ‘another one’ means she wasn’t the first.

Katara hesitates, eyeing the rope still tangled in a lasso in the second bandit’s grip. Her adrenaline is still roiling through her, her bending pulsing water-ice-water-ice as she tries to regain her composure. This bag unquestionably went out with Zuko. She could go back to get the others, Toph’s seismic sense would be helpful.

But she’s been watching Sokka narrate his tracking for years. And Zuko probably just followed the shoreline. She doesn’t need Toph. Besides, what if the bandits wake up and go back for Zuko? What if he’s unconscious, or hurt? Or tied up somewhere, awake and waiting and—

When Katara finds him, he isn’t unconscious. She hears his tight, harsh grunt before she sees him. 

But he is undeniably roughed up, already-worn clothing ripped and even more wet than the bandits were, like maybe he got jumped in the stream, which maybe he did if he couldn’t bend his way out of the fight. Maybe he even was unconscious at some point, to end up tied up like that. She doesn’t know how else they would have gotten him on his knees with the broad tree flush against his back like that, the trunk between his shins and rope looped around his waist and the strain of his shoulders and arch of his back saying his hands are tied behind the tree, too.

He probably can’t bend without burning himself, she contemplates as she watches, feeling oddly, clinically abstracted. But he’s clearly trying to change that fact with the way he’s squirming, coming up off his knees as he strains forward, cords of muscle and tendon stark—triceps brachii, her mind helpfully supplies, brachioradialis, extensor carpi radialis longus, and the rotator cuff must be screaming—his body suspended against the rope with effort and face twisted into a furious scowl that spasms as he collapses heavily to his knees again.

“You’re hurt?” Katara doesn’t think as she steps out of the tree line, Zuko’s head jerking up in alarm.

“Katara! There are bandi—”

“I took care of them,” she interrupts, her chi feeling oddly shivery with readiness as she reaches for the flow of the stream, just in case.

Zuko stares, chest heaving. “All of them?” he finally asks, the words hoarser than usual as his gaze hunts between her and the trees.

She dangles the bag in demonstration, like it was easy. “Three? I took care of it.”

Another beat of staring. Then Zuko exhales, sharp and unsteady, and slowly leans back again. Not settling, though, she notes in that distant way. Not with the way his body stays tight and coiled, his chest still fast as if with urgency.

Katara can hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding with adrenaline, the tugging awareness of her own blood.

“You’re hurt?” she asks again, glancing over him for injury. It’s easy enough to look for. His tunic has been ripped through to the collar on one side, falling half off his chest and barely hanging on the other. His pants are in equally rough shape, like someone grabbed fistfuls of them to try to contain him, or maybe to drag him to this tree.

That would have been humiliating for someone to put him on his knees that way, she considers as something not-at-all-abstractly lurches inside her, in her bending.

“Katar—”

“What happened,” she interrupts, coming to a stop standing over him. He likes to be there, she remembers like it’s something she needs to recall. He likes to be put there.

“It’s not—”

“Tell me.”

Zuko cuts his eyes away, panting harshly, swallowing hard. Then he licks his lips—stress response, that voice like Yugoda’s whispers, which can presage fear, fight, or arou—and glances up at her from beneath his lashes, lips pressed together and the air suddenly thick with awareness, thick enough that she can barely breathe it, that she almost feels like she could bend it as a single shiver runs through him before he tightly controls it.

“You’re covered in water, Zuko,” she says low, like it’s an observation, and Zuko makes a tight, thin noise in the back of his throat and tells her.

She imagines it, how it must have unfolded. The three bandits seeing Zuko vulnerable and exposed that way, knee-deep in the river and poking at the reeds. The coordinated rush to take him down. The struggle and strain for mastery, the water suffocating and impeding them all so that it took three of them to pin him down and contain him, apparently.

Her bending slides syrupy and thick through her veins, her chi, with the memory of having done that to him, too. He’d folded at the first press. Gone limp. Gave in to whatever she wanted to do to him. “You fought it.”

Zuko swallows hard and tilts his chin. Defiance, or brazening through the obvious blush of embarrassment. “Yeah.” He likes that, too, and Katara can’t even pretend at having to remember that. Not when the knowledge has had her off-kilter and sharp-tongued with him ever since she realized.

She can see the pulse in the hollow of his neck, like this. And the way his lips part, his eyes dark. He knows that she knows, and neither of them can pretend otherwise, even if she hasn’t wanted to admit it, acknowledge it, look at it in anything other than the thick, sticky dark of night.

Katara wants to wrap her bending into the stream, wants to make it a raging rush to match the feeling inside her, wants to feel the pressure of it rising to match— “You’re injured?” she asks thickly.

Zuko’s eyes immediately cut away. “It’s fine.”

“Where.” He can’t hunch forward over himself or pull his knees up, this time, even if she let him.

“It’s nothing.”

“Where.” Not with the rope around him.

“It doesn’t matt—”

“You think I can’t find out myself?” she snaps, her bending rolling out to cling to the water still in his clothes, pressing, making him feel the pressure of the water on him, all around him.

She breathes hard as he gasps and sags, squeezing until the droplets are on the verge of snapping to ice and her waterbending to something sharp and jagged and tight, squeezing until a familiar whine chokes out of him. Then sucks in air and forces her chi to ebb, waiting with a throbbing kind of adrenaline-anticipation—the adrenaline of the stress response, which can presage—for Zuko to pry his eyes back open.

“Do you think you can?” he rasps, body tight again, and Katara doesn’t need the memory of his tone from to hear the invitation in it now.

She curls her hands into fists, looking at the way his tunic is barely clinging to his shoulder. And looking at the taut way he’s holding himself, watching her sidelong, the shiver of his stomach entirely visible.

Then she grips the water in his tunic again and jerks it to her, sharp. Zuko lets out a ragged noise as the last seams rip from the force, Katara watching the now-dry fabric slithering down to catch on the rope. She reflexively forms the water into a small ball, slowly pressing her bending into that instead, distantly aware as her chi flexes and throbs that she can only build the pressure for so long before it needs release.

“Your back?” she asks, trying to focus on the rhythm of her waterbending and not the sharp-edged pulse calling to her.

Zuko’s shoulders flex like he’s twisting his hands against their bindings, his bare stomach pressing against the rope with the force of his breaths, over and over. “You can’t find out yourself?”

Katara feels heady from the beat of her own pulse. Then she exhales hard and swirls the globe of water into a ribbon over his arms, feeling the smooth slide of water over skin skin skin rope there and slicing it up frozen and serrated through the ropes binding his wrists.

She throws the still pressure-tight water aside as Zuko falls forward with a surprised cry, his weight catching on the rope still around his waist—and the bare line of his back exposed to show bark-scuffed skin and a few bruises, but nothing more than what they’ve all had from training.

Katara flexes thighs, her stomach, feels how strongly she’s braced as she looks down at him half-bent over before her. “I can find out whatever I want.”

Zuko breathes heavily a moment, sagged forward, his scapula shifting as he tests the movement of his shoulders. “Yeah?” he finally says, leaning back against the tree again, still kneeling up as if he has to. It’s not much of a response. But he’s bared to the waist now, no real injuries to be seen, and Katara feels like she’s looking down over the edge of a cliff as he licks his lips again, watching her back, feels like she’s jumping and momentarily weightless above the water as she lets her bending surge out for those droplets of water again and yanks.

The sound of cloth and seams tearing is loud, but not as loud as Zuko. A raw noise chokes in his throat ass his pants flutter down to leave him in just the rope around his waist and a wet, transparent fundoshi that does nothing to hide the shape of him—ateriolar dilation and increased blood flow to the erectile tissue—or the puncture wounds sluggishly bleeding down his thigh.

“Rocks?” Katara says unevenly as the sharp claws of her bloodbending twist through her chi. There was an earthbender in that bunch, nothing compared to sparring with Toph. The punctures are on the front of his thigh like he got hit with projectiles, a few inches below where his—his penis is tangled in the wet fabric, halfway erect and twisted to the side.

It looks uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Zuko says thickly.

She doesn’t think he cares.

“I’m going to need to flush out any debris, before healing.” She barely recognizes her own voice, or the heavy throb of her bending as she forcefully pushes back the hungry tug of bloodbending.

“Yeah,” Zuko says unsteadily, swallowing hard, his bare body betraying the flush working down his chest, the flex of his hips—abductor muscles contracting, she forces herself to note, and—and—and the twitch of his penis. “For healing.”

Katara doesn’t say it back again, isn’t sure she could. She just takes a moment to try to control her own wild pulse, crouching down and separating the strands of water and healing and blood that have never been so tangled before. 

Then she flushes the first wound with water.  A careful, controlled stream rather than a fast, hard rush. Feeling the pressure as the water slips into him, just a bit, the wounds aren’t that deep really.

Seeing his reflexive jerk against the intrusion and pain, and she can fix her gaze on the first puncture, can assess it and let her bending stream out again, just to be thorough. But it’s impossible not to also see the shove of his hips into it, with the wounds so close to his groin. Impossible not to also note the pull of wet fabric, the further displacement, the cloth tugged even more off-center. Sliding half-off the scrotum, the twisted fabric still pressing the hardening shaft downward but if he squirms enough then maybe it will drag entirely—

“Be still,” Katara warns as she pulls her water abruptly back, breathing far harder than the bending warrants.

Zuko makes a high, tight noise and slumps back, eyes closed, gasping and nodding even as his hips continue to work against the air.

Spinal reflex in response to stimuli, she thinks even as she orders, “Still.”

She doesn’t wait for an invitation this time, knows she already has one as she lashes out with bloodbending this time, seizing veins and arteries and pressing him motionless. Zuko moans, head kicking back, and she can feel the way his hips try to buck and then again when he realizes he can’t. Another of those moans slips out, loud like he’s taking advantage of having his mouth free, or maybe is trying to goad her, but she’s too focused on following the rush of his blood, celiac trunk to internal and external iliac, tibial to femoral, feeling where the blood is slipping out of him but also where it’s flushing the surface of his skin, filling his penis, pathways dilating and pulse throbbing and she can feel the beat in her own veins, too.

Katara jerks her bloodbending back into her own skin and calls up the torrent of her waterbending. She breathes hard from the effort of fighting the hungry tug, gasping at the dizzying feel of that clawing edge along her water, like its trying to sink into that, too. Tui and La, to use both at the same time—to feel him from the inside out as his body does that—her chi throbs, fingertips tingling like maybe if she just tried…

Katara shoves that away. “Like that,” she snaps, apprehension shivering through her. Would she ever be able to get the bloodbending out, if it breached into her water that way? She scowls when Zuko just gasps at her, eyes hazy and mouth slack like he has no idea what she’s saying. “Still.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Zuko rasps after a moment, sucking in air and then bracing himself, basically naked so see the tightening of chest—of pectoralis major and rectus abdominus and—the inguinal ligament taut and flexed--

She flushes the second wound hard and fast and Zuko barely lasts a second before a high noise chokes out of him, his teeth sinking into his lips and his hips rising up and it’s not from the pain, not at all.

