#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

[strangererotica]

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION ✞​ ⛪︎

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Monsignor John Pruitt / Father Paul Hill x Reader | Blasphemy! Heresy! Anal! | Reader has a kink for pain & blood (kinda) | oral sex (f receiving) | pussy worship | a sprinkle of dacryphilia | religious guilt ofc | a smidge of angst |

“Inviting you to the rectory had been a sin, yes…but inviting you into his bed had been a bigger one. Laying you back against the mattress, the bottom of your skirt naturally drifting aside, revealed the outline of your pussy through soaking wet panties and John, all man, no longer priest, had never been so hungry…”

“Father,” the priest prays, hands clasped at his chin. “If it be Thy will…take this cup from me.”

His voice is a whisper in the dim light of the sanctuary, candles flickering around him like accusatory tongues. The weight of his sin is heavy, the scent of your body still on his breath. He struggles to wrench the image of you from his mind, to focus entirely on the things of God. But what sight could be more holy than that of your body spread before him, your soft cunt weeping gently against his tongue?

He casts his voice to Heaven like the prayer of a wounded soldier on the battlefield of sin, yearning for mercy, expecting none. “Forgive me, Father,” Monsignor John Pruitt prays. “For I fear I am losing control…Make my will like Yours, oh God…Lead me not into temptation, but guide my steps that they may lead to You…”

His stomach twists with guilt, his prayers stunted by an uncharacteristic lapse of faith. For what kind of loving God would demand abstinence of his servant, while simultaneously thrusting a woman like you, temptation incarnate, into his life?

“I fear-.” The priest pauses, searching his heart for the words God already knows. “-I fear I am lost, Lord. Lost not to the pleasures of my flesh….but of hers…”

Rain pelts the outside of the old church. A storm is blowing over Crockett Island, raging no less than the storm inside Monsignor Pruitt’s heart. He sits quietly in the Lord’s presence, patiently waiting for wisdom, for a sign. But the only divinity he can focus on is the one he tasted between your thighs…

Worst of all, Monsignor Pruitt worries that for another taste of your body, he’d be tempted to abandon his priesthood and the God whom he speaks for altogether. It’s fantasy, however. A world where St. Patrick’s pastor can fuck you free of public scorn is impossible, and he knows it. He’s been the voice of God for the island’s faithful so many years now, they’ve become family to him. He can’t abandon them now for the sake of his own carnal needs…but God, how he longs to…

It began innocently enough, as every sin does. You’d come to him seeking help, and rather than guide you through the healing of your own sexual sin, your priest had made himself a part of it. You were too soft for him to deny, too pure even as you recited to him the details of your impurity. The sorrow in your voice had spoken to his core, to his heart as a priest. He’d originally sought only to help you, but over the course of your meetings together, he’d only helped himself to fantasies of your body.

Bringing you back to the rectory was Monsignor Pruitt’s first mistake. Meeting you in the church had been perfectly suitable, perfectly safe. No one had bothered the two of you, not even the ever-present Bev Keane. When the impulse to invite you back to the rectory at the end of your last meeting had struck the priest, he should have repented right then. He should have quelled his urges with prayer, rather than guide you through the back of the church and down the path to the rectory.

All of that was past, now. There was only the cleanup of his sin left to manage, both figurative and literal. He was still wearing your cum on his face, his nose and chin bearing evidence of his sin. Monsignor Pruitt had steadfastly denied himself the pleasures of sex for so long-too long, considering how easily he’d indulged in the sin of you…

…And yet, nothing about your encounter with the priest had felt wrong, not truly. You’d come to Monsignor Pruitt for guidance on how to resist sexual temptation, and he had absolutely failed you in that respect. But the sex itself, the union of your souls in such an intimate act, had felt far from wrong. The priest had tried to convince himself (and perhaps God as well) that because he didn’t penetrate you, the weight of his sin might be less. He wanted to believe he could still minister to the people of Crockett Island while maintaining a double life, one where his duties as priest and his needs as a man could simultaneously be fulfilled.

He hadn’t meant to kiss you…not your pretty, cherry-stained lips, and certainly not the other places his mouth had wandered. As the storm rages on outside the church, Monsignor Pruitt sits silently in the confessional booth, willing impure thoughts of you from his mind. But before he was a priest, he was a man. And the man inside him finds it difficult to keep his hand from wrapping around the bulge throbbing below his belt, as memories of your time together flood his thoughts…

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ ✞​ ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The first meeting between you and Monsignor Pruitt had been innocent, as far as you could tell. There’s no way you could have known that while describing the sexual cravings that plagued you, your priest was becoming aroused. With his legs crossed and a Bible positioned on his lap just so, he was able to conceal the physical effect your words were having on him. The Bible never left his lap, and when he rose from his chair to see you out, he’d kept it held in front of his groin, making it seem so natural you hadn’t questioned it. By your third meeting, you’d confessed that some of your fantasies that caused you the most guilt involved one man in particular who lived on the island.

