#a smidge of angst ofc

[totallynottinsel]

Warnings: none. Just some tooth rotting fluff for the soul. and maybe a little angst

Ship: Chreon (+ some Jill x Claire sprinkled in for fun)

Ty to my wonderful mom for this whole idea of the gang getting to have a chill day out for once, she's amazing so all credit goes to her for the prompt (: (i've dragged her into the Chreon cult)

Finally, with the world saved once again by the skin of everyone’s teeth, there was that silent, open void left over; it was a bit funny how these top tier government agents and so on had a hard time figuring out what to occupy themselves with when not stopping bioterrorists or shooting zombies. Though most of them had gotten used to that same empty space by now. 

After Dylan had been successfully put to a stop, as well as the events on Alcatraz Island settled—the near exhausted group of friends wanted to at least spend a little time all together before each of them had to return to their own set of work again. Yet the question was…what would they do? None could seem to agree on one thing throughout the various ideas and suggestions spat out, though at least someone had a decent choice. Rebecca ended up saying they should simply go out for ice cream, to which they all happily agreed to. Who wouldn’t though?

They all decided to carpool to make the trip easier. “I’m calling shotgun!” Claire exclaimed as she dashed to the side of the car, sitting herself inside right next to her brother, who’d already been the chosen driver—whilst Jill and Rebecca got stuck with the backseats. But at least it wasn’t too squished for the two of them, or so they would think for a good minute. 

“Hey, can I ride with you guys? I’ve kinda lost mine” A low, unsure voice kindly asked the rest of the group, which was quick to catch everyone’s attention. It belonged to Leon of course, who stood just a few feet away from the vehicle, arms crossed as he patiently awaited a response.  

“What happened to your bike?” Chris asked with curiosity towards the other, his arm resting on the rim of the car’s open window. 

“I…don’t really wanna talk about it.” The blond replied in an underlying tone of remorse, his gaze fluttering down to the ground below him, almost in a shameful manner. 

"Not again…" Claire murmured from her side, leaning forward to try and get a better look out her brother's window, not all too surprised by the revolution. Especially seeing who it was coming from.

"What does she mean again? Jesus, how many bikes have you recked?" Jill raised an eyebrow to the topic, staring at the apprehensive man outside the car with a slightly distasteful, yet nonetheless intrigued look on her face. 

"Too many for my liking." Leon mumbled under his breath as it was mixed with the tiniest tinge of annoyance, which was fair in his defense. He made his way over to the car, and slid himself inside the backseat alongside the other two—who were now stuck being squished next to each other. 

"So what I got from that was, is that I get to sit next to the guy who's known for wrecking bikes and or vehicles? Just my luck." She remarked straight back, her tone riddled with sarcasm as she kept on trying to lean far from him, making their limited space even worse no doubt. "Wanna swap seats?" She asked the woman next to her.

"I'll pass." Rebecca gladly declined, knowing fully well she wasn't about to be the human shield in case the curse of the vehicle wrecker was real all along. 

"Don't worry, we'll get you a new one, again. It's no big deal." Chris didn't hesitate one bit to put up an offer towards the other man, his usual warm and inviting smile coming across his face as he started up the car, one hand leisurely placed on the wheel.

"You don't have to do that, Chris—really. I can get my own this time, eventually…" He denied the gracious offer with hesitance; it wouldn't be the first time he's said no, yet came home to a snazzy new bike regardless. 

"He just likes finding any excuse to buy you things." Claire couldn't help but comment with a grin towards the two, shifting to look back at Leon, who rightfully was trying to avoid direct eye contact. Even if everyone was staring at him with intrigue. "You know he'll get it for you no matter what you say or do." He sank right into his seat after hearing that. 

—-------

"Are you going to pick or just stand there?" Chris asked with a gentle sigh, waiting for Jill to finally order whatever flavor of ice cream she was so deeply contemplating for what seemed like years. At this rate, she'd been holding up the line of impatient kids—whilst Claire and Rebecca had no issues ordering and taking a seat outside the place.  

"Give me a break! It's been awhile since I ordered anything, let alone ice cream." She gave a snappy response before eventually making her decision out of the bajillion flavors this place had, and was glad to leave the devilish gazes of all those kids waiting for their daily sugar intake. 

"Did you order anything yet?" Chris directed his attention back to the silent man standing off to the side, seeming a bit fazed out—as if he'd been distracted this entire time, which might've been true. 

"Huh–? Oh, yeah… I'll just have whatever you're having, I'm not really that hungry." Leon merely shrugged his shoulders, stuffing his hands down into the pockets of his leather jacket, having his laid back demeanor as always. 

"You sure?" The older wanted to confirm, though a hint of concern was noticeable in his voice towards the other. 

"Yeah, like I said, I'm not super hungry or anything…but if I do I'll just steal some from yours." He at least had a half smile going, which was better than nothing at all, but something still felt a bit off. 

The two men returned back outside within no time, ice cream in hand as the sun was shining, people out and about, no blood curdling screams of terror. Or big tyrants stomping around. All in all it was…well, a normal, average day, by anyone else's standards. But for this group of pals in particular? This was like a dream.

"Looks like we've been ditched." Leon snarkily remarked at the supposed other three friends who'd left before them, now nowhere in sight. So…that left the both of them, alone once again to either sit in cricket filled silence as they stood on the sidewalk, or attempt at striking up a decent conversation. What the hell would they even talk about at this point? That was always the question when this scene played out, with no mission to swiftly coordinate with one another, or battle to face. Though in all honesty, neither one totally hated the silence—it was almost nice of sorts to just be in each other's company, no words needed.

"You doing okay?" Chris finally spoke up after at least five minutes of just head nodding and gestures of acknowledgement, having already taken notice of the other's odd quietness, and how he kept on resting his eyes nearly the whole time. "You've been pretty quiet all morning." 

"I'm fine, just real tired. I barely got any sleep last night…actually, scratch that, I haven't got any sleep all damn week. I guess it's catching up to me." The fatigued blond rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand, leaning his back against the concrete wall next to the store. "I can't seem to figure out how to stop having nightmares, and I feel like I've tried everything, you know?" 

"Yeah, I do." Chris gave a weary nod in return; he definitely had similar experiences with dreams throughout his entire life, though he wasn't sure if his were as frequent, and as bad as Leon's. He's heard about them in detail before, and it didn't sound like a pleasant sight to see. He also wasn't an expert when it came to comforting people, so he gently leaned his cup of ice cream towards the other, offering it up with a kindhearted smile. 

Leon let a short chuckle go as he spotted the ice cream, decided to accept the treat, even if it wasn't a flavor he preferred—he didn't mind at all if it was coming from Chris. He pulled out one of the plastic spoons that sat in the side of it, and popped a spoon full into his mouth, pleasantly surprised by it. 

"You'll always have my shoulder to lean on, just know that." The older said whilst taking a bite of his own, happy to have seen his offer of ice cream be taken up. 

"Good, 'cause I'm beat." Leon didn't hesitate much to carefully rest his sleepy head on the side of the other's shoulder, not exactly being able to reach the top due to their slight height difference. He obviously chose to take the Chris's words more literally than figuratively—but hey, the man was exhausted, so what's the harm in it? 

The two decided to stay there, taking in the scenery; sounds of speedy cars rushing by, or the sounds of distant voices and footsteps. It was honestly quite relaxing, and with how tired Leon already was, he was struggling to even keep his eyes open as he took a long awaited rest—which no doubt wouldn't be happening if Chris wasn't here. They made each other feel safe enough to put their guards down for once. It was sort of like having a big fuzzy blanket you could hide yourself under, and you felt as if nobody could touch you. 

"Hey, Chris?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You really don't have to get me a new bike." 

"I want to." 

Leon sighed in defeat, eyes still closed, knowing there was no way he'd win this argument. 

"Maybe Claire was right when she said I use it as an excuse to buy you things, but it's also an excuse to get to see you. Without having to fight bioterrorist's in the same day."  It was true, he was always looking for little ways to try and see or talk to the agent away from anything work related, and it'd become painfully obvious to everyone around that he was trying so hard to spend time with him, well—to everyone but Leon. 

“All you have to do is ask, y’know? It’s no trouble if you ever wanna call me up and hang around, or something. No need to spend your entire life savings on me, Redfield.” He mentally cursed at his own words after some thought over them, wondering if ‘hanging around’ was the right thing to suggest, should he have recommended going out to dinner? Or perhaps another group activity? He was unsure, and the room was a bit hard to read…so, all he could really do was hope for the best. 

“I might just take you up on that, then.” Well, Chris definitely seemed up for it, so…at least he was doing something right. 

—----- 

"That's a keeper." Claire said with a smile of her own as she snapped a good photo of the two men from round the street corner, knowing it was a rare sight they were ever that close in a public setting—and she couldn't wait to see the look on her brother's face once she showed it to him later. 

"How have neither of them asked each other out?" Rebecca asked with absolute disbelief, shaking her head as she finished off her scoop of ice cream.

"Honestly, I thought Leon would be making moves left and right on him, but I realized he talks a bigger game than he's actually got. And that's just based off a few days knowing him." Jill summed it up fairly well as she watched the two, arms crossed with a small smile before she moved her gaze to the other women beside her. "You Redfields are awful at flirting too." 

"She's got a point, I've been around those two long enough to get the feeling that Chris…isn't necessarily great at flirting…" Rebecca chimed in with reluctance. 

"Hey, we're not awful flirters! I can do it just as well as anyone else, and maybe Chris…struggles, but he gets there." Claire defended the both of them with confidence in her voice, one she'd soon come to regret as she attempted trying to come up with a flirt, or pickup line, yet—she found herself stuck with infuriated embarrassment by the end of it. 

"Alright, stop— look, this is how you do it." Jill set her empty cup of melted ice cream down onto the ground, rolling her shoulders back as she stepped a few feet away, then turned around and walked up to the younger Redfield again, who was still speechless. "Hey, wanna go out some time, beautiful?" 

In all honesty, it wasn't that great of a line, and really shouldn't work on anyone. Yet the way Jill said those words—the way she walked with absolute confidence, and her voice was as smooth as ever—it lit something inside Claire that she suddenly couldn't explain, and all she could say was…

"Uh, sure–?" She uttered out with a mix of confusion, surprise, and…an interesting dose of excitement. 

"Great." Jill accepted it, and was content with her work for the day enough to begin walking back—with a flabbergasted Claire and semi entertained Rebecca following—towards the two men who were practically in their own little world—which would soon come to a speedy crash. "Is he asleep…?" She asked in a low voice. 

The sound of Jill's harsh, sudden questioning was enough to jolt Leon awake from his relaxed and peaceful state, swiftly leaving his claimed spot on Chris's shoulder and very quickly deciding to pretend as if that was the last thing he was doing. And totally was not taking an extremely enjoyable nap on his quote on quote ‘friend's’ arm. Yet now he just looked plain freaked out instead of cool and collected. "Where the hell did you all come from–?"

"We were hanging around the corner, just to let you two have some quality time to yourselves.” Rebecca answered with her usual soft tone,  though it was as clear as day she was in on whatever the three of them were conspiring over there. “Well, until Jill had something to say to you, I believe."

Chris audibly sighed, a bit bitter by the fact his moment was abruptly interrupted, but tried in his best efforts to keep calm about it, just for the 50\50 chance that whatever she had to say was important in some way, shape or form.

“What is it?”

“I asked your sister out, and she said sure.” Blunt as ever.

“You what?”

The silence had gotten so thick, you could cut it with a knife. And that soon faded into mindless staring—just waiting for someone to awkwardly cough, or say any sentence at all. Nobody was entirely sure if this was all a planned joke or quite literal. 

“Jill what do you mean? Don’t walk away!” He threw his hands up in utter confusion as he chased after her down the sidewalk, itching to get a straighter answer and much needed context he clearly missed, whilst Rebecca kept on telling them not to banter so close to the busy road. Far too many times.

Leon didn’t give many words to the whole ordeal, and instead chose to simply watch in saddened disappointment as Chris left his side; he had a blatant frown as he put his hands back in his pockets, returning to the same state he’d been in all morning within the blink of an eye. Although he did have one question that took him a bit aback, out of everything that went down. 

“I didn’t know you…well, you know, were into women–?” He tilted his head towards Claire with uncertainty to his own question, even if they’d been close friends for years now—new information still seemed to pop up out of the blue. 

“I didn’t know you were into my brother.” She didn’t even have to look back at him to get her point across, and held back a large smile while doing so. She’d noticed his sudden spring of dismay the moment Chris walked off right away, of course, and couldn’t help but comment on it if no one else would. 

The blond didn’t deny her accusation by any means, and simply took a stand by her side, a chuckle escaping his lips as they watched the other three repartee all across the street, a true sight for sore eyes getting to see them have a bit of fun. 

“I don’t think he knows either.”

[pedrospatch]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[orangez3st]

All-Nighter Work High

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.11.25: Quality Time | Event Masterlist

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Summary: One step closer to uncovering the truth. In the domestic comfort of her apartment, Lesiil unravels the web of reasons behind the murders while Marshal Commander Fox is finishing his mundane flimsiwork. Tags & Warnings: inaccurate criminal investigation & its related process, domestic fluff, "he fell first x she fell harder" kinda dynamic, wholesome convo, a smidge of grief and angst, lots of light friendly banter, serial killer case, author wrote an intense analytic background of the case, typical murder investigation, author watches true crime for reference Pairing: Fox × Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 7.4k A/N: Second day of the event! This is one of my faves to write 😄 So giddy to find out you lot are enjoying the previous part so much! Here's fluff as a treat, hopefully you find them cute and amusing 🫶🏼 and a really comprehensive detail of the case for which I turned my braincells on.

𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐

— Routines In The Night - Twenty One Pilots [X]

The initial drama that surrounds the case, Lesiil thinks, is utterly ridiculous.

The first time these murders - or more like the first ten or so victims - occured, the Grand Army of the Republic quite blatantly ignored the bleak reports. Because ten clones mysteriously killed during patrol usually meant nothing as they are always replaceable. At that time, the interval between the murders were quite far apart.

Until the number increased. Concerningly.

Twenty-eight more murders in one week, as if the Corrie Butcher himself took a day off work, took a walk, and went on a spree in that span of five days – five to six victims a day on average.

Naturally, it sparked attention from the inner circle of the Galactic Senate, the politicians feared whoever this serial killer was. If the Corrie Butcher targeted the shock troopers, who stood guard by these important figures, then there was a chance where they would be targeted as well. With that, the conflict won the ultimate scrutiny by the Supreme Chancellor himself that he issued a direct order for the Coruscant Guard to finally investigate the accumulated murders – a total of fifty-five cases by that time, after a whole month of being ignored.

And now, after three whole months, the number increases to a shocking total of 164 cases. Since Lesiil got assigned to the Coruscant Guard, three more of these troopers had fallen to the brutal stabbing of the Corrie Butcher, bringing the total to 167.

Not to mock Coruscant Guard’s previous investigation team, but what have they been doing all this time?

Lesiil had broken this down to the Marshal Commander in one of her daily reports.

One; with 160 or so cases within three months, meaning 54 cases each month on average. The Corrie Butcher makes quick work with his killings, probably went on an uncontrollable and opportunistic spree in one of those nights, as he never sets a target of how many he wishes to kill in one night. There’s always another body near the first one, so the forensics and coroner are able to pinpoint the time of death, additionally with HUD timestamp. Following the victims’ patrol route, Lesiil concludes that the brutal Corrie Butcher is an opportunistic man. He’s aware of the intensity of Corrie patrol routine, blends with the dark, and strikes. Once he strikes, he sees another approaching, and repeats. Every other night – not only a serial killer – the Corrie Butcher is also a spree killer.

It’s as if these clones walk into their deaths, without even seeing it coming. All they saw was a hooded figure before choking on their own blood, the first strike being to the neck. 

Two; why shock troopers? This has been the question since the beginning. Although Lesiil has thought of several theories, nothing is certain, even when the variables aren’t deemed too abstract. She favors one that is most probable, though.

Coruscant Guard shock troopers would only have direct altercation with civilians during, most notably, riot control. Escalation of violence incites more pushed force from the Corries, and that incites more violence, but directed towards the troopers this time. Talking about the motive of personal vendetta; there should be something that might be related to the entire case about riot control in particular. Lesiil holds onto that belief, careful not to announce it aloud with utter confidence, yet.

Three; the obstacle that is the Corrie Butcher himself. His criminal record is squeaky clean, his DNA profile that some of the victims’ armor plate or gloves had acquired in shape of spit or sweat doesn't match anywhere in any police database. All that means he was once an innocent civilian, but then something happened, then his sanity was provoked. Right after that, he leaves 160 cases of serial murders across only three months for the Coruscant Guard to desperately chase after. A daring, heinous act like this…

If one wonders how Lesiil's mind works, that's it. For now.

So in conclusion; the Corrie Butcher, once was an unprovoked man, is now a merciless, opportunistic, trauma-driven serial killer who seeks vengeance to the Coruscant Guard. The deepest, darkest shadows of Coruscant had become his best friend, aiding him delivering that vengeful thirst while slipping through coverings beneath the dark and striking men who merely had only been doing their duty.

The Marshal Commander has been understanding and had taken her considerations to his own. Though, Lesiil knows better, so she refrains from being vocal until the situation needs her to – avoiding throwing caution to the wind. She works with her own mind, and her mind is hers only, not for others to judge. Lesiil knows her assumptions aren't for most people, since most people look at her assumptions like the dirtiest filth on their clothes. For these people, her spoken assumptions are nothing but krayt spit.

That's okay. Her mind is her own.

The next week, with the grim note that the victim count has escalated to 173, Lesiil is one step closer.

She had chosen to dive into her Corrie riot control theory. She can always assemble another probability if one fails, anyway.

Thorn kindly provided her with the necessary reports; a total of 11 times since exactly last standard year. From there, she filtered through. She looked for the ones where peace wasn't an option for these civilians – where violence had escalated to the point that non-lethal force had to be used.

She found 7.

Another filtering through. This time, she looked for the ones where people died unfortunately due to escalated violence.

She found 3.

The Marshal Commander glances back and forth between her and the datapad where she stores her findings of the day.

“These are all, Detective?”

Lesiil nods, keeping her expression neutral as always every time she sits for her daily end-of-the-day reports. A glance here and there to his demeanor and a little listening to his skeptical tone, she knows the Marshal remains cautious to her confidence. She's surprised he's got that amount of patience to face, as people dub it, her ‘krayt spit’.

“And where will you take this to?” the Marshal asks again.

“If it isn't troubling, sir,” she starts, “I would like to gain access to the citizen database so I'll be able to filter through again. I need to look at the profile of all these victims, aiming to see their names, physical features, associations, and familial connections.”

That's right. After jotting down the mentioned 3 riots, her search had to stop. To access the profile of these victims, she needs additional access to the central database of Coruscanti citizens. The party who may grant her that access is her own CO, no less.

Sighing, the Marshal leans back into his padded seat. “I can do that tomorrow,” he says finally.

“With all due respect, I need it tonight, sir,” Lesiil affirms, meeting his baffled expression. “Because if I’m right and we need to detain this individual as fast as possible, the whole process of obtaining a search and arrest warrant and assembling a house raid squad afterward takes time.”

The Marshal Commander waves her off. “No offense, Detective, but…” He trails off, glancing away momentarily, and lets out a long sigh. His hand goes to his face, dazedly rubbing his stubble in consideration. She waits. “How confident are you?” he then asks carefully.

“9 out of 10,” she says calmly, “And I am always right.”

A scoff escapes him as he shakes his head.

Lesiil's gaze remains stubbornly fixated onto the man.

Another sigh. “Very well,” he concedes, “But I have other matters to attend to.”

“Flimsiwork, I hope? Not patrol?”

He lets out a low chuckle, ��Yeah. One of your luckiest nights.”

Lesiil feels her cheeks slightly heat up in embarrassment. Did she sound too desperate? Was there something the Marshal deemed amusing? Or is it about his crow's feet that emerge whenever he smiles? She won't lie, such a kind of smile that reaches one's eyes is attractive.

“How soon do you need it?” his voice breaks her trance.

“As soon as possible,” she replies calmly, “I'm already willing to work through the night till morning.”

The Marshal looks at her concerningly. “I won't, and can't, allow you to stay overnight here in HQ.”

Lesiil shrugs. She's grown a bit too casual with the Marshal this past week. “I've planned to continue working elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Why, my apartment, of course,” she answers lightheartedly, “24-hour public co-working space is costly, and while my own dwelling is free, I'd hate spending credits for something I do have myself; private space.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens in thought. She notices a brewing conflict in his amber eyes, sparking and reflecting the lighting of his office. His luscious dark curls have long forgotten to be combed back and fallen to his brows, the silvery strands kissing his eyelids, making her wonder why he isn't choosing the regulatory haircut. But if it's personal preference and is a quirk, among millions of clones, she's glad her CO is a little rebel himself when it comes to his hair underneath that helmet.

“So,” she interrupts softly to not startle him, “Is it a yes, sir?”

His amber eyes pierce her with an intensity she can't quite define. “That data is sensitive and prone enough to security breach. I can't risk it, so as your CO, I’ll have to supervise you while you work and make sure you utilize it accordingly.”

Lesiil hums, nodding. “I’ll brew you some caf, then.”

“It's not–” the Marshal lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes momentarily. He places his jaw in his hand propped on the arm of his padded chair. “It won't look appropriate,” he mutters.

That's what he's worried about?

“I don't see any issue? I work, you watch me work, and we will be doing that till sunrise or till I can't help my fatigue, or you with yours,” she demands, “I solemnly promise I won't continue my work if you somehow fall asleep.”

The Marshal remains unamused. “You could just wake me up, Detective.”

“Could I?”

“I'm serious, Thrace.”

“I am as well, sir,” she counters as respectfully as she can, “Maker knows how many hundred hours of sleep you've lost. If you fall asleep, I will take a break as well and retreat to my room.”

Another pause as he takes it into deep consideration. Lesiil steals the moment to appreciate his pronounced jawline, how the lighting graciously gives his bronze skin a mysterious silhouette despite his caf-less and fatigued countenance, and the white scar across his nose.

It's an old wound for sure, but she silently wonders if it's still sensitive to the touch.

Before she knows it, those amber eyes are already staring at her, one scarred eyebrow slightly raised in question.

The Marshal catches her staring.

“You're gonna have to brew me that caf,” his gruff voice says with a certain inflection that indicates total smugness in her book.

Refusing to give away any cadence that signals shame and embarrassment, Lesiil lets a smile slide seamlessly into her face. “A deal's a deal, Marshal.”

Fox regrets taking that deal.

Lesiil Thrace’s apartment radiates nothing but comfort, haze, and warmth that once he took off his helmet and stepped foot inside, the serene ambience itself lulls him, persuading him to plop down onto one of the plush seatings and then catch some z’s. Upon the invitation she had said to make himself at home, he was actually tempted to lay down and pass out.

Their respective piles of datapads sit on the cleared dining table, flimsiwork ready to be tended to. What's funny for him is that the table is so huge he could dine there with the usual command vode, despite the fact that the detective lives alone.

BD-6 hops onto the table.

Well. Alone, with the droid.

While the host and current occupant of the refresher down the hall is not around, Fox takes the unspoken invitation to observe and prod about the space. One section of the apartment that intrigues him is the spot where he now sets his feet on, the eyes within hung holostills on the wall staring back at him.

They're all, as expected, images of family and coworkers. There are several holostills of the detective and two people which he easily identifies as her buire and there are another of her with a man about her age, all ranged from the age of childhood to maturity, one of those images is them posing in their university graduation toga, wide grins adoring both faces.

Vod.

Just one, instead of millions.