Katra pulls the water back. “I can hold you still, or I can clean out the last one.” Her chi lurches with the temptation to try both even though she’s never—even though she can’t, the pathways of chi are so—and if they go tangled, if she couldn’t separate them—

Zuko looks back at her flushed and embarrassed and so openly aroused that it doesn’t feel real. She’s never felt more aware of her own skin and blood than the moment when he nods unsteadily and reaches up above himself to grab onto the tree. To anchor himself, obviously, the motion canting his hips forward as if offering his injured thigh, his dark-flushed glans, the fundoshi fabric slid down to the place where his engorged shaft meets—

“Is that it?” Katara asks when she’s done. Zuko just pants up at her, ragged, flushed. Erection is a reflex response to visual, olfactory, physical, or imaginative stimuli, she wildly remembers Yugoda lecturing. She wonders which this qualifies as, her bloodbending throbbing in answer. “Should I check for more?”

“If you want to be sure,” Zuko says raggedly, re-gripping to the tree, and Katara presses her tongue to the dry roof of her mouth and fills him with her bending.

Bloodbending bursts through her chi, bursts through him, and she clenches her own body against it as Zuko moans and arches like he never even dreamed of fighting it. She sets a hand against the ground to steady herself, staring hypnotized at the way he moves between the restraints and the tree, the way he bucks, the way he shudders even as she freezes parts of him with her bending one by one.

Lips, which she knows he likes, can feel in the leap of his blood. Shoulders back to the tree, so he can’t cover himself, a whimper choking past his frozen tongue. Arching his back until it’s the rope fighting her. Pressing his arms into place, so the rest of him can squirm and betray every bit of his reaction, the tiny jerks of his muscles like he can’t stop himself from trying to feel her grip in his veins.

She leaves his hips for last so that he can feel it, really feel it, when she forces them to freeze just as the reflexive to buck rolls them him. And she can feel that ripple through him, testing muscle and rushing blood and surging pulse, the fruitless strain against her hold that matches the gasping, moaning sounds he makes.

She same wild pulse is in her bending, too, a throbbing rhythm that lurches through her chi, tugs her forward until she’s feeling it in every part of him trying to find more, pushing into every capillary and venule until he’s crying out, muffled, from the sensitivity, and the way he’s looking at her down the spread-out expanse of his body—

Katara shoves to her feet, forces Zuko’s head to tilt to follow her, forces his eyes to stay open, and locks every muscle except the ones he needs to thrust his hips. She releases him when she needs to gasp in her own air, watches him sag between his outstretched arms, locks him again, again, rhythmic, Zuko groaning as he realizes. There’s no way for him to hide like this, knees wide, gripping the tree and still tied so that even if she did release him, he’d be exposed, that scrap of barely-there cloth doing nothing. It barely coverst he curve of his testicle—he cries out as her bloodbending rushes down to feel it drawn up tight—the line of his erection fully free as he rocks against the air, desperate, and the fact that she can do that just by standing, just by making him look up at her—

She steps forward until her boots are just inches from his knees, feeling heady with the way he cranes even more up at her without even needing to be forces, his eyes blown wide. And then the rush as his gaze skips down over her breasts, her stomach, her hands, lower, his mouth parting and his tongue sliding out to lick his lips, and if she leaned him forward like she can feel him straining to do then he’d be pressing his face to—

Katara shoves her healing into him with a gasp. She slices through the last rope with a blade of ice, gouging wood and whirling around ass Zuko cries, suddenly unbalanced without the restraining tension. The suddenly-free trust of his hips is burning into her mind’s eye, blazing over the back of her eyelids as she squeezes them shut and forces the flood of her bending into the clean flow of the stream, letting the current pull it away and trying not to hear the thump of his fists hitting the earth, or the strained grunt he lets out, then another.

“We should head back,” Katara finally says, chest aching with the force of keep her breathing even. “Warn the others. About the bandits.”

A heavy, panting silence, then, “Yeah. Yeah,” he says, ragged and breathless and wanting in a way that she doesn’t want to feel in her blood. She knows without needing to check that he’s still on his knees behind her.

“There’s needle and thread in the bag.” She can’t make herself say why he’d need them. “Don’t take too long.” She strides away before she can let herself think too much about it, or wonder if firebenders can feel the heat in someone’s veins, before notice that she didn’t hear him rise to his feet until she told him too. 

[birthing1020]

🫃🏻2️⃣🌲🦶🍳🖐️💦

(Hoping I did this some justice!)

Tags: male, twins, forest, breech baby, posterior baby, pushing the baby back in, orgasmic birth.

It was the week of your due date, heavy and pregnant. You wanted these twins to be born already, your belly already dropped so it wasn’t much longer to wait.

Your doctor said to kickstart labor, walking maybe an alternative and it was awhile since you had been out. It was a crisp fall day and you didn’t live far from a trail that lead to a forest nearby. It was secluded and not many people knew about this path, it was nice and private for many reasons.

You dressed up in a sweater and grabbed a spare jacket in case the breeze was too much. You wanted to walk as much as possible, your big pregnant belly already made it difficult to see most things and the waddling - while cute to everyone around you, was quite an annoyance; you couldn’t see your feet either, but on the plus side, your breasts had grown larger and began the milking process. It was such a pain reliever and erotic at the same time.

You rubbed your big hairy belly and made your way into the forest. Your breath hitching as you trucked through the path, you looked around and realized you were finally alone - time for that privacy the forest was made for.

You always knew stimulating could start labor as well - why not attempt a two in one? You took your sweater off, your big hairy chest hit the cool breeze and it was enough to make your nipples harden, you felt yourself up and squeezed your very large breasts as they were conveniently ready to be milked again.

“Just in time….”

You lean back against one of the trees and begin squeezing your nipples, your hands squeezing your hairy man breasts as they pool and fall out of your hands - having twins doubled the size of your tits, you definitely weren’t complaining when they’d get milked. Streams of liquid leave both of your nipples, you pant and moan leaving yourself in a hot and bothered mess. Between the cold air hitting your hot body, it made you even hornier than before.

You pulled your sweatpants down and kicked them to the side, you knew you had all the privacy in the world - which may or may not be a bad thing. You tilt your head back and groan, spreading your legs further as your big belly pushed your legs apart.

Your eyes shut as your hand reaches up to your cunt, slowly rubbing at your clit in a circular motion. Your hips rotate and you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Ohhhhh, yes!”

You moan out and pant, your other hand plays with and tugs on your nipple as you’re playing with the two most sensitive parts of your body. Your hips rock faster and you let out a deep manly groan in your throat - right before you reach a climax you gasp as your hardened and dropped belly begins to tighten up.

“Oh!”

You rub your hand over your swollen bump and moan. Was it time? Something was surely happening and you were rather excited and ready to reach climax. You rub your hairy belly as your other fingers go to pleasure your soaked cunt, just waiting to explode in erotic bliss.

You squat slightly and rock your hips more as your fingers play with your hypersensitive clit. Before you know it, you feel something at the opening of your entrance. Your breathing picks up as you realize what is happening.

“Oh god, I think it’s time!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, you’re groaning from the pain and pure pleasure. Was this actually happening? Birthing a whole human can be this pleasurable? You don’t feel the babies hair - but you feel something different, it’ll be harder to push this baby out but you knew it’s too late to waddle back home. You feel quite vulnerable with a baby poking out of your cunt - and you actually liked the feeling, at any second you could push this out or let it linger.

You cupped your wet and drenched pussy - luckily your water hadn’t broke yet. You arch your back as you began pushing the baby back inside you. Your eyes widened and you let out the throatiest moan, pure pleasurable breaths.

“Oh, fuck yes!”

You begin toying with the bulge between your legs that is rubbing right along your sensitive slit. Your hips thrust upward and you’re smacking your hand in the process as it’s pushing this bulge back inside and out again, you do this a number of times before another contraction hits.

Your other hand squeezes your belly in pain and you groan. Realizing you had yet another baby to birth right after this one.

“Let’s get you out, but first….”

You go back to rubbing your clit, legs spread even wider to hopefully slide this bulge down and out of your body. Before you knew it, liquid gushed out of your spasming cunt.

“Oh fuck!”

You squat down and push, your hole expanding with each muscle contracting. Between your water breaking and clit rubbing the baby slides right out of your pussy, feet first. You pant and moan, laying the baby on your jacket in the grass. In a few moments you’ll have to birth this next one, hopefully more easier than more.

You rub your belly in anticipation for the next contraction that is about to hit. Your pussy is very sensitive at this point and any touch will bring you closer to the edge - but, you weren’t complaining. This was one of the more enjoyable births you’ve been part of.

“C’mon baby, just slide on out for me.”

You pant and push down as your belly contracts, you squat and push down as gravity does its work. You feel for any bulge as you push again, which is barely leading to any progress.

You grumble in annoyance, just wanting this to be over already. You begin rubbing your clit again, as this seems to be the only way to progress anything. It doesn’t take long before you’re screaming in pleasure, your clit throbbing between your fingers. You finally feel the bulge between your legs.

“Oh fuck!”

You heavily groan and begin toying with the top of the bulge forming between your legs. Slowly pushing the head back in, you whimper and whine with pleasure. You know you’re doing this to yourself and the erotic nature was too much for your cunt.

You push even harder than the last birth, the baby shifting further down your birth canal. You deeply moan and slowly push out the bulge before panting, you then push out the shoulders and body. You fall back against the tree and pant heavily, holding the baby in one arm before catching your breath.

Just now realizing what all has happened.

[pursuitseternal]

“Bites in the Night: Part 3…” Astarion x Reader on the road… with sexy daggers this time ⚔️

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Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.4k of swords + smut

Summary: You keep watch over your companions, but after the events of the… and after weeks of growing closer with your Vampire Rogue in terms other than sex… you need to burn some of your energy off. A midnight session with your blades seems the solution… especially when you find yourself with… a sparring partner.

Inspired by Careful—ibite’s post and amazing blog! Thank you @careful---ibite !

CW: sword sexual innuendo, getting handedly defeated by Astarion, true feelings confession ™️, NSFW: forest edition, and some bad “sheathing” puns that make Astarion roll his eyes.

Read here if you prefer AO3

Don’t lose your breath on this one, Darling…

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Keeping watch, you sit by the fire, the sound of your companions breathing joins the soft crackles and pops of the fire. Your rotation falls tonight, it’s crisp in the mountains, the pine air is cool, so you stay by the fire, tending it until your watch is done. Keeping the others warm and safe.

Well…. All the others except for Astarion. You watched him slip into the trees an hour ago, one last look thrown you way over his shoulder. Your vampire, heading out to hunt.

Your heart aches, knowing full well just how many long horrors he endured as a spawn. Watching him hide that self doubt behind his swagger, covering his self-loathing behind constant flirtation as smooth as silk. It had been easy to give him the space he had asked for you, to grow in your knowledge of one another, not just carnally.

In fact, it had been weeks. Traveling and fighting, and seeking down cures… and all the while, he had not asked for you to come to his bed again. Of course, he had crept beside yours to feed when you gave him every opportunity, but his touches were light. You scoff to yourself, thinking as you scan the treeline for movement. You would call his attentions almost chaste if it were not for the way he looks at you, undressing you in his mind, and the way his words beckon you with every little flirtatious thought that crosses that same dirty mind.