“I feel especially dirty for these fantasies,” you’d confessed. “Because of the man they involve.” Jealousy had taken up residence in the priest’s heart, knowing there was one man on the island in particular that you lusted for. And there was no way it could be him, certainly not. He was your priest, your mentor, a literal Father figure. Whoever this man was, the one you longed for, Monsignor Pruitt despised him.

“Who-,” he’d asked, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry. That was intrusive of me. I don’t mean to pry.” Monsignor Pruitt had cleared his throat as if clearing away words he was afraid to speak. “There’s a man on the island you want, very much. That’s all I need to know. Please. Continue.”

“I can’t tell you who he is,” you’d said. “Because I…well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass him, Father.”

Monsignor Pruitt smiled warmly, a gesture to hopefully ease your nerves and distract you from how flustered he was becoming. “This is our third meeting,” he’d said. “Please, call me John.”

It was wrong. Wrong for him to make that allowance, wrong to blur the line between priest and parishioner, between shepherd and lamb. But you accepted, a sweet smile on your face that the priest had taken to mean his ruse of ‘normalcy,’ was working.

“Alright John.” Calling Monsignor Pruitt by his name had felt exciting, forbidden in a way. It filled you with a sense of hope, whether false or otherwise, that something more could develop between you and your priest. But that was a conversation you weren’t ready for, though you hoped to reach the topic of your crush on Monsignor Pruitt eventually.

“So, this man on the island,” John had said. “Is he someone you know? Or is this more of a ‘watch and yearn,’ kind of situation?”

Your cheeks flushed, a nervous warmth building inside you. “It’s…there’s definitely yearning,” you’d told him. “He’s someone I can never have, Father.”

“I see,” your priest had nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing. “So, this man is married, I take it?”

“In a way,” you’d replied. “He’s very dedicated to the people who depend on him.” You’d smiled faintly to yourself, wishing there could be true transparency between you and your priest. “It’s one of the reasons I admire him so much, Father. He is a good man, a genuinely good man. So, having these disgusting, dirty thoughts about him causes me a lot of guilt.”

John Pruitt didn’t know who the man was, but God he hated him. To be wanted, lusted after, longed for, by YOU, was a prize few men deserved. You were precious, a delicate flower begging to have its petals torn. And in spite of his calling, Monsignor Pruitt wanted to be the man who tore your petals to shreds…

“Remember,” he’d told you, wishing to remove the pain of your guilt. “Sinful thoughts remain only thoughts until we entertain them with action. Action is where sin lies, (Y/N).

“…And, by confessing my sin, I can be forgiven?” you’d asked. “That’s how this all works, right?”

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That’s how it’s supposed to work, the priest thinks, his hand working over his stiff, leaking cock. He aches, in his heart and spirit but nowhere more so than his groin. Tasting you on his breath, Monsignor Pruitt imagines all the other filthy things he wants to do to your body. Licking between your thighs would be enough for him forever; but if he had the chance, if his path in life allowed it, he imagines how it would feel to have that little cunt swallow more than just his tongue and fingers. He’d drag the head of his cock between your slippery folds so slowly, the pace would drive you both insane with waiting. He might even make you cry a little, just so he could lick away your tears after forcing himself inside you…

The old wooden seat of the confessional booth creaks softly under Monsignor Pruitt’s weight as he fucks himself harder, tightening his grip, imagining it’s you. He hasn’t even worn your throat, or your ass, or your pussy around his cock yet… YET. That’s a dangerous word, isn’t it? It’s a promise unfulfilled, a land where anything is possible. YET can get you into more trouble than it’s worth sometimes, but Monsignor Pruitt knows he’d risk any consequence, even a taste of Hell, for one more taste of YOU…

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Your fourth meeting together had picked up right where the third left off: discussing your shame over desiring the man you couldn’t have. John Pruitt had sat across from you in a simple folding chair, just like the one you’d occupied. In one hand he held his coffee, the other resting on the Bible balanced on his lap. You noticed a darker countenance about him, his eyes oddly cold. Also unusual was his voice, the way he seemed short with his responses and hardly asked any questions.