Soft pitter-patter echoing down the hall catches his attention. Detective Thrace adorns some casual set of sleeved shirt and long pajama trousers, void of any patterns, stripped from the usual sight of a punctual set of shirt and jacket and trousers usually seen in HQ. Dark curly tresses, thick and unbound and looks like just has been blow-dried, fans about her shoulders voluminously.

Thrace is heading down the kitchen, not paying a second glance at him standing by that part of the apartment, and straight up switches on the caf machine.

“Is that your brother?” Fox asks to break the silence.

Thrace grabs two mugs from the top cabinet. “Yes. My twin, actually. Railuu Thrace,” she answers, her back to him as she busies herself. “Friendly to everyone he met. Sociable. Silly man, he was.”

Fox tilts his head down upon instinct.

“Was he a detective too?”

“No, sir.” Thrace finally turns around, leaning back against the counter, hands joined in front of her. “But he served aboard the Triumphant as the one and only natborn deck officer. I believe you’re familiar with Jedi General Plo Koon’s flagship incident?”

He stills. “Abregado... yeah.”

Thrace nods absentmindedly, her storm grey eyes fixing elsewhere. “The General personally delivered the news to our family. He was fond of Railuu, and said his sincerest apologies for being unable to retrieve the body due to the… tragic incident.” She looks up at him with a faint smile. “Railuu was as close as family to the entire 104th. He never stopped talking about the unit whenever we got on holocall.”

He wonders if she had befriended a certain commander of his corps because the man reminds her of her late twin brother.

“My condolences,” he offers quietly, “Must be a good man to earn the favor of a Jedi General and his entire battalion.”

“Thank you,” Thrace nods solemnly, “He was. Really was.”

At the given silence once she turns her back on him again, he can't help but think.

Is that why she regards the clones with so much respect, unlike most people?

Thrace calls out from the kitchen, “I hope you're hungry, Marshal, because I'm starving.” She gets back to her feet after retrieving ingredients from the food preservator, smiling his way welcomingly. “I suppose a little break from mess rations wouldn't hurt, would you agree, sir?”

Fox allows himself a small chuckle. Who, even among clones, would deny a good home-cooked dish?

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he says curtly as he makes his way to sit at the dining table, “We're not in HQ. Fox is fine.”

Thrace turns around. “But we're working.”

He gives a pointed gaze at the half-chopped vegetables.

“Later,” Thrace insists, turning back around to resume her food cutting endeavor. “I may be the host tonight, but you remain my commanding officer.”

BD-6 beeps from his current spot on one of the chairs, something about him making Thrace glaring subtly at him.

“What did he say?” Fox prompts.

Thrace openly lets out a long sigh. “Beedee said he took your side, that I should loosen up now that I'm in my own home.”

“Even the droid gets it,” Fox says, nodding towards the droid, “Why wouldn't you? Should I make it an order?”

She lets out a dry laugh. “I do not think it's necessary, sir.”

From this angle, he can't quite see her from his seat, but he'd be willing to bet she's slightly blushing, if not. Merciful as he is towards his coworkers (that's a lie), he decides to drop it altogether and reaches for the top datapads of his pile to start working on awaiting spreadsheets, settling comfortably on the padded chair, the absence of his top armor has never been so relieving.

Within the hour, they have a quiet hearty dinner, clear the table once again, and start working.

Fox tosses her a data stick. “That’s the key to gain access to the database. I'll have to have my eyes on you while you work,” he reminds her.

Thrace, on her way now to her working space to grab her holocomputer, nods in acknowledgment.

He goes back to his mundane spreadsheet. Letters and numbers and statistics hold a menacing glare at him, promptly smacking him right in the nose for even sighing.

They had collectively decided that working on the dining table isn't helping for the back and shoulder pain that pop up after two hours of sitting. And so they’d moved to the living area and settled down on the rug, legs tucked underneath the caf table while leaning back against the couch.

The Marshal had thrown most courtesy and air of professionalism out of the airlock, seeing him now casually lounging across the plush couch by absolute not pulling ranks earlier.

“Getting comfortable are we, sir?” Lesiil teases without looking away from her datapads.

“Can't resist a good couch, DT,” the Marshal then yawns. Taking it as a cue, Lesiil pushes his caf mug an inch further towards him.

The Marshal sits up and reaches for the mug, observing it for a few seconds before sipping. “Do all your caf mugs have poor police puns like this?”

You have the right to remain silent sleeping

Lesiil chuckles softly. “If that’s your way of saying that I have an excellent sense of humor, Marshal, then I appreciate the recognition.”

He looks at her in disbelief. “No way you made these lines.”

“Of course not. Don't be silly, Marshal. I don't make jokes.”

“Understood. No humor coming from you then, DT,” the Marshal sulks.

“Huh. So you believe that, sir?”

“...I appreciate your humor now.”

“Why, thank you,” she grins widely, but then suddenly she grows concerned. “Are you certain you aren't as jittery as supposed from someone being so high on caf, sir? Because this is very highly out of character for you.”

The Marshal pointedly takes another sip. “Not strong enough to break my character. And did you just say I was never funny?”

“Thorn once said you're ruthless and very exhausted that you never have time to make jokes.”

Her guest and commanding officer merely scoffs, replacing his mug, and reclines back on the couch to return to his mundane flimsiwork.

“Thorn told me you're from Alderaan,” he says a minute later, “You a member of the noble houses?”

Lesiil, not even turning slightly to face him as she's still busy on her works, explains, “I was, but I renounced all my royal titles and the duty that followed. I’ve chosen to serve the people by doing the field work. Not too keen on forever being prim and proper.”

The Marshal goes quiet behind her, probably surprised and all learning the new information. “Is that why you sound too formal to everyone's liking when you speak?” he asks again.

She nods. “I was taught such etiquettes, yes.”

Silence for a beat or two, and then…

“Do you swear?” the Marshal prods again.

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “Internally.”

“Really?” he lets out bemused chuckles, “Like what?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Marshal, I do not owe you anything to the point I have to disclose what swear words I use whenever I like.”

“What, afraid to break character?”

“I’ve always been like this.”

The Marshall snorts. “Krayt spit.”

Lesiil shrugs. “Colloquial speech has just never been in my favor, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he insists, his tone serious coming from behind her, “Just Fox.”

A loud sigh flies off her lips. “If I call you by your name, will you stop pestering me about my use of swear words?”

“I solemnly swear,” he mimics her saying earlier.

Another sigh.

“Okay, Fox.”

The Marshal bursts out into a fit of cackles. “Yeah, it doesn't suit you.” He coughs, clutching his stomach. “Sounds kriffing weird comin’ from you. And it's just a single word. It's like your accent just changed, too.”

Despite the sheer embarrassment for being so bold, Lesiil merely shakes it away and sends him a smirk instead. “I believe you see why now, Marshal.”

Good food. Good caf. Good couch. Good company.

Fox is spoiled as kriff.

If he'd rejected this idea earlier, he'd be stuck in his office till late without selfishly getting familiar with such domestic comfort. He's sure if he'd rejected this idea earlier he'd be dead by now by the rawest form of sole regret alone.

The chronometer now shows 0140.

Fox stretches. “You don't wanna take a break?” he asks the detective.

Thrace huffs quietly. “I’m still trudging through these 52 victims one by one and copying the essentials manually to my datapads because the access key is not even giving me full access.”

“Protocols, Detective,” he reminds her, “Can't give you full access.”

She nods. “Perfectly understood, Marshal.”

“Call me Fox,” he says curtly after rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Fox.”

Then before he can stop it, “Can I call you Lesiil?”

Her tone earlier had been meaning to be deadpanning. He knows it. She only wishes to focus on her work.

But the detective now slowly turns to face him, grey eyes greeting his amber ones. The edge of her lips lift momentarily, driving him to glance at them hoping she doesn't notice. But of course, with the Lorrdian blood, maybe she does? Remembering just that, and how accurate the read can be, he suddenly feels his cheek burn the life out of him. But he never backs down from a challenge. He stands his ground.

Accompanied by a certain twinkle in her stormy orbs underneath the warm lighting of her dwelling, he lets himself think he's certain that he's lost it when her voice, absent of any apathetic deadpan and formality, comes out as soft and sincere.

“Yes you can, Fox.”

He holds her gaze steadfastly, relishing how his given Basic name had rolled off her courteous tongue.

“Well,” he starts, leaning away, “I'm taking a break for an hour, Lesiil. If I suddenly stop talking, don't wake me.”

Lesiil smirks cheekily before turning away. “Never planned to, Fox.”

Seemingly grateful for the eventual silence, Fox notices Lesiil is working almost twice as fast, leaving him almost feeling guilty for distracting her, although the purpose was to build a friendlier rapport. Now watching her tapping and running her dainty fingers across datapads, he considers it somehow as a therapy and, really, a break.

After what must've been half an hour of being awake thanks to Lesiil's good caf still running through his system, suddenly she turns to face him again.

He almost scowls. “What?”

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “First off, that tone is unnecessarily rude,” she says calmly, “Second off, I was just checking if you had fallen asleep. As promised, if you do, I will stop as well and take a break.”

“Why break?” Fox mumbles into the throw pillow under his cheek, “Why not a nap?”

“Caf is running within my veins as we speak. I am now quite awake,” she explains gently, the grey storm in her orbs sparkling at the right angle, “And I do not have the mighty tolerance as you do.”

He smirks. “Just watching you work as I'm supposed to do, Detective. It's not as boring as my reports.”

“It is mentally stimulating,” Lesiil admits with a nod of agreement, “It’s always either something new or something familiar, whilst yours is always the latter.”

“That supposed to mean as an insult?”

“What an outrageous accusation, Marshal.” She turns away, unable to hide her smirk. “I would never insult the very system I am working in.” For yet another minute or two, she finally sighs loudly. “And we're now finished. Finally. Beedee!”

The droid, faraway, trills in attention and immediately makes his way over.

Currently, the chronometer shows 0238.

“What will you do now?” Fox asks when BD-6 starts to tinker about datapads.

Lesiil is still acknowledging the droid's questioning boops before answering him, “Beedee will be helping me with the compartmentalizing as usual. This time we're cataloguing the cause of death of these 52 profiles.” She disengages the data stick from the holocomputer. “It’s a quick process, then we narrow it all down.”

He watches her sipping her caf and sighing afterward. “Isn’t 52 too much?” he asks, concern tinged in his voice.

“I admit, yes,” she says, “I would gladly take your generous helping hand if you are offering.”

Wordlessly, he plops down next to her and takes the datapad she hands him. “Catch me up to your thinking, DT. What should I be looking for?”

“Something that catches your eye,” she answers vaguely, “We’ll wait for Beedee first.” Then, as if cued, their datapads ping. BD-6 beeps in confirmation. Lesiil pats his head. “Thanks, Beedee. Now, let’s sort.”

Fox gobbles down the list, swallowing every now and then as he skims through the written manner of death – which all of them were deemed as accidental – and the cause of death – which varies through traumatic asphyxia to blunt force trauma to cardiac arrest.

“What about parents?” he blurts out as he stares at a still of a senior citizen. “What if parents?”

“Statistics show a person is likely to be reacting more emotionally to the death of spouse or spawn. But there have been more cases involving a murderous parent of a dead child,” Lesiil asserts, “So we're using this as the base of our assumptions that we may be looking for someone younger.”

Acknowledging, Fox manages to cross off a third of the list which consists of senior citizens.

“Some of these are parentless,” he says again, “We're looking for someone that comes out of legal marriages?”

Lesiil looks at him with thought. “If we are dedicated enough to go along with this theory, then yes. Good observation, sir. Fox.”

He scoffs, both at her statement and her slipup. “Still a theory, huh?”

“We’re utilizing whatever data is available and making sensible assumptions. Seeing that we have nothing on the Corrie Butcher, not even a clear screencap of an entire face let alone a name, we take another route to find who his name is and what he looks like.” She gives him a look. “No thanks to your hasty investigation team to overlook everything else there is.”

Fox resists rolling his eyes. “In our defense, we were processing this strictly by the book.”

“The book sometimes hinders you,” declares Lesiil, looking deep into his eyes, “If there's another angle, however improbable or implausible that is, rather than wasting time mulling over nonexistent data and waiting for it to pop up, one must dedicate themselves to approach that angle.”

A smirk slides into his face. “Wise words, Lesii.”

“Those wise words circulate around the Criminal Investigations Department quite regularly since it takes shape as our very job description,” she deadpans, then does a double take. “And did you just call me Lesii?”

“What? Don't like it? Own it.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Sir, yes sir.”

His gaze on her lingers on her and her luscious coiled hair for a little longer before he reels himself away from the trance, and begins working on his share.

Emptying his already full cup; that's what he's doing right now. Dipping his hands into investigative police work, a far cry from his usuals; planning senate security detail, mapping out patrol routes, sniffing criminal activity, studying the cruel and hazardous structures of the underworld, securing every sort of security breaches in a moment's notice, bringing in enemies of the state. As quick and intelligent as he is trained, he can never match Lesiil Thrace's level of intellect.

Working with the woman has been pleasant, albeit the presumptive rambling and mind maps at the end of any day. Lesiil knows what to anticipate, what's sensible, and what's critical to prioritize firsthand. The trait puts her several steps ahead.

It's only been a week, not even a month, since her arrival, and now Fox is presented with a good chance of identifying his brothers’ killer at any moment.

Had she been brought in much earlier… many wouldn't have to die in the hands of this ruthless individual.

“Intriguing,” Lesiil hums next to him.

Fox perks up, leaning closer. “What?”

She tilts her datapad in his direction. “This one. Female, Kayl Brando.” A still of a blonde woman. “Her name had been mentioned in the media. Her family sued the Coruscant Guard for her death, caused by asphyxia, because she attended one of the riots where your division had to use tear gas. The media, backed up by the family's given statement and medical records, mentioned she had a generational severe lung injury so the use of your tear gas had been fatal.”

Fox rubs a hand over his stubble as he recalls. “I remember that, yeah. That was seven months ago.”

Lesiil scrolls more. “Seven months ago, correct,” she confirms, shifting slightly to face him. “Could you please provide more context?”

Fox lets out a long sigh as he runs a hand through his curls. “Charges were dropped. Using tear gas when violence escalates is simply within regulations. Technically not our fault she had that injury in the first place.” He shakes his head. “But if I'm not mistaken, that family had been vocal. Raising awareness from the empathic community and pushing more hostility towards the Corries.”

Lesiil takes another glimpse at the shown data. “And right after that, the trend dies, the talks dwindled to nonexistence,” she nods in confirmation, “It seems everything went into a downward spiral for this family.”

Fox shrugs. “Well, they already lost the lawsuit before it even began. Charges were dropped ‘cause the Coruscant Guard, or GAR, did nothing wrong.”

They continue searching. Fox goes to refill his mug with that beautiful caf blend and snatches a packet of Saleucami cheese biscuits from the little basket on the kitchen counter. Lesiil notices but says nothing, yet the look in her eyes is quite encouraging.

Welcome to my humble abode, Marshal. Make yourself comfortable. And I'd very much like your boots off, please. Refresher’s just down the hall.

He meets her gaze daringly, walks backwards to her food conservator, and opens it.

He gasps.

“Never thought of you as a beer drinker, DT,” Fox eyes the three glass bottles inside. “Stressful times call for desperate measures, huh?”

“You may take one if you'd like, Fox.”

“Tempting. Sticking with caf tonight. Maybe another time.”

Lesiil smiles, but says nothing.

About ten minutes later, she asks again, “Did you find anything yourself, sir?”

Gulping down the last of the cheese biscuits, Fox hums in confirmation next to her. “5 more people followed the notion of that lawsuit.”

Looking down at her own datapad, Lesiil skims through the marked profiles, taking the typed footnotes into careful consideration. Maybe there are actual gears inside her head that whir whenever she thinks, Fox thinks.

“Then we are rounding this up,” she says suddenly.

He does a double take. “We're done?” 

“Hm, not quite.”

It's 0317 now. Lesiil grabs her work commlink. 

“I have to make a few calls to the forensics at CSF and my supervisor beforehand, for the permit and the go. We still have to match DNA samples between these victims and the Corrie Butcher with hopes we’re about to get somewhere.” She looks up at him and Fox catches her knowing smirk. “That must interest you.”

“Yeah, finally, something by the book,” Fox deadpans. “Will that take more time?”

Lesiil shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “I have friends in the division whose sleep I am allowed to interrupt for all I care. This is for a high-profile case, after all.”

“So now they're doing the work? Thank Prime. I'd really like to catch that break right now.”

“Was all that not ‘break’ enough for you, Fox?”

“Oh, it was refreshing, but if I spend another minute looking at a screen, I think I'm gonna develop aneurysm on the spot.”

Another new thing about the Marshal Lesiil has just learned tonight; several cups of caf does absolutely nothing to one extremely fatigued commander to the point she's actually concerned for the prospect of acid reflux.

That, and he is now asleep. Still in a seated position by her side on the rug, arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out under the caf table, head back and flushed on the padded cushion of the couch.

And nothing seems to wake him, even as of now she's contacting her fellow detective partner.

“You’re lucky some of the guys in the lab are still up by this hour, Les,” Eisen the Nautolan speaks through her commlink, “They’re going through it as we speak. Inspector commed me earlier to supervise the whole thing for you as well. It's top priority now.”

“Thank you, Eisen,” Lesiil says in a low voice, being considerate to Fox's state either way, “And about the 6 profiles I've sent you? Is there anything you've found in your search?”

“Yeah. One of them, just recently. Last night, actually. Related to a, uh, Kayl Brando.”

Lesiil draws a sharp inhale. “Before you dive into the explanation, will you please kindly hold for a moment?”

“Yeah yeah, sure. I've got all day, Les. Or morning, whatever. It's 0400 anyway.”

She presses the mute button and turns to the sleeping commander.

“Marshal.” She grabs his forearm and shakes him. “Marshal, wake up.”

Still asleep like dead. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be in Thorn's position, though she's doing the exact opposite of what he'd do.

Lesiil reaches out, muttering an apology under her breath, before carefully pats his cheek. “Fox? Wake up, come on. Fox?”

The Marshal stirs just as she retracts her hand swiftly. But just for good measure, she keeps shaking him awake by the forearm. His lids crack open, drowsy amber eyes peeking through thick dark eyelashes.

“Wha’?”

“We’ve made progress,” Lesiil announces, “I’m currently in contact with my partner, he's gotten something.”

Fox merely nods, yawning and scrubbing his hands all over his face before sitting up properly and cracking his back.

Seeing him refreshed enough to listen to a whole critical conversation, Lesiil disables the mute button and raises her commlink near her mouth. “You may talk to me now, Eisen.”

“Okay, about this Kayl Brando,” the Nautolan instantly replies, “I'd like to confirm again that she really tragically passed away in that riot due to respiratory failure. Underlying cause, as written in her death certificate, is chemical irritant exposure. Tear gas. Right?”

Recognition sparks in Fox's amber brown eyes.

Lesiil locks her gaze with his. “That is correct.”

“That's what I found. Additionally; Kayl Brando was the only daughter to a now divorced couple, Jai Brando and Helne Firrda, both still living on Coruscant. And last night, Ms Firrda called our line to suggest a welfare check on her ex-husband’s house.”

Lesiil recognizes both names as the ones she saw in multiple holonews articles about their lawsuit. Fox wordlessly shares her expression.

“What for? Something happened?” she inquires hastily.

“Hadn't heard of him in three days. Usually they keep in touch, with her being some kind of a support system. According to her and a brief examination of Jai Brando's medical files…” Eisen lets out a long, heavy sigh, “He’s suffering from PTSD and dissociation. And hell of a track record of substance abuse to cope with his grief, too. As personal commentary, Les, I'd say this is chronically messed up.”

She takes a deep breath. “I have to agree.” Fox nods at her in agreement. “And the welfare check?”

“We had someone there just last night at, uh, they knocked on his residence at 2056. I can send you the bodycam feed and transcript real quick, if you're interested. It was just a brief interaction. The ex-wife calmed down.”

Sounds like another hour of observing, but this time with more certainty. “I'd very much appreciate that,” Lesiil says.

“Okay. Sending,” the Nautolan responds. Not long after, her holocomputer beeps in receival. “I'll keep in touch with you when the test results are in.”

“Thank you for your tremendous aid, Eisen.”

“And you doing great as always, partner.”

“What test results?” Fox asks her once the comm call ends.

“DNA, sir. I sent samples of the 5 victims, Kayl Brando included, and the unknown one found on the victims' bodies to the CSF forensics lab,” Lesiil kindly reminds him, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Right,” he nods slowly, “So we're onto this guy?”

“For now, the anticipation is overbearing and I hope I am not wrong, or all this will be for nothing.”

“It won't be for nothing,” Fox disagrees, his unapproving gaze bearing down onto her, but there's a softness to it that she can only register as fondness. “It's still progress, Lesii. Don't be so hard on yourself.”

With her mug of caf running out two hours ago and the slower flow of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Lesiil allows her tense body to relax and let herself take a breath.

“Thank you, Fox.”

She meets his gaze lazily as the littlest bit of fatigue begins to catch up on her burnout body, with gratefulness blossoming inside her chest for his tremendous trust and support.

Marshal Commander Fox has been nothing but a man appreciative of everybody's work, even though in possession of a blunt mouth and patience as thin as flimsi. Weird, because Thorn said he's especially impatient with everyone, always urging them along and biting back with a bitter and snarky remark. But not with her.

He respects her in return, it makes her feel… recognized. Not recognized as in fame and notoriety, but for her genuineness, her tireless efforts to restore justice, and her sacrifices; time, mental, body, and shame, when bizarre looks are thrown her way whenever she opens her mouth.

But why treat her like she's anybody different?

Among clones, it's understandable.

But when it's only the two of them like this?

Lesiil is no idiot. She notices his signs. The Marshal has been holding himself back. Sitting an inch closer, peering in when interested, acting so freely and relaxed, holding her gaze a bit longer than supposed to, his beautiful amber eyes softening, catching her lips for a split second just a little while ago. The ridiculous amount of trust and bluntness, as if exhibiting his true self behind all the hard shell of a stoic commander of his corps.

Maybe there will be a time, when it's right, when it's fitting, to give in.

But not now.

As much as she perhaps wishes to curl her fingers into his luscious curls, mindlessly counting each of his silvery strands with the pad of her thumb, caressing his shapely jawlines, tracing his scars and kissing every inch of his skin…

It's not now.

Now, there's murder to solve. A serial murder of Fox's own brothers. Thinking about them makes her think about her own brother, who died along with the crew aboard the Triumphant. Railuu loved the 104th like they were his own brothers. To honor his beautiful memory, maybe she would be willing to completely open up so she can share that fondness with the Coruscant Guard and its Marshal Commander as well.

Fox gets up, his mug and hers in his hands. “I’ll get you more caf, DT.”

A small laugh escapes her. “Ah please, no more. Or I’ll be jittery for the whole day. I prefer not to.”

Not saying anything, he continues his pace towards the caf machine for his refill. As the rich liquid pours in, Fox puts her caf mug in the sink and retrieves a new one from the top cabinet before filling it with cool water.

“We still have work to do, Detective,” he says when he returns to his seat next to her. Her glass of water sits nearby. “Don't fall asleep on me.”

Lesiil had been putting her head on her folded arms atop the table. “I am falling asleep on the table as we speak,” she mutters, letting the caf-induced uneasiness in her body calm down.

“The point stands,” Fox says firmly, almost commanding, “I don't want you sleeping when we're one step closer to the truth.”

Her dark curls form a curtain before her eyes as she shifts. “Possible truth.”

“You're the one 100% confident about this, Lesiil.” His tone gradually grows sharper. “Since when we trade places? I'm the one convincing you now?”

She blinks away her fatigue and sits up straight. “Yes, sir. Apologies,” she mumbles, scooting closer to the holocomputer.

His glare on her dissipates. “Don't sulk. Don't be insecure,” he encourages, “Won't do good for morale. You're doing well.”