But you wait. You show him there is more to intimacy than fucking. Every conversation you have, every time you offer for him to feed when he begins to look haphazard and bedraggled, all those little ways you do care.

Grabbing two more logs, you set them in the blaze. Wiping your hands together, you slowly stand, eyeing the rest of your party as they sleep. Blissful for now. Exhausted from the journey and from your latest grisly encounter of the day. Sometimes, you had even seen your own life flash before your eyes, let alone watched in horror as every one of your companions nearly met an end today.

It was a rest well deserved. And you had taken the watch tonight, guilt plaguing you to have put every single one of them in such mortal peril.

Nothing a little self-prescribed training couldn’t fix. Or at least, couldn’t help clear your conscience.

You check your hips, blade on one side, dagger at the other. These weapons were… newly acquired. Well, stolen… well, stolen for you by your Vampire rogue. Thievery seemed to be his love language. But they were unfamiliar at best, their balance, their grip were strange, even if they were stronger and more powerful. And it had almost cost lives today.

You walk towards the forest, sure that the fire would keep burning for a couple hours at least now. The hard scrape of your weapons as you draw them both sets you on edge, wakes you up.

They feel light, lighter than the blades you knew. You give them a spin, the soft handles steady in your palms, trying hard not to fumble them, to catch your fingers on the elegant cross guards. Holding them aloft, you settle yourself on the balls of your toes, readying stance, primed to begin your forms. They flow through you, form after form, swiping and stabbing and parrying. Slowly. Carefully at first.

Then you pick up speed. Swiping faster, sword and dagger more familiar now. You spin on your toes, as if you mean to strike your enemies from behind.

And you jolt as your blade meets another with a clang.

Astarion smirks at you, that twist of his lips and cant of his brows that makes your blood run hot. His dagger shines in the moonlight as he slowly scrapes it down the length of your sword.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs. “I see you took some advice to practice for once.” He pushes your sword to your side, but that sharpened dagger still remains in his hand, his smirk widens as he slowly presses its point beneath your chin.

You laugh, breathless, unable to deny the edge of fear he still manages to incite in you. “Amazing, Astarion,” you try to laugh, feeling his body drawing closer. “You can’t help but shove cold, pointed things in my face even when we aren’t…”

“What?” he smirks wider, clearly enjoying where this is going, “doing the deed?”

Your own smirk turns your mouth, your tongue suddenly wet as you try to swallow. Not as wet as other parts of your grow, however. “Exactly,” you manage to reply the single word steadily.

“Hmm, yes, about that,” he continues, voice suddenly quiet and steady and raw. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you. You are different, you do care. Enough to actually become acquainted with me, to come to know me, more than I do myself it seems.” That veil of seduction slips, his voice cracking a bit as he lowers his dagger from your skin. “Today, watching you almost get vivisected on some enemy spear, however, made me realize many things.”

“Oh?” you breathe. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, hard and throbbing to hear his confessions, and to be reminded of your burning guilt yet again.

“Many things,” he repeats, “the least of which is that you are far too precious to me to watch you die.” His words are filled with ache, his crimson eyes wide and wet as he looks down at you.

Tears? you wonder. It is too dark to really see, but from the way his voice seems to stick in his throat…

But he clears his voice, quickly back to that honeyed tone. “I also realize that you need a sparring partner, training alone will only do you so much good. And since I’m so much better than you…”

You step back, folding your arms across your chest, trying to be exacting. But your back bumps unceremoniously against some pine. And his body closes in to cover you, faster than you can gasp. His hands pin you in, splaying around your shoulders as he pushes into your frame, your back scratched by the peeling bark. But you can’t care. Not with the ecstacy of his body bearing into you, all hard and strong and everywhere.

You sigh, “Gods, I’ve missed this…” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think them.

“Mmm, I have, as well,” his words rasp in your mouth, his lips, his fangs so close again. “Almost losing you today, I realized one more thing, that I would go mad, I would rather die, than to lose you, to live my life alone without your affection, your care… and without that perfect body of yours, darling.”

Molten. Your blood is singing in your veins, your mouth waters and your cunt aches, positively drenching your breeches, you are sure.

Your body writhes, a little unbidden roll of your hips against him as he presses you harder.

“Your dual-wielding requires finesse, darling,” he is insufferable, the way his eyes skate over your face, fixing on the way your veins pulse in your neck. “Shame I only have one weapon you could grip to practice with… guess we will have to do this the old-fashioned way…”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to think of you in terms of….”

“A person can have a change of heart, can’t they?” His voice is like music, lilting and deep. “In fact, I’d like to up the ante, raise the stakes a bit, my dear…”

He withdraws from you, his hands unsheathing two daggers, so sharp you can almost hear them whistle in the air as he grips them with a flourish. A smile plays around his lips, more enticing than fear inducing, though you feel both pounding in your body as you watch him square up to you. “If you win, you get to have me in whatever fashion you so desire, darling. Let your imagination run wild….”

“And if you win?” You force an air of confidence, a swing of your side sword and dagger that mimics his own flare.

But Astarion only laughs, that rapid, low-toned giggle as he grins so wide, you see his fangs in the starlight. “No spoilers, my dear, but I promise you will never forget it…”

“You’re not going to…”

“Kill you? No,” his brows furrow in a rush of hurt. “Weren’t you listening? The only way for me not to personally worry myself into another grave about you is to make sure you are up to snuff with those new blades. Now, put up and shut up….” He breathes, a deep exhale that eases the clenching of his body, “…darling.”

You smile, heart pounding as you take the sight of him in. You remember the way you first met… his dagger at your throat, your body trapped between his legs. And now, the way he sways on his feet, a bit feline and totally predacious. His fingers twitch on the hilts of his elegant blades, his eyes watching you. Daring you. Assessing you.

He waits for you to move first. So you do, you stab, you spin. But every swing of your sword, he deflects, barely moving as he parries you just so easily. There is no way, no way his two short daggers should be able to work the magic he draws from them. They seem part of his body, just as cold and hard, sharper than his tongue.

You try a few more swings, doing your best to catch him off guard. But he always anticipates you. Always blocks you. Steady and unmoving.

Until he begins to press his advantage. You notice the way he begins to lean on his toes, his dodges becoming advances, his parries turning into quick little attacks. And then, you see him smile, brow arching in that rakish way that unsettles your stomach and makes your neck burn where he bites you.

He lunges, his blades everywhere at once. His silver hair whips in the breeze, moving so quickly. You dodge, having to retreat step after step, so you don’t get sliced by more than his fangs. You manage to hook one dagger with yours, a slight twist sends it careening to the forest floor. But it’s all he will allow you as a small victory. He knocks first one blade out of your grip, then the next.

His empty hand grips both of yours, lighting-quick speed flying you back against that same fated tree. He raises your arms above your head, pinned in one large, icy palm, leaving you dangling by his preternatural strength.

But that other hand still holds one weapon, its sharp tip pressing along the line of your jaw.

You pant, unable to catch your breath or cease your racing heart. But he, he stands, cooler than the shade, not even a sweat on his brow. He lets the blade of his dagger score down your skin, careful not to cut. Just the delicious drag of metal to send you panting and writhing.

“It would seem you lost, darling…”

“Have I, though?” you let yourself give in to the feeling of being his prey. Savoring the clenching of his body as he cages you in. “I’m fairly certain by now you just shove daggers at my throat as a way of saying you want me, Astarion…”

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth and cocks his head, eyeing you with deep enjoyment. “Daggers are a love language, my sweet, one of my favorites.” He leans in closer to you, that dangerous blade still pushed gently against your flesh. “When you’ve seduced as many as I have, you learn to use… all… your weapons. But I’ve saved the best for you, my love.”

“Thoughtful of you, my love,” you match his ardor, throwing the same new pet name back between his hovering lips.

“Mmm, best wait to thank me until I’ve finished claiming my victory, since you…” he reaches your hands higher above you head, blade of his dagger slipping like hard silk under your chin, tilting your mouth higher. Closer. “… since you lost, darling.”

“Did I? I’m pretty sure I’ll win, once you’ve… stowed your weapon…”

His eyes flash in humor, a giggle erupting loudly from his throat. “Gods, don’t spoil my winnings with such puns, I plan to have such a good time…”

Your lips flutter, stomach sinking to your knees, pulling on his hand that holds you pinned, raising on the tips of your toes until his blade slips away and your lips crash into his. He releases the dagger, letting clatter at your feet. Unleashing his favorite weapons, his lust and his fangs, and both tear into you. The surge of his hunger pushes into you, his tongue tangling with your, his hands dropping, caressing and massaging your body everywhere. Like he can’t feel you enough. Can’t bring him into his body, his mouth enough to sate him.

Your hands meet his in equal need, your fingers tearing at his doublet, snapping the buttons until Astarion can easily shirk it off. His hands make quick work of his own tunic, and you hold your breath, the moment you see that ivory body, chiseled and hard and perfect. You throb for more. Hand cupping at the back of your neck, he devours you again, lips working yours with demand, your hands wandering up and down the ridges of his stomach. That always hungry stomach. Your hands pull him, all your pent up need igniting to feel his smooth, icy skin against you. You pull your own shirt from your breeches, his hands instantly aiding, making quick work of it, pulling it over your head.

He won’t stop there, instantly ripping into your breeches, tearing them open until you feel his cool touch slipping into your folds. So swollen, so drenched, you shudder, instantly throwing your head back against the tree.

“More,” you pant, sliding your own clothing from your legs.

“If you joke about sheathing my weapon, right now; I swear I’ll bite you…” he growls, hand freed now to work into you all the more.

“You’re going to bite me anyway,” you sigh a laugh, “why not let you stow…”

His mouth stops your words, his fingers crooking and thrusting into your folds, arousal dripping down his knuckles, making other noises come from your throat than less-than-tasteful wordplay.

Your hands shake, fingers trying so hard to free the buckle at his waist, to sneak into the fastened band of his breeches. Fumbling with the clasp, you make him gasp, scoring your nails into his belly.

He hisses into your mouth, “Careful, love, unless you’re so eager to draw my blood. Just as much a danger with your nails as you are your blades…”

You laugh, slow as his hand slips from inside you, giving you the aid you seek with haste. Clothing falls, his cock springs free, prodding against your mound, your belly. His skin is a relief against your flushed body, you crave more. Need more.

He sees it on your face as he looks down at you. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, “the glisten of your sweat, the dilation of your eyes and swell of your kissed lips… the only thing missing is a little blood…” his face quirks into that rakish leer, twisting smirk and canting brows. You nod, pulling your own hair from your neck, crying out the moment he bites into you. The intoxicating way you feel him feeding, swallowing down your blood, you bodies joined before he even fucks you. You moan, aching for more of him as he lifts his mouth from your skin.

Hands grasp at your ass, lifting you, and you jump into his arms. He treads to the mossy hills around you, settling you down. Covering you with the weight of his body, the force of his desire that you had craved for so, so long.

You would have it no other way, giving him everything under the stars, finally seeing his eyes fixed into yours as he enters you. At last. His words run dry, mouth far too busy stealing your breath and tongue too occupied dancing with yours to make any sultry remarks.

He is speechless. But the thrusts of his body, the obsessive stare into your eyes, the working of his kiss, it showers you with more praise than any flirtation ever had.