“Is something wrong, John?” you’d asked after awhile of observing him. “Are you alright?”

He blinked back at you a couple of times in silence, trying to arrange the mess of thoughts in his mind into a palatable response.

“I’m well,” he replied softly, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, warm grin that made your heart burst. “But I have some…concerns.” His jaw tensed slightly. “About transparency…honesty, (Y/N).” You felt your heart sink a little, fearing the worst: that you’d gone too far, revealed too much, said something that offended Monsignor Pruitt.

“…If I’ve said something, I apologize-.”

“-Well no,” he interrupted, his tone becoming sharper. “It’s what you haven’t said, (Y/N). Weeks now, we’ve been meeting here. And just when I think you might be reaching a point of growth, of-of honesty, you shrink back into the comfort of denial. You’re denying me, (Y/N)!”

Monsignor Pruitt’s words came to an abrupt pause, and you were grateful for it. He was leaning forward in his chair now, a few strands of hair hanging loose over his forehead. His energy was intense, almost frightening. His speech was impassioned in the way he sometimes sounded behind the pulpit, caught in religious fervor…dark eyes wide, lips parted in rapid breath that had you distracted for more reasons than fear.

“Father-,”

“John,” he corrected.

“…John,” you began tentatively, your voice breaking. “If you want to stop seeing me-if you want to stop our sessions, just tell me-.”

“-I want them to last forever,” Monsignor Pruitt confessed, the air leaving his lungs in a breath of defeat. It was a confession, as real as any other that occurred in God’s house. Now it was your turn to be silent, as once the priest found his words, he was unable to stop them: “I want you, (Y/N)…God forgive me but I…crave…you…” You watched him crumbling, this man of God baring his soul to yours. “All of the things you speak of in your fantasies, I want to make them real for you. Every orgasm you deny yourself in pursuit of righteousness, I want to give you a hundred more…And whoever this man is, that leads you to touch yourself, I hate him. I hate him because I want to be him. You want him, you crave him as I crave you-.” He chuckled humorlessly. “-And I don’t even know his name. I loathe him, and I couldn’t identify him if I saw him on the street.”

You felt fulfilled, as if something had been taken from you but replaced immediately with something better. Was this even real?

“…I suppose,” he continued after a moment of silence. “My concern is not so much with your lack of transparency, but with mine.”

Monsignor Pruitt sat back in his chair, the metal creaking under his weight. “I have sinned, (Y/N),” he said. “I’ve lied to you, lied by omission. By not revealing how your words-how you-affect me. Knowing full well that in doing so, I’m jeopardizing everything I’ve built my life around. I shouldn’t be confessing this to you at all but God help me, it’s the truth, and I want you...” The tears lining your lashes finally fell, a drop spilling down each cheek and landing where your hands were folded on your lap. “John,” you began. “The man I want…he’s you...”

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Wind and rain pummel the outer shell of St. Patrick’s. The priest’s eyes are closed tightly, his head leaned back against the confessional booth and he’s so. fucking. hard.

He squeezes his erection tightly in his fist, imagining instead that it’s your pussy, your throat-any and all of your holes he longs to defile, to feel you stretch open at his entry, to watch you gape when he pulls out just to stuff you full again. Precum blooms at his slit and he wants to spread it on your lips, to place it on your tongue like a sacrament. He wants to see your eyes go red and watery as he holds your nose to his stomach, his cock buried so far down your throat that air becomes a luxury.

He wants to drown between your thighs, to never stop licking the abundant, delicious nectar that spills from inside you and melts on his tongue…to suck your pretty little clit till you’re screaming, begging him to stop, feet pounding against his shoulders in protest and pleasure, your body contorted like something possessed. He wants to flip you onto your stomach and breach the tight barrier of your ass, to fuck you till you bleed just like you confessed wanting to bleed in your fantasies…to use you, as you’ve confessed wanting to be used…to make you come so hard you forget your name and his…

Heavy wind rattles the bones of St. Patrick’s around Monsignor Pruitt, God’s power raging in full display outside but inside, he is overcome with unholy need. His tongue dips out to taste you, tasting a memory and nothing more. He grinds himself up into his fist, as if you’re straddling his lap and taking every inch of him like the good, good girl you are. His forehead is sheened with sweat, the heat of the confessional booth no match for the heat of his sin. Lightening cracks outside, as if God Himself is issuing a warning. But the priest cannot stop his hand, or the lust that guides it up and down his shaft…