Because of all that he is, the smile she directs at him is wider and glowing with genuineness.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly her commlink beeps, startling the serene atmosphere.

“Thrace,” she answers.

“Les, have you watched the footage?” Eisen’s voice rings through.

“Just about to.” She catches urgency in his tone. “Has something come up with the tests?”

“That's the thing. You haven't watched it right? I have, so here I'll save you some time.” Eisen takes a big breath. “The guys checked on Brando. He was cooperative at first, but when they asked about how he's been coping with the loss because the ex-wife mentioned it during the call, he straight up went defensive. There was a bit of verbal altercation, but the worse is when he spat on them. Like, literally. Literal ball of spit.”

Lesiil scrambles up and begins to pace. “Please tell me you took it down as a sample.”

“Oh yeah, they did,” the Nautolan tells her smugly, “Wiped it down and sent it to the lab, initially to put it in the system in case they wanted to press charges against him for assault. I love these guys, alright? Karking smart. They didn't even know this gotta be related to the Corrie Butcher case, and the coincidence is amazing. Ocean spirits are loving me right now.”

“Eisen, I am aware your jittery is most likely caf-induced now, but please can we swerve back on track?”

“Sorry sorry, I'm just excited.” He clears his throat. “So yeah, all that. And I didn't even know about it until like, forty seconds ago. Labs done, by the way.”

Fox's eyes are trained on her, his body rigid in anticipation for what's to come.

“And the results?” she asks.

There's a sniffle. “Oh they're positive, Les!” Eisen exclaims into the commlink, “Everything! Everything came back positive. Everything matched. The DNA found on the dead troopers, Kayl Brando's DNA, her dad's DNA. Everything matched, Les!”

Lesiil is already running to change.

“Jai Brando is the Corrie Butcher!”

“Search and arrest warrant has been obtained,” Fox says to his commlink, the machinery hum of Lesiil's speeder filling the space around him, “The Detective and I are heading down to the suspect's dwelling to arrest him as we speak.”

Thorn acknowledges from the other side. “We'll take over everything here in your place, vod. Stay safe.”

The sun is barely on the horizon as Lesiil expertly swerves her speeder through the early morning traffic with lights and sirens, the air of urgency blaring louder and louder every second.

“I must ask you to relax, sir,” she says from beside him, eyes focused on the front.

Fox doesn't even realize he's anxious until he stops his fingers from tapping against his thigh plate, bucket already donned upon his shoulders.

“Brando isn't going anywhere,” she assures him. “We’ll be having an entry team and the command post ready in no time.”

“You're handling this right,” he dryly comments, not knowing what to say.

“It's standard, sir. And, not meaning to set a joyous atmosphere in the middle of a grim setting, but,” Lesiil offers him a reassuring smile, “I hope you’re ready for your first ever civilian house raid experience, Marshal.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose @filamentlights

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 3

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None really. Angst. Dean being a bit of an asshole. A brief, near sexual encounter. Smidge of fluff.

Word Count: 3,654

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So, here I am with chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for all the very kind comments that this series has received so far. You're all fabulous.

Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

The next morning Dean was sitting at the table in his tent, listening to the camp waking up around him, when his tent flap opened and Cas strolled in. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, we gotta put up a piece of wood on the tent poles or something so people can knock.” He said in a surly and growly, early morning voice. When Cas didn’t respond, he challenged him with an even surlier tone. “What? Why are you here?”

Cas walked further into the tent. “I saw you gave Y/N back her daughter.” Dean raised his hand and then dropped it, conceding the point. “And,” Cas continued, raising his hand in the air and waving it slightly, “no more manacles.”

Dean spread his arms wide. “These are all things I already know, Cas; why are you telling me this?”

Cas shrugged slightly. “So, can I assume this means you no longer think she’s going to turn into a monster at any minute?”

Dean blew out a puff of air. “It means, she’s been here a week, and hasn’t turned yet. And since that isn’t really something that happens to people who get bit, I think I can be reasonably certain she won’t turn, randomly, out of the blue one day. And I gave her back her kid so she can look after her, and I can get Risa back as a soldier instead of a nanny.”

Cas wore a very enthusiastic expression as he moved closer. “Come on, even you have to admit that this is exciting.”

Dean arched a brow. “Exciting?”

Cas’ voice became awestruck. “Dean, this is the most hopeful sign we’ve had in…years!”

“Aw, don’t come at me with that hopeful bullshit!” Dean’s scowl and fierce countenance was immediate and slightly intimidating, even to the angel. 

“Hope is nothing but a fucking lie, okay? We know it. We HOPED we could stop Lilith breaking seals and we didn’t, we HOPED we could stop the apocalypse, but we failed at that too. We HOPED we could save everyone, and well, we’re doing a pretty piss poor job of that, aren’t we? Every single time we go out on a raid, I hope we come back with the same number of people we left with, but it doesn’t happen very often, does it? We hoped -” 

Dean cut himself short and swallowed hard, lowering his voice. “We hoped that Sam would be strong enough to say no, but…he wasn’t. I hoped I could save him. And-” He cut himself off again and rubbed a hand hard across his face. 

“So just don’t come at me with ‘hopeful’.” Dean said, sneering the word.

He tapped his fingers against his chest. “Cause I gotta live in the reality of this situation. And look, if you wanna hide away from that reality, you wanna get blitzed and bombed every day, and pretend like you’re some kind of sexual guru, fuck around with dozens of girls, I don’t really give a shit. Okay? Do it. But I,” he banged his chest with his whole fist this time, “I have to live in the reality of our lives.”

Dean stood up and stepped closer to Cas, swinging his arm out sideways. “And the reality is I have no fucking clue why that woman hasn’t turned.” He shrugged dismissively. “Maybe the person who bit her wasn’t fully turned themselves, or maybe they didn’t fully break the skin so it didn’t take completely. Who knows. All I know is that she’s probably not gonna turn and so now we’ve got one more mouth to feed. Two, actually.” He said holding up two fingers. “And two more people draining our resources.”

He stepped back and turned away, giving Cas his profile. “That’s the reality. So you wanna join me in it, great. If not,” He turned his head to look at him, lifting his hand towards the entrance, “there’s the door. Or, you know, the tent flap.”

He dropped down onto the chair he’d vacated and rubbed a hand across his lips. He looked up when Cas spoke softly. 

“I don’t wanna live in this reality, Dean. I just can’t anymore. So I choose hope, I choose to be hopeful that maybe she marks a change, maybe things can be different. I’m telling you, this reality isn’t the only option.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s my only option. I learned a long time ago, and you should’ve too - hope is dangerous. Reality can’t hurt you like hope can.”

Cas’ expression was discouraged and disappointed as he nodded, looking away from Dean. He said nothing more as he turned and walked away.

***

A little while after Cas left, Dean moved out to his campfire and cooked and ate his ration of eggs and potatoes. As he drank his coffee, he was actively trying to push the argument with Cas out of his head. He had a camp to lead, he didn't need this crap clouding his judgment.

It was ridiculous to think the woman represented some kind of new hope for mankind. He rolled his eyes at the very notion.

Still, he found himself calling out to Johnston as the soldier walked by. The man stopped abruptly and turned fearful eyes on Dean. It drove Dean a little crazy that after more than two years of Johnston serving the camp, of protecting it and helping to run the day-to-day work and activities there, he still seemed petrified of Dean. 

I can't possibly be that scary, Dean thought with a deep scowl. Not like I've had him flogged for looking at me wrong or something.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the fear radiating from the other man.

“You settled Y/N and her daughter?” He asked.

Johnston's blue eyes were slightly bulging and his prominent Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Dean waited a minute for him to elaborate before prodding him gruffly. “And?”

The other man seemed at a loss and Dean snapped his fingers impatiently. “And where did you put them?”

Understanding finally lit in Johnston's eyes and he began nodding. “Oh, yes sir. I put them in the southwest corner. Fourth row, the tent on the end.” He seemed proud to get that much out. But then he raised a finger. “Oh, the tent is red.”

Dean nodded and waved at him. “As you were.” 

Johnston saluted (even though Dean had told him a million times not to) and hurried on. Dean sighed deeply and without thinking about it too much, he headed in the direction of the red tent. 

When he got there he shouted out a hello, feeling slightly foolish and vowing then and there to make it a project to put some kind of wood near tents’ openings so people could knock.

The flap opened and Y/N's face lit up with a beaming smile when she saw him. “Hi!” 

Not knowing what to do with her enthusiasm, he just nodded. There was a slightly awkward moment and then Emma, her big blue eyes staring up at Dean, poked her head out from behind her mom, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her hips and leaning her head into her side.

Y/N lifted her arm a little so Emma could shuffle out from behind her a bit more. She combed down Emma's slightly flyaway curls with her fingers and then settled her hand on the little girl's thin shoulders.

She gestured to Dean. “Say hi to Mr. Winchester.”

The little one just pressed closer and looked away from Dean to bury her face in her mother's side.

Y/N gave him a slightly chagrined look. “She isn't usually this shy.” She said by way of apology. 

But Dean simply shook his head. Unlike Johnston, he understood all too well why this blue-eyed moppet was scared of him. She'd watched him nearly end her mother's life - not something she was ever likely to forget.

Dean hated that that realization came with a trace of guilt. Feeling very annoyed with himself, he straightened up and nodded curtly.

“Good.” He said succinctly, responding to nothing. “I just wanted to make sure you were settled properly.”

He turned in an abrupt about face and started walking away. 

“Dean, wait!” Y/N called out to him. He turned back to see her wave Emma back into the tent and head towards him. When she reached him she wore her bright smile again, and he frowned deeper as a result.

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

Dean said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She seemed to be a little nervous, fiddling with her hair. She finally clasped her hands in front of her and continued. 

“So, I was talking to Eric?” She said as though it was a question. Dean did give her a puzzled look.

“Eric?” He asked.

Y/N had opened her mouth to continue talking, but then closed it and gave her head a shake, pointing to the side at nothing in particular. 

“Eric Johnston? The…soldier that brought us to this tent and helped us set it up.”

Dean nodded in recognition. Yes, he remembered now, that was his first name. He never used it. “Right.” He waved her on. 

“And I was asking about school for Emma, but he said there isn't one.”

Dean shook his head. “No, the parents, guardians, they look after that themselves.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, but I was thinking…well, I was a third grade teacher in the…before.” She thumbed behind her as though their former, normal lives were just right behind them, around the corner, instead of existing eons ago.

She shrugged. “So, I was thinking that maybe I could start a kind of school for the kids here. Eric figured there were about 35 or 40 of them. So I thought we could hold lessons somewhere outside most days, but if the weather's bad, maybe we could use the main cabin.”

Dean was scowling harder now, so she rushed on. “It would only be for a few hours a day. Wouldn't be anything spectacular, but it could help them with reading and math, and just some basics. Keep the kids' minds occupied and give their parents a couple of hours on their own.”

She shrugged. “It's nothing much, but it might help people feel a little more hopeful about the future.” She finished with another bright smile.

Dean felt his ire rise with that word again - hopeful. This woman was going to upset everything, tip the precarious balance of the camp on its head. 

He shook his head angrily. “We don't do shit like that. This isn't a fucking gated community, okay? These are survivors who get by together. That's it.”

Y/N's eyes were so earnest it almost hurt to look at her. “But, don't you see, it could be a community. Not gated, but open. We could do more for each other than just survive.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, if you're unhappy with being here, we can happily help you on your way.”

Y/N raised her hands. “No, of course not, that's not what-”

Dean cut her off with a cold, hard voice. “And you can't teach kids like this.” He waved a hand towards the red rings encircling her irises. “You'd scare the shit outta them. Take one look at you and freak out, thinking you're gonna turn into a monster any minute.”

That pulled Y/N up short and Dean could see by her slight flinch that his words had hit home. She was quiet a minute and her smile was dimmed as she nodded.

“Right. That's…no, you're right.” She gave an imitation of a chuckle. “There aren't many mirrors around, so I…sometimes I forget about…” she gestured to her eyes.

She shook her head. “I was just trying to find a way to be helpful, you know.” She shrugged. “But yeah…” She trailed off and Dean felt a sick gnawing sensation in his stomach as she gave a final dull smile. 

“Okay, well thanks.” She said as she turned away. Though what she could have possibly been thanking him for, he had no idea.

He thought about Cas’ disappointed expression, and Y/N's bent smile and he gritted his teeth. This morning was not going well for him.

The day didn’t get much better from there. He spent most of it planning their next raid for canned goods. They were running low, and it was September already. Over the next couple of months they’d have to make sure they had whatever they needed for the winter. Once the snow hit, the winter roads were sometimes impassable for weeks at a time. 

They were having to go further and further out from the camp to find supplies. The area was becoming picked clean. There were four or five other, smaller, groups of survivors within about a hundred square miles of their camp. For the most part they all rubbed along together alright, pretty much just leaving a big buffer of space between the camps, and leaving each other alone.

However, Dean was starting to worry about what would happen now that resources and supplies around them were starting to run out. In this last year, they’d started having to drive hours and hours away from camp to find un-ransacked grocery stores and restaurants in the abandoned cities. They could manage it because of their size, but some of the smaller groups had very few working vehicles, making it harder for them to travel. Dean worried what would happen when they got desperate. 

He wanted to be ready for winter.

So, he tried to spend the day planning the best route to hit as many cities as they could without hitting too many known Croat hives, or cleaned out cities. But he kept getting interrupted by his soldiers. The concerns of the camp were unending, and sometimes felt completely overwhelming. 

The morning kept being interrupted by issues and grievances his soldiers brought him from some of the camp inhabitants. He tried to put out as many fires as he could, while continuing to plan the raid.

Then he ended up spending far too much of the afternoon talking about drainage and irrigation with the young guy who used to be an engineering student, and an old farmer who’d spent his whole life in the fields. The two very different men were teaming up to try and see about making bigger winter crop plots this year. They’d grown some winter vegetables last fall and winter, and even that small amount of fresh food had made a big difference in the health of the campers. So this year they were hoping for more. 

Finally the men went off to plan some more and Dean folded up his maps. He hadn’t made much headway into the raid route, but the light was getting low; he’d have to come back to it. He fried up some spam and a few of the cooked, frozen potatoes they’d put up in the spring and sat beside his fire for a while before tossing water on it and going inside his tent. He lit a lantern and started to try and look at the maps again, but he was interrupted by Risa.

Dean lifted his chin towards her by way of greeting. She came forward and dropped a small piece of machinery on his table. “Here’s the piston for that Ford we towed back last week.” She said, referring to the truck they’d found abandoned on the side of the road with no owners in sight. “Should work.”

Dean nodded. “Great.”

Risa lingered a moment and then walked closer to him. “How are you?”

Dean shrugged. “Fine.”

She moved forward to stand between his legs and then reached out to run her hands over his cheeks and down his neck. She bent over and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

“I miss you.” She said, her voice softer and more intimate than it ever was when they were soldier and commander. “You haven’t been to see me in weeks.”

“Sorry.” Dean said gruffly and then let her kiss him again, kissing her back for a moment before pulling away. 

Not willing to give up, Risa straddled his outstretched thighs and reached for his zipper. “It’s okay, I bet I can find ways to entice you back.” She said, dark brown eyes flashing with heat.

But Dean grabbed her hands and pulled them away. He kissed her briefly to try and ease the sting of his rejection. “Sorry, not tonight.” He nodded towards the maps on his table. “I’ve got shit I gotta finish.”

Risa bit into her lip, looking down at their hands entwined in his lap, and then nodding before she stood up. She lifted her mouth in a smile. “Yeah, sure. ‘Kay.” She nodded again and pointed to the piston as she left. “Let me know if that works.”

Dean sighed as his tent flap fell back into place. And that was the third person he’d disappointed today. Without his permission Y/N’s face floated into his mind. Despite what he’d said to her, he couldn’t deny how beautiful that face actually was. The red pigment in her eyes made no difference to that beauty.

He couldn’t erase the image of her crestfallen expression when he told her she’d scare the kids. That was complete bullshit and he knew it. Five seconds in her shiny presence and the kids would be eating out of her hand.

He growled slightly as he could feel himself caving. But would it really be so bad to let her teach the kids somewhere? They’d have to stay out of the way, and she’d have to keep them all quiet when they were together in a mob. But it might actually free their parents up for more of the endless tasks it took to maintain the camp.

If he let her do it, he’d have to make sure she knew he was only saying yes so that they could have the kids out of the way for a while. This wasn’t some hopeful mission for the future. It was just a practical solution for improving the camp.

He nodded. Yeah, I'll tell her tomorrow. 

But even as he though it, he got up and walked out of his tent, moving towards the southwest corner of the camp. Within a couple minutes he was standing in front of the red tent and again found himself clearing his throat and embarrassingly calling out a hello, like he was the Avon lady.

Y/N poked her head out of the tent and smiled. But she lowered her eyes a little and wouldn’t look directly at him. He wanted to punch himself.

“Hi.” She said softly, and then stepped out of the tent into the cool, late evening breeze. She waved towards the tent. “Emma’s sleeping.”

He nodded. She rubbed her arms and he frowned. “Didn’t they give you a jacket?” Then he noticed she was still wearing the grubby clothes she’d been wearing when she came. “And clean clothes?”

Y/N nodded and even in the dusky twilight Dean could see her blush. “Yes, but I realized…I’m all dirty.” She shrugged. “Nothing but basin baths for weeks. I’d like to get cleaner before I put on the clean clothes. One of your soldiers said there was a place where people went to bathe nearby. But he didn’t have time to take me.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, there’s a river about four miles south of camp. It does the trick. I’ll take you tomorrow.” 

He scowled; he didn’t know where that offer had come from. He could have had one of his soldiers, or any other camper really, take her out to the river. But he didn’t rescind the offer and Y/N nodded happily.

“That would be wonderful.” She said rapturously. 

Dean nodded curtly again. “Yeah. And uh…you can do the school.” Y/N looked directly at him now and her face was surprised, but clearly thrilled. 

“Really?” 

He nodded and scowled. “Yeah, the kids'll get over it." He said with a nod to her red eyes. "But just make sure you all stay out of the way of the work in the camp. And let the parents know we’ll have some work for them during the hours their kids are gone. We can use the extra hands.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to help out where they can.”

Impulsively it seemed, she threw her arms around him, squeezing his arms tight to his sides as she hugged him. Shock coursed through him and he didn’t know how to move. Thankfully it was a brief hug and she was soon pulling away.

“Thank you so much, Dean. I’m so excited. I think it’s going to make a real difference. Just wait.”

As she bid him goodnight and bounced back into her tent, he shook his head, frowning deeply. 

Fuck, he thought, everything is too different already.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @deangirl96

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Sooo... Can we talk about Vox and Alastor Cause I'm literally obsessed...

Basically headcanons since of course I seen the post running around where Viv calls their relationship sad and complicated.

Being an 'angst-girlie' I HAVE to gobble this up so here's a few headcanons I immediately thought about.

Mentions of Valentinos acts against humanity so watch out for that. A bit, like a smidge, of kissing and making out mentioned as well.

For Starters

I happily wrote a fanfic for pics that @milariro drew (lovely artist, check em out!) and I think Valentino definitely plays a big roll in the fallout.

So Vox and Alastor were pals yeah, hung out, chit chatted, ate food together, even got close enough for Alastor to feel comfortable doing more intimate actions like cuddling and hugging and such.

I can't help but think of Vox perhaps being on the Acespectrum himself? He's giving "I will but I don't have to" so I get more demi vibes off of him. He probably doesn't give a fuck about anyone else like he does with Alastor so that's why.

I think he could build intimacy with others yes but he's so focused on his work usually outside of his competition.

Vox probably came to hell and started off really small and little so as he grew, he wanted to grow and took his time to try and get bigger. I would say that Valentino could come in here if not later when Vox seemed to develop feelings for Alastor and in doing so Alastor wants to return those said feelings but he's scared.

Scared of what? The unknown.

He probably is someone who doesn't like when he can't see what's going to occur or happen before it actually does.

He's a runner. Imma say that because I can be one. He cares for Vox but he can't stop the way his heart seems to race when they get just a bit too close...

Valentino probably comes in and ruins everything, most likely at a time when Alastor starts to get some sort of understanding on his own feelings and seeing Vox practically become infatuated with Valentino really leaves a void in his own heart.

Of course he wants to support Vox in his endeavors but... Valentino? Out of all people?

Alastor is most likely disgusted by even the thought of Valentino and seeing Vox so happy and eager with him sets. Him. Off.

A lot of arguments now, harsh words and such and really it's from Vox as he's confused and lost as to Alastor's behavior. He probably picked up on it and asked multiple times just for Alastor to brush him off every time so now that smoke is in the air everything is coming out.

Vox probably would confess he's in love with Alastor in this argument, tears, crying and all and Alastor can't help the way he feels about it

He feels he's at fault, and his airy silence doesn't help with all the anguish in the air already

He's scared. He loves Vox as well but something about the situation makes it hard for Alastor to swallow all the information and this leads to the 7 year disappearance

This mother fucker definitely leaves without saying a single thing to Vox and that hurts Vox more than anything else.

What else can Vox do without a single letter or sign as to where his friend went and of course he's going to know he's the reason to a certain extent

It definitely hurts both of them, like... World shattering.

Vox has no choice but to go to Valentino.

I can't help but analyze how Vox seemed... Happy? That he thought Angeldust quit when Valentino was raging. Vox does not love this man...

He of course knows about the things Valentino does... Or maybe... He doesn't? Like maybe he has an idea but he hates to think about it... He's never around when it actually happens to someone?

Valentino probably...has even done things to Vox himself?

Maaaannn like I said these aren't canon ofc but now I'm just rambling. Vox probably goes through similar ways of abuse from Val but he just puts up with it like everyone else? I can see him being so broken behind closed doors and when he's in front of others he puts on the cocky persona of his. It's something he's picked up from Alastor, smiling was a tactic all on its own.

He's unconscious of it but Vox thinks of Alastor all the time; when he wakes, when he works, etc etc and I think that in very little ways Alastor does the same thing.

Alastor definitely thinks of Vox often but he's so much better at hiding it. These two are so broken when they are alone.

I'm hoping they talk more about these two but OMG imagine so heartfelt ass communication after so maybe years... They definitely need it, to air out everything

And imagine that while they are Vox is speaking and Alastor is adamantly listening as he's always done and before he even knows it he's leaning forward, closer and Vox doesn't necessarily realize it until Alastor is just a breath away.

Tbh Alastor wouldn't even know what he was doing, it's like he's doing it unconsciously...no thoughts in mind and when Vox stops for a moment and just right then everything just seems to make sense? Alastor looks at him as if there's nothing but him and Vox would return the gaze before they closed in with a kiss

It's not just a little kiss either, it's one that starts off soft and gentle and leads into something hotter... Something raunchy as they cling to each other and hold each other.

Someone drew a pick with Vox being pinned against the wall by Alastor while kissing and I'll tag them (HERE) when I find them again but yeah it's like that.

It's like Alastor is letting off steam that's been trapped inside him for all those years even prior to his disappearance and he wants to be careful and gentle but he's... Excited, happy to have Vox in his arms again so he gets rough, biting, nipping, sucking until Vox seems to just completely become goop against him because in reality this is all he's wanted from Alastor... To be close to him, to hug him, to kiss him...

To help him, to protect him, to watch him grow and grow together with him.

Alastor still struggles with admitting it but he's just as happy to be with Vox too. (It's giving soulmates?? Soulmate AU ANYONE??! I'LL WRITE IT? PAY ME AND ILL START IT TODAY???!!! Support a disabled writer and I'll write whatever you want!~ current commission status: 3/5 stories to be done which I'll be working on right after this post)

Ahem...

But anyway they are married your honor!

I can see Vox coming to the Hotel after he manages to break free of Valentino. Maybe running off and disappearing on him and pulling an Alastor while Valentino rages at everyone else to find him. Velvet is broken between helping and not.