This. This was real. No holding back, no pretense. Just his absolute need to bury himself to his balls in you. To consume your every living breath as if it would give him life again.

He takes his time, making you feel every inch of his massive length dragging through you, in and out. His arms wrap you into him, clinging around your shoulders. And you do the same, hands clutching those mysterious lines of infernal that cover the clenching muscles of his back. You wrap him in your arms, your legs, as if to reassure him you won’t let go. Won’t ever let go. His breathing grows harsh, damp in your mouth. Aching as if a million emotions will burst from his chest. Your hands move to his cheeks, feeling them slightly damp beneath your fingers.

Sweat or tears, you don’t know. You can’t know in this darkness. But he wants it that way. You kiss the damp, salt on your lips as you keep your mouth there. Hands cradling his face as he still draws himself in and out.

You breathe his name, your hands caressing into those silver silken locks… “Astarion…”

Something between you shifts he lifts his head, mouth devouring yours, hands wandering from that hard embrace to cling to your ass, holding you as his thrusts suddenly pick up speed, hammering into you with all the precision and force of his fighting. You can feel him winding tight like a spring, bearing into you with hunger. Single focused need. As if you are the last morsel between him and starvation.

He grunts with each thrust, your own wave of climax swirling through you, driven higher with his pounding. The slaps of his body against yours echo in your ears, his voice silken even as he curses, “Gods below, so tight, so wet… so good…”

You shatter with his praise, tumbling in a writhing stuttering, wet mess as you come. His head thrown back, face blissfully contorted, he follows you into his own. Hardest yet, he slams into you, collapsing against your body on the forest floor.

His head nestles into the crook of your shoulder, blood still seeping. And you don’t fail to notice that his tongue licks you slowly.

“Well, handsome victor,” you tease, “enjoy your prize?”

He props himself up from you slightly, his eyes even smirking as he smiles. A little swivel of his hips drags his still hard cock through the mingling juices of you both. “Enjoy it? Yes, very much, my love. But I am hardly satisfied…” He giggles in that bubbly way of his, pulling out and pulling you to your feet. “I think it requires closer inspection in my tent…”

He doesn’t stop to collect your clothes or your weapons, no. His strength is tenfold with all your blood inside him as he bends down to throw you over his shoulder. You give a muffled yelp, one he corrects with a slight slap on your rear as you dangle down his back.

“Prizes don’t need to draw so much attention to themselves, darling…” He carries you, your body swaying over his shoulder like some good he pinched, coming closer and closer to the circle of light from your camp.

“Attention? I was on watch, Astarion,” you growl, mortified as you realize what you abandoned.

“Not anymore,” you hear a sleepy voice from behind you. Gale clears his throat louder as he does not approach you, your naked vampire rogue drawing nearer to his own tent. “You’re both off the watch rotation until you can practice some self control.” He sounds grumpy, but you don’t care as Astarion swings you around.

“I’ll be much obliged to you, wizard,” he taunts, running a hand over the pert swell of your ass “Might take some time you know…. Practice does make perfect…”

[sixhours]

happy birthday, baby girl - camping

Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Chapter tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller, birthdays, swearing, canon-compliant, angst, implied past alcohol abuse/alcoholism Words: 7.1k

Notes: A bunch of birthday one-shots loosely based on this headcanon. This might be a five-times/one-time fic in disguise, it hasn't decided yet.

They walk out of Jackson at dawn. For four months, they’ve lived behind the protection of a steady rotation of guards and patrols and reinforced walls. Safe and sound, but Jackson is only so big, and Ellie can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. Even if she doesn’t have to share her room with another FEDRA brat, even if there are no bodies hanging in the public square, even if Jackson smells like fresh-cut grass and woodsmoke and pine trees instead of piss.

No, Jackson is not Boston, not by a long shot. But it’s not the walls that have her feeling smothered. She’s not used to having so many people see her. Joel and Tommy and Maria and teachers and friends and neighbors; so many people who care where she is and what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. There are rules to follow, schedules to keep, a community that expects her to contribute.

It’s fucking suffocating if she thinks about it too hard.

Today, not twenty feet outside the walls with Joel at her side, she takes what feels like her first deep breath in weeks.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah…fine. Just…it’s different than I remember.”

He blinks into the sun-drenched landscape, autumn just starting to tease the tops of the trees into a golden glow. It’s all familiar ground to him. He leaves the compound regularly for patrols and tells her about what they find at the end of his shifts–not a whole hell of a lot, usually.

But today it’s just the two of them, on foot, with a few supplies and a surprise destination of Joel’s in mind. She’s tried to harass it out of him without any luck.

“Is it…a lake?”

“Nope.”

“A racetrack?”

“Nope.”

“Is it a spaceship?”

This elicits a wry glance over his shoulder, at least. “Nope.”

“Umm…is it the ocean?”

“Kid, when was the last time you looked at a map?”

“When was the last time the maps were updated? For all you know, there could be a whole sea on the other side of those mountains now.”

“It ain’t the ocean, and I’m not tellin’, so you may as well stop askin’,” he says, but she knows he doesn’t really mind her questions.

His backpack and guitar are slung on his back, leaving her to carry the rifle. He has a small cooler in one hand and a walking stick in the other, something Tommy found and carved and sanded smooth. He’d promised to make Ellie one of her own this winter when construction work slowed down.

“How long does it take to get there?”

“Five hours, give or take.”

“And you’ve been through here before?” she asks, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her nerves. They’re walking through thick forest on a rough path, pock-marked with hoofprints from recent patrols.

“Yep. Meant to take you out here this summer but your cousin had other ideas,” he mutters. “Think you’ll like it.”

She shrugs.

“Figured it’s been a lot, these last few months,” he continues. “What with school…the new baby. New…everythin’, really. Thought we could use some time to, uh…I dunno. Talk. Just you an’ me. Like old times.”

Old times .

It’s a funny phrase under the circumstances, but it fits. It’s only been a year since Riley died, since Marlene found her in the mall, since she met Joel. Ellie felt like she’d lived a million lives in that time, like she’d stepped through a portal like Daniela Starr and wound up in an alternate reality. Even in her wildest dreams, she never could have predicted this. Never thought she’d survive a bite, that she’d live to see a life outside the walls of the QZ, that she’d travel across the country with a strange old man and ultimately find herself with a family, small and broken as it is.

She absently rubs at the scar under her sleeve. She’s fallen behind, feet dragging a little as she contemplates all the things that happened to bring her to this point. The mall, Kansas City, the hospital…

I swear.

She doesn’t like to think about the hospital.

Suddenly Joel’s hand is on her arm and she jerks away, realizes he’s been talking and she’s missed it, lost in her thoughts.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s nothin’,” he says. “I was just sayin’, I thought a little trip couldn’t hurt, get some fresh air before the snow flies…call it a birthday present.”

“You’re a little late, dude,” she says, picking up her pace to match his longer strides. “Or really fucking early.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, frowning. “Didn’t have a proper birthday this year. I figured you’re owed a few extra.”

“Does that mean I’m sixteen now? ‘Cause I can start patrol training at sixteen. Tommy said so.”

“Nice try, kid.”

She hefts her pack higher on her back, the hiking boots Joel found for her at the trading post rubbing against the backs of her heels. She’s not used to them yet, but she has to admit, they’re a hell of a lot better than her Converse for this kind of walking.

It’s an easy hike, a steady uphill climb on a narrow but well-maintained path. It’s clear it’s going to take longer than five hours when Ellie keeps finding things to look at; a cool black rock laced with glittery gold flecks to add to her collection, an iridescent beetle, a tiny dead bird carcass crawling with worms. Joel indulges her investigations the way he always does, grumbling good-naturedly, but he doesn’t rush her. They cross a shallow stream, Ellie hop-skipping over the rocks while Joel takes the wood patrol bridge, eyes on her the whole time.

The back of her left heel starts to throb about two hours in, but it’s easy enough to ignore.

It’s mid-afternoon, the sun already beginning to fall from its peak in the sky by the time they make it to their secret destination. They crest a hill and off in the distance, a wood structure sticks out over the trees.

“Is that…a treehouse?”

“Kinda,” Joel grunts, sweat shining on his forehead. It was cool when they left, but they’ve both shed their outer jackets in favor of tee shirts as the day went on. She doesn’t have to worry about hiding her scar out here. Eager to explore, Ellie runs ahead up the path and soon she’s standing at the edge of a clearing with a tower in the middle.

“Used to be a ranger’s station but they converted it to an outpost a few years back, I guess,” Joel says at her back.

“So cool,” she breathes, looking up at the tower, what looks like a cabin on stilts. Seeing it up close reminds her of the treehouse in the Swiss Family Robinson movie they played at the rec center a couple weeks ago. At the base is a fire pit and a lean-to, probably for tying up the patrol horses. Joel sets his guitar just inside the lean-to and puts his hands on his hips, squinting up at the structure.

“Can we go up?” she asks.

“Sure hope so,” he says. Joel goes to one of the thickets of shrubs on the far side of the camp and starts poking around. “Or we’re sleepin’ on the ground.”

“We get to sleep up there?”

“Yep,” he says, hauling a metal ladder out of the brush.

“Sweet!”

“Pull on that end,” he instructs, and she does, grabbing hold of the opposite rung and tugging until the ladder is fully extended. Joel lays it up against the side of the lookout so the top rung hooks onto a second ladder that’s attached to the structure higher up. He frowns and shakes the thing until it’s firmly seated, takes a few cautious steps up, testing its stability.

“Safe enough,” he pronounces, coming back to the ground. “You wanna go–”

He hasn’t finished his sentence before she’s leapt onto the ladder, climbing it like a monkey.

“–first? Jesus, kid, be careful…”

But Ellie is already clambering up, hand over hand until she reaches the top ledge. She pulls herself up to standing, walking along the side of the central cabin and down the wrap-around balcony.

“Whoa,” she breathes, leaning out over the railing. From up here she can see the whole valley and beyond. They’re too far to be able to see Jackson, she guesses, peering into the distance. It’s conveniently shrouded in trees.

Joel joins her, panting slightly. “Christ, few months of real cookin’ and I’m outta shape.”

“Sure you’re not just old?” she grins. “We could find you an oxygen tank and a wheelchair. Maybe one of those little electric scooters.”

“Brat,” he huffs, leaning on the railing, gently tugging her back by the handle of her backpack when she leans over too far. “Can still haul your scrawny ass around.”

“This is so fucking cool,” she breathes, turning around. The ranger’s station has huge plexiglass windows, and she cups her hands to one of the panes and peeks inside.

“C’mon,” Joel says, walking back around the building. He fishes a key out from behind a loose shingle near the door. “Let’s go set up.”

The lookout has obviously been maintained. Freshly stained boards stand out against the aging weathered ones like sore thumbs. The floor underfoot is solid, if creaky in places, and there’s a slight draft coming in around the windows. There are chests full of supplies and gear–enough rations to last a small patrol group for a couple of weeks, Joel says. Ellie wrinkles her nose at the familiar stock of canned goods and MREs.