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Inviting you to the rectory had been a sin, yes…but inviting you into his bed had been a bigger one. Laying you back against the mattress, the bottom of your skirt naturally drifting aside, revealed the outline of your pussy through soaking wet panties and John, all man, no longer priest, had never been so hungry…“Oh my God,” he’d murmured dreamily, gazing at your pussy as if in a state of worship. “You’re absolutely perfect.” His warm breath ghosted over your lips and your hips keened instinctively towards his mouth. He watched your pussy tremble beneath him, your perfect little clit peeking out above two plump lips. With a delicate stroke of his fingers, John teased your labia apart. There was a devotion in his touch, a reverence in the way he awed at the sight of your lips parting around his fingers, as if he were parting the gates of Heaven instead. Keeping your labia spread, he sank his mouth over your mound, suckling your clit between his lips in deep, languid tugs. You wriggled against the bed, hips twisting under the priest’s ministrations. He’d denied himself the taste of a woman too long, and your taste…John Pruitt didn’t think he’d ever tasted a woman that could compare. You were like caramel and cream, the sweet musk of brandy lingering at the bottom of a glass. You were heaven in his mouth, warm and comforting…a taste of the divine, melting on John’s tongue like milk and honey…

His cock stood erect against his stomach, restrained by his clothing. Denying himself the relief of touching himself felt like an appropriate admonishment, considering the grave sin he was committing. Although deep in an act of blasphemy, the position of his body could be mistaken for a man in prayer. Knelt by the beside, your legs draped over his shoulders, John looked up from between your thighs framing his face. Your eyes were as hungry as his, an intensity burning behind them that stirred something primal and repressed in John. He wanted to claim you, to make you his…to feel you come so hard around him that no other man could ever replicate what he’d given you. He could have plunged his cock inside you right then. The look in your eyes, staring him down like willing prey, told him you wouldn’t object. But there were some things John couldn’t do…that he mustn’t do…and putting his sin inside you, making it yours, was a path he wouldn’t allow himself to cross.

The priest’s tongue and fingers explored what he forbade his cock explore, licking and stroking you to your peak time and time again. You gripped handfuls of his hair, his sheets, the fabric of this sweater, anything you could get your hands on to brace yourself as your body ascended on John’s tongue. He lapped and sucked at the glory within you, worshiping your cunt like the idol it was to him. Slippery fluid gushed out around John’s face and ran down your thighs, soaking the disheveled sheets under your ass. He knew he was sinning but sin had never felt this good before, this fulfilling. In consuming you, he fed himself…and he had no intention of ever going hungry again.

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He watches in a trance as semen jets from his tip and lands on the inside of the confessional booth, spattering the panel facing him. The storm outside roils as the storm inside John Pruitt calms. He feels a sense of ease, a peace that surpasses all understanding, settle over his shoulders. The weight of his sin feels oddly absent, nothing like he’d anticipated. Hope springs anew in him, as if perhaps this absence of remorse is the sign he was waiting for? If God doesn’t judge him, Monsignor Pruitt wonders, then who can?

He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans his semen from the confessional booth. Upon exiting, Monsignor Pruitt enters into the soft light of the church. And in spite of the storm’s chaos outside, there is peace here, serenity…stillness…

…Until suddenly, you’re there, standing in the church’s doorway, your head framed like a halo in a burst of lightning from the storm. John Pruitt takes in the sight of you, your hair and sundress saturated with rain and clinging to your body, your pupils blown, cheeks and chest flushed with arousal…You’re breathless in the exertion of walking through the storm, pert nipples straining against the thin fabric concealing them. Your priest gazes at you from across the sanctuary, candlelight flickering against his dark hair, in the pools of his dark eyes, like starlight. You both rush to each other at the same time, his steps longer and quicker than yours, catching up to you first and caging you up in a fervent embrace. His lips crash over yours, lips and tongue and teeth all challenging yours for dominance. Your hands climb his back and cling to the sleeves of his shirt, your own wet clothing seeping rainwater into his, like a baptism you share together.

John presses his knee between your thighs, letting you grind against him. Desperate moans spill from your lips into his, soft sobs of need as you release all guilt and shame inside his kiss. Your priest is holding you so tightly, you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. He only breaks away long enough to tug you toward the altar, and lay you flat against it. The curves of your ass are visible in the wet transparency of your dress and he takes full advantage of their bounty, gripping the rounded mounds of your hips and tugging you against his erection. You grunt at the impact, of feeling the size of him pressed to your body for the first time, your back arching, ass extended into your priest for more. He gathers up the loose fabric of your dress around your waist, revealing the perfect mounds of your ass to him. Your panties are absent, he observes, still on the floor of the rectory where he helped you out of them. Rain from the storm beats at the window beside you, thunder rolling in the distance as John rolls his hips against your ass.