Vox coming to the hotel would be a shit fest to start off but... He is actually really helpful, and he takes the time to rebuild a connection with Angeldust and Alastor and he seems just so much more... Happy and genuine? And sometimes when Alastor notices he can't help but show a genuine smile as he admires Vox.

They would eventually come together to help publicize the hotel and WOAH are they banging!

The radio demon and TV demon have come together to help some crappy hotel rehabilitate sinners? Holy shit!

They reel people in from all over for various reasons whether it be fangirls shipping them or people actually wanting help and to grow...

They are happy together but...

Valentino and whoever is on his side of things definitely managed to also pick up on the sudden booming aura coming off of that hotel and maybe...maybe they'll pay a visit.

One that reminds Vox of everything that Valentino did to him and OMG imagine Vox having a panic attack or something, running off because he knows it's Val? Leaving Alastor to go hunt for him?

A fight would be interesting.

Alright alright, imma shut up.

I wrote this write the angst in mind but of course I rambled hahah. Either way, I said what I said. ÙwÚ

If you made it this far follow? Reblog? Comment???

MWAH 💋

- A

[aquaquadrant]

was rereading the first part of final chapter of HTP and got caught up thinking about the whole “go get x if we don’t come back by tomorrow” thing between grian and mumbo. what if they didn’t come back. what would x do who would he go to.

i’m a MCSR addict and considering MCC, i’ve been thinking that he goes to some of the crazy good players that the hermits have been teamed with. feinberg, fruitberries, hbomb, petezahutt, and purpled are the main ones— five of the best players going feral to help out their silly little hermit friends. fein and fruit especially cause fein’s teamed with tango, and fruit is fruit. his friendship with grian in old mcc’s makes me so happy. “fruity b!!” being screamed from grian when fruit finds him from whatever they caught got by in hels makes me so happy.

anyway here’s my hels names for my silly little guys:

feinberg — matthew (irl, feinberg is his last name. matthew is his first name)

fruitberries — rotthorn (rot & thorn. fruit rots and berry bushes have thorns)

purpled — yellowed (complementary colors)

petezahutt — dominoes (goes by “dom”)

hbomb94 — honestly no idea please help guys

anyway hi sorry i’m nate i found htp like 2 weeks ago and went a smidge crazy for it. suggested it to all my friends who don’t even know what a hermitcraft or a life series is. hehe. teehee went a little wild. anyway thanks for listening to me yap and thank you for making such a good fic and such a good au you’ve given me so many brainwaves.

HELLO THANK U welcome to our lil corner of gay blockman angst 🫡

gotta be honest, when i had grian say they’d have to tell x it was more along the lines of just ‘he’s the admin and admins should be informed of these kinds of things’ rather than implicating any sort of plan of action on x’s part. but if he HAD gotten involved it prob would’ve been limited to the other hermits (on account of me not being familiar with any players outside of hermitcraft havsjdgajhahs….)

but damn those are some NEAT HELS u got there, idk these players but the names are very pleasing 👀

hbomb94… it’s annoying he’s already got ‘h’ in his name cuz that’s usually my go-to swap letter for a hels HAH so maybe we just keep it. but u could take ‘bomb’ as in the actual physical weapon, a violent action, or complete failure and that provides some fun opportunities. right off the dome i’m thinking either ‘napalm’ (phonetically similar) or ‘blitz’ (describing the action of bombing) or ‘flop’. u could ALSO get into opposites but typically i like to use the more dramatic/violent/edgy names for most hels. ofc it also depends on what characterization ur going for and i don’t know hbomb well enough to design a hels definitively. and for numbers i just swap em. SO some options for ya: napalm49 (dropped the h so it’s the same number of syllables), hblitz49, hflop49.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter II : Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Content Warnings: Angst, possessive behavior, unprotected sex (there are no condoms in the apocalypse, only vibes), oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, brief non-graphic descriptions of medical procedures / illness,  brief discussion of avoiding meals (no reference to any sort of ED), stupid! Joel ™️

Summary: Joel gets a little stupid and a little jealous.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: I wanted to mention that that I've altered the timeline a smidge to benefit my own whims. So the Joel we find here is about 50-51 and our reader is in her mid to late 20's (cw: age gap 🤓) Everything else in the timeline is the same up until Joel and Ellie return to Jackson.

Another thing, I hella make shit up in this chapter. I talk about a surgical device and there’s discussions of like mechanical/electrical engineering? which I know fuck all about. So if it reads as nonsense I sincerely apologize. There’s a fair bit of character/world building in this ch. so I hope you all can bear with me for a smidge. There is the gift of porn at the end though >:) 

Chapter title is from Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (my favorite book in the whole world which everyone should read). Art is Intimacy by Angelica Alzona

Word count: a whopping 9.6k (I'm so sorry 😭)

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II: Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

What it looked like?

Like fucking the forest for once birdless, beastless.

Like measuring the distance between all that’s lost

and everything else that, even now, waved at 

hard enough sometimes,

will sometimes wave back.

But it felt like swallowing the sea– 

being forced to, ships and all. 

Then a silence as vast as it was particular.

The like holding a mirror up to Apollo

and expecting his face there, when Apollo’s always been

faceless, obviously, being a god.

And the hand still holding the mirror up anyway.

And the face not showing.

-Carl Phillips, Star Map with Action Figures

“I mean, yeah, I’d fuckin’ like to think so. I’m not sure. She told me –”

“Ellie, you’re overthinking the hell out of it.”

“I am not,” she grumbles.

“You’re a dumbass,” you deadpan.

That riles her up. “Me?! You!”

“What’ve I done? It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here – Dina wants you to ask her out – you’re too chicken shit to step up.”

“Okay, genius. Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, first of all.” The sass on this girl, honestly. The two of you sit together at the picnic tables that’d been set out in the town center for the monthly barbecue. “You think you’re so damn smart. Well lemme just ask you this, what’s going on with Joel? You two’ve been weird as fuck lately.” That shuts you up quick.

“Don’t even start with that. The answer is nothing.”

She gives you that knowing look of hers, but let’s it go. Silently says: I know this hurts, so I won’t push. Out loud: “You started it, motherfucker.” You yank on her bangs, and she swats you away. “Maybe I should call you a fatherfucker instead,” she cackles. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate you.” You try and swat her back, yank on her bangs again. 

“What’re you two schemin’ about?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Speak’a the devil,” she says under her breath, starting to gather up her empty plate.“Nothing–” She shoots up, and brushes past, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later,” not even sparing him a glance. You look between the two of them wishing there was anything you could do to help them bridge this cold distance between them. She turns before walking off, gives you the finger behind his back. 

“Ellie, hold on a sec,” you call after her, but she’s off.

“It’s fine,” Joel says. “Leave it.”

“I’m sorry,” shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you look up into his serious face.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” And that stings. Off-handedly as it’s said, it stings that he thinks their rift doesn’t affect you, make you hurt for the two of them.

How could he ever think that after everything he’d told you about Sarah –  a night that’d made you feel closer to him than ever before, while you two lay in bed, still damp and trembling – that you’d not worry about his relationship now with Ellie? Who you knew he loved like a daughter, even if he was incapable of saying it out loud. How could he think it had nothing to do with you now? After what he’d told you about himself in the aftermath of Sarah. That moment, his confession, could sustain you for a lifetime of this push and pull if necessary. With trust like that, what else mattered? Very little, you thought. 

“You get everything done you needed to?” he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, and bends to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

You sigh, basking in this small tenderness he offers you after his casual hurt. “Yeah, we finished.” Sometimes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you, taking all this in stride. Luxuriating in his offerings of tenderness and vulnerability one second, swallowing the way he casually brushes you off another. Surely there must be something wrong with you. Especially because, when it comes down to it, you don’t really care as much as you think you should . 

“How’d it go?” You’d had to debride some areas from Mr. Schwartz’s diabetic foot this morning – super fun for the both of you . The foot was famous in Jackson. A great source of shrieks and giggles when the old man decided to pull it out in front of the kids as his so-called ‘party trick’. We all gotta bring something fun to the table, honey, he’d tell you when you tried to put on your false tone of admonishment with him. 

“Long – I had to take more than I’d initially thought I’d need to.”

“He alright?”

“Resting now… Just means it’ll be harder for him later on – take longer to recover, as best he can, in any case. And ideally, what he really needs is a boot – which we have – one… but it’s not in great condition. I don’t even know if it’ll fit him – or a wheelchair, and both of them are being used right now. So, seems my only other option is to order him into bed until I can figure something else out. And of course Connie’s all, this is on you, honey. I trust your judgment, honey. ” You deepen your tone and scrunch your brow trying to inflect Connie’s baritone. “As if that’s helpful.” 

He grips your chin, forcing you to take a breath, brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter shut, pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb. He hums a little, and you catch the flare of heat in his eyes. “You’ll worry yourself half to death, little bird. Take a breath.” You huff a small laugh. He was right about that, worry was heavy on your mind recently. About lots of different things. 

“I fixed you a plate,” you divert. 

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Thank you.” He swings his long leg over the bench to sit astride it, legs open to pull you between his thighs.

“S’alright. I was getting Connie’s anyway.” He digs in, and you card your fingers through his thick hair – overly long now, it brushes the collar of his shirt in the back, you’ll need to cut it for him soon – and watch the thick column of his throat ripple as he swallows. You press your thighs together – the sun is so strong today. You think it might be making you a little delirious. 

“You’re not eating.” It isn’t a question, posed more like an admonishment, paired with the severe crook of his brow. 

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have anything just yet after staring at that foot all morning,” you joke.

“You telling me you’re not as entertained by it as the kids are?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shocking, I know.”

He turns to give you an assessing glance now, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired.” You lay your head in the cool, dark crook of his neck, breathe him in. “Birdie …” voice laced with concern – he tries to gently tug you back by your ponytail, but you burrow in further – press your lips to the pulsing vein in his neck. “I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, really.” He huffs. Grouchy man. 

“Hi, honey,” Connie shuffles up to the table. “Joel–” he nods, “You two alright ? That go a long time with Mr. Shwartz?” he asks. 

You’re grateful for the distraction from Joel’s fifth degree. “It was fine. Our handy dandy Bovie is so good.” You’d done your best recently to fashion an electrocautery device, like the ones they’d used before in surgery. The two of you had gathered the different parts over time and much voracious scavenging, to put the system together. “You’ve gotta try it next. We should be real proud of that.”

“You should be proud. You’ve got a nice mechanical mind in you, as well. You know, Joel, the body is just a machine of flesh and blood.” Connie turns his blue eyes, gone slightly milky now, on Joel, ready to impart his slice of wisdom – part lecture, part proud tirade for your benefit, as the younger man continues to work through his plate of barbecue. “She looks at the two the same way; it’s very impressive.” 

Joel finishes chewing: “Our girl is nothin’ if not impressive,” he says, giving you an impish little smirk. You pinch the inside of his thigh over the thick denim, not imparting nearly enough punishment as you’d like to. 

“Shut up,” you grouch at him. “Anyways, the lines were pretty sharp, the cauterization clean. A bit slow, though. I felt a bit held back – but not too bad, considering.”

“Considering…” Connie muses. He starts to eat as well, and the sight of the slick, sauce covered meat is slightly revolting. The sun is way too hot with the change of season into fall just on the cusp, and after staring at poor Mr. Schwartz’s mangled foot all day…  “I’m thinking with a little more juice it’ll be perfect. We just have to find a way to feed it more power without frying the whole system.”

“Yes…  it’s delicate,” he says slowly.”You should ask Noah for advice.” Joel is silent beside you, but you feel the tensing of his thigh beneath your palm at the mention of Noah’s name. “He’s always been very keen to help us in any way we need.”

“Oh, has he?” Joel drawls, in that monotone he loves to use when cutting people down. He can’t fucking stand Noah; it’s quite funny to you, actually. You nudge his knee with your own, still cradled between his spread legs, and drag your nails slowly up and down his thigh, only responding with a non-committal hum. He shifts his jaw in that way he’s wont to do when he’s especially aggravated, cocks his eyebrow at you. You give him a tiny little mocking tilt of your head. You’re sure he can see the laughter at his expense in your eyes. 

“Yes,” Connie continues, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two of you, “He’s very adept at anything electrical or mechanical. Although, you are, as well, Joel. Perhaps you could advise us too. Any help would be greatly appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can take a look. Offer what I can.” 

You change the subject: “Teddy’s been in again this week.” One of the single mother’s in Jackson, Susanna’s son, Teddy, had been continuously ill the past few months. Coming down with different, seemingly unrelated afflictions on and off. His mother was beside herself with worry, and you and Connie were reaching your limits on what you could do to help him. Much less actually provide a clear answer as to a diagnosis. 

“Yes, I spoke to his mother last night. Some sort of ague again, undoubtedly.”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. Connie loved to condemn undiagnosable patients with ‘the ague’. “Connie, the ague is absolutely not a valid form of diagnosis,” you laugh. That launches him into a tirade about the conundrum the boys posed to the both of you these past few weeks. And ague is a perfectly valid explanation, honey. Neither of you are certain what’s causing his bouts of illness. Though you’re reluctantly leaning towards something that won’t pose anything good for any of you; you’re trying to remain optimistic, but the uncertainty is taking a toll on the both of you, as well as his mother. 

As Connie goes on, there’s a hazy buzz rumbling around in your brain. Your temples throb, and you press the tender spot into the hard mass of Joel’s shoulder. He’s finished eating now, and you nuzzle into him, breathe in the warm scent of his skin and sweat, grip the hard swell of his bicep – the thick muscle has the most inappropriate arousal pooling low in your belly, but your stomach churns at the same time, and the sun is so damn bright. Too many opposing sensations going on within you all at once, you’re sure you’re on the verge of sun poisoning – dramatic – and it’s making you needy. Infecting you with ideas of crawling into his lap and having him cradle you. He stiffens beneath your attentions suddenly. The soothing large palm he’d been dragging up and down your spine goes still, pausing with his fingertips tucked just below the waistband of your jeans – as if he’s just now realizing how openly affectionate the two of you are being – his muscles go rigid at your display, and then that’s it. He’s pulling away. 

Your gut twists again, your head is really spinning now – you straighten in your seat, scoot back and out of the cradle of his thighs, as far as the bench allows you. Always fucking pulling away. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at your retreat he clicks his tongue at you, frowns a little, and you want to snap at his subtle admonishment – you started it, what are you frowning at me for?

Connie is still going on about Teddy. “You sure you’re alright, dear?” he interrupts himself. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine.” You stand abruptly, “I’ve got to head back, actually.” Joel turns to reach for you, but you step back and away from his fingers. The heat is definitely making you grouchy, sick; you’re not acting yourself. “I promised Mr. Schwartz I’d be back to check on him within the hour.” You don’t want to look at Joel anymore – you’re used to his sudden bouts of tension – discomfort – but something is setting you on edge today. 

“You should eat something before you go, honey,” Connie says – looking up at you with concern.

“I had something before I came. I’m okay.” You turn to look at Joel now, as the lie passes your lips, a provocation held in your eyes and tone.

He frowns, “You said –” 

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Birdie –” But you’ve turned from him before he can continue, walking away quickly. Your head is spinning, gut cramping and turning over on itself. The sun feels like it’s two feet away from you, bearing down on the crown of your head, and you know you’re about to be sick. Always fucking pulling away, always. It embarrasses you a little that you still chafe at it, the back of your eyes pinching and saliva pooling heavy on your tongue. You know the way he is. 

You make it back to the clinic just in time to vomit behind the bushes on the side of the house. 

Jesus. 

-

Susanna brings Teddy into the clinic late in the evening. You’ve just finished writing up your operative note for the ‘famous foot’ (Mr. Schwartz’s words, not yours) when she flies in, frantic, with the listless child in her arms. She tells you he’d been lethargic and without an appetite all day, but she’d chalked it up to fatigue and melancholy from being ill and bedridden so often, recently. His fever had crept up out of nowhere, and now Teddy was almost unconscious, burning hot and delirious – words slurring, eyes glassy. 

It’d been hours since then. Teddy was now resting quietly with cool compresses and ice bags tucked under his arms and against his neck which seemed to be helping. Susanna had retired to the back of the house to rest for a bit, and you now sat between Mr. Schwartz and the boy, quietly reading over a text both you and Connie had already gone over multiple times – hoping to find anything that’d inspire an explanation. Most concerningly of all, you’d noticed a smattering of purple-yellowish, sickly looking bruises along Teddy’s spine. It pushed you in the direction your mind had previously taken concerning what could potentially be the cause of all of this. And even though it was the first you’d seen of any bruising on him, it didn’t reassure you at all. 

-

“Joel’s here,” Nancy, the nurse that worked with you and Connie, says quietly from the doorway. You stand from your bedside vigil, sighing. It’s late, and you don’t want to do this now. A little embarrassed from your earlier fit. A lot tired from the long day and throwing up and the heat. 

“Can you come out and get me in two minutes, please? Interrupt us.” 

She gives you an assessing look. “Sure.”

You walk out to the office to find him leaning against your cluttered desk, bulging arms crossed against his chest, straining the sleeves of his button down. There’s a far off look in his eyes, scowl marring his brow, but when he looks up at you all the tightness in his countenance seems to melt away at the sight of you. “You alright?” His gaze is assessing – sweeping up and down your frame, taking everything in like always. The man sees entirely too much. 

“I’m fine. I need to stay here tonight, though.” You jerk your thumb back towards the exam room. “They need me.”

“You said you were tired.”

“It passed – just the sun.” He looks at you like he doesn’t really believe you. 

“About earlier—”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You feel too tired, too strung out, to give him an out by pretending to ignore that he’d hurt you, pissed you off. Let it be what it was – you had a sick child to care for – couldn’t think about all the distance that would seemingly exist forever between the two of you, not right now, at least. 

“You lied about eating.”

Oh, now he wanted to be fucking honest. You roll your eyes at him, watch his jaw clench. “What?” Tone bratty and antagonistic, “No I didn’t – you misunderstood.”

“You told me you didn’t want to eat, and then you told Connie, not fifteen minutes later, that you’d already eaten.” 

“Well then I misspoke – that’s not what I meant.” You turn away from him towards the desk, busy your hands with the papers littered across its surface to avoid his eyes. You feel like fighting – like baring your teeth at him, and you hate it. You don’t want to fight with him, ever. You want, need, things to be okay between the two of you. “Why are we arguing about this? I have to get back.” The bite in your voice startles you for a second, and your hands pause their shuffling. Turning back to face him, wide eyed and shocked at the way you practically spit the words at him, but, fuck it, you decide to just go with it. 

He doesn’t let you, though – doesn’t take your bait. You watch the muscle in his jaw feather rapidly as he grinds his teeth, fists curled into knots at his sides like he’s trying to restrain himself from throttling you – and you think you’d kind of like him to do it. You’ve gotta be PMSing or something because where is all this sudden desire for violence coming from? You definitely need to sleep soon. 

He exhales a slow breath through his nose.  “Not try’na argue, baby… just figure out what’s wrong.” Your heart twists painfully, the back of your eyes pinching and hot, and you will not cry right now. His words make you even more angry because if he cares so much about such seemingly small things like this, why can’t he just let everything else fall into place between you as well?

Nancy pops her head through the open door, calling your name, “Need you when you’ve got a second.”

“Be right there, Nance.” You throw her a grateful look. 

Turning back to Joel you rub your forehead, trying to press the ache that’s taking root in your brain out with your fingertips. “Nothing… nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” you sigh, suddenly very sad, very tired. You take in his weathered face, his brow pulled down into a scowl anyone who knew him less would take for anger, but you see it for what it is: concern, discomfort, frustration at the tension that’s held constant between the two of you all day. The both of you pulling away and then yanking each other back. You can see he wants to move past this, avoid whatever fight is brewing – too much for him to handle. You know he hates it when you’re angry and annoyed with him, and doesn’t that have to mean something? Please, please it must mean something more. But you’re too tired for this now, your body overwrought from its brief bout of sickness earlier, from your long day. You’d like to go to bed with him and not wake up for a year. Lay on his chest and feel the movement of his breathing rock you to sleep, count the spaces between his ribs, make a home for yourself within them. A great jealousy for his heart, the organ itself, writhes in you, that it gets to live inside him. You’re feeling melancholy and exhausted and overly emotional . Sad that even when he’s the source of your turmoil, your hurt, he’s still the only one you want to go to for comfort. You clear your throat, “I’m fine, Joel. Really.” You try and give him a small smile. “I was in a mood earlier, but I’m okay now.”

“I need us to be okay, Birdie. I– I know…” he looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I know I don’t always act like it, but–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. You don’t want to, can’t, listen to him try and make excuses. Explain to you things you’ve always understood about what this thing is between the two of you. “We don’t need to do this. I promise everything’s fine. I need to get back.” You step forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, to appease the both of you, but also if only because you can’t help but touch him when he’s near, hands snaking up his belly and chest to fist in the collar of his shirt. He hums low in his throat and grips the back of your neck, other hand low on your back to press you to him, and everything inside you goes liquid hot and wanting, just at the feel of him, the scent of him.

“Try and rest.” He breathes you in at the crown of your head, and you nod against his chest.

“I will. Don’t worry.” But you know he’ll do that anyways, and that alone is a comfort.

-

Connie meanders in about midnight, nocturnal creature that he is, to check on you all. You’d pulled the armchair from the office into the corner of the infirmary while you read in the corner. An all night vigil wasn’t exactly necessary – Teddy’s fever had broken about an hour ago, his vitals were stable, and Mr. Schwartz had been snoring the night away for hours. Nancy lived on the second floor of the house, and was always near and available if necessary, but you were peaceful here. Tucked away in your corner with your book and a throw draped over your folded knees. The anxiety you’d carried heavy in your belly all day had dissipated. Thoughts of Joel settled now, compared to the frenzied hysterical swarm they’d been all day. Sometimes this need for him scared you. That your mood, your physical self, could so easily be altered by him, by his own mood, his words, his touch. The tether he held you by was so strong, it felt unbreakable, permanent. It scared you to think what would become of you if one day he decided to break it.

Connie passes a hand over the boy’s forehead, murmuring to himself as he examines him, pops his stethoscope in to take a listen. His movements are slow and practiced, methodical. You’d always loved watching him work. You’ve passed so far into the realms of exhaustion, you’re a little delirious now, your mind and vision hazy, and you rest your head against the wingback and watch. “He’s settled now. Vitals are steady.” You hum in agreement.

He turns to look at you then, his gaze contemplative as he takes a seat on the bench along the end of the bed directly in front of you. His tired groan makes you smile a little, old man. The fondness for him squeezes your heart. He has something to say, you can tell. “I know your father was an exacting man,” he starts. You nod, still quiet. You know that now is a time for listening. “I think of him often. I know I never met him, but he wanders into my mind quite frequently. I think of the things you’ve told me about him, about your mother and sister–” When you’d first become close, it’d been hard for you to speak of your family, of Beth and her death, but eventually you’d forced yourself to. For no other reason than that the thought of you being the only person left in the world that remembered their names, that knew their stories, wrought a grief in you so profound, it was impossible to keep it all inside. You were scared if you didn’t share, if you carried all that alone, you’d lose yourself in their memories forever. “I think that after all that, after living their deaths in such a gruesome way, it could have been very easy for you to lose yourself in all that. Do you agree?” Another small tilt of your chin. The precision with which he’d always read you, understood you, was the greatest comfort in the world. That sometimes it wasn’t even necessary to tell him out loud what it was you were feeling or needed for him to pick up on it. 

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you finally say.

“No…” his eyes take on the thoughtful look he gets, the one that makes you wish you could read his mind sometimes, read the wonderings of that brilliant mind like one of your textbooks. “Instead, you became a splendid and thoughtful physician. A seemingly impossible thing, no? Now, with the state of the world for you to have pieced together a vocation such as this…” his milky blue eyes glint with humor, pride, “Well, it’s all very impressive, my dear.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge. 