If there’s one thing she has no complaints about in Jackson, it’s the food. Ellie didn’t know green beans could taste like summer, or that a fresh peach could drip sticky juice down her chin without being soaked in cloying syrup, or that soup could be more than a salty broth with shapeless chunks of mush. Until a couple months ago, she’d never had fresh whipped cream or apple pie or so many of the things they serve regularly at the caf. FEDRA rations couldn’t come close, and she can’t imagine going back to that.

She’s relieved to know they won’t be eating from the stockpile of MREs tonight. There’s not a single can in Joel’s backpack. Instead, he’s carrying pre-sliced potatoes and onions and cheese wrapped in foil, packets of roasted vegetables ready to be warmed over the fire, and several apples and granola mix for snacks. Joel said something about catching the rest of their dinner, but she wasn’t fully listening, knowing he wouldn’t make her eat the venison or rabbit or moose if they went hunting.

They lay down their bedrolls on top of foam mats on the wood floor, not dusty and ravaged by time but swept clean and tidy. Ellie flops down on her bed to test it out, staring up into the rafters. There are no cobwebs or birds’ nests. Instead, the exposed beams are decorated with odds and ends, trinkets left behind by other patrollers, random treasures found during scavenging runs. A broken lantern. A rusty horseshoe. Old farm tools. A doll that’s missing one eye and probably haunted, Ellie decides. She’s half tempted to steal it and bring it back with them to Jackson if she can figure out how to get it past Joel.

When they’re mostly settled in their makeshift camp, Joel asks, “Ready to go check out the water?”

“Water?”

“There’s a stream not far from here. You ever been fishin’?” Joel plucks two long poles off the back wall.

She rolls her eyes. “Dude, the Charles was a fucking sewer. No, I’ve never been fishing.”

That earns her a smirk. “Twilight’s the best time for brook trout. Let’s go catch dinner.”

Ellie gets up from her bedroll and makes the mistake of hissing in pain, unable to hide a slight limp from the chafing against her heel. She’s mostly ignored it until now but a few minutes of rest has brought the pain into sharp relief. Joel is immediately hovering at her side.

“What’s wrong? You twist it?”

“No, it’s just…these stupid boots,” she mutters. “Think I got a blister.”

“Let’s see.”

“It’s fine, man, I’m—“

“Sit,” he says in his you do what I say when I say it voice.

“I’m not a dog, asshole,” she grunts, but she does as she’s told, plopping back down on her sleeping bag.

“Foot,” he instructs, kneeling and putting out a hand. She undoes her laces and takes off her boot, peeling off her sock with a wince. The blister has already popped, oozing bloody fluid through the back of her sock. The top layer of skin has peeled away leaving a gnarly red patch of raw flesh in its place.

“Christ, Ellie,” he grumbles upon seeing the damage.

“It’s not that bad,” she says, even as she hisses. Exposed to the open air, the fresh wound smarts like a sonofabitch, as Joel would say.

“Like hell it ain’t,” he frowns, then goes over to the trunk of supplies. He has a first aid kit, but it’s little more than band-aids and salve. The outpost’s kit has gauze and tape and a flask of alcohol for disinfectant. “You been walkin’ on this the whole time?”

“Just the last hour or so,” she lies. “Wasn’t gonna be a whiny little bitch about it.”

He fixes her with a look that brings hot red patches to her cheeks. “Don’t say that. If you’re hurt, we take care of it.”

“Didn’t wanna slow us down–”

“Not on a schedule,” he mutters. “Leave somethin’ like this too long, it's liable to get infected. This is gonna sting.”

He wipes at the wound with a piece of gauze soaked in the alcohol, wincing along with her when the sensation of the cleaner on her raw flesh brings tears to her eyes.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” she rasps when she can speak without gritting her teeth around the pain.

“Don’t think we’ll have to amputate,” he says drily, then glares at her. “Yet.”

She rests her chin on her other knee and waits while he dabs salve on the wound, covering it with gauze and taping it in place. He pulls a clean pair of socks out of her pack and slides one carefully over the bandage, giving her toes an errant squeeze when it’s all done.

“Still gonna hurt, but at least you won’t be rubbin’ it raw. How’s the other one?”

“It’s fine.”

He scowls. “Swear to god, kid, if you’re hidin’ another blister–”

“Ugh, it’s not as bad. See for yourself,” she says, taking off her other boot and sock, sticking her foot directly in his face and wiggling it in front of his nose for emphasis. He swats at it and grumbles brat under his breath, before taking it gently in hand.

Two smaller blisters, still fresh, decorate the back of her other heel. He gives them the same treatment, padding the wounds with gauze so they won’t get worse.

“Was that so damn hard?” he asks when he’s done. “It ain’t a crime to ask for help, y’know.”

She shrugs. “Didn’t want you to worry–”

“S’my job to worry about you,” he cuts her off, then softens, gripping her chin gently between forefinger and thumb. “One I’m pretty damn lucky to have.”

Sometimes, even now, it’s a surprise that he cares. Her throat goes tight and she nods once.

“Now c’mon,” he says, groaning and stretching as he stands. “Fish ain’t gonna catch themselves.”

She puts on her boots and considers leaving them untied, eager as she is to see the water and the fish, but she can already hear Joel’s voice– gonna go ass over teakettle if y’ain’t careful –so she thinks better of it and re-ties the laces before bounding out the door behind him.

“Careful on the ladder,” he reminds her from halfway down, and she refrains from rolling her eyes, but she does take it slow, telling herself his old-man heart is fragile and she doesn’t want to be the cause of a heart attack.

They take a right from the tower and hike deeper into the forest toward the sound of running water. The stream sparkles in the last of the evening sun as they settle on the embankment with their fishing rods. Joel shows her how to dig into the soft parts of the soil for worms to use as bait (gross, but cool), how to wind them around the hook and stab them to secure them (just gross), and how to cast the line so it doesn’t get tangled in the brush on the side of the bank (nearly impossible).

After a few minutes, Ellie shifts from one foot to the other. “Now what?”

“We wait. If you feel a bite on the line, start to reel it in.”

They do. She holds the pole and she waits. And waits. And–

She slaps at a mosquito on her neck, then another one on her arm. Her nose itches and her hair tickles her ears. She recasts the line when it bobs and drifts too far, reeling it back in, watching as Joel does the same.

“So how long does this usually take?” she says when she’s cast for the fifth time and felt absolutely nothing. She watches the bobber drift along with the current. The sun has dropped behind the trees, taking most of the heat out of the air.

“Long as it takes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Gonna take even longer if you keep yappin’ and scarin’ the fish away.”

She rolls her eyes, mimicking him. “‘ Yappin’ n’ scarin’ the fish away.’ ”

He side-eyes her, but his cheek twitches the way it does when he’s trying not to laugh at one of her puns.

“Did you used to fish a lot?”

“When I was a kid, mostly. Old man took us out once in a while.”

“So…early Jurassic period?”

“Yep,” he says easily. “Rode my dinosaur to the lake n’ back.”

“Har har,” she says, swatting at a mosquito that’s buzzing around her left ear. “I just thought there’d be, more, y’know…fish.”

“I liked it about as much as you do, at the time. Never caught much,” he grimaces, reeling in his line and casting it again. “Think the old man just liked gettin’ away from our mama so he could get shitfaced in peace.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Wholesome.”

“Not the word I’d use. Anyway, spent more time pushin’ Tommy in the lake than I did catchin’ fish.”

Now that sounds like fun. “Can I push you in if we don’t catch anything?”

“You can try,” he smirks.

More time passes. Ellie shifts on her feet and swats at more mosquitos, trying and failing to imagine Joel as a kid.

“Man…I wanna ride a dinosaur,” she sighs.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, but he’s smiling.

Then there’s a distinct tug on her line, so forceful and surprising she almost lets the whole contraption go.

“Joel!”

“What?”

“It’s…it’s going! What the fuck do I do?”

“Well don’t panic,” he says, setting his pole down carefully, wedging it between two large rocks. “Hold on, kid, I gotcha.”

“It’s probably a fucking boot or something,” Ellie says, holding the pole back with both hands to keep it steady, unable to reel in whatever is on the other end for fear of losing her grip.

“Dunno about that. It’s movin’. Here,” he says, offering a hand over hers to support the pole while she switches to turning the reel, the tension growing with each turn.

“Good job, not too fast or the line’ll snap,” Joel says. “Sometimes ya just gotta let ‘em run with it a little, wear ‘em out.”

Soon she can see the silvery green-red fish thrashing at the surface of the water.

“Holy shit!”

“Lookit that,” he grins, helping her lift the fish out of the water by the line as it writhes and flails. “Guess you get to eat tonight.”

She can’t help but be a little disappointed when she gets a good look at the result of her efforts. She’d been picturing a monster fish given how strong it had been, but the thing isn’t even a foot long.

“I thought it was gonna be a fuckin’ shark.”

“Sometimes the little ones fight the hardest,” he says softly, and she’s glad the fading light hides her blush. She’s pretty sure he’s not just talking about the stupid fish.

He puts the poor creature out of its misery by smashing its head with a rock, then promises to show her how to gut and filet the slimy, scaly thing once they’re back at camp. She silently vows to try a bite even if the thought turns her stomach.

“You gonna try again?” he asks.

She does, digging up a fresh worm and re-baiting her hook while Joel goes back to his line. By the end of the hour, they’ve caught two more trout and Ellie’s stomach is growling.

“Better than fishing with your old man?” she asks on the trek back to camp.

He huffs a soft laugh. ”Yeah, kiddo. Much better.”

Back at the lookout, there’s a pile of pre-cut firewood under a tarp in the lean-to. Ellie gathers small sticks and scraps for kindling from the surrounding woods and soon Joel has a fire roaring. The routine is familiar; night settling around them while they prepare dinner. Ellie takes pity on Joel’s knees and volunteers to climb back up the tower to fetch the cooler and cooking supplies.

By firelight, Joel shows Ellie how to strip the trout of their scales, gut them, and filet them without leaving tiny bones in the flesh. Then they throw the fish in the pan with a pat of butter and some salt and pepper that Joel brought with them in the little cooler, and set the other foil packets over the fire to heat.

The fish is flaky and tastes nothing like the gamey meat she’s used to, so Ellie eats her fill and tries to ignore how thrilled Joel looks to see her eat something that isn’t bread or fruit. He’s not subtle about it, offering her a second helping before she’s finished the first. It’s only a little smothering so she decides not to give him shit about it.

They’re full and sated by the time Joel pulls out his guitar and hands it to Ellie.

“You been practicin’?”

True to his word, he’d taught her how to play guitar when they got to Jackson. And he knows she’s practiced because he hears her every night up in her room with the smaller guitar he’d traded for, floundering through the chords to her favorite songs in the old, tattered copy of “100 Greatest 80’s Hits” she found at the trading post. She knows how to read music, but making her fingers do what she wants them to do on the strings is tough, and she doesn’t have the benefit of Joel’s calluses.

She stumbles through the first two stanzas and the chorus of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” before she has to stop and restart. Joel listens, eyes softened by the firelight, and suggests a slight adjustment to her posture that seems to help with the larger guitar.

Then it’s his turn. He makes it look easy; the music seems to come directly from his fingers, and his voice is soft but strong. It’s not nearly as bad as he thinks it is. She thinks he could have been a singer in the Before, but she’ll never tell him that. And his taste in music is still questionable, but it’s better than nothing.