His cock is poised between your cheeks, pointed upward at your back as he slowly humps into you. His hands are wrapped around you from behind, your breasts clutched firmly in his strong yet delicate grip. His eyes are closed, forehead resting against your shoulder as he strokes, himself and you, edging his desire and yours till you both feel as if you’ll combust. He pulls back just enough to grab his cock at the base and guide it between your legs, massaging your lips with his tip. You whimper and tremble beneath him, his stomach pressed to your back, and all John Pruitt can think about right now is how badly he wants to sodomize you on this altar, in God’s house.

He drags himself between your lips, allowing your slick to cover him before guiding his tip up between your asscheeks, restraining himself at the tight barrier of your hole. He wants to ask if you’re alright with this, if you’re ready for this-but he doesn’t have to. You arch your back and your asshole puckers around his tip, inviting the priest in. He curses over your back because Christ how was he blessed enough to deserve this, to deserve you? This dirty fucking goddess beneath him, as filthy as she is pure, heart and body willing to let him have his way with her as he desires?

You lay your cheek against the pulpit, hair spilling over it like an altar cloth, or an angel, John thinks. He braces your hips, easing his own forward. Your body stiffens at the sting of being stretched as he enters you. His stomach is pressed to your back, the warm weight of his body cradling yours like a cocoon. The priest senses your struggle, can feel it in the way you’ve gone rigid against him. “Shh, shh,” he consoles you, his voice a low, seductive growl. “You’re doing so well for me, angel. Doing so well for me…”

Part of your confession to the Monsignor had involved your desire for pain, to be hurt during sex. He’d remembered and used this information later, stroking his cock to some of the most depraved thoughts he’d ever had about a woman, starring you. Now, he had the opportunity to hurt you, to make you cry just like he’d wanted. His hand glides down your back and across your cheek, his eyes gazing over your hair as it drapes the altar. You’re so divine, an angel against his body and he can’t find the will in himself to hurt you. Easing back his hips till he’s no longer inside you, John spats a wad of saliva onto your hole. He watches your rim gape at his exit, then pucker as his spit lands against it. He positions his tip against your asshole, rubbing in a small circle to help ease you open. The stiff, spongy head of his cock massaging your hole sends a jolt straight to your clit. “Keep doing that, Father,” you breathe, and something about hearing you refer to him that way when he’s inside you bent over the altar, awakens something feral inside of him.

He’s using every bit of restraint he has to keep from impaling you right now (although he knows a dirty little thing like you probably wouldn’t protest if he did). But John does restrain himself, massaging his tip just inside your asshole, gradually sinking deeper. Soft sucking noises emit from the space he rubs you, joined with your breathy grunts and the rain pelting down outside. With his free hand, John grips your hip in a vice, small crescents dug into the skin by his fingernails. When you push back on his cock, he takes this as his cue to go deeper. Still using as much restraint as he can manage, John sinks his cock carefully, slowly, stopping when he feels you flinch and buck.

“Good girl-good girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “That’s my good girl. Taking me so deep, aren’t you?” He drags his hips back slowly and you feel every inch, every vein and ridge of his cock as he eases back in, and out, and in again, building pace till his hips are crashing against yours, pummeling your ass across the altar. The burn is exquisite; you feel him in your stomach. Drool dangles from your wide-open mouth and puddles on the altar, your cheek rutted against it with every thrust of John’s hips. The wet sound of his skin smacking yours echoes off the sanctuary walls, his rapid pace matching the candle flames flickering around you. His head falls forward and rests against your shoulder, halted exhales washing your skin in heat, in the moisture of his breath. The front of John’s clothes are soaked with rain from being ground up against you, his body joined so completely with yours they’re inseparable. He feels a deep, familiar ache in his core, but it’s never been this strong, never as powerful as he feels it now. He knows he’s going to come soon, and it’s likely going to be the hardest he’s ever come in his life. He reaches around in front of you and presses his fingertips to your clit, rubbing you aggressively. Cum splashes to the ground around John’s hand as he brings you to orgasm, your juices spraying his feet and the altar equally.