“And even more impressive, considering the fact, that had you been given a choice in the matter, you would never have chosen this for yourself… had the world been different, normal.” And there it is again, that keen sense of knowing.

“Yes.” There is nothing more to say. It is, after all, your most painful, most honest, most shameful truth. Painful, not in the sense that you carried any regret now, when you cared for your patients, when you put the knowledge your father and Connie had given you into practice. But painful in the sense that it chafed at your skin, that desire for other . That small seed that had the great potential of growth within you, to spread like ivy around a house, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until all you were left with were thoughts of what could have been. 

“But like I said… your father was an exacting man, and this is what he chose for you. And then, perhaps, even I played a part in that same theft of choice from you.” You try to interrupt him then, to vehemently deny it, but he continues unheeded. “You got here and you seemed to be a sort of benediction to me. A vessel for all the knowledge I could impart on you. A shepherd I could leave this flock to.” He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them slowly with the hem of his sweater. “I know you’ll take good care of them when I’m no longer here. That they could not have ended up in better, more caring hands.” You hate when he talks about his dying, fills you with a premonitory dread you don’t know how you’ll cope with when it becomes actuality. “But alas, you did what was set upon you, took it all in stride.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next, and you know the point of all this has arrived. You even know where it is he’s going with this. 

“I say all this, my dear, not to dredge up old painful memories, or reminders of what could have been… But because I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again.” And there it is. He levels his gaze at you, quiet for several moments, and it’s like he is here in the room with you now, his presence, his unsaid name heavy and poignant.

“Joel’s a good man, honey, but he’s a hurt man. Hurt in a way I don’t think even you could cure.” 

Your instinct to defend him is immediate. “He’s not— he’s not a hurt man.” You shake your head, brow furrowed, “He’s been hurt before, but it doesn’t define him, Connie. It’s not the sole contributor to who he is.” And that’s true, you know it is. Believe it to your very core. You, who knows Joel better than few others, you know the pains of his past don’t define him.  Perhaps before, they did. A pain so acute it molded him into a creature focused only on survival, or perhaps, he let it get the better of him at times. But he is so much more than all that. Has the strength and the will to set it aside when he so chooses to. Ellie being the perfect example of that. 

Choices, choices, those were the things that defined a person.

“Isn’t it? You can’t live off the potential you see in someone forever.”

“I hate it when you say that.” You sit up, let your feet drop to the floor, and lean forward to stress your point. “What are we all, if not vessels of untapped potential? We’re all just walking around with the possibility of something more inside of us. Of course, of course I value the potential I see in him! I know he has the possibility of so, so much inside of him – that’s what makes me… That’s why I –” You cut yourself off before you can make that confession, a choked sound leaving your throat. You look out the nearby window at the dark street, press your thumb hard into the center of your forehead, will the tension and frustration out of the skin and bone. 

“I know… I know,” he says gently, offering you his hands, palms up – a sign of concession. “But it’s not enough to hang all your hopes and dreams on just that. I want more for you than just that . I want you to have choices. To be able to have what you truly want, what you truly need. I would not like to know that something unfulfilling has been forced upon you once again by the circumstances of this world.” And he says it so sadly, with a look of such tenderness in his eyes, it makes embarrassment burn hot and red in your cheeks. The back of your eyes pinch. What must they all think of me when they see us together? The part that perhaps does, or should, make you the most embarrassed, is that you don’t really care at all. Not in any substantial way that would make a real difference, make you act differently. “I’m not unfulfilled, Connie. I love what we do here,” you say softly.

“I know that, I know. But still…I just–”

You rest your aching head in your cupped palms, bent elbows propped on your knees. You’re so fucking tired. “Connie, please, I know…” you whisper. “Just, please, no more tonight… I’m exhausted. You can tell me all this another time – tomorrow. Just no more tonight.”

“Alright, alright, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you grief.” He stands, comes towards you to rest a gentle palm on your shoulder.

“I know… and you’re not… It’s me.”

“I only want good things for you, darling girl.” You press your hand over his on your shoulder, give a short nod. 

“Go home – you need rest. Nancy will stay with them.”

“I can sit for a few more hours. Teddy likes to know I’m here.”

“No, no,” his voice takes on that stern fatherly tone he likes to whip you into shape with sometimes. “Enough for tonight. They’ll both be fine. You’ll see them tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “Bossy.” But you stand to go, draping the blanket over the back of the chair. He pulls you in for a hug then, envelops you in the comfort and steadiness he’s always offered you, from the very start. He always smells faintly of peppermint and mothballs and old paper. “It’ll all work itself out, my dear. You’ll find a way. You always do. I’m not worried about that.”

-

Joel watches you leave the clinic from his spot in the shadows across the road. He’s been posted here, obstinate and pissed off with himself, for hours. Especially because he’s certain this must be a new low for him, sulking in the dark, watching for you like a creep. But he just wanted to be close to you. He knows you lied to put him off earlier. Your conversation had left him unsatisfied, restless. He knows you’re pulling away because he’s pulling away. Because he’s putting you off, and he tells himself he’ll give you space, tells himself that’s what’s best, but knows it’s a lie as he thinks it. 

The thing is, despite his obstinance, Joel was not a man who lacked self awareness. He was, in fact, very good at recognizing a thing within himself, and yet still able to make a conscious decision to feign ignorance towards it to the outside world. This set up worked well for him – sometimes … on occasion… But this was different, and he knew it. Feigning ignorance would not work between the two of you for much longer. You were getting tired and sad and frustrated with him and he could see it and hated himself for being the cause of it. And if he was being honest with himself, which in this moment, he was trying to be, he was getting tired of it too, tired of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position with a woman. On the verge of … something. Something he couldn’t confess, even to himself, yet. But to allow himself that, to allow himself the simple act of even admitting what he knew was the truth of his feelings for you – there was a part of him, a very broken part that had not been used in a long, long time, that couldn’t even imagine it. To allow himself that sort of vulnerability. To allow himself the truth of there existing another person in this world, in what this world had become, a partner – a woman he cared for, needed . It was too vulnerable, too precious a thing to allow himself. Perhaps before, perhaps in a world not overrun by death and disease and violence – by loss. 

But what did that even look like anymore? A world bereft of monstrousness? Wiped clean of the beasts that had overtaken it, human or infected. Could Joel even remember such a thing – even imagine it, if only in his dreams? He couldn’t even discern which of the two was worse anymore. Part of him knew it didn’t really matter. Not in the end. It was all conjecture when it came down to losing your life – losing the person you loved. Whether it was fungus or a bullet – dead was dead.

Sometimes he didn't even feel like a person anymore. Just this thing that existed at the periphery of the world. In the moments when he pushed you away, when he turned from the loving look in your face, forced himself to brush off your words and your affection, to hold you at arms length – to protect the vulnerable, scarred mass of his heart – those were the moments in which he was most like a creature, least like a man. 

He thought of a world where he felt safe enough to go to the woman he loved, his Birdie, hold you in his arms and say: here is everything I have for you, I’m begging you, please take it . 

Such a world didn’t exist in Joel’s mind. Couldn’t fit. He’d been stripped of the ability. To have something so vulnerable and new. A type of fragile he’d not held since his twelve year old daughter lay bleeding and broken in his arms, and have the ability to say I am strong enough to endure the possible loss of this. I need you this badly. So badly I am willing to risk even my own heart. 

It looked like trying to swallow the sea. 

He follows you home in the darkness. 

-

“You get that fixed alright?” Joel’s voice barks from the mouth of the garage. You startle, your knee slamming into the underside of the workbench. Deciding to follow through on Connie’s suggestion from yesterday, you’d come to see Noah, knocking on his door bright and early this morning, Bovie clutched in your hands. He’d been more than happy to give it a look for you. The two of you had been sitting here for about an hour now, and in that time you’d seen Joel’s form stalk by at least three times, from out of the corner of your eye. Absurd man that he was, you knew he’d been psyching himself up to barge in here and interrupt the two of you. Seemed he’d brought his attitude with him.

“Jesus, man–” Noah’s hand grips your smarting knee, rubbing it gently, “We didn’t hear you come up.” Joel’s left eye twitches at the we, his gaze zeroed in on the hand on your knee, his teeth bared in the perpetuation of a ridiculous growl as he takes a threatening step forward. You lift your brows at him – all your fire and fight from yesterday put to rest now after some much needed sleep. He cocks his brow back at you, shifts his jaw side to side in annoyance.

“Absorbed in your work?” he drawls sardonically.

“We’ve made some good progress actually! Come see,” Noah says, completely missing Joel’s mocking tone, the poor thing. He gives your knee another gentle pat, and you think you might just see steam come out of Joel’s ears. He steps up behind you, chest pressed close to your back and passes a hand over your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. This fucking guy. Now he feels like getting handsy. You scrunch your nose at him, turning back to face Noah and the Bovie, your shoulder pressing into Joel’s belly. Noah takes in your positions, the possessive hand now curled around your neck – looks back down at the knee he’d just grabbed and then back to Joel’s broad intimidating form and scowling face. You see a slow swallow move through his throat. As he starts to explain the changes the two of you had made to the electrocautery generator, you consider the differences between the two of them. The contrast is stark. Noah isn’t small by any means, average height, a nice build – but there’s something about Joel. Some sort of warning in the air around him, in the space he takes up in a room, that makes him larger than life – something that says don’t fuck with me or mine. Heat pools low in your belly and you press your thighs together tightly. Fucked up, you’re fucked up – you try to brush his hand off your neck – suddenly feeling overwhelmed, your skin overly sensitized. “Quit –” he says low in your ear and you almost whimper. He’s jealous, and it’s turning you on. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

You try to shake him off again,“ Let go.”

“No.” His voice is steel. Noah is heedlessly going on about the Bovie, about how it only took a slight rewiring from the generator into the hand-piece without overwhelming the system; giving it the little bump of power it was missing. Joel’s thumb brushes a slow, warning path up and down your neck. Down, down, to the top notch of your vertebrae, slowly kneading the fine muscles surrounding the prominence of your bone and then up and pushing into the base of your skull. His hands are warm and dry – the rough calluses abrading your sensitive skin. You feel the flush in your cheeks traveling down over your chest, the tips of your breasts tightening to painful points. You see Joel’s eyes flicker down, taking you in, and he gives a contemplative hum low in his throat.

“I’m so glad you let me help,” Noah says with a warm smile. He’s sweet and so genuine and as you take him in, how completely unaware he is of the silent struggle going on between you and Joel right in front of him, you’re struck by how easy loving a man like that would be. And how unfulfilling for a woman like you. What is it about some people, that they can’t appreciate a good thing unless it hurts a little?

“Connie and I are real grateful that you could help. You let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Joel gives him a short nod as you leave.

And then, soft and threatening into the shell of your ear as the two of you walk away from the nice, sweet, uncomplicated boy: we’re goin’ home, and I’m gonna lick that cunt until you’re cryin’, little bird. 

Your steps speed up, trying to outrun the clutch of his hands on your skin, trying to escape – even if just a little. 

You never stood a chance of that. 

-

He follows, menacingly on your heels, as you dart into your house. A rabbit trying to outrun the big bad wolf. You make for the stairs and you feel the tips of his fingers ghost lightly in the ends of your long hair, one foot on the first step, but then his finger is catching in your belt loop, yanking you hard into his chest. Your back thumps against him with a small oof and then his hands are skating along your curves, big palms squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples through the cotton of your t-shirt.. 

“Bad Birdie, try’na run from me.” He nuzzles, gentle, gentle into the nape of your neck, the line of your hair, presses his mouth to the top notch of your spine. You feel his hot, wet tongue slide over the jut of your vertebrae, small peppered kisses to your nape and your entire body flushes hot – arousal pulling low and tight in your belly. Your clit throbs in time with his panting breath in your ear. His soft mouth is totally at odds with the tension he’s holding himself with right now, the harsh way he presses his fingers into the skin of your hips. 

You can feel the thick length of him pressing into your ass; he’s hard as stone and throbbing – turned on by the chase. You moan, deep and wanton, slick pooling in your panties, ready for him now , just at the feel of his hands on you. “You want it, baby?”

“Y– yes,” you stutter, pressing yourself harder into him. 

“Want me to fuck that needy little cunt?”

His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his chest and into your back, down, down your body all the way to the tips of your toes. “Please, Joel,” you whimper. You try to turn in his arms, but he clicks his tongue at you, wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, half dragging, half carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I always give my Birdie what she needs, don’t I?”

-

“Settle now. Stay still so I can eat you how I like.” He hitches his hands higher up the backs of your thighs, beneath your knees – spreads you further apart, up and back to press into your breasts, making more space for the broad valley of his naked shoulders. He’d gotten you naked and into bed, quick as a viper. His desperation, evident in the wild look in his eyes. He was unsettled, either by the tension between the two of you yesterday or you around another man, but he was trying to prove some unspoken point to the two of you in the ferocity of his grip on your skin.

He settles his face deep into your sex now and eats. “Who’s all this wet for, huh? Were you thinkin’ about me while that boy tried to get in your good graces?”

“It’s too much. Please, please, please,” you sob. Tears making a slow, steady journey back into your hairline, dripping into your ears. You yank hard on his hair, try to direct his movements. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Want me to stop?” He laps at your clit.

“I– I dont– I don’t know–” It felt like he’d been at this for hours. “I–”

“It’s okay.” Soft, whispered kisses to the puffy lips of your sex, your slippery inner thighs. You’re so wet, and you’d have burns from his beard and bruises from his teeth tomorrow. “I know, I know you’re just a little bird,” his teeth sharp and mean to the softest part of you, then the broad flat of his tongue to soothe – a sharp, quick suck to your swollen clit. His volley between rough and tender on your vulnerable sex setting you further on edge than anything else he was doing. “But you can take it for me.You can be so, so good for me. My good girl.”

Your cunt pulls tight – throbs like a wound. Hurts in a way you’re desperate for. You love him, you love him, you love him. Goddamn the things he does to you, makes you feel. You need him so much and he gives it all to you exactly in the way that’s the most perfect, just for you. You feel fucking delirious, on the brink of insanity. 

He pushes two thick fingers into you, cunt spasming and clinging. He scissors the digits inside of you, stretches your hole. The squelch is lewd and obscene and messy. You can feel your cheeks burning red and hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes as you feel your slick leak down between your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you – hiding yourself from your own obscenity. 

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby. Tastes like candy.” He pulls out his fingers, slaps your cunt, twice, quick and sharp. The sound you let out shames you, high pitched and whining. “Fuckin’ red ‘nd gaping for me. God, Birdie –” he moans so deep it makes your heart race, brings his mouth back to you – licks a broad stripe from hole to clit with the flat of his tongue. His mouth latches to the aching swollen bud and sucks. “You need me so much dont you? Fuckin’ come in my mouth – wanna taste it.” And he’s right, he’s right, you do, you need him so much. In that instant, you feel so grateful that he knows it.  

Your back arches, everything liquid within you pooling low in your pelvis, pulling tight, and it feels like the world is about to end around you; a catastrophe even greater than anything the cordyceps could have ever wrought. This is what he brings out of you with his mouth and his fingers and his words, and you gush onto his face. He almost fucking whines at the splash of your orgasm on his tongue – slurping down everything you have to give him, you feel your wetness cover his face and beard. This is what you give to each other. 

He gentles his fingers and tongue. Letting your orgasm coast along into echoes and throbs. You try to push him away with your foot on the thick mass of his shoulder, on the brink of overstimulation, but quick as a viper, he circles his entire large palm around the fine bones of your ankle and squeezes. Quit – presses a tiny kiss to the protrusion of your bone there.

“ Mine,” he growls. “Mine, no one touches you but me–” His hands open you wider for him, fileting you for his eyes only. You feel hot and flush, your skin tight, to the point of bursting, like an overripe plum in the sun. Skin fragile and thin, insides viscous, ready to spill your flesh for him, blood burning hot as it churns in your veins. “Not fuckin’ done yet, Birdie. Not done with this perfect pussy.” Tears make a slow path down your temples, your fingers tangled in his hair, wanting to hurt– just a little. Like the delicious hurt of holding him within yourself. The way it feels like an old aching bruise inside of you when he stuffs you full of his cock. And then he’s up, up, up – quick as a whip – his fingers shoving into the tangle of your hair at the nape of your neck, captured in a tight fist like prey in a snare, and he’s shoving your own taste deep into you with his tongue. The kiss, open and savage – he’s fucking your mouth like he was just fucking your pussy. Your heart pushes against the bones of your chest, and you desperately clutch at his shoulders for some sort of countenance. He unmoors you . You have been unmoored by this man. And you want – need – more. 

He kneels between your open legs, thick thighs anchoring you wider and fists his cock, the head gleaming and painfully red. He pulls your thighs over his own thicker ones, and presses the fat tip hard to your sensitive clit, making you jolt and whimper pathetically. “Cock drunk, that’s what you are.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glassy and wet. His voice is so deep. He drags the head down to your entrance, presses just a little, only the fat tip held inside you. He fucks you short and shallow like that, his hips moving in tiny, slow jerks. 

“Please,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut at the subtle pressure, at the promise of what’s about to come, “Please, Joel.”

“Please what? Please what?” he mocks, just a little mean, and then he’s surging inside in one brutal thrust. Fucking into you without warning and he’s huge — almost too much to take, even after your orgasms. “Fucking tight,” he grits out. He hoists you up, arms wrapped around your waist and starts fucking up and into you, hard. Not giving you a moment to adjust. Letting go of the restraint he’d held while he ate you out. Cock battering into something deep and sensitive inside you, all you can do is take it. Let him have you as he pleases. 

-

He can feel your slick pooling at the base of his cock and sliding down his balls. He wraps his hand around the fine bones of your jaw, “Who’s pussy is this?” he growls over the wet slap, “Wanna hear it out loud.”

Yours, yours, yours. 

Your face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks red as an apple, eyes glazed, dark, wet lashes clumped together. The fucked out look in your eyes doing more for him than anything else. This is what he does to you, only him . He picks up the pace of his hips, fucks you harder, harder and your tits bounce against his chest. He slaps one of them gently, appreciating the soft jiggle it gives, the small gasp you let out. His other hand snakes low on your tummy and presses down into your pelvis so he can feel the battering of his cock inside of your cunt and shit he’s gonna come soon. Gonna come with his hand feeling himself fuck you from the outside. “Too much, too much, Joel ,” you whine. “Oh god, I– I’m gonna–” You’re soaked, sweat and slick sliding between your two bodies, and clutching him hot and tight as a fist. He can’t get deep enough, can’t give it to you hard enough. He never wants to stop, will never be able to stop. 

“You’re taking my cock so good, so fucking good. Jesus fuck, I can’t, I can’t–” He slates his mouth over your open panting one, licks into the sweet, red gleam of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he drags his teeth along your full bottom lip, lets it go with a little wet pop. You moan, head falling back on your neck, beyond words. He bends his head, hand wrapped around the fullness of your tit to bring it to his mouth, bites gently down on the tight, aching bud, laves his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth. Then he’s pushing you back, letting you fall and bounce onto the mattress, legs splayed. When he pulls out abruptly you whimper – he can’t let himself come yet, not yet, just a little more – and he leaves a hot trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth again, over the swell of your belly, until he’s between your thighs again and bends his head to devour your slick. His tongue licking deep inside where his cock just was. He’s frantic. There’s no reason to the sense of urgency he feels, the urgency he’s taking you with right now. It’s something subconscious – something primal telling him to mark you, lay his claim. 

He can’t stop taking and taking, always taking.

He pulls up again from between your legs, the abruptness of his movements confusing you, leaving you to deliriously allow him to do with you what he will. “Taste us,” he says as he licks into your mouth, fucking his aching cock back into your spent cunt, so fucking tight always. “One more, baby. Gimme one more, lemme feel you milk me.” And like his own personal little marionette on a string, you do. Pussy fluttering and then pulling tight, a little furl of a knot, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He feels his balls pull up tight and he’s painting you inside, teeth latched tightly to the delicate muscle that connects your neck and shoulder. The sound from your throat is high and keening, supplicant. He licks the hurt he’s just left. Grinds his spitting cock deep, right into the mouth of your womb. 

Mine, mine, fucking mine. It is a mantra of reassurance for the both of you. 

-

He cradles you in his embrace afterwards, his body wrapped around you as if he were a vine grown from your very heart. He sighs, the sound deep from his chest, and you want to tell yourself you can hear a yearning desperate enough to match your own in the cadence of it. His head drops to your shoulder, nuzzles the vulnerable space beneath your jaw, now riddled with his bites and bruises. You know you’ll enjoy inspecting them in the mirror tomorrow, feeling the warm pull of your belly at the reminder. And the moment is so achingly tender, even more intimate in a way, than your sex. The feel of him surrounding you, soft and quiet. Your eyes feel hot, pinching threateningly. 

“I have to go,” he murmurs, spent cock still buried inside of you. He presses kisses to your hair, your lips, over your closed eyelids. He can’t stop, God, he’s tried – is trying – but he can’t go, can’t part from you. Fighting is so fucking hard when you’ve got no will behind it. When what you’re trying to fight against is the thing you’ve wanted more than anything else in your whole life, and the only thing standing in your way is yourself, your own inadequacy. Perhaps he could endure the agony, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss, with you held in his arms like this. 

His patrol shift started almost an hour ago. The guys were going to ream the hell out of him, he’d been here with you for hours, and still, still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull himself away. His lack of will, lack of restraint, of self control – his body and heart’s inability to do what his mind told him to, makes him so angry. At himself, and maybe – not at you, never you – but perhaps, at what you represented. All he wanted but couldn’t let himself have in full. He needed to go. He had responsibilities. He had truths to confess to himself. 

He was in love with you. He was. He was.

Joel was an obstinate man, but he did not lack self awareness. Now was the moment for this truth, if only confessed to himself. So, angry, and in love with you, and tremendously sorry, he turns away. Pulls out of your tight wet clutch with a wince, your breathy gasp making his cock twitch slightly, even so soon after he’s just come. You roll over, burrow into the pillows, and he grips the swell of your ass, pulls you apart to feast on the sight of his come leaking out of you. Obscene. Wet and messy and swollen, marked by his spend. He wants to bend for a taste but knows if he does, he won’t stop, will be likely to start all over again. “I gotta go, Birdie. M’already late.” He bends to nip a gentle bite to your ass cheek, one small last taste, then the press of a kiss. He hopes you can feel all he cannot say with that touch. The soft sound of acquiescence you hum as you burrow further into the sheets has his teeth clenching as he reaches for his clothes, heart turning over in his chest. He’s sure every sound out of you has a direct connection to his cock at this point. 

He won’t shower, won’t wash your drying come from his body. He’ll take you with him, wear you on his skin. Anyways, what did it matter, really, when he already wore you on his heart, his soul? What was one more conquering of his self? Perhaps this was, ultimately, what swallowing the sea looked like.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren Masterlist

[insomniakisses]

'Leah is esp jealous bc unlike lia and katie who have cait or viv who has beth or kyra with Steph, leah doesnt have a close alpha.'