The fire flickers and crackles and warms her. She slides off the log they’re using as a makeshift seat and puts her back against it, stretching out her legs. Between the darkness and the heat and the day’s long hike, she’s tempted to curl up at Joel’s feet like a cat and sleep, so drowsy that she doesn’t even notice when he’s put the guitar away.

“Bedtime, kiddo,” he says softly, nudging her with his boot. “Can’t carry you this time.”

“‘Cause you’re too damn old,” she yawns. “Need that scooter.”

“Uh-huh. Scooter ain’t gettin’ us up that ladder. C’mon, you first. I’ll clean up.”

She ascends the tower at a slightly less frantic clip and goes straight to her bedroll, barely having pulled off her boots before crawling into her sleeping bag. She hears Joel come up not long after, then he’s rustling around in the cabin doing Joel things–locking the door and loading the rifle and draping an extra wool blanket over her. By that point, she’s already sound asleep.

Then she’s being shaken gently awake. 

“Ellie…hey, kiddo. Wake up.”

“Whassit?” she grumbles. It’s not dark, but it’s not daylight. She can just make out Joel’s features looming over her.

“C’mere,” he says. “Wanna show you somethin’.”

She wriggles out of her sleeping bag, still blinking in confusion. Joel drapes the wool blanket over her shoulders and she pulls it tight around herself. It’s not cold enough for a frost yet, but it’s not warm. Outside, the moon is full and bright, casting lunar shadows on the landscape around them. It’s beautiful, but hardly worth waking up at the ass-crack of…what the hell time is it, anyway?

“What–”

“Shh,” he whispers, leading her around the balcony to the other side of the building. “Look over there. Not too far out.”

A black shape materializes, trundling slowly, cautiously along the western edge of the valley. A snout lifts into the air as if checking for something, and Ellie has the distinct impression it can hear them.

“Is…is that a fucking bear ?”

“Shhh, don’t scare ‘em,” he whispers, taking a seat with his back to the windows, legs dangling off the edge of the balcony. Ellie sits cross-legged next to him, wrapping her blanket around her to guard against the fall chill.

“Whoa.”

The bear is close…like, really fucking close. Even in the dim light, she can see the reflection off its sleek fur, the tip of its nose, its dark eyes. She finds herself reaching out to grip Joel’s wrist, surprised to be, well…a little scared. They never worried about animals during their time on the road. They never stayed in one place long enough, never had enough scraps to leave behind. There was the occasional moose or deer, and those were welcome because they were potential food. Occasionally they’d hear the haunting calls of coyotes, and those were enough to keep Ellie awake at night if her imagination didn’t do the job for her.

The real threat was other people, whether infected or not. But tonight, after months enveloped in the safety of Jackson’s walls, Ellie feels painfully exposed. She scoots closer to Joel. He knows better than to say anything, just puts an arm around her and tucks her against his side.

“Wait,” she says, eyeing the distance between them and the bear, then them and the ground. “Can’t bears, like…climb?”

“Not this far. That’s why I brought the food up. ‘Sides, she’s got other things to worry about. Look.”

It takes a second, but soon Ellie sees the smaller cub lumbering along behind its mother. The pair weave their way across the landscape, pausing occasionally to sniff the air.

“Den’s probably nearby if the cub’s out this late,” Joel says, rubbing at his chin.

“So bears have bedtimes, too?” she smirks.

She can feel his chuckle against her side, a deep rumble in his chest.

“We’ll wanna make a lotta noise on the way back, make sure they know we’re around. Shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he says, poking her lightly on the shoulder.

“You love it and you know it,” she says.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do,” he says, and she feels the warm press of a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey, Joel…what do you call a bear without any teeth?”

“A gummy bear,” he says, so fucking smug. “You can do better than that.”

“Ugh, asshole. Okay, okay, umm…wait…gimme a sec…oh! Why did the grizzly wear a tank top?��

Joel sighs.

“He had the right to ‘bear arms’!”

“Terrible,” he groans. “‘Sides, bears don’t have arms, they have–”

“Dude, really? Don’t be that guy.”

He reaches up and musses her hair. Funny, when that jerk Michael Sumner did the same, she’d tried to break his nose. When Joel does it, it makes her chest feel warm and tight.

When the bears have wandered into the trees and out of sight, Joel yawns and stretches and gets to his feet. “You ain’t a bear cub, so it’s bedtime for you, twerp.”

“I don’t even have a bedtime.”

“Sure you do. You’ve just never stayed up late enough to see it.”

She’s pretty fucking sure that’s not true and he knows it, because she’s gone whole nights without sleeping and he’s been by her side every time.

“That was pretty cool,” she admits back in the cabin, when she’s wriggling into her sleeping bag and pulling the blanket over herself.

“Yeah,” he yawns into the crook of his arm, then reaches over to shut off the lantern. “Thought so, too.”

There’s another yawn and the briefest touch of his hand to her head before he says, “G'night, kid. Have good dreams.”

“Night.”

She lays awake, staring up at the rafters, too keyed up from seeing the bears to fall asleep right away.

For all of Jackson’s weirdness, their little house and her room and her bed have…grown on her. It helped that Joel had shown up at her bedroom door one rainy July morning and looked around the room with a certain determination.

“This place could use a new coat of paint, huh?”

It needed a lot more than that. They’d spent that weekend stripping the ugly wallpaper from the walls, and the following weekend covering the whole thing with primer and a light eggshell blue paint–leftover from the rec center remodel, Tommy said. Joel had shown her how to soften the wallpaper glue with a spray bottle and an iron set on low, how to cut in the corners and smooth out her brush strokes and use the angled brush around the edges so there weren’t blobs of paint everywhere. He’d repaired the broken shelves and traded for new bedding and curtains and added a wall mount for her guitar until the room was almost unrecognizable from what it had been.

Now the shelves hold her few books, her collection of cool rocks, her comics. The pictures and posters on the walls are all things she drew or found at the trading post. The photo of Joel and Sarah holds a prominent place on her dresser. It smells like fresh paint and the lemongrass wood cleaner Joel uses on the floors, and somewhere along the line, the bad memories faded a bit. Not gone…just not as sharp, not as vivid.

A sinking feeling settles in her stomach, a kind of unfamiliar, aching sadness. She knows the word “homesick”, but she’s never been lucky enough to have a home to miss.

She scoots closer to Joel until her forehead presses lightly against his shoulder. It isn’t because he smells like wood smoke and the lavender soap from the commissary. It’s not because the flannel is soft, or because he naturally shifts toward her in his sleep, ready to put an arm out if she needs him. It’s not because of that. She’s just a little cold.

He’s already snoring, the same rumbling cadence that drifts across the hall every night. It makes her think of the bear and her cub, tucked away in a cave somewhere nearby, curled up together. Safe. Home.

She doesn’t even remember falling asleep. When she wakes, she’s surprised to see daylight; faint, but the sun is almost up. Joel is…where is Joel? She sits up. He’s not in the cabin or outside on the balcony. She pads out the door, still in socked feet, wincing. Her blisters hurt, but not in the sharp, angry way they did yesterday. Just a dull, achy annoyance. She’ll live, as Joel would say.

Wisps of smoke rise into the air from below. She leans over the railing and finds him standing next to the fire. From this vantage point, all she sees is the top of his head, messy brown hair threaded with gray, the shoulders of his green flannel, and the mug of coffee steaming in his hand.

He looks up before she can call out to him, smiles while squinting up at her. “Hey, up there.”

She waves and runs back inside to put on her boots, then she descends the ladder–she’s gotten really fast at it, practically sliding down the rail–and jumps the last five rungs onto the ground.

”Jesus, kid, slow down. You’re gonna break your neck goin’ like that.”

“Morning to you, too, sunshine,” she chirps.

They eat around a small fire, finishing last night’s leftovers and some of the granola mix. Joel chops more firewood to replace what they used while Ellie packs up their camp. She restrains herself from stealing the one-eyed doll from the rafters.

Joel goes quiet after breakfast, focused on “leaving the lookout in better shape than they found it”, he says. But as they set off on the path back to Jackson, something feels off. They’ve barely covered the first mile when he clears his throat and catches her eye, that look that says something’s on his mind.

“So, uh…wanted to talk to you.”

She braces herself. She hears the conversation in her head in Joel’s signature drawl.

I’m sorry, but this ain’t workin’.

Time for us to go our separate ways.

You’re not my daughter, and I sure as hell ain’t your dad.

Part of her rails against it. There’s no way. Joel would never leave her, Joel would never…he would never .

But the other part–the small, mean, shameful part she keeps tucked deep down inside, the one that will always be there no matter how old she gets, no matter how long she stays with Joel–is waiting for him to make good on that threat.

She shrugs, muttering. “Okay, I guess.”

They’re side by side, almost brushing shoulders, and she straightens her spine and lifts her chin.

“Meant to tell you this last night, but…it was late n’…anyway. Outbreak Day’s comin’ up.”

“Uh huh.”

He screws up his face like he’s sucked on something sour, one of the tiny green crabapples that are just starting to grow on the tree in the backyard of the house they share. In the house where she sleeps now, in the room he helped repaint and redecorate. In the town where they live, where she goes to school, where he builds things. Home.

She suddenly remembers their conversation from months ago.

September 26th.

Joel’s birthday.

That homesick feeling wraps itself around her insides again and pulls, a steady downward tug of grief. Suddenly she wants nothing more than to be safe in Jackson’s walls, sitting at the dining table with Joel and Tommy and Maria and baby Isabel, laughing over some dumb joke Tommy told at Joel’s expense until milk squirts out her nose. She does not want to be here, does not want to be having this conversation, even if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about yet.

She picks up her pace, forcing Joel to do the same.

“That’s, uh…that’s kind of a rough…time.”

“For you and, like, everyone,” she says, practically marching away until he catches up, grasping her by the shoulder.

“Hey, would you slow down?” he huffs. “Let’s just…stop for a sec.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “If you’re trying to…to…pawn me off on Tommy again–”

“What?” he balks. “No, I–”

“Is this about the stupid Fireflies?”

He goes very still. “What do you mean by that?”

I swear.

“Nothing,” she mutters, kicking at a rock, unable to meet his eyes. “I dunno, I just…you’re being fucking weird, man.”

“No, it’s not about the…no. It’s–it’s…Christ, you know I’m shit at this stuff. Just…gimme a minute.”

He walks to the side of the path, hands on his hips, frowning. Finally he takes a breath and looks at her. 

“I’m not sure how I’ll…be for a few days. Might be…different, is all.”

“You gonna turn into a werewolf? Grow fangs and claws or some shit?”

He sighs in frustration. “No.”

“So, what? You gonna beat me or something?” She tries to smile, to make a joke of it, but her voice falls flat.

“No! Jesus, no, nothin’ like that,” he says. “Ellie, I’d never. Not ever . You know that, right?”

She looks at him for a long time, sees the desperation in his eyes, before nodding slowly. She wonders if he knows that a beating is the least of her worries as far as punishment goes. Doesn’t think he could take hearing about all the other shit that happened to kids in FEDRA school. For all his experience, Joel could be incredibly naive. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to think about it. She supposes she can’t blame him. If he knew just how broken and bruised she was, he’d probably run away screaming.