Your cries of ecstasy are the holiest psalm he’s ever heard, the purest prayer he’s ever born witness to. With a shout he comes, a desperate cry of relief and absolution as he empties his guilt into the warm cove of your body. You shudder against him, and it may as well be the flutter of an angel’s wings on his skin. He cradles you across the altar, his stomach to your back, holding the answer to his prayers in his arms. When his cock has softened inside you, John draws back slowly and carefully slides out of you. He glances around for something to clean you both up with and his eyes land on the purificator beside the communion chalice. Disregarding the sacrilege of it all, he takes the cloth and kneels behind you, gently wiping between your legs and between the cheeks of your ass. He cleans himself lastly, removing the combination of fluids your sex created.

He notices a streak of red on the cloth, and brings your attention to it. A contended smile spreads over your face as you realize, and the words leave your lips in a breathy sigh: “You made me bleed.” He leans forward and gently takes your chin in his hand, drawing you closer. His dark eyes are filled with the words he doesn’t need to say, of promises for more moments like this to come. His voice is barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to yours, and says: “Forgive me.”

[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.

[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 😭

[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)

[debbiechanclub]

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

[wvffles]

been missing beau recently, made my way back to this gem!💕 i adore every moment of it — from the hints of spice, the fluffy banter, the smidge of angst with the wonderful reassurance, agh 😩💗 also ofc i loveeee anything with sleepiness, makes me soft so fast lol<3

Your smile for him was brighter than that golden beam of sunlight, which once again hit you dead in the face and nearly blinded you.  But from where Beau was sitting, it just managed to make your eyes shine with every shade of beauty. 

pure poetry, this was the sweeeeeetest 🥺💖

such a wonderful little story 🙂‍↕️🫶🏽

Didn't Mean to Stay

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Female Reader 

Summary: After three months, you ask Beau to make it clear. Is he serious about this relationship, or are you two just passing time?

AN: I've done a lot of Soldier Boy recently, so here's Beau for a palette cleanser. 😂 This came about from this music prompt a while back! I’m happy to finally get to this. 

Song Inspo: “Didn’t Mean to Stay All Night” by Starship

Word Count: 1,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Nudity, fluff, bit of angst.

In times like these, you really hated the sun. 

You squeezed your eyes tighter, trying to block out the beam of light that seemed to be hitting you directly between the eyes. 

Damn. Really need to get those blinds fixed.

You’d asked your landlord about it a few times now. Not to mention the backed up garbage disposal in your sink, and your refrigerator that kept leaking something green.

Whatever. Rent’s cheap for a reason, you mused. 

With a sleepy sigh, you rolled over and met resistance. A toned, freckled arm was in your way. You slipped a hand around the familiar bicep, soothing warm fingers over chilled skin. 

A deep hum reached you, followed by Beau’s head lolling over.

A smile growing across your lips, you snuggled closer and perched your chin on his shoulder. And with gentle fingers, you traced across his brows, sweeping away locks of his brown hair. You then traced down his nose, the bow of his lips, the point of his bearded chin.

When his green eyes finally opened, they found your face with fond, if sleepy exasperation. It seemed you couldn’t help but wake him up. But he could admit, you gave the best damn wake up calls. 

“There’s a man in my bed,” you said. Your cheeky smile grew along with his.

“That there is,” he said. His eyes roamed your face, probably for the same reason you traced his. He unearthed a hand from below the covers to thumb at your chin, tilting your face up to him for a slow morning kiss. 

But as always with Sheriff Beau Arlen, it never stopped there. His hand swept across your cheek, into your hair that was still tangled from the night before. You went willingly into his embrace, slipping your naked thigh between his legs and half lying on his chest. His bare skin felt cool against yours. 

“Why’re you so cold?” you wondered with a frown. You rubbed down his arm, his chest, his back and shoulders, whatever exposed skin you could reach. Beau quirked a smile and held you tighter against him, pressing your breasts against his chest. His hands splayed across your back and playfully squeezed you. 

“Why’re you so warm?” he countered. “Thought it was my job to bring the heat here.” 

You snorted in response. “That’s a shared responsibility, sir.”

You felt his length growing against your thigh in response to your touch, and you were tempted to reach below the sheets to give him a proper “good morning.” Beau’s nipping kisses along your neck distracted you, however. 

“Guess I’m not used to winters in Montana just yet,” he admitted. His voice was deep and still a bit coarse. Delight tingled down your spine as you ran a warm hand up and down his back. 

“That’s okay. I’ll help you acclimate,” you said in his ear. His chuckle reverberated in your chest, down to your toes. 

“I’m sure you will, darlin’,” he said with that Texan drawl of his. It was always thicker when he was sleepy. You also heard the smile in his voice. “Though I gotta wonder if we haven’t been doing just that for the past few months.”