Can we not give Leah any smidge of jealousy, unhappiness or angst for one day? 😂😂

Everytime we're just like 'you know what would this even better? Leah having ✨️issues✨️' 😂😂

⚡️

Leah is just a jealous baby idk what u want from me 🤣

Shes always having ✨issues✨bc shes an angsty baby that pushes ppl away and wont open up

But it wasnt unhappy! She just climbs in with buff R and omega Lessi

They are more than happy to include her ofc bc now leah is directing the both on what to do 😏

Also how are you⚡️ i fear i havent asked u that in a while or ever 😭

[ao3feed-gelphie]

How You Get the Girl (a guide by elphaba thropp)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hcKgm2S by intofiction Her newest prank is her best yet. For every insult Galinda throws her way, Elphaba responds with a compliment. Her shoes, her hair, her sparkly eyeshadow- Elphaba will find something to praise. It throws the blonde off her game every time. It’s genius.   Or: Elphaba accidentally wins over the most complimented girl in school by…complimenting her??? Words: 2341, Chapters: 1/5, Language: English Fandoms: Wicked (Movie 2024), Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F Characters: Elphaba Thropp, Galinda Upland, Nessarose Thropp, Boq (The Wicked Years) Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland, Elphaba Thropp & Galinda Upland Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, movieverse, Shiz University, Fluff, a smidge of angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, all for good reason ofc, POV Elphaba Thropp, oblivious as ever, Lesbian Galinda Upland, Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland-centric, compliments? flirting? someone remind me the difference read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hcKgm2S

[arcielee]

Just different stories from the Ewanverse. I will update whenever I expand like when Saltburn comes out. Please be mindful of tags and warnings!

Dancing in the Dark [World on Fire] Tom Bennett x OFC Summary: War is spilling over Europe and a route is being created to help POWs escape occupied France. Sometimes love does not last forever, but lasts long enough. Warnings: Smut/NSFW later on, some misogyny cause it's the 1940s Author's Note: This is complete, enjoy. ♥

+ + + +

It's Not Tonight [World on Fire] Tom Bennett x Female!Reader Summary: Tom Bennett slips in through your window. Warnings: Tom is a scoundrel, angst from a one night stand, masturbating, a smidge of voyeurism, kissing, grinding, sexual memories recalled fondly but also bitterly, overstimulation kinda?

Lazy Sunday [Trigger Point] Billy Washington x Female!Reader Summary: Billy enjoys a lazy Sunday with you. Warnings: Comfort fic with some smutty smut, oral (f receiving).

Billy x you drabble [Trigger Point] Billy Washington x Female!Reader Summary: This exists in the same AU as Lazy Sunday! Warnings: Nothing, just some fluff to soothe the soul.

Closing Time [Trigger Point] Billy Washington x Female!Reader Summary: You and Billy do your best to make time for one another. Warnings: Semi-public sex, kissing shenanigans, teasing, oral (f receiving), p in v unprotected.

arcie's navi

[redlollygag]

so im gonna be autistic in your inbox 😁😁😁 < face of someone mentally unwell

SO the biggest appeal of dabihawks is ofc the enemies to lovers trope, first lets look at canon:

theyre enemies plain and simple, they hate each other, its a beautiful show to watch of them absolutely disgusted by the other but forced to interact [ IF ONLY THEY GOT MORE FUCKING SCREENTIME TOGETHER JESUS CHRIST ] anyways its the angst potential, hawks dirtying his hands just to get into the league only to then betray the entire league </3 hawks dirtying his hands just for the sake of the mission for the sake of dabi letting him in because that WAS his only contact so hes the one hes "closest too" dabi the evil motherfuck toying with hawks, making him do all the things he hates and knowing what hawks is truely doing. they hate each other in canon plain and simple they dont care if neither one dies or not. hawks even STILL views endeavor as an equal even after all hes done (whether or not you think its valid is up to you i think that hawks needs a LITTLE MORE TIME AND SPACE to rethink the whole "yeah no enjis cool now hes alright :D" shtick.... personally i hate it i just want him to be a little more..... EYES OPEN to how fucked up endeavor did things even if hes trying to do better now like ?????) canon tropes that could fit are like their divorce, unhealthy co dependency, there was only one bed, acciental first kiss, drunk sex, fuck buddies, rarepair, the whole hero vs villain thing, height difference, flirty and the flustered, oh fuck theyre BOTH messed up, loud and quiet ETC ETC

now heres where the dots connect though through fandom genius. now when dabis first introduced hes blue and emo and firey and dramatic (theatre kid) mentally unwell, tired yet manic, daddy issues supreme, body horror circus party, the whole palooza. we ALL been known, his daddys a top hero who made him a top villain. and now hawks, who was an enigma at first, man too fast for his own good, red, arrogant, laidback, yet serious and calculating, heart of gold underneath all of that dirty work with a like for trashy preppy outfits. at first it was just the enemies to lovers, dabi hates endeavor and heroes, hawks admires him to the sun and is one of the best heros... AND THEN WE GET HAWKS BACK STORY. hawks. hero. raised by a villain. if the red and blue, sun and moon, emo/goth and jock, FLAME AND FEATHERS, if those parallels werent enough the father issues sure will! dabi, hero father made him a villain, hawks, villain father made him a hero. the amount of parallels these two have was fuel for the growing fire.

FIRE IN WHICH IT WAS FANON. fanon dabihawks is BEAUTIFUL. the best and probably only light dabihawks will ever shine in 😀😀😀 < gripping horikoshis neck even thought nothing will happen but angst for these two. slightly shifted canon compliant with some queer writing and spicing up the characters a SMIDGE, making them more fit to how they ACTAULLY ARE (in my very (not) humble opinion horikoshi you dont know your own characters like we do) all of that is the mountain of fanfic tropes. we already have enemies to lovers but add a little bit of that battle for dominance play and sexual tension, heavy flirting and fuck buddies OOO BOY. they play and they bite and hawks is number one pretty boy and charms his way past dabi "probably hasnt been flirted with in his life," OR dabi being the brat and attention seeker he is and pushing hawks buttons before dabi gets put in his place. hawks turned genuine lov member because then thats where he sees the TRUTH. or hawks still killing jin but REGRETS IT TO THE MAX and dabi finds him a little after and hawks begging for forgiveness. the league was his only true family but hes been a hero under the commission for so long that killing him was second nature until he realizes. rehabilitation after the war and dabi being captured and hawks still visiting him wherever dabis being held. if you make them even a LITTLE BIT GAY it literally makes things more tragic than just "lets hate each other even though we're walking parallels"

one very popular and loved aspect is red tailed hawks avian hawks and not just his fierce wings. THIS ADDS TO THE MOUNTAIN. youve got a multitude of bird facts like torpor, nesting, cloacas if youre into that, preening, MATING HABITS. hawks being a spy to the league only to see how open they are to their members quirks. spinner and his lizardness needing warmth and insects and shedding and togas fascination and need for blood ( not quirk reasons shes mentally ill but there are healthy ways to get blood so) hawks seeing the league being accepting open AND welcoming to when we dont see ANY OF THAT in his hero work??? especially with dabis inside knowledge of how shit the hero system is with quirk discrimination??? youve got so much to work with here JUST from the aspect of making hawks a hawk mutant. he likes how shiny dabi is with his staples and piercings, he loves the natural warmth coming from him (even if dabis skin is cold), hawks lowkey loving the smell of blood from dabis scars (bird of prey) dabi helping hawks be open to the more avian side of him, he imprints on him and dabi becomes mate in hawks mind, IN TURN hawks showing dabi that even the most shittiest of origins, you can still do good, hawks knowing full well that quirks sucks (molting season, talon clipping, wing care, the overstimulation of senses like sounds hawks has become numb to) and he coaxs that little burning fire thats still in dabi, that he can still do good (dabi said that killing innocent people drove him mad in a negative way so he doesnt enjoy it) two broken souls from quirk discrimination finding solace even with all the shit hero AND villain society treat them. this leads to, along with those above, hurt comfort, slow burn, mutual healing, mutual pining, sunshine x grump, girlboss and malewife, overly affectionate x touch adverse, old married couple, sacrifices too much x sacrifices too little, romantic virgin x romantic confident, annoyed x annoying, gets into fights x patches them up, OBLIVIOUSNESS TO THE MAX, idiots in love, domestic husbands ETC ETC (and the more kinky spicy aspects when it comes to bird genes and a fire quirk)

what makes them even JUCIER is if you make the commission EVIL. EXACTLY WHAT DABI HATES AND DESPISES. another common trope is to make hawks be lowkey abused by the commission hence the whole child soldier thing but hawks has been living with then his whole life so its like, fine for him. dabi being his savior, dabi showing him the league can be his true family, dabi, a villain, being hawkss hero. hawks, who would get his hands dirty just for the sake of justice, shows dabi true heroes are still alive. hawks being an avian mutant adds to the juice because if it was just hawks with fierce wings well you could paint it as just the child soldier BUT WITH THE HETEROMORPH youve got commission being absolute JERKS and forcing hawks to mask his avian-ness, forced to endure people touching his wings left and right, forced to not perch, forced to have them preen his feathers in the way that society views as "perfect," clipping his talons, making him live in a boring ass apartment because "hawks heroes dont care about sentiments, you have to be presentable and collecting 'shiny things' isnt herolike," the league being the EPITOME of quirk freedom, hawks finding solace in the league because hes actually able to be himself and being a heteromorph isnt SHOULDNT be bad, dabi being able to polish his old big brother instincts and take care of hawks nurse him back to help and free him from his bird cage.

SPEAKING OF BIRD CAGES, another beautiful fanon interpretation is DABI HIMSELF BEING A PART OF THE LEAGUE BEFORE HIS REBIRTH. OW. youve got friends to lovers and all the fluff that comes with it (as much as it is being in the commission) dabi and hawks growing up together in the commission only for endeavor to pull dabi out and hawks loses his one true best friend :[ dabi and hawks not knowing how to socialize with other kids but between dabis temper yet caringness and hawks being shy yet a determined bastard, they click LOVINGLY. they bond over shitty fathers (hawks not knowing the extent to his idol OR you can change it up and have hawks despise endeavor secretly but the commission knows hes adored endeavor so he has to suck up the urge to MAIM and KILL the flaming bag of shit because at the time endeavor aint "changing" and he acts EXACTLY like hawkss birth father.) hawks imprinting on dabi his first real friend, taking care of each other through the commissions pains and abuse, sacrificing themselves in order for the other to not be punished. MAJOR ANGST WHEN IT COMES TO DABIS DEATH and hawks loses his spark and throws himself into training to distract the howling pain of his bird side and instincts as he lost a flock member (and potential mate), ONLY TO FIND DABI ALIVE YEARS LATER. the angst of reconciliation to see your love turn yo the darkest sides (dabi being a villain and hawks being a hero both of who they respectively hate) the angst of dabi knowing that without him the commission successfully brainwashed hawks to the point of betrayal on their side and hawks knowing his old beloved is now on the side in which he has to take down and kill (his old beloved truely did die if this is the path dabi went to) THE FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO STRANGERS TO ENEMIES AND BACK TO LOVERS. IM GONE O-(-( ORZ. youve successfully wounded me.

the amount of aus/canon divergent situations you can put these two from those three things TOGETHER or SEPARATE/SOLO, soulmates, quirk accident, princess carry, found family, exes to lovers, role reversal, fantasy au, royal au, cyberpunk au, dystopian, apocalypse, sickfic, honeypot turned non sexual intimacy, highschool au, civilians au, quirk swap, body swap, arranged marriage, actual genuine married couple, kindergarten au, amnesia fics, time travel, time travel fix it fics, space au, star wars au, pirates and mermaids, and the wonderful beautiful amount of crack/crack treated seriously is UDGODLY. hawks pranking endeavor, the lov and hawks playing video games, trophy wife dabi, watching disney movies, coming out at the worse times, "HAWKS/DABI WDYM YOUR FUCKING A VILLAIN/HERO," one or more of the todorokis (minus endeavor) being in the league and dabi hating it but hawks loves it (adores shouto, loves and is terrified of fuyumi, gets along w natsuo, DABI YOUR MOM IS A FALLEN ANGEL), dabis mom being in the league and is a better mom in canon and dabis like what the shit or this is my mom fuckers touch her and your burnt and hawks is like but what about affectionate touching (hugs, headbumps etc), hawks learning to build a pillow fort and experience actual good childhoos activities, dabi walking in on hawks (and maybe spinner and toga) indulging in his avian-ness for the first time, dabi cooking for hawks, hawkss nesting habits, gift giving

am i autistic about dabihawks or am i AUTISTIC about DABIHAWKS

if you read this hold this (jesus /AFFECTIONATE I WROTE A LOT.) thank you and hoping to convert you :D

ANON you fucking FEASTED WITH THIS ONE OH MY GOD!!!! You delivered on your promise and brought over the whole damn MEAL!!

(I love the essay thank you so so much for taking time to pour out your thoughts on this ship!!! Ngl I don’t give Dabi enough credit as a character and maybe this ship is one way to kinda explore that and dammit if I am not more intrigued by them than anything else)

[blondeaxolotl-twstocs]

Ooooooh I got so excited when I saw the notif!! New Murray lore! Even if it's sad. Never been so happy to read angst lmao. I love that little family sm💕

Aaa! I love hearing that people actually get excited to see new oc content of mine, I feel honoured 💜💜

The comic is only a smidge of the angst that Murray goes/went through, her life is really angst-ful so there will be more coming in the future.. (and ofc some wholesome ones as well dw I'm not that mean <3)

[gabekidd]

Hit Me Like Bang (and Now I'm Never Looking Back), Part 2

A "Take My Hands, Wreck My Plans" fic

Pairings: David Finlay x OFC / past!Jay White x OFC Word Count: 11k Warnings: Language; alcohol use; radioactive levels of angst but also fluff; and a little smidge of smut so 18+

On the road to Dominion, Nellie's past and present converge to solidify the truth of what's been in front of her all along.

TMHWMP Timeline | Masterlist

Read it on AO3

A/N: Herein is the end of Nellie's story, and I am emotional :') Don't worry―there are more prequels forthcoming that will go more into her previous relationships and how she got here, but this is her happy ending.

One small note: there's quite a bit of flashback scenes in this chapter, and they're not in chronological order to each other, so pay attention to the dates. That said, this fic and Nellie truly are my baby, and thank you for coming on this two-plus-year journey with me. I hope you enjoy reading her story just as much as I've enjoyed creating it for you <3

tags: @aussiearrow @cowboyslariat @knifepervert @sldghmmr @cardblade @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09 @aussiespam

Friday, April 14, 2023 Tokyo, Japan

It took about seven minutes bell-to-bell for Nellie to dispose of Mariah May in their title match at Korakuen Hall. She hadn’t even broken a sweat. But she’d anticipated short work. She’d already planned to make up for it in her backstage comments.

“Alright, I’ll make sure this is short and sweet just like that match,” she started as she stepped in front of the camera. “Do you see this title?” She held up the championship in her hand. “I have been the SWA World Champion since May fifth of last year. Twenty-twenty-two. That is three hundred and forty-five days, just twenty days short of an entire year. And no one here at World Wonder Ring Stardom seems to give a shit about it, or the verifiable fact that I am the only person in history to hold this title more than once!

“But here’s the thing: I know exactly why they don’t care. Because I’m a gaijin. Never mind that I’ve been dedicated to this company since twenty-eighteen; that I’ve lived in Japan for over three years, through a fucking pandemic; that I’ve learned the language. Apparently, none of that matters, because I’m still not from here. I’m still an outsider. And God forbid a gaijin become the face of Stardom, so what do they do? They hold me in place with this title that they clearly don’t give a shit about and allow me to defend it once a quarter. And Mariah May?” She scoffed. “Do you know how many times I’ve already beaten Mariah in title matches? Tonight makes three, and the other two were in her home country for the RevPro Undisputed British Women’s Championship. So please, someone enlighten me: if Mariah May couldn’t get it done against me in her home country, why the fuck did anyone think she stood a chance against me here, in Korakuen of all places? I might be from Philly, but Tokyo is my home. Stardom is my home. The Stardom dojo beat me down, built me back up, and turned me into the joshi I am today, and in return I made history. And I refuse to be held in place any longer.

“Saya Kamitani. You’ve made history, too. We have history. Because see, everyone associates you with Hayashishita-san and me with Torrance—but you and I were partners first. We were Goddess of Stardom champions together. We’re both champions now. And at All Star Grand Queendom, I want you in a winner takes all match for my SWA World Championship, and your Wonder of Stardom Championship. And it’ll be a gaijin from Philadelphia who puts an end to your history-making reign.”

And with that she walked off camera, the gauntlet thrown.

* * * *

Sunday, October 30, 2022 Tokyo, Japan

Nellie was in good spirits. She was fresh off defending her SWA World Championship against Mayu Iwatani in New York City. Halloween was tomorrow, and David had come over for a horror movie marathon. He’d brought takeout from her favorite sushi place and a six-pack of Sapporo. She intended to tell him how she felt. And she couldn’t have been more nervous.

“Is everything alright?” he casually asked. “It seems like something’s on your mind.”

She brought her feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch and pulled her soft checkered fleece blanket over her lap. Of course he could tell something was on her mind—it was David. He paid attention. He was perceptive; emotionally mature. It was one of the many, many things that drew her to him, something that set him apart from most guys she’d been involved with in the past. And now, after her few days away, she knew for certain.

“Yeah… I, um,” she started. “I just guess I realized something when I was in New York.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Well,” she stalled, nervous. But there was no turning back now—and she didn’t want to. “I went out with a few people after the show, and… Kyle Fletcher kissed me. But all it did was make me realize that I have feelings for someone else.”

David wasn’t looking at her as she said it, queuing up the first movie on her TV. And Nellie quickly started to overthink, worried that maybe he’d focus on the fact that Kyle had kissed her and not what she was trying to tell him—

 But then the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky guy?”

He glanced at her as he set down the remote. She pursed her lips at him. “Are you seriously gonna make me say it?”

“I kind of want you to, yeah.”

She bit back a grin. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she worried he could hear it. “Well… I don’t know how he feels, so I’m kind of nervous to.”

“Well, let me clear things up for you, then…” David said, and he pulled her in and kissed her. Nellie melted into him. His lips were soft, his kiss slow and sweet, and the way he cradled her head in his hands felt natural, as if they’d done this a thousand times before. And she already knew she wanted to do it a thousand times more.

He pulled back from her lips but still held her close. “I’ve been wanting to do that for the last three months,” he said.

 She grinned. “You have?”

“Yeah. And since we’re talking about it… I wasn’t sure how you felt. Sometimes it seemed like you were still hung up on Jay.”

Nellie sighed and leaned back into the couch. Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Honestly, at the start of the summer, I was still hung up on him. And I think it was because I never got any definite closure when we broke up, and so when he showed up out of nowhere at Dontaku it did feel like there was still something there between us. And he made it seem like there was, too, which didn’t help at all. But then you came back for the G1, and we reconnected, and genuinely—you’ve put in more effort over the last three months than Jay ever put into our entire relationship. And that really put things into perspective for me. But then it was complicated, too, because I know how close you and Jay used to be, and sometimes I worried that getting involved with you after him would look… I don’t know… messy? As stupid as that sounds.”

“No, I get it,” David nodded. “No matter how you and Jay left things, there was a point in time when you cared about him, so of course you wouldn’t want to throw salt in a wound. I mean, there was a point in time when I cared about him, too; he was my best friend. But it’s not like you and Jay just broke up, and he and I aren’t as close as we used to be, either.” He reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear; Nellie’s skin tingled at his touch. “Besides… technically I went out with you first, anyway.”

She mirrored his grin. He wasn’t wrong about that, either. David had gone out with her first, on an awkward date back in 2017, the first time Nellie had ever set foot in Japan. Back before she’d met Zack, or Riley, or Kyle, or ever gotten involved with Jay—David had been first. But she hadn’t seen it then.

“Not technically—you did,” she confirmed. “And lately I’ve wondered how different things would be if I’d given you a chance back then.”

“Nah,” he returned with a shake of his head. “I was a clown back then; I don’t blame you for not giving me a chance. Plus, I’ve come to believe that everything meaningful happens when it’s supposed to.” He smiled to himself. “I was actually planning on telling you how I felt tonight. But you beat me to it.”

Nellie’s smile widened. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. So, I guess I owe Kyle Fletcher a beer for kissing you and helping you figure shit out.”

“Ha!” she laughed, and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, and she snuggled into him, moving the blanket so that he was underneath it, too. It felt right—a perfect fit. And as David pressed play on the first movie, Nellie knew in her heart that this was when it was all supposed to fall into place, and not a moment sooner.

* * * *

“God, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

Nellie smiled at David through her phone screen. It was only a few days ago that he’d left, and he’d only be gone a few days more, working Capital Collision in Washington, D.C., and then Collision in Philadelphia before flying right back to Tokyo—to her. But Nellie already felt the ache of his absence.

“You have no idea how bad I wish you were here right now.” She settled back into her bed pillows, getting comfortable. “I have some pent-up energy that could really use working out.”

David grinned, crooked and handsome. It didn’t help her situation. “I know you do. I just watched your backstage comments.”

She waited, expecting him to say something more, wanting him to. After all, his opinion was the one that mattered most to her. “And?” she impatiently pressed.

“And it took everything in me not to share the video wherever I could,” he said. “I’m proud of you, babe. You already deserved that match; I don’t see how they can’t give it to you now.”

The ache in Nellie’s core deepened. But so did the warmth in her heart. “Thanks, babe. I’m hoping it’ll be official by tomorrow, but… we’ll see.”

“Do you have a match tomorrow?”

She laughed shortly to herself; the expression on her face said it all. “Yeah… a best two out of three falls eight-woman tag match. Me, Tam, Poi, and Mina against Donna del Mondo. It’s the main event.”

“Shit,” David commented before she’d even finished. “That’s gonna be charged.”

“Tell me about it,” she lowly returned. And then, “Thekla thinks I should take the opportunity to leave Cosmic Angels.”

“I was just about to say. It’s the perfect opportunity, isn’t it?”

She drew in a hesitant breath. “Potentially? Actually, if the Cosmic Angels-Club Venus shit finally hits the fan like I expect it to, it probably will be the perfect opportunity. I could just say they’re too dysfunctional and walk out. That’s exactly how I left Queen’s Quest.”

“Then I say do it,” David returned. “You’d be better served somewhere other than Cosmic Angels, I know you would. You know you would.”

“I do know I would,” she agreed. “I’m just… I don’t know. Worried about hurting people’s feelings even though I know I shouldn’t be.”

“Torrance will be fine,” David dismissed; it went without saying that she meant her. “She has Mariah and Mina.”

“No shit,” Nellie breathed. “They’re three peas in a pod these days. Which doesn’t really surprise me… Torr and Mariah are basically the same person in slightly different fonts.” David laughed at that. “Well, it’s true!” she doubled down.

“No, it is,” he nodded. “But I could always just say you’re Bullet Club, too. I’m sure that would get the point across to Tam.”

A grin spread over Nellie’s face. It felt inevitable that she would be Bullet Club, and sooner rather than later. But he’d reminded her. “Speaking of Bullet Club, are you gonna tell me who Riley’s replacement is yet?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No. That’s privileged information.”

Her eyebrows arched. “And I’m not privileged to it? I’m your girlfriend!”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he assured her. “Don’t worry—it’s someone you like. I can’t have anyone in Bullet Club who doesn’t get along with my girl.”

“Well, there’s some people you need to kick out, then,” she returned—just as she heard a knock-knock-knock on the front door of her apartment. She glanced toward the sound in confusion. David noticed.

“What?”

“Someone just knocked on my door.”

He looked confused then. “Isn’t it almost 10 p.m. there?” he asked. But Nellie was already pulling up the live feed from her video doorbell—and she saw a familiar figure.

“It’s Torr.” She sighed. Something told her she wasn’t just dropping by.

“I guess you should go, then,” David figured. Nellie’s brow furrowed.

“Probably. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he gently said. “I should probably get going myself, and you two are overdue for a talk.”

“Yeah… because I don’t want to have it,” she muttered.

David smirked. “Go, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”

She pouted. “Okay. See you soon,” she returned—and before they disconnected, she almost said it. I love you. She knew she did. But she wanted the first time she told him to be in person.

She left her phone in her bedroom and padded down the hall to the front door. She unlocked and opened it just as Torrance was getting ready to knock again. She quickly put her hand down, almost as if she was surprised Nellie had answered.