“I know, dude,” she huffs, trying to brush it off. “It was a joke.”

“Jokes are s’posed to be funny,” he says flatly. “And I’d never–ever–hurt you like that.”

She throws up her hands. “Then stop making me guess and just tell me what the fuck is wrong!”

“Alright,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Thing is…I used to drink. A lot. A lot more than…well, just a lot.”

Her brow furrows. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Joel take more than a sip or two from his flask when they were on the road, and only when it got cold. Come to think of it, she doesn’t think she’s seen him drink anything stronger than shitwater since they came back to Jackson.

“After Sarah…after the…everything…well,” he says. “I ain’t proud of it. Could say I come by it honestly–”

“Your dad,” she says softly.

“Uh-huh. An’ it was always worse this time of year. Come end of September…I’d lock myself in the apartment and, uh…lose a week or so. Tess usually left, stayed…somewhere else. Checked in on me, made sure I didn’t…that I didn’t, uh–”

“I get it,” Ellie says, lump in her throat. “The guy who shot and missed.”

“Right. But I’m not gonna do that,” he says quickly. “No drinkin’. Between you and Tommy and everythin’ else…can’t afford to. Don’t want to.”

She nods carefully, fidgeting with her hands, picking at her cuticles. Just when she thinks she’s found her footing, something like this comes along and throws her off again.

“Just don’t know how it’s gonna go,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I haven’t been sober for this in…well, probably since the…the first one. Might be a bit…a bit cross.”

“So…normal, then?”

He sighs and gives her The Look, the one that tells her this is supposed to be a serious conversation and she needs to take it seriously. But she’s fucking lost, as usual. Is this the kind of shit people used to do Before? Stand around and talk about their feelings? It would almost be easier if he used his fists. She knows he’s good with those. He sucks at words even more than she does.

Besides, what does he want her to say? Thanks for not drinking yourself to death? Thanks for not offing yourself?

He continues more softly, struggling his way through. “I just want you to know…if I’m…if…I’m not good…for a little while…it’s not you. Okay? There’s nothin’ you could do to…to make me that way.”

She remembers the first time he told her he was sorry, how lost she’d felt when he’d tried to explain how she shouldn’t have had to shoot that kid. No grown-up had ever been sorry for anything in her life and she’d long stopped expecting them to be. Now Joel was apologizing for something he might not even do…and it wasn’t even that bad.

“Y’know, you can always go to Tommy or Maria if–”

Her eyes snap to his face. “I want to stay with you.”

“I know. But…if you need to. I won’t…be mad.”

She shrugs, not knowing what the fuck to say. “Can we go now?”

He considers her for a moment, then ducks his head in a nod.

“Sure. Yeah…let’s go.”

They walk in muted silence for a while. Ellie thinks about their house in Jackson, thinks about Joel pushing Tommy into a lake, about him squeezing her toes through her sock after bandaging her foot, about his arm around her shoulders reminding her where she stands. She realizes that the things she knows about Joel’s past can probably be counted on one hand.

He had a daughter.

He killed people.

He was a smuggler.

Now she could add “He was a drunk” to that list.

And yet, none of those things, save for the first, made the person she knew as Joel Miller.

He made good pancakes.

He bandaged her blisters.

He taught her how to hold a gun and play guitar and fish and hunt. How to keep watch and protect herself.

The silence lasts until Jackson is a tiny speck in the distance. Finally she breaks it.

“I know you said…you’re lucky to worry about me. But…that goes both ways.”

He shakes his head. “Ellie, you shouldn’t have to–”

“I want to.”

He looks over at her sharply.

“I just…I don’t wanna go away ‘cause you’re having a bad time…or whatever,” she says, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, on each step ahead. “You’re always there for me when things are shitty. It’s only fair.”

He opens his mouth, probably to tell her it’s not the same because he’s a grown-up and she’s a kid or some shit, but she cuts him off.

“And I know it’s not about…me, okay? I get it. I’m almost sixteen, which is practically seventeen, which is basically an adult. I can handle it.”

His eyebrow goes up to his hairline at that, mouth twitching in a little smirk. His hands are full, so she grabs his wrist, circling it with her fingers, squeezing to get the point across.

Finally he nods, speaking softly in his familiar warm drawl. “Alright.”

She nods back, satisfied, returning his smile.

Together, they walk toward home.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello! i hope you’re doing well! i would like to request something for alex keller! could you write something about sunshine!alex being absolutely smitten by his girlfriend who’s a grumpy!reader? sorry if this request doesn’t give a lot of ideas. love ur fics btw!!!! <3

Sun and Stars

Pairing: Alex Keller x F!Reader

Synopsis: Bloodied, the two of you find yourselves alone in a mountainous forest, surrounded by the termite-eaten walls of a lone shack. But Alex always finds a way to make the world brighter.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Canon typical gore & themes, blood, a teeny tiny bit of angst, lots of fluff, banter, sunshine and grump dynamic

A/N: This is a bit shorter just because I wanna understand Alex's character more - take this as a test fic lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He was peeling back your skin like layers of paint on a canvas, gripping at the dried bits and ripping them to the side. Growling as your teeth sink deeper into your boyfriend's leather belt, your eyes swirl with hatred that you direct to the man kneeling beside your propped-up form; digging the bullet out of your left arm with all the delicateness of a rhino. 

“Stop,” Alex grunts under his breath, “squirmin’ for me.” The tweezers go deeper, trying to find the sweet spot where the metal pellet had dived into your flesh at high velocity. Of course, it had been where the thick kevlar of your vest hadn’t been able to stop it – flew right to the place where the skin was uncovered. 

Alex’s breaths are steady as you stare daggers, minutes away from yanking him off of you and doing it yourself. He was so damn slow, sending concerned glances every other moment with a furrowed brow and concentrated eyes. From under your makeshift gag, there so you won't bite off your tongue, you grumble with pain lacing your barely understandable words.

“Hurry up and get the fuckin’ thing out of me, Alex!” It didn’t sound like that, obviously, but the general heat to your words made – hurrey uh ahn geh tha fuhking thing ou of meh, Ahlex! – clear enough. 

The light-haired man clears his throat, gripping your arm just a little tighter with his blood-stained gloves as his mustache rotates, scrunching his nose. His eyes are locked onto the entry wound, lids scrunched in a way you would have found comedic if you didn’t want to smack him upside the skull. Lord, could he just hurry up?

“I’m gettin’ there, Hon…just quit trying to make my head explode with your mind over there, yeah?” Alex dares to smirk when you take your free hand and slap his heavily tattooed forearm. You’re shaking your head to the side with displeasure that would transcend any barrier known to man.

A velvety chuckle leaves your lover’s lips before he leans close to your shoulder, placing a kiss on the fabric of your shirt in apology as your narrowed eyes don’t let up an inch. He pulls back and continues his exploration of your gaping puncture with focused eyes.

Prick. You chuff through your nose like a cat, fingers twitching in your lap as you fight the pull to bring it into a fist.

Sweat travels down your nose only to plop on your bunched abdomen, and in the back of your throat, you force your esophagus to hold back a whimper of restrained pain. Everything burned like your flesh was being placed on a hot spit – like you were a sheep carcass slowly rolled around and around and around–

“Here we go.” The pressure dissipates at the heavy whisper, and without even realizing it had happened, your head had tilted back into the wall and your eyes had ground themselves shut. Opening them quickly and blinking away the black dots, the soft face of your boyfriend pops into view; beaming as you deadpan up at him. The man holds up the tweezers in one hand, showing off the red-dripping metal almost lazily with a tilt of his head and a raised brow, speaking slowly. “Told ya’ I could do it faster than you.” 

Letting the belt drop from your mouth with a metallic clink, you rotate your jaw at the ache your clenching had caused. You settle with a simple, “I said I could do it better not faster. What the hell were you looking for in there anyways – gold? My whole damn arm’s numb.” 

Alex chuckles, rolling his eyes with an easy smile. To anyone else, the two of you would look like the strangest couple in the world. Covered in blood but you still have the time to bicker back and forth like a married pair. The Agent’s eyelids crinkle.

“Yeah, alright, Miss World-Class,” he motions with two fingers and a smug look, “scoot upwards so I can pack that wound before blood gets stuck in your gear. Can’t have my girl bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, now can I?” He huffs, placing the tweezers and bullet on the floor of the safe house before taking off the ruined gloves with his teeth as his neck muscles peek out from his scarf. 

His gear was all covered in fluids – blood, mud, you name it the two of you were drowned in it. The Op could have gone better, to say the very least, but, hell, when does an Op go well? It had been too long since you and the man had a break and it was starting to weigh on you. Long nights and little sleep, it was like SAD was trying to go get you both killed with all the orders being given. Do this, do that…and what happened today? You feel a weight in your chest. 

But the bullet wound wasn’t what was bothering you. 

Sighing, you take a deep breath before grunting, forcing your back farther up the wall with shaking legs and a weak stomach to comply with Alex’s request. Your arm still blazes something awful, but the numbing agent your boyfriend had been insistent on you having was finally starting to work.

“Blood loss sucks ass…” You growl under your breath, lips twisting into a frown as you force away the haze in front of your eyes with fluttering eyelashes and sheer spite. The man spares you a pitying glance as he grabs fresh gauze from the medical punch on the floor. 

Inside your chest, your heart warms despite the outward hatred you feel for getting put in a situation like this. Blinking at him, Alex tilts his head to the side as he sits up, one knee on the floor as the other behaves as an elbow rest.

“I know, Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Just bare with me, alright? I’ll take such good care of you, ya’ won't even feel a thing.” You roll your eyes with an infectious smile, head tilting back to rest on the dilapidated wall once more, and say nothing.

“Hey, now,” your boyfriend teases with tell-tale amusement in his voice, and you mumble a half-assed ‘quit it’ under your breath that goes unheeded. “I saw that smile there – you can’t get past me that easily.” 

“Keller, shut up and patch me before I bleed out.”

An amused pause makes your cheeks hurt from holding back laughter.

“...Yes, Ma’am.” He says it so smugly you can’t help the exasperated chuckle that leaves your lips. The man’s hands caress your stained skin like you were formed of glass, rubbing soothing circles as he pushes back your shirt sleeve just the tiniest bit more to see what he’s working with. 

Alex was quite good at keeping his emotions in check, knowing how to act when he needed to, and even how to change his personality to get the job done with minimal hiccups. But there were small tells – the way his hands held your skin slightly tighter, the flickering of his eyes over the crimson-coated skin. He was used to blood, but he didn’t think he could ever get used to yours. Swallowing saliva in this mouth, the man focuses on the thrumming pulse of your heart; your skin. 

She’s right here. Alex tells himself. I’m gonna fix her up, and she’ll be just fine. 

If he had the chance to shoot the man that did this to you again, he would do it in a heartbeat.

The story of how you two met was one mentioned often by friends and coworkers back in the CIA-SAD headquarters. It never got old, apparently, and as Alex gets to stuffing and wrapping your wound until the extraction team comes with proper supplies, he hums a song under his breath softly. The song.