Your lips pressed thoughtfully against his neck. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

“Yeah?”

You leaned back so you could see his face, and you held a hand to his cheek. Just as you drew your courage enough to ask him what had been plaguing your mind for weeks now, Beau caught sight of the digital clock on your nightstand. 

“Aw, damn,” he said. “Didn’t mean to stay all night again.”

You couldn’t help but deflate at that. Withdrawing your hand, your smile faded. He caught the change when he glanced back up at you, and his brows furrowed. 

“Sorry, it’s just…Carla’s bringing my daughter this morning. I’m taking her out for breakfast before my shift,” he admitted. 

You nodded at that, though you still hadn’t officially met his daughter Emily. Not as his girlfriend at least…but then again, even after three months, you weren’t sure if you’d earned that label. 

Clearly you hadn’t, as Beau wasn’t inviting you to breakfast.

He probably just wants to spend some one-on-one time with his daughter, you tried to reason. You knew he didn’t get to see her as often as he liked. 

“If she likes pancakes, might want to take her to The Belgian. They make a mean three-egg scramble too,” you supplied, giving him a smile as you started to detangle yourself from his embrace. 

Beau quirked a brow and caught you quick by the wrist. “Not so fast there.”

Your breath caught in your throat when he guided you back down. He clasped your hand to his chest and peered up at your face, raising his brows, searching your gaze. 

“Am I missing somethin’ here?” he asked. 

You rose a brow back. Maybe you were feeling a bit petulant. “I don’t think so.”

Beau heard your tone loud and clear. His brows furrowed as his thumb drew back and forth over the back of your hand. Then, his eyes brightened with a realization.

“What were you trying to tell me just a minute ago?” he asked. Your lips pursed.

“Nothing,” you denied, trying to tug your hand out of his. He held firm, but his frown deepened. 

“For damn sure, that’s not your nothing face,” he said. “Level with me, please?”

The longer you chanced staring into his eyes, the quicker his earnestness got to you. You let out a sigh and relaxed back down in the bed. You laid on your side and squeezed your fingers around his hand. 

“Beau, I don’t want to put any more pressure on you than you already have.” At work, and in other areas of his life, as he’d managed to tell you. Mind you, that had come after weeks and months of letting him know, in whatever ways you could, that his deeper thoughts and worries were safe with you. 

“But I have to know,” you said. “…What are we doing here?”

Beau looked surprised by the question. It took him long enough to answer that you had to assume the worst.

“Look, I understand if you’re not ready for something serious right now,” you said, hating the shake in your voice. “But, um…if that’s what this is for you, then I’m not sure I can keep on.”

Beau frowned. “All right. Hold on.”

Again, he gently tugged you back from pulling away from him. He held your cheek this time, and he was prepared to catch the tears he saw welling up in your eyes. 

“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear. And I’m sorry, I guess that’s my fault,” he said. His thumb soothed against your cheek, but it was his smile that gave you hope. 

“I was operating under the assumption that you’re my girl… That all right with you?” he asked with his usual charm, and maybe a bit of cheek. 

A slow smile tugged at your lips, just as relief began to make you feel lighter.

“It just might be,” you quipped. That earned you his grin in return. 

Beau leaned up and drew you into a kiss, slow at first, but quickly gaining in passion. His arms slipped around you again, pulling you onto his chest, then rolling you underneath him. You squealed in surprise at the move.

He caged you between his arms bracing on either side of your head, and his knees trapped your hips. You ran your hands up his bare chest, smiling in approval at the new warmth on his skin. 

But then you stopped him short of kissing you again as something occurred to you. 

“You need to get home,” you reminded him. “Emily’s going to be waiting for you soon.”

Beau hesitated, brows furrowing because he knew you were right, but he still gave you one more deep kiss.

“Say.” He briefly parted from you. “Got any plans this morning?”

Your smile grew, as warm as your hand on his cheek. 

“Not really. It’s a Saturday with me, myself, and I,” you replied. Beau plied you with his lips, once, twice, and then burned a slow, hot path down your neck. 

“Well, I think it’s high time I introduced my daughter to my girlfriend over a short stack of pancakes,” he said. He then pulled back enough to see your face, and he asked a question with his eyes. “That is, if she’s willing.”

Your smile for him was brighter than that golden beam of sunlight, which once again hit you dead in the face and nearly blinded you. 

But from where Beau was sitting, it just managed to make your eyes shine with every shade of beauty. 