“Hey.” Torrance took in her appearance—pajamas on, makeup off. Her brow furrowed. “You weren’t in bed, were you?”

“Well, technically,” Nellie returned. “But I was talking with David.”

Torrance’s frown deepened. “Oh. I’m sorry, I should have texted—”

“No, it’s fine,” Nellie dismissed, and she opened the door wider so she could come inside. Torrance hesitated for a beat before she crossed the threshold. It was odd. They both had keys to each other’s apartments; it used to be that Torrance would just let herself in without so much as a knock. But a lot had changed over the last three months.

“What’s up?” Nellie asked as she shut the door. She noticed that Torrance was dressed for a night out in a shiny pink miniskirt and white bustier tank top, her hair and makeup done to perfection. And again, Torrance hesitated.

“Um, well,” she started with a bit of a nervous laugh. “I actually came over here to ask if you wanted to come out with us, but—”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

Torrance bit her lip. “Me, Mariah, and Mina.”

Nellie couldn’t help her laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

Torrance’s expression turned stony. “No, actually, I’m not.”

“Torr,” Nellie breathed out. “Come on. I literally just beat Mariah in a title match and then talked shit about her, you really think either of us want to hang out with each other?”

“Well, Mariah’s willing to put that aside because she knows you’re my best friend,” Torrance returned. She looked down at her hands. “And I feel like we’ve barely seen each other since… well, since the Triangle Derby started.”

So, since Club Venus became a thing, Nellie wanted to say. But she figured it wouldn’t help. “Because we haven’t,” she regretfully returned. “But it’s not intentional. You’ve just been doing your thing with Mariah and Mina, and I’ve been doing mine with Tam and Poi. Or I was. And I know I sort of went off into my own little world when David came back, so…”

Torrance looked back up at her. “Yeah, so are you and him…?”

“Together? Officially?” Nellie finished. “Yeah, we are,” she confirmed, and the mood lightened a bit. Torrance smiled.

“Took long enough.”

Nellie breathed a laugh. “I know. But I think it happened right when it was supposed to.”

“No, I think so, too,” Torrance agreed. “He’s good for you, I can tell. You’ve carried yourself differently ever since he came back; more confident.”

“Thanks,” Nellie genuinely returned. She’d noticed that change in herself, too. David was good for her. He was good to her. And she wasn’t the only one who’d changed. “You’ve been more confident with Club Venus, too.”

Torrance looked down again, the corners of her mouth turned up, almost as if she was bashful to hear that Nellie had noticed. “Yeah, they’ve really helped me come into my own. Mina really pushes me. And I don’t know… it just feels like we’re all on equal footing.”

Nellie nodded in understanding. “Unlike when we were a tag team?”

Torrance frowned again. “I wasn’t trying to imply—”

“No, I get it,” Nellie assured her. And she did get it. After she and Torrance had won the 2021 Goddesses of Stardom Tag League, throughout their entire reign as Goddess of Stardom Champions, people had said that Nellie carried Torrance. That Nellie was the better wrestler, that Torrance would never be champion without her. So, it was no wonder Torrance felt more confident with Mariah and Mina. People weren’t comparing her to them; instead, they were acknowledging how much she’d improved. And as much as Nellie didn’t care for Club Venus, she still wanted the best for Torrance.

“And for what it’s worth, I never felt like I was carrying our team,” she told her. “I should have told you that back then. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“No, I know you never felt that way,” Torrance returned, and nothing else needed to be said. She and Nellie understood each other. They always had.

“But… I guess I can’t persuade you to get dressed and come out with us?” she added.

Nellie shook her head. “Not a chance.”

Torrance nodded. “It was worth a shot.” She started for the door. “Well, sorry for interrupting your call with your man.” She stopped. “I didn’t interrupt… something, did I?”

Nellie let out a laugh. “No, it wasn’t one of those calls. He’ll be back Tuesday; I think I can manage ‘til then.”

“Tuesday?” Torrance noted. “Okay, I’ll be sure to steer clear of here that whole day.”

She let herself out, and Nellie told her to have a glass of water for every drink—she had to work tomorrow. And as Torrance waved goodbye and Nellie shut the door, she knew that neither of them were the same people anymore. They’d grown. Professionally, apart. But not in their hearts.

* * * *

Sunday, November 20, 2022 NJPW/Stardom Historic X-Over – Tokyo, Japan

If anyone was surprised at how well Cosmic Queendom and Aussie Open worked together in the ring, it wasn’t Nellie, Torrance, Kyle, or Mark. It felt like they’d been teaming together for years, and the deeper they got into the match against Los Ingobernables de Japon and Fukuoka Double Crazy, the more Nellie knew they were creating something special for fans of NJPW and Stardom alike. But it wasn’t all serious. Nellie couldn’t help but mess with Sanada and Naito a bit—a callback to her days in Suzuki-gun with Zack. In the end, it was Torrance who got the pin over Koguma after she and Nellie surprised Mark and Kyle by doing Coriolis. And when their arms were raised in victory, Nellie almost wished that she and Torrance had joined United Empire like they’d half-joked about a year ago.

Almost.

More members of United Empire greeted them as they returned backstage; Jeff Cobb, Great O-Khan, and Aaron Henare’s match against Kazuchika Okada, Toru Yano, and Great Muta was next. Mark and Kyle exchanged “Crowns Up” with all their teammates—and then Jeff looked expectantly at Nellie.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he tempted, wiggling his hands at her.

“Fine; but only for you,” she reluctantly gave in, and she made a crown with her hands and touched her fingers to his.

“I don’t know,” Jeff teased, his voice raising leadingly. “After seeing that Coriolis, I think there’s definitely a spot for Cosmic Queendom in the Empire.”

“Ha!” Torrance bluntly dismissed. Jeff pressed his mouth into a line.

“Okay, maybe just a spot for Nellie, then.”

“Yeah, how long have you two been planning that?” Mark asked, tactfully shifting the focus away from the ghost of Torrance and Will’s relationship. Thank God Will was elsewhere.

“Not long; we only just thought of trying it a few days ago,” Nellie said. “You’re not upset we did it?”

She looked hesitantly between Mark and Kyle, but they both quickly shook their heads. “Hell no, it was perfect,” Kyle assured, and Nellie smiled. They’d talked everything out that night he’d kissed her three weeks ago in New York City, and there wasn’t any awkwardness at all between them. They’d had a fling a year ago that just hadn’t panned out, and that was that. They were just friends. Easy.

“Well, thanks,” she said. “But Torr and I are kind of a package deal, so if she’s not in, I’m not, either. Sorry, Jeff.”

“A package deal?” O-Khan slyly asked. Torrance’s eyes widened.

“Not that kind of package deal!” she proclaimed. And then, more under her breath, “Not that anyone hasn’t asked me that before, but.”

Nellie whipped her head around at her. “Wait, what?”

“Yes, please share with the class,” Jeff eagerly added, propping his chin on his fist. But O-Khan’s entrance music started to play and inadvertently gave Torrance the perfect out from answering.

“Good luck!” she said, and the guys all groaned and booed after them as she and Nellie left. Nellie could tell by Torrance’s clipping pace that she was keyed up.

“You alright?”

“I need to get out of here and get a drink,” she returned. “How many more matches are there?”

“Um,” Nellie thought about it for a second. “Three, I think? But that reminds me—Gabe invited us out with the LA Dojo guys. I told him I wasn’t sure if you had anything in mind already and would let him know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, it could be fun. Although that Clark guy seems like he might be trouble.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” Torrance returned. “And honestly, I’m up for a bit of trouble.”

And that was how, later that night, they found themselves at a dive bar in Roppongi with Gabriel Kidd, Clark Connors, and Alex Coughlin. There had been more people with them at the outset, but one by one they’d dropped off bar after bar and called it a night. But not Nellie and Torrance. They were both familiar with Gabe from his time as a Young Lion, although they hadn’t seen him in a year-and-a-half. As for Clark and Alex, the girls barely knew either of them—but the guys seemed very keen on changing that.

“How the hell is it we haven’t hung out before tonight?” Clark asked Nellie, turning toward her as they sat together at the bar. “I know you were around when I was here in twenty-nineteen.”

“Probably because I was around, but I wasn’t living here yet,” she explained. “I moved here in twenty-twenty, right before everything shut down.”

“Yeah, Nell and I were in that same shitty boat,” Gabe said. “At least you weren’t stuck quarantined in fucking dojo housing.”

She snorted through her nose. “No, I was just stuck quarantined with my ex.”

“No shit!” Clark exclaimed. “Who’s that?”

“Jesus, Clark, mind your business!” Alex shot, his New York accent becoming even more pronounced. Torrance chuckled beside him.

“It’s fine,” Nellie dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It was Zack. Sabre Jr.,” she added, as if there was another pro wrestler named Zack living in Japan.

“Oh shit, you were with ZSJ, weren’t you?” Clark realized. “Actually, now that you mention it, I remember working a RevPro show with you, him, and Suzuki a few years back. Both of y’all were there too,” he said to Alex and Gabe.

They both nodded. “Yeah, bruv, I know exactly what show you’re talking about,” Gabe confirmed. “And clearly Nellie has a thing for Brits, so we should switch spots.”

Clark flipped him off. “You want another drink?” he asked Nellie.

“Nah, I’ll get it,” Gabe said, already flagging down the bartender.

“How about I get us all the next round?” Alex interjected. “You two are embarrassing yourselves.”

Clark and Gabe both let Alex know exactly what they thought of that, and Nellie took the opportunity to slide off her barstool. “Well, while you guys figure it out, I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

“I’ll go with you,” Torrance said.

“It’s a one-stall bathroom,” Clark pointed out.

“Well, good thing I’m going just so we can talk about the three of you, then,” she sweetly returned, and Nellie laughed at the look on Clark’s face as they both walked away.

“Looks like you have your pick of Clark and Gabe tonight,” Torrance smirked once they were out of earshot. Nellie genially rolled her eyes.

“Come on… you know I’m not available.”

“Yeah, I know,” Torrance started—and Nellie could sense it coming.

“But?”

“But,” she went on. “As much as I want things to work out with you and David, you’ve already spent enough time waiting on guys, Nell. More than enough, more than you ever should have. I mean, speaking of Zack—he’s literally the only guy since I’ve known you who didn’t leave you in some sort of limbo.”

Nellie’s eyebrows arched. “Jesus, when you put it like that.” She tried the restroom door handle as they arrived, but it was occupied, and so they both leaned back against the wall on either side of the hall to wait.

“I’m just being honest,” Torrance returned.

“No, I know,” Nellie breathed; and, admittedly, Torrance did have a point.

David had left Japan less than a week after he and Nellie had finally told each other how they felt; and with no timetable for when he’d be back, they’d made the mutual decision not to put a label on anything. “That would make me no better than Jay, and I refuse to do that to you,” David had said. But it didn’t dishearten Nellie. Instead, it emboldened her. Because, to her, it confirmed that what she and David had wasn’t conditional. It was real.

“And I get what you’re saying, I do,” she told Torrance. “But it doesn’t feel like I’m in a limbo this time, Torr, and I can’t explain it other than to say I just have this deep-seated feeling in my soul that David and I have something real that’s worth waiting for. I mean, we’ve talked every single day since he left, and I sure as shit couldn’t say that about Jay when he was stuck in the States, and we were actually in a relationship.”

“I know,” Torrance nodded. “David’s a good guy, and I have a lot more faith in him than most, I do. But I’m just saying… I’ll still kick his ass if I have to.”

Nellie grinned. “I know you will. But I’m telling you you won’t.” The restroom door opened, and a woman smiled and bowed her head at them as she exited. “You go ahead,” Nellie offered Torrance.

“Okay, cool; turns out I do have to go,” she said, and she ducked inside and locked the door behind her as Nellie fished her phone out of her small crossbody bag. The clock widget on her home screen informed her it was after 10 a.m. on the East Coast of the U.S., but David was in Los Angeles filming an episode of NJPW Strong; ironically, he had an eight-man tag match against a team that included Jay and Riley. But she decided to text him, anyway. Even if he wasn’t up, he’d get back to her when he was.

She pulled up their text chain and smiled seeing their messages from just a few hours ago; he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to watch her and Torrance’s Historic X-Over match live. Torr and I are out with the LA Dojo guys, she wrote. I’m having fun, but it’s also just making me miss you.

She sent it off and switched over to Instagram, not expecting a reply. But then David’s name popped up on her screen.

Are you? They’re good guys, don’t let their antics fool you. And I miss you too, every day.

Butterflies. Meaningful ones.

They exchanged a few more texts before Torrance emerged from the bathroom, and Nellie told him she’d let him go to start his day. Okay, let me know when you make it back home, he wrote back. You know I’ll start to worry if I don’t hear from you.

I know, she returned, and she sent it off with a kissy face emoji. Because even though there wasn’t a label on her and David’s relationship, in every other way, every way that mattered, they were together.

* * * *

Sunday, April 23, 2023 Stardom All Star Grand Queendom – Yokohama, Japan

Doggedness and determination. That’s what Nellie was running on by the end of the winner takes all match against Saya Kamitani.

She’d been prepared, thoroughly. But as well as Nellie knew Saya, she wasn’t used to being opposite her, at least not one-on-one, and she realized early on that she couldn’t afford a single misstep. But the reverse was also true—and unlike Nellie, Saya had nothing to gain or prove. She’d surpassed the record set by Momo Watanabe for defenses of the Wonder of Stardom Championship, eclipsed Kairi by more than one hundred days to become the white belt’s second-longest reigning champion, her position as one of Stardom’s best and brightest secure. She had nothing to fight for outside maintaining the status quo.

But Nellie had everything to gain, everything to prove, everything to fight for. Despite being a long-tenured champion herself, despite being the older and more experienced wrestler of the two, she was decidedly the underdog. That was her motivation, her drive, her fire. And by the halfway point, there were more people cheering for Nellie in Saya’s hometown crowd than there had been at the opening bell. If she lost, at least she would have that.

But she won.

She knew she’d done it as soon as she hit her new finisher, a variation on a lifting reverse STO that she’d worked out with David and dubbed the Wit Hit. (“As in a cheesesteak wit onion, not as in like, a quick wit,” she’d explained. “Honestly, it works either way,” he’d smirked.) And when she hooked Saya’s leg and felt the referee count one, two, three, she knew she’d earned the crowd’s respect.

And she had Saya’s, too. All along.

As Nellie stood with tears in her eyes and the winner’s trophy in her hands, Saya fastened the Wonder of Stardom Championship around her waist. And after she raised her arm in victory, she pulled her into a hug and told her in Japanese, “You are always welcome in Queen’s Quest, Nellie-san.”

Nellie hadn’t expected it. It gave her even more to think about.

But she’d worry about that later. Right now, her priority was setting her intention as the new Wonder of Stardom Champion.

“What did I say?” she started as she stepped in front of the backstage camera; sweaty and worn, laden with gold. “I said I would end Saya Kamitani’s history-making reign, and that’s exactly what I did. And now a gaijin from Philadelphia is the 9th SWA World Champion and the 17th Wonder of Stardom Champion—and I intend to be a fighting champion.” She shook her head. “No more going five months without a defense. No more being placated and overlooked. Whoever wants a shot at either of my titles, just say the word. Kamitani-san had fifteen defenses of this championship? I want sixteen. Seventeen, eighteen, more. So whoever wants to try to take it from me, let Rossy know. He can’t ignore me now.”

She stopped to draw in a breath, collecting herself before she went on. “And now that I have proven just how un-ignorable I am, how much of an asset I am to this company, there’s another piece of business I need to address. For an entire week now people have been asking me nonstop backstage, online, stopping me out in the street—Who are you with, Nellie? Are you with Cosmic Angels or Club Venus? And frankly? The answer is neither.

“Tam and Poi, you welcomed me into Cosmic Angels without question. You gave me a place when I was suddenly without one, and I’ll never take that for granted. Torr and I won the Goddess titles with your backing, I won this SWA title for a history-making second time with your backing, the three of us nearly went the distance in the Triangle Derby. But despite all that success, we all knew I was something of a black sheep in your colorful, kawaii flock. It was like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole, and what happened? I wore myself down to try to fit.” She shook her head again. “Not anymore. My edge is back—and with all due respect, I’ve outgrown Cosmic Angels. And with no due respect, I’m sure as shit not joining Club Venus.”

She adjusted the SWA title on her shoulder. She was exhausted, and it was getting heavier by the minute. “But even though I know at the end of the day I can only really rely on me, myself, and I, I’m not really into the whole lone wolf thing, either. I recognize that there’s strength in numbers, and I’ll be taking my time to consider my next move. But for now, I’m gonna go put all this down because it’s fucking heavy, and then I’m gonna crack open a Sapporo and celebrate the sweet, sweet return of Two-Belt Nell.”

* * * *

Wednesday, May 3, 2023 Wrestling Dontaku – Fukuoka, Japan

The Stardom bus arrived at the Fukuoka International Center fifteen minutes before bell time. They’d had a show earlier that afternoon in Shimonoseki, and with Stardom running a pay-per-view in Fukuoka tomorrow, they’d loaded up and made the hour-and-a-half trip down for the NJPW show there that evening. And as soon as she could, Nellie shot off the bus like a bullet.

David had been back in Japan for two weeks, but Nellie had only gotten to spend a handful of hours with him. He’d arrived in Tokyo only to turn around and leave for the Road to Dontaku tour, and their schedules had kept them apart in separate corners of the country. And because of that, Nellie still hadn’t said those three little-big words.

They’d been on the tip of her tongue the day he’d come back. She’d felt them in the way he’d touched her, looked at her, in every breath during that abbreviated time they’d spent together before he had to leave to get on the bus. But she hadn’t wanted to say it only for him to be physically absent again. If she was going to tell him she loved him, she needed to feel it, live in it for longer than just a few hours.

And tonight, the timing was finally right.

She made a beeline for his dressing room, pausing impatiently when she ran into Aussie Open, and they both hugged her and congratulated her on winning the Wonder of Stardom Championship before she took off again. She knocked on the door when she arrived, and David called for her to come in. Her heart melted at the sight of his smile.

“Finally,” he breathed, and then his lips were on hers. Hungry, eager, heated, as if it had been two months instead of just two weeks.

But then Nellie had a thought. “Are you sharing this room with Kenta?” she quickly asked. She hadn’t noticed any other luggage around, but she hadn’t really looked, either.

David shook his head, a smirk on his lips. “Not tonight. We have this all to ourselves.”

That was all the information she needed. She pushed him down onto a seat and straddled his lap, and then they were the only two people in the entire arena again. David ignited her entire being in a way that no one ever had, mind, body, soul—heart. And before they lost themselves in each other, she needed to tell him.

She pulled back and looked down at him. His eyes were dark and hooded, full of desire. “What?” he softly asked.

“I love you.”

Nellie knew he felt the same, she knew he did—but there was still that anxious knot in her gut. Until a smile spread over David’s face.

“I was wondering when you’d finally say it.”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. “Are you serious right—”

He silenced her with a kiss, and she melted into him like she always did. She loved him; he loved her. It was undeniable.

He pulled back, their lips still close, noses brushing. “I love you, too. I have since the fall.”

Butterflies exploded in Nellie’s stomach. “You have?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “I spent that entire tour last year falling in love with you, and when I left Japan, it felt like I’d left part of myself behind. And then the night of Historic X-Over, when you called me after you got home from being out with the LA Dojo guys… I knew.”

Nellie’s smile lit up her entire face, her entire being. “I was drunk when I called you that night,” she remembered.

“Yeah, I know you were,” David grinned. “Which reminds me, I have to tell Clark he can’t take my girlfriend out and ply her with alcohol anymore.”

She laughed. “But it would just be a little Bullet Club bonding,” she innocently returned. It made him arch a brow.

“You saying you’re Bullet Club? Is that what I’m hearing?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know… that’s kind of up to you.”

He drew her closer on his lap. “It would be nice to have you out there with me when I win the title tonight…”

He trailed off and kissed her neck. She bit back a grin. “I don’t want to stir the pot just yet. I just won the Wonder of Stardom title; it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to ruffle any company feathers.”

David hummed against her skin. “Mm… yeah, you’re not ready. That’s not something someone in Bullet Club would say.”

Nellie playfully rolled her eyes. But he pulled her mouth against his again, and they let their bodies finish the conversation.

* * * *

Sunday, June 12, 2022 Osaka, Japan

For the longest time, this was all Nellie had wanted. To feel Jay again. To feel wanted by him again. And now that she’d finally gotten it, all she felt was uncertainty. Still.

She lay next to him in his hotel room, facing the other way, listening to him breathe. In and out, steady. Last night had been an intoxicating blur of adrenaline and emotion. She blamed Osaka, the romance of a different setting, the context of why they were there. Stardom and NJPW both had shows in the city; Jay had a match against Okada for the IWGP World Heavyweight Championship at Dominion that night. And last night, Nellie had felt like her body was a prize for Jay just as much as that title. Something for him to win, to take. Part of her regretted letting him have it. But another part of her still yearned to belong to him.

She felt him stir beside her, and then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back against his chest. She closed her eyes and folded into him.

“Mm,” he hummed. “I missed this.”

He pressed his lips against her neck, and Nellie let him. But she couldn’t keep from asking.

“Did you?”

“Of course,” he easily returned. Almost as if he’d expected her to question him, as if he’d had the answer at the ready that he knew she wanted to hear. But then his mouth was working down her body, his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps over her skin, until his head was between her legs and his tongue inside her. And she gave into him, writhing and arching her back, curling her fingers in his hair until she came undone. And all the while, she didn’t stop questioning.

He kissed his way back up to her lips, his naked body hovering over her. His cock pressed hard against her inner thigh. She wanted it. She hated that she did. But she wanted him.

“Let’s get in the shower,” he breathed. And she let him pull her from the bed and lead her into the shower where he had her again, her back pressed up against the wet tile, legs wrapped tight around his waist as her nails left tiny moon-shaped marks on his shoulders. Because even though Nellie knew it wouldn’t last, that Jay would just be gone again come tomorrow, she wanted to pretend he was hers for just a little while longer.

* * * *

Saturday, May 27, 2023 Stardom Flashing Champions – Tokyo, Japan

Two defenses in just over a month. Nellie had said she’d wanted to be a fighting champion, and her challengers had quickly formed a line.

Natsupoi had been first, eager and determined. Nellie bested her in a main event twenty-minute battle in Fukuoka the night after David won the NEVER Openweight Championship. Tonight, it was Unagi Sayaka, defeated in just over fifteen minutes. Nellie wasn’t surprised that her former teammates had been the first to step up. They wanted to defend the honor of Cosmic Angels in the wake of her departure, even if there wasn’t any bad blood. But their efforts had fallen short—and Nellie was still an island unto herself. She was biding her time, weighing her options between Donna del Mondo and Queen’s Quest. This time around, the ball was in her court; she wasn’t going to fumble it.

She returned to the locker room after making her backstage comments and automatically checked her phone. David was flying in tomorrow after being back in the States for the last three weeks and change, returning early to spend time with her before Dominion and the next Stardom tour. She smiled when she saw she had a text from him.

Two down, fourteen to go. Proud of you, babe. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, she returned with a kissy face emoji.

But David wasn’t the only one who’d texted her. So had Clark.

Congrats, champ. We’re going out to celebrate, right?

Her brow furrowed. Who’s we? she sent back. She and Clark were friends, but he could get too friendly sometimes.

His response came quick. You, me, and your Stardom friends. The hot single ones.

She rolled her eyes, but her phone pinged again. He’d sent her the name of a bar in Roppongi; of course that was where he wanted to go. She pursed her lips as she wrote back.

My hot single friends might already have plans, she told him.

Alright but if Dave asks it was your idea for just the two of us to hang out, not mine, he returned.