When Alex’s presence presses nearer, you tilt your head to the side, watching the wrinkle in the large man’s brow as his careful hands fix your marred skin with the patience of a saint. Unlike him, you were more than content to bask in the silence of each other's company, gazing with hidden love at the twitch of his large nose or at the way his hair stuck every which way. 

“You remember how I asked you to dance at that ball while Frank Sinatra was playing? The one in Washington back in ‘02.” Alex asks, looking up at you with a small smile under his mustache, skin peeling back to show perfect teeth. You nod, transfixed, as the light from outside gets dimmer, watching the dying rays play in his eyes that shine like shades of blue sea-glass, “God, I thought you were going to laugh straight in my face. I swear you nearly did.” 

“The stupid corporate thing that Laswell made us go to? Yeah, I remember it,” you frown at the accusation, annoyed, “and I would never laugh at someone asking me to dance.”

He raises a light brow, and after a brief staring contest, you concede with a scoff. 

“Okay, I’d never laugh at you asking me to dance…Better, Sunshine?” Alex laughs and you swear you nearly melt into the floor, cheeks feeling hot. 

Oh, when he laughs.

“Maybe, I don’t know yet. We’ll have to go dancin’ to make sure.” 

“I hate dancing,” you tease, only biting your lip when the knot he ties in the gauze makes your blood pump faster. “Thought I told you that the first time you asked?”

“You did – but I like when you’re swayin’ in my arms. Plus,” running his hands over the bandage, pulling at the fabric to make sure it’s secure, his blue orbs sparkle with his unique mischief you’ve come to tolerate. If only for the fact that it was his. Your face softens. “I did get you to join me eventually, if my memory’s correct.” 

Smirking, you bring your hand up to his chin, tilting it towards you without hesitation. Alex complies easily, setting some of his weight onto the limb as a particularly smitten glimmer sparks over his face; he stares down at you with his mustache twitching. 

“As I recall,” your blank words echo out over the small shack, “I only said ‘yes’ so you would stop following me around like a lost dog in search of its owner.” 

“Is that it?” He jibes, a smile so wide on his face you feared he would rip his lips open.

“Hm,” leaning closer, you watch Alex’s breath stutter not a second later with satisfaction singing in your blood like a hymn, “you had that same look on your face too…Absolutely whipped.” 

“And is that such a bad thing, Sweetheart?” He whispers, not missing a beat, breath fanning your cheeks as the scruff of his beard hairs scratches your flesh. “I don’t see you complaining when I make you dinner every night.” 

Scoffing, you squeeze his chin, “how could I? Your mother blessed you with her culinary skills. I’d be a fool to pass it up.” 

Alex’s chest rumbles in a purr.

“So you’re usin’ me?” He asks, his smooth voice tilted in a tone of bold cheekiness. Like a steady wave rocking a boat.

“Would it be unethical if I was?” You counter, staring dead on into his eyes without blinking. His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks.

“Incredibly.” 

“Hm…Pity.” You release his chin and lean back into the wall, murmuring complaints under your breath about the weakness of your arm and the sweat that makes your clothes stick to you. The regular grumpy frown on your lips re-takes its place where the easy smile had once been, unknown to you.

Alex’s heart beats loudly in his chest, but he refrains from showing his disappointment at the lack of lips pressed to his, only happy that you were still acting like your normal self. It would take more than one bullet to keep you down, he knew, and his admiration only continued to grow. 

His girlfriend was a badass. 

“Here – let me.” You allow the Agent to loop his strong arm under your shoulder, taking your weight like it was nothing and helping you to your feet. The comfortable conversation slips to the back of your mind when your feet are connecting to the ground. 

Alex keeps a hand on the small of your back to make sure you don’t fall, whispering a small, “steady,” as your feet momentarily stumble.

“How far out is Evac?” You force through gritted teeth, the back of your neck heating in wounded pride. 

You loved Alex - you really did - but if anything made you feel powerless it was not being in control of your own body. In the corners of your vision, black dots swirled like paper mache puppets, their phantom bodies leaving long streaks of mist behind as they danced from one position to another. The man at your side watches closely, face going tense; ready to catch you if your legs give out. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you once more gain control over yourself and clear your throat, shaking your head from side to side. The light brunette takes a step forward so his body brushes yours, leading you to blink and look up at him with curious eyes. 

“I’d say about three hours, give or take.” You can’t help the utter annoyance that enters your expression, eyes going half-lidded as you turn to stare at the barricaded door. 

No one would be coming after you from the city – and the safe house was so far off into the mountains, no one would want to try. If your thoughts hadn’t been running so fast, you would have reveled at the situation; Alex and you alone with no one coming for hours. Now that was a blessing in disguise. 

But there was something wrong. 

She’s not acting right. Those sea-glass eyes narrow, optics flickering to try and find what exactly you were staring at, but lands on nothing but an old door with moldy wood before he gravitates back.

Concerned confusion builds in Alex’s chest. 

Now that he thought about it, you had been more snappy on this mission than the others; less open to letting his jokes and quick quips curl your lips or soften your constant scowl. He’d refrained from mentioning anything due to the fact that he knew some days were worse than others – in this line of work sometimes it was best to take a breather than to blow up. But this was different. When those days came around, you always told him about it first thing – there hadn’t been anything this time.

“Sweetheart?” Alex asks, tilting his head forward to stare at you. “...Something going on?”

“No.” Straight-faced, your hands go to work the straps of your vest, peeling at the velcro at your sides. The man’s eyes widen, taken aback, and his soft smile freezes as his eyebrows pull in. You go back to shoving away pouches and hucking off your weapon, setting it to the floor before righting yourself.

Continuing, Alex feels his worry grow tenfold. 

“Would you–” he laughs heavily in his chest to try and dispel tension as you try harder to force the vest over your head, scowling. Your arm was ripe with needles, static living under the skin as your gauze turns more red. “Would you just let me take care of you?”

“...You shouldn’t have to.” 

A moment of brain-shattering silence. 

Fuck, you curse with a burning face, did I say that out loud? He wasn’t supposed to hear that–

“And what if I want to?” Alex utters, feet carrying him in front of you and sighing. You slow your still unexplained actions, avoiding his eyes and feeling your chest tighten. He continues, bringing his hand up to your cheek to tilt your head up to him. Losing some of that tension instantaneously, you glare at his collarbone instead. “Accidents happen, Hon. We can’t always come out of this at one hundred percent. I’m not disappoint–”

“We don’t get second chances, Alex,” you interrupt loudly, motioning around you at nothing, eyes flashing as they lock with his. The man just runs his thumb over your cheek – leaving molten heat behind. “Not us. Not when every mission could be it.”

Alex halts, body suddenly going stiff and muscles bunching. His forearms seize, the vibrant tattoos that you love to trace with your fingers jerking as if being lifted from the sun-kissed skin. His thumb ceases.

What?

“...Where’s this comin’ from?” You turn away quickly, moving back a step with your hands at your side bunching into fists, “hey,” Alex follows after, hesitant, but when you don’t move away he lays both of his hands on your shoulders. “Hey. Talk to me, Sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You shouldn't, but Alex just makes everything so much easier. It was like the words just fell out of you; whispered like a prayer. 

“...If someone would have snuck up on you while I was down…I…Y-you would have…” Your tongue bunches, catching on syllables and finding walls embedded in the vowels. God, you couldn’t even say it. 

Alex had become so important to you – the thought of something happening to him while you were unable to help…It broke you. 

What would have happened if even one more hostile was there; if he was outnumbered? And all I could do was watch. Your jaw clenches tight, throat holding back a growl.

No one had ever mattered this much to you, and that made you incredibly nervous. 

The hands at your shoulders tighten, a gentle squeeze before you’re being brought into a warm embrace without another word. Immediately, you reciprocate, the one wounded arm remaining at your side as the other digs past pouches and spare ammo to curl over Alex’s back, where you latch onto his shirt like a child. This was unlike you.

But it wasn’t like that mattered to Alex.

His body kept you close, security leaking from the locked position of his hand on the back of your head and the even swelling of his lungs. Home could mean many things to many different people, but for you, it would always be here. Colorful tattoos and a well-groomed mustache. Kind eyes. 

Sunshine smiles and sea-glass blue. 

Your lips thinned, keeping the glossiness in the corners of your vision away as you bury your head into Alex’s neck and suck down a deep breath. You both stay like that until the last light of dusk stops making shadows of the termite-eaten furniture, content to listen to each other's heartbeats and in the warmth of living skin. 

He speaks in whispers.

“How about we take a vacation? Just the two of us – take a breather from all of…this.” His words move your hair, spreading over the skin of your scalp as he presses his lips to it, murmuring into your skull with utter devotion. “You said something about Iceland to Laswell once, yeah?” 

Alex knew just as well as you did how draining this job was; how it was bad most days and horrible the next – never having choices, doing things that made an identity crisis seem like a holiday in comparison. There were some things the Agent would never tolerate, and that was you going off the deep end and him not being there to fish you out as you do with him. Being together meant fighting for one another when the battles were physical yet more so when they were unseen. 

All you had was each other. 

He feels your fingers grip his shirt slightly tighter, and a mocking laugh.

“You remembered that?” Your voice is garbled by his gear, but the vibrations spread over his skin as he fights the closing of his eyes; weaving his fingers just a little more through your locks. When you press kisses to his neck, Alex swears he’ll bend to one knee without hesitation.

“‘Course,” he smirks softly, lightly beginning to sway the two of you back and forth despite your half-hearted protests. “I remember everything my girl says. But if we’re goin’,” the Agent leans back, prompting you to look up at him with fatigued but bright eyes, “you owe me a dance first.”

“Alex,” you roll your eyes, chest lighter and mild panic gone. Funny, how the man could make everything disappear so simply. “We don’t even have any music.”

“You’re insinuating that we need music, Sweetheart.” 

“...You’re exhausting, Keller.” 

“Shush – you’re getting me off beat.”

“There is no beat–!” He presses his lips to yours, and the melody of your heart becomes song enough. Your eyes flutter shut as the scratch of Alex’s mustache leaves you grinning, his own lips peeling back in a smile in answer. 

A great bout of chuckles spills over the room, separating your supple flesh but never making you move far apart.

“...Just be careful. I’m still sore.” You hum your admittance, and he connects your foreheads together more gracefully than butterflies wings. 

Sea-glass blue. 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The stars might have been out, shining through the dusty window of that old shack in the middle of nowhere, but you didn’t need the illumination from them to guide your unhurried steps. You had a sun of your own to light the path, and he was keeping his arms around you; squeezing as if you’d leave. 

As if. 

Gentle laughter spills out from under the doorway, seemingly making the rocky forest outside come alive. Birds sang songs to their adoring mates, deer grazed in lush green meadows in contentful calm. Wood Nymphs frolicked to and fro on fast feet, but would pause near the ancient forgotten building with termites living in the frame; taking quick peaks inside through murky glass and pressing moss-coated fingers to lips. 

They watched the two lovers dance with awe-filled expressions. For they had seen many lifetimes but had never once glimpsed such a sight as this – proof of every principle that Eros had preached as he and Psyche became inseparable. A love so pure and giving, some would call it divine.

The immortal beings watched just a little longer, lichen-lips parted into smiles.

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