“She could be persuaded,” you said. Your smile turned teasing. “She’s also got a leaky sink that needs fixing…and quite honestly, that fridge is starting to scare me.”

Beau’s chuckle shook the bed. “Shoulda known that ask would come with a price tag. Free pancakes ain’t enough for you?”

When he dipped down for another kiss, you mischievously turned your head so he got your cheek instead. 

“Oh, now you’re playin’ hard to get?” he quipped. “I see how it is…”

You giggled as his body weight playfully threatened to crush you. But you trailed your fingers through his hair and showed him your earnestness this time. 

“Of course I want to meet your daughter, Beau. I know it hasn’t been that long but…” You bit your lip against a deeper confession, though you knew he would find it in your eyes. 

His face softened, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. 

“How’s this. After my shift tonight, I’ll start on fixing that wily fridge,” he offered. 

Your insides warmed like maple syrup, and you twined your arms around his neck.

“Make it tomorrow,” you said. Your eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

AN: Aww, writing this 'lil fic made me all warm and fuzzy. 🥰 Let me know what you think!

(I also have more Soldier Boy imagines coming soon, either next week or this week, if I get impatient lol.)

Big Sky Masterlist

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Tag List:

@deans-baby-momma @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @waters-2567 @ultrahviolentart @deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @ades106 @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @beautyvaliant @chernayawidow @beskarfilms

[timeislikemusic]

//hiii! thank you for the follow back! & maybe “Cheat Sheet ☑” as well?

I’m most interested in writing as…

rn i only have my OC to offer :V

I want to interact with…

would love with all! but if i was to point out any exact maybe Qiao Ling & Liu Xiao?

For verses and AUs, I’m most excited to do…

canon // bridon // neo aurora 

When it comes to pre-established relationships…

i will do them gladly!

For the muses I listed, the dynamics I want to write most are…

platonic, maybe childhood friends, negative/antagonistic, forced cooperation for the same goal

I’m currently in the mood for interactions that are…

crack, fluff, angst, a bit of horror & a meet ugly! she has a personality to have these more than anything

Feel free to get ahold of me by…

messaging me ooc // sending me an ic ask // writing & tagging me in a starter all fair game!

[ ✖ ] Hello hello! No problem at all, I’m so happy I’m finding more Link Click fans lately (although it’s reminding me that I need to update my blog + muse bios after recent episodes… I will get to that, I swear). Regardless, here’s your cheat sheet in return, and thank you for your ask!! I look forward to writing with you.

I’m most interested in writing as…

Currently, all of them are on my mind, so I’ll just give you insights for the two you brought up (Qiao Ling & Liu Xiao) so I’m not overwhelming you haha

I want to interact with…

Your OC ofc!! I read her about page and really like the approach you took with her ability <3

For verses and AUs, I’m most excited to do…

Canon is an obvious easy one, but I’m curious what you might want to do with Zhou Yan for Bridon… Staring very respectfully :>

When it comes to pre-established relationships…

I only do them under certain circumstances unless they’re true to the verse, and it’s with a smidge of plotting first. Especially with OCs! If you wanna do, say, childhood buddies, please shoot me a quick IM so I can bounce ideas around with you.

For the muses I listed, the dynamics I want to write most are…

I would love for Qiao Ling to have more friends. She’s my favorite girlie. And of course, Liu Xiao being the conniving force he is, you know I’m game for antagonistic tension or begrudging cooperation.

I’m currently in the mood for interactions that are…

Dark, maybe more plotty, but I am never going to say no to fluff.

Feel free to get ahold of me by…

Whatever means you feel up to! My schedule this weekend makes longer threads tricky but asks should be okay, and ofc messaging OOC is never off-limits.

[saltcxrcle]

bro i just listened to lacy and ... YSGDFKJS AAAAAAAAA I NEED THIS FIC SO BAD i'm very excited about it <33 it's suchhh a good song for a sam fic UGH it's so funny i kind of have a difficult time reading angst but it's too good ughhhh anyways that's all!! such an amazing idea, no rush tho ofc ik you're waiting to be in your angst feels lolol but i had to update you on this

LMAOO im so glad you listened to the song!!

i mean i’m not exactly waiting until my seasonal depression hits but if im in my feels and i feel like rewriting it to be even more sad then yeah it’ll happen

but with summer here it’s most likely gonna be fluff and maybe a smidge of angst with some of my WIPS

BUT THANK YOU FOR UPDATING ME MARI 🤭

(come down my inbox to yap about my WIPS please)