Nellie breathed out. As irritated as she wanted to be, she had to give him that one. But she sent him an eye roll emoji and said, I’ll ask Torr and Thekla and let you know, and threw her phone in her bag to head to the shower.

* * * *

As it turned out, Nellie’s hot single friends did already have plans—to go to a different bar in Roppongi. But that worked just fine for Clark, and he told Nellie he’d meet them there. And honestly, she hoped he’d get there sooner rather than later, because the current company was a mixed bag, to say the least.

Thekla had come, along with Giulia and Mai Sakurai, the three of which were in a celebratory mood—they’d won the Artist of Stardom Championship from REStart that night. Torrance had also come; it was the first time she and Nellie had gone out together in months.

But she’d brought Club Venus with her.

“They’re really not that bad if you get to know them,” Thekla told Nellie over the music as they sat together in the booth; all the others were off dancing or getting drinks. It earned her a skeptical stare. “I know, I know,” she returned. “You’re Team Tam even if you’re not in Cosmic Angels anymore. But Torrance is your best friend, and Mariah is practically her clone. Her much taller British clone, but still.”

Nellie laughed, remembering how she’d told David almost the exact same thing. But then Thekla changed the subject.

“And speaking of you not being in Cosmic Angels anymore… when’re you gonna bite the bullet and join DDM?”

Nellie breathed out. She’d expected this to come up.

“It’s been over a month, Nell.”

“I’m aware,” she replied. “But Giulia doesn’t seem nearly as eager to have me in DDM as Utami does to have me back in Queen’s Quest.”

She sent Thekla a pointed look over her drink. Thekla’s eyebrows arched in understanding.

“Giulia is hard to read, I’ll give you that,” she admitted. “And I’ll be honest with you—you’d have to earn her trust because of how close you are with Tam. Which I mean, can you blame her? Tam shaved her head.”

“Okay, but she rocked that look, though,” Nellie pointed out.

Thekla grinned. “She did, but still. The good news is you’re already halfway there.”

“Am I?” she curiously asked.

“Yeah. Because Giulia trusts me and my judgment—and I want you in DDM, dammit.”

Nellie grinned. “And I appreciate that. And as soon as I make my decision, I’ll let you know.”

“Look who we found at the bar.”

They both looked up. Giulia and Mai had returned, and they had Clark with them.

“I wouldn’t expect you to find him anywhere else,” Nellie quipped.

He set a shot glass in front of her and Thekla each. “Here, I bought us all a round,” he said, and then, in a higher-pitched voice, “‘Oh, thank you, Clark, you’re so sweet and thoughtful and also incredibly handsome.’”

Thekla snorted. Nellie's expression was deadpan. “I already regret telling you where to meet us.”

“Scoot over,” he said with a nudge of her shoulder, and she and Thekla made room so he could sit down while Giulia and Mai did the same on the other side of the booth.

“What is this?” Nellie asked as she picked up the shot.

“Tequila,” Clark said. “I remember what you like.”

She ignored the comment and brought the liquor to her lips.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he quickly stopped her. “We gotta toast!” He raised his glass and looked expectantly around the table. The girls all obliged. “To the success of Donna del Mondo,” he started, “and the restoration of fucking Bullet Club.”

A smirk pulled at Nellie’s lips, and they all toasted and kicked back the tequila, some grimacing more than others as it went down. “Okay, that one was for you, but we're getting whiskey next round,” Clark winced.

“What, can’t handle it?” Nellie teased. “I remember Gabe shooting tequila just fine.”

“A-heh-heh-heh,” he screwed up his face and mock-laughed in return. “But speaking of Gabe—I heard you’re gonna be at Dominion?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion; that segue didn’t make any sense. What did Gabe have to do with Dominion?

But before she could ask, Thekla interjected, “Wait, what? Isn’t Dominion the same day as our Korakuen show?”

Nellie nodded. “It is. But I told Rossy I want to be in Osaka to support David at ringside and that if he really wants to elevate Stardom’s global profile, he needs to start putting me and my two titles on NJPW TV.”

Thekla’s eyebrows arched. “And he agreed to that?”

“Mhm,” Nellie proudly returned. “I think he admired my nerve.”

“Hell yeah,” Clark grinned. “I cannot wait to see the look on ELP’s face when you walk out there with us.”

She gave him another curious look. Us? As far as she knew, Clark wasn’t booked to be at Dominion. “Okay, is there something—”

“What the fuck is this twat doing here?”

Nellie whipped her head around. She saw Torrance first, her face flushed from dancing. And then she saw Dan Moloney.

“I know you’re not talking about me,” Clark returned.

“Well, I don’t see any other twats sat at this table.”

Nellie shot a tense look at Torrance, asking with her face what the hell Dan was doing there. He and Clark had just tried to murder each other in their Best of the Super Juniors tournament match three days ago; the last thing she wanted to do tonight was pull apart another United Empire-Bullet Club fight.

Clark stood from the booth, and Nellie almost grabbed the back of his shirt—but then he greeted Dan like they were best mates.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, man. You should’ve said something.”

“Yeah, well, kind of a last-minute thing. This one invited me,” Dan said with a thumb at Torrance.

Nellie, meanwhile, was at a complete loss. “I’m sorry—what?”

“I don’t know—men,” Thekla shrugged. “They beat the shit out of each other once and suddenly they’re best friends.”

Clark sat back down next to Nellie while Mai made room for Torrance and Dan on the other side of the booth, and Torrance and Nellie’s gaze connected again. Torrance tapped her phone; and no sooner had she than Nellie felt hers vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out and read the text.

We may have hooked up. Surprise?

Nellie widened her eyes at her friend. She just shrugged.

Surprised and not surprised, she wrote back. I guess bro code doesn’t count for shit in UE.

She waited for Torrance to see the response. Her phone lit up—and she scoffed before quickly typing back.

Whatever, I don’t care. Will had already moved on to another warm body before my side of the bed was even cold.

Nellie read the text and gave her a look that said, “You’re not wrong,” before sending a written reply.

Maybe Dan isn’t even in UE anymore. Him and Clark acting all buddy-buddy right now is suspicious AF.

Torrance’s eyes went wide, and she typed quickly back. Don’t even joke. I’m so done fucking with Bullet Club boys.

Nellie just laughed; she’d thought the same after she and Jay had broken up. And yet, here she was, just days away from declaring herself Bullet Club, too—something that only she, David, and Clark knew.

As far as she knew, anyway.

* * * *

Friday, November 4, 2022 Osaka, Japan

Tomorrow would be David’s last show in Japan until he didn’t know when. It sucked—it really sucked. He and Nellie had only realized their mutual desire for something more than just friendship five days ago. But Nellie didn’t want to focus on their painfully poor timing. As it worked out, their schedules had synced up to give them a full day off together in Osaka, and they’d taken full advantage.

They started off with getting breakfast at an American-style diner, splitting chocolate banana pancakes and a bacon and cheese omelet because neither of them could decide which sounded better. Then they’d gone on the famous Osaka costumed go-kart sightseeing tour that Nellie had always wanted to try but never had the chance; she’d dressed up as Yoshi, David as Pikachu. Afterward, they’d stopped at one of the city’s numerous food stalls for deep-fried chicken and sticky-sweet rice balls before heading back to David’s hotel room, where they’d fallen asleep watching TV together on the bed. It felt so natural, so comfortable, so uncomplicated sleeping in David’s arms.

But when they awoke, it only made it that much more difficult not to think about how their time together was dwindling all too quickly.

“I don’t want to leave you at all,” David said as they still lay together, his arm around her, her head on his chest. “But I also feel like I need the time away for myself to reset; go back to the fucking drawing board. My G1 was shit; I really wanted that TV Title… I don’t know. I need to figure out what I need to do to stop just spinning my wheels.”

“Your G1 wasn’t shit,” Nellie gently returned. “Will won your block with what? Eight points? And you and everyone else but Juice finished with six. Most people finished with six this year. And if it helps at all, that TV Title is ugly as shit.”

David let out a laugh. “You’re right about that. And yeah, at least I did beat Juice. But it’s just one disappointment after another, you know?”

“I do know. You know I do. And I think you’re right. I don’t want you to leave, either. But even more than that, I don’t want you to get burned out from frustration.” She lifted her head to look at him. “So, take some time to do what you need to do, and then come back to me.”

He gave her a soft smile. “I know this probably feels like an uncomfortably familiar situation. But I promise, Nell—I’m not Jay.”

She shook her head. “I know you’re not,” she said, and she kissed him. She’d meant it to be just one, short and sweet, assuring; but neither of them wanted to stop at just one. David rolled her underneath him, and her hand unintentionally slipped under his shirt. Nellie wanted him; she wanted to cross that line. But she knew all too well that sleeping with him now would only make his absence hurt that much more—

And then her phone started ringing.

He pulled back. “Is someone calling you?”

She sighed. “Guarantee it’s Torrance.” Sure enough, when she retrieved her phone from the nightstand, Torrance’s name was displayed on the screen. David just laughed.

Nellie answered the call, and she and Torrance talked for a few minutes, figuring out what the plans were for the evening (“The Aussies and Jeff and Francesco want to get dinner with us, but I don’t want to be around Will,” Torrance explained). When she hung up, she looked back at David. The previous tension still hung in the air between them.

“It’s probably for the best she interrupted,” he softly said. “I don’t want to do that just to turn around and leave for I don’t know how long.”

Nellie sighed again. “I know. But you know you saying that only makes me want it more, right?”

He grinned. “Maybe that’s the point,” he teased, and he kissed her again. Once, tender and meaningful.

They got up from the bed, and David walked her to the door and told her to let him know when she made it back to her hotel—she wanted to shower and change before dinner—and Nellie made her way to the elevators. She looked down at her phone as one arrived with a ding; but when the doors slid open, a stone dropped into her stomach.

Jay.

He looked like he’d just arrived, luggage in tow, sunglasses on. He pushed them on top of his head and grinned. The cat who caught the canary.

“Well, fancy meeting you here.”  

He stepped out of the elevator, but his suitcase blocked her way and the doors slid closed. Not that Nellie could move, anyway. It felt like her legs had suddenly turned to lead.

“Is Stardom in this hotel?” he asked. “I thought your show was in Nara tomorrow?”

She tried not to think about why he knew that as she answered. “It is, and we’re not. I’m here with David.”

It was more gratifying than she expected to say that to Jay’s face. And even though his face didn’t give much away, she could see it in his eyes. Resentment. But then he turned them down and nodded.

“Are you? That’s kind of surprising.”

Nellie’s brow hardened. “What’s so surprising about it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing—well. It’s just that when you started hanging out with him during the G1… I thought you were doing it just to get back at me.”

Anger bubbled up in Nellie’s chest. Shock, disbelief, to the point that she felt ill. She looked him dead in the eye. “If you think I would use someone like that, then you really don’t know me at all.”

She hit the down button again.

“Nell, come on,” Jay breathed. “What else was I supposed to think? When I got back to Japan it seemed like you wanted to fix things between us, and then next thing I knew, you were out getting drinks with my old best friend.”

“I did want to fix things!” she burst. “Against my own better judgment, I did! And what happened? You fucked me one last time—here, in Osaka, to pump yourself up for your World Title match—and then you disappeared again.”

His eyebrows arched. “Are you joking? I had other bookings; that was two weeks before Forbidden Door.”

The elevator arrived, but Nellie didn’t get on. “Okay, but you didn’t talk to me! You didn’t show me anything, Jay—nothing changed! And you know what David did? He showed me that he gave a shit about me.”

The elevator doors started to close, and Nellie caught them with her arm and stepped inside. She looked back at Jay. The resentment in his eyes had given way to something else. Guilt.

“Nell… I don’t want to leave it like this.”

She shook her head. “Now’s not the time,” she told him, and the elevator doors slid closed, putting a pause on the one conversation that she knew, eventually, she’d no longer be able to avoid.

* * * *

Friday, June 2, 2023 Tokyo, Japan

“You remember the last time we were in Osaka together?”

David asked the question as they finished packing. The big weekend had finally arrived. They were taking the bullet train down to Osaka tomorrow for Dominion on Sunday, and Nellie was buzzing with excitement.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that,” she said as she zipped up her suitcase and moved it with some effort from her bed to the floor. “It’s crazy to think how much has changed since then.”

Everything had changed. Seven months ago, she and David had been reluctantly pulled apart from one another, both frustrated and floundering in their careers, nothing but uncertainty on the horizon. And now, they were both champions; David the leader of Bullet Club, Nellie on the verge of making her membership known to the world. It felt like they had the whole world ahead of them. And they were doing it together.

“I know,” David returned. “I’d never wanted to board a plane less in my life than I did after that show.”

“Even more than this last time you left?”

“Oh, for sure,” he answered, no hesitation. “Because when I leave now, I know exactly when I’m coming back. It was the not knowing back then that really made it hard.”

Nellie didn’t reply as she climbed onto her bed and settled against the pillows, her thoughts turning inward. After Dominion, David didn’t have any bookings until the G1, over a month away. And they hadn’t really discussed that—if he would extend his stay to spend some extra time with her before heading back home to Florida, if he would come back early before the tournament, if he’d even given it any thought at all. It didn’t worry her, per se; they’d both been busy. But now it was right there in front of her.

“Which, actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She looked back at him, pulled from her thoughts. “What is it?” she asked.

He settled next to her on the bed, and the atmosphere suddenly felt different. Not tense. But important. Nellie felt her heart pick up a beat.

“I know we’ve been moving kind of fast since I came back in March,” David began. “But truthfully—and I think you feel the same—I don’t see the point in waiting if we both know what we want. And so… I’ve decided that I want to move here, to Tokyo. And if you want, I’d like us to get a new place together.”

If Nellie had been buzzing before, she was positively vibrating now. “Are you being serious?”

He nodded. “Of course. I fucking hate every time I have to get on a plane and leave you again. I hate it. And this last time I was gone, I realized… it’s not just my career that’s here now. My life is, too.”

He looked her in the eyes, full of love and trust, and her heart grew wings. “I would love to get a new place together.”

David smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and she kissed him. She couldn’t contain her excitement. “Babe! This is a big deal!”

“I know, but it’s what I want,” he reiterated. “And plus, this timing works out because I have a month-and-a-half off after Sunday, so that’ll give me a good amount of time to sort everything out and get my place in Florida packed up and shipped over here.”

“That’s a process,” she told him. “Trust me, I know from experience.”

“I know. But to be honest with you, I already started.”

Nellie smiled at him. “You did?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I had a feeling you’d say yes, so I figured I’d get a head start when I was home.”

“Oh, you had a feeling?”

“I did,” he grinned. “Come here.”

He pulled her into another kiss, and Nellie had never felt so much love, so much trust, so much understanding, so much faith that this was right. That everything she’d been through, that they’d been through, had purposefully brought them exactly to where they were now. And she couldn’t wait to find out what else they would build—together.

“I love you,” David said against her lips, and Nellie smiled.

“I love you, too.”

* * * *

Sunday, June 4, 2023 Dominion 6.4 in Osaka-jo Hall – Osaka, Japan

Nellie had thought she was the only surprise David had in store that night. Boy, had she thought wrong.

The first surprise came after the IWGP Junior Tag Title match. Catch 2/2 had staved off Intergalactic Jetsetters only for Clark to come strutting down to the ring—with a gold cap on one of his teeth and a too-orange spray tan, God bless him—and at first, Nellie hadn’t understood. No one had; he was outnumbered, what was he going to do? But everyone got their answer when Dan Moloney, who had been at ringside for the match, unexpectedly attacked Francesco and TJP, officially turning on United Empire and joining Bullet Club. And Torrance had texted Nellie almost as soon as it had happened.

Nellie I swear to God if you knew about this and didn’t tell me.

Dude I had NO idea I swear, I’m just as shocked as you are, she’d quickly sent back. But as Dan and Clark had walked back up the ramp, the sight of them together made a little too much sense.

“They’re gonna bring out the absolute worst in each other,” she’d noted. David had just laughed.

And then, the match after the next, there was another surprise.

After Bishamon had defeated House of Torture and United Empire to win both the IWGP Tag Team and Strong Openweight Tag Team championships, Alex Coughlin and Gabe Kidd had shown up in Bullet Club shirts and put the boots to them, declaring their intent and establishing their allegiance in one fell swoop. It explained why Clark had brought up Dominion after Nellie had mentioned Gabe last week. She had to admit—she was impressed.

But now it was her turn to be the surprise.

She’d never felt more confident than she did now in her BC Decade t-shirt, cropped to show off her figure; although, she wore her Wonder of Stardom Championship around her waist and her SWA World Championship diagonally across her chest, so she was mostly gold. David had explicitly told her to show off. “You’ve earned that,” he’d told her. “We run this fucking place.”

Excited butterflies teemed in her stomach as they all stood at the ready at the Gorilla curtain. David smirked down at her.

“Last chance to back out.”

She grinned and shook her head. “Not a chance,” she told him, and sealed it with a kiss.

His entrance music started. Clark and Dan went out first, followed by Gabe and Alex. They stood on either side of the stage, and then David went up the steps, followed closely by Nellie, Gedo behind her. She could hear the surprise of the crowd when they saw her, feel it course through her body, energizing her. It was a familiar feeling, but renewed. Different. Deeper.

They walked down to the ring, and while David’s focus was zeroed in on El Phantasmo, ELP was looking at Nellie. Except it wasn’t ELP; not right then. Right then, it was Riley.

“Seriously?” he said down to her. “You never once came out here with Jay.”

Nellie didn’t hesitate. “Jay never asked,” she returned, and David slid into the ring and attacked him.

Twenty-six minutes later, he was victorious. And Nellie hadn’t gotten involved; none of the other members of Bullet Club had. David didn’t need their help; he didn’t need them to interfere. This was a different Bullet Club than what it had been under Jay, a return to the original. And when they all joined David in the ring and raised up the Too Sweet above ELP, Nellie had never felt more like she belonged. Not in Cosmic Angels, not in Queen’s Quest, not even in Suzuki-gun. This was her home, beside David—and it just so happened to be in Bullet Club.

[lucigoo]

Other Fandom Fics

Here are the rest of the fics, they are a mix of many fandoms, but all adored. The @fanfic-reading-challenge has broadened my reading tastes, and here are the ones I've really enjoyed. Again, hoopefully you like at least one and they all deserve love 💖💖💖

And as always, if its your fic, or you know whos let me know so i can @ them, they all deserve to be recognised!

The Elder's Mate - Skadi_Gemini - Alien vs Preditor (Yutja/OFC)

kissing lessons - raggedypond - Yellowjackets Jackie/Shauna)

Peeta's Games - igsygrace - Hunger Games Trilogy (Peeta/Katniss)

there's too much love - Anonymous - Anne of Green Gables (Anne/Gilbert)

Peace Offering - SpookyHoodlum - Alien vs Predator (2004) (Yutja/OFC)

You're Mine - JustAnotherRandomPoster - How to Train Your Dragon (Toothless & Hiccup)

Unspeakable - JustAnotherRandomPoster - How to Train Your Dragon (Toothless & Hiccup, watch the tags) The Survivors of LV-426 - TheInvisibleSwordsman - Alien Series (Ripley/Hicks, fix it fic)

Grace of An Elder - SereneArchangel - Aliens vs Predators Series (Yutja/OFC) Alien; Little Queen - Lady_Fenikkusu - Alien (A girl turned into a xenomorph Queen) A Matter Of Consequence - AlienSlof - Giger's Aliens (Gen Aliens - clever fic about what happened to the Queen in deep space)

What if Mal and Simon were married? - andromeda543 - Firefly (Malcolm/Simon Tam, my first Firefly fic I read, and I was NOT disappointed!) You Will Bring Me Ruin - al_in_my_head - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - (Geralt/Jaskier, I discovered and fell in love with the WinngFic trope and this one is so, so good) The Fluttering of All Your Wings - whisperedstory - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geart/Jaskier, i had a bit of a fae Jaskier binge and this one is top tier) Summary: Jaskier has never really fit in anywhere, not with the fae and not with the humans. His mother always warned him to hide his heritage, especially from witchers. But then he meets Geralt and starts following him around the Continent. He finally learns what it's like to feel like he belongs somewhere, which makes keeping his secret even more necessary—and difficult.

Where I go, will you still follow? - ghostinthelibrary - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, the plottwist is delicious angst) Summary: When Jaskier is revealed to be spying on Kaer Morhen for Redania—a treachery that nearly gets Eskel killed—he’s banished from the keep. But when it becomes clear that there was more to his lover’s betrayal than meets the eye, Geralt will have to race to find him before it’s too late. Fae!Jaskier and Geralt - TheBretonBookDragon - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, I adore Fae Jaskier, and I legir re read the entire series today too) Summary:

The Mountain hangs over their heads, but Geralt is sure that if he just keeps trying that Jaskier will know how much he loves him. Jaskier has been quieter than usual, but that just means Geralt needs to try even harder. Too bad Geralt is just a smidge oblivious and emotionally constipated.

[the-travelling-witch]

thank you so much ;^; i'm proud of myself too and i do hope to pass this last one too, otherwise it's a september matter lmao

i will make you accept compliments in a way or another 🤺 i'm sure i'm not the only one here, so it's an undefined number of people against you >:3 (also thanks for liking that awful pun, cyno got the better of me)

i think that, in a modern setting like your au, xiao would be one of those average tattooed people, they have their good bunch of drawings and writings but still got plenty of untouched skin, so the possibilities for tattooes are almost endless! but yeah arms and chest and back tattooes >>>>>>>>>> neck too ngl they're hot 👀

with scara is more of a "annoying x annoyed" trope (if it actually exists, otherwise i just invented it), but nonetheless even if he has good reflex one way or another he want flick my forehead unless he wants me to pinch his cheeks like a baby in exchange (or to offer me dinner)

anyway, just finished re-reading the piece cuz i needed the gut twisting feeling to sink just the right way and MAN HOW COULD YOU QwQ THE DESPAIR THE ANGER THE LONELINESS THE PAIN THE EVERYTHING GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH T-T kazuha the only one trying to cope in a decent way BUT TOMO QwQ

you're an amazing and cruel writer holly TvT

— ❄️

you can be proud!! and it’ll work out, i’m sure of it!! <3

too bad that i’m the sole authority on this blog and democracy means nothing to me /j; it’s not that i dislike receiving compliments, hell one of my receiving love languages is words of affirmation, i just don’t believe any of them are true and people are just being nice, bless their hearts i think i can go toe to toe with cyno on puns, albedo loves it

yeah i agree (again, i have my ideas that i will throw at people eventually, one of them is ofc angsty heheh just a smidge though) there’s still plenty of soft skin for me to touch doodle on; maybe i do have to write his second part next, i have some tasty ideas (i’m shooting myself in the foot with this bc how could anyone compare?? ㅠㅠ)

anyway speaking about neck tattoos, scara… every trope is valid as a trope even if it’s just made up but i think the “annoying (bc they care) x annoyed (but they actually care so much)” trope has been floating around; also let me tell you, scara already wants to buy you dinner, you’re just giving him excuses jshsh

HOW COULD YOU has got to be my favourite reaction to get on any kind of angst piece, it’s just funny; especially bc i can guarantee you that i was whining in my best friend’s chat about how none of the scenes are painful enough… oops (it happens every time)

xiao’s part is by far my favourite though, sorry blatant favouritism, but i had this very vivid scene in my mind for it + my two beta readers were yelling in the entire comment section which was very encouraging (also i hope we all caught that jade symbolises harmony, virtue and eternity, what a detail~ /lh); kazuha definitely copes the best but i think xiao is getting there, childe and aether on the other hand…

thank you, being a cruel writer means so much to me ^^ at least when it comes to angst what’s comfort?

“i promise, honey, i can feel your pain; and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit, does that make me insane?” me when someone says my angst hurt; sorry i have this song stuck in my head and i just kinda fits here hshsh